The following is the first entry of a journal by an unnamed author, which was discovered by an adventurist in a cavern at an unspecified location. The date and place of writing are currently unknown. The public has found it to be a remarkably fascinating read. See for yourself... we of Fever Fever will continue to post these findings in this blog, rightly titled "Lovequest Journal.
These are scanned versions of the document. If your eyes struggle too much to read, we have included a plain text version below.
It is very cold, the variety of cold that slowly dries and cracks your skin, ironically in the same manner a hot desert does. As I notice that I'm getting exceptionally better at ignoring these nerves, I can't stop staring at the shrinking vessel heading so diligently for the horizon opposite us. It is always as uplifting as it is rare to come across some fellow airmen, especially this high. But when the ship passed moments ago, it bared slightly more ominous overtones, being twice our size, covered in dark paints and its balloon being covered in something resembling ash or dust. Behind the deep humming and strange mechanical howl the ship let out, some muttering of a crew could be heard, and the few men visible on the deck stared intently at us, but without emotion. Just before their heads turned to their horizon and I denounced them grim and not human in my mind, the faces of two portside men caught me. In my hurried attempt to read them I saw an unhappiness with whatever mysterious conquest beset them, and a sorrowful longing for what I had- my "comfort", "contentment", and "care-free posture". With this they slowly turned away as if in submission to the hum of the gigantic ship beneath them, and I decided that at least two of them were human. In the time it has taken to write this the vessel has gone from a shape in the distance to a small blurred dot right at the line where the clouds and sea touch.
Sailing on the sea is exhilarating in its own right. But sailing in the sky- flying- this is something kings and grown men dream about. I no longer lay on the ground, stare up and imagine shapes and creatures of all assortments in the clouds. I am right there with them- flowing, rising, falling, shifting, soaring through an endless and shining sea of air. I must admit I've had the temptation of jumping over the side of my ship and flying with a hawk or something, but my bones aren't hollow and gravity holds a much greater deal of control over me than I give it credit. On one occasion not too many days ago, the idea seemed so enticing to me that I found myself breaking into a run along the length of the deck, picking up speed (as if it would increase my successes). And just as I got to the tip of the bow, and my rational mind took control, and I felt all my muscles in unison forcing an emergency stop, I was tackled by one of the men that joined me a week ago who, while trying to catch his breath, murmured something about how he'd rather have me "not dead" for the remainder of our quest.
I smiled slightly and recalled vaguely one of the benefits of the company of other people. But these days I struggle to find much benefit in anything; hence the great expedition I have taken on for the last six months. The mysterious faces on the ship that has now vanished- those curious grunts who longed for my happiness, my purpose- they saw only a mirage, a false reflection in me. I am not comfortable. I am not content. And my care-free posture is only mainly a result of my complacency and what little wisdom I have gained so far. The more I travel this world, the greater becomes my longing for meaning in anything. Often I marvel at sky and sea and mountain, and wonder who their captain is? Who rules them? And even if they are truly free from any form of rule, where did they originate? The more I seek educating in science and mathematics and astrology and the like, the more those things expound on how things work, but the less on how things are. But one thing I know for now; one thing I am reminded of every second I see and feel- flying is glorious and this world is stunningly beautiful in every color and shade and texture it transforms to, and it doesn't even have to try.
It is noticeably easier to manage a dirigible with four men than with only one, nor should I fail to mention that some more unfortunate will run into the occasional pirate siege in the skies, so my odds are significantly more optimistic after my recruitment from the last port I stayed in. It was mostly a seaport... a poor excuse for an airport , but it managed to accommodate and I did notice a few other balloon craft docked there. A hole in the wall tavern coughed up four men of varying ages, one with a criminal background and all with no aspirations or purposes other than to not be tied down. I told them that was quite literally what would not be happening if they came along with me, and all were much obliged and bought me a drink. On the ship these men spend most of their time to themselves, reading below deck from the library I have been building on my journey, as well as writing their own tales and philosophical discussions to take back to whatever it is that they are returning to. They also spend a lot of time climbing around, fixing and patching our balloon, for fear of falling to a very long demise.
With that in mind I am headed for a mysterious town deep in a vast desert, though all I've seen looking out from this ship is endless ocean, far below, for the last week. What unreasonable confidences we place in a map! I plan to meet with an old man in this desert town who is said to be very wise, and rumored to take an unhealthy interest in alchemy, along with some historical mysteries. I can only hope that this visit will possibly slightly answer my questions. But it is difficult to hope for something when hope is the something you are seeking.
This concludes the first entry of the Lovequest Journal. More are to come.
