Nomad Highlands

Dearest Lupa —

When we got separated, I was beside myself with fear. I searched and searched for what felt like days... only to encounter Rodalton, a thief from Umber Hollow who said you'd been taken by the Contractor. Why is he taking children down into that wretched place? Despite his cruelty, this thief assured me you were still alive — albeit a prisoner.

He promised to slip you this note. Sister! I know you well enough to say that you will not remain shackled for long. When you do escape, return home, and we shall have our revenge!

Lovingly,
Kendal

Sister! Have my notes reached you? I've missed you greatly this past year. That vile Contractor locked me up in a cellar on Jasper Isles, but your predictions came true: He couldn't keep me shackled for long! I'm so sorry I've been out of touch, but I've had to keep my head down...

Umber Hollow isn't any better or worse than Surat's Rest. Two sides of the same coin, like us! More tavern brawls, perhaps — but nothing I can't handle!

The Nomad Highlands are without order. One day, Kendal, we must eclipse this chaos. What do you say?

Your sister,
Lupa

Lupa —

I could wait no longer. With bated breath, I traveled to Umber Hollow to confront the Contractor. At knifepoint, he told me that you'd escaped out of the frying pan and into the fire! He said you'd been arrested and barred away in Raven's Keep! Do not worry. His throat is slit, his body cold. He won't bother our family again. They all wither and die the same... mirrored pieces of the same puzzle.

Raven's Keep cannot hold you, sister! I will set you free. Stay sharp and ready for my rescue. We shall have our revenge and unite this land!

By your side,
Kendal

No man is left to cage us. There's no rule, no law...The days of crime and punishment, of right and wrong, are over.

All guards have fled, scurried away at the first sign of trouble like rats... leaving us to rot behind bars. Even I — ME! I said I was INNOCENT! Cowards. All of them. I pray they choke on dust!

There'd be chaos without the matron, Lupa. Even the rowdiest brigand whimpers when she steps near — she spits acid with every howl, making them cower and weep. Always a hint of ethanol in the air...

She's got a plan. There's no breaking through the gate, but.... hollow walls, she says — a cavern behind her cell. She's got help from outside... a sister, I hear. Perhaps we can break through!

WE BROKE THROUGH the wall!
Lupa tore the stones apart, and behind the rubble, there REALLY WAS a cave! As the dust settled, we were met with the ravenous glares of a Vukah clan... but nothing could phase us with the matron by our side!
She grovelled and roared, spat and crushed — In her blighted rampage, she nearly skinned them alive!

The way is clear, the skies are bright! We won't stop here! We'll claim the world! Raven's Keep is only the beginning! Lupa's sister will take Surat's Rest whilst we build a LAIR of our own to eclipse Umber Hollow!
The Nomad Highlands, no, perhaps all of Orindell will be ours!
GLORY to matron Lupa!

I thought the boneyard pass was safe, but "Lupa" has all trade routes in an iron grasp! They jumped out from behind a rocky pillar, rabid and wild. Trembling with rage. They recognized my face... found the "Nursery Supplies" in Surat's Rest. I knew they'd be my demise one day.

Catherine was right — there's no slipping through the new patrols. They are everywhere. They've confiscated almost all of my wares... At least I hid my chest before they caught me. But just how can I make it out of here now?

— Benni

Has anyone seen the hounds we confiscated from our prisoner, Lupa?

I left them roaming in the courtyard, but when I woke up yesterday morning, they had disappeared! I'm sure they must've just slipped away... but something tells me the sudden cold of that evening, and the strange howling around midnight were not coincidences.

I saw tracks leading to the nearby tower, but I'd be a fool to follow them! Can't we get an intern to check, instead?

Hello Emma. It was strange meeting you in the market — somewhere you should not have been in the first place. But I managed to slip this note into the shipment to Umber Hollow and hope you find it before someone else does. Even though we only spoke briefly, I could tell you are a decent woman. So the rumors of Umber Hollow being a deplorable place where cruelty abounds cannot be true, can they? I have heard so many stories of thievery and corruption...

I sincerely hope we can both come to understand one another now that the world is changing before our very eyes. We might just need one another to survive. Please write me back.

