[DNT]
— AzmeriPrimalistTest |
Greetings. You may approach.
— PrimalistWildGreeting |
Share my fire, if you wish. It is rare that wanderers into this Wildwood survive long enough to hold a conversation, and rarer still that Sacred Wisps guide their path.
— Introduction |
I can teach you, if you are so inclined. Sacred Wisps have chosen to light your way. Who am I to disagree with the Draíocht?
— Teaching |
Yours will be a path of ferocity and struggle.
— PrimalistPrimalistFromNone |
I respect the path of the Maji, but it is not for hunters like us.
— PrimalistPrimalistFromMaji |
I respect the path of the Warlock, but the dead deserve to be eaten, not enslaved.
— PrimalistPrimalistFromWarlock |
Predators retain some of their ferocity in death, meaning that ferocity can be borrowed.
— PrimalistPurchased1 |
The predator's strike is swift and lethal.
— PrimalistPurchased2 |
Keep what you kill.
— PrimalistPurchased3 |
Continue to struggle and grow. When you are ready, I will have more to teach you.
— Return Later |
Climbing the hierarchy of the wilds will not be easy. A great many Nameless creatures crawl the Wildwood, existing in perpetual agony and sorrow. They are dangerous, and they deserve mercy, so they shall be your prey. When you have completed your hunt, return to me, and we will train together.
— A Merciful Hunt |
I sense the Primal energy growing within you. Yes, you are ready to learn.
— A Merciful Hunt Complete |
You are becoming more than you were. The Sacred Wisps tell me that you are ready to continue the fight toward the summit of the natural order. Seek the most dangerous of the Nameless, the crow most foul, the Black Mórrigan. It is a brutal beast, driven mad and enraged by its affliction. Evade its strikes, or don the heaviest armour you can find. When you have finished this hunt, return to me, and we will run the Wildwood together.
— Hunt for the Crow |
You have defeated the Black Mórrigan! I can see it in the way the Wisps dance around you. The beast will return, for it is merely a silhouette, a shadow cast by an afflicted piece of the Draíocht's essence, but the battle is no less meaningful.
— Hunt for the Crow Complete |
It is time. You are ready for your final struggle. To achieve the summit, you must hunt the most powerful creature in the Wildwood. That would be {me}, but I would not be able to fight you with my full ferocity, because I have begun to consider you a friend. The fight must be real. It must truly be life-or-death. There is only one I know that can give you this final challenge: the King in the Mists. When you have defeated him, return to me, and I will teach you my final lesson.
— War for the Wildwood |
The Wildwood echoed with your defeat of the King in the Mists! The final lesson is simple: you make your own lessons. All I can give you is clarity: {you} are the apex hunter now. There is none in this realm that can stand against you, and it is your role to run wild, free, and dangerous through the mists.
— War for the Wildwood Complete |
We will still encounter one another, my friend, but my time has passed, and I will gradually become less... I do not think death awaits me at the end of my path, merely a slow fading, until eventually those that knew me will wonder at how long it has been since they last saw me. They will share tales of the good times and the bad, as if they will never see me again, for time will put to rest all their concerns before our paths recross. This is not farewell. It is merely... goodbye for now.
— Journey's End |
In this forest, we are what we do. I hunt to eat, and I eat to live. Is it not the same for all living creatures? There is only one difference: I am the apex. I alone am unpursued. Even the King in the Mists has hunters, like the Breaker of Oaths, or the Warden of Eaves, with their human egos and inflated sense of importance. Not I. I am nothing but a carved stone occupying a key position in the foundation of nature. When I pass on, there will be another.
— Role |
This realm is not what it seems, but I imagine you have already guessed that. Here, what is real and what is meant may blur together. That is why names have power here, not from the words themselves, but from the concepts evoked. To define a thing is to influence that thing... though I suspect you have a similar danger in your world, since you carry upon you the faintest of scents—one among many—that reminds me of the Draíocht.
— The Wildwood |
You might call her a goddess. I might call them Sisters Three. Others might call them the collective will of nature itself. We may all be right. They exist within this Wildwood, or perhaps they {are} the Wildwood. To create this realm, the Draíocht gave so many pieces of themselves so widely and so deeply, that little remained. Fragments in every tree, every rock, and every animal. A voice, sometimes, to a chosen few... or so I've been told, by travelers through these lands.
— The Draíocht |
There were many who walked these paths in the early seasons. The mists were once far more welcoming, and brought warmth and light that both your realm and ours would otherwise lack. That was a very long time ago, more seasons than I can number. Travelers, they were, for this was never their destination, merely a route on the path to somewhere else, the same as a dream lies betwixt sleep and waking.
— Travelers |
Your realm has an enormous sphere of fire hanging overhead? I've been told this tale before, except that travelers in the early seasons spoke of that fire being absent behind some... impenetrable veil of ash and mist obscuring your 'sky'... another fantastical absurdity that features prominently in your folklore. This place was a refuge for them in a time of cold and bitter struggle, they said. They ate of the fruit and washed themselves in the rivers, joyous to be alive for what little time they could stay.
