You're naught but skin and bones, Exile, but you've made it this far. Clearly, you must have some talent. Care to lend your skills to a matter of honour?
You're naught but skin and bones, Exile, but you've made it this far. Clearly, you must have some talent. Care to lend your skills to a matter of honour?
You're naught but skin and bones, Exile, but you've made it this far. Clearly, you must have some talent. Care to lend your skills to a matter of honour?
You're naught but skin and bones, Exile, but you've made it this far. Clearly, you must have some talent. Care to lend your skills to a matter of honour?
You're naught but skin and bones, Exile, but you've made it this far. Clearly, you must have some talent. Care to lend your skills to a matter of honour?
You're naught but skin and bones, Exile, but you've made it this far. Clearly, you must have some talent. Care to lend your skills to a matter of honour?
Ah, a fellow warrior! You and I must share tales of ancestral bravery around a campfire! But first, I have a request. A matter of honour. I believe it is something you are well-suited for.
We are of the Kalguur. Ours is an existence spent scrabbling in the muck and mire of mortal life in search of scraps of renown. Some find it on the battlefield. Some find it in service. Others volunteer to sail to the edge of the known world on an impossible quest. The choices we make determine what we are, and what we become echoes into legend.
The runes on our armour essentially capture and shape starlight. Sounds poetic, but don't be fooled. The smiths of the Kalguur turned these runes towards killing work long ago, as soon as they discovered that they could compel arrows to find their mark and blades to bite deeper. The greatest smiths became known as artificers, and produced work of singular genius. There weren't many such relics, but there didn't need to be.
The most powerful artifact in our known tales was brought to this continent by the first expedition thousands of years ago. The songs tell of it incinerating evil, purifying tainted fields, and warding off those of ill intent. We could certainly use a relic like that now, in these troubled times... but to find it, we'll have to retrace the steps of those long ago souls. Only they can tell us the Triskelion Flame's unknown fate.
I believe that you believe that these coloured gems give you power, Exile. I've handled one of them, even tried to 'activate it' the way that local Tarkleigh described, but it didn't do a damn thing. Call me a skeptic, but to me, it seems like the power was inside you all along.
I've never heard of this 'gods' thing before setting foot here, but I know of at least one... man... who would fancy himself a god. Best we not mention Divinity to those back home.
It was impossible to decipher the true meaning of the omen, but none could deny that it had happened. The land shook, the night-clouds fled, the people quavered and hid, startrails arced across the sky to set fire to our forests where they fell, and a crimson sun rose on the horizon. Such was the power of the glow, the half moon became full and ruddy.
Something wondrous and terrible had happened, so King Cadigan the Third commissioned an expedition toward that horizon, led by our greatest warriors and carrying the Triskelion Flame for protection. Bound to the Flame by duty, I signed on as Prime Remembrancer. We departed within the month.
The lost journey across unruly and angry seas took nearly two seasons, during which we rarely saw the sky through the clouds of black beset by crimson lightning. We could not drink the rain, nor eat the fish, until the Flame cleansed the water and purified the meat. Even then, the sustenance was hollow. Our supplies were depleted and our men hungry by the time land emerged in the distance.
The first foot set upon this land was crushed by unseen jaws beneath the sand. Omens are rarely so clear. We carved a grisly path across the dunes, driving back creatures of the water, only to find ghastly horrors shambling between the trees. Every step came with a cost in blood.
On the seventh night, the grim clouds finally parted for a time, and our blessed stars emerged. Olroth staked the Triskelion Flame in the center of our fortifications. The barrier rites complete, we gained some small measure of safety. From there, everything stemmed, like a bloom under the embrace of a tree.
As the Knights of the Sun moved further inland, we found the remnants of a tremendous empire to rival that of our homeland. Countless bodies lay charred, but countless others refused to rest. Many were adorned in glittering gems that drew the eye and called to us. Those abominations that still walked often bore the gems within their very limbs. Seeing this, Uhtred declared such crystals unclean. None among us wished to argue.
Vast mountains of gold lay throughout the dead empire, often guarded by the most dangerous and most opulently dressed of the undying. Even in their monstrous state, these nobles and priests lurked near the treasures, unwilling to give up that which had meant more to them than their own lives. They had not died in the streets like those attempting to flee. They had locked and barricaded their temples, sealing themselves in their own tombs.
The nobles of Utzaal had opened their own waterways and purposely drowned themselves, not as a mercy, but to spite would-be looters. This had been an empire ruled by madmen. They were successful in their spite, for we could not drain the deadly waters. Their treasures would remain lost for all time. The other cities, however, proved a slow and steady source of wealth beyond imagination.
