Palaeomacrometer logbooks: Difference between revisions
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==Extract 2, Following the path of the Moon. From notes recorded 4681 November 11== | ==Extract 2, Following the path of the Moon. From notes recorded 4681 November 11== | ||
They’d been following the Moon for the past week, moving with an urgency that reminded him of his younger days. The last colour drained from the sky as twilight surrendered to nightfall. He looked up, noting grimly the thick clouds ahead, gathering as if to block their progress. In the distance, the jagged horizon line was suddenly visible as the nearly-Full Moon rose, backlighting the peaks and valleys they would have to cross. | |||
In a short while, the Moon would provide ample light to guide their nocturnal journey, despite the looming clouds. With only a handful of hours rest, they were tired, and wished that things were otherwise. But rest would come later. Now, it was time to press on. | |||
They made their way across the shrub-filled plain, which swept off to the ocean in the west, and as hours became days, felt the ground rising and the mountains approaching almost imperceptibly. Each evening, the Moon rose later and later, frustrating their journey, until they were forced to stop and to idly mark time. | |||
Then, on a cold, windy evening, he sighted the lunar crescent shortly after sunset. They sat in silence, watching it set. It would not be long now. | |||
Now they were making good time, travelling during the hours of sunlight, straining to make up for lost time. They had breached the curtain of mountains the previous day, and for the first time could make out the lands beyond. The valley that was their destination could be made out in the distance. | |||
The Moon was growing each day as they travelled, its waxing form apparently mimicking their sense of anticipation as they closed in on their target. Late in the evening, with the Moon high above them, they could pause and look back, over the terrain they had covered. Anxiously scanning the expansive plains now far below them, they saw no signs of pursuit. With stubborn determination, and a skyward glance at their celestial lightgiver, they picked a route through the treacherous rocky ground ahead, and moved on in silence. | |||
Days and nights passed, sprinkled with fitful sleep and unsatisfactory cold meals. And then, with the gibbous Moon at the zenith, as if to declare their journey over, they stood at the sharp, narrow entry to this final valley. Overhead, oppressive clouds, thick and black, seemed determined to snuff out the Moon and shroud their journey in blackness. But then, the clouds would break and roil, momentarily permitting moonlight to show them the way. | |||
The night air was cold and damp. In the distance, gossamer sheets of the faintest light possible seemed to hug the ground at certain places. In that direction, the sounds of a burbling river could be made out. | |||
They drew together, leaning closer, whispering guardedly. They were standing on a broad, well-travelled but long neglected road, which could be seen cutting a discernible ribbon through the plantgrowth, a vein leading to what one can assume was their final destination. Their huddled cabal, an obscure dark spot on the landscape, would certainly be revealed if anything was paying attention to the old trackway. | |||
If, indeed, something was watching them at that very moment, it would respond with surprise, because the group dissolved into the night, melding into the underbrush. | |||
The sounds of the river guided their footsteps. In not too long a time, they reached its edge. It was more of a stream, really, and in the cold moonlight its rough course reflected a silver pathway, up into the valley. As if beckoned, or perhaps summoned, they followed its route, moving with some speed, any scrabbling footfall masked by the sound of the water. | |||
In short time, they were deep into the valley, the walls closing imperceptably as they made their dogged way. The mountain ridges conspired with the clouds above to dim the moonlight which guided their feet. And then, with attention, unnatural shapes could be made out. Looming up ahead, along the steepening sides of the valley, lurked sharp, angular, outlines, fashioned by the hand of man. They were finally within the city. | |||
They knew that untold centuries had passed, but had not expected that the buildings, temples, and monuments of Anachron had been reduced to a mere patina of brickwork clinging fitfully to the valley sides. | |||
Above them, the Moon was rapidly descending to the horizon, with perhaps an hour of grace left to them. Sensing the urgency, feeling the moment of completion slipping away, they recklessly pushed ahead into the moonlit darkness. More and more decrepit structures, broken by time, came into view as they moved between the once-proud buildings. If this was once the centre of the city, it was now the atrophied heart of a long-dead corpse, desiccated by the aeons. Ruins of potent buildings, now meaningless shapes in the dark, was all that remained of the city. | |||
