You are not a cockroach. Strange... inundated with cockroaches, I am. Black ones, four limbs, nasty, spiky things. Are you spiky? If so, my Ribbons will pluck your spines.
Malachai liked spines. Liked my spine. Pretty spine, bejeweled and bountiful. Enough to make an empire weep.
Do you weep, Not-a-Cockroach? I do. Tears are infinite. Why, on this very day, I have found a new reason to cry.
The Ribbons are order. Clean and polish. Serve and protect.
Then those cockroaches crawled in, swarmed through the cracks. The Ribbons' Spool is taken. Stolen. The black ones want them, my Ribbons. Want to wrap the city in black Ribbons.
Find the Spool, Not-a-Cockroach. Look to my doorstep, where the Ribbons crush cockroaches yet. Bring the Spool, and I will find gratitude for you.
The cockroaches will come again. They want the Twist. That cockroach emperor... the other bugs shout his name. Gravicius. Cross the river, squash the emperor cockroach in his nest.
The bridge? It is barricaded? That spawns a tricky question. Questions, questions... I asked too many questions. Chitus told me so. I asked where it all went. Our... feculence. He made them show me. Under the river, the sewers from this side to that. Filthy, fetid tunnels, like a rhoa's cloaca.
A black place, crawling with the Undying. Once beautiful and arrogant Gemlings, now the foul waste of the Empire. Fitting, isn't it? Apt, apt, apt.
I like you, Not-a-Cockroach. I like that you listen. It would annoy me, if the Undying murdered you.
Thaumetic Sulphite. That's what you need. A nasty, nasty substance, it is. Malachai had his slaves mine it, carry it from northern mountains to the refinery by the docks. Ezomytes, Maraketh, Karui... it killed them all. Fevered the blood and scorched the mind.
But you are clever, Not-a-Cockroach. You will keep it at arm's length. You will bring it to me, so that I may make you something, an Infernal Talc that will bring furious light to Undying darkness.
You have Thaumetic Sulphite? You are a resourceful Unbug, now aren't you? Give it to me. I was all eyes and ears when Malachai worked. I know exactly what to do.
I like you, Not-a-Cockroach. I like that you listen. It would annoy me if the Undying murdered you.
Thaumetic Sulphite. That's what you need.
You have some already? You are a resourceful Unbug, now aren't you? Give it to me. I was all eyes and ears when Malachai worked. I will make something of your Thaumetic Sulphite. I will forge an Infernal Talc that will bring the most furious of light to the Undying darkness.
Is that Thaumetic Sulphite you carry, Not-a-Cockroach? Be careful with that. It is a most caustic substance. I don't care to see your face melt from your skull.
It's the most explosive of powders. A sprinkle, the gentlest of dustings of Infernal Talc will provoke gems to a molten rage. For the Undying, the very sun will rise within their flesh.
They will burn for their sins, Not-a-Cockroach. They will burn!
I loved Malachai. He gave me gems, divine jewels for his Gemling Queen. For his dead Queen. But I didn't want me dead! Malachai begged: for him, for the Empire. I chose me... selfish me. The Empire died, and I live. I live, and live, and live, and live.
I was the emperor's favourite, for a time. But Chitus had many favourites. He filled the Sceptre of God with favourites. Every now and then, he cleared away the clutter. Those who pleased him, they were given to his lords and generals. Those who did not... were given to his thaumaturgists.
I talked too much, asked too many difficult questions. I was gifted to Malachai. My dear, troubled Malachai.
You have mounted the summit of the Empire, Not-a-Cockroach. You have crushed the bug emperor and wiped his maggot dreams from the skin of Wraeclast.
Dominus exiled you, naked and alone, unto the palm of Death. But you would not die, would you?
No, no... you cuddled Death, promised it the world, made it your courtesan and so generously shared it with all your fleeting friends here in Wraeclast.
Not once did you forget what you were. Not a cockroach feeding on the corpse of a dead empire, like the pests you crushed as you walked.
A man. The sort of man that planted the seed of this Empire right here in Sarn, so long ago.
What teetering and twisted life it still holds dear, this land owes to you, Shadow.
You have mounted the summit of the Empire, Not-a-Cockroach. You have crushed the bug emperor and wiped his maggot dreams from the skin of Wraeclast.
Dominus exiled you, naked and alone, unto the palm of Death. But you would not die, would you?
No, no... you cuddled Death, promised it the world, made it your disciple and so generously shared it with all your fleeting friends here in Wraeclast.
Not once did you forget what you were. Not a cockroach feeding on the corpse of a dead empire, like the pests you crushed as you walked.
A man. The sort of man that planted the seed of this Empire right here in Sarn, so long ago.
What teetering and twisted life it still holds dear, this land owes to you, Templar.
You have mounted the summit of the Empire, Not-a-Cockroach. You have crushed the bug emperor and wiped his maggot dreams from the skin of Wraeclast.
Dominus exiled you, naked and alone, unto the palm of Death. But you would not die, would you?
No, no... you cuddled Death, promised it the world, made it your conquest and so generously shared it with all your fleeting friends here in Wraeclast.
Not once did you forget what you were. Not a cockroach feeding on the corpse of a dead empire, like the pests you crushed as you walked.
A man. The sort of man that planted the seed of this Empire right here in Sarn, so long ago.
What teetering and twisted life it still holds dear, this land owes to you, Duelist.
You have mounted the summit of the Empire, Not-a-Cockroach. You have crushed the bug emperor and wiped his maggot dreams from the skin of Wraeclast.
Dominus exiled you, naked and alone, unto the palm of Death. But you would not die, would you?
No, no... you cuddled Death, promised it the world, made it your loving pet and so generously shared it with all your fleeting friends here in Wraeclast.
Not once did you forget what you were. Not a cockroach feeding on the corpse of a dead empire, like the pests you crushed as you walked.
A woman. The sort of woman that planted the seed of this Empire right here in Sarn, so long ago.
What teetering and twisted life it still holds dear, this land owes to you, Ranger.
You have mounted the summit of the Empire, Not-a-Cockroach. You have crushed the bug emperor and wiped his maggot dreams from the skin of Wraeclast.
Dominus exiled you, naked and alone, unto the palm of Death. But you would not die, would you?
No, no... you cuddled Death, promised it the world, made it your conquest and so generously shared it with all your fleeting friends here in Wraeclast.
Not once did you forget what you were. Not a cockroach feeding on the corpse of a dead empire, like the pests you crushed as you walked.
A man. The sort of man that planted the seed of this Empire right here in Sarn, so long ago.
What teetering and twisted life it still holds dear, this land owes to you, Marauder.
Of course, there will be more. You know that, don't you? Emperors. Avaricious little pests scrabbling to steal the legacy of their betters. Unless we burn that legacy, sear its infection from the flesh of existence.
Go north, my lovely Unbug. Go to Highgate, to the beginning of the end.
Dive headlong into the nightmare sea. Catch and roast yourself a nice, big fishy.
How singularly remarkable you are, Not-a-Cockroach! Look at you, practically exuding a legendary nature. Easily the most wondrous thing I've seen in a long, long time. Not that I've seen a great deal, apart from the innards of this temple, this comfortable tomb... but I think you have proven yourself worthy, worthy of Malachai's crowning achievement: the Eternal Laboratory.
You are wise and fearless in this world, Not-a-Cockroach. Allow the Eternal Laboratory to return to you the gift of terrifying innocence.