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Notes found in the Revelwood and the Blackmire.
All my life, the sea has been by my side.
Her face glistened during the day, decorated by twirling specs of light, gently brushed by the sun. My troubles would fade at the sight. Even as she rose and billowed over the edge... She swept away all old troubles and pains. Now, the light in my eyes fades. I hear the waves echo in my ear, like whispers of a conch shell. They grow closer.
I've hid all I've left below for her to take. My parting gift to an old friend.
His twisted mind hides a secret. I smell the scent of decay inside the manor. The walls. The body. Rot and ruin, a festering circle — somewhere. I feel it. His bones. It's in his bones. Inside the walls — a riddle, a maze — locked behind his tired eyes.
I will dig tirelessly. I know it's in there, somewhere...
I am restless.
A nightly groan from behind the walls strains my ears. A rattle, grinding and dull. A whimper from a throat dry as the Kindlewastes sands. A hollow knock on my skull... attached to my spine and shaking my core with every vibration. I cannot bear it.
I've brought timber and nails. Whatever it is... it will not enter.
My suspicions about Helga are correct – she has been unfaithful. And with Rodrick, that buffoon of a criminal!
They aim to take my fortune, so I will lead Helga into a trap. I placed an advert in The Pike Weekly, imploring her to meet for a drink in the private chambers of the boarding house where we first met. There she will find what she cannot resist: a cup of wine laced with poison. I shall be done with that wretched woman!
Rodrick was a fool and has exposed our affair. Florian, my simple-minded husband, must die so Rodrick and I can finally be at peace! I responded to the advert he obviously put in The Pike Weekly and know he plans to kill me. I will meet him at that chamber with a dagger in my bodice!
I think we'll need a new space for storing the Elixir... the barrels leak and a film has started to form on the cellar grounds. It's moist and humid... going into the caverns below the marketplace makes one dizzy. Should be fine during yearfall, but come 501 D.A., we ought to expand storage.
Also, I let Remy go. Sneaky rat was lapping up spilled Elixir off the floor... disgraceful.
They broke through
Rimgard's soldiers have arrived!
They've ravaged it all, torn our brittle walls apart
The gate's been lowered — Gormander's locked us out; has sold Meldore's valor one final time
We cannot run. Rats in a cage
Their fists clash against the iron — I lower my hands. Fold my palms and pray. Dear Ancients. Please, anyone. Open the gates!
...just swept across the border and all the way to the plaza, its mellow waves foaming at the great stairs. "An eager tide", they said. "A blockage must've loosened upstream"... But I beg to differ. The water tastes different. It whips against our outer walls, rising... during Queen Pikemead's rule, this would've never happened. Our kingdom erodes under Gormander... we've become weak.
As a lass, the reflection greeting me each morn' on the river's surface seemed so far away. I was tiny then. Lowered my body, and stretched out my arms to feel the ever-pleasant flow as people passed me by. I could barely reach the bottom.
My tired mirror image now rises closer each day. The water swirls with menace. Perhaps we will soon all fall into her cold embrace. "Just sell your house and move", they said. Sell it to whom? All the others wish to flee as well!
Nothing is Sacred. Three arrows inside Casper's rib — and Marcus' spine is surely splintered... we carried him to safety, corruption raining down on us...
It happened as we were surveying the aftermath of Vorgoth's crusade. We knew of the destruction, but not of the decay that followed. The rot had left no survivors, nor bodies to bury.
Nightfall came swiftly. Without warning, the Fell sprang from the mist and sundered us from Commander Cyrus. We were forced to seek shelter here, but despite our negligence, we are blessed beyond all. While veiled in the holy light of the Flame, the Fell won't come near... Or perhaps our refuge is the result of Emily's blessing.
I pray their southern caravan route is less perilous than ours. I must set down the pen. Casper cries. He needs soothing.
— Raúl, 508 D.A.
