The Shroud, Elixir, and Elixir Wells

Salt lines every god-forsaken cliff. It fills the air and turns rum to brine.
And yet, I can taste it — something awaits me here. I feel it deep in the rocks. A vibration upon my fingertips, a pulse. The same twitch I feel before drawing an ace. I know it well.

A buzz to snap my streak of misery. Good fortune, finally.

BERTRAM

The thumping leads the way! A bold, beautiful heartbeat beckons me! It rattles my bones, but whets my palate!

My shy compatriots have no taste for riches — or so it seems — as they departed while I slept. We had just broken into the tunnel where, deep at the end, the wonderful buzzing seems to sing.

No matter! More for Bertram, I say! Forward ho!

BERTRAM

No matter what they say, I cannot give up on you. I know you're still out there, Sophie, captured by the heart of the Shroud.

This tower is no home without you. My fingertips trace the rotting pages we swore to keep safe. Their fading words slip my mind like your memory as the mist draws near.
But unlike you, I can't escape. I can never run from the things I said to you... because every time I look into the mirror, you gaze back at me, sister.

When all is silent in the dead of night, I hear your cries reverberate throughout these empty halls.
Maybe your ghost will return to haunt me. And perhaps I deserve that.

You're my other half. My mirror image. My twin, my biggest regret, and loss.
I miss you, Sophie. Come back.

Your Willow

Here in the moonflower's bloom
My tears mirror yours
As heart and casket lay bare

It took me three days to patch Old Olson's floors. I offered to fix the wheels on his wagon instead, but he was determined to stay until the end.

It started in his garden. The ground softened, shifted, and was finally swallowed alongside the dying weeds by a small rift. When morning light hit, his backyard had been replaced by a gaping maw. I rushed to build fences and reinforced structures, but when the sun lay to rest, even they sank below. The hole had grown bigger. I should've sent him away then, broken wagon or not.

This morning, Olson's cottage was gone without a trace, devoured by the darkness. First, I hoped he escaped — since I heard no crying or screaming. But as it turns out, the maw swallows even sound.

I'm putting down the hammer and packing my bags. I won't wait to be swallowed like Olson and the weeds.

This fascinating seed I bought — It takes root and sprouts fast! I find myself dreaming of it at night — the faint glow, illuminating my garden and my soul. I must plant more. The whole village should learn of its glory!

— Hemming, Yearwake, 502 D.A.

I've worked tirelessly for so long... I was the last to stay and try to hold on to anything...

Dear Grandfather, I was a fool. I can't save the home you once built by hand... Fumes from the river make the stone brittle... my bones decay. A deep sorrow has crept inside me... It's attached to my spine, convulsing in my ribcage...

I must sit... rest... only a moment of respite.

I told him to let it go!! I said so, didn't I?

The family curse was set to take 'em, and it did! It wasn't me, t'was the curse! It took Wyllma over time, and now Kasper, too! I told him to let the SWORD GO!

He wouldn't listen... so we argued. I can't remember much, except... A fight, a flash — and Kasper falling to the ground with a dull thud. I called out. Shook him. No response. He's all gone.

He rests under the family tree, next to Wyllma... still clutching that cursed thing. I never want to see it ever again!

Brother — The Elixir Still overflows with the stuff. Nobody will notice that I took some, eh? Come over and let's drink!

Cheers, Samuel.

Brother — Even now, I can feel its strength coursing through me! The Elixir is a miracle — why, I am beginning to feel like a new man! Join me in a raid on the Elixir Still tonight?

The others won't have an inkling of who did it, and we'll have Elixir all yearfall. If you have but a shred of loyalty to me, meet me at my secret cellar at midnight.

Cheers, Samuel.

Brother! You betray me with the rest. You are all cowards — I shall dig my OWN Elixir Wells and have all the Elixir in Embervale! I will no longer rely on the old ways, the old names. This is the dawning of a new age: The Age Of Sameth!

When you read this, I'll have already slipped away under the cover of night.

