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The Ancients, the Flame, and the people who tried to study them: vaults, shrines, obelisks and spires.
"Hold the chamber to your last breath." These were the words of the Ancient one, before he entered with a handful of our best warriors. It was the first time I'd seen one of his kind, and I expect it will be the last. His face is burned in my mind. My life, and those of my remaining soldiers, are pledged to this sacred duty.
— Captain Arkwright
The raiders have besieged us these past two days, attacking from the bridge. Their eyes... such madness... We have withheld so far, but only just.
We may not survive the next assault. I've ordered to rig the pass with our last munitions. If those Scavengers return, WE ARE PREPARED.
— Captain Arkwright
We are hungry. We had to destroy the bridge — and with it our connection to supplies. But it worked: we haven't seen any more "Scavengers". The Cinder Vault — and those within it — are safe, and should remain so.
If we are to avoid starvation in Yearfall, we may have to take our chances in the horrible Shroud. Either choice is certain death...
Perhaps my men are right. In whispered words, they speak of the end times — of an end to the Dawn Age, the empire of man... But we must stand tall. There's no way but forward.
— Captain Arkwright
The Cinder Vessel broke down during testing. The coalescent flame charred the rat inside. A bright flash, then, nothing. Thankfully, the side effect of blindness was only temporary.
I've acquired a new subject. Another rat, Igni. Hopefully, our path to salvation. I cannot accept more setbacks. I will ensure that the Cinder Vessel holds as if my life depended on it. It may well.
Balthazar, 506 D.A.
By the Ancients, I've done it! Equilibrium. The subject sleeps, yet can be awakened. They are dead, yet alive! The subject does not decay — is untouched by the coarse flow of time. A Flame's soul in a mortal body — Igni serves as proof!
We can survive! We can endure. These Cinder Vessels will be our only chance amidst the Shroud. We have no other choice.
Balthazar, 507 D.A.
It's done. The Cinder Vessel is a delicate contraption, still volatile, yet brimming with potential and hope. The first human to enter will be our true prototype, the kindling of a new spark.
Thankfully, the Blacksmith volunteered. He must enter the vessel... and sleep until roused anew, lest he slips into eternity.
May the ashes of one age sustain the seeds of the next.
Balthazar, 508 D.A.
My brother, all hope seems lost for me. The nurse, Helên, says there's nothing for me to do but rest... But I won't have it.
The people of the Kindlewastes speak of the Ancients as if they're all-mighty. Do you recall the obelisk? That Ancient monument that captured our childish minds so, so long ago?
I will make my way there, no matter what.
Perhaps there's a cure for me yet. Do not follow — you can't stop me.
— Vettel
We would pretend to read them as children... But now, the obelisks hide their truths.
I was a fool to think I could find salvation here. No one hears my prayers, and I feel so tired. I wish you were by my side, brother.
Eternity beckons...
Forgive me.
— Vettel
The obelisks we've studied so far indicate a formal writing system, consisting of logograms and syllabary, validating my hypothesis. Certain lexigraphs are repeated, hinting at a thematic consensus. Alternatively, a limited vocabulary.
As per usual, I cannot decipher the language. I am disappointed but not surprised.
— Loraine Crim, Yearwake, 505 D.A.
After weeks of in-depth study, I've found parallels between the simplified ancient phonetic characters and the historic origins of phonemic human writing.
I theorize that the modern alphabetical system may be derivative of the ancient syllabary. Sadly, the investigation could not continue due to a deathly and strange odor emitted from a nearby opening... It has clouded the minds of my researchers and caused everyone headaches. Just like the ancient writing, but worse.
Why did the Ancients not simply create a traditional alphabet instead of relying on multiple unique, overly complex symbols for every single syllable? Pictograms would have done the job, too.
— Loraine Crim, Midyear, 505 D.A.
We meant to decipher the ancient language on our expedition. My findings so far:
The little symbol that looks like a sleeping Fae Deer means "fire". Or something. I humbly suggest these symbols were constructed in the most obscene fashion to purposefully ridicule researchers.
However, I see unique signs compared to western obelisks... A dialect?
Perhaps it's true what the townfolk say, and the Ancients truly intend to keep their secrets forever. I wonder what they're trying to hide.
— Loraine Crim, Yearwake, 506 D.A.
It was the first day of yearwake, 432 D.A.— the date of the Selection. The Ancients came at sundown, cloaked, and their faces were hidden beneath golden helmets.
My little boy, Ethan, already fully concentrated.
When the riddle was spoken, he answered before anyone else could even grasp it. I think I could even sense a hint of surprise from the Ancients at how quickly his answer came.
He was always different—gentle, curious, no taste for swordplay, no thrill in mischief. While others brought home scraped knees, he brought questions. The other mothers called him a dreamer, or said “Books won’t put a roof over your head.” But I saw his potential.
And on this day, the Ancients saw it too.
They chose him as a "Scholar of the Empyrean".
One of the sacred few—guardians of knowledge, keepers of truth.
Now they whisper his name in reverence. Even those who once mocked him bow their heads when he passes.
But I don’t care for the others—it's the light in his eyes, the purpose in each of his steps toward the Night Sanctum.
He may walk among scholars now, but to me, he'll always be that curious little boy. And I've never been prouder!