King Cadigan the Third considered this new land and its treasures an open bounty. The craftsmen arrived first, soon followed by ships brimming with merchants and freemen. The women and children naturally followed, and, by the third year, the first village charter was established. All was prosperous so long as the Triskelion Flame burned bright, but there were soon too many of us to remain fully within the grace of its protection.
The mercenaries of the Black Scythe, under Vorana, developed strategies for defense and culling that expanded what territory we could protect. Distance was key. Wielding crossbows and remaining behind sturdy walls, her men could savage horrors one at a time, ripping them to shreds until they no longer moved. We had the audacity to believe we could master this forsaken continent through such simple and mundane means. Ten more villages were established that year.
Trade began with island-men and mountain-men along distant routes, although we shared no language and could not understand one another. I recorded some of the island-men's songs for future deciphering, and I met survivors of the fallen empire among the mountain-men.
To the last, the scant survivors of the fallen empire bore none of the gems we had seen on the shambling dead. When I drew the shape of a gem in the dirt, a great panic arose, and we were banished from the mountains. Upon hearing of this, King Cadigan the Third officially banned the crystals, and none were procured nor shipped to the homeland.
By the time King Cadigan the Fourth came to power in the homeland, we numbered too many villages to fully count. Dissidents, pariahs, religious factions, and lost-men had all come to build new lives in a new land, and had no wish to report to the Knights. It was these outlying enclaves that suffered the first of the new horrors, often in silence, unwilling to admit to outsiders they were facing dangers they could not defeat on their own.
Each man or woman that fell on the fringes became another shambling creature lurking in the night. The curse of the land had not been lifted by the Triskelion Flame, merely held at bay. The deaths of our people strengthened the curse.
Medved's nature-mystics announced that they had found a breath or a vapor that left a man upon his death, visible only when that man died near one of the forbidden gems, and only as the vapor was drawn to it. Medved declared that all men must possess some essence as yet not understood. For this, Uhtred declared him a blasphemer, and was set to banish his order to the fringes. Medved paid a great sum to avert this exile, and the matter was settled.
In the winter of that year, caravans and runners sent to the fringes no longer returned. Olroth took the Knights of the Sun through the cold forests and hills to seek them. It was found that the men of the fringes had lost a great many of their number, and were beset by horrors never before seen.
Olroth and his Knights evacuated the fringes and set fire to the forests there. From the southern rivers to the northern sands, a vast line of flame burned. None would speak of the reason for this drastic action. Upon his return, Olroth expanded the influence of the Triskelion Flame, although the starlight barrier would be far weaker over such a vast territory. It was necessary to protect the villages. Olroth the Gallant retreated into seclusion often, and became known as Olroth the Grim.
What fell spring this is! Upon the dark of the moon, the Empty-Eyed Fiend has taken another of our number. This one was a young woman slated to begin warrior training upon her Second Passage. Many fell to the horrors of this accursed land in the early days, but I believed we had mastered the darkness with our purification rituals.
I was mistaken. Growing unpoisoned food is not the same as securing safety from the nightbreeds. It is as if the very land itself is learning from our victories, twisting creatures in new ways that subvert our defences.
A new war tactic has been crafted by Medved and his nature-mystics, a strategy formerly forbidden by their beliefs. He observed the capability of the horrors here to rapidly grow and change, and he suggested that our mistake lay in the incompleteness of our task.
When we culled all but the hardiest of the twisted Vorniculia, the ones that remained spawned more of their ilk with inherited lethality. To ensure a true victory and protect our burgeoning towns, we must eliminate whole breeds from existence. We must amputate a piece of nature entirely. Anything less only serves to draw ever tighter the vise of doom.
The Vorniculia are slain to the last, and will stain this land with their noxious poisons no more. There are countless other nightbreeds lurking in the shadows of this accursed land, but a small victory is still a victory. The skill of my knights and of Vorana's men was great enough that no lives were lost in the burning of forest and heath. There is no cause for mourning this rare day.
My thoughts turn to my unfinished duty. The Empty-Eyed Fiend is the only one of its kind I have seen. I must ensure it, too, vanishes from this world at the behest of torch and blade.
Half of the Knights of the Sun lie strewn across the hills and trails of the hunt for the Empty-Eyed Fiend. I scored a direct blow with my sword against its neck, but the wound did not bleed. It is not a living thing. It feasts with its countless arm-teeth not to survive by eating, but to enjoy the screams of its victims. I saw this in the twin voids set in its rotting face. It... smiled at me... as it bit my squire in half.