I can never be the daughter you wanted, Father. Obedient, silent, and dull... I've no apologies left to give. I'm born for greater things! For people to call out to me! For glamor and gold! For adventure! I want to be more than "Eryn the farmhand"... I want to be remembered!

So, you will hear from me again! You must, I will make sure of it! I'll become a bright light in the night sky, a dazzling star in the dark, dripping in jewels — while you'll be digging in the dirt all yearwake.
Once I find something dear to me, something beautiful as morning dew —... I won't let go!

I hope 503 D.A. will be a good year for you — Nay, for all of us!

— Formerly yours, Eryn.

New samples came in. Wares look decent, alright — more than. Could've fooled me. With a bit of luck, we won't fail any audits this time 'round!
We'll easily slip the cargo past the land guard if we send Eryn. Batting her eyes lets her bypass most patrols, pretty bird she is. She's made a good addition to the pack... though I wish she'd be less attached to the trinkets and baubles we carry.

Our abettor in The Pike will take care of the rest. The goods should be hauled out to sea soon enough... nothin' stopping us from a successful yearwake, now!

...Alas, the last rags ran out. I don't think they fend off much, but the crew feels more at ease with something covering their mouths. Sordid air, lately. I'll tear another shirt and leave it at that.

The Shroud rolled over our hide-out like a tidal wave, frothing and thunderous! We rang the alarm, tried to save the shipment — but amidst the flurry, Reynauld froze in place and simply stared! Dismas reached out to him, shook him, tried to drag him off... they were both swept away...

Eryn swung past me, diving into the blue to grab a chest of cheap trinkets! I turned to her, yelling her name as she flew by, but she was hellbent! With a breaking voice, I called out again, into the nothingness, the void... no response.

I didn't stop running until my legs gave out.

During last night's storm, I gazed upon a sight most mystifying.

Work on the Elixir Well was postponed — with a downpour so horrid, even the eagerness of Meldore's most esteemed architect had to bend. I was sitting alone in my shelter when I felt a cold shiver run down my spine. Suddenly, I saw blue mist swirl around the edges of the tent... so I dared to take a peek outside.

Through the veil of rain, I spied a hooded figure on the road to Glennwood's End with the look of a specter... floating. My gut twisted into knots, and I felt as though I was falling into darkness... tripping down a spiralling staircase towards an unknown depth, where something lay waiting.

I must've passed out. When I awoke on the muddy ground outside my tarp, the storm had subsided.
Perhaps my memory betrays me. Surely, I was only tired from work...

My son, Jacob, recently started rambling about "a new friend" he'd made.

He said a cloaked figure came to see him in the dead of night, and told him they should "dig" together. I was frightened, so I went to check all the entries and doors. But when I found nothing out of order, I chalked it up to my child's lively imagination...

Still, I exchanged the locks and boarded up his window. Yes, I had grown paranoid, but perhaps not enough...

Not a fortnight later, I saw it, too. It felt so real — a twisted man with a sickly, mangled face, hovering at the end of my bed... infesting my mind with one word: "Dig."

I've joined the local contractors in building an Elixir Well. Soon, we will crack the ground open and see what we'll find. If I can't keep it out, I have to face it head-on. For Jacob. For everyone.

I still remember when that strange fellow came to my tavern.

It was a slow day in the yearfall of 498 D.A. My best customers had been the contractors and builders from this here Elixir Well, but nearing the completion of their project, they'd been too busy to come by.

I was closing up early when a Mysterious Wanderer slid through my doorway. They were adamant about sharing a pint with me, and while I saw no fault in that, I made sure to keep my distance. My guest seemed... to be in bad health.

Nevertheless, I got to work and poured our drinks as the traveler mused about secrets below the ground. I sat there for hours, listening to myths of magic that, when dug up, would bring boundless power and transformation.

Once the stranger had left, I noticed my racing heartbeat — and that I hadn't touched my ale. That's when I knew I had to see the completion of the Elixir Wells myself!

When I first laid eyes on the reward the Mysterious Wanderer promised me, I was insulted.
However, I quickly realized that this specter, this ghost who distorts reality as if I'm entering a dream, has bestowed me with a great gift...