Above and beyond, we rise
Solemn light shines upon thy face before candlelight roams
Behind the creaks and cracks of oak, it lies
A secret held by brittle bones
He can be so demanding sometimes.
"It still needs more shiny stones" he said.
"It doesn't feel complete yet" he said.
Does he have any idea what I've been through to acquire the ones we have so far? I've traveled across lands, bringing him gemstones from the East — from the kingdom of Orindell and beyond — and still, he's not satisfied.
Ignorant, spoiled kid.
Thinks flashing his gold coins makes up for everything.
Now he won't be content until I get him at least one gem from the Hollow Halls. Rumor has it that each one holds a rare gem. Dangerous place, but of course, he doesn't care about that.
I guess I don't have a choice. If I don't deliver, he'll just find another.
The things you do for money...
Skimmer's Cove crumbles and roars. King Gormander's Imperial Guard suspects an impending collapse! Refrain from visiting the cove or venture forth at your own risk. Search and rescue operations cannot be performed until the war subsides!
Furthermore: Stay clear of the coast at night! Reports confirm strange vibrations in the water, as well as moving lights. However, King Gormander, glorious ruler of Meldore, wants to reassure you personally that sightings of an aquatic beast remain unfounded.
Pikemead's Reach is safe as can be!
— Chief Higgs, 64th Day of Midyear, 503 D.A.
You are the sorcerer my friend spoke of, are you not? They say no knock can bring you to answer the door. Too busy shuffling and scheming in your hidden attic, are you? Don't think you can hide from me! I was promised a deal, so heed these words:
You know Ramone? He sent me to you. Said you could help reunite me with my son.
My little Finnean fell in the battle by the bridge. He was a boy, not a man, still growing like a bean sprout. I need to see his freckled little face again. To hold him in my arms, just once... tightly, like I did when he was a little lad.
Just once. I'll go anywhere, speak any incantation. I'll cross the threshold. I beg you. It's my final wish.
I don't know how to reach you, Ramone. You've disappeared from the face of the Earth... but you know where to find me, at least, so I'm leaving you this.
The statue of our former ruler, Queen Pikemead, will be tossed unceremoniously into the sea and sink to the bottom of the ocean when the clock strikes twelve. I can't stop this madness, but I saved a piece. The harbor workers did, too. King Gormander won't listen to my requests. He wants her likeness erased from his new "gardens".
Please burn this letter after reading it, and take the statue piece. I can't let our correspondence get me in trouble. Best luck to you. Glory to Queen Pikemead, forever.
It's true! The glowing Wisps are celebrating!! Dancing all jolly, gleefully under the waves!
I saw them, yes! With my own eyes, I did!
The lights danced at dawn, in the dark waters below... Gleaming from the deep... decades after Queen Pikemead's passing, no less!!
People scoff and laugh, but I know what I saw. Is it a sign? Will she return? Can Embervale reunite? Perhaps fortune smiles upon the world at last!
Dearest people, hear my tale! It is true! They've returned! I've seen the Wisps with my own eyes, down by White Wind's shores, brighter than ever before! They've returned to bring glorious light from the depths, hailing from the cove!
Do not fret! The Wisps are our reptilian brothers! Glistening, scaly backs peek out from beneath the waters, ready to carry you to safer shores!
Good fortune must be upon us!! Our war will end, the craze for the Elixir will subside! The water and rain will clear, and the soil stop souring! Good omens are all around!
Claudy, I dare you to join me for a little mischief! We're meeting at Skimmer's Cove tonight with June and Ricky to celebrate surviving this mess till yearfall, haha! We've got a "borrowed" lantern, a ladder for the wall, and a big dream of freedom! June's even bringing cake crumbs from the bakery, so you've gotta come along!
I know how to get past the guards since last early midyear, so no worries there!
Ricky says he's gonna yell real loud to rock the cove and scare the lizards! I think he won't dare, though. He's a chicken!
