homepage Mysty Travels ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
A graceful, older gentleman strolls along
the edges of golden waving fields on a narrow paved road
outside Spokane. He is fairly tall and sturdily framed.
His grizzled, dark hair, simply cut, covers his head and
fills the beard that covers much of his face. A thick set
of goggle-like sun glasses bury most of his expression.
Still something about him is quite likable. Perhaps it is
the joyful interest he takes in his surroundings or the
humbleness that shows in his gait. In spite of this he
finds that the people here, while not hostile, are slow
to open to him. He has been offered water and use of
their communication devices but no one has shared a meal
or listened to him. He is not afraid. As always, he
carries some small provisions, and should all here fail
him, he will simply disappear as he came, never to be
seen again. It has happened before. He would simply shake
the dust off his shoes and leave. The people never
knowing what they had missed.
But it will not happen this time.
At last he comes upon a humble farmhouse.
They have not seen him yet, the one who will change their
lives.
Two young men stand outside the plain structure in
amiable disagreement on what they should make next. They
are brothers, but also skilled and brilliant young
programmers who have recently started their own little
company. Just now they are very concerned. The electronic
market is filled with simple, glitzy entertainment’s
that are being churned through like clockwork by large
companies with enormous budgets. Many of these are
unwholesome offerings, serving up gore by the virtual
bloody platterfuls. They will not follow this trend. All
that they hold dear forbids it, and yet it is unclear
whether the people will choose something more restrained,
a cleaner alternative if they should dare offer it. Their
own previous efforts have been mostly aimed at children,
and while these were imaginative and fresh they were also
largely buried in the landslide of better known
companies. They need to do something different, something
that will establish them at least well enough to feed
their growing families. In truth, however, their dreams
are larger. They would like to change worlds if it were
possible. The question is...is it possible? Robyn lifts
his head, looking over the fields as he considers his
brother’s words. He focuses on the moving figure.
Rand follows his gaze.
They see him. Being the friendly souls they are, they
come forward to greet him. They notice his outfit with
some astonishment, but politely make no comment. He looks
like a cross between an near-east Arab and an old world
explorer. Still he seems clean in his habits and of
intelligent, gentle disposition. The amazed brothers take
his measure silently, and then invite him in, and offer
what hospitality they can. There is no food ready, but
their new friend indicates his satisfaction with a
proffered bowl of hard candy. The elder of the two begins
to introduce himself, inviting the stranger to do the
same.
The traveler, pleased with their warm response, begins to
speak to them. His skillful hands easing them into
communication at once familiar and strange. At first they
listen in polite, entertained disbelief, but slowly an
impression of his honesty grows upon them. A sense of
wonder descends upon his small audience. Their minds open
to the incredible possibilities suggested by his words.
His soft voice, and elegant gestures paint pictures of
far away places, of distant lands. All work comes to a
halt as the small group of colleagues and friends listen
spell bound to their unusual guest.
The reality he suggests, worlds connected by words, seems
highly improbable at best. And yet, nothing they have
learned can contradict the possibility. He can prove part
of what he says. He has brought a round stone that glows
from within, a strange watch that measures the day in
thirty hours, and a number of books. Most are in a
strange tongue he calls D'ni. Robyn, especially, is
astonished at the stone. He plays with it in the glass
dish, rolling it this way and that. The soft red light
illumines the hard candies like so many jewels. Amazing
how the light inside completely alters what seemed so
mundane a moment before! The firemarble shines as a
burning allegory of the changes to come, if they will
allow it.
At last a meal is prepared and, they invite him to
partake. Their guest adores the chicken-teriyaki
sandwiches, indicating by many gestures and an
appreciative appetite that this was a feast indeed!
Silently young programmer sitting in rapt awe decides
that in honor of this occasion he will never eat anything
else for lunch!
His visit lasts until the setting of the sun. At last he
bids his new friends farewell, promising to return and
tell them more of the strange history he has unfolded.
For now he leaves them with a phrase book he has made and
very old journals for them to translate as best they may.
He has discovered that they are similarly minded and asks
for their help in a strange venture.
...................................................................................................................
The brothers discuss that night whether to accept the
challenge. It is everything they had wanted. It is a
unique tale, a focus that allows both use of their
fullest imagination and a chance to make a difference in
their own world. Such a story could influence millions
for the better, perhaps even challenge people to seek
deeper truths and make better choices in their own lives.
It is decided. They will tell his story, though they have
but the sketchiest notions of what these places might
look like. It will take a great deal of work to bring it
to life. For it is they who will have to flesh out these
skeletons of ages into an interactive journey others can
share. It is not even certain that it CAN be done. A
story told by visuals alone is difficult to do with
computers, technology for such a project being primitive.
