A recording of a Ministry memo detailing the actions taken regarding recently reported subversive cases. Found in the Ministry of Cultural Primacy, Lethe.
A recording of Professor Caspian’s frustrations with the lack of advancement in his current area of research. Found in the tunnels under the village of Marastan.
A recording left by Vitalis explaining the significance of the recently discovered chamber in the Watcher’s Nest. Found in the Watcher’s Nest in Vyssa Hills.
A hastily written note left by a priest fleeing Pathem Abbey. Found in a rowboat in Acasa Marshes.
Inspection Text
I had to flee the Abbey, no telling what those Sabinian savages will do to us if they manage to get inside. No respect for the sacred! Sethyris curse them all! If any of my fellow brothers find this, I will be heading to the place we toured last summer. Find me. May his gaze lie upon us and deliver us from this evil.
A clipping from the “The Inquiring Eye” newspaper. Found at Frygen’s house in Acasa Marshes.
Inspection Text
Long-time readers will know that I am no stranger to controversy. I put my neck on the line every single week to bring you, dear readers, the latest and wildest news THEY don’t want you to hear. This week’s incredible testimony comes by way of a fellow truthseeker, Mr. Anton Kozina.
Mr. Kozina, a resident of Skell, was partaking in his routine weekend hike through the Senedra Forest. This time was anything but routine, however! While in the vicinity of the forest’s famed fortress, he began to hear strange, unearthly noises from its direction. Despite knowing full well the penalties for trespassing near heritage sites, Mr. Kozina was compelled to investigate! As he approached, the noises became louder and louder! Now at the base of the massive tower, and with no further answers to his quandary, he decided to climb! Up, up he went, several stories high before he came to a small opening. And lo, a horrifying sight!
[picture]
Don’t just take it from me, here is Mr. Kozina in his own words: “When I peeked into that window… Sethyris save me! The hairs on my neck stood up! I nearly lost my grip! One thing’s for sure, I’m staying the HELL away from that place!”
There you have it, folks. Incontrovertible evidence that we are, indeed, being lied to by the powers that be! What is the mysterious creature? An alien? A mutant? An experiment gone wrong? What else is hidden in the hallowed halls of the haunted spire?
A letter vowing revenge on my father. Did my mother write this? Found in Vitalis’ house in Jova, Acasa Marshes.
Inspection Text
Vitalis,
Do you remember the book you gave me when I became pregnant? It was a play from the outside; you had bought it from a smuggler. I remember a particular passage that aptly captures my newfound feelings toward you.
“I’ll never pause again, never stand still, Till either death hath closed these eyes of mine Or fortune given me measure of revenge”.
A letter from ON’s General Romeo addressed to Lieutenant Zhao Ru. Found at the ON Headquarters in Jova, Acasa Marshes.
Inspection Text
Lieutenant Zhao Ru,
I understand your commitment to the people of Hadea, but the evac window is closing fast. The entire country will be declared a no-fly zone shortly. Any aircraft in flight without clearance will be shot down. Leaving Hadea will be next to impossible after this. I hope you know what you are doing.
I have also decided to stay and help as many people as possible. If you decide to leave Jova, know that you are welcome in Lethe. From here on out, we are on our own.
The last page of a diary written by a Jovan hideaway. Found in the tunnels beneath Jova, Acasa Marshes.
Inspection Text
Heading into our third week down here. At least I think it’s been three weeks. I’ve lost all notion of the time, not seeing the sun for this long.
We thought the Sab forces would have moved on by now, but they’re still hanging around for some reason. Food is running low. One of us will have to risk going out there for some supplies. I have no doubt the Sabs will execute us on sight for what we did. That’s what I would do.
I have no regrets - I would hang those filthy Sabs again and again. Sethyris save us.
A letter addressed to Victor from Vitalis. Found in the trunk of an abandoned car in Acasa Marshes.
Inspection Text
Victor,
I am sorry for leaving so suddenly, especially with your training nearing completion. If you are reading this, then you have proven quite resourceful once again. Please forgive the gambit, but I had to ensure these items did not fall into the wrong hands. Everything here is for you. I’ve left a tome containing additional lessons in Lymbic forging. Other such tomes exist, if you wish to seek them out. The pendant is normally only passed down to ordained members, you know this. Given the circumstances, I thought you should have it now. Wear it proudly, you deserve it.
Notice distributed by ON peacekeepers detailing Jova’s evacuation procedures. Found in the village of Jova, Acasa Marshes.
Inspection Text
Organized Nations ONAMHA RELEASE DATE: Immediate
EVACUATION NOTICE
WHEN: Zero eight hundred hours (8:00 am) WHERE: ON outpost, Jova. DESTINATION: ON Refugee Camp Delta – North-East Border CONTACT: Lieutenant Ru, ON Peacekeepers of the 4th light armoured division.
To all civilians of Jova, The ON Peacekeeping unit of the 4th light-armoured division is evacuating from Jova. We are attempting to rejoin the rest of the 4th posted at ON refugee camp Delta. All citizens are encouraged to leave with us.
INSTRUCTIONS: Arriving before zero eight hundred is recommended Pack essentials only due to limited space.
A letter written by one of the few remaining defenders of Jova during the attack. Found near a destroyed church in Jova, Acasa Marshes.
