You arrive! The great Spirit spoke in my dreams, told me that darkness would again drown our lands. And you, exile, would walk before the flood.
But what is this? You are not alone. A shade, a memory, older even than... no... older than Spirit? Fear grips my throat, I shake, but the Spirit drapes a warming cloak upon my shoulders.
This ancient ghost that follows you, it has the trust of the Spirit, and if the Spirit trusts then I trust.
My heart weeps for our old home, but what the Spirit gives, we must embrace. The Spirit, it claims who it needs to, when it needs to. There is no sense in sadness.
I watch Silk for many days, scurrying to this old Vaal stone, scurrying to that old Vaal ruin, always muttering. He talked and talked and talked yet I heard no one answer. The Spirit warned that I should stay away from him. It pained me. Silk is my friend, yet I must listen to Spirit. I go from Silk's side and now he is gone from mine.
I do not know where Silk go, but I see him in dreams. He is caught in great spider web that stretch into darkness. And that spider web, it is full of bones, more bones from more people than I ever see in my life.
If you find Silk, please, free him from the web. Don't let him become bones like the rest.
What you tell me of Silk, this I understand, though I do not want to. I have spent many nights pondering Silk's journey, why he has stepped from the Spirit path. Now I know. He has walked into the eight arms of blind lust. Arakaali.
Silk is a warning to us all. He is trying to take the short trail to greatness, to the story Spirit has made for him. Silk tries to steal his story but now he holds only a lie.
Please, you must find the place where this Arakaali sleeps in her web of shadow. You must stop Silk before he wakes her, a mistake that we all will come to regret. The Spirit tells me this is so.
Wraeclast has changed. Once, I knew my place in this world. I knew my place within the Spirit. Now, doorways have opened. Doorways I can neither see, nor touch, but through which the spiritless ones pass all the same. The spiritless ones must be driven back, their doors must be closed. May the Great Spirit guide you in your battles against these ancients that mean us nothing but ill.
I have asked questions of Spirit and it has answered in dreams that wake me with screaming. Arakaali will suck all life from this land, leave only empty husks and dusty bones. There will be no Spirit, no us, no thing left to love and laugh.
Greust hunted too far from the lands of Spirit and fell prey to a spiritless one. I am sad at how he passed. An ugly death. Yet I am thankful that he suffers no more, that he has now found his way back to the Spirit. That he can rest now.
I belong to no one but the Spirit, I have no need for the sweet words and caresses of a ghost. Weylam, he makes me laugh, and he hears the voice of the Spirit. Not in the same way I do. His Spirit speaks of the great waters beyond this land. He pays heed to the Spirit and the Spirit loves him for it. I do not.
It is better to speak to the dead than no one at all. Weylam knows the Spirit but he will not know me.
You have found the resting place of this Arakaali? Good, though Spirit tells me that we will not reach her, not without help. Webs she weaves with fibres of faith and fear. Too strong to break. Too strong to cut.
Yet there is an Azmeri potion, most ancient. 'Fire Dew'. It might be enough to burn a path, make way for us to pass into heart of spider web. I could brew it for you, but there is one ingredient I do not possess. The blazing blood of the firefly that lives in the most dreaded of thickets.
Travel I shall to Arakaali, to sit on her doorstep until you bring me seven flames that flit and fly. Then I make you a Fire Dew and together we go talk to this bride of foolish Silk.
You are like the frog that strikes the fly faster than eye can see! No, carry your bright bugs to Arakaali's gate. We will meet there and brew our Fire Dew. Not here. Too much to burn. Too many to make blind!
Fireflies! So bright and juicy with flame. Now for the rite. I warn you, stand back and be not afraid of what you see. And be not afraid for me. The Spirit guides and protects. Though I may change, I shall still be, will always be, Yeena.
Webs she weaves with fibres of faith and fear. Too strong to break. Too strong to cut.
Yet there is an Azmeri potion, most ancient. 'Fire Dew'. It might be enough to burn a path, make way for us to pass into heart of spider web. I could brew it for you, but there is one ingredient I do not possess. The blazing blood of the firefly that lives in the most dreaded of thickets.
Bring me seven flames that flit and fly. Then I make you a Fire Dew and together we go talk to this bride of foolish Silk.