From Carlos

Carlos! I received your note — and just in time, too. The patrols down here check every shipment thoroughly. The rumors of Umber Hollow you speak of are false — just yesterday we held a funeral for a young girl who was murdered up there in Surat's Rest! But I felt the same way when speaking with you in the market... intrigued to find a common, decent person amidst all the crimes committed where you are from. Everything from racketeering to corrupt courts and guards to widespread fraud. Perhaps we are both falling victim to decades of misspoken words. Are we not so alike, you and I?

Sincerely,
Emma

You said they'd arrive by Monday noon! Well, I waited AGES to receive the parcel for Oswald Anders... prepared a wagon and everything, since you said it'd be heavy. All for nothing!

Tell the Conway brothers to send a raven, should they want to reschedule. Although... if they tried to take a shortcut through Umber Hollow, we've shirked them for good. In my defense: I told them to avoid that route. It might be their last.

The route through Umber Hollow was a bad call, but we had no choice! Hank, that laggard, wasted time snoozin', so we had to take a shortcut if we wanted to reach "Blazing Rock" on time! If we're late again, I'm bound to lose out on a lot of coinage. We can't have that, ya see?

So we descended and set up camp in the Jasper Isles come dusk. First nightwatch was supposed to be Hank's, but of course, that buffoon slept through it. Stupid! Reckless!
Some shrouded folk crept up on us...and we lost the parcel upon fleeing. No matter. We'll write our own letter! And the gift, well... Oswald Anders won't know it's missing.

I'll sign something lovely, and get my creative juices flowin'... Hank can help. Guy will be none the wiser. Easy, ya see?

Me was dozin' and snoozin', 'tis true, but me's senses 're sharp! Me can keep watch with eyes closed, no problem!

Me was mindin' me's dream business when bad air and bad lads came creepy-crawling! So me shook Mathew awake, and we barrelled on out!

While rushin' and dashin', we dropped the lassie's gift 'n note! Now me thinks: How can we make the moneys, if we don't have the goods? Me tired. Head hurty.

Mathew said, "Time to improvise." Smart man. Good head, very good. "We'll write our own letter. Nice lookin' paper! Pristine! He won't know, ya see?"

So we was draftin' and writin' and droolin' on that letter, but there came a catch: Gotta sign on the dotted line, but me don't remember lassie's name. Rachel? Reagan?
Now head hurty again. And sleepy. Stupid letter, stupid Isles...

Elias —

Please note that the crates marked "Nursery Supplies" are indeed filled with weapons for the Contractor's rebel army. The guard is hot on our tail. I've buried the goods and marked the spot. Can't risk anything these days.

Several are packed with powerful explosives, so handle them with utmost care! We don't want to reveal our hiding spot!

Keep quiet, yeah? We might lose our heads for this one!

— Benni

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

My son — allow me to tell you a tale of creation. This has been passed down through our people for many generations, so listen closely. When I am done, the story will be yours to pass to your kin.

Our lake fell from the stars. Your people are wanderers by nature and when we came to these lands, they were dry and arid. We could not find our way to water, so we turned our voices toward the heavens — toward the Ancients. And they answered! The sky cracked open, sending a bright light to this very spot. The light met the dry earth and opened this lake, which quickly filled with water to sustain our people.

And now, you ask, where are the Ancients to scrub the Shroud from these lands? Where has the water gone, the lifeblood of our people?

My son — we are all asking the same questions.

To all who used to fish in these waters: there is a blight further upstream. I have seen livestock and woodland creatures wash past in the rapids on occasion... however, yesterday I thought I'd hooked a large catch. When I reeled it in, it was a rotting corpse corrupted by some kind of blight, its skin and bones twisted and barely recognizable. As I stood there in shock, two more surfaced and floated by me.

What kind of destruction is befalling these lands?

Amber was found dead in Surat's Rest. She'd escaped there, hoping for a better life... but loud and righteous girls like her don't last long in a pit of vipers. We are both consumed with grief, but her mother can barely get out of bed. As husband and father, I have agreed to pick a place where we can lay her to rest.

I think the tree behind our home will do nicely. A quiet orchard by the river... her favorite place to sit and ponder. She's so bright, so well-spoken. We are nothing without her light and grace. Deciding what to write on her tombstone is pure torture. My heart feels so heavy, it might've turned to stone.