Inspection Text
Dear Sonia,
I write to you from the town of Jova, my newest posting and truthfully, most likely my last. Intelligence reports that an entire armored division is arriving to ‘liberate’ Jova in a few days time. There is absolutely no hope for us. I suppose this is any soldier’s fate, really.
I know our romance was brief, but you are the only soul on my mind. My biggest regret is that I will never have the chance to truly get to know you. I think we could have led a wonderful life together.
Goodbye, and may Sethyris forever gaze upon you. Stannis
A note recounting the grim fate of a tank crew. Found on a fallen Sabinian soldier in Acasa Marshes.
Inspection Text
This isn’t how I imagined the end. Bleeding out in a fucking swamp. Dammit, smells like shit.
Those fucking fanatics. Outta nowhere, one of them runs right up to the tank carrying some kind of shaped charge thermite bullshit.
Blasted right through the hull and took out the entire crew. Pretty much vaporized himself too, desperate fuck. No idea how I survived. Doesn’t matter though, does it?
A letter from a father to his teenaged boy undergoing Vigil training. Found in the Vigil training ground in Acasa Marshes.
Inspection Text
Dear Erik, I am pleased to learn that your training is progressing well. Master Vitalis is challenging and stern, but always fair. He demands the best of his students, and you will learn a great deal under his tutelage. Remember that combat is not everything; a warrior’s mind must be as sharp as his weapon.
Be diligent in your efforts. Whatever comes of this, know that you have a proud father.
A letter warning Vitalis of potential danger. Found in the secret basement office of Vitalis’ house in Jova, Acasa Marshes.
Inspection Text
Vitalis,
It has become abundantly clear to me that we are being systematically hunted. This is more than mere coincidence, entire chapters are going silent. You know how I feel about this business with the journalist. We have never been so vulnerable; now is not the time to be bringing in outsiders.
A note from the contractor responsible for the renovations of the Jeljin cemetery. Found in the chapel at the Jeljin cemetery.
Inspection Text
The war has taken everything. My men, good, hardworking boys, traded their tools for guns. They went chasing glory and the promises made by lying politicians. So, this site stands still, half-restored.
I leave my machines and equipment where they stand, not out of choice, but necessity. When the roads are safe, I will return to reclaim what is mine. Until then, may these iron bones remain untouched by greed and war alike.
An article from a local newspaper about the tragic bombing of the Marastan Market. Found in the market in Marastan.
Inspection Text
Marastan Bugle - April 20th, 1990
Tragedy Strikes Marastan: A Community Mourns, A Future Uncertain
MARASTAN – The heart of our town was shattered in an instant. The familiar hum of commerce in the Marastan Market turned into a nightmare on the morning of April 17th, when a devastating explosion tore through the square, leaving 48 of our friends, neighbors, and loved ones dead, and 27 more fighting for their lives.
The sight of overturned stalls, broken glass, and blood-stained cobblestones will haunt this town for years to come. Grief weighs heavy on the Sabinian community, yet we do what we have always done. We endure. Funerals are being held throughout the week, each one another bitter reminder of the price we continue to pay. This was not just an attack on a marketplace but on the very fabric of our way of life.
But how much more must we endure? How many more lives must be lost before we acknowledge the truth staring us in the face? The Republic of Aargaula has failed to protect us. In its silence, it has abandoned us. Our Sabinian brothers and sisters across the border in Jehania have long called for unity, for strength through sovereignty. Maybe it is time we listen. Marastan must heal, but healing does not mean standing idle. We owe it to the fallen to ensure their deaths were not in vain. Perhaps our future does not lie under Aargaulan rule, but in taking our rightful place alongside Jehania.
A page torn from the Kada, the holy book of Sethyrism. Found in the castle ruins in Marastan.
Inspection Text
And after a span that stretches beyond reckoning - an age, or mayhaps longer, for he remembers not - at last, he halts. He is spent, his will drained, his wits dulled, and his sinews nigh to breaking. Alone he stands, his last embers of light long since swallowed by the abyss, and his throat, parched as a wanderer lost in a desert of night, burns for mercy.
Yet even in this void, he feels the giant confines about him. The press of the unseen walls, or is it but the ghost of memory, etched upon his mind by countless hours of weary gazing upon their never-ending surfaces? He has beheld these vertical planes more than he has the sun or the wheeling birds, and yet he knows them not. Are they truly walls? What substance and matter make them? No stone nor timber of the waking world holds their likeness. They gleam, pale as the snows atop Mount Obek and veined with endless, winding and twirling furrows, as though an army of unseen worms, numberless as the stars, have feasted upon the interminable surfaces for an age beyond mortal grasp.
As his thoughts drift, his left hand brushes against a flaw, a fissure, small and sharp, where his pickaxe last struck moments ago, or was it days? A wedge of rupture within this unknowable matter. His heart hammers in his breast, for from that slender breach issues a breath of warmth, a whisper of air from beyond. A shudder courses through him, not of fear, but of elation. His fingers tighten about the haft of his pickaxe, and with a cry torn from the depths of his soul, he smites the crack with all the strength that lingers in his failing limbs. Blow upon blow, his strikes fall, blind and desperate, until the rift yawns wide enough for passage. He looks behind him, though he is well acquainted with solitude in these forsaken depths for a long time now. The last of his brothers gone, like their attention, to other things.