I felt honored. Really.
Being the first from my village selected to become a Scholar was… life-changing.
Who would’ve expected such a feat from me, a mere lumberjack's son? From a village as sluggish and tumbledown as a soured lake, no less!
I wear the Scholar's uniform with pride. I’m getting used to the stares, the whispers, the bowing populace. Still, some aspects of my vocation continue to stir me.
The corridors of the Night Sanctums are relentlessly trapped.
When the Empyrean Ancients instructed me how to turn the traps off, I made sure to memorize every detail — and when attempting the deactivation for the first time, I rigorously tested each spike and swinging blade, meticulously weaving my path through the machinery as I went.
I can’t imagine passing these corridors any other way. One thing is for certain: the contraptions keep out whoever isn’t valiant or foolish enough to press on.
"My life can be measured in hours, I serve by being devoured. Thin, I am quick. Fat, I am slow. Wind is my foe. What am I?"
Such was the riddle I solved to become a Scholar. And it was a simple riddle, really.
"You’re a candle", I said without letting the question rest, eyes still fixated on the elder Ancient‘s lips.
I was never a believer. Yes, I answered the Ancient's riddle — became a Scholar of the Empyrean. Perhaps I was curious. Enamored by the prospect of scouring the world for knowledge. But a devout follower of the Flame, I was not.
Still, I followed the call and brought many a scroll and secret into the Night Sanctums, along with lit candles and reading glasses.
The knowledge was said to vanish without a trace during the day, but I was certain this would prove to be a simple magic trick. A riddle to solve. A candle in the wind.
I’ve lingered in the Sanctum, listened at the door, and observed the closed entrance as it stood dormant during the midday hours.
I never saw an Ancient or trickery. Whatever wisdom I stored in the Sanctum was gone the next day.
Every time, the only thing they leave is the candle. Snuffed out, sitting alone in the dark, and devoured.
45th of Yearfall, 383 D.A.
The person I buried wasn't my father anymore. He was a changed man, captivated and twisted by a sword from the stars that should've never landed in his grasp.
He found it when I was still a child. Afterwards, I saw him hunched over shuffled papers every night. His long, thinning hair covered his face in oily strands, hanging into his lap, where he cradled the blade. In my eyes, his crooked neck made him look like a weeping willow.
He wouldn't even turn to meet my gaze. "Tell me, where's your twin, little one?" He murmured to the saber. "Come hither, make me whole again."
Now, many years, later, I am hunched over my own desk like father once was. His last wish was to be buried with his sword. I obliged. Did I do the right thing? He didn't die by the blade, but that sword took his life...
At Balefire Tower "1000 Miles"
Eons ago, our realm was barren. Endless wastes stretched out in every direction, and the skies above were coated in a thick, black tar.
Then, the firmament cracked open to reveal a shimmering sea. A flood of shooting stars sprung forth, leaving trails of color and wind as they painted our horizon.
On impact, they pushed and pulled our ground asunder. Soon, our wilds were marked by mountains, valleys, and water. But not all stars gave life. Some sought to claim it.
Two swords rained down from above — one lesser, one greater — and struck our alabaster crests. One slumbered beneath fresh snow and gentian blooms, another was swallowed by the skyward maw of a cave.
Were they bad omens? Relics from a duel in the endless expanse? A gift from the Ancients? We may never know.
The mountains will be your tomb, Loraine.
The Obelisks are not worth it. No matter what secrets you think they hide, they will lead you down a dark road. A cold, dark road, Loraine. The summits are still teeming with soldiers, and I doubt they'll let you warm your hands by their fire. But I don't just fear the people. I'm terrified of the winged beast. Didn't you read our colleague's research?! Don't you know the legends? They'll tear you apart before the bitter cold can freeze you blue!
You can't even be certain that the Obelisks will lead you to the ancient kingdom. Please, stay here with me. Let's drink chamomile tea by the river like we used to!
It's suicide, Loraine. That's all I have to say.
Yours forever, Nala.
I finally understand why the obelisk glyphs gave me so much trouble.
Their language changed. It split into different dialects, one young, one old. Two factions within the Ancient breed, and two ideals:
The young Ancients chose to come to our aid — they chose to help us fight the Shroud. To share their fire so humanity could withstand what they accidentally awoke.
Despite this, the elder Ancients still clung to stoic elevation, segregation, and neutrality... thus, sealing themselves away and ascending to preserve the Flame's purity.
I've gone so far... Survived the Shroud, the heat, the cold... now, what else is there to do but validate my hypothesis? If I can read their signs, walk their path... I can speak their language... ask questions... and get answers.
— Loraine Crim, Yearfall, 508 D.A.
Ain't no way we can break through these defenses.
Looks like the Ancients set up these beacons to protect their border.
Every time we set foot behind the line, someone gets zapped, fried, or pulverized. Lord Vorgoth won't like this at all...
If we want to cross the threshold to their territory, we'll have to tear down some beacons... or find a way to deactivate them. If we're victorious... no, when we're victorious, then the ancient gates will be right at our fingertips.
Office of Lieutenant Arlington, First Overseer of the Expansion Program
Rimgard's soldiers are good for one thing, at least. After they broke through the Ancient barrier, I was able to slip past. If they could break the seal here, they most likely managed to surmount the gate, as well...