Mortal flame found no purchase. Mortal weaponry drew no blood. I am driven to consider the forbidden. Medved and his nature-mystics cast aside their primary virtue to make survival here possible, and now I must do the same. The mountain-men warned us against the gems of power, but now I believe there is no choice...
Exhilarating! Enthralling! I journeyed into the night alone, a forbidden gem embedded in the pommel of my formerly useless sword. This time, I returned with the head of the Fiend, still grinning in final death, but now conquered. The gem blazed with the light of my fury, casting forth a beam of starlight that turned a missed slice into a cutting lethal blow.
We have been fools to deny this power. Too many of our people have suffered for this mistake. When the morning glow hits the treetops, I will command the surviving Knights of the Sun to search for more of the forbidden gems. It is time to conquer this land and make it safe for all time.
The summer that the Knights of the Sun began affixing the forbidden gems to their weapons and armour, Medved of the Druids of the Circle went among the people. "The future-past has become clouded. Scrying pools in this land often remain tainted with crimson fog, but this is something new. The night that Olroth departed alone, I could no longer see the past. Thus, the future is unknown." Thereafter, his order became known as the Druids of the Broken Circle.
A hooded woman spoke to Medved in the square, under the pike that held the head of the Empty-Eyed Fiend. "Have you lost your faith, then, High Druid?"
Medved replied, "A man that does not study the past cannot escape repeating it, but a man that cannot study the past has no future at all. The Circle has been Broken."
The woman then lifted her hood and revealed herself as Vorana, leader of the Black Scythe. She replied, "Take up arms, then, and we shall fight our way across the gap between past and future."
Medved accepted her gift of two axes, and began training his order for battle. The two axes had gems fixed along the handles which offered tremendous power.
The Druids of the Broken Circle and the mercenaries of the Black Scythe marshalled their forces near the fringes, aiding the Knights of the Sun, who had lost half of their number in the hunt for the Empty-Eyed Fiend. The starlight barrier was extended and weak, but the newly empowered warriors used the might of the gems to hold the night-stalking horrors at bay. A stalemate held for a number of seasons, during which many great heroes rose to prominence for their deeds. Annest, daughter of Medved and Vorana, was sent back to the homeland to be raised in safety. Olroth's son, nearing his First Passage, went with her as her guardian.
Dread swept through the ranks when the unthinkable happened: a leader arose among the twisted horrors, capable of intelligent deeds and direction. Creatures began striking where the starlight barrier was weakest, or where the patrols did not cross. Possessed by some horrible notion he would not share, Medved sent a messenger into the dark. The messenger was allowed to return alive with a parchment. The words written on it seemed to confirm Medved's fears, and he traveled into the night to challenge the new leader of the enemy. He did not return.
The priests had eyes and ears everywhere by the season of Medved's disappearance. High Priest Uhtred suspected treachery, and kept initiates silently observing the comings and goings of other leaders. They found that, after each day spent tirelessly fighting to utter exhaustion, Olroth the Grim would return to his seclusion. Then, after some time, he would leave through another door, stealing into the night without being observed. In these excursions, his eyes were closed, as if he were asleep.
Uhtred made many devious plans, during which he sent his son Owen to the homeland to avoid retribution. A week after the harvest, in the cold of evening, a dozen priests awaited Olroth outside his keep. They used daggers of the sacrament to stab Olroth in his sleepwalking state. He was wounded seventy-one times, and fell. Vorana entered like a black wind and removed the heads of the twelve in one stroke.
Olroth was laid upon a bier and attended with medicines, bandages, and herbs. The people roared for the blood of the priesthood, but Uhtred claimed no knowledge of these twelve traitors. The greatest leader of the people lay at the edge of death. They encased him in glass to keep his breath from escaping.
A hooded woman spoke to Uhtred in the square, under the pike that held the head of the Empty-Eyed Fiend. "Why do you suppose your priests assaulted Olroth?"
Uhtred replied, "Why do you suppose Olroth was stealing into the darkness? He is the new leader of the twisted horrors. By day, he fights for us, and by night, for them."
The woman then lifted her hood and revealed herself as Vorana, leader of the Black Scythe. She replied, "For these words, I should kill you where you stand."
A scythe to his throat, Uhtred replied, "Kill me in one week if you wish it. If the enemy becomes disorganized and listless while Olroth lies in glass, then you will know the truth of my words."
