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The Journal of Henry Dovern is one of the many books found in the University Court Library, in Tarant. The book weighs 30 stone. Accessing the library requires membership.

TranscriptEdit

The journal of Henry Dovern, Esq.

It occurs to me that there is something not quite right in the world these days. When I was a lad, we knew respect for our elders, and for authority, too. We knew wrong from right, and which monsters were causing it. An orc was an orc, an ogre an ogre, and better a sword in each than to worry about where their laggard ancestors came from! These days it seems such common concerns are too 'mystical' for the young rabble-rousers who go about calling themselves 'scientists' or 'free-thinkers.' Those blighters wouldn't know free thought if a mage zapped it into them!

Drat and bother, now I'm shouting at my journal. The events of today have left me quite put out, it seems. Why they should, when the circumstances were so minor, I do not know. Should I ever come back through these pages to reminisce of this day, I will no doubt be puzzled even as to what I was annoyed about. I must therefore order my thoughts at start at the start.

Boothby – my loyal retainer – had served me breakfast over the campfire. Looking back on it now, the tea was not as warm as it should have been, and the eggs too runny for my tastes. It was most unusual, considering Boothby's skilled, if somewhat simpleminded service. Sure signs, perhaps, of a bad day dawning. As the previous pages of this journal state, I was returning from a successful two-day manhunt for the blackguard Horatio Grimwell, a sorcerer, a cad and a cheat who, some gossips claimed, was known to practice the foulest of necromantic tricks. Needless to say, Boothby and I chased him down and gave him the right proper thrashing he deserved!

At around midday, we had returned to our town's outskirts. I don't know about my half-breed servant, but I for one was quite looking forward to a long and hot bath. It was as we approached the gates that Boothby pointed out what appeared to be a carnival in one of the nearby fields.

I was as curious as the common man, I must admit. So with my ogrish companion in tow, I went to see what all the fuss was about.

What I witnessed there was a shameless display of chicanery! A huckster mage claimed – I can scarcely write it down here from my own outraged disbelief – to be able to make a large wheel turn through neither magick nor muscle, but through something else called 'science.' Sheer nonsense! Granted, the man's wheel did move, thanks to some kind of hissing magickal apparatus that was attached to it by means of lengthy belts, but what wonder is there in that? How is this 'technology' any less magickal than a necromancer's nights work in a cemetery? What makes a whistling whoozit any more special than a good old-fashioned wand?

As if such shenanigans were not insult enough, I then overheard some of the youths present engaged in a debate over whether orcs were related to humans! And what next, I ask, theories that dragons evolved from parakeets? Or that elves come from the same stock as humans? what a grand joke this 'science' thing is!

Really, it's quite ridiculous. Why the city guard chose not to run blighters like that in I'll never know!

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