Books

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Description

Books are items that are found in the world of Deepwoken and are a separate category from loot, tools, weapons, etc. Books can be obtained by looting the various bookshelves around the world or as a guaranteed item sold at a Traveling Merchant Ship. Upon opening a book, player's are given a small sum of Intelligence XP. Besides that, most books have no purpose besides providing additional lore and information regarding Deepwoken's world and history; excluding Intelligence or Charisma Training Gears and Weapon Training Gears. Books can also be donated in a Guild Bases' library for future reading. With a select few books, you can read them and gain the ability to perform it's song, without lyrics.

Some books are obtained in specific areas only, and cannot be found outside of it. Such books include:

• Debriefing Log on Operator Polaris Enigvidion: Greathive Aratel
• The Gideshu March: Fort Merit
• Operation 'Distant Light' Report: Fort Merit
• Operation 'Puppet Master' Report: Fort Merit
• Ossuary Maintenance: Greathive Aratel
• Our Fortress (Of Smoke And Steel): Summer Isle
• Strange Missives: Greathive Aratel

Some books are obtained as part of specific quests and cannot be found outside of them, and thus multiple copies cannot be obtained. Such books include:

• Diver Journal I, II, III: Second Layer
• Ministry Field Report: Outpost Antumbra

Books

Archivist Journal: 'Megalodaunt'

by Archivist Caliban Sr.

Winter, 521 CE.

Subject C hasn't moved within his enclosure all day. He's resting on the ground, staring intently at the glass surrounding him, for no discernable reason to us.

Even for evening supper, he's yet to move an inch; it's quite the blight, as the body's stench has accumulated more over time. He just stares, unmoving.

This came as quite a shock to Faris and I, as Subject C usually becomes frenzied when brought near a corpse, yet.. nothing.

Late into the night, Subject A rose from her slumber and released a deafening screech, waking every living being in the facility easily. The shaking floor somehow stirred even Subject C to an upright position, looking attentively toward the alpha.

Throughout our weeks studying, the relationship between an alpha megalodaunt and a subordinate megalodaunt has brought many interesting questions into our hands.

While not appearing to be reasonably intelligent creatures, they have a strong sense of social hierarchy, and their place in their 'society,' if it could be called that.

Subordinate megalodaunts tend to pay close attention to the alpha of their territory, for reasons we cannot understand. Subject A has expressed the impressive ability to bring a creature as lazy as Subject C to his feet, a feat insurmountable to us, meager scholars.

As it has been a notably long time since Subject C has eaten, he finally began to motion toward his now hours-old dinner; yet, Subject A had seemed to deny this, taking the meal for herself. Astounding, isn't it? Faris wouldn't even believe me if I told him twice!

Once the excitement died down, I returned to slumber.

Today, the realization has hit that we lack additional food for our dear subjects.

Last night's meal for Subject C was the last body on-hand; unfortunately, it is winter. Pathfinders tend to be.. shakey, during this time of year. It's more difficult to find gullible, bright-eyed, hopeful ones.

During last winter, we prepared a surplus of bodies in preparation for this. This winter, however, we became careless. Too much time spent on experimentation and studying, of course.

But, I do not want to end my studies here, and a megalodaunt's appetite is.. marvelous.

I'll contemplate my options. I'm determined to see these experiments through to the end.

I'm writing once more, only a few hours past my previous entry.

I've prepared a new meal for my subjects. I still need to wash myself first, as I do not want the smell of blood luring them toward myself instead of their meal.

Despite this being all I can provide for now, I'm happy to say it will at least satisfy Subject A; she's my primary research target at the moment, after all. Surely, her subordinates will understand.

And if not? I've seen beautifully gruesome combat between megalodaunts, almost akin to mankind's scuffles. Truly, a fascinating spectacle to witness.

I fed the last of my food supply to Subject A, dropping the body into the enclosure. As she did last night, she consumed it happily, as the other two subjects watched.

I used this opportunity to gain the best look I possibly could muster at the coarse coral along her back. A beautiful, natural weapon, capable of slaughtering hundreds of pathfinders within mere moments.

It's ability to launch almost needle-like projectiles at such high speeds is.. beautifully lethal; it mainly occurs when the megalodaunt is under high-stress, as a last-ditch defense mechanism.

I fear I may have stared too long though, as the other subordiantes seemed more interested in me then ever before; I made sure to engage in a swift exit.

There's something marvelous about these creatures, some sort of almost mankind-like understanding between eachother.

Yet, to us, they are simply considered 'monsters.'

You all fail to see it's social prowress, without not even a consideration of the possibilities; what if we were able to exploit this hierarchy for our own purpose?

For my own purpose. For your own purpose.

Children of the Aftertide I

- a foreword by Mira Sokolof

The world we live in - the world after the Canticlysm, the Tides, and the Drowning of Celtor, - is a world without harmony and peace, a place of great turmoil and unrest. For some, such as the tide-scattered Celtor, it is a place without a past and a home. The surface is slowly turning into a graveyard of once-great cultures, as the few surviving ones vie for supremacy in a sea-sundered land.

I myself, Mira Sokolof, am a descendant of the Celtor who survived the Great Drowning by fortune of being away from the city during the catastrophe. Despite that, the loss of our heartland - its wholesale disappearance to the Depths below, - left a great wound in our collective psyche, and an astoundingly vast rift in our cultural memory. Our traditions hardly survive after several centuries of diaspora, but they cling on to dear life, thanks to the efforts of individual Celtor. My family tried - and still try - their hardest to keep the Celtorian ways alive, passing old stories and customs down the family line through spoken word and repetition.

But this alone, and in such small numbers, cannot preserve the old culture of my kin. Slowly, as we are forced to seek other homes to settle in - homes other than our own, - our ways fade, and the past is forgotten. It is hard to accept it, but the Celtor culture is experiencing its final sunset. Not only did the archives and libraries of our once-great drowned city contain a wealth of texts about our culture, but the city itself once housed the culture’s living practitioners - the Celtorians themselves. But now, we are scattered, few and far inbetween, like chaff in the wind; and our wealth of culture is lost beneath the tide.

At present day, the surface world is still dotted with a variety of cultures, each at a different stage of vitality. For example, the island of Etrea, the last remaining shard of a once-great kingdom of the same name, maintains its distinct way of life in relative isolation. However, their culture is growing stagnant, ossified, and inflexible due to such policies, remaining relatively unchanged for the past several centuries - an unnatural amount of time for any civilisation’s lifestyle to stay so static. As another example, The Navaean nomads’ ways are still going strong, flourishing in the face of great adversity - somewhat of a paradox considering their culture’s wandersome nature, their reliance on traditions of spoken word, and their consistent clashes with the encroaching imperial influence of the Central Authority. The Authority themselves, as yet another example, struggle to find any solid cultural ground to stand on, despite being made up of numerous varied groups of people, each with their own colourful histories and customs. Instead, they rely upon loyalty to hierarchy and on military tradition to keep their political ties from fraying.

And then, of course, there are new cultures still emerging in the long wake after the Tides, forming up in response to the changed ways of the people of the New World. Where there was a lack of rooted national history and shared past, a variety of stand-ins arose - companies, labour unions, and guilds of workers and adventurers alike. Within these non-societal units, unique traditions, hierarchies, and customs take shape. They fight for their place beneath the sun, like any other.

Despite all this, our world remains at strife with itself, and destruction reigns over creation. We have proven, time and time again, that humanity can persevere in the face of incredible adversity, and band together during and after world-ending events. What we have woefully failed to do, however, is preserve the past - the circumstances did not allow us to do this well.

It is for this reason that I publish this journal of mine, containing within it a continuous study of the surface world’s cultures, traditions, customs, and ways of life - old and new alike. Here I have set the records of my investigative journey throughout the world, accompanied by my very close life-long friend, a Khan warrior named Anna Nemises. We hope these writings are found satisfactory in the face of posterity.

In truth, we do not know for certain what the future holds. Perhaps the world as it is may not exist for very long. Perhaps none are exempt from the fate that befell the city of Celtor, the Great Jewel - but from the shared, traumatic experience of the surviving Celtorian people, rebuilding will be a much easier task if at least a small ember of the past remains burning.

This is my ember, brought to the altar of time. Never again may we suffer alone, in the dark.

A Deathscribe's Journal

Journal belongs to Memorial Mason Simeon Rasimof, of the Citadel of Markor

note to self: started a new notebook for the year, since I ran out of space in first one. remember to engrave all names from last book before engraving these! two croses = crosed out

remember, don't have to take note of their ranks unless it's a black diver, leave the carving of rank symbols next to names to Uriel or Svarn

• Chance Kernel ++

• Julian Huuli ++

• Ulla Kereshi ++

• Pyrrha Ratra ++

• Oscar Kalvika

• Vinney Golbor

• Santiago Rico

• Judith Holden

• Dante Sahet

• Anthony Praadet

• Nestor Bykof

• Cadaver Tarsus - MIA (hahaha, talk about irony!)

• Aesop Trikali

• Indra Era

• Keith Talo

• Ryan Vendet

• Ogrim Vendet (siblings?)

• Zeke Vendet (is this a whole family??)

• Shem Vendet

• Harley Vendet

• Arno Vendet

• Aemilius Vendet

• Sandra Vendet

• Olivia Vendet (that's the last one... tsk!)

• Nia Atamli

• Neo Theodra - MIA

• Aaron Baranof

• Simone Edgli

• Nestor Calico - MIA

• Ste ++ (?? ink?)

sphinx of black quartz judge my vow sphinx of black qua damned bottle. ink ran out, had to get a new one note to self: get something to eat after all this, then get names from old Helsen

• Steven Dise ++ (wrong spelling!)

• Stephen Dise (with a •PH', like in philosophy. or philology. or phenomenal... phobia. phase. phony. phonetics... Phlegm?.. i'm getting sidetracked)

• Scar Drameus

• Gaspard Trikal

• Graham Rethige

• Gregor Olof

• Desdemona Dusselden (black diver, gild the name)

• Laura Sero

• Estelle Galvigi

• Ivan Ivanel - MIA (old Helsen says the guys been mising for 40 years, but they don't wanna declare him dead because some black diver reported maybe seeing him in the eastern luminant? Wild)

• Drew Disii - MIA

• David Zeshi

• Acedia Leshi

• Charles Bobrof - MIA

• Peter Donnet

• Rick Ashet (old Helsen said this one got napped in half by a king crab. Yikes!)

• Aspen Hira (black diver, gild the name)

• John Ishel

• Rhys Nemira

• Black Diver Selim (no surname? old Helsen says he was a solo agent with no fanuly. gild the name)

• Carol Palo

• Hector Corbet - MIA

• Izzy Sehlka

• David Truad

• Austin Munet

• Ripley Raanad (black diver, gild the name - feels weird actually recognising one of the names! this was that one vegetarian girl, gave me a crab bisque lunch she didn't want back when she was an apprentice. kind of sad...)

• Leo Nemises

• Maxos Atedra

• John Ferad - MIA

• Agnes Yuset

• David Arad

note to self: tell the new apprentice (what was his name? Arun?) to fetch me a new chisel when i have a moment

also, it's been a while since i last saw that lout Uriel around... is he on sick leave? why isn't he working with this week?

• Lena Ixatoke

• Josue Casatra - MIA ++ (came back from dead after a few days??? old Helsen says they didn't expect him to pass the interstice trial)

• Armand Isket

• Seth Enega - MIA

• Sandra Rephika

• Taliah Sokolof

• Sapphire Evus

• Harold Veshi - MIA

• Ishmael Nephidra - MIA (black diver, gild the name)

• John Adaset

• August Praadet - MIA

• Dimitri Kernel

• Faris Arad (wasn't this that one kid that said he wanted to be Klaris's apprentice?)

• Olivia Ymara

• Rhys Ouli

• Phoenix Ratra

• Miles Edgli - MIA

• Richard Gumshi

• Dylan Kanreshi

• Crow Akarad (black diver, gild the name - heh, "in akarad's steps" is right, aye?)

• Enk Sec ++ (ugh messed it up)

had to pause work due to wristt pain. maybe i should see the folks in the ambulatory wing about this or maybe i just need a break. i've been carving names all day, and the bloody list never ends! old Helsen just dropped like twenty names on me and Svarn, and i'm not even done crossing out names from my last rotebook yet! those divers need to stop dying so fast.

• Erik Sekhige

• Cassius John Canden (whys this got two names?)

• Cassius Edgar Canden (oh.)

• Yasuke Kereshi

• Esker Massi

• Abigail Atedra (black diver, gild the name)

• Patricia Niildra - MIA

• Byron Disii

• Elliott Helsen (any relation to the high mason, i wonder?- hope not!)

• Ariana Ishel

• Aspen Etudi

• Eileen Loritad - MIA

• Julian Theus

• June Janus - MIA

• Sigurd Sekhigi (black diver, gild the name)

• Rasman Kalashor (i remember this one - loud-mouthed apprentice who wouldn't shut up in the hall of memory! funny how he ends up here all quiet now)

• Chert Bobrof

• Alicia Saali - MIA

• John Nothli

• Albion Enegi

• Ulla Amarico

• Veronica Nephidra

• Thalassa Ashi - MIA

• Douglas Douglas Vondren (not a mistake, that's his actual name)

• Tamerlane Trige (black diver, gild the name)

• Cyrus Juno - MIA

• Ryan Hira

• Logan Rashet

• Esker Emuli

• Ingrid Ouli

• Shem Praadet - MIA

• Sirius Ashet

• Jim Trige - MIA

• Zeke Aethuda

large gaggle of apprentices just pased by and interrupted my work, led on a small tour by one of the new black divers, Isma. if you didn't know any better, with her bright hair and mean scowl, yotrd think she was Klaris' daughter. seeing her makes me miss going to castle light to do maintenance work... having a cushy job as a designated memorial mason isn't so bad either, though.

either way, cheeky gits asked me a bunch of questions before they left for the next stop on their tour. they seemed a little scared of me, like a death omen. i mean... i guess we *do* wear all black, have rugged hands, and come off as rather nonchalant in such a morbid place...

bright-eyed, hapless naive... i'd bet Uriel and Svarn a month's worth of dinner each that at least 3/4ths of the rookies Will have their names on the wall by next year. though, i'm not sure they'd take the bet. Uriel's a cheapskate, and Svarn knows better than that. anyway, back to work

• Saeko Leeli

• Joy Mora - MIA (joy, nussrng among the divers? haha, no kidding)

• Price Era

• Gertrude Nemises - MIA

• Kestrel Kamali (catchy!)

• Misaka Ytreshi

• Sage Dise

• Timur Dise

• Fox Palo ('fox', like the old world animal? i remember Scholar Tullius giving a public lecture on those. what else will they come up with next? am i going to be carving 'Horse Etudi' on the monument with the next batch of names? or maybe 'Thresher Tarsus' in a few years? groan)

• Andros Zeneke

• Faye Aethuda (black diver, gild the name)

• Nico Jaegen - MIA ++ (found his way back to castle light days after his squad got wiped out. impressive!)

• Sarah Dusselden

• Ulmer Trikali - MIA

• Chesed Eiad - MIA

• Daedalus Eldra

• Tristram Trigi (black diver, gild the name)

• Fitz Rethige

• Remus Narsus - MIA

• Aspen Etudi - MIA

• Gilbert Etudi

• Samantha Golubof

• Ernest Huuli

• Leon Nuren

• Gabbro Scarsen (black diver, gild the name)

note to self: ask old Helsen to teach the new apprentices how to work new monoliths into shape; we've got only a couple left in storage, and Song knows well fill its sides up with names soon enough. Uriel came back this week; i don't know what he's been doing on his time off, but he smells awful, like really bad and stagnant morning breath. Svarn's away on a depths work summons, apparently castle light had an emergency and needs extra hands for maintenance. and then young Helsen nicked her finger quite badly while working with a chisel, so she's out of commission for a week or so. there go the two people i could have a decent conversation with in this place during lunch, aside from whenever old Helsen graces me with his brief presence, once in a blue moonseye. lousy week!

also note to self: buy celebratory dinner for the memorial mason crew when you finish crossing out names in the old notebook!

• James Konoli (black diver, gild the name)

• Sam Gatli - MIA

• Pippin Tuuli

• Aspen Estedra

• Quartz Evus

• Gael Isket

• Dylan Sahet - MIA

• Karl Kavinel

• Connie Ivanel

• Grace Aethuda - MIA

• Lucia Disii - MIA

• Sylvester Staelen (black diver, gild the name)

• Murphy Etudi

• Otto Barad

• Pandora Cassatra - MIA

• Rickard Atamli (NOT richard! C and K. cook in a kitchen. catch a kestrel. cram a... kennel? i should ask Svarn for more mnemonics like this, he probably knows. could make a game out of it, too)

• Alaia Bobrof

• Alder Bobrof - MIA

• Beatrix Enege

• Buster Huuli (buster huuli.„ shoulda worked in the central authority navy as a gunner with that kind of name, haha)

• Harper Holden (surprised this one wasn't in the scholars' orchestra with that name! who names these kids?)

• Hats Kaluka

• Samantha Eko

• Vincent Kavinel - MIA

• Miles Ven

• Gabbro Sokel

• Graham Mirad - MIA

OLD NOTEBOOK FINISHED! dinner's on me tonight! time to start carving the names in this notebook now. i can see old Helsen coming this way, must be more names...

• Nestor Nemises - MIA

• Jim Etudi - MIA

• John Kalvika

• Ingrid Adaset

• Elmer Praadet

• Uriel Ixatoke (black diver, gild the name)

• Bran Bren (WHO NAMES THESE KIDS??)

• Simone Keldra - MIA ++ (reached the surface after a few days, successfully escaped through interstice)

• Lem Ytreshi

• Timothy Huuli

• Esther Era

• Victor Nemises

• Naomi Isket

• Charles Yuset - MIA

• Wilford Trikali

• Gully Galvigi (cool name, i'd be this guys friend. er, if he were alive, anyway.)

• Jane Ishel (black diver, gild the name)

• Vanda Mora

• Poe Holden - MIA

• Gabriella Helsen (definitely unrelated to the high mason - i asked young Helsen about it)

• Lim Hasteshi

• Joseph Theus - MIA

• Sophodon Surad (THIS ONE'S IMPORTANT! black diver, gilded name, two symbols of rank either side, add sub-heading - "Retired after 43 years of honourable service in the Black Divers' Division, turning down a promotion to the High Convocation of the Citadel of Markor." add motto "TO THE DEEPEST FATHOMS". oh my!!!)

• Romeo Janus (some luck, to be some random death right under *a retirement name*! good thing us memorial masons get our own individual carved monuments...)

• Woodrow Eldra - MIA

• Wormwood Veshi (what kind of a name is that?)

• Xenon Vondren

• Nera Atedra

• Sinbad Munet - MIA

• Galahad Galvigi (black diver, gild the name)

• Gwyn Niildra - MIA

• Hannah Adra

• Kayla Rico (black diver, gild the name)

my my, it's been literal years since i've seen someone retire! didn't think old Surad was going to see the day, heard from old Helsen that the fellow's been getting on in years now. thought he'd have died either on the field, or of old age. figured he wouldn't become a convocant if he lasted this long, though. Svarn's not here today, i'll have to tell him all about it when he's back!

running out of space on the notebook now. Will have to get a new one from young Helsen over at storage before old Helsen dumps more names on Uriel and i. who am i kidding, he Will be dumping them on *me* - Uriel's away somewhere, being useless as usual. which notebook is this? my fourth one this year? i'm losing track...

Debriefing Log on Operator Polaris Enigvidion

"Operator Enigvidion, are you listening? Ignoring me isn’t making this any easier for the both of us" A stern voice snaps me back from me back from wandering thoughts, raising my head from the floor I see an aged man sitting before me on an equally as aged wooden stool. "Apologies… I wasn’t paying attention for a moment." The man tilts his head down, giving the illusion of a menacing shadow falling over his weathered mask as a barely audible sigh fills the room. "That’s apologies 'Sir' to you." He continues before I have a chance to retort. "Alright, start over from the beginning. I want to know exactly how everything went, with explicit details, am I understood?"

"Yes… I understand." As I once again begin to recount the events of today before I wear the patience of Adjudicator thin. Even though I have never seen one in person before, I know he has to be one of them from his commanding spirit, let alone the fact this room only has the two of us in it, a feat that would be impossible for a standard guard to arrange.

"It was a boring day, just like any other… I wake up, I do the tasks assigned to me by the High Curators and along with my fellow Hivekin I work on manufacturing weapons and tools to help defend our Greathives. Then I spend my free time researching ways to improve technology we have…though it’s not like anyone of my superiors would even listen to anything a mere junior operator has to say, although they really should. That is not to sound ungrateful, as I am sure many would make due sacrifices for the opportunity to be where I am, let alone receive the benefits that go along with it, as I gain what a Hivekin fighting on the front lines to defend our Greathives would get, but without any of the dangers that accompany it."