Vorana promised, "I will feed you to the head of the Empty-Eyed Fiend, here, if you are wrong."
Then she departed. The enemy did not become disorganized or listless that week, and Uhtred went into hiding at an ancient site of power.
The week Vorana made her oath, a new leader among the horrors arose. It wielded two axes, and sought the heroes that had made names for themselves, challenging them to personal combat. It slew forty-two, one each night. When Vorana faced this abomination, she understood it was her beloved Medved, but could not believe it. She ordered a full retreat, and refused to answer the challenge. Two villages were destroyed.
Understanding that Uhtred had been right in speaking ill of great men, she sent a runner to speak with him. A plan was devised to entreat the Triskelion Flame and draw back the starlight barrier. It could safely protect a few villages completely, rather than the entire region weakly. All the surviving people were evacuated to the core lands, and Vorana found the proper rites in Olroth's journal to adjust the Flame. This, she sent to Uhtred by messenger.
The core villages were crowded to full, and the beleaguered warriors of the Knights of the Sun, the Black Scythe, and the Broken Circle had all drawn back. The starlight barrier did not retreat. Instead, it vanished. In haste, Vorana went to the Triskelion Flame's altar, but found it missing. The ships in the harbour had all been burned and sunk as well, save one, which had departed.
To the people, she shouted, "Uhtred the Traitor has taken the Flame!"
The people wailed in despair as the horrors closed in from all sides. Without the starlight barrier, there was no protection. The core villages became a fortress tomb, defended by wall and by iron, but inescapable. Many of us retreated to Olroth's resting place, only to find his glass case shattered. He has arisen, and we must believe he is out in the dark fighting to save us, no matter what Uhtred the Traitor claimed.
Vorana sent messengers to the island-men and the mountain-men for aid, but their fate was unknown. The defenders were valiant, but new food could not be purified without the Flame. Famine set in, and the seasons refused to slow their passing. Thin and wasting away, Vorana realized that waiting meant death. She knew there was a way to increase her power, so she performed the forbidden rite and placed gems inside her own flesh.
She arose, then, and went out from the walls, reaping death among the night-horrors with each vast swing of her scythes. They could not stand against her might. She called to us, "I will not rest until every single abomination lies dead!"
Some among us believe she can personally slay every monster in this forsaken land herself. Others are not so idealistic. If Vorana should not return, there is still one way out, one we dared not risk before, hidden under the earth and older than the oldest men... We must keep hope alive. This is not the end of our people in this land. Night falls, but there will be a dawn.
The translation's tough on this one. This expedition's Remembrancer was clearly a novice. Prosaic lists of landmarks passed on the trek... notable hills, rivers, a mountain range... he goes on at great length about the battles, though. Pages and pages of arbalest bolts 'finding purchase in the necks and hearts of exotically dressed shamblers.' Young men were still the same bloodthirsty whelps thousands of years ago, it seems.
Might be a Vaal site from that description, though he doesn't go into detail about their clothing. The use of arbalests hints at Black Scythe work. There are a few locations that might fit the details from this logbook. What do you think?
Some relics are more important than others. If you've found anything from the Knights of the Sun, I'll take those in exchange for what the others trade for.
Remembrancers attached to the Knights of the Sun were often overly poetic. Does anyone actually know what a 'dale' is? This one's used it three times to describe a valley, a clearing, and a meadow. Be specific, chronicler! I've deciphered all I can from this logbook. This one's up to you, Exile.
You can always tell a Black Scythe logbook. Full of martial details and exquisite descriptions of violent combat, strategic decisions, and Vorana's murderous grace on the battlefield. Fairly short on useful logistical markers, though. Your guess is as good as mine, Exile.
This is quietly disturbing, but logbooks written by the Druid Remembrancers often describe natural terrain by what it was, as well as what it might one day be. I find these logbooks the most accurate to the landscape we see today. They couldn't actually see the future by looking into the past, could they? They were simply experts on nature. Yes, science shrouded in mysticism... an excuse that reassures my soul. Shall we test their guesses, Exile?
Uhtred and his priests had their own secret agendas. Hard to decipher overly religious logbook text that might not even be truthful. Not knocking religion, just their bombastic choice of words. Everything's 'pure' and 'starlit' and 'gleaming.' Makes piecing together a trail an exercise in frustration. There's at least one Order of the Chalice site mentioned. What shall we pursue, Exile?
I don't know much about the Maraketh, but this logbook's landmarks might have us treading on one of their ancient sites. I think we can get away with it if we're quick. It's up to you, Exile.
