I understand that you like to be called a 'shadow'. An interesting thing about shadows: they are strongest in the day and are utterly consumed by the night.
Your path is as forked the viper's tongue, Ranger. Are you the hunting animal or are you the thinking, feeling woman? Yes, you love the wilderness, but that does not make you wild.
You have bled and you have murdered, Duelist. Why? For your precious glory? And where are you now? At the end of a world on the brink of extinction. Glorious!
There are few who understand the enormity of Nightmare. That kind of mind, that you and I both possess, are as rare as rhoa's teeth. All the answers, Scion, are in that beautiful skull of yours.
When a boil is fat with infection, it glistens with the lustre of false youth. Lance that boil and it weeps its corruption away and shrivels to nothing.
Whether by purpose or desire, you are the physician who has revealed Dialla's truest nature.
Kira rides more swiftly and strikes more truly than any other dekhara here. If only she could learn to think as swiftly as she rides and speak as truly as she strikes.
Better and worse are judged not on the talents one prizes, but the talents one needs.
In life, Daresso was tortured by frustration and shame. In death, Nightmare has erased his past and forged a dream world in which Daresso would remain contented and loved.
What if Nightmare could do that for all of us? Would we really wish to destroy it then?
The Red Sekhema was the woman who forged what it meant to be 'Maraketh', a people united, strong. Deshret lit fires in the hearts of women and loins of men. When she fell, so did the Maraketh. We've been falling ever since.
Beneath your feet, Creation shivers and writhes. It yearns for transformation like a worm in a cocoon that dreams of wings and freedom. A transformation that only the Beast can excite.
A dark God of ancient sacrifice, a muse to the twisted and vile... the Beast, the Nightmare, the Darkness... names given to it by mortals that think with slugs bound in shells of bone.
Yet, one man knew the Beast's true name, understood its impenetrable nature.
Upon death, our bodies return to the ground. Those that are marked with darkness nourish the corruption. Those that were mighty in life are stolen away.
They are carved and crafted, manipulated with malevolent creativity into becoming Malachai's servants. Forged into Ghasts of pure Nightmare.
Malachai is what every Ghast aspires to be. The hands and eyes, the voice and mind of the Beast itself.
I see him in my dreams, forming his designs, crafting his tools, refining the chaos of nightmare into a vision. A future that you and I would not recognise.
That neither you or I belong to unless, of course, we choose to accept the dark embrace.
This is Malachai's greatest work. An act of invention like none other. Should he succeed, he will awaken the Beast.
What then? The Beast is not Death. Life will go on. A life like nothing we have seen before.
It took a Shadow to destroy the darkness. The progeny of light, bound to obey the candle whether he likes it or not.
I know that's not quite what you expected to hear but then the expected is not always what's needed. You have come to the end of the world, and now you need to return to the beginning.
Oriath. Upon the mountain high, a gateway has opened, one that shall lead you back home. Hurry, for as the death throes of the Beast soften and still, I see the gate beginning to close.
Follow the light, for that's what Shadows do, don't they?
Ah, Witch. I knew you would embrace the Beast. Yet I couldn't know that you would squeeze the very life from it. Honestly didn't think you had that much love in you.
Now one thing remains to be seen. Your regard, your touch, your embrace... can mean only doom for the loved. Please, choose your loves wisely, Witch, lest you break poor Oriath's heart.
Yes, that's right. Oriath. Upon the mountain high, a gateway has opened, one that shall lead you back home. Hurry, for as the death throes of the Beast soften and still, I see the gate beginning to close.
Follow your heart, Witch, no matter how dark it becomes.
You are a confusing creature, Duelist. Your heart beats for no one but yourself yet you have committed the greatest and most selfless of acts. Was it an act of the heart or merely... an act?
Regardless, you may now stride heroically into the sunset, back to your grand arena.
Yes, in Oriath. Upon the mountain high, a gateway has opened, one that shall lead you back home. Hurry, for as the death throes of Beast soften and still, I see the gate beginning to close.
Ever pursue your glory, Duelist, lest you be forgotten.
You're going to tell me that you didn't kill the Beast, that it was simply your God acting through you. Please don't. I fear I might be ill upon your self-righteous toes.
No, Templar. You did this. The oh-so-ordinary man who shall be heralded as 'the chosen one' by the adoring sheep of Oriath.
Yes, Oriath. Upon the mountain high, a gateway has opened, one that shall lead you back to your flock. Hurry, for as the death throes of Beast soften and still, I see the gate beginning to close.
Continue to believe in those lies, Templar. It brings out the best in you.
For a lover of nature, Ranger, you surely know how to destroy it. Yes, you can argue, that the Beast was beyond nature, unnatural to its blackened core. I won't believe you though. It died after all. Quite a natural thing to do, wouldn't you say?
Something to think about on your way back to Oriath, Ranger.
Yes, Oriath. Upon the mountain high, a gateway has opened, one that shall lead you back home. Hurry, for as the death throes of Beast soften and still, I see the gate beginning to close.
Continue your wild ways, Ranger. They seem to come so... naturally.
I'm sure your Ancestors are very proud of you, Marauder. Yet also rather... confused. For even the great and powerful Beast could not slay you! And if you can't be killed then how will you ever sit at your Ancestors' table?
Quite a conundrum that. Something to mull over on your way back to Oriath.
Yes, Oriath. Upon the mountain high, a gateway has opened, one that shall lead you back to where it all began. Hurry, for as the death throes of Beast soften and still, I see the gate beginning to close.
No one ever said that the Karui Way was an easy way, Marauder.
You had no idea who you were when you left Oriath, did you? A slave to the names others gave you. So you went ahead and forged yourself anew. Bane of Nightmare, Purger of Corruption.
But that leaves us with a rather tricky question, doesn't it? Who are you, when everything you have lived for is gone? Perhaps the answer awaits you in Oriath.
Yes, Oriath. Upon the mountain high, a gateway has opened, one that shall lead you back home. Hurry, for as the death throes of Beast soften and still, I see the gate beginning to close.
So many questions, Scion. Yet the answer is so often the same.
Ghasts have no use for words. To speak in nightmare is to speak in emotion and image... in thought.
I see and feel the darkness, and that is how I know that the cataclysm was no accident. Its images are far too rich with intention, far too steeped in satisfaction.
Malachai's satisfaction. Malachai devastated my people, destroyed the Eternal Empire, for one reason. To put himself right where he is now, within the Black Heart of the Beast.
Malachai's apprentices. Shavronne of Umbra, Doedre Darktongue and Inquisitor Maligaro. You'll find no more devoted servants in all of Nightmare. In life, they were the three finest forgers of corruption in the Empire.
I'm inclined to agree with Malachai on this one. It would have been such a waste to let them languish in death.
Poor Deshret. Each had their wicked way with her, you see, their turn at trying to subsume Deshret into the collective corruption. Ingenious, they are. True artists. Had Deshret been in possession of an imagination, they might well have succeeded in creating a Ghast of her. Fortunately for us, Deshret never had such a faculty.
If Deshret were able, she'd thank you for dispatching her tormentors, Malachai's wicked little trio. You'll have to content yourself with my thanks, instead. Deshret has been avenged, as is the way of the Maraketh. Tidiness helps one sleep at night, don't you think?