Taking a deep breath as I pause, quickly glancing at the man across from me to make sure he is satisfied this time before continuing. "As usual after I finish doing any independent research I can, I head up to the upper canopy to eat dinner and watch the sunset. A common thing for many Hivekin really, as the views across great distances are always pleasing to the eye. That’s when it happened, I approach the balcony and suddenly… directly in front of me, there is nothing there.."

That’s when my story is interrupted by the Adjudicator again, as this isn’t the first time I have gotten to this point. "What exactly do you mean, 'there is nothing there?' explain." I shrug before starting my explanation "I mean just as I said, directly blocking my path was a patch of nothingness, a void that was completely empty… except it wasn’t, I could feel that the area was still there with my other senses, but with my eyes I couldn’t see it anymore."

This time the Adjudicator simply motions with his hand for me to continue, I snort a shallow breath that couldn’t even be called a sigh out of a slight fear that I may annoy him further. "As I was saying before, although it pains me to admit, this void caused as unknown feeling in me…a sinking but strikingly desperate feeling. It was my first time experiencing something like that, and genuinely speaking I became rooted to the spot, unable to move an inch upon seeing it."

"That sounds like fear to me, Operator Enigvidion. Were you afraid of emptiness?" As the words enter my ears, I almost wince at how true they sound, of course I knew what fear was. But me? being afraid? How could I possibly feel an emotion so far beneath me, something that I thought I had no need for. "I asked a question, Operator." I visibly flinch and remain silent for a few more moments before he speaks again. "I’ve read your data, you are quite the prodigy it seems, being able to become an Operator at such an age is truly something commendable, not many have even a fraction of your skill at an age where most of us Hivekin are still budding." He says with a far lighter tone than earlier. The sudden change in attitude from the man leaves me speechless for the first time since I entered this room, I can only raise an eyebrow in wonder at what he is getting at. Just as I am about to ask why, he begins to speak again, as if anticipating what I was about to say. "We value Hivekin like you, those with the ability to grow like the very Greathives we inhabit. Trust that we won’t give undue punishment as long as you tell us the truth."

Before I could even realize it, my unease had vanished and I had to immediately re-evaluate the person before me. This man is here not just because of his obvious combat experience, but his refined ability to move the hearts of others. I can only wonder if this man is really just an Adjudicator and not something more, but I have to shove those to the back of my mind and continue for now.

"Yes, I was afraid. Something about that emptiness screamed out to me not to come any closer, at first I looked around at the other Hivekin in the area. None of them realized that it was there, none of them noticed anything was wrong, I even looked over to a nearby guard and asked if he could see that ‘thing’ and I merely got looked at as if my sanity had long since left me."

"This is where things got a little complicated, as I was looking around for answers, a young Hivekin was running directly towards it." I pause to gather my breathing again. As the man nods he says "Continue." In a firm tone, commanding no debates. "Then… I grabbed him before he could get any closer to it. He looked at me confused and asked if there was anything I needed, but I could not answer, as I did not know either."

"Then, more of them started to appear in seemingly random clusters around everyone, I knew something dreadful was about to happen. I knew there were more people in danger. So I had to act, I quickly reached into my bag and pulled out one of the devices I had been working on before raising it into the air and yelling with all my might: 'EVERYONE, OUT!. Instantly the room went quiet, and although it took a few seconds for everyone to register what I was holding in my hand, some of the smarter ones were already running. Afte-"

I stop my story again, this time from the man simply raising his hand to get my attention. "You know it’s against Operator Code of Conduct to bring any materials used inside, outside. Right? Not just because they are dangerous if used in wrong hands, but because accidents can happen too." He says with a heavy tone, filling the room with a deadly atmosphere. "Yes, I understand." I respond, without breaking eye contact with him, I can feel my heart begin to beat faster and sweat starts to develop on my brow as I struggle to keep any of my inner thoughts from showing. Many breaths go by in silence before he finally relinquishes the pressure in the room, waving his hand again to signify I may continue. I let out a dry cough before I resume "…After everyone cleared out, which took less than a minute at most, the voids had grown to the point I could barely find a way out myself. And to make matters worse, I had forgotten to let go of the young Hivekin that I had stopped earlier, still holding his hand I began to sprint for the nearest exit while maneuvering between these growing chasms of nothingness. He asked why we were running as I continued to drag him out into safety, but I couldn’t afford to respond as I was using every breath to run faster. As soon as I reached the exit, the guard I had seen earlier had already come back with reinforcements to stop me. He barked a command to halt at me, and demanded I hand over the child and surrender before I made things worse for myself."

"I could only lament the very safety of the Greathive that I had enjoyed my entire life, their swift response to danger now working against me." I sigh and look down to the floor again, averting Ysley’s gaze. "I then pleaded with the guards that I would surrender – but only on the condition that they promise me that no one would be allowed further into the canopy. I then threw the device back the direction I came for good measure, and raised my hands to surrender. They quickly moved to arrest me, muttering that I’d gone insane and ignoring my pleas. I could only bite my lip in frustration that none of them could see it. Explaining it at this point would be useless – could I even explain it? It’s something I don’t even understand myself, after all."

"I’ll assume you know how I got into this cell? Or would you like me to recount that too?" I say with a small amount of disdain for my current situation, but all I am met with is silence. The man sits there, unmoving. So still that he could be confused for a statue, or a decoration someone had left in the room. Certainly not an actual person. My breathing slows. Oddly, I don’t feel afraid anymore. My punishment definitely won’t be light, I’ve committed a serious violation this time.

But just as I was about to resign myself to my fate…

The man vanished. No – it’s more correct to say that a patch of nothingness had appeared right where the man once was, completely obscuring him from my view.

I instantly forget about all the resignation I had felt just a moment before, that sickly fear from before rising up again. I fall backwards out of the chair before backing up with the palms of my hands, scraping them against the wooden floor. "Gods bellow, not again!" I cry out.

Then right as despair is about to take me, he appeared just as he was before, unmoving. "I see, so you were telling the truth after all. Everything fits together perfectly now." I can’t help but be indignant, even though from his words it sounds like I have been cleared of suspicion. "What are you talking about!? Just what happened to make one appear just now?" I fire out these lines before I’ve even had a chance to calm myself, which definitely won’t help my case or his opinion of me, but at this point I don’t care anymore. "Just how did you do that? And what makes it confirm my innocence?"

Silence. Yet again he holds totally still for a few agonizing moments before a small chuckle escapes from under his mask, soon growing into a full laugh. His hearty laughter fills the room, dragging out seemingly incessantly. "Sorry about that – all that interrogation before was just an act. Before I arrived in your cell I had already done my own investigation and found the cause of your worries. This interrogation – no, this debriefing – was for another purpose. I had to make sure you were thoroughly convinced that I was a dangerous person to confirm my theory." He says in a tone that doesn’t sound like that of an old veteran, but of a lighthearted Elder.

I can’t help but be annoyed to my very core, this old man had toyed with me the entire time. Not only had I been in the palm of his hand but I had been ridiculed enough to be laughed at as well! "Well, that’s great and all. But doe that mean I’m cleared of all fault?" I ask in a petulant manner, yet the man seems to be smiling behind that mask now. "Of course you are, boy. You’re a hero, in fact. You risked your future to save lives of your fellow Hivekin. That makes you exemplary among all of us. Your keen senses uncovered a certain corruption that had seeped into the canopy undetected. We believe the source was an R&D lab just beneath where you were stood. Thanks to your efforts, it was brought to our attention and contained long before it could do any lasting harm. And to answer you other question, my disappearance wasn’t any fancy. Not even a parlour trick."

He continued in a jovial tone "It’s simple, really. I shifted my body weight and thought only of killing you, and prepared to attack so as to end your life in an instant. Something only a seasoned fighter could pick up on. Yet, in an instant you reacted as if you had been on the battlefield your entire life. It’s obvious when paired with your story. Your eyes fail to perceive danger in a very literal sense. Growing up here in the Greathive, I’m sure you’ve never really had anything dangerous enough show up for you to notice before."

It's too much information at once, too much shock, yet I have no choice but to continue onward with this new information – my protestations die away on my lips before I can speak up. Nothing I can conjure up is able to disprove the old man’s theory. But what’s the point of being able to sense danger if I can’t even see it? He continues the conversation without me, as I’m still too stunned to speak. "Now, you could go back to your normal life as an Operator, but I have a better idea. I was serious about that bit I said before. We value Hivekin with great Talents. Have you ever considered what you could truly accomplish if given the right opportunity? Come with me and we can yet find out."

Still in a daze, I looked up from the floor, where my chair still sits toppled over, and see his hand reaching out to me. "My name is Ysley". He adds while looking down at me.

I stare at the hand for a few moments, though it doesn’t show any signs of growing tired or moving away, so I finally relent.

"Ysley, I don’t have a choice in this do I?"

He radiates his customary sunny disposition. "I can already tell we are going to get along."

With those words alone, something tells me being imprisoned for life for attempted arson may have been a better result.

There’s nothing else I can do, so I take his hand and let him pull me to my feet. "Just what are you, anyway? I suspected you were an Adjudicator." I ask briefly, before he heads to the door and replies "No, we are above all but one." He pauses for a moment then looks at me. Although I can’t see it, this man is definitely smiling, I am sure of it. He continues "…but you’ll find out soon, since you are about to get the same promotion."

"Congratulations, Polaris."

Diver Journal, I

- writings of Apprentice Azel

This was never an expedition. This was a setup. Chaser has gone mad. The Kyrsgarde have gone mad. No matter what direction I run, I'm met with the same adversity from those I'm supposed to 'trust', yet it ends in catastrophe. Chaser didn't take us here to find anything, he took us here to feed on us. The Kyrsgarde on the surface are kind, but below... it's all a facade. It's always been a facade. I can't trust anyone anymore, there's nothing in this hell which could absolve me of this fear now. Even as I'm writing this, I feel eyes watching me. I know one thing for certain: today, I will die. Whether it be by the hands of my 'leader', or by the hands of those who take us for fools, or perhaps the beasts resting above me.

This is my last day... alone. Alone in a wasteland, a meaningless death to be forgotten, just another number added to the infinite list of 'missing in action' Divers. Is that what all this means? Did Mother want this? Good for nothing.. rotten son, never made money or did anything for the family, dead in a cave, accomplished nothing, alone. Hopeless and abandoned, even in my final moments. I'm going to be forgotten, just as the countless times before. 'Azel Corbet' never existed.. he never did, never meant anything to anyone.. and alone. Alone! Each time I write the word I feel angrier at myself. I hate this. Maybe this is what I deserved. Maybe if I wasn't a good-for-nothing since birth, since childhood, since adolescence, since adulthood, maybe-

*The ink on the following pages are washed out and incomprehensible, streaking in lines only tears could create, smudging the ink. His last words are lost.*

Diver Journal, II

- writings of Journeyman Skeli

First of Moonveil, Entry #2. Curse Klaris for sending me to this godsforsaken place. This snow sticks like tar and doesn't melt from your warmth... Even knowing this, there was no reason to lose more than a single expedition team. According to the locals one of our own has occupied the tower above. It has to be Chaser.. He volunteered to lead the first expedition team with a fervor that I've never seen from him. If he's the only one left alive from the team, I can only imagine what became of the others. We can no longer trust that man. Should the Forbidden City fall into his hands, it could spell doom for all of us.

*The remaining pages are scribbled out frantically, no words can be made out from the mess, as if there was something to hide.*

Diver Journal, III

- writings of Apprentice Hero

This is the third day without food. Chaser refuses to let us near the Ignition Union's settlement here. I understand we're at odds with the Union, but... I'm hungry. I'm cold. They have heat there, so I've been told. Their lamps, they can burn away the parasites. A few members of the expedition got fed up with Chaser, and tried to sneak away, but they weren't in their bunks the following morning. Maybe they did get away, and are staying with the Union now? Skeli told me the Union's settlement was along the ground floor beneath the bridges, marked by steam towers, but.. I heard it's dangerous. Bounders reside there. I don't know what to do.. I may just seek out the settlement myself. I need warmth.

The fourth day has come. I'm growing weaker by the hour, as it becomes harder to move. I contemplated eating the snow, but.. I've already seen what happens to those it sticks to. But, I'm hungry.. so, so hungry. Maybe my stomach could handle it? I don't know if the eggs would be able to survive such conditions, or if I'd be sentencing myself to an earlier death. What choice do I have? To die slow hopelessly, or gamble a chance to live? I'll think about it more. If I'm unable to move far, then.. I suppose I'll try it.

There's something inside.

There's a whisper inside.

There's movement inside.

There's something wrong.

There's something wrong.

There's something wrong.

There's something-

Eggs In A Basket

A broadsheet of a popular sailor song
  
 
Oh, my dear, you knew so long ago that I'd be leaving soon,
And now the day has come at last me to cross the ocean blue.
Weep your little heart out if I don't come say 'goodbye' tomorrow,
But if I don't come back at all, then spare yourself from sorrow!

I hope that soon you'll find another, -
Though, I pray, don't tell your mother!
I hope that you'll remember me,
Although we were not meant to be.
    
Haven't you heard the saying blasted?
I'll tell you, though no one asked it:
Do as they say,
And don't put all your eggs inside one basket!

The Ferryman's Lullaby

or 'I Hear The Tides' - an Etrean folk song
  
  
Heave-ho, up-row, raising the anchor slowly,
Ready to lower sails and go, following course where cold winds blow.
Heave-ho, up-row, turning the capstan slowly,
I long to see the day when I return.

I hear the tides are beckoning and calling -
"Turn to sea, and ne'er return again!"
Whispers the ocean to me a lullaby, secretive and slow -
"Pray the Ferryman never takes your soul
To the Depths below..."

Heave-ho, up-row, crossing the ocean slowly,
Crow's nest is signaling to us, 'nothing is out here, not a fuss!'
Heave-ho, up-row, eye the horizon slowly,
Not a shore in sight! Neither day, or night!

I hear the tides still beckoning and calling -
"Now you'll never see the shore again!"
Follow the wind and the gale, and perhaps we shall live to tell our tale,
Unless the Ferryman gently takes our souls
To the Depths below...

Heave-ho, up-row, piercing the sea-fog slowly,
No more the wind will kiss our sails, no more we'll ride on stormy gales.
Heave-ho, up-row, lost in the waters slowly,
We gambled with the sea, and lost our bet!

I hear my kin and comrades' distant calling,
But I can never turn to shore again!
Lower my bones to the ocean and let them drift all alone and slow,
May the Ferryman gently take my soul
To the Depths below...

The Gideshu March

from Vincent Zeneke's monograph cycle 'Songs of the Sea'


  
 
We're masters of the oceans wide,
Custodians of relentless tide!
For the Authority we fight -
Within this dark a blazing light.

Hurrah, hurrah, three cheers for the cause!
We truth uphold, and also laws!
For the many, the few, the big, the small -
We would give our lives for the cause!
We would give our lives for the cause!

We're wardens of the valiant dead,
From shore to shore our boots will tread!
The furthest reaches we shall tame,
Bring order, peace, Adretian fame!

Hurrah, hurrah, three cheers for the cause!
We truth uphold, and also laws!
For the many, the few, the big, the small -
We would give our lives for the cause!
We would give our lives for the cause!

The Gideshu March is a popular marching song of the Central Authority - the iron-fisted guardians of the Central Luminant. Written in the year 1180 by August Gideshu, an Authority officer, the march quickly became popular among the rank and file soldiers, with many regiments choosing the song as their marching tune. Some even consider it to be the Authority's unofficial anthem - though the Authority elites' stance on this is not entirely clear.

Not much is known about First Lieutenant August Gideshu, the author of the song, himself. Supposedly an Adretian in origin, his unusual surname seems to indicate an older lineage, likely one reaching back to the Pre-Tidal epochs, when the Adretian peoples were contained within their mountain homelands, squabbling as scattered tribes. The Gideshu family name appears several times in various historical Authority records, though never in a rank higher than First Lieutenant.

Authority records indicate that August Gideshu served aboard the Central Authority Sailing-Ship (or CASS) 'Zephyr', under Captain Hector Corbet. Little else is known about this ship's crew or specifications, aside from the fact that it served in the Eastern Luminant, and experienced several clashes involving the Etrean Navy, in which they emerged victorious. Gideshu himself is noted as having distinguished himself in one battle by bolstering crew morale during an Etrean boarding - possibly by starting to sing the eponymous march, suggesting his fellow crew were familiar with his penmanship.

It is believed August Gideshu may have penned several more songs during his service aboard the CASS 'Zephyr', though any potential copies of the written texts have not survived to reach our time. Indeed, a substantial trove of records kept by the crew was lost when the ship ran aground in the outskirts of the Starswept Valley, whereupon the Authority force was ambushed by a unit of the Hundred Legions.

August Gideshu's fate remains uncertain, but official records note the crew were 'thoroughly defeated'. The CASS 'Zephyr' was subsequently captured, looted, stripped for parts, and wholly destroyed.

I would like to thank Alloras Munet, a Central Authority navy recordkeeper, for allowing me access to certain relevant texts kept within Authority archives. This monograph would not have been possible without their invaluable help.

God in the Machine

by the Keeper of Truths

	A large stone throne laid bare before the truth, an empty vial in the center of the chamber. Behind the throne, long tendrils of darkness have writhed relentlessly. They have whipped, entangled, and screamed for years now. Atop the cold, desolate throne, resides a woman. Her eyes do not move; no, they haven’t moved since she arrived. The ghastly woman’s figure was fragile and faded, though life was still intact. The tendrils had danced around her ecstatically, covering her sealed eyes in darkness with a low growl. Through her weakening conscience, an exhausted gasp escaped her mouth, though quickly silenced by the presence of the deep. Even throughout this pain, a wry smile somehow formed upon her visage. The truth sealed shut.
	
	“It was not the hunting that brought me here, Ryrda. It was her.” A pained mumble echoed throughout the deafening silence of the forest. A Tiran woman with short, curled hair stood in front of the entrance to the truth, donned in a long, earthy green cloak. Her fists were clenched at her side, shaking in anxiety. Through her hair, a pained expression could be seen upon her face. Beside this woman, a man stood somberly, with a hand placed upon her shoulder. “She will endure it, Fran. I know it’s hard, but..” The Vesperian man would let out a sigh, before removing his hand from the woman’s shoulder. He turned his back to her, facing out to the wide expanse of trees surrounding them. The air was still, only tampered with by the movement of the Vesperian. With each step he took towards the suffocating woodland, the crunch of leaves beneath his feet rang out. His steps were slow, methodical, with careful pauses between each one. For a short period of time, he’d continue to walk forward, until hearing the sound of leaves not from himself.
	
	“Found you.” The Vesperian would draw his bow, taking aim at the small woodland creature. A moment’s worth of pause passed, before the small furred animal would leap out of its bush. As quickly as it appeared, it became impaled with an arrow. A small squeak exited its mouth, before collapsing. “I got us dinner, Fran. Sit down. It’s going to be a long night.” Ryrda would call out to the Tiran woman by the door, though she had still remained in place shaking. Again, the man would sigh in frustration. He was aware it was difficult for Fran to process, but he hadn’t the patience for it at this hour. “..I suppose I'll gather wood too, then.” A low grumble bellowed from his stomach, but he moved regardless. 
	
	A period of time, filled only by silence, passed for Fran. She had moved, but not very far; only shifting from standing to sitting in her place. The Tiran’s eyes were locked onto the large stone door, waiting to see if the woman behind it was alive. Every few moments, she would place her hand on the door, feeling it's cold embrace. Each time she did so, her body would shake in fear, before removing her hand from the stone. Under her breath, the woman would question herself, “But, why? Why must it be you, Eran? I could have, no, I should have..” The answer to her question was simply a mournful breeze through the forest, a reminder of the woodland’s suffocating loneliness. Before long, a familiar crunch of leaves could be heard from Fran’s places, and she turned to face the source of the sound. Returning was Ryrda, who carried a large bundle of firewood constructed of not only twigs and sticks, but leaves too. Approaching the Tiran, he’d grumble, “It’s not much, but it should be enough to at least cook the rabbit.” He’d begin to muck about for a small clearing to construct the campfire, eventually settling for a patch of dirt farther away from the surrounding trees. “Fran, come here. While I get this underway, we need to talk,” he called out to the Tiran.
	
	A low crackle of flame whispered between the trees as the fire began. Ryrda and Fran sat on opposite sides of the flame, both gazing into the orange warmth wordlessly. “It’s not much of a talk if neither of us are saying anything, is it?” The woman would mutter bitterly towards the man across from her, before holding her hands out to the flame. “I was waiting for you to calm yourself first. That is all, no need to be rude about it,” Ryrda would reply dryly, shifting in his place as he raised the animal’s meat above the flame, slowly rotating it. “But, since you seem more, hm, alive. I suppose that talk can begin, then.” Another harsh crackle from the campfire whispered into the night, as Fran looked up toward the Vesperian curiously.
	
