The general seemed quite surprised when I requested to be stationed in Tessentia. Old, rundown Tessentia, with its crumbling brick roads, quite a ways away from the plains that the majority of the ground forces are currently setting up shop on. Had it been anyone else, he would have chewed them out for either being a coward or an idiot. However, I had managed to escape only with a "Why in the hell would you want to go there?", to which I promptly recited a just reasonable enough plan, droning on about how it would prove to be a "strategic flanking maneuver" and how I would "assist encircling the enemy if his forces faltered". Eventually, he let me go, though potentially slightly annoyed, finally beaten at his own game in banal monotony.
In truth, I do not intend to enact any sort of strategic flanking maneuver. It wouldn't be particularly applicable here anyway, since the Archivist literally has eyes on the back of its head. No matter how I opted to approach, it would see the advance coming from a mile away.
To be frank, I am bewildered the general did not see the glaring flaw in my proposed plan. Perhaps he did, and saw a way to get rid of me and company with ease at last. After all, I've never got the impression he likes me very much, especially not after what happened in the Glistening Plains.
Notwithstanding personal relations, here I sit in Tessentia. Waiting for my squadron who believe their fate is sealed to assemble a makeshift military encampment in ancient, almost ruinous Tessentia.
The boys have managed to put together what might, from a distance, resemble something akin to an encampment. It is horribly asymmetrical, held together by a mess of variously colored fabrics and a discordant agglomeration of poles. Altogether, I consider it a monstrosity. Luckily, however, I don't have to step foot anywhere near it.
Upon seeing the beginning of the end of any sort of order in regard to the encampments structure, I elected to set my tent up on my own. The strategists' tent the kingdom has afforded me is rather minuscule, and proved to take very little time to stand it up. However, unlike my compatriots, I aim to do a little more than simply "stand it up".
Having nothing else better to do, I have spent the majority of today attempting to properly calibrate this tent, and I believe I have succeeded. Perfectly centered on the desk I am currently writing on, the tent is precisely in order. Each pole is equidistant from one another, forming five identical arcs. Every angle formed between these arcs and the center is of equivalent value as well, checked through initially blunt, then meticulously careful application of my mathematical instruments.
I feel I can finally sleep easy in this forsaken town, even knowing what is to come in the ensuing days.
Things are proceeding according to plan with the fall (and eminent 'resurrection') of Kette. As I theorized, the Archivist seems to be attracted more to unique structures, rather than necessarily the strategically important choke points or populous thriving cities. In a way, the creature is not too dissimilar from myself. It is fascinated by patterns, and appears to be doing its best to recreate and study them more. However, it is admittedly.. much less moral in its methodology.
The whole kingdom has been counting their days ever since Gierine fell, and for good reason. I doubt Latisc will be Archivist's next stop, at least for the foreseeable future. It pains me to not be able to tell my fellow citizens otherwise, but for the greater good, it must be kept under wraps.
Gierine's massive pillars and antiquated ancient architecture seem to have amused the beast, in whatever way a creature such as it could possibly be 'amused'. It was similarly transfixed by Tieus' titanic stone carvings, Banei's winding burial tombs, and now Kette's shining golden pyramids. The only other civilization within a hundred [[kilometers]] radius of Kette with anything I imagine will spark its interest is the fallen cathedral of Tessentia. It is not exactly the sight it once was, but the sheer scale of it as well as its curious construction lead me to believe it is the best candidate. I just have to hope the damn shoddy thing doesn't collapse in on itself before The Archivist gets here.
I was unceremoniously awoken today by one of my subordinates five hours earlier than I tend to wake. Given any other circumstance, I would have been furious with her, but she was here to inform me that the Archivist has been spotted nearing Tessentia. Within just a few hours, I will be fighting alongside my men in what seems like a futile attempt to slay the creature.
However, "seems like" is the key phrase. External forces, whether they be of Latisc of otherwise, see a lost cause. A hundred men, if even, stationed around a largely undefended insignificant town. They think that even if they do intervene, they will simply be delaying the inevitable, feeding the horrible thing more men for no gain. The Archivist, to whatever capacity it may think, is of the same opinion. It sees an easy target, and potentially even a opportunity to resupply.
I have to hope that my work hasn't been for nothing. Even if the creature, whether by following my pattern or by happenstance, comes to Tessentia, it isn't over. If the creature isn't in the state I hope it is in, defeat is certain. If this item in particular happens to be spared, I would like to tell my family, despite our many differences, that I loved them, and to my few friends, that I appreciated them. In such a circumstance, I also wish to congratulate the good general for his very first correct decision.
To be quite honest, it's likely this date is wrong.
I do not know what I expected from the slaying of The Archivist. But nothing could have prepared me for this sensation. I feel as if, for the very first time, I am viewing the world as it is meant to be. Normally, writing provides me a refuge, but simply taking in the world this way is.. euphoric. Later, I hope to document my findings, but for now, I simply wish to experience. To move. To feel.
I have begun to consider the logistics of my situation, and I am both terrified and amazed. I have been up for 5 days, by my internal clocks counting, but I have not slept, ate, or performed any other typical worldly functions. At the same time, I feel I have observed the sun and moon, if that is what they are, to have risen hundreds of times. Once, I swear I saw the sun rise, fall, and return twice within a minute, and then the better part of 2 days for the sun to set again.
I feel like this writing is the only thing that even grounds me to the real world. If I could not feel these papers between my hands, I feel I surely would have lost my mind entirely. Wherever I am, I feel fully disconnected. It is if I am entirely invisible to everyone and everything around me, a piece of the puzzle that cannot be made to fit. Everything I spent years studying, even perfecting, feels fundamentally wrong. Yet I am happier than I have ever been.
This date, I am sure, is perfectly accurate. I have obtained the means to verify it.
This long of a break would normally be agonizing for me, but it almost feels like I wrote the last entry yesterday. I no longer feel much of a need for this journal, since it was only ever intended to record my experiences. I feel that if I wish, I could relive any of those moments in perfect recall. With an exception of a seldom few, though, I don't think I'd want to.
I have found that there are others. I am not alone in this existence. It is a comforting thought. I feel it would be a shame if no one else got to experience this. I did not speak to my peer, as was often the case in my first world. I only saw them for a split second. In fact, I'm not even sure they saw me.
What I am certain of, however, is that it was another living being. Someone living a life not unlike mine. I suppose I shall seek them out, and any others I might encounter.
As I write this, I feel like I am simply wasting time. There is so much to study, so much to experience, so much to see. I think I will outright discard this journal altogether once this entry comes to a close, as I simply have no need for it. Perhaps it will find itself within the physical world at some point, and be promptly discredited as the ravings of a lunatic. If that ever comes to be case, I hope I can return if only to defend it from such brash accusations.
These are not ravings. They are writings.