If not for the recent invention of CD-ROMs it would be
impossible to get into any marketable form. But CDs do
exist, and if they were to succeed....
There are other concerns even before it is well begun.
The beauty of these places should draw attention, puzzles
would entertain, but how much of the story could be saved
in their first effort? It is a mammoth task and difficult
decisions will have to be made. Should they keep the
first part simple and hope to build upon it, or try to
squeeze in as much as possible, at the risk of
overburdening the "game." There are risks
either way. If they give only enough to whet the appetite
and there proved to be no market for it, they could never
hope to do another. The whole story would never be told.
For their friend wants them to tell his tales, but also
to build a test program. One that could determine the
possible interest and intelligence of those on the
surface of the Earth in helping an ancient world and
-perhaps- even find those willing to assist him in his
trials. When the brothers returned from their drive, they
found the evening's work had just begun.
.....................................................................................................................
A solitary figure trails up the dusty country lane that
leads into the pine forest. He has a fair distance to go
yet before he will find the place where he has left his
book. They saved him quite a walk by driving him most of
the way there, but these last steps he must take alone.
At least for now. He breathes deeply into the gathering
gloom. The dark pines and nearer grasses flow back and
forth, brushed by the large gentle hands in the late
summer’s wind. Mead was it? Yes, its resinous scents
intoxicated his senses. Well named this place. He smiled
as he walked along, stooping now and then to bounce a
pine cone off the half-hidden barks of distant trees.
There is always joy in the journeying.
As the traveler walked on in the twilight, he thought
over the days events. They are very nice young men, these
Millers. He had found more than new friends, he had found
hope for the future.
Still there were worries. Had he given them enough to
work with? Would they be willing to devote so much time
and effort to the problems of a stranger? That concern
brought him up short. If they betrayed him also, what
hope was left? He stood still in the increasing darkness.
The low wind sought soft fingers to blow in the colder
places of his soul, those old deep hurts scrabbling for
hold on his heart. Outwardly he was still as the stones
upon the trail, inwardly he shivered. He ached.
The rolling land slowly disappeared, an abundance of
stars replaced them. Looking up, he marveled again at the
one who made them all. There was one who he now
understood would never abandon him. His Dear Lady always
believed in destiny, that his steps were guided by the
Maker of all. The longer he lived, the more inclined he
was to believe she was right. She would say he had been
guided today.
As he stood still, he felt his remembrance of her love
warm him, hold him steady. He braced again for the tasks
ahead and shook off his fears, releasing them back into
the hands of the only one big enough to bear them all.
Peace overtook his soul, filling him with sense of
lightness. He realized that he was satisfied in their
good character. There was something in their eyes that
echoed his own. Yes, he would trust them and see what
came of it all.
He removed the goggles, needing them no longer. He could
see what he must do. Slowly he wound his way off the
trail and into the mysterious darkness beyond the silver
moonshine.
..............................................................................................................................
The moon was setting now, for it was late. It was very
late. A clock sitting in the corner upbraided the
exhausted man for abandoning his rest yet again. Its soft
clicking and ticking announcing the passing of the night.
Soft sounds filled the near silence. A page turned.
Beyond the window, the frustrated wind rose and whined,
begging admittance to the peaceful household. A little
girl sighed in her sleep. Still the pen etched out the
seconds in a steady pace, then suddenly hissed as
ill-chosen word was scratched off the page. The writer
groaned and bent over the desk. It seemed his work was
never-ending. So many lives depended upon success, upon
the successful completion of this work. It was hard at
times to bear such a load. He paused for a moment feeling
it press down upon him. How had it come to be that so
many lives entertained with his own? Who was he when all
was said and sifted? A sense of inadequacy prevailed for
a moment. Perhaps he should rest, and work again when the
shadows had fled.
He stretched and wandered over his sleeping household.
The beauty of his wife and children moved his heart to
awe. A soft smile lit his features. For their sake, it
was worth all this. Just the chance to make a world a
better place was worth all he could do. He thought again
of those who were following him. They all had families
too. He straightened, determined to his best, and a fresh
strength came to his heart. His spirit was willing, but
by now his flesh was very weak Yes, morning would now be
best. He would rest now, in what was left of the night.
Rand rubbed his weary eyes and set his glasses down upon
the desk. These translations were difficult, but it was
hard to stop. The stories held by these little journals
were an astonishment to him. There were the tales of
recent and more ancient days. Honorable men and horrible
villainy filled pages and Ages. Yet for all that was
explained, more remained mysterious and unknown. He
really needed more pages. He turned off the desk lamp and
looked at the pages under his hands, tinted blue by the
moonlight. His tired brain turned over the pieces he had
gained this evening, fitting them this way and that. He
slid into bed and fell asleep...dreaming almost
incoherently. His dark visions proved mysty portals into
ancient pathways.....