	“I had to know if it's true, Fran. They called it ‘the god in the machine’. It’s capable of draining somebody’s ether clean from their vessel. And from my sources, they told me it's one of the easiest ways to get Nightblood. Eran was interested too, you know. Surely, she had talked to you about it before. She volunteered, and so.. I allowed it.” The Vesperian somberley explained, before rotating the animal meat once more. Fran’s face would shift from mere a stage of expressionless to bewildered shock. “You.. for Nightblood? You’re trying to become a Shadowcaster, Ryrda? That’s not right, don’t you have a clue of what that entails?!” She’d stand up promptly, looking down at the Vesperian in vexation. “Shadowcast is taboo for a reason, Ryrda! Gods below, what in the hells are you planning to do to Eran? She’s.. She’s my.. She’s close to me, okay? She’s important to me. What are you doing?!” As her words continued, the Tiran’s tone continued to shift to a more agitated panic, questioning the man frantically as tears began to well in her eyes. “Look! Calm down, okay? It’s.. it’s just one of the ways to obtain Nightblood. This is the easy method, so they say. She’ll live, Fran. The only people I’ve heard to die of ether vacancy were the old and sick. Please, just believe me for once.” Ryrda’s own voice would begin to shake a bit, evidently at least sharing a sliver of Fran’s worries. “As for my own sake.. It’s my life, my one and only. If I am to be hunted for my taboo pursuits, then so be it. But as long as there is no blood on my hands, then I am innocent in my own eyes. I know I’m not of the Ministry, and you know too. That is all that matters.”
	
	Though Fran opened her mouth to reply, still shaking in anger, her thoughts were cut short by a loud scream from behind her. The woman’s expression froze, as she slowly turned towards the direction of the sound, realizing the source of it originated from the sealed chamber. “Ryrda,” She began to mutter, her voice shaking. “Open the chamber, Ryrda. Now.” Soon after, she began to approach the large stone door, taking a deep breath as she did so. The Vesperian man, still sitting at the flame, would drop the animal meat into the fire in a panic, before rushing to get up and follow Fran. “Is it done? I believe it’s done..” He’d talk to himself as he ran towards the sealed door, before reaching into his front pocket, retrieving a strange talisman. Along the stone idol’s shape resided elegant engravings of symbols foreign to this Luminant, an object of delicate creation. Ryrda held the talisman up to the door, hands shaking in excitement. “I believe it’s done, Fran!” He’d call out to the Tiran, blissfully unaware of her reaction to this situation. As he turned to look towards her face, realizing the state she was in, the chamber door opened.
	
	The first sight the Vesperian saw was the filled vial in the center of the room.
	The first sight the Tiran saw was the unconscious body on the stone throne.
	
	Upon Fran realizing the state of the unconscious woman, she immediately sprinted towards the throne in a panic. The Tiran shouted,“Eran? Eran! Are you..” before placing her hand upon the body. Though it hadn’t been a grand amount of time within the chamber, the body had already become cold. Fran’s hand slowly inched towards the hand of Eran’s, afraid of the truth to come. She briefly held on to Eran’s hand, raising it up, then finally understanding the reality of the situation at hand. The hand was limp, and fell back onto the throne lifelessly as soon as the Tiran let go. Fran fell to her knees, staring up at Eran’s lifeless body in horror, unable to take her sight away. Speechless, only sobs could escape her mouth as it had become clear Eran would not return.
	
	At the center of the room, Ryrda kneeled to pick up the vial on the center of the chamber. “It was true, then.” He’d murmur to himself whilst beginning to stand up, vial in hand. The man had not even realized the state of Eran yet, focused entirely on the success of his endeavor. “Nightblood, they called it. The essence of shade itself.” Without a moment’s hesitation, Ryrda raised the flask beneath his mask, indulging in a large gulp of the vial. For but a single second, the world itself had felt frozen to Ryrda - the overwhelming sensation of Eran’s ether enveloped in shade caused Ryrda to collapse, convulsing violently on the floor as his mind contorted to a form most befitting of shadow. Another scream could be heard in the room, though this time from Ryrda, suffocated in pain as the nature of Shadowcast revealed itself to him. 
	
	Within the moment of time seemingly still, the Vesperian saw the world in new eyes - a vision most foul. His vision was clouded by an infinite expanse of black rocks and jagged peaks, tendrils swaying over the horizon. No sun could be seen in sight, yet the impossible landscape glowed a smokey gray, piercing through the night’s haze. Debris of lost kingdoms floated in at standstill, mirages of humans from eras long past stuck in scenes of their last moments. This was no mere hallucination, this was the reality of Shadowcast, the painful history of it happening all at once in the fraction of a second. At the top of the black peaks, Ryrda could see a doppelganger of himself, staring back at him lifelessly. The doppelganger’s existence went short-lived however, as the wavering tendrils pierced through its body all at once - only then, his eyes opened.
	
	The convulsing had ceased entirely, as the Vesperian man collected himself, slowly sitting up. He looked down at his hand, noting that it was the same as it ever was, then glancing to the shattered vial by his side. The man paused for a moment, taking a deep breath, before attempting to use the knowledge he had just been imbued. Focusing his ether, a small shadow tendril of his own making emitted from his palm, wavering just as it appeared in his vision. “It worked. Gods below, the truth was here the whole time! Can you believe it, Fran?” Ryrda exclaimed in joy, before raising his gaze from his hand to the stone throne. Upon his eyes meeting the sorrowful sight, his hand dropped to his side. He could not even mutter an attempt of an apology, he simply sat there and stared at Fran weeping next to Eran’s corpse.
	
	Thirty minutes had passed, without either of the two moving. The Tiran woman finally stood up, turning to face the Vesperian. Though this time, her eyes had not shown weakness, but instead a heartfelt fury. She began to take steps toward Ryrda, tears still falling from her face with each step. Fran opened her mouth, shakily speaking, “You knew from the start, didn’t you? You knew this would kill her. You knew. You must have.” As she reached closer with each step, her voice raised in volume, evolving from a quiet whisper to a mournful shout. “And you celebrate it! You celebrate.. What’s wrong with you? What’s wrong with you? What did she do to you, Ryrda? Answer me.” The frenzied woman grabbed Ryrda by his collar, forcing his mask close to her face, shouting, “Answer me,” over and over. Yet, Ryrda wouldn’t say a word, staring in a regretful silence.
	
	“I’m.. sorry.” The man would whisper in shame, lowering his head to avoid looking back at her. “I thought she could have made it. I knew Eran was ill, but-” Ryrda’s sentence would be quickly interrupted by Fran shoving him against the floor in rage. “You knew! You knew the whole time, then! You.. I can’t believe you. I.. ” Her shouts would only become more fearsome, causing the Vesperian to back up slowly, whilst muttering, “..Please. I’m sorry, I should’ve known. Look, please, stop coming closer. If you try something, I’ll.. I’ll have to defend myself, Fran. I’m speaking the truth, I promise.”
	
	But, to Fran, the truth had already been revealed. A sorry would not bring back Eran’s life. “You took her away from me,” Fran screamed, drawing the dagger at her side before pointing it at Ryrda. As soon as the Vesperian noticed the blade, he rose to his feet, sprinting for the exit to the cavern. Behind him, Fran followed in chase, only barely behind in speed. “Please, Fran! I’ve no choice if you keep this up, ” he shouted to the enraged Tiran, but his words only fell upon deaf ears - it was too late for her to consider the possibility. The two soon reached the exit, Ryrda re-entering the woodland once more. Night was still upon them, though the moon was nowhere to be seen. Ryrda sprinted towards a bush to hide in, rolling into it in a hurry as he drew his bow, aiming towards the cave entrance, awaiting the Tiran’s arrival. But the Tiran did not arrive - instead, an assault of flame shot out of the entrance, igniting the forest ablaze.
	
	The impact of the flame knocked Ryrda away from his initial cover, setting it ablaze with the rest of the surrounding trees. A well of smoke began to cloud the air, making it difficult for the Vesperian to aim at all amidst the haze. Once the haze settled in, the Tiran finally emerged from the cave, Flamecharm visibly wrapped around her. “You took her away from me, Ryrda,” she shouted once again. Ryrda ducked behind a nearby tree, before feeling an uncomfortable warmth behind him - the fire was spreading. Soon, the sea of trees surrounding him became a sea of hellfire, engulfing all life within the vicinity mercilessly. The once peaceful forest turned to an ocean of raging despair, swallowing the two whole. “This isn’t right, Fran!” He shouted back towards her, though the only response given was another wave of heat blasted towards his direction. 
	
	The Vesperian’s heart began racing, as he soon realized that his odds of surviving were growing slimmer by the second. He dropped his bow in a panic, instead opting to sprint full speed away from the Tiran woman. His lungs screamed with each step as smoke clouded his head, every subsequent step of his sprint becoming more painful to take. Eventually, a burning tree’s branch would break above him, crashing upon the man. Ryrda was unable to move, coughing violently as the burning log on top of him ensnared him within the chaos. The man’s eyes widened in terror as he began to struggle, attempting with all his might to break free. But, he never could. His body was already too weak from the lack of air, exhausted further by his sprint. Ryrda looked up from his spot, seeing Fran stand over him. Her eyes still remained fierce, staring down without remorse. “I’ll be seeing you, Ryrda,” she muttered in disgust, raising a hand full of flame towards the man’s mask. “You took her from me. I cannot stand to see you anymore.”
	
	The night soon came to an end. The following day, the remains of the forest layed barren. Burnt, rotted trees weakly stand, most collapsed from the blaze. A sea of ash covered the burnt wasteland, a reminder of what once stood there. A Tiran woman could be seen walking away from the sight, with a letter in hand. Upon the parchment, the following words were written: "There was never a fire."

There was a fire.
“There was never a fire.”
   There was a fire.
     “There was never a fire.”
      There was a fire.
       “There was never a fire.”
         There was a fire.
          “There was never a fire.”
           There was a fire.
          “There was never a fire.”
         There was a fire.
       “There was never a fire.”
      There was a fire.
     “There was never a fire.”
   There was a fire.
 “There was never a fire.”
There was a fire.
“There was never a fire.”
   There was a fire.
     “There was never a fire.”
      There was a fire.
       “There was never a fire.”
         There was a fire.
          “There was never a fire.”
           There was a fire.
          “There was never a fire.”
         There was a fire.
       “There was never a fire.”
      There was a fire.
     “There was never a fire.”
   There was a fire.

The Hammer's Call

from Vincent Zeneke's monograph cycle 'Songs of the Sea'

  
Fine workers of the Union,
Come hear the hammer call!
We'll stand in solidarity -
Shoulder to shoulder, together, tall!
Shoulder to shoulder, together, tall!

The Old World sank beneath the tide,
Yet workers, shore to shore,
Together toil, and never hide -
Mighty, united, like none before!
Mighty, united, like none before!

With arms and tools in every hand -
A pickaxe and a blade, -
From depths to peaks, across the land,
Work we in concert, and hone our trade!
Work we in concert, and hone our trade!

It matters not how hard the chore,
How punishing the way;
For you we'll fight, retrieve, explore -
Only if you can our costs defray!
Only if you can our costs defray!


But if you do not pay your dues
To workers, fair and square,
The Union will be out to bruise -
Labour entitles to each their share!
Labour entitles to each their share!

And neither mountain, rock, nor stone
Can keep us from our mark!
Our tools ignite, a path is blown -
Onwards we march, powered by a spark!
Onwards we march, powered by a spark!

Alone, we're fingers on a palm -
Together, we're a fist!
Our might is like a powder bomb,
And like a fuse, may we long persist!
And like a fuse, may we long persist!

Fine workers of the Union,
Come hear our hammer call!
We'll stand in solidarity -
Shoulder to shoulder, together, tall!
Shoulder to shoulder, together, tall!

"The Hammer's Call" is a labour song, originating with the workers of the Ignition Union - the renowned freelancer company and labour union. The song itself is based on the tune of an old Adretian folk song, called "The Winding Homeward Road", and the words for this particular version - alongside with the modern arrangement, - were authored by Ignition Union member Gawain Corbet in 1272.

Over the coming decades, the song would gain popularity among the Union labourers - with empowering lyrics and a steady rhythm, "The Hammer's Call" provided a convenient means for simultaneously keeping a consistent pace of labour between a group of people, as well as keeping up worker morale.

Of interest to present day scholars is the emergence of this song in the context of the Union's identity - similarly to the Central Authority, the Ignition Union is also a boiling pot of ethnicities and cultures. Unlike the Central Authority, however, the Union's identity is not defined wholly by internal hierarchy, lingering military traditions, and loyalty to power. Instead, it is rooted in the solidarity of toil - a sense of kinship among those working for the same goal.

The Song of Fathoms / Oscillation

from Vincent Zeneke's monograph cycle "Song of the Sea"

   Hail to the Tides!
   Honoured by the sea,
   Journey to the fathoms in bravery!

   Us you will guide,
   Bravest of the brave!
   Even should the ocean become your grave!

   May you return,
   Victory in hand,
   May you once again trad on steady land!

   Glory you'll learn,
   Echo shall your name
   In the books of history, crowned in fame!

   Onward, to the darkest chasms!
   May you never falter,
   And may your way be led by Song!

   Onward, to the deepest fathoms!
   May the light protect you,
   May you return triumphant, strong!
 

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"The Song of Fathoms", colloquially also known as "Oscillation", is a popular tune well-known around Lumen. Despite this, it remains a musical piece surrounded by discussion and dispute. In spite of the fact that we know exactly how old the piece is, and who the original author is, certain events and clauses of history mean that we cannot reliably verify its true arrangement and original text. Thanks to the robust access to the Citadel of Markor's historic archives provided to this monograph's author, this and more shall be elaborated on in the following paragraphs, with useful historical context provided for the reader.

The roots of "The Song of Fathoms" reach to the first days of the Divers organisation, and the early attempts at Depths-delving made by the Citadel of Markor. After the Citadel was founded in what is now broadly considered to be Year o, or o CE (Citadel Era), the institution's research to better understand the Depths for the purpose of combatting them reached a plateau within mere decades. To further their knowledge in the area, the High Convocation of the Citadel - a council of Citadel's seniority, composed of Convocants, retired high-ranking officers of the Citadel's various divisions, - turned to some of the surviving Old World treatises they had access to. These texts, it should be noted, were obtained via a tentative cooperation project with the Society of Luminance (often abbreviated as 'The Solum'), one of the now-defunct precursor organisations to the Old Stewards. The Old World records and writings on the Song were some benefit, as they offered some theoretical insights on how a realm such as the Depths may function.

Nonetheless, despite the initial usefulness of these sources, they were still problematic. The Old World texts touched more so on the metaphysical concepts of the Song than the practicalities of the Depths, and did not prove of much use beyond understanding some of the elementary forces that work within them. Realising the stagnation that befell their efforts of fighting the Depths, the High Convocation launched the first inquiries into a more practical approach towards combating the Depths. Scholars and agents were soon dispatched to scour the Luminants for any knowledge regarding the dead and the drowned.

And indeed, these efforts bore fruits, as the High Convocation soon began receiving unusual reports of individuals seemingly returning from the dead. At the time, it was speculated that when a person died on the surface, their soul - and sometimes bodies - are dragged to the Depths. Now, the Citadel had proof that this was the case in the form of testimony. Indeed, certain strong enough individuals, having woken from their deathly slumber, now told the Citadel's agents of the strangest things, which the High Convocation had a hard time believing.

Regardless, the Citadel's finest scholars were set to work processing these testimonies of the formerly drowned, to see if they were of any substance. The drowned were often either still in shock, or displayed mild signs of mania or insanity - therefore the reliability of their testimonies individually was questionable. However, after dozens of testimonies, singular details kept emerging - an enormous sub-aquatic cavern system, remnants of Old World structures swallowed by the tide, their sunken façades, vile beasts beyond our ken, enormous column-like stalagmates holding the caves firmament, and other most outlandish things. However, most curiously, in some testimonies, the drowned recall noticing tunnels high above in the ceilings of the caverns, from which rays of light and seemingly bubble-pockets of air were filtering through.

This greatly piqued the interest of the Convocants. A new theory was posited - if what these resurrected individuals were saying was true, there is likely a direct physical connection between the surface and the Depths. Another theory came to be - if this truly were the case, and return were a possibility, a well-trained team of agents could be sent down into the Depths for exploration, reconnaissance, and combat. With enough effort, perhaps a permanent forward operating base could be established. The fight against the Depths could, therefore, theoretically be taken to the Depths themselves.

Thus, in the year 57 CE, a new branch of the Citadel of Markor was established - formally called 'The Citadel Divers', the organisation soon became colloquially known as simply 'the Divers'. Their seniority came to be known as the 'Black Divers' division', or simply 'the Black Divers'. With the stated mission of learning to better understand the Depths in order to combat them, the Divers were established as a Citadel branch intended for field research, exploration, and combat operations - so to say, a militant counterpart of the Scholars of Markor.

Training of new recruits began immediately, with the Divers utilising what knowledge they had available to them. In the meantime, Black Diver agents would be sent on numerous surface missions around the Central Luminant, with the goal of potentially finding a cave system that would physically connect to the Depths. Success was achieved when the High Convocation eventually received reports of a cave from which beasts of the Depths were occasionally emerging - creatures that were little known at the time, but that are now known to us as 'threshers', 'mudskippers' and 'megalodaunts'.

A small outpost, now known as Fortress Vinda, was established outside the cave, and within two years of the organisation's founding, in 59 CE, the first expedition of the Divers was set to take place. It was intended to be led by the first leader of the Black Divers, Deukalion Akarad, nicknamed "father Diver" by apprentice Divers at the time. As the first foray was considered to be a historic moment for the Citadel, some pomp and ceremony was afforded for the event. Each of the Convocants gave speeches on the momentous occasion, followed by an inspiring speech from Akarad. Then, following the formalities, as the observers cheered on, the first expedition force - 'The Pioneers', with Akarad at the fore - descended the cave system and dived into its waters, following the path until they disappeared from sight. At their descent , a musical piece, then called "The Song of Fathoms", was performed by Scholars' Orchestra of the Scholars of Markor. The piece itself was commissioned for the ceremony collectively by the High Convocation, and the performance was conducted by the Chambermaster of the orchestra, Ingrid Jura.

This sing was the last sound the Pioneer Divers heard before descending the caverns. Tragically, however, all of the Pioneers perished during the expedition. Based on the notes brought back to the surface by Akarad, some of the group perished in the Depths after the group seemingly pushed too far into unknown territory and were caught off-guard by the beasts of the Depths. The surviving Divers that did reach the surface perished very suddenly, not long after stepping out of the waters of the cave, as "The Song of Fathoms" started - and quickly horrifiedly stopped - playing again.

Although this contextual foray is already far outside the original scope of the monograph, we shall divulge some more details on this occurrence - the author refuses to miss an opportunity such as this, to freely peruse the Citadel's historic archives unde the High Convocation's blessing. Though it was not well understood at the time, it is now believed the cause of the Pioneers' demise was what is now known to be 'boundary death'. For a simplified layfolk explanation - as a quasi-metaphysical realm, the Depths is believed to exert a pulling force on one's soul, based on one's proximity to the deep. So to say, once one is in the Depths, their soul experiences a constant downward pull. If one tries to leave the Depths by simply physically exiting it upwards, without the aid of ritual or other preparation, they will cross what is known as 'the boundary' - a limit beyond which a soul cannot continue physically travelling in your body. Ergo, the body continues upwards, while the soul is pulled downwards, until the two are wholly separated, and the person dies. And, since the person's soul is in the Depths at the time of their death, they therefore perish wholly, without a chance to return to the surface.

The name of the Pioneers who died, as well as the names of subsequent Divers who have since retired, or perished in the line of duty, are forever carved on a series of tremendously size monoliths in a vast memorial hall within the Citadel of Markor. With the estimate (or, some say, rumored) 98% yearly casualty rate of the Divers, the Citadel has appointed a small subdivision of skilled stonemasons for the purpose of keeping the memory of the deceased alive, as mere Divers give up their lives in the fight against the Depths. Though formally referred to as 'Memorial Masons', led by a 'High Mason', they are often colloquially called 'Deathscribes', led by a 'Head Deathscribe'. Their main job is maintaining the so-called Hall of Memory, and carving new names on the monoliths practically daily.

According to the current High Mason, Horus Helsen, the Hall of Memory has seen twenty-five expansions since it was built, with a twenty-sixth currently underway. Although grim, it stands as a defiant reminder to the world on the Divers behalf - that humanity's pathto victory is paved with many valiant dead, and that neither the Divers nor the Citadel intend to surrender to the Tides without a fight any time soon.

Regardless, returning from the historic anecdotes to the matter of the "The Song of Fathoms", the song is known to have had lyrics at the time of its creation - however, their true version remains disputed. The lyrics, as well as nuances of authorship, are still hotly debated topics among certain scholars. During a small fire in the Citadel archives in 108 CE, a few of the early records of the Citadel's history were lost, alongside the original songbook of "The Song of Fathoms".

A reconstruction of the songbook was attempted by Scholar Marcille Samico, an attendant of the first foray ceremony, and a close friend of Chambermaster Jura, who had already passed in 98 CE. Scholar Samico's version attributes the song's authorship to Jura, and it is also the version that the author has chosen to display in this monograph, as it is considered to be the most accurate one by many historians. Scholar Samico was closely familiar with Jura's work, and although detractors of her version insist she was rumored to experience bouts of mental deterioration towards the end of her life, contemporaries mark her as 'keen-minded and sharp until her death'.