Lord Vorgoth must already be on his way. Right now, it's just a thesis... but not without circumstantial evidence:
The Shroud has gathered here in unprecedented levels. It creeps from the Veilwater Basin all the way through to... where, exactly? Some central point, a platform I can spy far below.... right beneath the floating isles.
I am not alone in my quest to ascend. Rotting tendrils stretch upward, clawing at the
drifting land rafts above — keeping them low. And therefore, within even my reach.
As long as the Shroud's attention is away from this platform, there may still be time. I have to take my chances.
— Loraine Crim
I've felt this heat before.
Long ago, I left my assistant Nala to research a monument within the Pillars of Creation... a strange, portal-like structure amid a sea of flame.
She called it a "gateway"— a jest, I know. And yet: Perhaps she was right. And perhaps... this platform could be similar: A teleporter to the isles above.
Of course, it's not activated. That would be too easy, wouldn't it?
Two observations:
1. I see pillars of light in the distance, aligned with the directions of the markers that surround the platform.
2. These pillars may be akin to the beacons of the Ancient Spires, and must be conquered to power the teleporter!
...Let's add a third remark, for good measure:
3. My provisions are running low. I cannot, should not leave this platform.
I wonder what Nala or Fran would say if they could see me now: On the other side of the world, the edge of eternity, reaching for the stars while being chained to a pit.
It seems I only learnt the language of the Ancients to understand a single, cruel joke. In fact, I may have become the punchline.
Well, we'll see who gets the last laugh. I still have hope. I always will.
We had long run out of any meaningful medicine when we captured the injured Ancient. There was nothing that I could have done for it, even if I had wanted to.
Stitching up the walking, bloated corpses around me had used up every bandage. Suturing their ruptured organs shut — or in place — had cost us all thread. For me to dull the thrumming of my own head, well, I had emptied every Elixer flask I'd brought.
So as the Ancient lay dying, all I could do was watch. So watch I did, as it crumbled betwixt my fingers, turned gray, and fell to ash.
It was so peculiar.
When you lose patients — human ones — you close their eyes, bury their bodies, and visit their overgrown graves once or twice.
But when an Ancient dies, it fades from the world. After an eternity on Embervale, all they leave is dust. There is nothing to bury, really. Nothing to mourn.
My head's pounding again. Should've brought more Elixir...
The council may be divided, but it matters not. We must ascend. There is no other choice.
It seems our youngest member plans to leave the council.
To split from both the council and the Mother Flame's embrace at one's own behest is, of course, an ignominy — and even worse: entirely witless.
As soon as Ezramin departs, we will count the votes anew — and the outcome will be clear as day. Then, we will route our energy to the Mother Flame to fuel our ascent... but whether or not it will be enough, none can say.
At Gardens Of Earthly Delights
We suffer from stagnation.
A new flavor, I admit — though a bittersweet one at best.
We don't possess enough energy to fuel our ascent.
Therefore, we remain in the interim; suspended above the grime and dirt — reaching for the fruit of the stars, hands bound.
We are ripped apart. And as such, we will remain.
Corporally, spiritually...
When we are only half, then we are not enough.
Maybe we will never be.
We've no more fuel to burn, and the Shroud has reached our abode.
We could not run. Could not hide. We were a harvest, ripe for picking.
For the first time in centuries, an Ancient has died by the blade — severed from the Mother Flame's light... trying desperately to stall the worms, the tendrils, the rot.
A fruitless venture, of course.
We should not die as shields. We should die as fuel... to buy time. To flee. To save what matters most.
We will be the energy — until our bodies can be reshaped, until our souls are reborn... if ever.
There is no other way.
The excavation was successful. The following analysis — not so much.
I was there when we uncovered the cave room. Finding it was easy, for it made its presence known from the moment we broke ground. Fine tendrils crept across the stone like vines, spindly and thin at first, then thicker and sluggish further down. They outlined a path all the way to the heart.
First inspection would lead one to believe that what lingers before us is a large, decomposing fungal root... yet, what shows up under the microscope is anything but.
The organism is alive, still. Undying, and refusing to be analysed or understood. It re-shapes itself upon being observed, latching onto nearby cells and matter, consuming, mimicking, changing them. It is utterly fascinating.
Such properties hold great potential! We ought to dig deeper, push further — perhaps these roots could hold the secret to a longer life... to eternity, even!
- Manathor; Expedition Lead
The root has been more "active" as of late, reacting to the stimuli around it as if awoken. According to the enclosing rock formations and their geological records, this organism may have slumbered for thousands of years. However, we may not be its first guests.
While it refuses to be catalogued properly, it always holds to a similar core; a codex of matter that appears entirely external — not mycelial or plant-like. Not human. Not Ancient, either. Whatever it is, it was absorbed in bygone ages, therefore predating our records.
Its past is riveting, but so is its future. We've distilled the roots into a liquid — a shimmering blue Elixir, captivating and serene — and stored it for further testing.
Surprisingly, it was gone when I walked by storage today. No signs of unpermitted intrusion... Only a scrap of dark, tattered fabric in the rubble. I was worried until a belated order for inventory transfer arrived. My assistants must have re-organized samples ahead of schedule.