I'll be at your window when the sun sets. Come join us! I dare you, I double dare you! OR: Tell Ricky you like him! You won't!! 'Cause you're a chicken as well!
Draft for The Pike Weekly, Issue 341 - Daily Woes! Due 2nd week of Yearfall, 502 D.A.
It's No Rumor, But Fact:
Our borders are unsafe, war may be brewing, and our towns are troubled!
The people of Fort Kelvin report sounds coming from inside the mountains! Their caves rumble at night as if something were about to break through!
Will King Gormander deploy aid? Initiate an investigation? Maybe pass an infrastructure bill? Most likely not, but Meldore can dream! If I were a betting man, I'd say he'll wait for the concerns to resolve themselves, for better or worse!
That's the only draft that was approved. Couldn't put in your info about the embezzlement... if it's too controversial, they won't officially let me print it. I'll find a way, though. Stay safe over there, Jakes!
— Ramone Jones, editor of The Pike Weekly
Thank you for granting me access to your spare basement, Henry. I won't write in peace with these guards on my tail, but I can't let them silence me!
I know this room was Finnean's, so I'll take good care of it. He was such a sweet kid... and the little stories he wrote were magical.
Nothing I could pen would lighten your heart, but there's one thing I can do. Even though editors don't earn much coin, I know how to repay you: Your last goodbyes don't have to be final.
The old sorcerer in the Imperial Gardens owes me, and perhaps he can reunite you. Don't ask too many questions, just let him lead you to his secret attic, and never speak of it to anyone else.
Just promise me you'll be responsible and come back. It's a deal with the dark that we're striking!
— Ramone Jones
Henry hasn't come back. He's not been down to bring me water, and I don't dare to step outside knowing that this spells demise.
Right now I'm still hidden, but who knows what the guards will do if they find me. I'll hang for treason, most likely... just for speaking the truth. However, I only have enough water for maybe 3 more days.
And what's even more depressing... it seems like my last words, written or screamed, will never reach a single living soul. Such a meaningless death for a reporter... A wise man would call it irony. I would call it twisted.
— Ramone Jones, Editor of what used to be The Pike Weekly.
Mandatory:
A wand. The incantation (found below). A clear visual of the dead person you wish to speak to.
Optional: Clementine scented candles. (When you return from the afterlife, you'll smell like burnt flesh.)
Speak the following words slowly:
One hour 'till dawn, and I share it with you
Twice the time on this Earth won't prove my love true
Death cannot part us, I will find you wherever
Breach thrice the darkness, so we're blind together
Sands of time flee me, I fall to your waves
Stretch out your hands, let reality cave
I sacrifice light, countless breaths that I waste
Just pull me in once, for that final embrace
Please note:
If the person you take into the afterlife does not LET GO of the dead's embrace, you disintegrate into ashes. The clementine candles won't help, then. Take care!
The fabric that separates life from death is becoming thinner, I feel it. With some small changes to my old incantation, my ritual should allow me to cross into the afterlife without requiring a loved one's touch... and to find eternity.
One hour 'till dawn, and I spend it beyond
Twice the time on this Earth is just what I want
Death cannot stop me, I will find my forever
Breach thrice the darkness, death finds me never
Sands of time free me, I fall to the waves
Stretch out my hands, let reality cave
I sacrifice light, countless steps that I take
Walk once into black, until later I wake
Remember, Paulette: Trace your steps, or else you won't return from the void! I'd best conduct the ritual in my secret cellar so I don't bring the smell of death into my living room... I'm all out of clementine-scented candles.
Usually, Willow Crush is quiet when I slip out of my bedroom window. The town is in deep slumber as I descend the vines on the south wall, carefully avoiding the window to my parents' chambers.
Sneaking around has become second nature to me. Today, that came in handy.
Between the tree branches, I caught a glimpse of two shapes illuminated by the pale light of the waning moon.