And then, casting himself forward through the breach, he tumbles from the shroud of night, and into radiance. Into a brilliance unbound, a light so fierce it should sear his flesh, melt his very eyes within their sockets. Yet it does not. Instead, his eyes brim, and tears spill freely down his face. For before him lies a sight no man has ever beheld, nor dreamed of in his boldest fancy.
Palom sinks to his knees, weeping, trembling, for he knows with all the certainty of his soul that he stands before the Eye of God.
A faded page from the journal of Francis Aldrich about his meeting the Queen’s envoy. Found in the Temple of the Fallen.
Inspection Text
The Queen’s envoy has arrived, as anticipated. The aristocracy is entirely too predictable, thinking they have any influence whatsoever over matters of the divine. I was chosen by Teaar to carry out this sacred mission. Their futile meddling will change nothing.
Ah, but this Lady Sophia Morton. She is possessed of a singular beauty, enough to drive any man to madness. Graceful youth, alabaster flesh, supple and delicate. I feel a carnal yearning rising within me.
A faded page from the journal of Francis Aldrich about his meeting the Queen’s envoy. Found in the Temple of the Fallen.
Inspection Text
It is almost time. The first act in this great play ends this day. Lady Sophia Morton is the cornerstone. She will make a fitting sacrifice; the ideal catalyst for the carnage to come.
Teaar will soon rise once again. My acolytes stand ready. My excitation is, at times, overwhelming. I revel in the delectable delight of what is to come.
A tattered page from the journal of Sophia Morton about her journey to meet Francis Aldrich. Found in the Plains of Mist.
Inspection Text
From the moment Queen Vigga approached me about this journey, I have had my reservations. Seeking parley with the likes of Francis Aldrich seems a fool’s errand. He has spurned the civilized world at every opportunity. However, for my Lady and closest friend, I would travel through the Himolara Fields and back.
I awoke this morn to a dense mist enveloping our vessel. I emerge from my cabin and onto the deck to glimpse giant, veiled statues flanking the river. The twisted demons gazed at us through the fog, their faces contorted in anger, sorrow, and fear.
I feel a somber unease descend upon our party. Our guide assures me we are approaching our destination. It does nothing to assuage my nerves.
A tattered page from the journal of Sophia Morton about her journey to meet Francis Aldrich. Found in the Plains of Mist.
Inspection Text
As dusk fell, the towering statues soon gave way to ever more horrifying sights. All along the riverbanks, piercing through the fog, are arrayed countless pikes and other standing apparatus. The lot adorned with human corpses and body parts. Some yet move, uttering a muted chorus of tortured wails. A gruesome display of utter barbarism.
Is this a warning to outsiders? What awaits me beyond? What dreadful mire do I sail into? We should arrive at sunrise, on the morrow. Only duty compels me forward now, for every fiber of my being urges me to revert our course. I shan’t be surprised if sleep eludes me this night.
A tattered page from the journal of Sophia Morton about her journey to meet Francis Aldrich. Found in the Plains of Mist.
Inspection Text
We have made landfall at the Sacrament of the Fallen. We are greeted by row upon row of solemn devotees, numbering hundreds. Some wear scant coverings or crude pigments, others completely nude.
Beyond them, Francis Aldrich stands atop a grand stone stairway, akin to a God gazing down on his subjects. There can be no mistaking it: he is master here. The whole spectacle is shocking, in a rather grotesquely awe-inspiring manner.
I am led through an underground network to a private chamber, where I presently await the evening’s feast, in our honor. These are a simple, ascetic people. The eerie glee with which they look upon me is far more unsettling than the atrocities at the river. This journey has been entirely surreal, my senses overwhelmed into numbness.
A tattered page from the journal of Sophia Morton about her journey to meet Francis Aldrich. Found in the Temple of the Fallen.
Inspection Text
With the grand feast behind us, Francis utters his first words since our arrival, inviting me to his private study to discuss the matters at hand. Unease grips my psyche, but duty girds it.
His study brims with tomes and ancient scrolls. We spoke for hours, his calm demeanor a stark contrast to the wanton barbarity on display around us. He is the eye of this hurricane. We spoke at length of theology, of politics and philosophy, of rage and fear, of suffering and pleasure.
I expected a savage, egotistical madman. I found an unassuming, erudite scholar. Charismatic, empathetic, and unfettered by social constraints. Francis lives by the fires of his heart, his passions wholly embraced. It is clear now why Traditionalists and Reformists alike shun him so.
Francis is a profoundly fascinating man, an enigma of our age. I find a certain admiration growing in the creases of my mind. I know not what awaits me here, or upon my return, but I do know that I am forever changed.
An ancient scroll left by a Warden of the Eye. Found atop the Temple of the Fallen.
Inspection Text
To whomever finds this writ, it assuredly means that our fathers of the Order of the Eye, and the Eye of God itself, must stand upon the precipice of terrible danger.
General Agatho perished seeking this accursed place. I have followed his path and finally discovered it, and yet I still draw breath. Within this wretched and unfathomable temple, amidst its twisting halls of lies and folly I have ascended to this nigh-unreachable point. It is in this place I elect to enshrine and conceal my chosen burden, the Keystone of Ecstasy.