The dead skincells on the fabric present with the same matter codex as the fungal roots, so the scrap was likely here all along. I wonder what existed first: The root, or the lifeform sampled by it?
- Manathor; Expedition Lead
At Frontier Research Lab · At Frontier Research Lab
Summary:
A fungal organism composed of transformative cells capable of adhering to and consuming organic matter. Assimilated material is either replicated or altered into novel biological structures.
Properties:
Mycelial. Dormant. Feeds on organic matter.
Research Category:
Medicinal; Longevity.
Research Note:
Growth appears cyclical rather than linear. The organism may exist in a perpetual sequence of expansion, bloom, decay, and renewal. Further observation is required to determine whether these phases are environmentally triggered or intrinsic to its biology.
Summary:
An emissive liquid derived from distilled fungal roots (see Test Subject No. 72 ).
Proporties:
Emotionally invigorating. Analgesic. Habit-forming.
Research Category:
Medicinal; Longevity.
Research Note:
Concerning side effects. Long-term impact study required.
________
NEW: Subject was relocated after a request for inventory transfer.
We tried to rise. To escape. To save ourselves — to save the Mother Flame. But we are stuck. Something's got a hold of us, and we all know too well what it is.
The plan now is to go into the flame. That is all we have left. And the others – they are grabbing things. Their most prized possessions. I don't know what they think will come out of it. Maybe they don't know either. But their panic is spreading and I feel it now too.
The only thing I have left of real value are the full golden building blocks. They're much too heavy. I have to leave them behind and just hope.
I am going in as I am. Knowledge is the only thing worth carrying anyway. Everything else is just weight.
(But just in case, I hid them close by but out of sight. So when I come back, something is waiting for me)
The site handles the extraction of raw minerals and metals from the surrounding deposits. Once pulled, material is sorted and loaded at the transport station for shipment to processing locations elsewhere. Flow has been steady — no major holdups.
Left-over building blocks from our tower restoration are being held in the storage area adjacent to the mining site for now. It keeps them close to transit and out of the way of active extraction.
Members Present
Listed in order of seniority: Manathor, Eldermere, Claravinta, Ezramin.
Topic 1: Ecological Impact of Botanical Alteration
Ongoing alterations to the composition of local flora have demonstrated additional effects on wildlife populations.
Motion:
That all botanical research activities be suspended.
Vote:
Unanimous opposition. Motion denied.
Notes:
Elder Claravinta proposed limiting future experimentation to controlled greenhouse environments to minimize unintended ecological impact.
Topic 2: Observatory Operations and Resource Allocation
Work in the observatory continues, but progress has plateaued.
Motion:
That additional resources be allocated to interstellar charting efforts to better identify viable routes.
Vote:
Unanimous approval. Motion carried.
Notes:
None.
Topic 3: Human Contact with the Elixir
Humanity has discovered the Elixir. How this came about remains unknown. Consequences are expected to be unfavorable.
Motion:
That the council maintains noninterference.
Vote:
Inconclusive. Deliberation postponed.
Notes:
This constitutes the first inconclusive vote recorded in recent council history.
Council member Ezramin expressed strong opposition during proceedings and was subsequently asked to withdraw from the chamber.
The Mother Flame grants us life. She lets us walk the Earth in search of wisdom and discovery — and when we return to her, carrying our gifts, she takes it back. For a time, at least.
Therefore, Ancient souls, or sparks, are limited. They linger in the light, connected to all that came before, and all that will ever be, until expelled anew — wiped clean.
This cycle is holy. Its purity is beyond reproach.
But a spark alone cannot be. It is merely a consciousness, a soul, a memory core in need of a host. To house a spark, we require a shell. Shells are disposable. They crumble to dust as our end draws near, not meant to be mourned.
Should we perish outside the Flame's grasp — an unlikely event, as we reign eternal — then we are lost, until returned to her light.
- Manathor
Once upon a time, the Mother Flame produced a spark every solstice. Now, we are lucky to receive "offspring" once a decade. Our numbers have dwindled ever since our youngest began to meddle with humanity.
This is most shameful. A mark on our pride and neutrality.
To waste one's life — to leave the circle, to forsake the mother's embrace in the name of something so laughable as empathy... is pitiful.
But still, I must admit... As the eldest, I can feel the Mother Flame's pull, but uncertainty plagues me, so I, too, refuse her call.
Because it hasn't always been like this, has it?
The voices in the Flame, echoes through space and time, speak of fathers. Brothers. Sons. Of families and origins that were unbound, unrenewable... but their whispers all bleed together, chained as one.
We used to be born. We used to die. We used to be remembered.
So, how calcified is our journey? How forgettable, how memorable may I be?
...And how wrong, how true, how unchangeable are we, really?
- Manathor
I present herewith my findings on our cultivation project, prepared in accordance with the Council's decree.
My observations can be summarized as follows:
The ferns exhibit healthy growth and development, continuing to improve overall air quality. Efforts to increase the climate resilience of Bloomhearts through the implementation of a protective petal overcoat have borne fruit — No jest intended.
Analysis of the latest harvest indicates no significant reduction in quality. The fruit's flavor profile remains consistent with that of earlier specimens.
Based on these findings, the project can be considered a success. Continued observation is recommended to assess long-term stability and performance.
