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22nd of Tal
How many times can you see the same sights before they lose their grandeur? I have seen many towns and even cities on my journey to the capital, the only thing that changes is their size. It is disappointing.
I traveled little back home on earth, but even I knew that almost every nation outside my America had a rich history littered about their domains. After the million miles it feels I have crossed of the Ravena Empire, I had expected to see the same.
But no, this world pales in comparison to Earth. Instead of rich history and changing architecture, every city seems to have been assembled from the same box kit. As beautiful and new and gleaming as the towering buildings of this country were at first, they are now equally boring. The view of the world outside the train I travel in now holds more wonder.
The Ent network has failed me as well. The information that holds true amid the realms is mired within a thousand other parts that are propagandist or outright false. The time I must spend to separate the truth from the fiction, even on topics as simple as history, is horrendous.
Already I have been duped by hundreds of realms purporting to teach in manipulating the Weave. Often the only way to verify or check the information is to directly test it in person. Such tests often end… explosively. Now I simply note down what inconsistencies I find instead of putting them into practice. It takes longer, but Solen and his rangers are much more confident that I will make it to the capital in one piece.
26th of Tal
We have made it to the capital, here is the lone edifice of history I could find in the empire. A large castle. It sits forgotten and crumbling on a hill just outside the sprawling capital, hidden in the shadow of the skyscrapers. I spotted it as we speed by on the train, barely a flash before It vanished behind the walls.
I have noticed another thing that concerns me, there are realms on the ENT network that speak of other races, elves orks, dwarves, even beastmen. I have yet to see anything but humans… and I suppose goblins. That combined with reports of a “great war” a century ago concerns me. I say this because even in the massive capital, I see no diversity, and no real culture beyond the same that can be found anywhere else in the empire. Coming from the beautiful melting pot of ideas and places that is Boston, I cannot help but find such a monochrome cultural environment… concerning.
Solen has informed me he and his adventuring party would be returning to the frontier once I settled into the academy, I will be glad to see him go. It is rather hard to explore with his stern face following me around, perhaps with him gone I will find something outside the boring ‘approved of’ places of the empire.
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VIDEO BEGINS TRANSCRIBING — — —
This is a later part of the previous video, it is likely the goblins have yet to discover how to turn the magical camera off. A few artifacts and glitches are scattered through the recording due to the long time the camera has been active.
The camera sits in a pile of gear and equipment in the middle of a dark hall deep into the keep. Makeshift torches cover the walls, created from anything the goblins could get their hands on, mostly cloth dipped in a waxy substance, or splinters of rotten wood taken from somewhere else in the keep. The improvised lighting obscures the ceiling overhead with thick clouds of smoke, the flickering light barely illuminates the room. There is enough light to record by, however. A large pyre brightens the center of the room casting the weak torch lit edges of the hall into relative darkness.
There are goblins gathered here en masse, hooting and hollering, leaky homemade cups splashing some of their contents around the room. Whenever their cups spill into the fire, it sparks and sputters, shooting out large tongues of flame. They are celebrating something, though it does not seem to be an entirely happy event. Every few minutes, a group of goblins come in carrying a dead goblin and toss him on the pyre, the flames leaping up to lick against the smoke covered ceiling.
Each time a goblin is tossed on, the goblins raise a toast and pour out a cup into the fire. Giving the dead one last drink. The smell of burning goblin must be overwhelming, But still the wake goes on, goblin after goblin fed into the flames.
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Once a while has passed with no more goblins to feed the flames, and the fire died down to embers. A new group of goblins walks into the room.
This group of goblins is much shorter and paler than the others, and follow after a hunched old goblin. As the group makes their way into the room, the previously raucous group of goblins go silent and make way for the wizened goblin as he strides toward the pile of stuff just behind the darkened pyre, his walking stick taping along the stone.
He turns to make a speech, speaking to the young goblins who followed him in, as well as the adult goblins lost in the deepening shadows about the hall. He ends the speech as the fire fully subsides, only hot glowing coals left for light, the darkness leaching all color from the recording, the flickering torches covered by the crowd - leaving the goblins gathered as a dark shifting mass. The occasional red, yellow, or orange set of eyes flashing out of the darkness as the camera catches them from just the right angle.
The old goblin is silhouetted by the red coals of the dying pyre as he raises his walking stick to shout out a few last words.
As he does so, the space just above his head lights up into silvery purple strands of color weaving into a fractal patterned square. A gust of wind shoots through the hall, relighting the fire and sweeping away the smoke and, presumably, the smell from the room.
The goblins cheer, their somber mood lifted, and the goblin elder beckons the young ones forward to take an item from the pile. They fall on the pile, greedy hands grasping and pulling at the items, the frame of the camera shaking about. The adults can be heard egging the young goblins on as fights erupt over the nicest and shiniest bits of the hoard.
The camera is the last piece to be grabbed, by a small pale orange eyed goblin, who is surprisingly unscathed when compared to his fellows.
As he fiddles with the camera, his pale green fingers covering the lens, a faint click can be heard and the recording cuts out.
END TRANSCRIPTION — — —
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28th of Tal
Today was my first true glimpse into this new world of magic, and I have learned much. This was my first full day free to roam the city, so I have come back to my student dorm rather late.
There is not much to write about the city itself, I was only able to explore the skyscraper that houses Hitanur, the royal magic academy. Much of it is simply student dorms and common rooms to house the scholars here, and the rest is empty halls and classrooms. There are a few places I could not get, but on the whole it seemed surprisingly typical, the same as almost any collage campus back home. Another disappointment, you would think a school of magic would have more to show.
An interesting fact, the people do not call the buildings skyscrapers, but rather Weavepeircers on account of their ability to defy gravity or, as they put it, pierce the natural Weave.
The twisting patterns are enchantments, the metal there to guide the naturally existing Weave into a shape that will support the very implausible nature of the towers. It is the same with the floating city walls and carriages.
The Ents are also enchanted, but not to twist reality. Their purpose is to encode, remember, and transmit information directly into the strands of the Weave itself.
Those are all superficial answers to a few of the questions I have had on my journey here, I am less excited to glimpses of the answers to my bigger questions.
I am becoming more and more certain that I cannot trust the people of this empire, one of the subjects taught here is history, the class stinks of indoctrination. I fear that this place may be even less understanding than the Germany of earths history. I have requested that Solen convince the guild to give me a copy of the contract I had signed. I may need to find a way to break the agreement, I should know what I risk.
I am forgetting Gordon and my children more and more often, the idea of making it home is still very much on my mind but the memories fade in and out. In fact, ever since my rescue from the goblins, I have not felt very much emotion at all. Whatever has brought me an understanding of this place''s language may be trying to wrest away my emotions and memories of home. I plan to find a way to stop it, family means too much to let it slip away without a fight.
Fortunately, my lessons in magic today have brought me closer to working with the Weave. What my teachers described, reminds me of knitting or crocheting all spells have a well-defined structure with different knots modifying the effects as it radiates out from a central knot. The diagrams my professor drew on the wall were quite similar to the pages of the giant book I studied back at the keep.
I wish I had a better memory or had written them down.
For now, I will continue to study here, and investigate the inner reaches of the Weave and my mind. I feel every day must take me closer to home.
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