~ 19 September 2001
Writer's notes:
As
a MYST fan, I have always
enjoyed revisiting the Ages in order to relax and daydream. I often could open my eyes anew to the
beauty of the old & familiar scenes.
When
the realMYST demo
came out, and I first visited realStoneship, I was awestruck by the new
beauties that Cyan's wonderful artists (Doug McBride and others) had brought
into these worlds. Things that the
Miller Bros. And original MYST
team had envisioned in the beginning, but could not bring to life because of
technological limitations. Like the
rain and the lighting and thunder; the waves and ripples.
These
journal entries are newly enscribed, but they are the thoughts that I had
during that first week I spent visiting the real Age. I hope that you enjoy them, and that they open your eyes to the
beauty of the artwork – the beauty of the world.
I
don't think that spoilers are really a concern here. Some minor details are mentioned, but it should entice new
travelers, and enrich, not spoil their experience.
Shorah,
my friends.
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Excerpts from the journal of a wayfarer . . .
Stoneship
First Arrival
A great boom filled my
ears, and I blinked to recover from the echo of the bright flash. Water fell into my eyes and dripped down my
face. I noticed my clothes just
beginning to dampen from the rain as I began to orient myself. I threw my arms up over my head and ran to
find nearby shelter. I almost lost my
footing on the wet and slippery wood of the slanted deck.
From my refuge in the
relatively dry opening in the rock, I looked out into the storm as my eyes
accustom themselves to the dimness.
The air smelled of a clean,
fresh mid-summer rain. The light breeze
carried little of the scent of a salt sea.
The sound of the rain drizzling onto the rock and wood outside, and into
the water, became soothing with its constancy.
The Telescope
Here high above the ship,
at the peak of the tall spire of rock, one can perch and, through the telescope,
get a view of something of the rest of this world. Standing here in the warm rain to which I have long since become
accustomed, I spend long evenings watching the distant storms and gazing at the
beautiful moving cloudscape, observing its changing and evolving, trying to
catch the infrequent, brilliant glows of lightning that are the glorify the
storm.
I see the glow of the
lighthouse, and I often wonder as I search the horizons, if I will find the
distant lights that Atrus saw. Will
anyone ever come and greet me here?
Emmit, Branch, and Will, or their children -- how long have they been
gone, and will they ever return?
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More journals
may follow . . .