And then, as if one, they saw it: a single light in the darkness ahead, less than 50 paces away, obscured by the shattered masonry of an battered tower. | |||
It was as if they were robbed of all other senses. Sound shut down, the cold air was as if nothing, only this singular light was salient. As they watched, baited, the glow seemed to flicker, or throb, growing slightly dimmer, then slightly brighter. And it evinced the subtlest of shifting colours, now yellow, now mild blue. | |||
A surge pulsed through them, anticipation, the keenness that dispels reason and urges action. With little care for what may be waiting for them, concealed in the darkness, they rushed closer. | |||
The shimmering glow came from the inside of what must once have been an imposing tower, thick, broad and powerful at the base, with massive doors regulating entry. Now, gaping holes in the walls of the tower rendered it useless as a refuge. The source of this singular light was, for the moment, hidden behind these fragmented walls. | |||
The throbbing of the concealed light, and the cycling of colours from yellow to blue to red, quickened as they rushed up to the decayed structure, searching for the entrance. | |||
As they had long known, a set of double doors, taller than even their mightiest, awaited them. They huddled together in front of the final obstacle. Beyond lay their ultimate goal. At this moment, the clouds momentarily opened, and the comparatively brilliant moonlight, thick and yellow, illuminated the doors. Now was the time for fortitude. | |||
As yet unseen to them, beyond the pair of formidable doors, he lay. Oblivious to the cruel hardness of the cold, black stone which supported him, he waited and watched, eyes closed. Arms raised, fingers curled, as if caressing or grasping, threads of twisted light, some tinged yellow, others coloured blue or red, wove together or unravelled, as his sightless eyes reviewed past and future. What was a gentle pulsing of brightness now became a flickering, like a heart, pounding with excitement or apprehension. With an upwards gesture, his fingers played through the light as the individual strands converged, seemingly inexorably, to a single point. His eyes opened in surprise. | |||
==Extract 3, The Lord's Mark. Unknown date of recording== | ==Extract 3, The Lord's Mark. Unknown date of recording== | ||
Revision as of 20:31, 21 March 2022
The palaeomacrometer is a large, cumbersome but delicate device conceived and constructed by Professor Liben Corrington, founder of the Corrington Sorcerer Academy of the College of Letters, to further his researches. The device took some 18 years to complete, and is said to have over 1 million working components.
At its heart, the palaeomacrometer uses crystal eigenesis (with sulphur banoxide as a microaggressant) to hyper-experience points in space and time. The observer starts from a known point in space and time, and then experiences (through movement in space and/or time, at a vastly accelerated rate) an adjacent point in space and/or time. Depending on the skill of the observer, observation rates of 1,000 to 1 million have been recorded. This means that 1 second of observation can slip through 240 hours (10 days) of time, or 500 km of distance. The observer can stop the spatio-temporal movement at any point, and carefully study the surroundings. This allows for hyper-sensoral input - smell, taste, feeling, etc. of the object being observed, as well as for the time to make notes and drawings of what is observed.
Continued observation with the palaeomacrometer is physically and mentally draining, and not totally without risk. Since there is only one such device, and it has been used by perhaps only two people, safe constraints are not known, and the side-effects or damage potential is likewise unknown.
During the first few years of the palaeomacrometer's operation it was heavily used. None of Prof. Corrington's observations, however, were published. After about a decade of use, the professor stopped using it, for unknown reasons, and the device was essentially abandoned.
Several years later, during a congress, one of the dosents at the College of Letters, Archmage Alfred Gouranis, heard about the palaeomacrometer. He convinced Prof. Corrington to give it a good cleaning and to teach him how to use it.
In short order, A. Gouranis was taking regular observations. Several of his sessions have been published, and are reproduced here. Note that because of concerns about salangrity (temporal calibration of the device) the virtual dates of these recordings are not given, but only the dates on which the observations were made. Further research is needed to determine the former.
Observing logs of Archmage Alfred Gouranis, with the Corrington Palaeomacrometer, CoL.
- Extract 1. The Archmage of Nubanon.