Capacity remains limited. We may consider moving further experimentation efforts to our post in the Revelwood.
Elder Claravinta
The new seed storage sector is coming to fruition. Once completed, the conservatory will have the capacity to preserve genetic material for secondary — and potentially tertiary — ecological projects, expanding the scope of future restorative or evolutionary initiatives.
Near endless possibilities are blossoming before us... No pun intended. Yet, I find our side projects most riveting. The ongoing development of the Fig'23 flavor profile presents several promising avenues for culinary use.
Through cultivating a mutated strand, we can make the fruit prickly, sour, and sweet on the tongue. I'm thinking of calling it "Prickle Pearl".
Each discovery opens another path for exploration, but while there is much we know, there's far more we don't. The work continues.
Elder Claravinta
Construct pipeline status is satisfactory. Approval for large-scale production has been granted for the following models:
Worker Constructs
M.I.N.R. - Metallurgical, Industrial and Nonmetal extraction Rig (3rd gen.)
B.L.D.R. - Building, Landscaping, and Demolition Rig (3rd gen.)
G.T.H.R. - Grunt Transportation and Hauling Rig (2nd gen.)
Security Constructs
S.I.R.N. - Signal and Intrusion Reveal Node (Includes: Static, Mobile)
Combat Constructs
G.A.R.D. - Guarding and high Alert Resolution Defender (Includes: Burner, Slicer, and Dozer variant)
G.U.N.R. - Gunnery and Ultrasonic Neutron Rocketcore (Includes: Short, Medium, Long Ranged variant)
Approval remains pending for the following models:
Security
C.R.T.R. - Construct Reconstruction and Termination Rig
Findings: The C.R.T.R. fulfills its duties as a small maintenance and reconstruction unit, but it does not reliably terminate faulty constructs.
The following model has not been approved for mass production:
Security
S.P.D.R. - Security Patrol Dome Rig
Findings: The S.P.D.R. continues to demonstrate far too significant destructive potential when operating in an alarm state.
- Artificer Constantio
Construct rigs were exchanged successfully. The Worker's Ward is now fully equipped with 3rd-generation models. Please find additional information attached below.
Worker Constructs
M.I.N.R.
The new Metallurgical, Industrial, and Nonmetal extraction Rigs have elevated efficiency by about 34%. This productivity increase is largely attributable to the Archaic Core additions, which enable new models to recharge at Charge Stations.
G.T.H.R.
New Grunts (Transportation and Hauling Rigs) were deployed. The process of gathering, transporting, and storing sediment and ore has been streamlined.
C.R.T.R.
The Construct Reconstruction and Termination Rigs were deployed for improved rig maintenance.
Results are satisfactory. Implementation approved.
Seeing as this report is finished, I'll withdraw to my chambers once more to conclude my own research — please do not disturb me. The entry is concealed for a reason.
- Artificer Constantio
My findings on the Andromeda's Eye telescope are as follows:
Objective Lens, Star Diagonal, Eyepiece - Working as intended.
Optical Tube Assembly - Working as intended, but dusty. Should we send a student to aid in cleaning...?
Mount - Error detected. The Telescope does not move horizontally or perpendicularly.
Focusing Components - Working as intended, though they cause me great misery nevertheless — Seeing as they can only reveal the constellations directly up ahead.
Conclusion: Consider conducting a proper maintenance routine.
- Professor Androme
During my absence, I expect you, my young star explorers, to consider the following assignment! Solve it to lift the seal — and to earn a good grade!
Imagine your life as a circle.
It can be a halo, bright and hollow — or an interlocking chain; an oroboros. Mind you: The emptiness, the vastness in between, is valuable. It serves as a canvas upon which we may draw our constellations and mark the flow of time, separating what is from that which isn't.
You spring from the inside of the circle — poof, there you are! A novice, young and spry, undulating along the proposed curvature, aging into elderhood and falling to ash before sprouting anew.
Your task: Use the telescopes on the balconies to discover where, on this eternal cycle, our beginning and our end must lie!
To the left, I want you to find our origin — where we were plucked from the void and thrown onto the canvas. The point of our creation!
On the right side, focus on where we rest — the hearth that rekindles our ashes!
I await your results with bated breath!
- Professor Androme
The master's riddle is a tedious one... A circle has no end, nor beginning! Though the more I think on it, I begin to see all the hints he strew between the lines... in the empty space below, on the canvas, so to speak!
So my theory is as follows:
As Ancients, we all spring from the Mother Flame... but strangely, only one of the telescopes can be pointed towards where she resides. Perhaps part of the riddle is meant in a less literal way? Does the master refer to an "arrival", rather than a birth?
I think his remark towards "creation" could prove valuable...
I'll try my luck with the telescopes and see!
Vorgoth is coming, and he's bringing his army.
The barrier, already weakened from our energy redistribution and ascent, has been breached.
We cannot run — we have to rise before it's too late!
The sky is our only escape... Only there can the Mother Flame be safe!
It has to work. It simply must...
Humans have, amongst other things, one very interesting habit. They "dream".
Dreaming; verb, is defined as an involuntary action that is subconsiously undertaken during sleep. Dreams, that is, the mental imagery proceedings that present themselves before the dreamer; noun, may have different qualities and therefore, offer a great variety and enrichment.