The Lymbic Entities here remain legion, slithering and unrelenting, seeping through the very marrow of this forsaken ground. But let them be. Let them stand as relentless sentinels, their presence a deathly ward against all but the most exalted and skilled amongst our Order. To such an orchestration, we have all agreed so many seasons ago.
And yet, I am burdened with doubt. The Lymbic energies here still surge with extreme intensity. What shall become of the Keystone, steeped for near-eternity in such a debilitating current? None of us, the architects of their very making, can claim to grasp the full breadth of its working. What we have wrought, we have not yet fully mastered. Once our artefact reclaimed, I know not what might occur.
Thus do I, General Ulza, Warden of the Eye and Keeper of the Keystone of Ecstasy, set down these words, in the year 1508, that our deeds be known should fate see them unearthed.
A preserved journal belonging to a guard stationed at some kind of prisoner holding facility. Found in the underground ruins of Senedra Forest.
Inspection Text
I am filled with glee as they enter, row after row. Shackled in bondage of their own making. Asterian, Jehanian, filthy cattle. Their stench is unbearable.
How I wish my duty would take me to the Spire. To hear their cries; to revel in their laments as they finally grasp the errors of their ways.
Alas, my charge lies here. My Queen requires it. Sethyris requires it. I am to shepherd the sinners as they await their final judgement at the Spire.
A worn excerpt transcribed from Queen Harvor Raveta’s lengthy discourse on the construction of the “Arcas Spire”. Found in a sealed room in the underground ruins of Senedra Forest.
Inspection Text
By decree of Queen Harvor -
For too long we have suffered those whose sinful hearts begat calamity after calamity upon us.
[Illegible]
Let this grand edifice stand as a testament to our righteousness. A shining beacon in the sea of immorality. A reminder to all that none escapes His gaze.
Here, we purge heresy. Here, we purify the kingdom. Here, we reclaim our faith!
A page from the personal journal of a Palomist general in charge of torturing Sabinian prisoners. Found on a desk in the underground ruins of Senedra Forest.
Inspection Text
From the Private Writings of General Firion, Year of Our Lady 918
The spire sings tonight. Its halls echo with the wails of the damned, and I, their conductor, wield the baton of justice most exquisite. The Sabinian wretches, eyes wide with dread, are dragged forth like cattle to the altar of their reckoning. Oh, how their tongues betray them before the lash has even struck! They babble prayers, they barter with words that hold no coin in this sacred place.
One, a youth of barely twenty summers, dared plead, thinking mercy could be plied from my hand. A foolish notion. His screams as the irons kissed his flesh did, please me more than any psalm sung in chapel. He crumpled as they all do, his body broken before the rack had taken its full toll. It is always the proudest who shatter first; their arrogance turns to mewling within a few strokes of the flail.
What a righteous duty it is, to cleanse the land of this vermin. What a gift, to hold dominion over agony and watch it shape itself into obedience. The spire stands tall upon the bones of traitors, its stones steeped in the sweat of the suffering.
Come dawn, another cartload of prisoners shall arrive. Another day’s symphony awaits.
An unsent letter from a Sabinian soldier to his wife. Found in a lockbox in the trenches of Senedra Forest.
Inspection Text
My dearest Marina,
We trampled through Senedra Forest with the fury of King Aster. Pals never stood a chance; they died like dogs. I must have taken out at least a dozen, scrambling around like termites when the shells dropped. It was glorious!
We found three Pal brothers cowering in a farmhouse. Pissed their pants as we took ’em out back. One of them was wearing a gold watch, can you believe my luck? Sending it to you with this letter. Sell it, and buy yourself something nice.
I swear I’ll return to you, sweet Marina. Once we’ve killed every last one of them.
An unsent letter from a Sabinian soldier to his brother. Found in the trenches of Senedra Forest, near the ruin entrance.
Inspection Text
Dear Marko
How ya been, brother? The unit’s been camping out in Senedra after our big push. Cold as all hell, let me tell ya. Feels good to get some rest, even if I’ll likely lose a toe to frostbite out here. Hell, I got 9 more, right?
I gotta tell ya something Marko. We found something while digging the trenches. A big old door, sealed shut and proper old. The Captain ordered us to pry it open, and that just don’t sit right with me. There are laws against this kind of thing! Remember how Grandpa gave us hell when we tried climbing that old wall near the lake? We aren’t supposed to be disturbing heritage sites, even during a war! Captain’s lost his damned mind!
A journal page recounting a mysterious visit in the night. Found in a destroyed apartment in Talju.
Inspection Text
They came in the evening. Two men in dark suits, their faces unreadable, their words measured like a well-rehearsed script. They didn’t force their way in. No, that would have been too crude for men like them. Instead, they waited for me outside, just as the last embers of the sunset dipped behind the horizon.
“We need to talk,” one of them said, his voice smooth, practiced.
I said nothing. I let them follow me inside, let them stand in my kitchen. They didn’t touch the tea I offered, didn’t sit. Just watched me, like wolves in expensive wool coats. They spoke of duty, the greater good, and things far greater than the Vigil. They insisted that my cause was a relic and it wouldn’t survive what was coming. The other placed a thick envelope on the table. Inside were money, passports, and something else I didn’t dare touch, a promise or a warning.