Soon after Scholar Samico's version was published and instated in the archives, a different version emerged, written by a different Citadel member - an apprentice of Chambermaster Jura, the young Scholar Mephisto Massi. With slightly different lyrics, and a different melodic and a compositional arrangement, Scholar Massi insisted his version was based on an old original draft of the piece that Jura had shown him, and which he committed to memory. Whether the text truly was an original draft by Jura, or if it was Massi's invention in an attempt to upstage Scholar Samico for a shot at personal fame, remains hotly debated.

The veracity of Scholar Massi's claim remains difficult to verify to this day, and it was challenged even his time, as some of the notes of notes of Chambermaster Jura have been lost in the years following her death in 98 CE due to recordkeeping errors. It is not unlikely that Jura's notes have been mislabelled and tucked away in the vast collective of documents in the Citadel's enormous library - however, to rediscover them would be not too dissimilar to finding a needle in a haystack, given the size of the archives.

Nevertheless, as Scholar Samico's claim is more verifiable than Scholar Massi's, the monograph shall discuss the former version in greater detail - furthermore, it is also the one that gained the most popularity after Chambermaster Jura's death. The opening line, "Hail to the Tides!", is often misinterpreted as the author praising or worshipping the rising sea, which sometimes confuses novice scholars. However, any historian, anthropologist, folklorist or musicologistworth their salt will know that the line signifies a warlike greeting of the Divers' foe - the Depths. The Divers, knowing that each expedition might result in their deaths, face the prospect with a grim determination and defiance, embodied by the song.

Lending further credibility to Scholar Samico's version as the 'correct' version, in the author's opinion, are lines XIII and XVI of the song. They contain the motto of the Divers, "To The Darkest Chasms", and the motto of the Black Divers, "To The Deepest Fathoms". In Scholar Massi's version, the adjectives of the two mottos are swapped with one another - though Massi himself attributes this Jura's own error, claiming the similarity of the mottos, coupled with recentness of the Divers' existence as an organisation at the time, caused the Chambermaster confusion, upon which she allegedly remarked in her missing notes.

In the decadeds following the Pioneers' expedition, "The Song of Fathoms" gained popularity among the ranks of Divers, who saw it as a grim yet hopeful reminder of their goal, their cause, and the rewards their work may reap. As time passed, the song remained popular among the ranks of the Divers, and was often used for certain ceremonies, especially at the start of large expeditions, before the establishment of Castle Light. After Castle Light was established and made operational, a new musical piece was commissioned by Convocant Kyntair Pahaset to commemorate the occasion. Called "In Akarad's Steps", after Deukalion Akarad, the previously mentioned first leader of the Black Divers, it became an official anthem of the Divers. Although, "The Song of Fathoms" never quite went out of style in the organisation, and can be heard sung by even apprentice Divers to this day.

Once individual adventurers, as well as other groups and powers, began to make their own forays into the Depths in the coming centuries, the song spread among the ranks of the new Deep-delvers as well. Its catchy, melodically oscillating refrain of V-B|-N|-ZZ-N|-ZZ-N|-B-B| earned it the colloquial name "Oscillation" among non-Divers, and its repeating lead melody solidified the song's status as an iconic classic of modern folklore. For certainly, in our time, if one calls "Hail to the Tide!" at any port or tavern in any Luminant, they are sure to hear the hearty response of "Honoured by the sea!"

My great thanks goes to Convocant Aurelia Imari, one of the key present day member of the High Convocation, for granting me access to the Citadel of Markor's historic archive. I am endlessly appreciative of the honour bestowed upon me to be permitted to write and publish this monograph, containing never before seen historic elements of the Citadel's past. I am also forever grateful for the great hospitality provided to me by the High Convocation, the Citadel Divers, and the Scholars of Markor - my research stay within the Citadel was most enjoyable and informative.

Lament of Cirryn

compiled by the Emerald Scholar

The sound of birds is a common occurrence within the nested corridors of the Greathives. I've woken up to these chirps countless times within my decades spent within them, though tomorrow I travel to another. While the construction of Greathive Aratel is still ongoing, my party of Lifeweave scholars have been tasked with a mission by Hivelord Ximac Diri himself. By next starset, we shall begin our departure to one of the eldest Greathives known to my kind, the First. Some consider this a pilgrimage of sorts, as other Hivekin believe the First to be as reverent as holy ground, the beginning of our society. To experience this journey myself is exciting, to say the least! Though, I do ponder the morality of what's to come with our task. I trust in Ximac's guidance, his bravery has brought us this far, but I cannot help but worry nonetheless.

While I'm lost in such thoughts, a small bird approaches; small, and fragile. “Look at you!” I remark, kneeling down to get a better view of it. The bird hops toward me, round in shape, and colored a bright red. I hold my finger out to touch it, but just as I almost can feel its soft feathers, it flies away.

“You never learn, Ehkusa!” A familiar voice calls out to me, although I'm puzzled at first as to where. I look around for a moment, until I hear the voice again, “Behind you, fool.” I quickly turn around, and see Remaz standing over me, his mask gleaming from the rays of the sun.“For some esteemed scholar, you're not very bright of a woman, Ehkusa,” he remarks once more, as if his previous comment wasn't enough. “Quit it! I simply want to appreciate these fleetings things...” I reply, turning away from him and gazing toward where the bird once sat. “And this little one got away too. A shame.” I sigh, beginning to stand up. He's always given me a tough time, though it's a caring sort, so I do not mind too much. “Did you pack your bags?” I ask him as I collect my belongings: little scraps of paper, ink, garments, and various ether-based snacks if needed.

“Aye! Last night, it took me quite a few hours. You don't seem to be bringing that much though, why's that?” He asks half-honestly, then invasively peers over my shoulder. I bump him away with my arm, closing my pouch with my belongings inside.

“It's not exactly a vacation, we have a duty entrusted to us by Lord Ximac himself. Take yourself more seriously, Remaz, we only need to bring what we need,” I calmly assert myself, although he is testing my patience already. “Alright, alright...” he mutters as he backs off. “Be at the docks by starset, I'll be waiting for you with K'aal. And please, you truly should bring more with you just in case anything goes wrong, whether it be with our task or what follows after. I don't want to see you with a crack in your mask, Ehkusa.” He speaks in a much more stern tone, it's almost jarring seeing him change attitude so quickly. “Understood,” I reply quietly, although I do ponder his anxiety. It's not like him to worry this much... or perhaps, he simply doesn't show it to me often. With my pouch on my hip, I head off to my quarters to pack additional supplies.

Starrise arrives, and I've already begun packing once again. In addition to my previous items, I'm entrusting the last remaining compartments of my pouch to a small stiletto for protection, as well as a shard of Ryrda's mask for good luck. “To hope we'll meet again.” I mumble quietly to myself as I tuck the shard away into the darkness of the pouch. Gazing out the window, I watch birds on the branches of the Greathive outside bring their children to rest within their little homes. “A future anyone could wish for..” I muse to myself, observing the mother bird care to her nestlings. A future I had wished for, yet duty steals me from. “Perhaps one day.” I get up from my wooden desk chair, and sit upon the bed too small for any grown Hivekin. Outside the window, the birds head to sleep. So, little birds, I suppose I shall too.

Familiar chirps greet me from my restless slumber, as it seems starset had come sooner than expected. “Good morning to you as well,” I look out the window, though no birds are to be seen. The chirping must be from around the corner, perhaps? I raise myself out of bed, although too fast perhaps, as I stumble my way toward the window. Peering out both sides, I look for any signs of my familiar friends, the source of the song. Yet, none are to be seen. “Odd.. no time for such matters, though,” I shake myself awake, getting dressed and preparing for the voyage to come. Picking up my pouch, I realize it is still lightweight; I pray that Remaz won't make an issue out of it, lest we worry about such frivolous things for what's to come.

“Fashionably late, as always!” Remaz remarks as I step onto the docks, though it's quite difficult to hear him over the roar of waves crashing into the Greathive's roots. K'aal shakes his head, patting Remaz on the back. “Relax. The ship is here, and all three of us are here too, that's all that matters,” K'aal calmly says, trying to make Remaz control himself, I suppose. Remaz looks over to him, then to me, and sighs. “Fine. Let's just get going already, alright?” He mutters as he walks onto the ship. K'aal shrugs, looking at me with a puzzled expression. “I don't particularly understand what his issue is... he's a different person when you're not around.” He says looking off at the sea.

“I brush it off. It's fine, K'aal, really. And how have you been? It's been weeks since I last could meet with you,” I smile looking toward him, but his gaze doesn't shift from the sea.

He's always seemed troubled, keeping to himself, but today seems particularly different.

A few moments pass in which he doesn't say a word, then moves to board the ship with Remaz silently. “...You make it really hard to get to know you better, you know that?” I mumble to myself as I follow K'aal aboard the ship quietly.

Hours have passed on the sea now, and our party has sat in silence within our chambers. I cannot help but wonder what is troubling these two so much, have I missed some sort of argument? Did I say something wrong? “What's with the quiet, you two? It's not like the both of you to stay silent for hours on end,” I finally break the silence in the room, watching the both of them jump in their seats from the startle of noise. “Has the reality of this not set in on you yet, Ehkusa?” K'aal asks sternly, looking toward me with a fierce look. His hand rests on the wooden desk, tapping it in frustration. “Well, trying new things is our job, isn't it? To be one of Ximac's Scholars is to discover the unknown,” I hastily reply, somewhat unnerved by K'aal's frustration.

He must have noticed my anxiety in my voice, and he relaxed his tone, “Look. Lifeweave may be the future for our technology, but this... this unnerves me, Ehkusa. It makes me scared. It doesn't feel right.” I look down at his hand resting on the table, watching him grip it nervously.

I glance over to Remaz, who's idly looking out the seaside window of our chamber, then I gaze back to K'aal.

I speak calmly, responding to him in a manner that suggests no offense, “I... look, I know. I understand, I really do. I know people within our Greathive are calling it.. necromancy, and other foul things, but I trust Ximac's judgment. Even moreso, because it's Cirryn, I get why they're concerned about us. But, even so, we shouldn't be so low spirited due to what our peers have said about our duty. By the time we finish our task, reanimation successful or not, we shall come home and all will return to normal. Think of it just as any other of our previous duties. We're going to be fine.”

Silence returns to the room following my attempt at cheering them up. A moment passes, and Remaz looks over to me. “It's not everyday I get to hear someone claim using necromancy to revive a hero is ‘any other duty.' What's next, are you gonna tell me that Ryrda is waiting home for you, too?” He lets out a sly laugh, and I have to resist the urge to slam the tabl- I slam the table. “Gods below, you're something else!” I shout as I get up from my seat, and hastily rush out of the chambers, slamming the door behind me. I can't stand him, these people, the way K'aal does nothing, I... ugh.

I run to the deck of the ship, leaning on the railing as I catch my breath. I turn around, cross my arms and look off to the eternal blue surrounding us. “I can't, just...” I sigh, peering off at the waves, somewhat misty eyed. I rummage through my pouch, and find Ryrda's mask shard. I hold it high, and I can feel myself shaking, staring up at it. “I know you're still here,” I stammer through tears, looking at the piece of mask. I can't believe Remaz would just... he knows they were important to me. That they are still important to me.

I clutch the piece of mask, and fall to my knees onto the deck of the ship, looking down. I hear a door faintly open in the distance, then close softly. Quiet steps approach towards me, and I haven't the energy to look up. “What is it?!” I cry out, unsure of the person behind me.

A moment passes, and I've been given the response of great silence. I turn behind me quickly, expecting to see Remaz mocking me once more, only to see nobody at all. “This way, this time,” A voice on my right side speaks softly, sitting beside me, considerably more calm than before. Remaz.

“I don't want to talk to you right now.” I attempt to say flatly, though my voice is still shaky. He sighs, placing a hand on my shoulder. “I know. I'm sorry, that was... that was too far.” He mumbles quietly, it's clear he feels guilty about it. “I didn't mean for that to come out, or to even think like that, just... sometimes I get caught up in that ‘mask,' you know? That image of the quippy Vesperian making light out of everything, but... that was too much. I'm sorry, Ehkusa.” He finishes his apology, and awaits my response quietly, looking off to the sea just as I am. I know he doesn't mean to act out like this, but... it still hurts. But I don't want to hurt him either.

I wait a moment and take a deep breathe, exhaling, “I forgive you, Remaz.” He takes his hand off my shoulder, and we sit together quietly. Waves bellow into the side of the ship, as we sit together with no words spoken.

The Moonseye rises above the horizon as the sky slowly grows dark. “I'm going to head to bed,” I stammer out, holding onto the railing of the ship's deck as I stumble upon my feet. Remaz looks over and nods solemnly, then quietly replies, “I'll be sitting here for a while longer. Rest well, Ehkusa. Tomorrow will be difficult. And... Thank you for forgiving me.” He looks off to the waves once more. I can't help but feel a little bad for him; while I have forgiven him, I do not think he has forgiven himself yet. I nod to him, and return to our chambers. K'aal is already asleep within his own bed, and I lay down upon mine, staring up at the ceiling for a few moments. I hold Ryrda's mask shard up one last time, contemplating it, then putting it back into my pouch.

A great deal of time passes until we arrive at the First. As the day is finally upon us, my party and I are anxious but ready to get this over with. “Allow me to lead, please. I've been around here before, and some masks here know me already,” K'aal speaks as we're led up to the deck of the ship, observing the massive Greathive ahead of us. As the ship draws closer to the dock, Remaz looks over to K'aal and asks, “And you're sure they won't require some sort of identification or something? I doubt they'll believe us if we claim Ximac sent us without any proof.” K'aal smiles and shakes his head, peering off to the dock in front of our ship, “They know we're coming, believe me.”

Elegant branches stretch across the sky above us, as the Greathive looms overhead. “They said the First was grandiose, but this... I never could have imagined!” I chatter to K'aal as he leads us toward the plaza. The volume of birds chattering here compared to our home Greathive is one of the first things I notice as we walk closer within, and other Hivekin travelers pass in and out. “Grandiose is an understatement, Ehkusa. You're lucky to have me guiding you two, or else this would be a much longer trip then planned,” K'aal laughs as we move closer towards the plaza. As we draw nearer towards it, a tall Ganymede guard walks toward our group to stop us, peering down at us.

“Aye, we saw ‘yer ship. The dock's only open to select groups at the moment, what's your purpose here?” The guard bellows sternly, his bright eyes staring into Remaz's mask in particular. “Youuu look... no, you're not him,” The guard begins to say, then shakes his head, turning to K'aal.

I don't understand why these guards always try to talk to Remaz or K'aal before me... “I-” K'aal begins to speak, before I interrupt him, “We're Lifeweave Scholars sent by Hivelord Ximac Diri of the Second. We're here for Cirryn. If you'd please guide us.” The Ganymede's bright eyes blink twice, evidently puzzled by the statement for a moment, before the realization hits him. “Ah, you're that group...” His expression shifts to something much more grim as he looks off to the side, possibly looking for someone else to deal with us. I didn't expect a warm welcome for what we're here to do, so I'm not too surprised.

A group of guards leads us up to Cirryn's memorial, and the room falls silent; it seems we're expected. The statue of Cirryn is massive, towering over all of us. I stare up at the statue, looking deeply into his mask... it feels eerily familiar, but I can't put my finger on why. Remaz strides forward then faces toward me, taking a dramatic pose as he begins to speak, “Surely, you've heard the tale of Cirryn, the Starset Blade?” One of the guards chuckles, while another looks annoyed. “No, my good friend, I have not,” I hastily respond, laughing as I play along. K'aal buries his head into his hands out of embarrassment.

“The stories are true, you see! Cirryn, the bravest of the ancient Hivelord's warriors, rose above all others when the Hive was in most dire of circumstances. Indeed, he drew his blade against the blasphemous Etrean invaders who sought to steal our Lifeweave artifacts ages ago. Oh, how he defended the Hive and its glory! Gods below, rest his soul!” Remaz finishes his speech, and I cannot help but laugh along with him, “Thank you for the history lesson, dear historian.” I collect myself, and look over to the guards standing around us, some remaining stoic, then my gaze drifts over to an interesting metal structure nearby.

That shape is odd... and the size of this structure, what is this? “What's this over here? I've never seen anything like this.” I approach the immensely large metal door; it's cold to the touch. Too cold to the touch, and I sense... nothing.

“That is what we call the Lifeless Chamber,” one of the taller guards responds, walking closer to me. Gods below, why is everyone here tall? “This used to serve as a prison for rogue Lifeweavers in a time long past. Though, we needn't use such constructs anymore...” He continues, and I stare at the door. “Could you elaborate? May I look inside?” I look around for a handle of some sort to open the door, asking as I peer around. The guard looks over to me slightly puzzled, “By all means. It's constructed entirely of iron, devoid of any material a Lifeweaver could manipulate.

Although, if an Ironsinger was in there it would not be secure at all.. But I digress. No sort of Lifeweave can be used there whatsoever.” The guard continues to explain as I look up, observing a conspicuous button near the door. “Now, is this...” I mumble to myself, reaching up to attempt pressing it, although I cannot reach it. Lovely.

“Need some help?” Remaz approaches the guard and I, eyeing the button I was struggling to reach. “Pff.” He scoffs, hitting the button with ease. A loud ‘click' echoes throughout the hall, as the large iron door slowly lowers, revealing an impressively large, empty interior constructed purely of iron. “Wow...” I step into the room, with each step making a loud metal noise ring throughout the chamber. It's cold, and I begin to understand what the guard meant by it being devoid of life. “It feels so... empty, compared to the life of the Greathive,” I mumble to myself, walking deeper into the large egg-shaped room. “And dark!” K'aal shouts over by the door, looking into the chamber with Remaz.

“If you're done now, I'd like to get our job here over with,” Remaz calls out to me, and I gasp and rush back to the door.

“Gods below, apologies. I get caught up in new things quite easily,” I follow him and K'aal out, back toward the group of guards. “It's fine, Ehkusa, honestly. Let's worry about the hard part. It's time.”

The guards of the First guide us to Cirryn's chamber of rest. A large metal coffin resides within the middle of the room, surrounded by a countless array of beautiful flowers. “Oh my...” K'aal walks forward, crouching down and touching the flowers of the chamber. “Such a melancholic place for such beautiful flowers. Tragic.” He picks one up, then glances at a guard to ensure it wasn't seen as disrespectful. “Fairest of the blossoms, hm? And everlasting past its stem being pulled.” He respectfully tucks the flower onto his belt, and nods toward Cirryn's coffin. “Thank you, Starset Blade.” K'aal solemnly speaks to the coffin. He's always been a sentimental one, taking little trinkets and knick knacks of his travels with him to remember them by.

I imagine this must feel special to him, knowing the significance of this memorial. Remaz is standing in the corner of the room with his arms crossed, remaining silent.

I presume he can sense the importance of this place too... These flowers have such a commanding presence amidst the life within this hall. The guards begin to file out of the room, except for one. He looks over to us and speaks, “We'll be guarding the door outside. When you've finished your... experiment, we'll unseal the memorial ground.” He begins to exit the room, before pausing for a moment. “I personally believe this to be a grave sin against Cirryn's legacy, and the Hive as a whole. May the gods below judge you for what's to come.” He then exits the memorial grounds, and the door slams shut behind him.

“Well then.” I look toward K'aal and Remaz, “Are you two ready?” I'm nervous myself, but I don't want to show it. I want them to feel brave, and I want us to succeed. We can make history. “Ready to head back home, yeah.” Remaz gets off the wall, and approaches toward me, then looking toward the top of the large coffin. “K'aal, help me lift this. Don't worry about her, she'll-” Before he can finish, I've raced over to help lift the top of the coffin. “Shush. All together, please.” I say, looking towards both of them. K'aal holds the east, Remaz holds the west, and I begin to lift the south edge. “On my count. One, two.. Three!” We all put our strength into lifting the top of the coffin, eventually managing to lift it up.

“Oh.. gods, this is heavy. Ah!” Remaz exclaims as he begins to struggle and we start so move the top to the side. “Just... here, here. Let it go here.” K'aal calls over to us, and we begin to lower it on the ground. “I can barely feel my arms!”

I sigh as we finish that process, sitting down upon the grove of white memorial blossoms. “One moment, please.” Remaz sits too, and K'aal simply looks down at the two of us. “Take your time, resting, please. I don't want you two winded for the hard part.” K'aal speaks to us while looking at Cirryn's now exposed corpse. “They buried him with his signature blade. How poetic,” K'aal chuckles to himself, then gazing at the flower on his belt. “I presume I'd be the same as him, though.” I can't help but smile listening to him ruminate on such things, there's clearly a strong passion behind that sentimentality of his. He shakes his head, brushing dirt off himself.