They can be frightening — see subcategory "nightmares" — entertaining, confusing, or soothing. Dreams may present their own internal logic, which is often parallel but not at all analogous to that of the waking world.
I've been meaning to engage with this human tradition for a while, but as I lie down to rest, I find it difficult to conjure a dream. I followed all the known steps:
My eyes were closed. I pretended to count all sorts of woolly animals — although none were around. Still, the strange, flickering scenes would not cross my vision. "Dreams" seem to elude us Ancients entirely.
I may need to investigate the subcategory of "Day Dreaming" instead.
There is one specific recreational activity that humans seem to "dream" of before, or during, sleep.
Through all depictions (of which there are many), I've gathered that it seems to be some... mostly unclothed coital gymnastic tandem operation?
I've decided to try my hand at the courting process that traditionally precedes this act. I wonder if a human would consider this flattering?
Your human skin is as smooth as silk — the most adequate texture imaginable. My ear holes do not mind enduring the sound of your voice, which is, sonically speaking, like honey to me (in a purely metaphorical way). Your immediate proximity increases my body temperature to levels that lie just below those of the common fever, which is, somehow, not concerning, but in fact, very enticing. Above all, I most enjoy the way your hips sway so very rhythmically.
It seems the lyrical pull these words ought to have still eludes me... still, penning them was at least somewhat amusing.
At Kindlewastes Dungeon Entrance
Humans have flames, as do we.
They use fire to forge bonds, to light the dark, and to destroy. It can be summarized as the source of all their inventions; all their progress. Our Flame is not so unlike theirs.
Humans eat fruit and drink wine, as do we.
In fact, we've only adopted these customs due to humanity's influence — a factor often forgotten all too willingly.
Humans gaze at the stars, as do we.
We are all under the same skies. The same constellations. They've shown us their suspicion and wrath, but also their tremendous kindness — especially the people of Orindell.
Are we so different after all? Ought we to preserve a kind of hollow sanctity, only because we are hundreds, and they are millions? Because we lay claim to endlessness? I think not. I think we share more than we care to admit. And shouldn't that mean that we ought to stand beside them, rather than judge from above?
Embervale belongs to all of us.
- Ezramin
At Albaneve Summits Dungeon Entrance
The gateway to the Albaneve Summits research lab is finished.
This may well be by far the least favored biosphere... the freezing air makes it difficult to draw from any fire; any energy around. I much prefer the calming heat of the Cradle. It's simply so invigorating!
Humanity seems to avoid the cold, too — though some also revel in its briskness, and the challenge those lonely mountains in particular provide.
Most curious. There may be a hidden charm to the snow that I have not yet discovered. Perhaps constructing a snowpal would aid me in my quest of understanding!
Humans have hair. Not a single strand, of course, nor matted long coats of fur — no! They have tufts of it, mostly (but not exclusively!) atop their slightly oblong marble heads.
It can be long, short, curly, straight, blond, red, pitch black, and so many other curious things! Some are blessed with very healthy, youthful manes, while others must prematurely kiss their locks goodbye — revealing said glistening egglike domes. In conclusion, there are as many facets of hair as there are humans themselves!
I find this incredibly fascinating... but if the others discover my juvenile interests, they may send me back to the Mother Flame immediately!
What to do, what to do...
The constructs are simple, straightforward creations with linear purpose and ability. The MINR drones deployed here, for example, were equipped with diamond-tipped drills. This enables them to operate, when used in tandem with Charge Stations, nearly indefinitely.
Despite their efficacy, they're dull. Mindless husks fueled by an unrelenting flow of energy, and entirely interchangeable.
We Ancients are different. Our souls, gifts from the Flame, hold our minds. They are finite and delicate, carefully granted to our similarly "constructed" bodies in Proto Vessels. The corpus serves as a shell that contains the spark, imbuing us with warmth and light.
I find these connections between "body/mind" or "mechanical/ephemeral" most fascinating, but I wonder... could the power of the Flame grant ability, even if it were inverted?
The answer I discovered is this Eternal Ice Arrow — but the coldness it exudes is deeply unpleasant to me, so I may set it aside for now.
At Gardens Of Earthly Delights
Both recharge stations and model rigs are in order, though the terminal seems uncharacteristically untidy and crowded — but I suppose the residents tend more to the greenhouse than to construct maintenance.
Elder Claravinta really only focuses on whatever occupies her mind most. It's very "human" of her, I fear.
That reminds me: Recent proximity to humanity has inspired me to come up with a new invention! A model suit, meant to combine my construct research with the agile, human frame — bipedal, and somewhat compressed to fit the strange proportions these stubby animals possess.
Perhaps this venture will one day bring forth a new era for our constructs, or the Ancients at large! I'd be most interested in shaping the 4th generation of models... but I must not get ahead of myself! For now, it's best I continue my journey to the Worker's Ward. I hear there is another site nearby that requires a routine check-up.
- Artificer Constantio
My ascent was successful, though I must admit our newly rifted environs have greatly hindered me on the journey. No matter — I deem this site adequate for storing and preparing the constructs designated to work at the nearby ward.
The local tower is a pleasant architectural addition that can double as a safe for valuables, should an alarm arise.
