I-... I don't know where I am or how I got here. I don't remember my name... I don't-... I don't remember anything. I suppose for now you can call me... Cavas...
All these memories we've collected... When I gaze upon them, I feel as though I'm close to remembering something important. Like there are memories trapped in my mind but I just can't quite reach them.
Oh. Oh dear. Oh DEAR! I've remembered something! Exile, it is time we go to the Nexus.
I... I think this was a memory of mine. It has been corrupted, but I indeed recall fragments... A sunny day at the beach when I was but a boy. I remember the warm sand between my toes. I chose a seashell to bring home... A happy day.
But... I do not remember taking the shell home. I do not remember home at all. So much is yet missing... Wait! I remember seeing another of these memories. Where was it? Oh dear. I don't remember...
I'll take this with me. I might remember if I take it with me. I hope we run into each other again soon.
Even shattered as I am, I know that memories floating around like this is not... normal. I believe something terrible has happened to me.
What if other men fall victim? What if mothers forget their children? What if... what if the children are left alone and scared to fend for themselves in a world of nightmare... Exile, can you fathom the horror?
I remember nothing at all, save the flash of the sun on my mortal skin in a dream. I was a living man. I know I was. Ask me again when we have retrieved further memories, and I shall hopefully have more to tell you.
I was... a good man! I fought for God. I remember saying so. That symbol... the Descry... it stirs my half-remembered blood to think of it. I wanted to do good things. Important things. Can you imagine finding the truth of oneself on the wrong side of morality? I have thought long on this fearful notion... but now I know, exile, and that relieves me. I am no longer afraid to recover more of my memories.
I'm certain now that I was a Templar. Yes, I remember watching their mighty parades through Oriath Square as a child, and I can still feel that sense of satisfaction the day I truly donned the mantle. All of the pain and sacrifice was worth it, to do good, to protect mankind... to protect the children...
I was a Templar, yes, but now I remember that I secretly despised them. I understood that they were a diseased organization prone to brutal oppression. Friend, was I exiled as well? I cannot imagine my resentment would have gone over well with my superiors. Maybe I kept my thoughts to myself and lived a life of quiet desperation, but I feel like I was the kind of man to act.
Exile, there is something about all this that I cannot fathom. The memories I somewhat understand. A man's thoughts, a woman's remembrance, a child's sorrow - these things come from the living, or the once-living. They are real. But the ancient bridges that you cross between memories? Those were already out there. They came from no man, woman, or child of our land.
I suspect those pathways are not made of the iron we think we see. To dwell on their origins or true nature could send one over the brink, I suspect!
These are memories, yes, but they are also real in a sense. We feel pain within them. We find real material objects within them. Yet some of these objects are not quite right. It is as though they are stuck, half-remembered.
There's a device in the Nexus that seems attuned to such objects. It seems to draw upon their properties to create something new. Its creator must have been seeking something very important in his or her past... I wonder if they ever found it.
Even shattered as I am, I know that memories floating around like this is not... normal. I believe something terrible has happened to me.
What if other men fall victim? What if mothers forget their children? What if... what if the children are left alone and scared to fend for themselves in a world of nightmare... Exile, can you fathom the horror?
I remember nothing at all, save the flash of the sun on my mortal skin in a dream. I was a living man. I know I was. Ask me again when we have retrieved further memories, and I shall hopefully have more to tell you.
I was... a good man! I fought for God. I remember saying so. That symbol... the Descry... it stirs my half-remembered blood to think of it. I wanted to do good things. Important things. Can you imagine finding the truth of oneself on the wrong side of morality? I have thought long on this fearful notion... but now I know, exile, and that relieves me. I am no longer afraid to recover more of my memories.
I'm certain now that I was a Templar. Yes, I remember watching their mighty parades through Oriath Square as a child, and I can still feel that sense of satisfaction the day I truly donned the mantle. All of the pain and sacrifice was worth it, to do good, to protect mankind... to protect the children...
I was a Templar, yes, but now I remember that I secretly despised them. I understood that they were a diseased organization prone to brutal oppression. Friend, was I exiled as well? I cannot imagine my resentment would have gone over well with my superiors. Maybe I kept my thoughts to myself and lived a life of quiet desperation, but I feel like I was the kind of man to act.
Exile, there is something about all this that I cannot fathom. The memories I somewhat understand. A man's thoughts, a woman's remembrance, a child's sorrow - these things come from the living, or the once-living. They are real. But the ancient bridges that you cross between memories? Those were already out there. They came from no man, woman, or child of our land.
I suspect those pathways are not made of the iron we think we see. To dwell on their origins or true nature could send one over the brink, I suspect!
These are memories, yes, but they are also real in a sense. We feel pain within them. We find real material objects within them. Yet some of these objects are not quite right. It is as though they are stuck, half-remembered.
There's a device in the Nexus that seems attuned to such objects. It seems to draw upon their properties to create something new. Its creator must have been seeking something very important in his or her past... I wonder if they ever found it.
I remember this! This place is the Nexus of... uh... something. The name doesn't matter. What matters is what it can do! A doorway! A doorway into these memories!
Here. Take them and lay them out in this machine. It will reinforce the stability of the memories. They won't last too long, mind you, but they'll remain long enough to be explored. Build a path to the memories that lay out of reach. I'm sure this will help us. Sure of it!
Yes, that was wonderful Exile. For a brief moment I felt whole again. Here, let me try something...
Hello Exile, my name is-...
Oh. Oh dear. I thought, maybe... But no.