The smaller figure pulled an item from their waistcoat, wrapped in cloth to shield it from spying eyes. As the larger silhouette peeked under the covers, a metallic reflection danced across its face. The tall figure nodded and pulled out a small sack.
Something went awry. The smaller shade threw the sack to the ground to reveal dozens of glistening coins, clamoring — but their voice was silenced when the tall one picked them up by the throat.
The large figure left towards Glennwood's End, but I won't follow. Let sleeping dogs lie, I say...
I'm sorry, but I feel too frightened to go to the field again. It's not the darkness nor the rippling waters of the rivulet. It's the fisherman.
Yesterday, I saw him glide downstream. His graying beard, tattered pants, and slow but steady keel made him appear harmless. As he spotted me by the shore, he halted his craft to parley, his frayed gloves tinged cerulean from gathering gloomberries at our spot. I asked him if he wasn't scared of falling into the muddy pit that lines the field. The night is dark, and the ground treacherous, after all.
He said "Nay, the gods of the deep bestowed me their good fortune! They'll rise dressed in light, to dance with the mortals a final waltz!", as his blue hands were shaking violently. I nodded politely.
As the river carried him away, I swore never to set foot on the gloomberry field again. If they bloomed in the daytime, I wouldn't mind — but meeting a stranger shrouded in moonlight and madness is a different story! I hope you understand.
The recent influx of strangers unnerves both me and the workers — and even worse, it disrupts business.
Liane wrote to me about this "incident" she had at the riverbank. It's unsettling, no doubt, but I attempted to convince her to keep working. If no one dares to enter the muddy fields at night anymore, the business will sink deeper than a boot stuck in muck. It's just a matter of time until our stored gloomberries run out. What will we make our wine and marmalade with, then?
I wish Liane had met the other stranger instead. The barber was odd, yes — spending much of his time atop the keep's tower, staring at the constellations above — but at least he wasn't deranged. If only she had met him by the shore, peacefully harvesting gloomberries at midnight... then I'd still have a supplier!
I saw the Ancients as a monolith. A web of lights, like stars in the night sky, connected through wisdom and Flame... but they're far more split than I believed.
The "young" Ancients alongside me explained that this Night Sanctum is the creation of their elders, the "empyrian". It predates the Shroud and used to contain a wealth of human knowledge offered as sacrifice, or for trade. Neither Flame nor sunlight can reach, making it perfect for one of our emergency Cinder Vessels. We've rigged the traps to activate after the vessel is filled. Hopefully, that should protect it even as the Shroud fills the valley.
When I trace the constellations on the door, I sense a desperate longing — a pull towards the firmament. I cannot read my fellow traveler's expressions, but their silence betrays them. They feel it, too. A shame I won't see another Night Sanctum so soon. The Ancients speak of an even more hidden haven... deep within the Blackmire, a stretch of land I thought forsaken.
The more I learn, the less I seem to understand...
— Queen Jezmina of Orindell, 509 D.A.
No brushstroke, no melody, and no setting sun can compare to the beauty of this untamed wilderness. The lush green of the vines reminds me of my home before the drought.
Without the Ancients leading the way, I would surely end up lost. I am thankful for their guidance, but my heart aches for all the folks I left behind... Alas, this mission is important. It is our calling to scatter the Cinder Vessels around Embervale for every soul who cannot reach the Springlands in time, after all.
The Ancients want to "send a signal to the worthy" when the deed is done, but I wonder what they mean... Even when walking side by side, they are still eager to keep their secrets.
— Queen Jezmina of Orindell, 509 D.A.
I never knew the Ancients had once built structures here. My mother, Queen Pikemead, called the Blackmire a no-man's land. Did she keep secrets from me after all?
We placed a vessel inside the main building and learned what it means to "send a signal to the worthy".
The Ancients formed a circle and stretched their hands towards the firmaments. One spoke in a foreign tongue as the starry constellation in the night sky changed.