- Extract 2. Following the path of the Moon
- Extract 3. The Lord's Mark
- Extract 4. Gaunt's watch
- Extract 5. A time in Malanthea
- Extract 6. Death in the Swamp
Extract 1, The Archmage of Nubanon. From notes recorded 4688 June 03
The Red Wizard paced energetically up and down the cold rank-smelling corridor, his flowing robe rustling across the well-worn stone. The loud irritable clicks of his metallic boots were instantly reduced to short, sharp sounds, dampened by the invisible energies that flowed from the room he was barred from entering.
He paused outside the great door, and the silence settled over him like a damp mouldy cloak. He shrugged his shoulders, bowed his head and concentrated, and for a moment could hear the sound of ancient dust settling in the corridor. A feeble amber glow sprang from his hands, growing brighter as he clasped them together. For an instant, his featureless face and hollow eye sockets were bathed in light the colour of the dying sun, and then the darkness returned.
Unseen to normal human eyes, a coruscating light flowed around him. Abruptly, he turned to face the door and it swung open slowly. Girding himself, he stepped through the portal and into the vault-like chamber beyond.
The Red Wizard paused. He stood absolutely still, even his breathing was arrested, as he strained to see into the dark. The icy cold lightless room was vast, extending into the black with no discernible ending. Gradually he became aware of a sound, distant and repeating. It was like the dripping of melting snow, tap-tapping from the eaves of a roof at the end of winter.
The memory jolted him and he gasped, instinctively, the cold air searing his lungs. With a gesture he banished the chilling thoughts and allowed himself the briefest of smiles as he strode towards the source of the sound. His footfalls echoed loudly as he approached.
“I have come,” he said, his voice sounding more frail than he intended, yet infinitely loud in the oppressive blackness.
‘Archmage’, came the reply, more a statement than a greeting, and one not heard but instead remembered.
“Is it done?”
‘Yes.’
“So we can begin?”
‘Yes.’
“And the others?”
Silence.
The Red Wizard waited. And then he was suddenly aware that he was alone in the room. Slipping a hand into a concealed pocket of his robe, he turned abruptly and, in the dark, confidently retraced his steps, pausing in front of the great iron-clad door. He stopped and glanced back over his shoulder.
The cramped room was as cluttered and untidy as he remembered, a shambles of broken crates, discarded potion vials and dusty sacks. Even the sunlight beaming in from the small high-set window was dusty. His inborn dislike of untidiness instantly asserted itself and he muttered a brief ancient incantation to remind himself to have it aired out and properly cleaned.
Things need to be in their proper place, he thought, as he stepped into the corridor, locked the old door behind him, and walked purposefully down the short passageway. His sightless eyes blinked in the bright sunlight of the archway ahead, and then the warmth of the late-morning Sun welcomed him again.
Behind him, the crumbled ruins of the old kirk stood dark and lifeless, its stones bleached by centuries of sun, fossilized remains of yet another failed god. The Archmage of Nubanon smiled to himself knowingly. It was good to be alive.
Extract 2, Following the path of the Moon. From notes recorded 4681 November 11
They’d been following the Moon for the past week, moving with an urgency that reminded him of his younger days. The last colour drained from the sky as twilight surrendered to nightfall. He looked up, noting grimly the thick clouds ahead, gathering as if to block their progress. In the distance, the jagged horizon line was suddenly visible as the nearly-Full Moon rose, backlighting the peaks and valleys they would have to cross.
In a short while, the Moon would provide ample light to guide their nocturnal journey, despite the looming clouds. With only a handful of hours rest, they were tired, and wished that things were otherwise. But rest would come later. Now, it was time to press on.
They made their way across the shrub-filled plain, which swept off to the ocean in the west, and as hours became days, felt the ground rising and the mountains approaching almost imperceptibly. Each evening, the Moon rose later and later, frustrating their journey, until they were forced to stop and to idly mark time.
Then, on a cold, windy evening, he sighted the lunar crescent shortly after sunset. They sat in silence, watching it set. It would not be long now.
Now they were making good time, travelling during the hours of sunlight, straining to make up for lost time. They had breached the curtain of mountains the previous day, and for the first time could make out the lands beyond. The valley that was their destination could be made out in the distance.
The Moon was growing each day as they travelled, its waxing form apparently mimicking their sense of anticipation as they closed in on their target. Late in the evening, with the Moon high above them, they could pause and look back, over the terrain they had covered. Anxiously scanning the expansive plains now far below them, they saw no signs of pursuit. With stubborn determination, and a skyward glance at their celestial lightgiver, they picked a route through the treacherous rocky ground ahead, and moved on in silence.