They insisted I think about it, before leaving. I didn’t sleep that night, wondering whether I should inform Vitalis. The envelope sat on the table, untouched.
A note explaining the provenance of a wooden mask. Found in Caspian’s safe at the National Library, Lethe.
Inspection Text
I can’t believe my luck! An original Carnival mask!
Last night, Ylio and his wonderful wife, Marlene, invited me to a nice home-cooked meal at their home on the outskirts of town. They had found out through the school that I was working on a bit of research about the Week of Peace. I guess they were interested in contributing their stories!
They talked my ear off all night with tales from their childhood. Then, Ylio told me to hold on while he fetched something upstairs. He came back holding a wooden mask and I recognized it instantly! He explained it was an old family heirloom, passed down for generations.
He was ready to give it to me for my research, bless his heart. He was aglow at the idea of the mask serving an academic purpose. I told him I could never accept such a priceless item, that this was a piece of Hadean history! He and Marlene insisted, quite persuasively. Eventually, I accepted!
A page from a dusty tome decrying the cost of dealing with the anomalies. Found in a Vault of Forbidden Knowledge in Senedra Forest.
Inspection Text
It has worked!
We have sundered one of the blasphemous, bulbous apparitions, and with it, its wretched snare of ceaseless torment. Gone! Dissolved!
Yet my heart did sink the moment I beheld the price. The poor Hadeans, once ensnared within that infernal cycle, now lay dead at my feet. How can this be? Mere minutes past, as I stepped beyond the accursed bounds of the anomaly, just before the start of the ritual, I turned once more to behold them. They writhed in their ghastly repetitions, still alive.
But now, they are lifeless.
Their bodies lie still upon scorched and flattened earth. Did our Prism bring this fate upon them? Or were they never truly alive within that wretched mirage?
And yet, we rejoice, for we have our answer. The Amine Prisms serve their purpose. The nightmare can be undone.
But at what cost? The poor boy, our chosen courier, has perished within the maw of the anomaly. As one draws closer to its midway, where the unseen venom waxes strongest, survival is impossible.
And Tkez, ever keen of eye, has bid us look to the ground. Where once the monstrous bulb did stand, the scorched earth is left scarred in twisting furrows, spiraling into the soil. A pattern most familiar to us, akin to those we have found amongst the strange compounds we have forged and now wield.
A page from a dusty tome speaking of a secret safeguard set in place. Found in a Vault of Forbidden Knowledge in Jeljin.
Inspection Text
We, the Eight Pupils of the Eye, bear the solemn weight of our station. Honored are we, yet bound in equal measure: Custodians of the Burden, the Shame, and the True Purpose Of the Order of the Eye.
And we know, beyond doubt or illusion, That peril does ever lurk in the shadows.
Not only from the foes who gather beyond our walls, But from the graver specter of treachery within.
Thus, we have chosen our course.
In secrecy, we have approached eight esteemed Generals of the Phol Guard, Each chosen blindly, that no bias nor design might sway our hand. To them, we have entrusted a task most dire. To create in silence a failsafe, a shield unseen, A ward against a catastrophe, should one of our own Seek to unmake what we have built and ensnare the Eye.
Their work shall remain veiled, even from us, For knowledge of such a safeguard is itself a danger.
Never shall they speak of what they weave. Never shall their lips betray the measures they set in place.
They shall carry their burden to the grave, Leaving behind only whispers in the blood of their kin, That their descendants may stand watch.
That the Eye may endure, Should darkness ever rise from within.
Belgran the Nineteenth Drak the Nineteenth Gabbran the Fifteenth Jish the Sixteenth Zargab the Fourteenth Tkez the Eighteenth Hoz the Seventeenth Faram Thirteenth
A page from a dusty tome recounting the horrors discovered within the anomalies. Found in a Vault of Forbidden Knowledge in Acasa Marshes.
Inspection Text
Why is it thus? What foul purpose does such an anomaly serve?
Within these wretched time aberrations, we find our own countrymen and women ensnared Always at the very heart of the storm, as though condemned by unseen hands To play their parts in some misshapen, sordid theater.
A scene of unspeakable cruelty is ever the stage, A barbaric slaughter, its sole performance. And yet, here lies the worst of it The macabre play does not end.
Again and again, it unfolds, ceaseless in its encores. The curtain never falls, the agony never wanes. And I am certain, no, I know, that those caught within its wretched snare Have not perished, but still live.
They feel it all.
The anguish, the torment, the breaking of flesh, the sundering of mind Even the twisted pleasure that lurks amidst the pain, or the causing of pain. They are alive.
Breathing. Suffering. Forever.
And worst of all, I have seen them look upon me.
A woman, her eyes wide with terror, met my gaze, pleading without words. Begging me to end it.
At least, I believe I saw it.
For the closer we tread to this infernal tableau, The more our own flesh burns as if pressed against smoldering coals.
The air seethes, the world writhes, and still the nightmare plays on.
A dusty tome recounting the establishment of the Hellion Lodges. Found in a Vault of Forbidden Knowledge in Lake Cynon.
Inspection Text
In the grim dawn of the Second Lymbic Invasion, veterans of the First Calamity rose once more. They forged the new and untested into warriors, imparting their knowledge acquired during the first Lymbic tide. Both Traditionalists and Reformists set aside their schisms, for in the face of annihilation, no blade could stand alone.