“I'm just about ready,” I get up and look toward Remaz, “And you?” He looks up at me, tilting his head, “Hm? I was ready the whole time, just waiting for you.” He chuckles as he gets up onto his feet, although I know that's a lie. “Have you two recited the mantra before, or would this be your first?” K'aal calls out to us, standing over the corpse. I can't help but note how well kept the body is, usually corpses face worse fates, to say the least. “I memorized it quite awhile ago,” I reply, looking up to K'aal as Remaz as I begin to slowly approach the body. Remaz doesn't respond to K'aal, but it seems he already has a deep focus on the body. He's usually quite carefree in such situations...

“Is something the matter?” I ask Remaz, and he snaps out of his trance. “Nothing, Ehkusa. Just idle anxieties is all,” he speaks quietly, looking over from the corpse to me. Anxieties, hm? “It's going to be fine, Remaz. We'll be fine,” I try to reassure him, but part of me feels quite nervous too.

We stretch our hands above the body of Cirryn, and focus intently. I can sense the great life flowing within this room, from myself, my companions, and the countless white flowers surrounding the coffin. Closing my eyes, I find the vacancy; an empty pocket of life, a soulless body. When a body's soul is trapped within the Depths, traces of the soul can be felt in its rightful body, even whilst the soul attempts to escape the Depths. However, this vessel is completely empty... its soul lost to the confines of the deep forever, it seems. Then, should our task succeed, what would control his body? If there's... bah, I shouldn't waste so much time. I need to focus.

I focus on the vacancy, and then the flowers around me. To Lifeweave is not the act of generating [sic] new life, it is the transfer of life. This is the secret we Hivekin live by, and is the truth of our “miracle.” I find the life within the memorial flowers, observing how they act and bend; it shall suffice, with this quantity. I begin to channel their life into the vacancy, then open my eyes. The flowers closest to the coffin wilt within seconds, turning to a dark black. A growing black circle begins to grow around the coffin as each flower dies to the transfer, and I pressure the flowers' life into the place of the soul further. I can feel my head pounding from the stress, as sweat begins to trickle down my forehead, “Gods below...” I mutter to myself, as I redirect the life of hundreds of flowers into the place of Cirryn's soul.

Remaz and K'aal are completely silent, focusing their entire beings into this task as well. A large green pulse emanates over Cirryn's body, a physical sign of our Lifeweave manifestation working so far.

The once beautiful white flowers below us are now a sea of wilted, rotted leaves, and just as I fear we'll have to draw from our own life, the sense of vacancy vanishes. “Did we...” I lose my focus as soon as I notice it, looking around the room, then to Remaz and K'aal. “Did you two feel it too?” I ask them exhaustedly, attempting to catch my breath in between words. Remaz simply nods as he draws in breath, while K'aal sighs, “I did. But, I can't help but worry if that wasn't enough.” He glances at the flower on his hip, still gleaming white, then shakes his head dismissively.

Remaz finishes catching his breath, looking over to Cirryn's body. “...Do we just wait?” He asks in a somewhat puzzled manner, supposedly expecting an immediate result. “Not wait, per se. Just keep an eye on him, look for any sign of breathing, anything like that,” I call out to him as I stare intently at Cirryn's vessel. I can almost feel something swelling within it, but it's so difficult to describe what. The vacancy is completely erased, I know for certain. All of us grow quiet, as I believe the others noticed it as well. We stare at the body for a few moments, and then-

A twitch. Cirryn twitches. Did we... succeed? K'aal draws in a shocked breath, placing his hand over his mask, while Remaz doesn't move an inch. I can't help but stand motionless as well, have we... Are we necromancers? Is this heresy? No, surely they wouldn't claim such things, Ximac himself ordered this task. But, my anxieties only grow worse by the moment. “Cirryn, are you awake?” I find myself asking subconsciously, watching the body begin to shift and stir. My heart begins to pound, watching him slowly raise to life. Where I once felt that vacancy, is now something else. But it doesn't feel right. There's no soul. What compels him to move, to live, without that guiding part of us all?

“K'aal, do you feel it too?” I ask nervously to him, but I can't take my eyes away from Cirryn's form raising to life. “I do, Ehkusa. Are you afraid as well?” He asks me, but at this point my heart is beating too hard to answer. Something feels terribly wrong. There's no soul, this shouldn't be possible.

With one sudden movement, Cirryn sits up within his coffin, his gray, moss-sewn mask staring at us. But through the large crack in his visage, I can see his eyes... vacant. K'aal approaches him, putting his arm out in front of Remaz and I. “Allow me this time, please. You cut me off so rudely the last time I wished to speak,” K'aal mumbles toward me, and I haven't the heart to protest. “Greetings, Starset Blade. You've laid dormant for so, so many years, and the rest of the Hive is happy to have you with us again. My name is K'aal, I'm one of the Lifeweavers of the Second. How do you feel, Cirryn?” He asks the hero calmly, evidently trying to ensure the large being stays calm. Cirryn begins to shuffle around more, armor still intact, as he stands. He then steps out of his coffin, his blade at his side, towering over all of us.

I've never seen a Vesperian of legend, yet where I should feel admiration, I feel fear at his stature... The hero responds to Cirryn's question with a resounding silence, staring down at him. Cirryn twitches unnaturally, beginning to contort into something awful. “What in the... Gods below, what's wrong?” Remaz asks while backing away nervously towards the door, and I find myself following suit. “Something isn't right,” I mutter to him, but I can't take my eyes away from K'aal and Cirryn.

K'aal stares up at the towering hero, not moving an inch. He seems determined, but I want to scream for him to back away. The vacancy has brewed into something horrific. I feel no soul there, just the swelling roar of a thousand lives screaming in Cirryn at once, malforming and converging together into primal instinct. Cirryn's eye, visible through his cracked visage, begins to bloat and swell. “K'aal, get away from it. K'aal come here, please. Please. This isn't right. Get away from it!” I shout at him, but he refuses to move at all... please! Gods below, don't be so stupid now! Cirryn's body begins to bloat further with horrible, bright green cysts. The Lifeweave, it... it's taken control of him, but a thousand wills, they cannot-

“...And to whom do I owe the pleasure?” A bellowing deep voice breaks the silence in the room. Cirryn. How? He shouldn't... is it simply residual memories within the body? Cirryn calls out again. “And to whom do I owe the pleasure?” as he grows taller, malforming further into something unrecognizable. “And to whom do- Do I owe- And to whom- And- And-” He begins repeating the same phrase over and over, faster each time before he can finish, as he turns into a form most foul, monstrous, unrecognizable. He bloats, contorts, cysts grow and die within mere seconds on him. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Cirryn. My name is K'aal-”

Within the blink of an eye, Cirryn's Starset Blade cuts K'aal's body directly through his torso, a complete horizontal cut all the way through him. A large paint stroke of blood scatters across the wilted flowers below us. No. No no no no no no no no no no no no no no! “K'aal. K'aal!” I scream over to him, backing further up in horror. This isn't happening, this has to be a dream, I... no. No! Remaz is banging on the door to let us out, shouting and screaming that something has gone wrong. I can't... I stare at K'aal, and he turns his head toward me. “I'm.. sorry,” he mutters, before his upper torso slides off of his leg, crashing into the floor. His legs, separate from the rest of his body, then crumble into the flowers below. He's gone. K'aal is gone.

He can't survive the Depths, no, he... “Open it! Let us out! Please!” Remaz slams on the door louder, screaming for us to be released from the chamber. I feel adrenaline beginning to surge within me. I... I don't want to die. I need to get out, I don't want to die, I don't-

The door opens, and I leap through. The guards look toward Remaz and I with puzzled expressions, then they look inside the chamber. Their expressions shift, drawing their weapons. “I knew from the beginning, necromancy is not to be toyed with. Utter fools,” one guard mocks us, stepping into the chamber and drawing his blade to Cirryn. “You make a mockery of Cirryn's legacy, Depths-sent. Now, I shall return you to your slumber-” His preamble is cut short by another slash, his upper torso meeting K'aal within the bed of wilted flowers below. The rest of the guards rush into the room, and I look at Remaz, feeling my heart pound more. “We need to go. Now. We need help, we need to run,” I stammer through my words, looking at him helplessly. Please. Gods below, just say something. “Now!” He shouts, and we begin to run, faster than we've ever ran before.

Loud stomps echo throughout the entire Greathive, as the once constant bird chirps come to a silence.

The rustling of leaves falls still. The chattering of Vesperian and Ganymede ends. Fear and panic overtake the serenity of what Hivekin call home, as we sprint through the guarded halls, the forces of Hive defense coming to defend the Greathive from what we've done. One after another, we hear scream after scream of each guard heading in to engage with Cirryn, as another loud stomp echoes through the tree as he gets further into the Greathive.

My heart is pounding harder, I can barely feel my legs as we reach the plaza. The people of the Greathive are scattering; word travels fast, but screams travel faster. I begin to catch my breath from the sprint beneath Cirryn's monument towering over the center of the plaza. Remaz drops to the floor, panting as he collects himself. “What do we do? Gods, what can we even do?!” He shouts, panicking as the stomps continue to echo through the whole tree. I want to respond, I want to cry out the right answer, but even now I find myself feeling the same way. I look over to the direction the stomps are coming from and... it's close. I look around the plaza for something, anything, that could lead us to a weapon of some sort, gods, anything! Another stomp. I can barely hear myself think over the sound of my heart. And then, I realized.

Standing across from me, across the plaza, lies the Lifeless Chamber, the cold, lifeless prison in which no Lifeweave can survive. “Remaz, do you... do you think we could get it in there?” I mutter nervously, raising my shaky hand to point toward the direction of its cold confines. He looks over to the chamber, and then towards the sounds of the ever-nearer stomps. “I think we can. But, it's... we have to lure it in there. There has to be something around here, some... gods, it's only chasing people. I don't know, we could Lifeweave- no, no, it doesn't work in there! Gods below, damn it all!” He begins to panic once more, tapping his mask nervously beneath Cirryn's monument, until he suddenly stops in his tracks.

A moment of silence passes, only broken by an even closer, loud stomp. It's near. “Ehkusa.” He calls out to me somberly, and I begin to worry. That shake in his voice isn't normal. “Yes? Did you think of something? We can try anything, please.” I look toward him for some form of reassurance, some light at the end of the tunnel.

“I.. I can lure it in there, Ehkusa.”

“Huh? No, you... I can't let you.”

I can barely form any words. He would never, he can't, he... I can't lose another friend today. “Please, Ehkusa. It's either me, or the Hivekin here suffer even more greatly.” He looks down at the floor out of hopelessness, I've never seen him like this. “No, no, Remaz. Listen to me. I... I can go! Please!” I shout at him desperately, I feel tears swelling in my eyes as the ground beneath us shakes. He doesn't look up at me, he simply shakes his head. His mind is set, and I'm helpless yet again. “It's the least I can do. For K'aal, for the Hivekin already lost, for... you. I have too much to atone for.” His voice grows more shaky, holding back tears of his own. He would never be able to forgive himself, he'd blame himself for all of this.

I hold out my hand to him. “Remaz, are you truly certain?” I ask him, looking toward his mask. He looks up to me, and grabs my hand, replying “I'm certain.” I pull him up off the ground, and watch him gather his balance. I wish I could do more for you, Remaz. I wish it didn't have to be like this, I wish... anything, anything other than this. Another stomp, across the plaza. I can see its shadow in the frame of the gate. Remaz looks towards me, and nods. “I'm going to open the door, and when it draws near... I'll lure it in there. When it's in there with me, I need you to seal the chamber behind me, Ehkusa. It's never to be opened again.” My eyes swell with more tears, and although I try my best to remain strong, I cannot help but weep for him. “U-Understood.” I stumble over my words between tears, watching him begin to walk away.

This all feels so, so familiar, and again all I do is watch. The feeling of watching him walk away for the final time is the most sour of them all. “Remaz. Thank you. For everything.” He pauses for a moment, then continues.

Cirryn enters the plaza, somehow more monstrous than before. His mask is split into a sea of fragments scattered across his now dozen limbs, mouths, and eyes all varying in sizes. I feel sick to my stomach looking at it, the tragedy we've created... “AYE!” A loud shout from the center of the plaza. Remaz. The beast's thousand eyes glare toward him, as it stomps toward him. The floor beneath us shakes violently with each step, as dust and leaves fall from the branches above. Sun beams through the canopy high, toward the plaza center where Remaz and Cirryn stand.

And then... he runs. Remaz sprints towards the Lifeless Chamber's massive entrance, then hits the button nearby to begin the opening of the entry. Cirryn stomps increasingly faster toward Remaz, as the entrance finally resides fully open. Remaz dashes inside, looking behind him one last time towards me.

My legs, my arms, every part of me is screaming to not let him go, to bring him back over here, but... it's too late for something like that. I begin to slowly move toward the direction of the chamber, keeping a distance between myself and Cirryn. As Cirryn reaches the door, he struggles to fit inside. He continuously slams himself against the frame in rapid succession, until enough of his Lifeweave cysts rot to allow him in. Once he's through the door.. I approach.

Remaz stands within the deepest section of the chamber, waiting for Cirryn to draw nearer. Cirryn's steps slow, as he draws nearer to Remaz. I reach the entrance to the chamber as Cirryn is halfway through it, and I reach for the button- I can't reach it. My heart starts pounding once again, and I struggle with all my might to just- Damn it all! I back off from the door, and take a deep breath... I need to do this. Now. I sprint towards the button, leaping off the ground and reaching for the very heights I can, up toward- I reach it, hitting the button.

The Greathive shakes as the chamber begins to seal itself. Cirryn continues to pace towards Remaz, and I helplessly watch as the chamber door slowly closes. “Remaz!” I scream towards him one last time. He looks towards me, shaking in fear, and shouts back with the last of his might,

“I'm sorry.”

The chamber door seals shut.

Lumen's Folklore: Volume 'Attunement'

A compilation of tales by the Scholars of the Citadel

Ever present throughout our day-to-day lives is not only the Song itself, but its gift to humanity: the ability to possess attunement. Even for those who do not seek adventure or lack an attunement of their own, it’s impossible to exist within Lumen without encountering it, even through the most mundane of means. One such example the Scholars like to discuss when teaching attunement is the meal dilemma. If you happen to live within a large city or settlement, such as Etris, for example, you’ve likely had a well-cooked, delicious meal before. A large number of these meals are masterfully cooked by expert Flamecharmers, who focus their craft not on violence, but the creation of delicacy. Applications such as these are some of the most impactful uses of attunement within our daily lives, and should not be underestimated.

While cooking is the most common usage of Flamecharm within daily life, its use extends far past that as well. Engineering discoveries are made everyday by groups such as the Summer Company and Ignition Union, who are often the pioneers of technology to enhance our daily life. Recently, the Scholars of the Citadel were informed of a new innovation developed by the Summer Company, a system to heat their castle within Summer Isle during harsh winters. Throughout the castle, an elaborate system of pipes and vents stretching through unseen corners all connect to their basement, in which a large furnace powers heat throughout the castle. But, as we all know, a furnace cannot run itself. Behind the masquerade of such a marvel is the work of expert Flamecharmers powering it, ensuring its flame stays forevermore, and does not end in disaster. Without such innovation by Flamecharmers, it’s suffice to say that even our very livelihood during winters would be threatened.

But, cooking and heat are not the only applications of Flamecharm. One of the most beneficial uses seen within society is the master smithing of Flamecharmers. The ability to temper blades relies on perseverance, focus, and most importantly, flame. Flamecharmers are said to work in tandem with Ironsingers, combining their expertise to make mastercrafts any lord or knight would desire. The blades of the Vigils, for example, are created via the careful heating of Ironsing metals, shaping and tempering them with the perfect amount of heat. It is long, stressful work, often resulting in great pay from buyers in high places. Smithing is possibly one of the most difficult applications of Flamecharm to master, while simultaneously the most rewarding.

The opposite of heat also provides important use to our lives. Frostdraw, though uncommon outside of large settlements, often sees practical use in harmony with Flamecharmers. Meat does not last forever, and one such resource the citizens of Etrea have discovered to maintain it is Frostdraw to freeze such perishable goods. Within the workplaces of taverns, Flamecharmers and Frostdrawers are always within high demand, as their expertise is invaluable to such businesses. This principle of ‘maintenance’ also extends past tavern business, as well into the realm of preservation of lost artifacts. As time runs its harsh course, the structures of our world weather and fray when unguarded. Frostdraw has also seen use in the preservation of artifacts by freezing them within contained chambers in order to maintain their safety and integrity. Pathfinders often indulge in rumors of pillaging lost Frostdraw vaults, as they’re known to contain valued pieces of our history, the likes of which fetch high value within the market. This danger to the artifacts of our people has led to Frostdraw vaults often being heavily guarded, or hidden in the most unlikely of places. Upon the arrival of Erisia to the Etrean Luminant, a large Frostdraw vault was discovered within its Hidden Village, although the conditions of its goods were quite poor due to a lack of maintenance. Scholars have debated on how long it could have possibly existed there, noting that the relic within had become frayed over time.

Due to the nature of Frostdraw’s ability to forge ice for such purposes, some consider it a ‘creation attunement’, a definition which has not been applied to any other known attunements so far. A creation attunement has been defined to be “an application of the Song that can create objects or structures purely out of its respective element, without the help of man made tools.” This principle can often be seen throughout the most common work of Frostdraw architecture: bridges. Makeshift, temporary bridges prove to be one of the most useful tools in traversing dangerous terrain, and have proved to be an invaluable resource in endeavors such as the Driftland expeditions. Such uses have also been cited to be seen within construction of homes in Markor, in which Frostdraw is used to create temporary scaffolding for construction workers to develop homes, or make makeshift walkways for them to safely work. Our understanding of creation attunements is still quite infantile, and the Scholars of the Citadel spend countless hours researching them to this day.

While Flamecharm and Frostdraw see heavy usage within city life, Galebreathe has seen much grander usage in the world beyond. On the edges of the Great Blue reside large structures colloquially known as the Tempest Stones. These large, imposing structures are said to be the very ribcage of Lumen, uniform in distance from each other. The importance of these stones however is their deep connection to the winds of our world. Atop these stones, master Galebreathers channel their winds to synchronize with the winds of the sea, noting any fluctuations or abnormalities present. These Galebreathers, referred to by some as the Tempest Braves, are responsible for the stability of the winds of our sea. Without these crucial Galebreathers, some say that our winds could cease entirely, leaving countless citizens of Lumen stranded at sea forever. Students of Galebreathe often aspire to pursue such prestigious work, though it is one of the most difficult tasks for any person to take. Often these students are told to tame their expectations, and seek work within alternate uses of Galebreathe, most commonly within farm work.

The usage of Galebreathe within farms is paramount, as they are entirely responsible for the power of windmills. Indeed, windmills are often used within the Eastern Luminant to cull wheat into flour, eventually becoming one of the main sources of bread. In addition to the creation of bread being attributed to Galebreathers, they have also become one of the most efficient workers in the expansion of farms. Their ability to use gale to spread out the seeds of crops has saved possibly years of time for farming businesses and small villages alike, making Galebreathers a highly valued asset to farm life.

While Galebreathe is one of the calmest uses of attunements in daily life, the most enigmatic can be attributed to Thundercall. As all sailors know, the seas of our Luminants are decorated with large ‘highway’ structures. Upon a ship passing through it, a ‘jolt’ of energy and powered waves causes it to traverse much faster across the sea while remaining within the highway. These highways are a masterwork of Thundercall efficiency, actively maintained and constructed by The Golden Link, a company of Thundercallers originally formed within Markor. However, the vast utility and demand for these highway gates have caused a large expansion of their company, now spreading throughout almost all the Luminants to create, maintain, and further improve their highway gates. Thundercall is used to power these large structures, generating the energy needed to provide this ‘jolt’ of speed to all ships that pass through. Without Thundercallers, these gates would be useless, making Thundercallers one of the most highly valued workers across all Luminants.

While this brief collection of attunement usages may have imbued you with some knowledge, it’s important to note that these are only but a few examples of what is possible with attunement in Lumen. Beyond these short examples are hundreds more, benefitting our daily lives in ways most citizens of Lumen do not notice. We, the Scholars of the Citadel, hope this brief summary of attunement in our world has helped shed light on those who make Lumen as prosperous as it is today, and forevermore hope we remain atop the waves. If you would like to know more about attunement, please contact Head Scholar Marvaile, who hosts lectures within the Scholars' Halls every three moons.

Lumen's Folklore: Volume 'North'

A compilation of tales by the Scholars of the Citadel

Before the rising of the tides, the world of Lumen had been whole, five large continents all within the same sea. Though, it was not a perfect world, still filled with strife as it continues to be today. What we know now as ‘Luminants', were simply parts of this larger continent, The Old World, the heart of Lumen. One particular region of the Old World that has puzzled scholars and stewards alike for generations is the folklore of Northern Lumen.

Northern Lumen, now known today as the Northern Luminant, had been an inhospitable region for countless moons. The harsh winters were far too demanding for any human to survive in, making it effectively an unexplored wasteland for all of the races of Lumen. However, those brave enough to venture and pioneer discoveries of the North soon came across a discovery that transformed Lumen's view of the north. The north was not devoid of life at all, in fact, it was home to what we now know as the Elder Edenkite.