First, the stars began to twinkle, then twitch. I thought I saw the sky fracture into a thousand pieces, all glittering above, reflecting the light of my own eyes like a kaleidoscope. A clear refraction of all, symmetrical and divine. The light overwhelmed my vision as my head started to spin, and I fell to the ground, where I later awoke.
Perhaps these are secrets both my mother and I must keep.
— Queen Jezmina of Orindell, 509 D.A.
This is it.
Blackmire's final haven — a sunken city, guarded by moor and bramble.
Whoever wanders here shall rest behind a magical gate, the doors of which may only open through buttons stitched in the thicket.
Looking at these crumbling walls fills me with awe... and fear. This city's memories are lost to time, forever slumbering beneath tar. I've mistakenly added a few keepsakes of my own to this hidden treasure trove... not only leaving footprints in the mud, but my very own boots! I shall leave them behind... my garb is weighed down by remembrance and grime.
This makes me wonder... Could humanity be forgotten, just as the stories here were buried? And if we are — if we crack, crumble, and fade to black like the bones below... can we rediscover, and rebuild ourselves? Only the Flameborn will know.
I hope to help build your tomorrow. To carve the path you will blaze, to catch your fall, to raise you higher... I hope my words reach you, constellations apart, an echo through time.
I believe in you, Flameborn.
And one day, I hope to thank you.
— Queen Jezmina of Orindell, 509 D.A.
The Ancients' light brought not blindness, but vision. As white enveloped us, their kaleidoscope rays shot downwards and sent me into a deep slumber. And there, I had a dream.
I found myself in my brother's lands, in a time before the corruption. Lush fields, nestled within the saddle of a valley, kissed by the coast. From the ocean came a beckoning call. It was a sign. We ought to place Cinder Vessels beyond our own shores, no matter the cost.
Upon sharing my vision with the Ancients, I learned that words were of no use. They already understood where we had to go. So we went, streaks of faint light still dancing among the stars.
This bridge facilitates the fastest route to the Veilwater Basin, but it's in disarray. My fellow travelers deem it possible to stroll eastward and then loop around the thicket's border until we reach the sea. I shudder at the thought.
By now, my brother, Lord Vorgoth, would've set forth towards the risen Islands... the home of the Ancients. Despite this, I fear seeing him. Behind a brush of branches, in the twisted shadow of a Monstera leaf, as a reflection of my own features while submerging in a lake, in my deepest sleep...
He and I are of the same blood. Sometimes I fear we are closer than I'd like.
I pray that my dream shan't turn into a nightmare.
— Queen Jezmina of Orindell
As much as it pains me, we must halt our journey briefly.
Supplies are running low, though at times I seem to be the only one eating. At least the horrors of this new world haven't tamed my appetite... Though I admit, the stale bread and bitter fruits that fill my belly hardly satisfy.
Oh, how I yearn for some grilled, spiced yucca... for the honey to run down my lips and fingers, for the even sweeter scent of lovely company — It's hard to clear one's head whilst the heart is aching.
Once we've regained our strength, we will leave the cover of this Ancient structure. There's no telling what surprises the domain of Lord Vorgoth may hold. Are you still there, brother? Does your ghost haunt these wilds?
As I linger on the edge of tomorrow, memories I thought buried rush back. A throbbing pain rips at my cheek. I feel the impact of your armored hand, as if it never left me. I remember the fall that followed, the cold alabaster floors, blood seeping from my nose and lip.
Wherever you go, you leave traces... in the rivers, the winds, the people — My deepest desire is to make mine matter.
— Queen Jezmina of Orindell
We trekked through mud, stalks, and marshland until we reached a clearing. Beyond, the tar turned to water, and the reeds gave way to bamboo and palm trees.
I lowered myself to wash my hands by a pond lined with daylilies, which reached towards vines and mossy stumps further out. Their vibrancy and scent reminded me of my love. Perhaps this moment of carelessness spelled my demise.