As the new sibylline invasion raged for three merciless years, a pattern emerged—some soldiers grew adept at slaying particular breeds of the Lymbic scourge. Seizing upon this truth, the Traditionalists birthed the Hellion Vanguards: warbands tempered for the ruin of specific Lymbic demons. Their discipline, understanding, and maneuvering was honed to a deadly edge. So efficient were their strikes that even the Reformists, once disdainful, bent to wisdom and forged their own Hellion formations.
Thus, from the crucible of an inconceivable war, a doctrine was born. Not from scholars’ quills nor kings’ decrees, nor from the practice cages of castles’ grounds, but from firsthand experience and the blood, steel, and unyielding will of those who refuse to fall.
A dusty tome recounting the establishment of the Hellion Lodges. Found in a Vault of Forbidden Knowledge in Jeljin.
Inspection Text
The Hellion Vanguards were venerated by other soldiers, their presence a harbinger of hope for the troops, and ruin upon the Lymbic abyss. Among the common folk, they were named the Hammers of Sethyris.
They grew beyond warbands. Their armor bore grim adornments, reflecting the entities they fought. Their banners billowed with sigils and motifs, testaments to their slain foes. Their mere presence echoed the monstrosities they fought. They had forged more than strategy, they had forged identity.
Between the Second and Third Invasions, the Hellions ceased to be mere warriors; they became Orders. Bound by code and ritual, they formed Lodges, knightly brotherhoods. Their traditions bore the mark of their eternal adversaries, for they knew that to unmake the darkness, one must first understand its depths. Thus, the Hellion Lodges were born.
The Lodge of Grief: A brotherhood draped in the solemn hues of mourning, they move as phantoms upon the battlefield, silent as the grave.
The Lodge of Ecstasy: Frenzied and relentless, their blades sing through the air like a revelry of death, adorned in dazzling hues of yellow.
The Lodge of Terror: Cloaked in nightmarish emeralds, their mere presence saps the will of any bystander.
The Lodge of Rage: Raving berserkers, their armor spiked and their weapons massive, embodying wrath itself, painted in the same burning red as their destined foes.
The Lodge of Admiration: Devout and unswerving, their reverence for their cause shines in verdant gilded sigil, their holy conviction as sharp as their spears.
The Lodge of Loathing: Known to never sleep, as such is their disgust for their foes. Some fight with blindfolds made of purple silk, as to not see what they disdain so forcefully.
The Lodge of Vigilance: Armored in colors of orange, they are scholars and tacticians, their strategies immaculate. Knowledge and patience is their shield.
The Lodge of Amazement: Explorers of Lymbic knowledge, their banners bear seals of the unfathomable, rendered in vivid cyan. Always astonished and impatient to duel their assigned horrors.
A dusty tome recounting the establishment of the Hellion Lodges. Found in a Vault of Forbidden Knowledge in Marastan.
Inspection Text
Between Lymbic Invasions, the Hellion Formations were never unmade and their banners never furled. Instead, they swelled in might and renown, their doctrines and sigils no longer the secrets of warriors alone, but the knowledge of all Hadeans.
The fortresses and chapels of the Hellion Lodges rose across the land, each shaped by the creed of those within. Their walls bore the marks of their respective foe. Patterns of warding, low reliefs of omen, statues of defiance, and sigils of dread, all woven from the visual essence of the entities they swore to vanquish. Every stone, every carving, every relic whispered of the foe for which it was wrought, a visual vow mimicking the very creatures they are sworn to slay.
Time passed, and what once was the styling of the Lodges had become the people’s inheritance. In the vaults of temples and the battlements of keeps, in the carvings upon stone and the flowing script upon parchment, in the weave of garments and the painter’s brushes, the mark of the Hellion Lodges aesthetics could often be seen. No longer cosmetics of war, but now the breath of the land and its people.
A dusty tome about Anson Lingen, a master mason who influential worked reshaped Hadea. Found in a Vault of Forbidden Knowledge in Acasa Marshes.
Inspection Text
Among the master builders of the Hellion Lodges, one stood above all: Anson Lingen, lead architect of the First Lodge of Grief. A craftsman of rare genius, his hands shaped sanctuaries of war where stone bore the weight of sorrow and every carved pattern was a ward against the Lymbic abyss, while echoing its shapes and colors. Yet discord arose between him and the Lodge’s elders, and so, turning his back on their halls, he journeyed homeward to Losilus in the kingdom of Asteria.
There, amidst the rising spires and growing townships, he plied his trade anew. Whispers spread swiftly, for a hand that had carved the strongholds of the Hellions could not go unnoticed. The clergy of the Kaftan Basilica, the grandest Sabinian temple in the South, sought him out in earnest. Fearful of the return of fiendish Lymbic horrors, they bade him shield their sacred walls with the same sorrow-scripted stones and statues that adorned the Lodges of Grief.
An ancient parchment about the construction of a large contraption. Found in a Vault of Forbidden Knowledge in Senedra Forest.
Inspection Text
My dear Tkez,
The mighty oaks of the Western Woods lie felled, their boughs hewn and their trunks laid bare. Our lumbersmiths toil, shaping the countless timbers for the great work ahead.