The Elder Edenkite were immortal beings of great intelligence, perhaps far surpassing our own. These massive, flying wyrms would reside with the peaks of the north, taking flight throughout the region. Some scholars say they'd see large birds within the sky upon their first expeditions to explore the unknown north.. But indeed, it was no bird at all. Our peoples' initial attempt to communicate with the Edenkite were great failures; they had all resulted in the higher beings flying away unto their clouds. But, one scholar by the name of ‘Hyvahn' had discovered a method to commune with them. A ritual, appropriately named ‘The Wyrm's Communion', would be sufficient in gathering their attention to descend upon the peaks and discuss with us mere mortals. The ritual had been simple in nature, but difficult to procure the materials needed: the true umbral deep beneath our surface for it's unavoidable stench, the ambient ether to channel within at least four schools of attunement, and a master ether manipulator, the likes of which could focus the ether of the students within the true umbral. As the first Communion commenced, these scholars became the very first humans to have ‘First Contact'.

However, the Elder Edenkite were keenly aware of their circumstance. Communing with humanity would be a great risk, one that endangered their ability to exist as a species. And thus, they retreated to the one place where they hoped to never be found, or at least, that was their goal until the Canticlysm. Indeed, as the peoples of our world prospered, they no longer would deny the opportunity to commune, but still took great precautions. This first Communion was a risk, and the Edenkite had placed great trust in humanity to engage in it.

Throughout the years, scholars and pilgrims alike would attempt to commune with the Elder Edenkite further, seeking advice and information from their vast wisdom. The Elder Edenkite would often give anecdotes of the world before the rise of civilization, and offer their thoughts in ways hard to decipher for us humans. Riddles upon riddles, various scholars would spend countless hours deciphering the meaning of these pieces of advice to solve strife within their nations, the old Scholars of the Citadel themselves had created an entire department dedicated to riddles purely to understand the Edenkite. But.. as we know, the Canticlysm did not last forever.

Upon the sunsetting of the Canticlysm, and the rising of the Tides, one scholar had decided to take his own initiative. Though his name is now lost to time, branded as a heretic, this figure soon became known as ‘the Mad Steward'. The Steward had taken his own pilgrimage to the north, ready to question the Edenkite on his own accord, perhaps believing that they were somehow responsible for the Tides. As the Steward made communion with one Elder Edenkite, he asked quite plainly, “How do we stop the rising of the tides, the corruption of our sea?” The Edenkite had answered simply, “The rise and fall of humanity is inevitable. To deny it, to fight against it, is to fight against the force attempting to free you from your mortal shackles. The end of a life is a gift, lest you wish to suffer eternally.”

The Steward had frozen in place, shaken to the core by this answer. Had the Edenkite forsaken us? Were they perhaps responsible, given that response? The Steward, greatly upsetted by the answer, replied, “All of that wisdom, and you cannot solve our greatest problem.” Then, the final straw had broke. Atop the frigid peak of the North, the Steward drew his blade, and approached the Edenkite with contempt. “Then I shall take it, and solve it myself.” Utilizing Ardour, the only known Murmur capable of wounding such a being, he took his stance.

On that fateful day, the Elder Edenkite' had experienced their first loss. There were now eight remaining. After beheading the serpent, which did not resist, the large higher being crashed downward into the mountains, falling upon a large cliff that would impale through the large being, forming an eternal monument where its corpse lies impaled there to this day. Despite the great sin the Steward committed, he was determined to see through his word. He descended to the spire it had crashed upon, grotesquely slashing through to its heart. There, he devoured it, in hopes of obtaining its wisdom, to put an end to the rising tides.

But, wisdom isn't what it seems. The devouring of the Drakeheart had not lead to infinite wisdom, but an overwhelming sensation of dread. Countless memories of dark history, strife, tragedy, filled the head of the Steward. In his very place, he began to become a creature most grotesque. And thus, the first Dread Serpent was born, corrupted by the will of a thousand dead eras, a mind drowned with only histories of tragedy. The being was only a shallow imitation of the holy glory of the Edenkite, and fled to the Voidsea. The Mad Steward was no more.

Following this event, the rising tides became ever worse. Lumen had begun to sunder, and though countless people attempted to commune with the Edenkite for help, no such Edenkite came. The Elder Edenkite had vanished from their once-home, never to be seen again. Some believe they caused the tides as revenge for the loss of their kin, while others refuse this notion due to their consistent help. Tensions rose, and as the lands themselves began to break, the last pilgrims of North Lumen dispersed, returning to their homes, as the forgotten land of the Edenkite drifted north.

Today, Scholars still debate on if the Edenkite exist. They ruminate on if they simply fled, or had gone extinct over the years of the tides. With the Voidsea continuing to grow, they've thus shifted their goals to preventing the spread of the Voidsea, for it is all hope they have left. The only records known to man of the Edenkite' existence resides only within the archives of Markor, the sin sealed away, never to be seen by the common folk ever again.

Ministry Field Report

*The text on the page is scrawled frantically, difficult to decipher. The words 'Celtor' and 'Trial' can be made out from the mess, although the surrounding text is incomprehensible.*

Munet Journal, XIV

by Wakeguard Winona Munet

The aftermath of a battle is always ugly. Many soldiers despise it for the injuries, the breaking of gear, or the politics that come after the victor is decided. For me, it is the process of body watching that I dread the most.

It starts with collection. The bodies are everywhere, scattered around the battlefield like a stack of paper left in the wind. Alas, it is my job, and I do as I am told. I walk stretches of bloodied sand and dirt with my cart for hours in the unforgiving sun, packing our fallen onto its wooden surface as I go. The dealings are always deathly quiet, disturbed only by the squeaking of my cart's old wheels.

Once I have gathered all of the bodies, they get piled onto a bigger cart. That cart then moves to a secluded lot on the outskirts of my army's territory, the stockyard. It's placed far as it can be from our camps; no living soul goes there but me. Who would want to visit such a location, anyway?

When the final body is loaded out and arranged in its own spot in the yard, my job truly begins. Those uninformed may assume It is easy to watch bodies all day. But it is not a job for those weak in the mind.

Two weeks. That's how long a fresh body must stay in the stockyard. It is the time allotted for one's soul to return from the depths below into their rightful vessel. It is the time when I stay in my corner of hell, growing immune to the smell of rotting flesh, counting how many flies can nest in a body out of demented boredom. It is the time when I spend my days and nights gazing upon a field of the dead, waiting for one to suddenly awake in a flash of light, wounds healed, limbs returned to their body. When it does happen, it is the only time this job brings me any sort of joy. I welcome them and all their confusion with open arms, embracing their return to the surface.

Yet it doesn't happen as much as I would like it to. More often than not, I am dozing off to the buzzing of flies, hoping to awake to a returned vessel asking for guidance. But I never do. Here, with the flies and maggots, I am faced with mortality at its rawest. Here, I wonder when I will be a part of the stockyard, vacant body laid out on the dirt, glassy eyes staring up at the vast sky above.

My Warm Blood

- Another sinful kin of Merit

I reach out to the sky once more. Clouds stretch across the blue sky, my hand blending within its hue. Though, cracks in my skin adorn it with splotches of red, I can still see the true blue within the expanse. Mother told me to leave behind something to remember, I’ve produced naught but countless letters yet. Each visit to the mirror, my family’s tattoos along my body remind me once more of who I am, the only child, the one responsible to carry on our blood. Day after day, with each additional line, I recall her stories of each one to come before me. Legacy. Legacy, they say. And what will I leave behind? A pile of bodies, nothing more. A soul whose too damned to be loved, and too rotten to rehabilitate. Within my corps, they would call this a “lost cause,” and I cannot help but agree. “You can settle down and start a family,” the captain tries to reassure me time, and time again. But I don’t go by what he says.

A lump in my throat grows each time I walk into Merit’s tavern. I am only worth a glance, then they return to their normal acts. I can sit in silence for hours there, listening to the musings of others, unable to make or share my own. For what tales does a soldier have worth telling? I slayed a man here. I slayed one there. I watched one beg me not to, whilst a rifle spear behind me would cut me in two if I refused. This is not the legacy I want. This is not the life I want. This flesh is a prison, and no other vessel would accept a soul as rotten as this. Despite all of this, time and time again, the tavernkeep reassures me, “You can settle down and start a family.” But I don’t go by what he says.

A little light of hope sparks within me sometimes, despite this. Perhaps it’s just residual ether, perhaps it’s muscle memory tied to my flame. This light, this little light within my soul tells me that there is a future, a real legacy to leave behind. It lasts until I’m greeted by the mirror once again. Tattoos and cracks, little lines and bruises adorn this vessel. My eyes glaze, anguished, draping a cloth over the mirror, then sitting within the barracks for hours, waiting. Waiting for nothing in this worn down, broken vessel. I often find myself conjuring flame just to hold close, to see if this is real. To see if I can feel still. To see if this is just a dream I’ll wake from. Opening my eyes, I meet the sear upon the vessel. And for all of that, what is my reward? Resounding silence. I can start a family, no, I can start a fire. That’s all I’ve ever been able to do. I don’t go by what anyone says, anymore.

Legacy! Legacy! Legacy! And to be remembered! Leave something behind, she told me. Bodies fade away, and flame lives past men. I don’t want a family, ma. I want to be forever. For the first time, it all makes sense to me. For the first time, my legs move on their own. For the first time, I feel. The cage around my skull has opened, and I see it all as it ever was: flame. No longer shall all my actions be planned out in advance. I shall waver, I shall grow, I shall be snuffed out within a gust. When I return to this town, I will not be the same as them, I will be dust lasting far longer than their sorry souls, I will be their sunset. Sol above me, I feel myself melting away, my mind, flesh, and all. It reaches its hand out, welcoming me into its hellfire embrace. No longer will vessels bind me. No longer will I- “What are you doing?” A voice.

“What in the hells is wrong with you?!” It calls once more, but I feel too incandescent to reply. Warmth is in my grasp, and no soul shall deny it. That is, until it’s snuffed out by the everpresent gale. “Gods below, Vreia!” The voice calls out once more, as the warmth fades. My eyes open, staring forward. Another Adretian woman stands in front of me, the one responsible for snuffing out my flame. I look down at the sear, and begin to process its true feeling behind it all: regret. Weakness overwhelms me, as the pain washes over me all at once. I crumble in my seat, conscious fading. “..Hey. Snap out of it.” The voice mutters, before I slip out of this vessel once more.

In my dreams, I see fire. I see a radiant gardener, gently raising each flame, growing its might with delicate care. The gardener can smile bright, happily embracing her incandescence. I try to smile back at her, and I feel my flame waver. I waver unto the night, shrinking until she pities me enough to snuff me out for good. Upon my eyes opening, I see not flame, but hair. I brush my own out of my eyes, staring up at the ceiling as I have many moons before. Shapes dance across it as my consciousness comes to, and I analyze my surroundings. An infirmary. I look towards my vessel, delicately dressed in bandages across my chest. I hold my hand against my heart... and it still beats. These are not the Depths, I am still within Merit’s walls. My hair draped along my shoulders seemed to have also been touched by the sear, some being singed as a result of it. The door to my ward swings open, a tall Khan watches over me, etching notes in his pad before we’ve even exchanged words. Just as all people have before, a glance is all given. I open my mouth, and try to speak. Nothing.

“Who did this to you?” The man asks, without looking up from his pad. I let out a sigh. Chirurgeons never take kindly to the truth if it’s not something they can justify. And this warmth I feel, this attraction to the flame, there is no justification for. It simply feels right. The thought eludes me for moments, until I feel a hand upon my shoulder, and flinch, pushing it away. I glare towards the hand, only to see it was not the chirurgeon, but the Adretian woman from earlier.

She looks hurt by this expression, and my glare turns to a somber gaze. “You were, ah.. struggling, out there. ” She mumbles, running her fingers over the spot on her hand which I swatted away moments earlier. I feel bad, but I already struggle enough to communicate with peers as is. A moment of silence passes, while she stands over me. I’m too ashamed to look up, as the reality of what has occurred begins to dawn upon me. “Vreia?” She speaks my name, and my thoughts are quickly interrupted. I shake my head, managing to speak for the first time in days, “..Yes?” Though, quiet as a mouse. Pathetic.

O Pardoner of Mine

Sincerely, Eneka's Heir


  
 
O pardoner of mine, I seek your guidance. Upon this moonlit faith, I seek not the future ahead, but solutions for the past. Within my dreams, I see only reflections of those distant memories, scattered upon the nightflowers of which my kin has grown fond of. These flowers guide me, they guide me so, so far toward the ideology you impose upon us, devouring my family in the name of faith. Connecting each flower to a name, a story, a burnt piece of Chrysid so familiar to my touch. A life ripped away, in the name of pardoning Sin.

O pardoner of mine, I seek your answer. To the questions I wail hopelessly into the night, clawing at the walls for why, oh why, why Pardoner must it be given up? To the countless Eneka before myself, generations of blood, all deemed too sinful to live, why must we be sacrificed? When will my flesh be spared? When will my father be spared? Upon this Moonseye we pray to, upon these stars you will see our demise. Upon this star, this Luminant, we become night flowers not from our own sin, but inherited sin. My mother’s mother may have acted wrongfully so, but I am not her, pardoner of mine. When I look toward you, I am trapped inside the glass your fingers clasp upon, and within its reflection I see two of me. It’s the very thing that made me believe, pardoner.

O pardoner of mine, your Lachrymosa is the cancer that keeps me up at night. We pray, only for the Lady Confessor to reap our kin in return. Her fingers are wrapped around our society, toying with the souls of those who only possess hope in their hearts, yet she still mercilessly plucks it out, to replace it with devotion. Pardoner, is it devotion you seek? Is it devotion that the Lady Confessor seeks? When you promise us the stars, I promised my heart. When she takes your family too, promising you not only the stars, but the Moonseye too, do you accept? When you watch your own kin burn, is devotion truly worth it?

O pardoner of mine, you are a fool. This faith toys with us, it enchants us, it pulls us closer towards a demise we can never crawl out of. Your devotion to the slaughter of ourselves is not the future for us, my Pardoner. I seek light, just as you. But, oh pardoner of mine, why must we light ourselves ablaze?

Operation 'Distant Light' Report

[CLASSIFIED - ADMIRAL THORM EREBET'S EYES ONLY]

// - CLASSIFIED INFORMATION - CLEARANCE LEVEL 'TEMPEST' - NO UNAUTHORISED ACCESS - // // Authorized Operation : Distant Light Classification: Reconnaissance - Territorial Survey Correspondent : Alaric Kesset - Authority Navy Captain (CASS 'Shallow Grave') Operation Status : Complete

// Operation_Description

Operation Distant Light is a Class 1 reconnaissance operation. The Captain assigned to this mission is to survey the shores and territories of The Lullaby Isles from sea as precisely as possible, in order to assess the archipelago's strategic value in the Central Luminant. The operation's findings are to be reported to Admiral Thorm Erebet post-haste. The nature of the operation's Class 1 designation permits retaliatory actions and escalation where they are tactically advantageous.

// Operation_Report_In_Full

TO: ADM. THORM EREBET

--------------

Fleet Admiral Erebet,

Glory to the Cause. As requested by High Command, the CASS 'Shallow Grave' has accomplished the requested strategic survey of the Lullaby Isles archipelago. The survey was conducted almost entirely at sea, at an observational distance. However, due to unforeseen adverse weather conditions, we were forced to moor the ship on the shores of the Stoneseye mountain range. We did so at my orders, to avoid damage to our vessel from the sudden appearance of a harsh centric storm. During this period, we also conducted a cautious and brief external land survey, before our return to sea. Overall, including our unforeseen forced landing, the operation spanned the course of five days. Presented below are our findings in full.

Topographically, the Lullaby Isles are a broad-spanning archipelago surrounded by a continuous ring of mountains called the Stoneseye Range, not unlike the so-called Spine of the East that parts the Eastern and Etrean Luminant. Upon our inspection, having circumnavigated the mountain circle twice, the Stoneseye Range appears to have very few identifiable natural passages in its structure - however, said handful of passages are obstructed by heavily reinforced stone walls and defensive fortifications. Accompanying the walls are tall defensive towers, with incredibly dated artillery pieces manned and mounted on the top, in the form of antique ballistae, onagers, and multiple trebuchets. Crow's nest reported ridges embedded within the walls themselves, beneath which the placement of slabs misaligned, implying a gateway of sorts. We remain uncertain of the mechanism which operated the gates.

Due to those defensive positions, our crew was unable to survey the obstructed passageways. On the third day of our mission, at 1400 hours, while sailing a closer distance to one of the fortified walls, our ship was spotted. The defending force attempted to communicate with us using some unknown system of guided intermittent lens-light, and smoke signals. The CASS 'Shallow Grave' did not reciprocate communications. The encounter passed without incident as we disappeared out of the wall's sightline at around 1430 hours, and neither side engaged in hostile action.

Upon assessing the situation in my capacity as a Captain, I did not deem escalation necessary. It would have taken more than our ship's reserves of gunpowder to even put a dent in their defensive walls - furthermore, though their artillery is dated, its high ground advantage and piercing projectile potential posed a substantial threat to our hull integrity in the event of an engagement.

During our survey, we observed that aside from the aforementioned fortifications, the outer side of the Stoneseye Range is essentially barren of settlement. No cities, towns, or villages can be seen externally. The sole form of outer settlement we managed to discover appeared in our sights on the fourth day, at 1530 hours. It was a small contraband smugglers' outpost, consisting of seven wooden shacks. Crow's nest identified painted symbols on the buildings there as belonging to the Shackled Shank smugglers' ring, well-known to our naval patrols, and not native to the Lullaby Isles. The CASS 'Shallow Grave' swiftly opened fire on the outpost, shelling it with multiple broadsides. The outpost, alongside its handful of defenders, was promptly eliminated, and a small amount of explosives stored therein was set off in the process. (See also "Operation 'Distant Light': Appendix 1", where details of smugglers' activities are detailed.)

--------------

On the fourth day of our survey, at around 2005 hours, an unexpected centricl storm swept through the seas surrounding the Lullaby Isles, and the CASS 'Shallow Grave' was forced to anchor at the nearest shore to avoid damage, at my orders. This manoeuvre landed us on an unoccupied portion of the outer edge of the Stoneseye Range. During the night, after the gale had passes by around 2300 hours, we delegated First Lieutenant Grim Adaset to lead a scouting expedition to the area, accompanied by seven volunteers. This unexpected opportunity allowed us to examine the ranges outer topography up close.

As we discovered, the soils on the shores of the mountain ring are rich in soot and ash. The mountains themselves appear to be volcanic in origin. Plumes of smoke have been observed rising from the peaks along the Stoneseye Range, as well as beyond them, from within the mountain ring. Shrouding the outer shores of the mountain range is a continuous span of centric rainforests, with lush flora populating the underbrush, and tall trees covering the skyline. We cannot attest to the presence of fauna on the outer ring, as our crew did not encounter any. We remain unsure whether the storm forced the wildlife on the surface to shelter further away from shore or whether the shore is truly and wholly barren of fauna.

At around 0025 hours, the scouts also founds a curious cavity in one of the mountain walls, which, judging by the sound of trickling water, might have led to some deeper cavern, or underground hollow. Upon the scouts' return, attempts to make a small probing excavation in the cavity were made by the crew at 0045 hours, but we were unable to investigate the discovery much further. The space was thoroughly caved in, and even appeared fortified with large bricks and mortar after a certain point, much to our bewilderment. The use of explosives was briefly considered, but ultimately considered futile without further intel. Upon the crew's return from the scouting expedition, the CASS 'Shallow Grave' raised anchor, and set sail to finish reconnaissance. The remainder of the operation passed without incident, and our ship departed the region on the fifth day at 1650 hours.

Due to the archipelago natural and man-made defences, we could not scout beyond the outer ring of the mountains, not even from afar, for lack of line of sight.

--------------

When conjecture is of no use to High Command and the venerable Fleet Admiral, I would like to draw a few logical conclusions from the intel we have, through a principle of deduction.

Due to the widely present volcanic activity, it is reasonable to assume the archipelago itself is agriculturally fertile - and as a result, possibly entirely autarkic, or self-sustaining. This could explain why the Lullaby Isles are able to pursue their broadly isolationist policies despite their dated ways of living.

If their external defences are any indication of the level of their technology and science, the Lullaby Isles are far behind any regional force that emerged in the Central Luminant during the Resurgence period. But, then, their implied self-sustainability could suggest one of three things - one, a small population residing in the archipelago; two, incredibly fertile soil within the archipelago (further supported by high volcanic activity in the region); or three - advanced applications of the Song by hand in the field of agriculture.

With all that in mind, we can infer that the inhabitants of the Lullaby Isles do not appear to pose us any major offensive threat. As learned during our previous covert inquiries with former subjects of the Isles, the archipelago does not seem to possess a large enough militarized navy, even less so a large enough oceanic fleet, to mount sustained hostile action. In terms of reserves, there are very few ocean-worthy civilian vessels in the Isles - business between the islands within the archipelago is broadly conducted using bicangalans, or double-cangalan boats.