A family of frogs sprang from the thicket, each more panicked than the last. I looked up, and my gaze was met by a spear's tip that rushed from the shadowy overgrowth — its reflection below broken by the water's wake.
The rumors rang true. The Drak had returned... and in this moment, I was facing their hunger for blood.
As I held my breath, the spear-wielding Drak let his eyes wander. When his gaze found that of the Ancients around, he straightened his stance, shouted, and dropped his weapon with a splash. His body coiled into a prayer pose, sinking to his knees in the tarn before me. I rushed backwards, grasping a sharp rock as a makeshift defense tool as I stumbled — needlessly, for the beasts revere my fellow travelers as messengers of their gods and gatekeepers of Ark Morgo, their land of the dead.
How this fateful misconception was born, I am not privy to. But today, it saved me from crossing into Ark Morgo myself. Had I been alone, I wouldn't have been so lucky.
— Queen Jezmina of Orindell
With the Drak'Dal present, I don't think it is right to place any Cinder Vessels down. Its inhabitants may not be saved but imprisoned by a metal cocoon. They could be pried open too easily, falling prey to these beasts... and their Ancient encasing won't save them then.
Therefore, we're setting our sights on the horizon, as planned. I hope to find a ship in Stillwater Bay to charter... perhaps then, we'll see how far the rot has spread and will trace its path on a map.
I wonder if it's right... not to turn around, not to ride towards the flying islands where the Elder Ancients linger... not to defend them despite their rigidity, not to bring my brother to his knees before he barges through their gates. But with what army? With what might?
We ought to live. For the future, and for everyone who depends on us. On me. For you, Emily.
When I come back, I will weave daylilies into your hair and serenade you with my lyre until my voice grows hoarse. One day. I promise.
— Queen Jezmina of Orindell
Your skin, tinted olive brown, stunning and soft... Your voice — a roar, a hush — always a sweet sonnet on your lips. My heart blossoms at the sight of you. I want to walk alongside you, to see your footsteps next to mine in the sand... to feel the desert wind, and to dance with you in my arms... It's all I hope for.
— Emily
Jezmina, is it true? The Ancients call upon you to stay behind as the rest of us slumber? Will you be there when I awake? Please, you cannot leave my side! You're my all!
Why must we change? I miss the old days when we used to travel... together, side by side. You let me linger next to you. You held my hand. And now? All this secrecy, for what? I thought you could confide in me. I don't want the Ancients to drive us apart! I'll lose all faith!
If you must go, at least give me a farewell kiss.
All my heart,
— Emily
The hands that hold this quill are stocky and rough from tilling the family's fields. My shoulders are broad, my body is sturdy. Such is the fate of my family line, born to work the soil until we drop. Alas, I could never escape the allure of adventure.
Once when I was young and sowing seeds near the edge of our lot, I heard a whistle from the forest. I snuck through the rickety fence and followed the melody. Eventually, I found a young bard leaning against a tree stump, whistling and carving a flute. When I returned to the empty fields in the dead of night, I was met by my father's disapproval.
He could put me back to work, but he couldn't keep me from humming that mesmerizing tune...
Valory
Market days were my favorite. That fateful day, I traded the farm vegetables for stories and secrets until a familiar melody made me pause. The same tune that called me into the forest so long ago was beckoning me once more. I dropped my sacks of grain and followed it.
I found a bard surrounded by a swaying crowd, playing the bewitching symphony on flute. Something inside of me blossomed like a forgotten seed.
"Get 'yer head out of the clouds!" My father yelled that evening, spitting his mashed potatoes onto the dinner table.
"You got the wrong blood! Look at 'yer hands — They're bulky and strong, not made to fiddle around!" He stuffed his mouth with a dry piece of bread and washed it down with well water.
"'Yer a farmer, kid. Can't change it."