I'm not a treasure-seeker by nature, but this one tempts even me. The logbook describes mountains of gold found in Vaal cities filled with colourfully dressed shamblers. Mountains of gold. Mountains... of gold... Do you think they're still there? Let's find out. Unless you want to travel to other less interesting sites for some reason...
This expedition might take us through a Karui site. Now those are an honourable people I'd very much like to get to know. I've spent my life in search of renown, so their Way intrigues me. Shall we learn all we can, Exile?
I'm intrigued by this Eternal Empire. I'd call them not quite Eternal since they're all dead now, but since so many of them are still walking around as shamblers, perhaps they were aptly named. Care to explore one of their ancient sites, Exile?
The Oriathans haven't been very friendly to us. This expedition might take us through one of their sites, and I've half a mind to desecrate a bit extra on purpose. Interested in some destruction, Exile?
The terrain clues from this logbook could potentially take us to a location once inhabited by Sirens. Sounds like a myth to me, but myths usually contain a kernel of truth. Perhaps I'll stuff my ears to avoid their supposedly enchanting songs. We could then investigate and see the truth for ourselves. What do you say, Exile?
If I'm translating this logbook correctly, they seem to have met a tribe of... monkeys?... that could communicate with hand signs. They were capable of trade, and even had their own statues of deities unknown. I've been continually astounded by Wraeclast's wonders and dangers, but this one still seems a bit unbelievable to me. Shall we investigate this claim, Exile?
I'm not sure I understand what I'm translating. At least one of the locations mentioned in this logbook belonged to a tribe of 'men of no name' who worshipped the bones of a specific kind of long-dead beast whose description makes no sense to me. Your continent is strange. Interested in exploring that area, Exile?
The translation's tough on this one. The expedition's Remembrancer was clearly a novice. Prosaic lists of landmarks passed on the trek... notable hills, rivers, a mountain range... he goes on at great length about the battles, though. Pages and pages of arbalest bolts 'finding purchase in the necks and hearts of exotically dressed shamblers.' Young men were still the same bloodthirsty whelps thousands of years ago, it seems.
Might be a Vaal site from that description, though he doesn't go into detail about their clothing. The use of arbalests hints at Black Scythe work. There are a few locations that might fit the details from this logbook. What do you think?
It was the Knights of the Sun that first explored the cursed cities of the Vaal. This logbook was from those early days, right after they arrived on Wraeclast and found that empire glorious, shining... and filled with shamblers. I can't imagine what horrific event might have caused the death of an entire civilisation all at once. Not sure I want to know.
This logbook has some fairly detailed discussion of Uhtred's declaration that virtue gems were unclean and not to be touched. These gems were often seen on—or in—the shambling dead inhabiting the silent Vaal empire, and the connection was clear. Strange that my people learned that lesson so quickly, but you... well, you know gems better than I do. What shall we do, Exile?
This logbook... I don't think I can repeat what I've read. The Druids of the Broken Circle claimed to have the ability to look into the past, so of course they tried to understand the fate of the Vaal Empire that lay dead and empty across Wraeclast. This logbook...
No. I can face fear. If you give the word, we'll go, Exile.
The landmarks described in this logbook don't match anything particularly notable on our current maps. The terrain has changed too much over the centuries. At best, I'm making guesses here. Do you care to pick a destination?
This is incredible! We may have finally found it! This logbook contains various final notes from a Remembrancer trying to desperately piece together where their greatest leader might have gone. From the text, it seems as if one of these sites might contain the final resting place of Olroth himself!
It seems a novice Remembrancer followed Vorana's path of carnage during her last stand. We could retrace the steps through the terrain he describes, and perhaps find her final resting place.
If I'm honest, I'm a little hesitant to do so. She was a fearsome warrior in life, by all accounts. In death, she may be beyond even your talents. The choice is yours, Exile.
Of the four great heroes, Medved was the most mysterious. His nature-mystics maintained many guarded sanctuaries in the wild. Even if he lost his senses thanks to Wraeclast's darkness, he may still have used those havens for evil ends. This logbook's details could lead us to his suspected location. It's up to you, Exile.
In the final days of our people's history here, the Prime Remembrancer fled with the remaining survivors in a desperate bid to escape the coming doom. This is his logbook, Exile! Apparently, the Order of the Chalice found something... some unknown artifact... all he knew was that even the oldest men recognised its power and built a shrine around it.
It was to that shrine that Uhtred fled to escape Vorana's wrath. The survivors expected to meet him there, but the writing stops just short of the destination. Shall we retrace their steps?