Wherever your spirit walks, please know that you've shone brighter than the Ancient Flame whilst you blessed our lives.

I told them the truth, but they won't believe me! The dragon is real!

I saw it while scavenging booze on the outer rims of our territory. When I stumbled into that cave and met its ferocious gaze, eyes glowing with mystical light — I turned 'round like a whirlwind and dashed off!

The others spit and laugh at me! So what if I gulped down a little moonshine while out and about? I know what I saw!

I trust my scientific instincts, but no one else will.

The others don't believe in the existence of the Dragon Sword. They think it's just a fable from a bygone era. But the existence of real dragons would explain the origin of our large fossilized bone deposits and could fill the gaps in our proposed ancestry of the Draconian Vulture.

If I found the Dragon Sword and retrieved it from it's forgotten cavern, I could add credence to my theory. Until then, I'd be the laughingstock of my peers if I revealed my true thesis...

Keep your nimble fingers close, don't venture into caves and cliffs
A dragon guards the lonely tunnels, sleeping, quiet, stiff

It holds a sword inside its maw, but do not grab it, little one
To keep your fingers, one through ten, you'd have to quickly run

For tiny hands and pockets, its sword's just way too big
And with bared fangs to block it, the dragon's just too quick

So keep away from Dragon's Maw, stay home and near the city
Do not take what isn't yours, and keep your fingers pretty

Build, drink, sleep. Build, drink, sleep. Sneak out to drink some more. Get caught. Build.

We've been on our feet since we scavenged these Mixed Sandstone Blocks. I've been dragging myself from bed and working tirelessly under the beaming sun for days... and sober, no less!

The boss won't allow rest or fun until his tower is finished... he acts all strict and proper, but I know he steals away from work to slack off in his hidden basement, too!

So that's it. My Honeydews are no more... We've split up many times, but something tells me last night was final. What's worse is that those bastards at the tavern wouldn't give me a room after my oh-so-kind bandmates — former bandmates, I suppose — made a mess of the place while fighting. Harper and Daniel never got along, but this was something else entirely. I should've tried to stop Harper from storming off towards that keep, but I was so busy dodging Dan's swings that I could hardly focus on anything else.

As it stands, I've got no band, no payment, and no bed. The bartender even insulted me. ME! Miles Rapore! Don't they know I'm a musical genius? Fools. In the morning, I'll set out again. Seems I needn't pack my flute. Perhaps I should give cobbling another try.

I was naive to celebrate when the band broke up. Traveling alone is tiresome. I don't have anyone by my side to keep these drunkards off me! I'm no siren or toy! I only wish to make music in peace! If only that freak Daniel the Damned hadn't disturbed our audience at the tavern by losing his teeth everywhere during his interlude... He takes his "curse" gimmick too far... if it even still is a gimmick.

It's time to rebrand. "Harper the Harpist" evokes an aura of illustrious allure that no longer suits me. I should've never succumbed to this image... when did I lose my way? I used to sing and dance for fun, not for money or to elevate a mediocre band... and not once did I love playing the harp as much as writing poetry by the window, or wandering the woods without waiting for nightfall to hide my face from fanatics.

I'll throw it over this ledge and start fresh tomorrow!

I must've fallen asleep, because when I woke up, I was here. Had the taste of blood in my mouth, so I pulled another rotten tooth from my jaw and crushed it under my heel. I hate them all. Wish I could crush their throats, too.

"Image is everything — Look, don't lose your cool!"
"Daniel, you freak! Calm down! You'll upset everyone!"
"Good fortune is all around, friend! Just don't be miserable!"

Everyone's always yapping! Do this, do that! One more, and I'll bash their heads in with my Hand Drum! Especially Chester's! By the Flame, I hate Chester! His stupid luck will soon run out... That old fool's headed straight toward a Scavenger fort on his way up North. What an idiot... his luck won't save him this time!!

Thanks again for letting me pass, my new friend! When I saw your fearsome patrol, I was almost worried! But as it turns out, The Honeydew's fan club has members even out here! Ha! Who knew?