..................................................................................................................................
In the ancient cavern, the light shining from his lantern
showed him preparing. Had anyone watched from the dimly
lit waters, they could have seen he was ill at ease.
Already his load looked very heavy, yet the determined
figure continued to move purposefully from one ruined
building to another. He was collecting things, filling
one bulging satchel after another. Finally he stopped,
wheezing under the strain. It was time, he decided. It
was time to return. He would go and see how they were
doing. The traveler was more nervous than he would care
to admit. One hand shook slightly as yet more maps and
papers found their way from a great stone desk into the
last aged leather satchel. It was hard for him to part
with them, even for the necessary time. They made up what
was left of his history. So much had been lost.
...so...much....
A ragged breath escaped him as he readied for his return.
What would he find? He pulled himself upright and began
his journey. Truly, he told himself, there was no point
in further delay. The sooner he arrived, the sooner he
would know.
A smile crossed his face as he realized that they soon
would learn what he had once believed. His own small
books would tell the brothers that this journey was an
impossible one, but it was not yet time to explain. He
barely had time now for the journey! He must continue his
writing. Hopefully most of what they would need to know
would be in the books. He just hoped they would
understand how critical it was that they keep these
secrets well hidden! Others might be watching! Well... he
sighed... he would tell them when he saw them.
Heavily weighted as he was, he struggled up the ancient
streets. He still had to pick his way through the
pathways made through the debris. Finally he reached his
first destination. He sighed with relief as he reached
the pedestal. He stood and placed his hand on the link
that would return him by stages to the kindly pines of
Spokane. In moments only a soft amber glow marked where
he had been. Small motes of dust danced down in the
lamplight, flowing into the vacuum as arid rain.
The light drip ran slowly down the evergreen branch,
eased along its graceful needles and gathered together
for one last leap onto the increasingly solid coat,
before finally sliding silently off the tan fabric into a
bed of needles below. He watched its intriguing motion as
he finished materializing. The traveler had returned. He
struggled into motion toward the road, concerned at how
long it had taken him to arrive. The satchels had been
more of a strain than he had anticipated. How long would
this young man wait? As he left the shelter of the trees
his heart rose at the sight of a worried-looking Rand
steadfastly looking in his direction. It seemed his young
friend had been here for some time. He didn’t look
like he was planning to go anywhere. Warmth filled him as
he strode toward the road.
Rand leaned against his bumper and looked into the damp
haze. He was slowly getting soaked. Here he was again,
waiting for his future to arrive. He supposed he should
feel excited and adventurous. That had worn off hours
ago. The truth was, he felt like an idiot. Person after
person looked at him and his old car and slowed to ask if
he needed help. If he had a newer car they wouldn’t
do this, he thought. Maybe a truck with a tool kit would
reassure people? He didn’t want to take anything
away from working budget, but this was getting
ridiculous! He hoped that Myst would be at least a
commercial success!
At least he would hear soon whether their efforts would
be...suitable to the Mysterious Stranger’s concerns.
Rand hoped he would be pleased, a bit nervous within
himself about what could be done at this stage if he was
not. There wasn’t much room for large changes. He
had done the best he could, everyone had. Now they could
only fine tune it and hope for the best.
Distracted by his thoughts, he barely noticed when a
large Ford truck pulled even with him. It was a very nice
truck, a simple black construction of utility and
elegance. He found himself admiring it, even modeling it
in his head. Within it was yet another friendly soul
slowing down and asking if he needed them to call for
him? Rand’s honest replies were non-committal, but
getting a bit strained. Would the traveler come? Had he
already come and he had missed him? Rand was getting good
at not answering questions, but then he was getting lots
of practice lately! He could just imagine what the
reaction would be if he told anyone the whole story! At
last the driver moved on and Rand resumed his task of
scanning the forest, more hoping than expecting to see
anything.
At last! A figure had appeared out of the forest. Rand
sagged with relief when he could see it was really him.
Rand met him partway and offered to carry part of the
considerable load suspended from his friend’s
shoulders. The traveler thanked him and they walked in
unison back to the car. Rand had a struggle to fit all
the new papers in with what he was already carrying. Yes,
he definitely needed a truck... a big truck!
Robyn tried to concentrate on his monitor, but his keen
senses were focused on the road. Their friend would be
coming today. They had done good work, he was sure of it.