From a defensive standpoint, however, the Lullaby Isles would prove to be an incredibly difficult target for conquest. The peaks of the stoney range, by our in-person estimation, would prove practically insurmountable even to the most skilled and best-equipped of climbers. Furthermore, the walls guarding the natural passageways of the mountain range are made up of large cut slabs of pale stone - likely some variety of pillar, diorite, basalt, or perhaps marble. The supposes stone-wrought 'gates' would also pose a challenge to our artillery. Either intense shelling, or a high explosive payload would be required to breach either of them.

In either of these hypothetical scenarios, however, the Isles' defensive artillery would remain a problem. Though the equipment appears to be antiquated, the height of the walls gives the artillery a tremendous high-ground advantage - meaning even a single heavy boulder fired from one of their onagers or trebuchets would likely do some serious damage on its way down. Furthermore, the ballistae stationed on the walls could still easily pierce the hulls of our ironclads, as their ammunition is practically just whole tree trunks, carved, shaped, and tipped with metal. In the wise words of the retired venerable Fleet Admiral Rickard Ashet, "Anything's a bullet if you launch it fast enough."

A potential strategic weakness of the island's defences could be the mysterious underground caverns and hollows, which we could not investigate further. The apparent reinforcement of such underground spaces indicated the potential presence of tunnels, or subterranean reinforcements. Unfortunately, I cannot provide further comment on this specific matter.

Nevertheless, with their low offensive capacity, high defensive capability, likely meagre level of technology, and an unknown level of wealth, in my capacity as a Captain, I believe that seizing the archipelago would not be a useful prospect. While the possibly high levels of soil fertility within the Stoneseye range could be useful to us in the future, we are currently more than capable of sustaining the Central Authority's logistical efforts through our own agricultural holdings. Launching an assault against the Lullaby Isles would see us waste resources crashing against a hard wall for little gain, and distract our attention away from where it is more needed - such as the hotspots of Aratel, or even our repeated siege attempts in Etris.

In addition to all this, as former intel indicates, the local populace is faithful to their local religious beliefs, and quite zealously so. Having served in the Eastern and Etrean Luminant myself before, I believe that any form of hostile action against the Lullaby Isles would result in the archipelago's populace undertaking some form of protracted asymmetrical warfare against the Authority, not unlike our ongoing conflict with the Navaen nomads. I am sure High Command, as well as the venerable Fleet Admiral, are well-aware of how resource-hungry that particular endeavor is, and no need of reminding of it.

--------------

Thus concludes the mission report of Operation 'Distant Light'. The crew of CASS 'Shallow Grave' hope that High Command and the venerable Fleet Admiral Thorm Erebet find our assessment satisfactory. Our vessel and crew are ready and willing to serve in further reconnaissance operations in the region, should the naval seniority call upon us for the duty.

Three Cheers,

Cpt. Alaric Kesset

Operation 'Puppet Master' Report

[CLASSIFIED]

//-- The contents of this document are entrusted to reach Warden Class command. Should this document be found by Central Authority personnel ranking below Warden Class it is to be thoroughly destroyed in the scenario where it cannot be safely delivered to High Command. --// Authorized Operation : Puppet Master Classification : Opposition Commander Status Correspondent : Lotus - Authority Inquisitor, Class II Operation Status : Compromised

//Operation_Description

Operation Puppet Master is a Class II espionage operation. The Inquisitor assigned to this operation is to find the identity of Etrea's acting Lord Regent and keep log of interactions with Etris inhabitants. The nature of Class II forbades this Operation from resulting in unnecessary escalation.

//Report 01_Initial_Encounters_13:20

Initial surveyings of the public offered inconclusive or insufficient information on the identity of the Lord Regent. Few are willing to speak at all, let alone in great detail. I will need to apply different methods if I am to gather anything concrete. Perhaps one of the local guards could be of use.

//Report 02_Subject_Interrogation_01:00

Subject is a male Etrean guard by the name of Aster Leshi. Subject was removed from his night post and replaced with an Authority Soldier of similar likeness as to avoid suspicion from his colleagues. Subject responds well to initial attempts at Manipulative Thundercall probing but appears to only be able to offer surface level information. Subject describes the Lord Regent as a humble man who came into power when his grandparents were still young, but is either misinformed or delirious from the constant interrogation. Our reports suggest the Lord Regent has only been active in the Etrean Luminant for the past decade. Attempts to probe the Subject's mind further does not result in new details. Attempts at reaching further in to the subject's mind seem to stop short, as if being barricaded off. Tonight's questioning provided little value but the potential presence of a mind veil warrants keeping the subject for further interrogation.

//Report 03_Subject_Interrogation_05:00

Subject was interrogated again but was administered an amnesiac before questioning. Subject's answers on the identity of the Lord Regent seems to have changed, as the subject now claims to have met him as he was rising to power. He claims the Lord Regent saved the people of Etrea from the Authority in their time of need and even visited his home personally. The lack of any consistency in the subject's answers on the Lord Regent further confirms my suspicions. I knew the subject may very well be compromised if I attempted the procedure, but to be so close in making a discovery I persisted anyways. I increased the voltage of the Thundercall far beyond the limits of a normal hippocampal shock. The subject began to scream wildly as the voltage increased, the severity of the situation warranted the subject being terminated by the procedure if need be. The Subject began to lose control of all motor functions and spasm wildly, if he died then so would his secrets. Pouring all of my remaining ether into the attempt, the voltage continued to climb and climb and climb until I suddenly felt it. Exhausting the last of my ether in a final surge I felt the wall within the Subject's mind shatter. A horrible scream pierced my ears followed by a vision of a horrible creature staring at me, its black tendrils flowing down its body like ribbons and its emerald eyes drilling straight into my consciousness. I awoke to the subject's body on the floor, eyes burnt out. There was no time to apply amnesics to those who may have known the Subject. Whatever the creature was that I had witnessed, it now knew I was here.

//Report 04_Extraction_Summary_09:00

I fear I may not escape back to Authority controlled space, but even if I were to find home I doubt I would ever find safety again. The Authority member left in the place of Aster Leshi did not rendevouz for our evacuation, yet somehow he speaks to me.. I hear him in my thoughts. I now know what I saw in that vision, by breaking that mind veil I was able to peer into the true form of that grotesque Lord. Following the breaking of the mind veil I have felt hands pulling at the edges of my mind, looking for recompense of the soul that was lost. The Etreans appear to have had a mental veil put over them in order to subjugate and control them, the same veil we Inquisitor's use as a shield. But this veil was different, it was cold and held like a leech siphoning its host. Authority veils are administered by a single handler, powerful seals like this require intense concentration to keep active. But a mental veil capable of subjugating an entire city? The very notion is unprecedented. This report must reach Warden Jericho's hands. Whatever this Lord Regent actually is, it is clear peace was never an option. This conflict between the Authority and Etrea is intentional and there are forces at play that we are yet to understand. Should I feel the hands of this creature pry too close to my mind, I will take the necessary measures to insure I am not captured.

Our Fortress (Of Smoke And Steel)

from Vincent Zeneke's monograph cycle 'Songs of the Sea'


  
 
We're workers of Summer Company,
That fortress of smoke and steel!
For guns we forge and bullets make,
Leave fire in our wake -
We work for the Summer Company!

The Isle of Summer marks our home -
Our fortress of smoke and steel!
The bellows roar and anvils ring,
We serve no lord or king -
Except for the isle that marks our home!

We're limited liability,
We sell neither game nor toy:
We trade in death, our merchandise
Can end in your demise -
We'll take no responsibility!

If gunpowder's what you're looking for,
We've plenty for all to spare!
Enough for all to sell and trade,
Or be perhaps unmade -
Be careful which one you're looking for!

Don't make the mistake of crossing us -
It will be your last, for sure!
We're one for all, and all for one,
The barrel of a gun -
No soul will be ever jostling us!

To fight and be wealthy's what we want -
These things bring us joy in life!
Rough up a rookie in the ring,
Wear jackets, furs and bling -
Our fortune and strength we'll always flaunt!


We're workers of Summer Company,
That fortress of smoke and steel!
For guns we forge and bullets make,
Leave fire in our wake -
We work for the Summer Company!

We're workers of Summer Company,
We work for the Summer Company...

"Our Fortress", also known as "Our Fortress Of Smoke And Steel" or simply "The Summer Company Song" is a song and composition written by Gunsmith Severin Smolkin in the year 1062 CE. Smolkin, a smith of small arms and expert flamecharmer, often experimented with utilising flamecharming in small-scale steel smithing, producing thin steel wires for the firing mechanisms of his wepaons. While testing the testion of such wires in a clamp set atop a half-open barrel, he noticed that they often made a pleasant resonant sound when pulled or plucked.

Intrigued by this property, Smolkin experimented further. Realising that the barrel acted as a sort of amplifier for the sound's volume, he tested out various designs, before settling on a rather unusual one. The instrument's body consists of an oblong round wooden resonation chamber with a convex back, covered in a membrane of fine animal skin at the front, with a long neck attached to the top, and a small retractable peg at the bottom. The neck has six thin steel strings attached to it, spanning from its top where it is wrapped around pegs, to the bottom where it is fastened to a metal plate bed.

Smolkin dubbed the instrument the 'canjolin', likely from an Old World term for an ancient type of boat, the 'cangalan', which the instrument resembles. The canjolin is tuned to the melodic scheme of Z-V-B-N-Z-C, much like the Old World guitarrons - a type of plucked string instrument with a wooden resonation chamber. This instrument, however, is played vertically, not unlike a lyre or harp. Its retractable peg allows it to be played either placed on one's knee, or set firmly on the ground.

Smolkin, whose father initially trained him to become a luthier, drew on his experience with musical instruments, and combined the properties of the zitherin and lutelen instrument families. Smolkin's luthier training also meant that he was taught to play Old World guitarrons in some middling capacity - and thus, by extension, he could play the canjolin, as it relied on many conventional guitarron practices in construction and tuning.

Thus, to test out his new instrument, he composed the base melody for "Our Fortress". Its iconic opening tune of Z-V-Z-V-B-B|-N|-B-V is a melody that feels very natural to play on the canjolin - no surprise given the its tuning. And although Smolkin's steel wire designs for small arms firing mechanisms did not catch on, his musical instrument innovation did. The canjolin gained widespread popularity among Summer Company employees over the coming years, likely owing it to its ease of tuning, its portability, versatility, and sharp carefree sound.

And close behind the canjolin, "Our Fortress" followed. Quickly, it became a popular tune for beginners learning to play the instrument, as well as a sort of an identifying anthem of the Company. Future players of the canjolin innovated on its use - some artists prefer to play it horizontally, like a zitherin instrument; and some mantra users incorporate their attunements while playing, with flamecharmers and frostdrawers manipulating tuning mid-play by using heat and frost, and thundercallers spawning a method of play known as 'overdrive' with electrified strings.

Stars Above, and the Blade between

Stars scatter across the sky on this night. I’ve watched the same scenery time and time again, but for just this once I felt particularly uneased. “Truly, is this what must be done for our people? For Etrea?” I mumble to myself, clutching my blade in hand. “Each star has a story,” I remember my old companion told me upon nights similar to these. Her words echo through my head as I gaze upon this sky, although it is not the same. Upon this field, I sit without her now, as grass waves across the field with the night-touched wind. “You’re too sentimental, Rali,” I’d often reply to her, unamused by those fairy tales. After all this time though, I suppose she was right. The stars above speak more to me now than ever before, and for each gleaming light in the sky, I know there must be a being above, watching us. An audience I’ll never see, but cherish nonetheless.

“Tavi!” A man calls out to me, though I am too entranced to notice at first. “Tavi! Tavi Ytreshi! Wake up! Sire?” He calls out once more, and I’m shaken out of my trance abruptly. I look over to the voice, and recognize A’ras. “Huh? What do you need at this hour, A’ras? The stars are already out.” I reply, looking up at him with a confused expression. The man flashes a wide grin, evidently he had just finished some sort of mischievous activity. “The King requires us. One last meeting, I promise. Then, we’re off to bed for the voyage tomorrow,” A’ras said in a cheerful tone. I still cannot understand how a man of such renown can remain so carefree, despite the battles he’s fought. A’ras looks over to my hand, eying it carefully. “Quite a blade there, Tavi. What could you be doing with a weapon in such a serene place?” He chuckles as he gestures toward the Queensblade. “...Just appreciating fine craftsmanship, is all. You needn’t worry about such frivolities.” I quickly reply, although too quickly to a fault, perhaps. I don’t want to raise suspicion, especially tonight of all nights. A’ras shrugs, chuckling. “How charming. Now then, enough niceties, we have a meeting to attend... at this dreadful hour.” He pulls me up off the grass, though I struggle to gather my balance for a moment. “S’pose I’ve sat here for a while.” I mumble to myself, standing up on my feet. “Let’s get going then.” A’ras spoke hastily, dragging me along to the royal palace.

Dimly lit candles stretch across the halls of the Etrean palace, I observe as my fellow attendants walk toward the throne room, each man’s armor clanking with each step. The carpet below my feet must be more expensive than my life’s worth, so much so I almost feel bad for dirtying it with my soil-tainted boots. As we continue through the hall, servants quickly scramble to clean the mess our footprints left behind. “It’s a shame this is the life they’re destined to live,” one of my fellow attendants discusses amidst our group. Destiny, they say... only a fool would consider their life already foretold. I glance at my ‘ally’, and contain a chuckle quiet enough to myself. Four of us, myself included, will be entrusted to protecting the king upon his royal voyage tomorrow. Our destination is Markor, one of the largest islands of the Central Luminant. “The king has politics to deal with,” is the simplified version of what we’ve been told. The details are not meant for us lowly guards, the last thing they want is us forming our own opinions on the matter. A loud knock echoes throughout the halls, as we reach the door to the throne room. “Men, here’s to a quick meeting. Pray,” A’ras jests, before opening the door to the royal chamber.

A large chandelier hangs overhead above the King of Etrea, surrounded by paintings depicting events of our history, and a large window overhead the throne. Royal palace guards line the walls in an orderly fashion, evidently a formation in the king’s tastes. “So the Four Braves finally arrive,” the king muses. I lower my head, and kneel. The rest of my men follow. “Your highness, what requires our presence at such an hour?” A’ras asks politely, lowering his head as he finishes his sentence. The king laughs, amused by the question as if it was obvious. It’s not. “Oh, my boy, I simply wanted to ensure you’re all still living for our arrangement tomorrow! At dawn, we depart for Markor. Red prepared us a beauty of a vessel... the Brave Hoshi, she calls it! What a lovely name!” He lets out a hearty laugh, the likes of which make me sick to my stomach. How can a man so foul appear so calm? Does he not have any regrets for what he’s done? I feel myself gripping my knee in frustration, before catching myself and exhaling. Calm. I need to remain calm for what lies ahead. “Your highness,” I begin to inquire, “Are there private quarters on the ship for our voyage? It shall be a long week, I hope we may sleep soundly upon the harsh waves of Markor waters.” The king nods with a dumbfounded look on his face, as if it were obvious. “Of course, my boy! Each attendant shall have their own quarters to rest in for when the day is done. You’re my only four passengers, after all, you shall live as my guests, in addition to my protectors.” I nod. “Thank you, my lord.” Private quarters at night shall make this much easier. The others will be asleep when the time comes. Rali, please watch over me for that night, as I’ll ensure your people are remembered by the stars above, the witness to my legacy to be. For the corruption in this king lies unknown to the people of Etrea, I know the truth. Legacy, they say. Legacy... I’ll make you remembered.

The meeting comes to an uneventful, short end, as the king becomes tired. It must be truly hard work sitting on a throne and ordering the slaughter of my people, my loved ones. As the other Braves mingle on their way out, I retreat to my chambers hastily, as I have a more important meeting to attend to tonight. Bephalos has some final words for me, “On the night of the last star,” is what he told me. I can only assume that means ‘right now,’ as there won’t be stars in our sky for days. I enter my chambers and slam the door shut, locking it behind me. The shadowcaster appears, to no fanfare or grandeur. “Tavi, you look anxious, friend. Tell me, what is the matter?” Bephalos inquires, as his spell fades. “Surely, you’ve aware of the procedure tomorrow?” he adds on. “I’m aware, Bephalos. And yes, the blade, I know...” I reply, looking toward the Queensblade with my hand. He’s emphasized to me before that this must be the blade to end it, although the reasoning is unclear to me. Perhaps it’s some sort of ancient seal? I trust in him, nonetheless. “Very good, Tavi. The day of your revenge is finally dawning upon you. How does it feel? Rali will surely rest better in her tomb, knowing her murderer shall fall with her.” The shadowcaster muses, sneering toward me. I grip the blade tightly, then release as I sigh. “...I’d appreciate it if you avoided using her name in such ways. I am doing this for her, but that does not mean I’ll allow you to disrespect her, fiend.” I glare at the man, staring into his vacant purple eyes. Empty, unshaken by my words. “Oh, so scary! Let’s not make enemies with the ally that has granted you such an opportunity now, hm? It’s taken me great efforts to procure this blade for you, you know. Without it, the king would surely return!” The man responds hastily, irritated most likely. “Fine.” I reply, calming myself down. Tomorrow is the day... “I want to rest, Bephalos. What do you require of me?” I ask, sitting down on my desk chair as I look up at the shadowcaster. “I simply need to leave one last touch, is all. Quality assurance is one way to put it.” He laughs, and I stare blankly. “Very well. Go ahead.” The shadowcaster takes the blade and focuses on it intensely. Shadows emit from it briefly, although I’m not knowledgeable on why. Shadowcast is a very rare sight in Etrea, and the know-how of such topics is restricted to only the most elite of scholars to prevent misuse, so I’ve been told. Although, I’ve been told a great many deal of things that carry merit no more, as Bephalos has told me the truths of this kingdom. “That is all, then. Rest well, Tavi. You’ll need it.” Bephalos smiles cheekily as he retreats to the window, before becoming a shade and fading. I look down to the Queensblade once more, listening to it idly hum. “So this is the fate we’re making, Rali...” I ponder to myself, placing it on the desk. Without further delay, I retreat to my bedsheets.

The morning of the fated day has come. Bright and early, boarding the ‘Brave Hoshi,’ so the king says. “Here, here!” A’ras calls out to me from the dock, more excited then he should be. I wave, and approach him. “Take a look at that, Tavi! I’ve never seen a grander vessel in my life!” He exclaims, pushing me along onto the ship. “Aye, let me take my time, friend.” I reply, trying to scope out the surroundings of the ’Brave Hoshi’. I stand upon the central deck, looking around. “Large main deck... private chambers that way... a kitchen of some sort the other way... and...” I mumble to myself, looking around the ship carefully. It seems my best option remains to be confronting the king within his private chambers, lest the others take notice of what’s happening. A large hand smacks my shoulder, and as I jump from the startle. “My boy! Isn’t it beautiful?” the king speaks, towering over me. “Aye, it is, my lord. Indeed, it is.” I sneer, looking off to the chambers. “Say, my lord, which one of these are we occupying? There’s seven chambers here, four for us Braves, one for you, one for the chef, and one for the captain.. How do we know which is which?” I ask politely, ensuring I maintain composure. The king walks over to the chambers, and proudly knocks on a large wooden door, taller than the rest. “This here would be mine! If any matters or problems arise, please come see me, no matter the time. You are a part of the Braves, after all.” He laughs. “Noted, my lord.” I reply, staring at the door intently. How convenient.

We depart from the Etris docks, to a celebrated fanfare. Many Etrean citizens gather around and wave and cheer as we depart, wishing the king a safe journey. As our home fades from the sight of all of us onboard, I’m reminded once more of our city, and what the king has taken from it. Yet they cheer him on... blissfully unaware. Unaware and controlled, all of his people. Bephalos’ truth echoes throughout my head as I sit upon the deck, watching the waves of the Etrean waters roll by whilst the day passes. I wait patiently for the arrival of the Voidsea. “This, this is when you strike,” Bephalos instructed me during one of our initial meetings. The search for the lighthouse takes priority for all crew members, and for the others it is a time for rest. But for me, it is when the final hour begins. Upon the arrival of the Voidsea waters, the others become busy or fatigued. I’ve remained in my place throughout the entire first day of our voyage, watching the waves. I look up at the sky, and just as was foretold, no stars are to be seen.

Strange Missives

A collection of mysterious letters *The book itself is littered with pages of letters and notes, some stray sheets within in an unintelligible language, scrawled in an unknown print. Some documents are easy to make out - archived correspondence.*

*From the wear and condition of the first letter sheaved in the book, this is old. Most certainly written several generations ago.* Th'armati, most hold greetings from the Echelon.

The counsell has decre'd it! Nostri eclipse is upon us once again, and we send out tidings and caution to our distant kin. As our aecti surge below the surface into our ossuaries, we urge your kin to avoid trespassing upon our festivities, and keep their craft clear from our islands - the all-too-familiar matercrypt will receive those who do not heed this warning into its sunk'n shores.

