I've seen many an exile come and go, into the forest or into the ground. You seem different somehow. Different good, different bad, it's hard to tell at this stage.
The name is Eramir, and for now you have the benefit of my doubt.
The Azmeri. The culture that descended from the Azmerian Mountains and founded the Eternal Empire, so long ago. Not that these people have any understanding of their lineage. Their history, identity... all but destroyed in the cataclysm.
These Azmeri took in a disowned son of Oriath, fed me, healed me. To repay my debt, I've taken in the orphans of a dead empire.
A large heart yet so little sense to go with it. Yeena dabbles in things she should not. This 'Spirit' she obsesses over. If she is not careful, she will find herself joining it.
Tales and songs are Silk's meat and drink. Would have made a fine bard in the old Empire. Were a fraction of what he says true, we'd have nothing to fear from bandit nor beast with Silk among us.
I have spoken with Helena, of Dominus and his expedition. It all sounds horribly plausible. Whether we can fully trust what she tells us... time will tell if her torn loyalties are to mend in our favour.
The High Templar's Blackguards? They're here, rubbing shoulders with us mere exiles? A mystery indeed, and so near the Chamber of Sins. Whatever they want with that foul place, it won't be for the betterment of humanity.
Those bandits you've encountered out there... they're the dregs of Oriath. And with any foul broth, the nastiest chunks bubble to the surface.
The Lords of Larceny... Oak, Kraityn and Alira... the self-appointed monarchs of the forest. Kraityn in the East. Alira in the West. Oak in the North. And this village, this tribe... we pay their taxes.
I would never venture to say that life in Wraeclast is easy, but with those three gone... well, living here might just become possible.
Those bandits you've encountered out there... they're the dregs of Oriath. And with any foul broth, the nastiest chunks bubble to the surface.
The Lords of Larceny... Oak, Kraityn and Alira... the self-appointed monarchs of the forest. Thanks to you, Alira and her thralls are nourishing the trees as we speak. Giving rather than taking for once in their misguided lives. Yet Kraityn remains in the East. Oak in the North. And this village, this tribe... we continue to pay their taxes.
I would never venture to say that life in Wraeclast is easy, but with Kraityn and Oak gone... well, living here might just become possible.
Those bandits you've encountered out there... they're the dregs of Oriath. And with any foul broth, the nastiest chunks bubble to the surface.
The Lords of Larceny... Oak, Kraityn and Alira... the self-appointed monarchs of the forest. Thanks to you, Kraityn and his river rats are food for gulls and eels. Giving rather than taking for once in their misguided lives. Yet Alira remains in the West. Oak in the North. And this village, this tribe... we continue to pay their taxes.
I would never venture to say that life in Wraeclast is easy, but with Alira and Oak gone... well, living here might just become possible.
Those bandits you've encountered out there... they're the dregs of Oriath. And with any foul broth, the nastiest chunks bubble to the surface.
The Lords of Larceny... Oak, Kraityn and Alira... the self-appointed monarchs of the forest. Thanks to you, Alira and Kraityn are no more, their brigand clans dead or scattered. Yet Oak remains in the North. And this village, this tribe... we continue to pay his taxes.
I would never venture to say that life in Wraeclast is easy, but with Oak gone... well, living here might just become possible.
Those bandits you've encountered out there... they're the dregs of Oriath. And with any foul broth, the nastiest chunks bubble to the surface.
The Lords of Larceny... Oak, Kraityn and Alira... the self-appointed monarchs of the forest. Thanks to you, Oak and his minions are feeding the worms as we speak. Giving rather than taking for once in their misguided lives. Yet Kraityn remains in the East. Alira in the West. And this village, this tribe... we continue to pay their taxes.
I would never venture to say that life in Wraeclast is easy, but with Kraityn and Alira gone... well, living here might just become possible.
Those bandits you've encountered out there... they're the dregs of Oriath. And with any foul broth, the nastiest chunks bubble to the surface.
The Lords of Larceny... Oak, Kraityn and Alira... the self-appointed monarchs of the forest. Thanks to you, Oak and Kraityn are no more, their brigand clans dead or scattered. Yet Alira remains in the West. And this village, this tribe... we continue to pay her taxes.
I would never venture to say that life in Wraeclast is easy, but with Alira gone... well, living here might just become possible.
Those bandits you've encountered out there... they're the dregs of Oriath. And with any foul broth, the nastiest chunks bubble to the surface.
The Lords of Larceny... Oak, Kraityn and Alira... the self-appointed monarchs of the forest. Thanks to you, Alira and Oak are no more, their brigand clans dead or scattered. Yet Kraityn remains in the East. And this village, this tribe... we continue to pay his taxes.