I hid the corrupted staff atop the wooden structure overlooking the Elixir distillery — only I deserve it. The visions of the floating figure still haunt me... I feel I might be dreaming, still.

Early in the morn', I was manning the grindmill... T'was creaking all wicked. I pushed harder — something blocked the mill.

To my horror, some fool had climbed inside, buried by roots! His body was swollen and bloated. The juice of the plant flesh leaked from his lips.

I fished out what was left of 'im and brushed it under the floorboards next to the grindmill before the morning bell rang. If the head of sanitation finds out, I can kiss my bonus goodbye! Even worse — I may be banned from Elixir production work in all of Meldore!

I was out huntin' when I saw a pretty bluejay up in the sky. Been a while since I had some chicken stew, so I readied my bow, and — wham!

What a shot! The bird tumbled downwards, flailing and chirping.

When I went to retrieve my prey, I saw its claws were grasping something strange... So I pried 'em open. I found this scrap, nay, this letter! Unbelievable, isn't it?

Dear little Brother: Calm your heart — I'm safe and sound. The border between Rimgard and Meldore had plenty of openings to sneak through. I made it out of Veilwater and reached the Revelwood before my comrades even knew I was gone.

Lord Vorgoth has gone mad, Talion. His mind has fallen to the Shroud, infected by that Wanderer's whispers! He lied to us. King Gormander is no threat! I can't fight for this, and my scars are proof of that. I wear them with pride, knowing I did the right thing.

Please come. Wave the war goodbye. Turn your back on all this.

I miss you, munchkin.

— Athalan

The battle by the bridge — I know you must've been there! The ones that fled had terror in their eyes. "The Shroud," they said with a trembling voice. "The Shroud blanketed everything."

Still, the armies of Vorgoth continued to battle. Please tell me: did you breathe it in? Are you still in there, my little brother? Leading the flock as Commander?

I survey the valley when the sun is highest in the sky, but I detect no motion. I put my ear to the ground but hear no marching of heavy boots. If you're in there, please give me a sign, Talion. I'll carry you out on my back, just like the old days.

— Your sister, Athalan

Lord Vorgoth, you're a blighted, demented beast rotten by distrust. A withered man, a raving shadow of a leader, lulled by a roaming snake!
You don't serve your people, you serve the white mold — The thralls of twilight, the call of the wanderer.

Having ever followed your orders makes me sick; a toll I paid in blood.

No army shall protect you. I will cross every chasm, scale every mountain, and brace against the bitter cold. I will push myself beyond the capacity of man to find you. And when I do, my aim will be true. I swear on my brother's honor.

— Athalan Skree, 3rd day of Yearwake, 503 D.A.

I was carrying construction material when I felt a rumble under my feet.
Startled, I tripped and let the heavy load tumble to the ground. I must've hit my head on the stone stairs on impact... everything went black. I was lost in the silence, who knows how long.

When I awoke, a tingle danced upon my palm. A crawl. Then, a sting. A beastly critter had plunged its needle-like fangs into my hand! I shook it off, roused by the scare. I wanted to stomp it out, but the beast burrowed underground... build without me whilst I tend to this wound!

Its teeth tear my flesh evermore.

The first bite was but a bitter prelude to the many more that followed. I fear my time is near.

My muscles tighten, my skin stretches. I can see them under candlelight, eagerly pushing outward... The catacomb's stones have cursed me, for the hollow of my ribcage is home to a thousand hungering maws.

When we were brought here to dig, the task was clear as day — despite the blueprints for our build arriving in stages, and without annotations. I've never worked in construction as a surveyor without knowing the architect until now. I did not inquire into their identity, since many architects prefer solitude, and some don't want their name attached to something distasteful — say, a dungeon for prisoners of war.

Even dungeons have sick bays. Whatever we are building does not, but we were assigned many nurses instructed to archive any "unusual" incidents, and "symptoms"... I've since learned why. More workers are falling victim to strange accidents.
Instead of entering the new century with a celebration, we worked long hours to transform the storage unit below into a temporary, but well-needed infirmary.