As always, we send our kindest tidings from our Lady, for th'armato will be glad to know of the peace we have enjoyed since her sacrifice long since. Have faith in our practices - her guidance continues to crade our isles well. True faith survives such troublesome events - there is peace as she had promis'd, we have rebuilt plentifully since our most worrying ordeal, our crypts have expanded greatly to all reaches of the archipelago.

We pray for the safety of your own and th'ambulo living your protection.

- Galvika, our confessors' Acolyte.

*Rifling through, a sleeker page appears - almost pearlescent in contrast to the previous letters' wear. It's silk to the touch. Part of the letter is again in the obscure language, yet it seems that there is a translation neatly printed beneath.*

Th'armati of Aratel, most insistent greetings from the Echelon.

We regretfully have to inform of a mishap with your academics you have entrusted us with. The consell assures you that it was nothing of malicious practise - it seems that one, when being blessed with an exploration within our most belov'd crypts, has run astray. We intend this to be received in the most comforting sense - one individual intended to make a 'sourvenir' of our heritage laid upon our walls, and henceforth shall not be reutnring to your Greathive. For their trespass againsst our most sacred space, the Lachrymosa waits their attendance, and their repentance will be witnessed.

We have since sent the other ambassadors onto their return, and they have been equipped with the requested copies of our archives - we hope the reminder of our common ancestry contained within them will kindle our distant friendships.

We ask for more caution when selecting those to represent the beest of th'armati. - Thalassis, our confessor's Acoltye.

*The other documents do not pique your interest - more unintelligible jargon and bizarre utterings. Certainly this was not intended for your hands.*

Studies on Canticlysm, Vol. IV

compiled by Steward Amross, Steward Bridges, et. al

Perhaps there are those who, in their own perspectives, see the Canticlysm as something wholly detrimental to our civilisation, to our way of life. That the idle decadence and reckless inquiries into the Song of our forefathers could only have ever brought ruin, devastation, to the soul of our culture and our world.

As scholars we must look past our desire to condemn the actions of those who came before us, as though we live through the consequences, they were not privy to the knowledge that is now tacit to our generation.

To them, it was a renaissance born from the advent of their greater understanding of the surrounding planes. The very powers of creation seemed only a hair's breadth away, a tantalisingly small gulf for them to cross.

Were we in the same position as they, I’m sure that we would not hesitate to make use of the powers that it brought. And even in our current era, many do not grasp the correlation between the state of the world now and the unmistakable effects of the Song.

To truly appreciate the world that our forebearers damned, it seems pertinent to set the scene.

From what we know, the Old World took the form of five major landmasses. In those days, the Luminants were mostly contiguous, with what was known as the World’s Edge delineating its circumference. The World’s Edge, of course, is what we now call the Voidsea, and from their histories we can attest that it was equally impassable in their day as it is in ours.

The skies are also said to have been clearer, seemingly devoid of the outstretched fingers of Voidfog that have blotted out our stars and confounded our instruments for centuries. The Voidfog is, of course, one of many lesser-known effects of the Tides. With the naked eye, they appear merely as clouds. Any observer who paid enough attention would realise that these formations are fixed in relative space, moving across our skies in a cycle. When observed through a telescope, the lensing effect becomes apparent, the light seeming to bend and distort around it.

In these broad and interrupted lands, its people lived lives of plenty, well-fed from their expansive farmland and connected by a flourishing network of trade. Many comparisons can be drawn between their way of life and that of the Felinor fieldfolk of Markor - a topic that has been well documented by our cousins at the Citadel.

And far beneath these plentiful lands, deeper in those days, lurked the danger that we know now to be the source of our maladies - the Depths. What little accounts we have dredged up of these outer planes in the times before the threat became apparent seem to have largely persisted in the realms of folklore and mythology - tales of sea monsters emerging from the depths of the ocean were often recanted on dark stormy nights, some having more foundation than others.

Furthermore, though the Song had not yet been discovered, its effects could still be seen. In the years before the Canticlysm, strange creatures would sometimes be found on the shores. Pale gelatinous flesh stretched over their bones, seemingly due to decompression. Bearing no visible relation to any of the animal life they had yet documented, these creatures were kept for research and dissected. Those that lived were unresponsive and did not last long in captivity, seeming to lack some form of nutrition.

With the creatures often came strange curios and trinkets; artifacts of civilisations that did not belong to the surface world. It is thought it is through the nobles’ fascination with these artifacts that the Song was first discovered.

What began as a faint whisper heard only by those attuned soon grew into an enthralling melody that was never far away. Even the mere snippets of it that the researchers had retrieved were potent and intoxicating, seeming to promise something ever deeper and ever greater than what they had ever known.

And in capturing the Song and trying to replicate its melodies, strange phenomena began to occur. In the dingy basement of a tavern, a practising musician’s viola burst into flames. A temple erected in service to the growing religion surrounding this newfound Song has its steeple struck by lightning in the middle of their morning prayers.

Those that memorised more and more of its tones seemed to gain an ever greater understanding of the world around them and the powers that drove it.

It took a mere generation after its discovery for a renaissance of technology and culture to blossom forth. This great era became known as the Canticlysm - the advent and heyday of the Song. With an easily accessible source of power that came at seemingly no cost beyond one’s stamina, mundane tasks were swiftly trivialised.

As with early man’s discovery of the means to start a fire, the discovery of its manipulation through the Song, known as ‘Flamecharming’, was similarly fundamental in uplifting the world’s technology. Contraptions and new technologies could be fueled simply by the energy of its user, and the greatest asset to mankind’s progress soon became so-called Songwork.

Songworkers were instructed in the use of a limited subset of Flamecharming and were put to work powering machines and foundries. Concentration was vital, and safety was often cast aside in favour of greater efficiency, costing many Songworkers their lives.

As new processes were developed to advance technology, Songworkers were saddled with ever-increasing workloads. The dissent of the labourers grew with every passing day - given a taste of the Song, the very powers of creation were dangled like a carrot on a string in front of them.

Labourers began to gather in secret in the few hours they were afforded to rest a day, pooling their experience together and furthering their understanding of Flamecharming. It’s sometimes mused that in these times, the lowliest Songworker had a better grasp of the Song than the loftiest academic did. While scholars lounged and ruminated on its potential, the labourers were made to use it every minute of every day, coming to know it through intuition.

With a growing network of support among the labourers, talk of an uprising soon spread across the factories of the world. Unable to hide their anxiety, the ruling class sought to make an example of the dissidents, and with the execution of a prominent labour activist they lit the spark that would soon ignite revolution. Armed with the Song, many Songworkers soon earnt their rights through fire and blood.

Those governments unable to smother the embers of rebellion were toppled and replaced, though not always for the better. Wise to the power the workers held, the long-forgotten arts of Vows were resurrected by the surviving powers, now forcing the Songworkers of many nations into lifelong servitude.

With the widespread devastation exacted on the world by the wars waged through the Song, many did not fully realise the changes that were coming to it. The creatures that emerged from the seas were no longer pallid comatose things, and were now presenting a growing threat to the peoples of seaside settlements.

In time, this threat spread even further inland. Year after year, record flood highs were reached. Mass evacuations sparked across the world, its people frantic to escape a catastrophe they hadn’t foreseen.

But in their flight, they did not abandon the Song. As the tides drew in ever closer, they held it as tightly to their chests as a prayerbook. Seeking the fabled mountaintops of the world’s spine, the Song’s Tides carried the people higher and higher.

Where pastures and orchards had once sustained a vast population, the mountain peaks could never sustain nearly enough. Mankind’s understanding withered as its population dwindled. Without fervent research into the Song and its applications, technological advancements ground to a halt.

Despite the relative abandonment of the Song, the Tides never stopped rising, and the Edge of the World hemmed itself inwards. This Edge, the Voidsea, soon extended its fingers into the oceans - no longer seas - that parted the continents of the world. Where once the Voidsea had been a border between the known and the unknown, it now drew its borders between the nations of the world, a seemingly insurmountable obstacle to cross.

Tale of the Storm

from Vincent Zeneke's monograph cycle 'Songs of the Sea'


 
Come, gather 'round,
Hear, sailors, my tale -
What awful fate did I meet at the gale!

---

A fine ship I owned,
Though crewless it lay
At anchor, alone, at the tip of the quay.
When a merchant did offer
For me to make trade -
He told me for this I'd be handsomely paid.

The cargo was plain -
Some boxes and crates,
Each stamped with a name and delivery date.
And the merchant kept silent
On what was inside -
And never I asked him, perhaps out of pride.

He told me to sail
Tomorrow at morn -
He ordered me haste, and of penalties warned.
So I set out to town
And I sought me a crew -
From there one by one did I gather a few.

 
I found me a host -
Some eighteen at most
Now followed my orders and tended each post.
And with confidence vast,
I barked, 'anchors aweigh!'
And soon my dear ship journeyed out from the bay.

We sailed for a while,
And thunder I heard.
That moment, a worry inside of me stirred -
For a storm was approaching,
And said I, "So what?"
"We'll hold through this weather - I'll follow my gut."

The clouds darker grew,
And worried the crew.
The first mate then muttered, "This might go askew."
"Superstition!", I scorned him,
And onwards we pressed,
The wind growing stronger, against it we wrest.

I thought we'd escape,
But things took for worse -
Recall I this moment, and still myself curse!
We were now in the claws
Of a cold, heartless gale,
Our masts and the mainsail it quickly assailed.

 
The sea rocked our ship,
The tides knocked our course,
The wind ripped our sails without any remorse;
And when forced to make landing
We set on the shore,
We hoped to find shelter, but found something more:

Four chitinous beasts,
Four terrors unleashed,
Their web-ridden lair filled with bodies deceased!
As we scrambled away
From their skittering forms,
A few of us stumbled, and fell to their swarm.

And lived they were no more -
They never will oar,
Nor tread on a ship, from the aft to the fore...
With their fates quickly sealed -
By the spiders consumed! -
We mourned for a moment, our plight then resumed.

We followed the coast,
Our shambling host
Of raggedy sailors, some fourteen at most.
When we heard a grim gurgle
That came from the rear -
A mudskipper's gale gave us plenty to fear.

 
Two men lost their ground,
And slipped on the stones -
They fell to the water with naught but a groan;
And they too were soon gurgling -
The sea filled their lungs.
We slew the damned creature, and onwards we sprung.

Soon, over a hill,
We stumbled across
A cavernous respite much-covered in moss!
As we thought we found shelter,
A thunderous smite
Did strike the ground brightly and offered some light.

We settled inside,
And briefly did rest,
But fear gripped us quickly again in our chests;
For we felt the cave stirr
And a few boulders shake -
A beast in the cavern was coming awake!

A terrible thing,
Enormous in size -
A snub shark-like head slowly opened its eyes!
As it rose to its legs
In a thunderous roar,
Some crewfolk it snagged, and to pieces them tore.

Its jaws opened wide,
And razor-sharp teeth
Did flash in the storm to the sailors beneath.
In a ravenous hunger
Its maw claimed a few,
Through numerous others its claws would soon hew.

 
I stumbled away
And fled through the rain,
Still clutching my wounds and ignoring the pain.
When I stopped for a moment
To look for my crew,
I saw none behind me, not even a few.

Alone I was left,
My sides almost cleft...
But wait! What is this? I've committed a theft!
When I fled from the monster,
A stone I had snatched,
But no! It's an egg! Warm, and yet still unhatched.

I made for the ship -
There's rowboats unmaimed.
The beast now comes after for what I have claimed!
As I lowered the rowboat
And started to oar,
The beast cried ashore in a bellowing roar!

A sorrow I felt -
My comrades are gone,
My ship lays abandoned, from dusk until dawn...
But I rowed through the storm,
And I wrestled the sea,
And when came the morning, a port did I see!

 
I made for the docks
And fell on the quay -
Exhausted and starving, unconscious I lay.
When I came to my senses,
I lay in a bed -
A merchant had nursed me to life from the dead.

"What happened?", he asked.
I told him my tale -
What terrible fate did we meet in the gale!
Then he looked at the egg,
Said "To you I would pay
A marvelous sum, if you sold it today."

I thanked for his aid,
His offer I took -
He handled the egg, and our hands they were shook.
When I made my way home,
At my door was a chest -
A lifetime of wealth, it allowed me to rest.

---

Now sail I no more,
I never will oar,
Or serve on a ship, from the aft to the fore.
And I weep for my comrades -
Their fates are my fault!
I weep for them still, my tears bitter as salt...

"Tale of the Storm" is a sailors' ballad originating from the Eastern Luminant. Although its author and creation date remain unknown - such is the nature of many folk songs, after all, - given the context of the song, it can be confidently dated to after the Tide. It is difficult to say whether this ballad is based in any true events, though some of it certainly indicates the original author was either a well-travelled sailor, or was familiar with the farther reaches of the sea.

Though not mentioned by name, the descriptions suggest the ballad's narrator and their crew faced off against some beasts still around in our days. Namely, the 'four chitinous beasts' seem to indicate the presence of giant recluse spiders not unlike the so-called Deep Widow found underneath the surface of Aratel (though perhaps smaller), while the 'snub shark-like head' implies a deadly encounter with what we now know as a Megalodaunt.

The unfamiliar landscape and unusual fauna described in the song's narrative - a high-cliffed island some distance away from civilisation, with the presence of several giant nesting spiders in close proximity to the territorial Megalodaunts' breeidng grounds, - suggests that the surface world inhabited by the ballad's original author may have been much different to the one we live in today.

While some claim this ballad is a sailor's tall-tale, some scholars argue that this story may have taken place in a now-lost Driftland, a type of migratory island that shifts in and out of the precarious Voidsea - though this hypothesis remains a matter of contentious debate. Some have suggested the names 'Beliran' or 'The Iron Isle' for this hypothetical land.

Furthermore, it has been proposed that it may have existed during the Shallows - the era in our world's history when the peoples of the world were stuck suffering atop former mountain peaks after the Tides rose. It is known, through scarce remaining texts, that Driftland shift was most prominent and fast-paced immediately after the era of the Tides. However, the Shallows are notorious for being a dark spot in the annals of history, for its lack of preserved records.

Vows by the Sea: Inheritance

by Steward Bridges

The contemporary understanding of the origins of the Races of Lumen can be said to stem primarily from the ‘Gremor Hypothesis’ posed by Steward Heidegard in his 877 CE study. In this essay, Heidegard delves into the spoken histories and folklore of the Gremor nomads, and proposes that the poorly understood mechanisms of Vows might be behind the internal ‘compass’ spoken of by the nomads.

Gremor folklore speaks of the descent of Navae to this world, the nursing of the falling goddess back to life by a wandering nomad, and a Vow made between this nomad and the celestial Navae. While there are naturally accounts of the deer-horned Gremor during the Old World, it is only in post-tide sources that we find any mention of the innate compass the nomads use to navigate the seas.

Heidegard suggests that the Vow made in the stories was a ‘Hereditary Vow’, one that would be passed on to future descendants as part of the terms of the Vow. It is said that through this Vow, the children of the nomad were blessed with ‘Navae’s guidance’, though not the nomad herself. The mechanics of such a Vow have not yet been replicated to such an extent through modern experimentation, but the question is posed - if a supernatural gift such as the blessing of Navae could be conveyed through a Hereditary Vow, what else could be a result of such an effect that we have taken for granted?

It is well known that while there are hybrids in nature, there are not hybrids between the races of Man - we are of the same species, but bear only one distinct race each.

The traits we inherit are not a mixture of the different races we hold as our heritage - the child of a Gremor and a Celtor will take after the traits of only one of the parents. The mechanics of which parent takes priority in this assignment of traits are poorly understood and have widely been concluded to be down to a variety of disparate factors, such as the ‘liveliness of one’s spirit’ [sic], one’s aptitude with the Song, or the intensity of one’s Soul Murmur.

There is naturally a taboo surrounding the use of Vows to enforce religious tenets. The origins of this taboo are unclear, but there exist some records of the religious institutions present in the days between the Tides and the establishment of the Citadel. Recovered holy texts speak of sacraments made and promises broken on pain of death, and of the mandatory persecution of non-adherents. Of the faiths that survive from those days, such as the Covenant of Flame, none extant today enforce Vows upon their members.

Many isolated and less integrated cultures often adhere to the worship of animal deities, of spirits that embody nature. Without the taboo brought by history - or perhaps ancestral memory - it is believed that some of these pagan faiths may utilise Vows on some level. These cultures may resemble the early days of our own cultures, and this can perhaps be seen in the continued reverence of our ‘patron’ animal counterparts. The wild deer hunted by the Gremor nomads are afforded the same burial rites as their own kind, after all.

It is a somewhat poorly understood but apparent property of Vows that the number of those sworn to one magnifies the resultant effects of the Vow. This can be seen in the strength granted by Oaths to their adherents. It can therefore be theorised that this may lead to potent and dramatic effects if extended to the size of a religion thousands - or even millions - strong.

So, having stated the relevant background information, I posit that the races of Lumen are the result of a Hereditary Vow. Supposing that a Vow was able to bestow upon the Gremor a preternatural ability such as Navae’s guidance, I believe that as a matter of course another Vow made long in the past may have originally bestowed the traits that the races of Lumen exhibit today.

Free of the taboo of Religious Vows, the animal worship of our ancestors gave way to an attribution of the traits of the animals worshipped as tenets of the Vow. In the urging of the Vow’s adherents to emulate the traits of sacred animals in their actions (e.g. in the case of Canor, the loyalty of a wolf), they were physically granted the traits of said animals as the Vow was brought into fruition.

This may have happened over some generations - the mechanism of how Hereditary Vows are passed on through descendants isn’t fully known yet, but it seems plausible that, just as words are warped through consecutive exchanges, the Vow’s terms naturally evolved to be more explicit in its inclusion of the animal traits.

If races emerged from Vows, we can also suppose that our far-flung ancestors would have had appearances more closely in line with one another. Working backwards, we might suppose that - with the common features shared between the races - our ancestors may have once resembled the Adret. This is of course a matter of some dispute as, were the Adret a ‘vowless’ race, they would have been ‘bred out’ over the generations due to Vows taking precedence. It’s possible that some trait of the Adret was not shared by our common ancestors, and that that is why they continue to exist today.

A Light In The Sky

by Prof. Galphin Spellhardt

[The quality paper broadsheet depicts finely hand-written musical notation for a song. The song's four-instrument structure suggests it is best suited for a quartet. The song itself is titled 'A Light In The Sky'. There is a short poem underneath, matching the climax of the song-assumedly written as lyrics. It reads:]

Mortals Often gaze at the heavens, Shrouded in moonlight-

Night-sky, Cloaked in darkness and shade, Whispers an invite:

Starlight shimmers,

Skies grow dimmer; Stars are falling- Hear them calling!

---

[On the opposite side of the broadsheet, written in a trembling hand-the same that authored the musical notation,- is a short post-script note. The paper around it is mildly wrinkled in spots-as if it had been dampened by droplets of... Water? Or Perhaps Tears?..]

---

How I miss thee, Constellia, my dearest Constellia! Shining jewel in the skies of the night, our bulwark of the Blacksea, our ward against the Cosmos...

Most do not recall thine splendor as I do. And what of mineself?.. Though our kind ought not feel the tides of age, even I am bowed by countless time. I feel old, even older than the very stars that made me. My kin slowly wane, much like the heavens' fading light...

But in my heart, I know... One day, we will all return to the stars.

-G.

Trivia

• Children of the Aftertide I, A Deathscribe's Journal, Eggs In A Basket, The Ferryman's Lullaby, The Gideshu March, The Hammer's Call, Operation 'Distant Light' Report, Our Fortress (Of Smoke And Steel), The Song of Fathoms/Oscillation and Tale of the Storm were written by game composer Naktigonis.
• Debriefing Log on Operator Polaris Enigvidion was written by developer yayafino.
• Stars Above, and the Blade between was written by former developer iltria.
• Ossuary Maintenance and Strange Missives was written by contributor Hautdesert.
• 'Vows by the Sea: Inheritance' is named after the group that made Deepwoken, Vows by the Sea.
• Currently there are four books that can't be obtained through the usual means. The Diver journals (1-3) can be acquired from corpses in The Eternal Gale. The Ministry Field Report can be found in Outpost Antumbra as part of Elykris quest.
• The canjolin instrument could be loosely based on the mandolin.
• The book 'A Deathscribe's Journal' contains numerous Easter Eggs and references.
  • Black Diver Selim is a reference to Houseless Selim, a member of the Rogue Lineage community who desired to be, but was not made, a part of the game's lore.
  • Douglas Douglas Vondren is a reference to YouTuber and streamer DougDoug.
  • Rick Ashet is a reference to a leak where an Adret named Rick Ashet fights a Crustaceous Rex.
  • Sylvester Staelen is a nod to American filmmaker Sylvester Stallone.
  • Jossue Cassatra, who came back from the dead after a few days, is a reference to Jesus Christ.
  • Ivan Ivanel was a slot owned by Naktigonis during Deepwoken's testing period.
• It is implied that Ryrda from God in the Machine is the same Ryrda in Lament of Cirryn.
  • In both stories, they are Vesperians.
  • In Lament of Cirryn, the main character Ekhusa keeps a shard of Ryrda's mask for good luck, and hopes that she will meet him again.

References