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.
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 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.
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.
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 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.
The day I purged the old guard and rose to the highest position in Oriath, I thought I was finally safe, that no one would have power over me. But on that day, I was also given access to the secret tomes that only the High Templar may read. My eyes were opened to the truth. Wraeclast is a rare shining bauble, at the cracks of infinite oceans of hungering madness.
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.
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.
I recognise these men! That's High Templar Venarius with his guards. The other man is Valdo Caeserius. A man of science. They are building something together. Something important.
...And I found it. Yes, this is a start. This is more than I possibly could have hoped for when I drew the blade and awoke -- yes, of course! Now I can protect Wraeclast properly.
Demons, child. Countless. They watch us from the darkness. They claw at the thin veil that keeps our world separated from theirs. A great tide of evil that wishes only to crash down upon us and sweep our civilisation into oblivion. But I will stand against it.
Oh, little one, it is you who will help me... Your memories will show what I need them to show, for the cause. Every thinking man and woman of Wraeclast will come to simply know that they must unite... under me. It is the only way to guarantee a unified defence.
Sapinti went on her first fishing trip alone and did not return. When her body finally washed ashore, it looked as though it had been mummified for a thousand years. The fish did not touch her flesh.
She was perfectly preserved, but drained of her blood. We buried her, but within days the earth rejected her. Whatever killed her took root in that place. The earth soured and we had to move, abandoning her body.
I used to pride myself on taking care of these tomes, but the ancient treatises concerning the Vaal... should be burned. He's making me research for him, and the things I am reading about concern the destruction of all mankind.
I awake to the sound of screaming. My eyes and throat sting. Smoke billows into the hut from outside. Something is terribly wrong. I dash outside and am confronted by a wall of heat. Smoke makes it difficult to see, but the village is in flames.
I run from the smoke and, to my horror, realise we are trapped. A rival tribe stands at the only exit, cutting my brothers and sisters down as they flee. We've been ambushed. I run towards the flames and leap, praying to Valako for protection.
I see you. You are here seeking answers, because you can find them only in the stories we will leave behind when Malachai and Voll cause our destruction. In this final hour, I entertain the notion that the words I write exist in some form beyond me. Do they go on as dreams? As memories?
I have the wildest notion that perhaps you will find a way to pick up scraps of memory, and you, whoever you are, will come across this one someday. If you do, I ask only this: slay Malachai. Slay him for yourself, or slay him for all the lost citizens of the Empire, but, most of all, slay him for Marylene.
You and I, we're the only ones that made it to shore... alive, anyway. This place is crawling with criminals. Find something you can defend yourself with.
I take no pleasure in this. It simply must be done. Humanity's purpose has been fulfilled... in me. Within this sanctum of flesh lay the tools I shall use to reshape the world.
With this act, I sweep away the trappings of mortality, and bring about a new age. A world of Thaumaturgy, and I, its ruler. Farewell, my Gemling Queen...
The Courts are burning. Accusations fly. Sinner! Heretic! I am but an initiate, and my patron urges silence. We will keep our heads down while one High Templar supplants another. It is all about power, my patron whispers, and we have none.
Should an accusation fall our way, we shall be doomed to die with the other accused. Be unseen and unheard, he whispers. This is what happens when men who seek power refuse to wait. I learned a valuable lesson that day: Trust without leverage is vulnerability.
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--
Master's orders were clear. I am to wait here until his return. I cast my eyes to the horizon and see smoke billowing from Sarn. The city burns, and I fear my master burns with it.
The sky grows red. I hear screaming from the village by the Crossroads, but I will not abandon my post. Master will return, and I will await him. No matter how long, I will wait for Maligaro's return.
Another child was taken last night, so tonight we wait, praying the demon does not return, but it does. We catch only glimpses of its grey skin beneath the moonlight. We pursue the demon on foot to the edge of the woods. The child it carries does not cry out.
Anaris follows closely, but I hesitate. I gather my will and leap into the shadows, tracking the demon. But I am too late. The demon and child are gone, and Anaris stands frozen, pale as the moon. He whispers something I do not hear and falls, dead. I fear we will be hunted to extinction.
A man in uniform visits. He is from the Courts. He says the Templar have alms for widows like my mother, but she must collect it in person. We go to the church, and I wait outside in the gardens. The sun is setting. I don't know how long I've been sitting here.
When mother returns, she looks pale. Her eyes are red, and her clothes are torn. She grabs my hand, and we walk home in silence. I lie awake in bed. I hear her crying. The man comes over often after that, with toys and food, but I don't like him...
Help! Please, somebody, help me! I've fallen down here! I think I've hurt my leg! Hello?! Stay calm. I'm sure someone will come soon. I'm so hungry... If I get desperate, maybe I can eat some of the mushrooms down here.
I feel strange... my head feels like it is filled with bubbles. Are the walls breathing? The colours here are so vibrant... oh... my stomach... I'm ill. The world is spinning and, oh, my gut! What did I eat? I feel--
People stream down the street towards Oriath Square. I hear their shouts and cheers, and when Mother isn't looking, sneak out to join the merry crowd. Just outside the pens, a Karui boy, no older than I, stands atop the gallows.