I hope my old lute will bring you much joy! Remember: if you pluck the strings lightly, the others won't hear you practice. I know you have appearances to keep up, being the local Scavenger leader and all. I know all about that. I've had to push away my true passion, too. Hey, once I'm back from the Albaneve Summits — and once I've established my new career as a gliding master — I'll come back to teach you some tunes! I'll leave one here for you, too. Practice makes perfect!

Let's duet together soon!
Stay sharp,

— Chester Loft

Trust me, live music will be great for your tavern! No, we'd never cause trouble! Think of all the mead you'll sell with The Honeydews serenading your customers!

What a mess. That guy really had me wrapped around his little finger. I should've known that this band would cause trouble, they've such a bad reputation for stage fights, after all! But a live breakup? Come on, now!
And this bastard Miles even tried to get a room here after his band RUINED my establishment! I threw him out, but I swear I can still hear his stupid flute being played somewhere nearby. It's so damned grating.

He does it to mock me while I pick up shattered plates and flip tables back around!

I thought taking on some work here would be easy enough... fixing up the old shed with my smithing tools should be simple. But the farmer here, sir Fanning, creeps me the hell out.

He offered, no, insisted that I can sleep in his room until the work is done. If that wasn't bad enough, the shed's in way worse condition than what was promised. These repairs will take much longer than I anticipated! Maybe I should've stuck with that hunting party in the Kindlewastes...
It's no use. I need the coin to afford a ride home, and I can't blame anyone but myself. I really blew it this time. Will Dad even want to look at me, even if I reach him? Who knows.

I've moved my bedding here. If this guy tries anything — if he even looks at me wrong — I'll blow this whole place up! I won't let my guard down!

You wouldn't believe the brawl you missed out on!! We watched the hounds battle it out when this woman — nay, this girl stomped into the arena, golden light reflecting on her armor plates, and raised her sword at the matron!
"I'm Gabrielle Fairburn" She said. "And if I beat you in a duel, you must leave this town and return it to its people!"

Of course, the matron accepted by spewing a massive fountain of bile at the girl! I thought I'd see her pale face melt away, but suddenly, a bright flash blinded me! Dancing light reflected from the girl as she ducked and dodged, and when the blindness faded, she was behind the matron, ready to strike!

Furiously, we jumped down from the rafters — against all of us, she stood no chance! Afterward, I pulled her body from the pool of sludge she lay in to drop her below. You should've seen her head hit the platform! Don't miss the next pit fight!

They are not enough. Just copies of him, unfinished, unbound by flesh and blood. I must try again and obtain another vessel. This time, alive.

I will bring him back — whole, not bony and broken. Not turned inside out. Not howling and screaming. Just whole, the way he was before. My next attempt must succeed.
The newest living vessel is sublime. The perfect fur to rip away and reveal a husk ready to carry his soul. This time, it will work. It simply must. I will get my Ikko back.

Burst into flames upon ritual completion. Horrible howling. Stench? Even worse. Skeleton is still useful, though. Conclusion: No ever-burning candles. Use regular instead.

Came back wrong. Had teeth growing all over. Organs were already rotted because the carcass was too old. Conclusion: Consider acquiring a living dog and killing it to have a fresh corpse for a vessel.

Acquired fresh, living subject. Will add notes once the ritual has been completed.

You've found the gravestone of a dog named Ikko. The inscription read:

"Your memory will live on forever. "

We are now one step closer to choosing a final name for our cat. In the last round, we kicked out "Fred" and "Little Guy". Yeah, I know. I liked "Fred", too.

The names that moved to the final round are "Captain" and "Whiskers". The boss really likes "Captain" 'cause he wants a name that's admirable, awe-inspiring, regal, and strong! I like "Whiskers" because it's cute and way better! So tomorrow we're all gonna vote. But don't get any ideas! We're not a "De-Mock-Kruh-Sea" or anything!

And yeah, if supplies run out, plan B still stands. We will eat Captain Whiskers. I call dibs on the tail!

Reminder: Not for eating until stated otherwise!!

Remember our three rules for workplace safety and productivity:

1. Follow the schedule!
2. Lift with your legs, not your back! Support each other with heavy cargo!
3. In case of elevator malfunction, report to the shift overseer!

(The fine print reads: If you're early, you're on time. If you're on time, you're late. If you're late, you're fired. No paid overtime. Fruit basket refilled biweekly.)