Already, our sight turns to the next forest where yet more trees shall fall in service of our design. Yet, our need is vast: copper in great measure and gold greater still. A scaffold did crumble just days ago, and with it our strongest chains lay shattered. Let the forges burn bright and the anvils ring. By week’s end, we shall require fresh chains and sturdy pulleys, lest our labors falter.
As for the crystals which Zargab and Drak did set to their arts, they scarcely yielded the ether-propagation we had foreseen. The miners must delve yet deeper, seeking a greater trove, though I fear our path may lie not in quantity but in wisdom. Perhaps a new conductor must be sought, one to magnify the Sphere’s proliferation beyond its bounds.
And lo, our Shroud, its breadth must be greater than we dared reckon. So let us send forth our seekers that they might unearth fresh veins of ore, for our task hath only just begun.
An ancient parchment describing the anticipation felt nearing the completion of a grand project. Found in a Vault of Forbidden Knowledge in Vyssa Hills.
Inspection Text
Our Eminus Shroud is immense. How it even stands upright is unknown to me. Our calculations must not have been in vain. But perhaps it is truly Sethyris’ hand that promptly guided our machinations. The device latches and twirls around the Sphere. It is indeed most impressive. So much effort. Many have died or disappeared in its making. I pray for them all, and I thank them.
Jish and Hoz have been atop the last walkway for the past days. Even if they shout, we cannot hear them from below, such is the soaring height of our invention. They are effecting some final adjustments with the Artesian Auric palettes. The time draws anxiously close. It has been so many years. So many failures and successes, but here we are. Will it work?
An ancient parchment expressing disbelief at a confusing disappearance. Found in a Vault of Forbidden Knowledge in Jeljin.
Inspection Text
I am returned to my chambers alone, quill in hand. These words I set to parchment, yet even as I write, I scarcely believe them. The candle before me gutters, its light dim as my hope. For what has come to pass is beyond reason’s grasp.
It is gone.
Vanished.
The Eminus Shroud, grander than any citadel, vaster than any fortress wrought by mortal hands, has vanished into the void. I laugh as I inscribe these words, though there is no mirth in me, for how may such a thing be true? How might a construct of stone and steel, greater than kings have ever dared dream, simply be missing?
Worse still, our instruments speak of an unfathomable horror. Faram’s Lymbic Tone Desyncopators measure the Sphere’s propagation still. They mark its growth, its endless unfurling! How may this be, when the Shroud is no more? How may this be, when our hands grasp at naught but empty air where it once stood?
Yesterday, Hoz did utter the most cursed words my ears have ever suffered to hear. I have not spoken to him since. He dares believe that the Sphere itself had devoured the Shroud whole! Madness!
He must put down his mead, that one. And yet, even as I scorn his words, a shadow coils within my mind. What if he is right?
An ancient parchment lamenting mistakes made in the pursuit of wisdom. Found in a Vault of Forbidden Knowledge in Marastan.
Inspection Text
All we sought was an end to spite, hatred, and madness; an end to the constant spilling of blood.
Long did we wander, until wearied were our steps. Then labored we, with sweat and sorrow, And found we, the greatest thing of all. Gazing upon us, the Eye. And in our folly, we cast doom upon us all.
And now an age has passed, and the echoes of truth grow dim. An age has passed, and yet no wisdom dawns. Still, the blight we wrought knows no end, Still, we grasp not the means to sunder the curse of our own making.
An ancient parchment expressing concern for a contrite colleague. Found in a Vault of Forbidden Knowledge in Acasa Marshes.
Inspection Text
I fear Jish, the fifth of its name, has been claimed by madness. No longer can he serve our cause, nor stand amongst us in reason.
The poor, wretched soul. Like all of us, he has given his life to the burden we bear, to the redemption of our Order, and to the salvation of this land whose people still suffer beneath the weight of our hubris.
And so, here we stand. Jish has sealed himself within one of the Phol Guard’s armories, muttering ceaseless prayers to the silence that hears him not. Upon a wretched bed of Lymbic Shards of his own devising he lies, flesh torn by the jagged edges, yet he welcomes the pain, calling it his penance.
The poor madman. But he’s always been a bit of a fool. A full fortnight has passed, and still he howls. His voice spills through the small, barred window like a spirit unmoored. We bade the guards leave him be, for what solace can chains grant him now?
It is the weight of our sin, the vastness of our failure, that has gnawed his mind to dust. And soon, I fear, it shall take the rest of us as well.
An ancient parchment reacting the killing of an foul creature. Found in a Vault of Forbidden Knowledge in Lake Cynon.
Inspection Text
It took General Kael and General Amon eight days of ceaseless battle, with more than two thousand men, most of whom have died in the fighting and now lost to the abyss, to bring low but one of the hideous fiends.
Only one!
How may such a thing be? How may we stand against such horrors, when two of our finest commanders now swear never to face them again? This is no mere defeat, it is calamitous!
And yet, perhaps, all is not lost.
I have sent forth our spies to reclaim the carcass. It lies hidden within a Traditionalist keep, on the outskirts of Metaron. Fortune favors us, as we need not travel far.
Perhaps, within the corpse of this fell beast, we may glean some knowledge.
An ancient parchment discussing the creation of a new celebration. Found in a Vault of Forbidden Knowledge in Acasa Marshes.