I can keep quiet about many things. I know my place. But when breaching an enshrouded cavern and being told to continue onward, it's impossible to keep the workers from asking questions. What are we building? What are we reaching towards? I cannot answer, but whatever it is, it captures and imprisons the minds of my workers worse than any dungeon could.

Occupation: Construction Worker

Residence: "Maelstrom" Construction Site (currently).
A transfer request is pending.

Medical History: Ruptured disk, backpain

Incident: Reportedly experienced a sudden, sharp ache while descending the stairs to the lower level of the dig site. Fell 2 flights of stairs, sustaining a broken rib and multiple other injuries. Other workers testified they saw Tongs forcefully shut his eyes moments before the accident as if to avoid a bright, burning light.

Doctors Notes: Patient refused to open his eyes until about 48 hours after the fall.
Upon realizing he had not lost his vision, he was relieved. Please dismiss from work to allow for immediate and total bed rest.

Date: First Day of Yearwake, 500 D.A. (What an opener!)

Occupation: Construction Worker, I assume

Residence: "Maelstrom" Construction Site

Medical History: Unknown. The patient would not say.

Incident: Constant catatonic state, apparent hallucinations, schizophrenia?

Doctors Notes: Does not respond to questions. Spent two hours tracing the shape of a spiral on the wall facing away from me. Unusually widened eyes, unblinking, tinged unnaturally bright blue. Have I seen this color before? I'm so overworked, I can't tell anymore. Will ask a nurse later about the symptoms, maybe they know.

Date: 7th Day of Yearwake, 500 D.A.

*Annotation! The Patient disappeared after I went to fetch a fellow nurse, although I thought I locked the door to the makeshift sick ward. In his current state, patient Walker cannot care for himself!

Occupation: Construction Worker

Residence: "Maelstrom" Construction Site

Medical History: Imbalance of humors with abnormal amounts of yellow bile.
Result: Choleric.

Incident: Claims he was "enamored" by an illusory glow when hauling bricks. The "brightness" overtook him and made him lose control over his bodily functions. Dropped bricks over the railing, critically injuring two foremen. Flint was unresponsive at first due to the uncontrollable convulsions.

Doctors Notes: He received a cut in rations days prior, and no muscle spasms were observed while the patient was in our care. The only thing of note was a rhythmic twitching of the right eye, uncharacteristically bright blue. Could he be faking? I'm inclined to refer the case to the authorities. *

Date: 3rd Day of Yearwake, 500 D.A.

*Annotation! The patient exclaimed that the "brightness" returned during a check-up, and convulsed multiple times after. Duration of the seizures: 1 minute, 1 minute again, 2m, 3m, 5m, 8m, and lastly about 13 minutes. The patient leaked yellow bile from orifices.

It's an alluring tunnel, a cave, a mouth wide open. It's a warm and enveloping darkness that promises a sacred inner light. Mankind is but children, young to the Earth, fresh-faced and naive, eager to explore. We are moths to a blue flame, drawn to go in.

We strut where we should walk, and tower when we ought to crawl. Whoever allowed us to breach the darkness? To travel in and downwards evermore, a never-ending spiral slick with liquid shadow, down, a tiny splinter of time and matter sliding into the belly of a beast?

I see this again, and again, and again.
Sometimes, I am the child, blissfully ignorant until the end.
Other times, I am the darkness. Greedy and waiting, observing the still waters from below — the silent predator crowded with invisible bodies at the bottom of a sunless sea. Calm, and so, so far away.

Again, and again, and again.

The spiral pulls inwards
Winding down
Unknowable configuration, each curve more twisted than the last
A corkscrew slowly digging into flesh
A snake eating the world
And devouring itself, until it can feast no longer
Again, and again, and again. Until the world forgets, for it leaves no trace of itself but a lingering allure.

The pressure mounts as I travel below. A world that's no longer mine towers above me, suffocates me, pushes me down. I press my hand against the walls of the spiral so I don't lose myself in the descent.
Its sides are moist and glistening.