I see by the sign around his neck he has been caught stealing. I swear I will not look away. But fear overtakes me. I hear the rope snap taut and the crowd cheer, but I fight back tears...
Out of sight, out of mind. No one speaks of the cursed land anymore. That has made it quite simple to send our smugglers out in search of powerful Eternal artifacts.
We knew of the gems, but we did not know of what Malachai called his 'muse.' The smugglers have returned with rubbings of the device they found. They call it 'miraculous.' I know a thing or two about miracles, so I will be the judge of that.
The stench convenes around me thicker than the press of the vagabonds themselves. Though starving, their strength while holding on to one another is surprising. I'm trapped in a knot of ragged bodies, and the men of the Church clap me in irons despite my cries.
The shackles cut into my wrists and ankles. The guards are deaf to my pleading, but I am no murderer. If I am guilty of anything, it is falling in love with the wrong person. Justice served, they claim.
This is not justice. Any chance at justice evaporated the moment I walked into the courtroom and saw her husband held the gavel. I'm just the scapegoat. It's easy to get away with murder when you're the judge...
I strike the earth once more as I have countless times, but my strike feels unfamiliar. Instead of the crack of stone, I am met with flexing sinew. I examine my pick axe. A dark red liquid froths on its tip.
The metal beneath rapidly corrodes. Have I found it at last? I run to alert the General. I'm told not to speak of what I found. The other slaves must continue the dig, but I am set free...
The last three weeks feel like they've passed in an instant. The atmosphere here since the High Templar's disappearance has been so relaxed, but, while enjoying the sun on my roof this morning, I saw the black smoke billowing from the Chamber of Innocence turn red.
The Seneschals have at last elected a new High Templar. Rumour has it they've sought young blood. Someone who can revitalise the Templar. Someone who can bring them into the modern age. Whoever it is, he can't be worse than the last one. The bastard set us back fifty years!
Indexing artifact one-twelve in lot ten, an ancient jawbone. Carvings on the side attribute it to... Valako? This can't actually be the jawbone from the myth... and this... Tukohama's tooth? Hinekora's hair?
These were in the archives for centuries. Are these what those thieves were after? Who would want these relics, except for followers of Kitava? But that's absurd... best not to mention the robbery attempt.
When they find the third dead and disemboweled maid, I speak up, but the master of the household doesn't listen. He refuses to even look at me. It is then that I realize... I am already dead.
Nineteen more days in the mountains... I'll never survive, never earn my Mutewind name... I'm already starving and dying after ten... and is that... a wolf?!
Kindest friend, kindred wolf. You kept me warm for nineteen days. I will return one day, when I am old, and let your descendants feast upon my remains.
I move through the stacks, seeking that one perfect moment from my youth. I once read a book here, its name lost to me, that perfectly struck the chords of my heart.
It was as if that book was written for me, and yet, I cannot find it now. There are more tomes here than I could ever pick up and check in an entire lifetime.
What is it? You know I am not to be disturbed during my communion with God. It's here? Get it to the lab immediately! I feel a rush of excitement as I review the contents of the crate.
The pieces, aged as they are, still hum with energy. I can feel its potential, and it fills me with hope and terror. I cannot assemble it, but I know who can. I need only apply a little pressure...
I'm so very late. This is deeply embarrassing. I fear the wait will be too long now. But this is my one chance to meet the great Laureate and I will not let it go to waste!
Malachai says he has perfected new techniques that will unlock the raw power hidden within the Virtue Gems. I have volunteered my body to the cause. I feel no fear, no hunger, no pleasure... nothing. I hear only his voice. I must obey...
We walk in absolute silence through the murk. It's after midnight, but the streets above are still abuzz with activity. Hours pass before the streets fall silent. We emerge one by one into a pitch-black room.
As I help our last out of the sewers, a flint is struck, and we are surrounded by light and gleaming imperial armour. There's a dagger at my throat. A setup. Dragged into a cell, the guards laughing. I still reek of the sewers...
Tonight is a celebration. On this, the night of a Thousand Ribbons, we honour Emperor Chitus for his heroic defense of our beloved capital. Long may he reign!
I feel fear... and hatred. The Emperor stands before me, and I know this is my chance. I strike at him. I pierce his belly, but it is not immediately lethal. I lock eyes with the man. I watch him raise his axe...
Beneath the summer sun we follow Tarcus in search of the promised land. Before long, hunger grips our stomachs. The doomlands take their toll. Our numbers dwindle, and discord spreads among the tribesmen.
Veruso's words quell our hearts, but not our stomachs. In the dead of night, a woman goes missing, and our hunger is abated. We reach the ruins of Azala Vaal alive, but dark deeds hide in our bellies.
That's it. I'm out of here. Now... which way did I come from? Was it this way? No. Must have been this way. Hmm... this doesn't look familiar either. None of this looks familiar, and I think I can hear the wolves coming closer...