Well perhaps we can try again. Though the machine seems to keep the memories more stable, they still degrade. Keep that in mind - because I'm not so sure I will be able to.
Even shattered as I am, I know that memories floating around like this is not... normal. I believe something terrible has happened to me.
What if other men fall victim? What if mothers forget their children? What if... what if the children are left alone and scared to fend for themselves in a world of nightmare... Exile, can you fathom the horror?
I remember nothing at all, save the flash of the sun on my mortal skin in a dream. I was a living man. I know I was. Ask me again when we have retrieved further memories, and I shall hopefully have more to tell you.
I was... a good man! I fought for God. I remember saying so. That symbol... the Descry... it stirs my half-remembered blood to think of it. I wanted to do good things. Important things. Can you imagine finding the truth of oneself on the wrong side of morality? I have thought long on this fearful notion... but now I know, exile, and that relieves me. I am no longer afraid to recover more of my memories.
I'm certain now that I was a Templar. Yes, I remember watching their mighty parades through Oriath Square as a child, and I can still feel that sense of satisfaction the day I truly donned the mantle. All of the pain and sacrifice was worth it, to do good, to protect mankind... to protect the children...
I was a Templar, yes, but now I remember that I secretly despised them. I understood that they were a diseased organization prone to brutal oppression. Friend, was I exiled as well? I cannot imagine my resentment would have gone over well with my superiors. Maybe I kept my thoughts to myself and lived a life of quiet desperation, but I feel like I was the kind of man to act.
Exile, there is something about all this that I cannot fathom. The memories I somewhat understand. A man's thoughts, a woman's remembrance, a child's sorrow - these things come from the living, or the once-living. They are real. But the ancient bridges that you cross between memories? Those were already out there. They came from no man, woman, or child of our land.
I suspect those pathways are not made of the iron we think we see. To dwell on their origins or true nature could send one over the brink, I suspect!
These are memories, yes, but they are also real in a sense. We feel pain within them. We find real material objects within them. Yet some of these objects are not quite right. It is as though they are stuck, half-remembered.
There's a device in the Nexus that seems attuned to such objects. It seems to draw upon their properties to create something new. Its creator must have been seeking something very important in his or her past... I wonder if they ever found it.
I-... I don't know where I am or how I got here. I don't remember my name... I don't-... I don't remember anything. I suppose for now you can call me... Cavas...
I... I think this was a memory of mine. It has been corrupted, but I indeed recall fragments... A sunny day at the beach when I was but a boy. I remember the warm sand between my toes. I chose a seashell to bring home... A happy day.
But... I do not remember taking the shell home. I do not remember home at all. So much is yet missing... Wait! I remember seeing another of these memories. Where was it? Oh dear. I don't remember...
I'll take this with me. I might remember if I take it with me. I hope we run into each other again soon.
I thought for a moment I knew that place... I cannot be sure, and now it is gone. Oh dear... Wait...! I think I remember seeing another one of these memories somewhere... Where was it? Oh dear. I don't remember.
I must have a look around. It was around here somewhere... Or was it back in that cave? Was I in a cave? Hmm.
It's alright, Exile. I'm sure that memory was nothing I truly needed... after all, how many memories does a man really need to be considered himself again? We'll keep looking.
All these memories we've collected... When I gaze upon them, I feel as though I'm close to remembering something important. Like there are memories trapped in my mind but I just can't quite reach them.
Oh. Oh dear. Oh DEAR! I've remembered something! Exile, it is time we go to the Nexus.
Oh dear. I don't know whose memory this was, but they were far too young for such cruelty. Sometimes, Exile, mankind makes me weep. Who could create such an inhuman system of exploitation, and for what purpose?
Oh, Exile, though I am a mere shade with only figments of memory, I can say with certainty that no man has ever felt the nuances of rage and love so strongly. His was the strongest memory I have ever felt, an imprint of his entire essence. His name... was Victario.
The last vestiges of human thought in a woman consumed by madness... she saw her beloved in every passing ship, and sang to them all, never realizing their true fates.
From what I've seen in my time with you, Exile, the owner of that memory must have been uncommonly lucky to avoid Wraeclast's dangers. Or, seemingly, unlucky.
I think this is one of mine, Exile. I feel it: at eight years old, I was almost exiled by mere happenstance. If my mother had not found me and gotten the Templars to release me, I would have been lost...
From what I've seen in my time with you, Exile, the owner of that memory must have been uncommonly lucky to avoid Wraeclast's dangers. Or, seemingly, unlucky.
Even shattered as I am, I know that memories floating around like this is not... normal. I believe something terrible has happened to me.
What if other men fall victim? What if mothers forget their children? What if... what if the children are left alone and scared to fend for themselves in a world of nightmare... Exile, can you fathom the horror?
I sense within myself a natural affinity for the curious. I am not overly curious myself, but rather, I appreciate the rare resource that is a scientific soul. The child's work is crucial to protect mankind from the nightmare that lurks... out there. Her work must continue no matter the cost.
The miner is the only one, other than you, who can hear me in my current form. We converse at length, and his conversations help me keep my wits about me in this time of loneliness, but at times he seems to speak to others that not even I can perceive. There is too much competition for his attention.
Lioneye's failure against Kaom comes as no surprise. He was always more arrogant than skilled. It is time a real man showed the Karui the might of the Eternal Empire.
Shavronne assures me the process will be relatively painless and that my duties as warden can continue unhindered, but as my flesh swells and ruptures I realise I am just another test subject. At least I can fulfill my duties to the Empire before my mind--