It twists more with every turn, uneven, irregular, and mangled around itself. It leads me ever downwards. The deeper I dive, the more I understand its rhythm. It's fleshy, breathing, vibrating. It becomes alive at depth.

I awake at the bottom of the spiral, at the core of the Earth. Around me, a writhing mass, a mess of limbs, a mound of flesh. It forms the vortex that connects the here and the before.

The mass gazes at me. I glare back, torn inside by the selection of faces, all broken, shattered, and realigned.

It is a grotesque imitation of life where eyes melt to cheeks, lips liquify, and heads split to bloom into something new.

One seems estranged, yet familiar — a fleeting thought, a newspaper clipping, a whispered word. He is one, but he is many. He is a wanderer, as I am. He is all around.

Too humanoid to be born from the mist
Too suffocated, too glistening to be human
Or human, still

He is like morning dew
The dawn of a new day
The start of every spiral, waiting to be found

The faces twist into each other, and all breathe as one
Some have scars, growths, and fevers
Maddened eyes or shrieking voices
But they were all him, and he was all of them
And for a moment, I thought I would become him, too. Or he would become I.
To form a new spiral. To lie underneath the water's surface in wait, mouth agape. To be forgotten, and emerge to eat the world anew.

Reflections of reflections
A kid following a cloud on the face of a silent pond
Mistaking an image for another, and another, and another
The memory of a specter, half-forgotten, but ever haunting
A fraction of what once was, a shadow of the self reshaped and remade

Every push and pull prompts a soft groan, a shimmering tear, a pearl of sweat.
The spiral torments itself to face me as one. The spiral torments the world.
The spiral is the faces of the bodies on the sea floor. The spiral is what blooms below.
The spiral is alive, is a snake, is a maelstrom, is a mouth, is the curiosity that feeds on us. It waits for us, ensnares, chews, devours, and rebirths us.

The spiral is our end, and our new beginning

The cells don't just contaminate. They absorb. By breaking down natural matter, they create a cycle for energy and growth! I must understand it... Experiment more with the Shroud Spores and comprehend their ways. It's tiresome, sure, but I'd rather be in my laboratory than with the villagers... they drain my energy.

The fluid in the Black Cauldron spins and spins — it forms a vortex that draws me in... The spores dissolve anything I add, slowly eating away at flesh and bone. Changing them, as if the liquid were lapping up genetic strands to twist them anew.

Once, I gazed into it too long as it spun... and I thought I felt it glare back. Perhaps I've grown batty with age. Or lonely.
— Ikora

I've gone mad, I know it. The years of solitude have made my mind brittle.

The void. The maw. Inside the Black Cauldron, lingering, waiting. Spinning. Clouding my mind with its sweet, foul smell...

It calls me, whispering. I don't understand what it says, but... it knows. It knows I'm empty.
It's empty, too. Hungry.
We are alike.
— Ikora

The maw was famished as it called my name. Lonely. Yearning, like me. I had no choice, and it knew.

Caught between teeth, sharp as razor blades — my sides cut, and split apart. I slipped under its tongue, spinning. Suffocating in its warmth. It holds me inside. We are the same. We are one.

Why is my flesh hollow?
A pit. I am a pit, empty, starved
I am nothingness, the absence, the void
The few, the many, the all
Pulled into the spiral's core, feeding the cycle
Breeding ground today
Harbinger tomorrow, unravelled anew
I am the abyss itself, awoken once more

Something from below has awoken. An evil, a sickness... corruption from within. With shaking hands, I loosened a cobblestone from the dry basement wall, revealing a festering mold. The source of the rot... below all this time...

I buried it under rubble and ash, but it shan't suffice... The blighted root lies too deep to dig out. It'll likely sprout again, and again, and again...

The elevator broke. Again.
I told the overseer to issue proper repairs countless times. This is where it got me. Stuck in an elevator, with no one else left on shift.

Last time this happened, the guys were trapped for 2 days, but the shipment they were stuck with contained plenty of food and a sabertooth pelt to sleep on. Seems like I don't share their luck. All I've got is a load of books, parchment, and a creaking wagon to lie on.