Furthermore, I've progressed on my research with the construct suit. The skewed proportions really do appear charming to me. Humans are just so compact, aren't they?
For an alpha version, it will most definitely suffice. Perhaps the construct hub at Manathor's Plaza will provide me with even more inspiration. I'm slated to head there next.
- Artificer Constantio
The terminal is in perfect condition. Elevators, lights, and recharge stations all seem in order.
Constructs are maintained in the basement, where repairs and security details are handled. Once ready, they're deployed to the middle floor via lift. The lift continues upward, capable of carrying controller personnel to the command center above.
Everything is clean and tidy. I suppose the landfill — or gaping abyss — below the basement is used frequently to declutter.
My plan was to stay longer and retrieve some materials for my construct suit, but my time here has been cut short. The Mother Flame calls upon all Ancients to gather in the citadel.
I reckon that this is due to the encroaching Shroud... but I cannot be certain.
No matter what, I will ensure to pass through the Proto Vessel Bay on my path. The future — our future — must be preserved!
- Artificer Constantio
We have to abandon all our efforts.
Every construct. Every spire. Every proto vessel. Yes, even my own creations.
A new arrival was due this solstice. The proto vessels were ready. We were ready. It is a pity. No, it is shameful. I always enjoyed welcoming a young Ancient. A new face, an old soul... sometimes, I thought I could see those that came before inside their spark. Remnants of previous lives, like leftover mechanisms from retired construct models.
Our numbers may grow no further. Perhaps we are doomed to be diminished after all. I cannot bend the solstice, nor the Shroud — but I can store whatever I have for those who follow after me.
I've hidden the final piece of my construct suit in this room, behind a loose stone in the walls of a nook. Perhaps it will aid you, whoever you are. And then, maybe, there will still be hope for us.
- Artificer Constantio
There was once a mermaid
Below the mirror of the moon
In crystal puddles, she'd wait
'Fore hunger'd wake her soon
Something gnawed at her inside
The thirst, a thrill to seek
A sanguine flush lit up her eyes
She sought something to eat.
Floral scent on her skin
Smile rosé like wine
She'd draw someone in
A partner to dine
They thought her heart pure
Saw the sparkle in her gaze
Had fallen for her lure
Suffocation, sweet embrace
So the water's red, gushing
For her dance inspires
The moon to start blushing
From the blood of admirers
I loathe abandoning this project before completion, but the elders are right. Gems simply do not possess enough energy to power our ascent.
Still, I may return to my forge blueprints eventually... so I've stored my notes away on the upper floor.
It seems the lock mechanism is working as intended. Being able to see the door and the light above it from the button below is really quite practical!
Primary Materials:
Effusion Rock: High silicon content required. Preferred substrate: Basalt (for adequate thermal stability)
Precious Metal Conduit: Aurum alloy recommended. (superior conductivity and resistance to arcane deterioration.)
Inner Fibre Hull: Candidate materials under review:
Celestium: Increases structural integrity and energy retention.
Moonstone: Too brittle for compression. However, adularescence may improve internal light propagation. Further testing required.
Conductor Assembly:
Use diamond lattices for maximum durability and better resistance to internal fractures.
Foundation Base:
Construct a wide circular base to ensure uniform pressure distribution across forge chamber flooring.
Compression:
Reinforce overhead supports to prevent structural distortion.
Final Reminder:
Increase storage capacity for Archaic Essences. Insufficient containment may result in uncontrolled combustion.
Long ago, we lost a piece of our star.
It ripped through the void, a bright streak against the dark, fleeing our sight. A flash from something to nothing... the light of ghosts, the memory of home.
The spectre turned scout; for it crashed into a planet most promising. It formed the heart in Embervale's midst — Illuminating a hollow in which rainwater pooled, and life began to bloom.
A fascinating first. A kaleidoscope of potential.
We had to see it for ourselves.
Stoic and stalwart as they were, the twin mountains allowed our entry. We sampled, scored, and savored all we could before turning our gaze back to the firmament... when the guards of creation denied our leave, barring the gate inside the crimson core. We pleaded and begged.
It was not enough.
Fire, fire, burning pyre. We scorched a hole into the sky. The mess we made let the moonlight reach low; reach us — chaining the sea of stars inside a marble that hung above like a taunt.
One could imagine their palms outstretched, clasping around something that cannot, will not be touched. It was out of reach.
It was not enough.
Our gaze turned inward. Downward. Searching for a source beyond Flame and Spark inside the core. That's where we found it. Another subject to prod.
The rotting fruit with a thousand seeds, asleep, yet breathing — then rousing, reeling, reaching.
We left it buried, sealed beneath words of warning and layers of grime.
We were not enough.
I declare that my work on your new alarm system is hereby concluded. I consider Violet V2 a notable improvement over the previous iteration! Please find the key data concerning the functionality below.
Most established features were kept: When an intruder is spotted, code violet is triggered, and the facility will lock down. As before, the system is connected to the pressure plates embedded in the floor. Should they detect unauthorized personnel, they will sound the alarm.
Additionally, however, we've been granted a set of Signal and Intrusion Reveal Nodes (S.I.R.N.), courtesy of Constantio. These surveillance constructs will alert the system to intruders, should they be spotted in their vicinity. This will awaken the guard units.