Craiceann, lend us your shell, that we may hold out against our oppressors. Saqawal, lend us your feathers, that we may be carried to a better future. We call out in your name!
Rami waits at the cavern entrance for the passing aspirants. One at a time he pulls them in from the snowstorm and covers their mouth as I slice their throats. Blood stains the cavern floor.
Rami pulls in the last straggler and we make quick work of her. Just we two remain. Before Rami makes this realisation, I plunge my blade into his eye. I alone will lead the Mutewind.
We're trapped down here. Though we strike it again and again, the Sekhema's seal remains unharmed. No one down here can sleep. My throat is parched, yet I feel no thirst.
The foreman is beginning to show signs of madness. He claims the walls, earth, and even his pick have become sticky as honey. I pray death comes for us soon, but I fear we will receive something far worse.
We pack up our camp just before sunrise and journey towards the capital, Azala Vaal. We hear the crowd before we see them. Word of our victory spread quickly, and even the Queen has come to meet us.
My family has come to watch the ceremony. As I lay on the stone altar, I hear them chanting my name. It is the last thing I hear before the Queen's dagger is plunged into my chest.
Six moons have passed since the earth supped the rain. The riverbed is dry, and the lake is but a puddle. The beasts here have become desperate and dangerous.
There are rumours that Lord Yriel's blood-fed crops have swelled, but the fruit they bear can send a man mad. We look to our children for the answer. A child cannot hunt, but it can still provide. The taste is hard to forget.
I don't understand. I saw Bryn die. I held him. The fever that took him was so intense... I remember the moment his body went cold. But now he lives once more.
Yet it is not truly him. I know that. A mother knows her son and this creature is not my son. It is a hollow imposter. My son's spirit is with Innocence. So I go to him at last.
Everyone is dead and I'm alone. The Karui swept through the watch so quickly, we didn't have a chance to flee. Men, women, even children, slaughtered. I'm lucky to be alive. But I cannot return home now. No.
I'd be branded a coward, imprisoned, and hung for desertion. I've no other choice. I must make do out in the wilds. Perhaps a farmer will take pity on me. And if not, I have my blade. I will take what I need by force.
My legs ache, but at last they can rest. We are two days journey from the nearest city, and the trickle of water sets me at ease. I begin to set up camp.
I was always meant to be at the top of the pile. Nobody else can compare. And this tiny man, this new challenger, Daresso, will fall like the rest to the might of Barkhul.
The world is changing in dark and subtle ways around us as I run. My arms burn from the weight of my young children. The sun is turning blood red, and there's only one place of safety I can imagine.
The walls of the cave we huddle in tremble, but the screaming outside keeps us from fleeing into the open air. Life itself has gone mad, and the sky is burning. The children cry out for their mother, but I haven't the heart to tell them what she became in front of my eyes.
He doesn't even protest. He knows what this is. Wordlessly, he backs into the baths and sinks to the bottom. All that remains are the bubbles of his last breath.
These shiny baubles we pull out of the rock are worth more than their weight in gold, yet we hardly get paid at all! We should stop work and demand our fair share.
He wasn't a pious man, and certainly had a gambling problem, but he didn't deserve to end up like this. I feel like somebody should say something as we cover his tomb, but nobody does.
The others begin to file away while I linger by the tomb a moment. A muffled banging sounds from within, and I consider rushing to get help... but then I remember, and leave without another word.
As I kneel over her grave, the night sky joins my tears. The earth becomes scattershot, stained by sputtering torchlight. She reaches out to me, and I smile...
...until I see other lost loved ones reaching up through dirt. The rain smells like leather-grease, and my torch goes out as the first of the dead bursts free.
I come here on sunny days to get away from the squalor of the streets and alleyways around my home. It is not the cutpurses that bother me. It's the city guard. Even so, a legionnaire approaches me and asks my intent in the fields.
I do not answer him, instead shaking my head and holding a finger over my lips. Better to act mute than risk being clapped in irons for the sin of being born Ezomyte.
I don't know much longer I can do this. Every day, we cart in the poor folk the General has rounded up for the Witch's experiments. I used to count, but I stopped at two thousand.
This is not the career the Blackguards promised me. We're worse than monsters. Look at this place! Rivers of blood! Piles of corpses! We were just following orders...
I'm a fool to have gotten lost here, but it was getting dark, and I thought I saw a way home. A crowd stands silently around me, their faces blank white, their bodies covered in webs.
The crowd begins to shiver and shake as I creep between their bound hands. Some moan for help. Others scream as their bodies bubble, and I realize I cannot help them. Tiny spiders pour out of open wounds.
Everyone had the same idea. The crowded boats aren't moving at all. The others scream and wail. Everything begins to burn. I hold my son under the water and pray his death is quicker than mine.
When I come to, I'm alone on a tiny island. Little more than a rock, really. I can't see any other land. Even Wraeclast would've been better than this.