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. Continue reading Dear Bookah
I made my own little pilgrimage. My savant cave a small laboratory on the outskirts of Rata Sum. There, I met Zojja. We sparred intellects in the golem arena and tried to connect to one another. Although she knew I hadn’t come in search of any advice, she still spiralled in panic at the thought of Inquest being involved in any part of our progression through this province. Intelligence had made her amoral; like us, she had already passed beyond any conceivable boundary of feeling.
I quote directly: “A motley lot with little to recommend them. I have now spent three days in their company that is, I fear, enough for any asura that walks Tyria. Despite their tedious inclination to quote scripture, they seem to me the most mindless of all the inhabitants on the surface of this world. Indeed, in this case, the very gravity of that term – without mind – seems to find its very apex.” It appears to me that Drojjenny too found those who wandered the jungle to be adrift in a prison of the mind, or lack thereof. Did he include himself in that, I wonder?
They were godfearing people those bookah. Those shrieking natives of the jungle. There was no love in the relationship. Drojjenny tells me that they had one scroll said to have been written by the druids that was passed around in strict rotation. It was stolen by a skritt, two years before this part of the jungle was abandoned altogether. In the interim, I wonder, did they assign their baseless theories to the falling water, marking the flora holding to the rock with a superimposed significance; that they could actually walk through these theories and inhabit its contradictions? Continue reading Dear Bookah
The lake is clearly the focal point of this landscape; it almost appears so well placed as to be artificial. I find myself easily slipping into the delusional state of ascribing purpose, deliberate motive to everything here. Was this Province formed during the moment of resurgence; when we erupted from the depths of Tyria and the chaotic energy broke through the air like a sol-plasma blade, did it first break surface then? A wonderful sight. The laboratory maintaining the distinction between the lake and the jungle. It casts a reflection across the water as if you had trampled through the order in untidy handwriting. Continue reading Dear Bookah
Those caverns diverging in the cliff face, I am sure, are nothing more than relics of another time, empty hollows, barren antimatter laid down for a final translocation. I wash the blood from my armor and grip my weapon ever more tightly, my shaking arms will barely support waylays with the Inquest against the lake labs, much less my gifts of guidance to you. Continue reading Dear Bookah
Dear Bookah. The morning after I exited from Rata Sum, golem games and combat in my ears, plasma-tinged air in my mouth and the pleading of some deflated asura always at my ankles, I felt as though everything had conspired to this one story. I remembered nothing but a few answers to my past, various world-ending hypotheses in my head, and my colleagues threatening to drag me under to where only the most listless of sentient creatures ponder. Continue reading Dear Bookah
I would leave you theories, outside your retreat, in this interim space between order and chaos. I would leave you gems and data vessels, but the data vessels have become corrupted and I have run out of gems. I would warp you back to the Mists in a transparent energy shell but I fear we would both be driven mad by the etchings of boundless energies. Continue reading Dear Bookah
Dear Bookah. I have lost track of how long I have been here, and how many visits I have made overall. Certainly, the labs are now so familiar to me that I have to remind myself to actually see some useful structure instead of a few slabs of rock housing a few more idiots. I could stumble in to these labs and easily fix their problems as if in hindsight. Perhaps time is nonlinear here repeating everso with problems that will never be solved. Besides, I have always considered that if one is to progress, it is critical to help those of lesser intelligence. Continue reading Dear Bookah
Dear Bookah. You bookahs don’t waypoint here anymore; I’ve noticed that this year, you seem to shun the place. Maybe it’s the genius of the asura coupled with our sheer force of unbridled will to tame this tarnished coast. Perhaps it’s me. When he first travelled here, Drojjenny wrote that the jungles were filled with the chaos of magic and life and bookahs seeking the druids lived in this jungle. A hundred years later, even they have departed. Continue reading Dear Bookah
Dear Bookah. I sometimes feel as if I’ve given birth to this Province. Somewhere, between the verisimilitudes of the jungle and geodesic batteries a split opened up and order evolved here. No matter how hard I ponder, Metrica Province remains a singularity, an alpha point in my life that refuses all hypotheses. I return each time making my mark in this zone that I hope, in the blinding glare of my genius, will have blossomed into progress beyond this anomaly. Continue reading Dear Bookah