Of course, you may recall the last "false" alarm we suffered... alongside the S.P.D.R. malfunction. Sneaking past security gone rogue in an effort not to perish is tedious, isn't it? Well, you're in luck! With Violet V2, I've implemented a fail-safe: A button inside the control room that can turn off the alarm.
Should questions or complications arise, feel free to contact me.
Following the integration of the fourth water wheel, energy output has increased in line with projected performance expectations. However, the improvements may not suffice to meet operational targets.
I am slowly but surely coming to the conclusion that our efforts here may be in vain after all. Furthermore, recent water quality samples have raised concern.
We've charted significantly elevated levels of suspended solids. No microscopes were involved in these initial findings — Anyone who isn't entirely blind could tell with a simple visual inspection.
The sample has been submitted for laboratory analysis.
As an interim measure, I plan to install a temporary filtration system to reduce the potential impact on operations. Long-term planning remains pending until the laboratory results reveal the composition of the sample.
Eldermere
Chief Engineer, 503 D.A.
Regretfully, it appears that my genius remains misunderstood.
My creation is clearly superior in a multitude of ways. It can jump-start machinery in the blink of an eye, marking a perceivable improvement over any other currently known initiation procedure! Additionally, its precision and ability to concentrate electricity are unprecedented.
The others don't seem able to follow my logic. Perhaps I should've made myself clearer to them... They claim this wand is not handy; that the trigger does not lie well in the hand — they simply cannot be serious. The tool is perfectly shaped for its intended purpose, and there is no need for it to "feel" appropriate during handling.
I see that I ought to explain the concept of telekinesis once more.
Nevertheless, I suppose I'll store it in the hallways for now. A tool that remains unused is an utter waste of space.
Eldermere
Chief Engineer
Good news: I managed to stow away the vessels after all. Finished right on time for the solstice — We're prepped. Told you not to doubt me, didn't I?
You were right about the climate, though. It's downright awful — but perfect for conservation, I suppose. I've wrapped myself in layers for every shift, and suggest you do the same.
The cold isn't the only thing giving me shivers. Did you see the guard construct? Forgot what they call it... Creepy thing. Why so many legs...?
At least it'll keep the Proto Vessels safe during Code Violet... Engineers said something about this being "V1", meaning some doors will shut permanently once the alarm is raised. It'll be a hassle to complete repairs in the chamber like that, so watch out and don't get locked in!
If you do, well, I hope you brought warm garb.
See you after my vacation!
I thought of my old beliefs as a coat I could shed.
Now, I realize they've tainted me in a way that was so far beyond my comprehension. They've seeped into my body, lingering just beneath the skin.
When I began my journey here, I did so with the best intentions. To better understand the Ancients. To learn and to grow.
And still, I came with weaponry. Swords, bows, daggers — I wanted to be prepared. Prepared for anything. For battle.
That's why I gripped my wand tightly when I saw the Ancient in the distance. It was the first time that I ever laid eyes on one of their kind. They rose from a grassy patch in the valley, suddenly tall against the setting sun. Then, the arched back down.
They were sampling thyme. And humming.
I felt shame wash over me as I loosened my grip. My instincts had betrayed me yet again. So for a time, I just stood there. Listening to a melody that sounded familiar, as if it were human... and maybe it was. Perhaps even more so than I.
From now on, I'll continue without my weapons, without fear, and with a new tune on my lips to march to. Some notes come out crooked; others choke me still... Yet, it's not the song that plagues me, but the horrid cough that rattles below.
Darya
I am terrified. We came to investigate the Flame Sanctum, but while crossing the caverns, we found what appeared to be Vukah markings on the walls... along with loose tusks and bone scraps, despite this not historically being Vukah territory!
I translated some of the inscriptions... they concern the great Pillars of Creation that can be seen far and wide. According to Vukah lore, Ancients tore open one of the Pillars with a great explosion. The Vukah offer their tusks in a special ceremony to avoid another eruption.
I do not know what these inscriptions mean, but I pray to those same Ancients that those creatures do not interrupt our dig site!
— Loraine Crim, Yearwake, 506 D.A.
We heard them last night! It's not just in my head... the inscription, the bones— the Vukah are coming back up from the depths of their cave! We must flee our dig site... this is getting too dangerous to continue... We'll leave all relics behind, as well.
I do not wish to anger them!
— Loraine Crim
I must reconsider my studies! Before, I believed this mountain of the Pillars of Creation to be an active volcano... the pit of lava is proof! I figured the top of this mass must have been ripped open during a prehistoric eruption, shaping the land as we know it!
And the strange structure, well — perhaps a place of prayer and solace, built by the Ancients in an earlier age. Sadly, I was not the first to see it. Another expedition arrived before me. Eastern folk, led by a "Nala". They believe it's "a gateway" of some kind... truly interesting. I will rethink my theories!
— Caspian
The ominous structure — ...we cannot decipher its meaning. Caspian, that cretin, asked about our progress — I just stammered and made something up. Said that it's a gateway to the stars — that the Ancients built it to open a path into the sky, fueled by the energy of the fire. I think he bought it. I don't want Caspian to figure this out before we do... I plundered his masonry tools and hid them in our own camp.
If Loraine Crim were here, she'd judge me, but oh well. Guess the dam is keeping her busy.
— Nala