But would the traveler understand the choices they had
made? His beloved little island was so totally
transformed from the sketches he had left behind. The
gameplay made this necessary. There were only so many
images that could fit onto the disk. In order to make a
coherent world, some parts of his world were now
outsized, others rendered basically non-existent. And so
it was also with the four Ages they had chosen. Five
would have been more fitting, but since Myst island
itself was an Age, technically there were five still. It
was what they had time to do. The financial crunch was
upon them, they must ship it soon. As to the name itself,
Myst was better than the Rivenese original for marketing
purposes. It also summed up the whole experience in his
opinion. A mysterious island and a mysterious tale were
about to be loosed upon the world. One day he would like
Myst to be redone, completed. If only for their peace of
mind, it would be worthwhile.
Robyn had tried especially hard with Channelwood. His own
imagination had been captured by the Age. He could have
worked a year perfecting that place, making it like the
picture he now carried inside him. It was such beautiful
place in his minds eye. His imagination had stretched
out, filled in the arboreal-filled etchings they worked
from with heavy oils of inspiration. This one satisfied
him the most and the least. It was the most real looking
of the Ages, but there was so much missing still, so much
he wanted to do!
Rand, of course, would never agree to further delay. But
then, Rand had to see and work with the whole picture. He
weighted the needs of the project and their artistic
desires against the realities of utility bills and
employee salaries. It was a fine balance and,
unsurprisingly, not everyone agreed with every decision
he made. Someone had to make those decisions. Rand was
that someone. There were days when Rand hated the job,
and days when he loved it. Robyn wondered how his brother
felt about it today, with their friend about to call.
Robyn knew this was how it had to be, but still the
artist in him chafed at the restrictions that their needs
imposed. If all goes well, he promised himself, the rest
of this story will be told RIGHT. He looked up from the
desk where had he felt chained all day.
AAHHH they had returned! Robyn leaned back and exhaled
loudly. At last, he could leave this forgotten little
corner of the world. He found it hard to concentrate in
his new “office.” It was right next to the
furnace and bathroom! He wondered if could there be in
all creation, anything less prosaic than desk with a view
of the toilet? Even his basement had been better than
this! At last there he had been able to dim the lights!
He rose and stretched his long frame, feeling tension
flow through him. Soon, he reminded himself, this would
be over. He would escape his dungeon.....
Richard came down the stairs and paused, noticing
Miller’s eyes fixed on the road, “Can I help
you with anything, Robyn?”
Robyn looked out the garage door. “I think,
yes.” Then he noticed all the bags coming out of the
car. One satchel spilled out its precious cargo of
vellum, dust from the pages making fractal patterns in
the black pavement . Robyn looked amusedly at the scene.
The moment seemed to call for a comment, so he made one.
“RAWA, I hope you’re into books!”
As they walked out to assist, Richard responded in a
puzzled tone. “I like history..” The Mysterious
One beamed at RAWA. Yes! Better and better! He had found
his historian!
................................
The traveler settled in at the computer, bemused at the
technology under his hands. In some ways this machine was
more advanced than his, and in some ways it was far less
so. His imagers were far more efficient with memory, for
example, but the disks were a great improvement on the
storage methods he used.
Their explanations washed over him as he traveled through
the virtual world they had worked so hard to create. It
was good work. They had all done good work. Their
graphical writing was quite stable. He smiled, aware of
the held breath around him. There was a release not
unlike soft wind over salty seas. He enjoyed their
relief, then spoke, “As an introduction this Myst
game would do quite well. As you see, I have brought you
more of my works and that of my people...”
“We have almost a book’s worth
already....” Chris began.
“You have translated so much?” The traveler
grinned his approval. “Now you have more my young
friends...”
Rand and Robyn exchanged glances. Well the CD was nearly
out of beta anyway. It was good thing. It looked like
they had a book to write.
Rand brought out a pen and began asking the traveler
questions about his beginnings, realizing that perhaps,
ending of Myst would never be written.
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
The traveler is not named because the backstory as
released by CYAN gives me few good clues in knowing what
generation would be concurrent with our own. RAWA has
said the tale of Myst should be considered as having
happened about 200 years ago. There is no way to guess
reliably at how long Atrus would live. Anyway 1800+ full
D’ni could have alot of kids! If one of them married
Yeesha, we could be looking at a Dnian grandchild or even
great-grand child of “our” Atrus.
The linking debates sparked another possibility in the
electron branches of my thoughts. Suppose OUR universe,
OUR Age wasn’t the same as Atrus’? Suppose it
was simply close enough to be mostly the same story. Then
it could have been Atrus. As far as we know, the time
assigned to each link is formed at very basic level
uncontrolled by the writer.....
Some may also wonder whether in a preceding paragraph it
was the Dnian descendant or Rand I was speaking about.
This confusion is absolutely deliberate. :-)
Our world can be marvelous place to live, for within its
lands are many hidden heroes.
the starkness of a foreign Age makes clear, what is often
hidden from us here...
|