At least I won't have to wait long until I'm saved.

Someone should've come by, but the outpost is empty. No one answers my calls for help. Even worse, I think I hear something shuffling beneath me. At first, I felt it was the bandits from the south port again but the noises didn't sound human.

Come to think of it, the overseer mentioned something about the rising Shroud. Maybe they shut down the site until further notice? It's no use. I'll have to rescue myself!

I moved one of the carts to the platform's edge and stockpiled the cargo there. It wasn't quite high enough to climb out, so I started stacking loose books on top. I'm rapidly losing sunlight, so I won't try to climb out now. Scaling this unstable construction is dangerous enough, even without the encroaching darkness.

Stupid, damnable books
Who even reads books anymore
This can't be real

I tried climbing out at the crack of dawn, but I fell off the darn stack

Fall was bad

Shoulder is aching, head is ringing
Even worse, the wagon is broken

If the overseer sees this, I can kiss my position goodbye

Trying again tomorrow
Or whenever I wake up
I have to lie down
Everything spins

Don't know how long I slept. In my dreams, I saw velvety, blue waves while voices serenaded me to join them in the deep. Weird dream. Must be because I hit my head in the fall. Yelling for help. I'm starving. Ate paper. Stomach hurts. Can't feel my arm.

Day 5
My voice is gone. Throat feels like it's closing up.
Something tastes rotten
Can't tell if it's the paper or my tongue

Day 6
Tried climbing out again. Fell. Hands blistered.
The sun burns me. The voices cry.
For a moment I thought the elevator was moving
My head spins

Day
What day is today
I don't know
Still hungry
I long to eat flesh

??
It's in the air
All around me
The voices, the rot
There's no escape
There's no air
I'm sinking forever

Dear Sir,

Allow me to introduce myself. I am Costner Meyers, and you may have heard of me. I have reason to believe that a valuable resource lies beneath the ground you own, and I would happily negotiate a deal with you. For, you see, it has been preordained.

Recently, I was struck by a vision while searching for water. I became disoriented in the wild, my mouth dry as sand — but at last, I was blessed by a visit from some sort of hovering phantom. You might think this to be a hallucination, but it gave me water and bestowed me with unlikely insight. The Kindlewastes are deadly, but the Mysterious Wanderer says there's hope. The land hides liquid gold inside!

You must believe me. Do not test my faith.

Signed,
Costner Meyers, Midyear, 493 D.A.

Dear Sir,

You test the will of the Mysterious Wanderer. The specter knows your mind to be fickle.

My proposal was fair, but your silence speaks volumes. Even though I sought your home out with peaceful intentions, you threatened me with violence! I bring a message from the gods, you fool! No matter your response — I must recover the precious resource that lies inside the soil. It will be your ground no more! You will see what my retribution looks like!

The phantom will intertwine your string of fate with darkness itself. You cannot turn back. The thread has been woven.

You've brought this upon yourself.
- Costner Meyers

Attention, weary travelers! Do not heed the violent rumors surrounding this land. Beneath the very ground lies a cure-all for what ails you! As the new owner of this land I, Costner Meyers, kindly invite you to sample my "Incredible Elixir" — which came to me in a miraculous vision!

Anyone who comes by before the end of yearfall will get the first flask for half the prize!

Try it, and you will find yourself transformed! Come one, come all!

— Costner Meyers

Townspeople, be warned! You must pray elsewhere, for these halls are haunted! I saw it with my own eye!

I was marveling at the Spark when the Flame suddenly began to dance and whip around in a strange rhythm! I thought it to be a trick of the light, but once my eye adjusted, I saw a ghastly shape emerge from the ground! Twisting the fire was a nebulous horror, skeletal remains aflame in spectral glow! It shifted towards me through the floorboards and Flame, its lips leaking curses and rot!!

Let me tell you: I've never scampered so quickly in all my life! Had I stayed, I swear on my sisters, I'd have lost my other eye!
— Elin

Ever since we started building this Elixir Well, the ground has been prone to shaking violently.