Days and nights passed, sprinkled with fitful sleep and unsatisfactory cold meals. And then, with the gibbous Moon at the zenith, as if to declare their journey over, they stood at the sharp, narrow entry to this final valley. Overhead, oppressive clouds, thick and black, seemed determined to snuff out the Moon and shroud their journey in blackness. But then, the clouds would break and roil, momentarily permitting moonlight to show them the way.
The night air was cold and damp. In the distance, gossamer sheets of the faintest light possible seemed to hug the ground at certain places. In that direction, the sounds of a burbling river could be made out.
They drew together, leaning closer, whispering guardedly. They were standing on a broad, well-travelled but long neglected road, which could be seen cutting a discernible ribbon through the plantgrowth, a vein leading to what one can assume was their final destination. Their huddled cabal, an obscure dark spot on the landscape, would certainly be revealed if anything was paying attention to the old trackway.
If, indeed, something was watching them at that very moment, it would respond with surprise, because the group dissolved into the night, melding into the underbrush.
The sounds of the river guided their footsteps. In not too long a time, they reached its edge. It was more of a stream, really, and in the cold moonlight its rough course reflected a silver pathway, up into the valley. As if beckoned, or perhaps summoned, they followed its route, moving with some speed, any scrabbling footfall masked by the sound of the water.
In short time, they were deep into the valley, the walls closing imperceptably as they made their dogged way. The mountain ridges conspired with the clouds above to dim the moonlight which guided their feet. And then, with attention, unnatural shapes could be made out. Looming up ahead, along the steepening sides of the valley, lurked sharp, angular, outlines, fashioned by the hand of man. They were finally within the city.
They knew that untold centuries had passed, but had not expected that the buildings, temples, and monuments of Anachron had been reduced to a mere patina of brickwork clinging fitfully to the valley sides.
Above them, the Moon was rapidly descending to the horizon, with perhaps an hour of grace left to them. Sensing the urgency, feeling the moment of completion slipping away, they recklessly pushed ahead into the moonlit darkness. More and more decrepit structures, broken by time, came into view as they moved between the once-proud buildings. If this was once the centre of the city, it was now the atrophied heart of a long-dead corpse, desiccated by the aeons. Ruins of potent buildings, now meaningless shapes in the dark, was all that remained of the city.
And then, as if one, they saw it: a single light in the darkness ahead, less than 50 paces away, obscured by the shattered masonry of an battered tower.
It was as if they were robbed of all other senses. Sound shut down, the cold air was as if nothing, only this singular light was salient. As they watched, baited, the glow seemed to flicker, or throb, growing slightly dimmer, then slightly brighter. And it evinced the subtlest of shifting colours, now yellow, now mild blue.
A surge pulsed through them, anticipation, the keenness that dispels reason and urges action. With little care for what may be waiting for them, concealed in the darkness, they rushed closer.
The shimmering glow came from the inside of what must once have been an imposing tower, thick, broad and powerful at the base, with massive doors regulating entry. Now, gaping holes in the walls of the tower rendered it useless as a refuge. The source of this singular light was, for the moment, hidden behind these fragmented walls.
The throbbing of the concealed light, and the cycling of colours from yellow to blue to red, quickened as they rushed up to the decayed structure, searching for the entrance.
As they had long known, a set of double doors, taller than even their mightiest, awaited them. They huddled together in front of the final obstacle. Beyond lay their ultimate goal. At this moment, the clouds momentarily opened, and the comparatively brilliant moonlight, thick and yellow, illuminated the doors. Now was the time for fortitude.
As yet unseen to them, beyond the pair of formidable doors, he lay. Oblivious to the cruel hardness of the cold, black stone which supported him, he waited and watched, eyes closed. Arms raised, fingers curled, as if caressing or grasping, threads of twisted light, some tinged yellow, others coloured blue or red, wove together or unravelled, as his sightless eyes reviewed past and future. What was a gentle pulsing of brightness now became a flickering, like a heart, pounding with excitement or apprehension. With an upwards gesture, his fingers played through the light as the individual strands converged, seemingly inexorably, to a single point. His eyes opened in surprise.