Valory
"Birds get to fly wherever they want. Why can't I?"
Those thoughts raced through my head as I carved the firewood my father had tasked me to gather. Lost in thought, I began to hum my favorite melody.
When I looked up, I saw a magpie had landed near my feet.
"Why won't you fly away, little one? If I were you, I'd leave." I said. The bird just tilted its head, as if confused. I looked down at my hands, at the wood. If these farmers' hands can carve a flute, then what else could they do?
Maybe you carve your own destiny. Maybe you choose your family, and who to love. When to work, and when to dance. How to grow, and when to feel like a kid. I knew it was just a "maybe", but "maybe" was enough for me. I put my carving knife and flute into my bag, stood up, and walked away from the farm, whistling. I've never looked back.
Valory
I didn't think I'd ever recall my childhood fondly — but now, after so many years of adventure, amidst the rot and decay... I gotta say I miss it!
Sure, the days were simple and dull. Tilling the fields (or pretending to). Chatting at the market square when I was meant to sell produce. Carving my flute instead of sowing seeds. Sneaking out of the farmhouse to dance the night away at the tavern...!
But now, decades later, I'm here — Following a bright light in the night sky that ripped through the Shroud's haze so long ago! Only a few survivors are left, but none I've met have seen the same light in the sky. Hopefully, they don't take my vision as just another one of Val's Valiant Tales to tell by the campfire!
Valory
It's foreboding and dishonest... so when the birds that guided my step suddenly stopped singing, and when the wind rustling the leaves swelled into a quiet crescendo, I paused. Then, when I caught a glint of light from above — a reflection dancing on the tip of a spear in the treetops — I knew I was trapped.
Vukah spears rained down on me like blighted fire on Pikemead's Reach the day it fell. But I've seen enough of this world to know when to duck and dash! Keep your head down when the axe is swinging. I learnt that at the court of kings! So I ran towards the setting sun, letting the rays blind my attackers.
I've escaped, and the Vukah won't follow me here. I wonder why... Maybe it is because I'm close to that wondrous light that ripped through the sky so long ago. If the stars align, I'll finally finish this chapter of my journey.
Valory
Queen Jezmina was here, and her Ancient allies summoned the light that led me!
What a strange reunion! I still remember her as a little birdie in her mother's lap. Her frail hands could barely hold my lyre. She cried when she broke the middlemost string... I forgave her.
She wanted to be friends forever and to seal that promise with blood. What a strange Kindlewaste custom I thought, but why not adopt it? I remember making a shallow cut. Then, I restrung the lyre, and she continued to play — cheeks wet from tears and palm spotted with cherry red specks. I still have the scar from that day.
Our paths cross again, separated by time. Her goal is mine, and my scar is hers. I trust that my journey won't end when I enter that vessel... There are so many more adventures to be had, after all!
Valory
I thought we had nothin' to lose when we ripped our way into the mire. Now, with the cave collapsing behind us, I ain't sure anymore.
Our whole mission is screwed. Already lost a couple of scouts who meant to return two nights ago. They ain't coming back. Something got 'em and dragged 'em away. The only ones draggin' anyone around should be us!!
I ain't scared of nothin'... but somethin' ain't right. Is it this bloody swamp or withdrawal giving me shivers...?
Let's just grab our people and dip. Forget the scouting mission. I wanna drown myself in strawberry wine from good ol' Glennwood's End.
When the Kingdom of Embervale still stood as one, we were beyond harm. The old walls were impenetrable during Queen Pikemead's reign. Now, they crumble.
Every watch, I see the smoke come closer... the mistral weighs heavily with a pungent sweetness. Rot and decay... they'll tear through the rampart soon enough. Even the Mining Rift due east cannot yield enough stone to restore the imperial aegis afore the brewing siege.
Pikemead's Reach's ability to admit more cargo for repairs has ceased. We must retain the overdue parcel until further notice... I've placed it on the crane platform.