The 8 and a half bell peppers we're allotted every two weeks don't cut it. Are bell peppers even fruits?

I was surprised to see Willie so "protective" over those color pots we got from Nomad's Drop. I've never known him to be an artist — unless you want to call all his fingerpainting "art"...

Well, they're not worth much, so there's no point in holding on to them. We might as well pull a little prank on Willie then!

I grabbed some of those precious parcels from the last haul and put 'em up top.
Maybe that'll keep Willie away from fingerpainting and refocus him on being a cold-blooded robber unafraid to shank, steal, and smuggle.

I saw it from afar inside the cave — glowing gold in the dark, it called to me.
I don't know what this plant is, but it's beautiful. Unnatural. And the way it glows... it almost feels like it wants to be found.
I've never seen anything like it. I have to know more.
I'm heading in now. If it's dangerous — so be it. Some things are worth the risk.

I'm right here before the entrance, trying to will myself forward. Pacing back and forth, but I just can't do it.
As much as those glowing plants fascinate me — just as much does the dark terrify me.
And it's not just the dark — the air feels thick with something I can't name.
Maybe I've stumbled onto a Shroud Lair.
I guess I'll never find out what it has to offer.
Maybe someone braver than me will dare to enter.

I know the Knight's Codex like the back of my hand.
- Be "patient." Practice. Hard. Every damn day.
- Master the basics of defense. Mind your downward sweep. Ensure the flick of your wrist is as fast as a flash.
- Care for your equipment, treat it as yet another limb, an extension of yourself.

I know it all, off and on the battlefield. I can answer every question and every blow. My mind is a fortress, my defensive stance impenetrable.
Still, why does the mentor insist on locking me in the tower? Does he not see that I'm ready? Is it because I dodge more than I parry? Or because I polish my armor plate instead of the mentor's shoes?

I'm sick and tired of being patient! It's time I made my own rules:

- Be brave.
- Dodge beats block, block beats hit. Dance where others fall.
- Shine bright like the sun. Blind with valor and grace
... Return as a knight, or never.

Fairburn

To the Scourge of Brightwich:

Your days of haunting are numbered.
Come to face me outside the village at high noon tomorrow.

Whoever loses shall never see the light of day again.

Fairburn

Yesterday, a traveler came by — helped us plan the construction work for the Elixir Well. I'd never seen him before, only heard stories. And now I see why everyone calls him the Mysterious Wanderer. He indeed has a mysterious aura.
I noticed the scar right away — a deep one, straight across his face. You couldn't miss it.

But today, when he returned to check our progress, the scar was gone. Vanished, as if it had never been there. For a moment, I thought it was someone else entirely. But then he called each of us by name — so we must have met before.
I don't know what to make of this. Maybe I don't want to know. I hope we finish this work soon, so I can get back to my family.

Our Scholar of the Empyrean is fading.
He walks slower now, can't make his rounds to the Night Sanctums like before. He's been our guide for decades—and for decades, we've made these offerings. But lately, doubt grows among us.
The Ancients have not returned. Not in many years.
Their absence once felt sacred. Now, it feels like abandonment.

And today, left by the Ancients and burdened to make the choice alone, the Scholar named his successor.
His own son.

The announcement came without ceremony, without counsel—just a decree passed from fading lips.
But we've barely seen the boy. He's no elder. He's never stepped inside the Sanctums alone.

Some bowed their heads, still clinging to old reverence. But more kept their heads high—eyes filled with doubt.

Is this how it ends?
I fear the Ancients won't bless us with their presence again.

Ever since I started using my father’s old fishing rod, I’ve been catching… strange things.

Treasure chests. Glitter and gold. Artifacts, soaked but alive, begging to be rescued from the deep. Is it the water or the rod?

I’ve been pulling in more wet boots, too. On bad days, I come home with a dozen of them. Who here keeps losing all their shoes? I’ve started stacking them up, pairing them when I can, but I’m tired of the sight.

My father held his tools in high honor, and I’ve tried to do the same — but this rod… I ought to throw it out. I can’t afford to wait for every big haul... I prefer to return to predictable, reliable results. I've packed it up and stashed it in the basement of my house. One day, I'll return to it... in a time of need, perhaps.