The snow is gray. Echoes whisper words that were never spoken out loud. We can hear something inside the mountain.

I think we're corrupting something we don't even understand yet. Whatever it is, I don't want to be around when it wakes... I just hope the outposts finish their ballistae.

Our onslaught on the Ancient gate was met with little resistance. Thus, its stone was promptly crushed to dust beneath the march of my men.

The Ancients are trying to lull me... they've sapped energy from their barriers to fuel the cloistered weapon in their midsts! This is a declaration of war — so war they shall get!

I can see their fabled Citadel in the distance... proudly crossing the horizon's line; ripping through the waxing moon's light!
This is where they keep their flame, so my wandering friend says... where they will summon fire to rain down on MY people, scorching the earth of MY lands!

The reign of rats must end...Together, we must tear them down.
Down the gullet. Down the spiral.
Down, down, down
to us.

— Lord Vorgoth, Guard of the North, Ruler of Rimgard

Two heartbeats rattle my ribcage.

One clings to a vengeful rhythm. It expands, rips and tears, suffocates me from within. It feels righteous, though vindictive.

There is another tone that reverberates inside. A quiet hum, mild with remembrance of... of what, exactly? Some spectre of myself I do not recognize; less wizened and haggard.

He speaks of a border that can only be ruled by a strong hand. Of a proud but shattered kingdom, wishing to unite — held together in a fist. Of a seed of secrecy, a threat, planted in the outer rind of his brain and nurtured until rootbound.

He is the Guard of the North
The warden of the wall
And he, too, is crushed under the fist

For he lives in a world of mice and men, where the cowards tether one below
Where one needs a sword to sever these ties that bind
Ties that cannot be remade
Where the weak are culled, and one must rise to live
So the walls must be taller, and the ascent higher
and the distance grows forever, until everything below is misty blue

The mist unites, so says the seed
In the Shroud, everything is whole, and all is one, and one is all
And so the right hand stretched out to deliver what it carries
A fist; a sword; an end
A cerulean thread to stitch two hearts as one

— Lord Vorgoth, Guard of the North, Ruler of Rimgard

Destiny draws near. Their cursed Citadel is closer than ever... and within it, their weapon. The fire which we ought to snuff out... The Mother Flame, which threatens to burn us alive. The source of their infinity, and lifeblood of their kind.

We must separate the mice from the men
The rats from the rulers
The Ancients from the ashes of rebirth

We must douse her. To unite everything. To become whole, so the Wanderer says.

He stood by my side, one step from the edge, arms stretched out wide.
"This is what the birds see." He said. "The birds of prey. High, far up above the rest... floating."

Why, yes. I should float. Above the rats. Above all.
This is where I was meant to be from the beginning, and where I'm meant to bring forth the end. Though my heart aches... I will fulfill my duty.

— Lord Vorgoth, Guard of the North, Ruler of Rimgard

I keep hearing whispers in the dark. They're faint. Far away, but amplified... manifold. Layered. Like an echo that answers its own beck and call. A folded veil, descending on itself.

As I attempt to peel back the pleats, it feels as though I brush against skin above skin; skin where there should be none, should never have been.
A thing that grows and never stops growing, painting over itself with matter. A thing with many faces; crying from many mouths.
Heckling, deceiving, bantering.

Cinder's Cradle has finally done me in.
The others fell - or surrendered themselves - to the Shroud long ago... for me, the final stab was this sweltering heat... and all these... voices.

For the longest, I couldn't place them. I recognize them as unlike my own, unlike my comrades' or the Lord's...

Then, I realized it. When the Wanderer spoke, raising his fist firmly by Vorgoth's right side, I heard it.

I heard the voice of the whispers, split from many mouths.

He's always up there in that lonely tower.

Instead of parlaying with his men, or what's left of 'em, he's staring at the stars... why? It must be the Wanderer's doing. He's the one who's been infecting his mind; guiding his hand, his sword...

What answer, what wisdom could the moon overhead possibly hold? Is the Lord growing sentimental? No, it can't be.

It must be his way of preparing for the siege.