Dear Bookah

I threw my arms wide and the lab’s defenses deactivated before me, making this rough place for science. I transferred my belongings from the college at Rata Sum and tried to live here instead. It was steamy at night and the jungle cries bounced through my force windows. To gain infinite renown, I must first venture even deeper into Metrica, where the interfering signals are blocked altogether. Only then will I understand them, when I stand in the heart of things and they flow into me, uncorrupted. 

The ooze here has coagulated from the undergrowth. To think they once had worthwhile experiments here, the remnants of discarded data vessels being evidence to that. It is all sick to death: the water is too polluted for the fish, the sky is too thin for the plasma aggregation, and the soil is cut with the bones of druids seeking revenge with this rank excretion. I have heard it said that bookah imagination makes for decent inspiration for true progress, that we could advance our understanding of the Eternal Alchemy with your ravings, with enough left over to ascend to the Mists. I dreamt I stood in the center of the Mists and the unlimited potential ravaged my brain from the inside. Were there worthy experiments here, I could advance Tyria on my own. I’ve warped to this province with a restless mind; all the chaos of my subconscious rising up in discord.