I would never venture to say that life in Wraeclast is easy, but with Kraityn gone... well, living here might just become possible.
There's greatness in you. You've proved that without a doubt. And whether you've destroyed the bandits for us, or for your own ends, it matters not at all. You've given us back our home, and our future.
You say the Lords of Larceny wore these around their necks? These artefacts, and that ancient gateway to the northwest... crafted by the same hands, I'd venture. Vaal hands.
And it appears the brigands' trinkets could form a single whole. Give me a moment with them. I used to be good at this sort of thing. Now, this one seems to fit neatly against here, and this third one, well it looks like it...
I'm so sorry, my friend. Are you well? Yes, you are apparently intact. Remarkable considering... for the barest moment there you were something altogether different. I'm not afraid to admit it... a rather unnerving version of yourself.
If I were you I'd dispense with that artefact down the deepest, darkest hole that I could find.
You disappear into that Vaal ruin and now the sky, the light, the very land limps as a leper. Somehow, whether through deliberate act or accident, you've caused this. Now we all suffer your consequences.
Different good, different bad... we now know upon which side the coin has fallen.
Humanity has one redeeming trait. We learn from our mistakes. You certainly gave us a scare for a bit there, but the damage doesn't seem to have been lasting.
Show me this gem from the Chamber of Sins. It has the aspect of a Virtue Gem, like those you carry already... yet it's clearly not made to slot into any of your standard equipment.
Look at the colour. Feel the energy coming off it. Maligaro had little virtue in mind when he made this thing.
That ancient gateway to the northwest, it's a peculiar thing. Not of the Eternal Empire. It could be Vaal in origin... a culture I've seen mentioned here and there in some of the most antique of texts.
It is the Vaal who began the use of Virtue Gems, well before our imperial ancestors. Little else is known about them. If only I had my old museum archives, I could have given you a more tempered theory.
You've put an end to old Lorrata? Twisted of heart and mind were the men who made that gem and that implement of black surgery. And what of the one who chooses to wield their creations?
Of course I wished to know the secrets locked in that tomb. But not at the cost of such a grand, old life.
The Fellshrine is a shadow of what was once good in Wraeclast.
That sigil etched into its stones? It's a Descry, from when the Templar truly stood for something. To the ancestors of Oriath, the Descry was a flickering torch in the night. A source of inspiration and comfort.
So this altar you've found... it's a small pyramid, missing its apex? Must be Vaal in origin. And there's only one artefact that I've ever laid eyes on that could be the missing apex.
Alira, Kraityn and Oak... they stayed with us for a short time, while recovering from the ordeals of the Siren Coast. Thick as thieves they were, until they discovered something: a small pyramid crafted in a Vaalish style. It had the power to enhance one's innate strengths. They fought over it, sundered the apex in trine... took a piece each, and fled.
If you're determined to unlock that altar, then I think your key lies with the Lords of Larceny.
For all of her strange ways, I've learned not to discount Yeena's more vivid dreams. She's in tune with this land in ways I find difficult to comprehend.
As to this 'man-crafted' mountain she describes, I have seen only one structure of its like. Stumbled across sketches in the Theopolis archives, a piece of Vaal engineering, pyramidal in architecture. According to those documents the pyramid lies north of the Phrecian Forest, buried beneath the mantle upon which Sarn rests.
I have no idea whether it still exists, or ever existed for that matter. Still, considering the current circumstances, there isn't much to lose in the search, is there?
I've read about Shavronne of Umbra, and what she did to the Warden at Axiom. You did well to end Brutus' sorry existence.
But Shavronne's barricade, that's sad news indeed. There is little enough freedom in Wraeclast as it is, but to be stranded on that dismal coast... I pity the exiles to come.
Would I know how to lower the barricade? Afraid not. I was a bit distracted the last time I took the pass. Hungry goatmen to avoid on that side, Alira's thralls on this side.
The Chamber of Sins? Apparently the late Archbishop Geofri of Phrecia gave it that title. It was built by Emperor Chitus for one Inquisitor Maligaro.
How do I know this? To my shame, I did Dominus' dirty work in the selfish hopes of scholarly advancement. I scoured fragments of documents brought back by Fairgraves - and Daresso, before his disgrace. I unearthed all I could on the Eternal Empire's masters and mistresses of thaumaturgy, a subject of keen interest to our supposedly devout High Templar.
If I were you, I'd avoid Maligaro's old laboratory. A place of illness infected by a diseased mind.
I embraced the patronage that High Templar Dominus offered my struggling museum. I took his favour and conducted his research into the thaumaturgical arts practiced within the Eternal Empire.
I wish I'd known then what I know now. That I was pandering to the warped dreams of a madman.