Another abnormally windy day in Myst

The world has been trifiling lately, so I decided for a quick trip to the wild, windy land of the isle of Myst. I have taken a wonderful video for you so that you may hear the roaring winds!

My god. What a thing!

Last time I ended my journey next to a pond. Enough of that. I have my sights set on that rocket ship yonder and I will go to it.

Man formatting this blog is a pain in the balls. Everything is going horse to fuck. Anyway, I accidentally clicked on this chimney looking structure and ran right up to it. It seems to be connected to the power cable that goes down the side of the island and is connected to the under ground power station/torture bunker and all of those miserable telephone switch boxes covered in animal silhouettes.

I climbed to the top.

I tried gripping this thing a few times but I think the power is being stopped somewhere, WELL, probably at all those damn animal boxes I kept touching but couldn't work out. Ugh.

Enough of this crap. I'll just sink the rocket and ride it straight to Hell/the bottom of the sea.

   

Unfortunately the door is locked so I can't even get in to investigate. It has one of the ubiquitous brown curio  cabinets with a lever on top that seem to do jack shit. I went back up the path and decided to go into the Acropolis looking structure (here, fashioned as a cigar smoking lounge, hardwood floors, book shelves, maps and more).

I turned to the left which is where this odd purple/pink book lay, looking like some sort of Warhammer Slaanesh Necronomicon thing.

I guess TV has come to Myst above all other modern conveniences, as I have yet to see any toilets. If you open it up, a static video begins playing on one of the pages.

Using my superior intellect I managed to grab the page just lying next to the book. I couldn't take it to another screen or put it in my inventory, so I put it in the book.

The video played static for a bit and this man came on. He was rambling wildly about there not being enough time, he couldn't see me, get to the chopper, whatever. I have no idea what he was talking about. He's probably the huffer who wrote that letter I found lying lackadaisically on the path.

He's getting mad!

Myst has presented to me a videodrome man with questionable facial hair styling trapped in a garish book who deemed it fit to berate me on my vacation. Shame on you, Myst. I take my leave for another day.