Space realtor's journal

This **journal** was written by an interstellar space realtor, about his experiences travelling to the planet Cyclodorea to teach the citizens there how to make money from interstellar land-holdings. However, while on Cyclodorea readying a presentation for the Cyclodoreans the planet was consumed and mostly destroyed by the Ultravoid. The pages following this event deal with the realtor coming to terms with being stranded forever on the planet, with most of the citizens being dead. There hints of him possibly going mad and becoming schizophrenic near the end of the journaling.

The journal was left at the realtor's last known place of residence, a camp in the Mirrorsea region of the planet/Void, next to the plume island that holds the imperial Cyclodorean palace. Rei found it and read it during her mission within the Void. Said camp was subsequently briefly used by the Voidrunners' leader Ghozam.

## Contents

### Page 1

Ahh, nothing quite like filling in the first page of a brand new journal.

You shall keep all of my secrets on my trip to Cyclodorea. Those idiots have paid me an outrageous sum to teach them how to make money from interstellar land-holdings.

I detest hyperspace travel, but hopefully, they will have something good to watch on the holo screen.

### Page 7

One moment, I was safely nestled in my seat, readying my presentation on planet flipping for these crabs...the next, everything went black.

When I awoke, I found myself back on land...but Cyclodorea was unrecognizable. I should have never come to this backwater planet.

### Page 14

Day 5: My pilot is dead. My valet is dead. No one is responding to my distress signals. I have more money than the gods, and nowhere to spend it.

I must find my way back to the city, so I can buy a way off this rock.

### Page 11

Day 7: They're all dead. Every last one of them. What cruel fate left me in this cesspool. Am I the butt of some cosmic joke? It helps to laugh.

### Page 15

Day 13: I have found an industrial de-toxifier and it has proven to be my savior. Turns out there are plenty of lifeforms in these acidic waters...strange, mutated things, but edible and not unpleasant to taste.

There is no doubt in my mind - I am utterly alone here.

### Page 34

Day 34: I have found a book of meditations. They were written by Cyclodorean exiles who found salvation in the untrodden corners of the world.

They preach the wisdom of silence. The irony is not lost on me - I have no one to talk to in this dead place.

And yet - why do I feel thoughts arising that I am unfamiliar with? As if I am in conversation with a stranger, living in my own head.

### Page 105

Day 105: I have just completed my morning ritual - a lean breakfast of de-toxed pufferfin, an hour of renovation to my new home, and meditation until my appetite returns.

### Page 200

Day 207: My days in this place are tranquil. I want for nothing. But there is a time when a man must transcend his comfort, brace himself against the friction of the unknown.

I will pack my bag with dried fish and sea kelp, and go further than I've dared to go - out beyond the ruins of Cyclodorea.

I know there's more out there. I can see the glimmer of distant, strange lands, and I welcome them.

My heart is full with the knowledge that I am more resilient today than I was yesterday. I need little to eat, and I can sleep on a hard rock or in a damp cave.

All I need is that stranger in my head for company, keeping me on the path. I am ready.