Inspection Text
Just imagine if they believed it a custom! A tradition! If they thought it a jubilee, a time of joyous revelry, a sacred festival of kin and country! All our poor, cherished Hadeans, trapped unknowingly within our mistake, could be temporarily saved.
They must perform the celebrations each Cycle. Each time It Wakes.
Yet they are to know nothing of the real reason. Nothing of the true weight of that moment, the most calamitous, the most dreadful instant of all their lives. For all they do know is this: It is the time of their grandest celebration.
Exuberance and mirth! Followed by a week of solemn peace. And peace - peace above all! - is the holiest decree of this most sacred time. From laborer to baron, from beggar to king, none may raise a hand in violence. Truces are sworn and held fast, for it is their most beloved holiday. This rare and precious commemoration, gracing them but a handful of times every century. And thus, they cherish it all the more.
Yet we who know the truth understand it for what it is. The only means, in our Order’s long and harrowing existence, to force an artificial halt to it all.
Now, just imagine if such a grand illusion could be woven upon our people, upon all the souls within our precious provinces. If it were to arise not from decree, but from belief, so that they themselves embraced it as their own. A custom born not of law, but of faith. A festival heralded by both Churches, until its origins faded into mere whisper and wonder.
And because of this, the celebration itself would never be questioned. Never be broken. Never be missed. This… this could serve us well.
An ancient letter decrying the appearance of creatures. Found in a Vault of Forbidden Knowledge in Senedra Forest.
Inspection Text
My dear Rosetta,
I have stepped beyond our walls today. I was not afraid. For the war, at last, has halted and by our own labors, we have granted the country this fragile peace.
But then I was afraid. No, more than afraid. I was struck still, my very soul seized by terror. For the whispers that have reached us, the rumors spoken in hushed and trembling voices… They are true.
Demons walk among us. Specters roam the land. I have seen them, Rosetta, with my own eyes I have beheld the wicked things. Maddening, spectral shapes, writhing in kaleidoscopic colors that defy reason, their twisted forms swirling above the ground, shifting like a fevered dream.
And their screams, by Sethyris, their screams! Not the wails of beasts nor the howls of imagined monsters, but twisted, disturbing and traumatic voices like our own, human and suffering, yet immaterial and ethereal all the same. As though souls were trapped within the maws of these fiends. Mouths… if such things even possess them. Filled not with teeth, but with endless agonizing emotions. And they massacred anyone who came close. But only humans. They do not seem perturbed by animals or worms.
Worse yet, I know now their source. They spawn from the time anomalies. They linger near them, they guard them, as if protecting that which should never have been disturbed.
This is our doing.
It is because of the one we sundered. Because of the Amine! Twice now, we have condemned our own people. Twice now, our hands have wrought ruin instead of salvation. When shall it end, Rosetta? When shall we cease to damn those we wished to save? Where in all the madness and ruin lies the answer to this wretched curse?
An ancient letter reporting progress on the search for Auriga Museum. Found in a Vault of Forbidden Knowledge in Vyssa Hills.
Inspection Text
For General Orcha’s Eyes Only
We continue the search for the fabled Auriga Museum, yet as of this moment, naught has been found.
The intelligence extracted from the squire of House Aster, through methods both unkind and thorough, proved to be naught but deception. His words led us into yet another labyrinthine folly, one of the countless quarries and subterranean hollows hewn by the legions of Lady Margerith’s miners, diggers, and madmen. A fool’s errand, wrought of lies. The squire has been executed for his deceit.
The search endures, yet doubt creeps into my mind. Perhaps this supposed Museum is but a phantom, woven from trickery by the late and loathsome Lord Aster, or worse, by his accursed twin progeny.
I shall press on, but I do not like the scent of this hunt.
May the Scholars and His Eye be with you.
J.J. Zilion Spymaster of the 3rd Phol Guard Vanguard
A note left behind by Henry. Found in the outskirts of Acasa Marshes.
Inspection Text
I have failed to protect my family, failed to uphold the proper burial rites, failed as a husband and father. This war has taken everything from me. I am drowning in a bottomless abyss. I cannot carry on like this. Camille, Anna, I am so sorry…
A note left behind by Henry. Found in the outskirts of Acasa Marshes.
Inspection Text
This war has taken everything from me. I am a broken man, destitute and empty. My only solace is knowing you are both safe with Sethyris now, thanks to the extraordinary kindness of a stranger. Perhaps there is still hope to be found in this horrid place.
An ancient, partially decayed scroll inscribed with what appears to be a eulogy for the heroic savior of Jova. Found within a tomb in the cemetery of Jova, Acasa Marshes.
Inspection Text
He who shall remain nameless - The Hand of Sethyris, Vanquisher of Evil, and Protector of Jova
The year of the Calamity, 772. The fingers of death had all but enveloped Jova. When all seemed lost - a champion rises to deliver us from catastrophe. Single-handedly, he lays low the demon horde, as if possessed by Sethyris Himself.
Blessed be these lands of golden clover, safe, now and forever. May the spirit of our guardian watch over us, an unwavering bulwark against the darkness. The principality of Jova lies in your debt forevermore, brave knight.
May you rest in eternal glory, bathed in His gaze.
The Hideout
Mysteries 
Secrets of the Ram
History Lesson