— The Sun |
I just can't picture it! Sometimes your people claim this 'sky' is a vast dome of blue, but sometimes your people claim it's dark, and other times it's a riot of colours caused by the 'Sun?' And there's a silver sphere up there, too, that contrasts the fiery one. The Sun and the Moon... for some reason, I get the feeling that they despise each other... so opposite, yet sharing the same heights, the same light and adoration... brings a sad tear to my eye, though I know not why. That closeness should bring love and cooperation, not hatred and jealousy...
Here I go, making up my own tall tales. You'll have to forgive me for my flight of fancy. Such imaginings are dangerous in the Wildwood.
— The Sky |
It was so long ago now, the memories are hazy, much like the mists I first remember. I have always run this forest, even before there were paths. I may have even forged many of those paths myself, with repeated footfalls over the timeless cycle of seasons. The forest was young, then, and so was I. There were far more of the Maji, too, if you've met any of them. In some ways, this realm was lovingly crafted for them by the Draíocht. In some ways, the Maji built this realm for the Draíocht out of loving devotion. It might be that devotion that drew the King in the Mists here... belief is the only power in all of creation that can make real that which is not.
— The Wildwood's Origin |
I've no quarrel with him. He gives me a very wide berth, and I don't hunt him down, purely because it's not my place to interfere. He and the Maji have fought over this realm for countless seasons. I think neither side knows the pain of the other. The Maji are fighting to protect their home, but the King in the Mists comes from a far worse place than this. He is a breed of creature the Maji cannot comprehend... his actions appear to be hostile and evil, but it is merely the way of life from whence he comes. Would you hate a mouse for eating fallen seeds? You might, if you were the bush that considers those seeds your children.
— The King in the Mists |
The King in the Mists has not brought darkness to the Wildwood. The forest still grows, so the light is still there, we just can't see it. It's something else entirely, something new. It is... {unlight}. He seeks to change the nature of this place so that more like him may escape their state of dreamlike nothingness. My hunts have sometimes taken me to the border between here and there. His world is in the opposite direction of yours, with the Wildwood betwixt...
The realm from whence he hails is one of silhouettes, the barely seen rear of the stage upon which the play of life conducts itself, with nary a thought for the shadows cast. It is the realm of the Nameless, those things which not only have no name, but which cannot be. Theirs is a perspective of endless agony and sorrow. They cannot have children in the violet unlight of that realm, and thus their progeny are consigned to the same fate of nameless nonexistence. Their numbers grow without end, comprising all the things that can never be, and the quiet roar of silence becomes more and more deafening as they clamour in fear and pain for release. My heart goes out to them, but there is nothing anyone can do. If I could name them, I would... but how do I name something I can't think of?
— The Affliction |
The Nameless were brought here long ago, when a traveler accidentally named the Porcelain Queen, causing her to become real. Her kingdom in your world is gone now—I know not how or why—but a few of her shadow children escaped back into the Wildwood, and then multiplied in number through the march of seasons. They lament eternal, sorrow without end, a pain they carried from their existence before, now made all the sharper by the loss of their mother. I give them mercy when I can, like I would for any other wounded animal.
— The Nameless |
The King in the Mists was not the first to escape the realm of nameless nothingness. A great many seasons ago, a curious young man walked the Wildwood on his journey elsewhere. He stopped at a waterfall, and engaged in a flight of fancy, naming creatures that he imagined might exist unseen among the trees. He just so happened to picture a powerful mother from the shadow realm, and he foolishly gave her a name—it is not 'The Porcelain Queen,' mind you. That's just a title, a few safe words to refer to her in a roundabout manner.
The traveler moved on, but {she} emerged, and brought her countless children with her. That young man was nobody important, and he surely died long ago, but his idle imaginings and his casual Naming led to a tale of untold tragedy and pain that is still playing out even now. When the denizens of the Wildwood tell you not to use True Names, they mean it.
— The Porcelain Queen |
This was supposed to be a sacred realm of peace and prosperity for the Maji, and then, too, for the rest of their people from your world. The Wildwood was meant to be a gift. A subtle sorrow creeps upon my heart when I think about what this place was supposed to be, but never achieved. Perhaps the Draíocht gave too much of themselves... or perhaps nature simply has a way of growing and changing beyond anyone's control. It is still possible that the Maji recover in numbers and strength and reclaim the forest, but if they don't, such is the cycle of life and death. It is not my place to interfere.
— The Maji |
{You} know Einhar? He was actually the first person I ever met. My earliest memory is of running alongside him on a hunt, though I know not when it began, or from whence we hailed. Like waking from a dream, and falling into one, both... and you know what else? He somehow knew my name, my real name, that I've never told anyone. He said he loved me, and I knew he meant it. All things considered, it's a treasure of a first memory to have.
— Einhar |
She does what she believes is best. That is the only true path for an individual that possesses free will. That's the heart of the Wildwood, laid plain: free will. If I were to help, I would be interfering. I hope she emerges triumphant, I do, but... the victory must be hers.
— The Warden of Eaves |
He does what he believes is best. That is all any thinking creature can do. I do not approve of his use of the dead, as prey should be eaten, not enslaved, but... even the natural order has a shadow. I cannot begrudge the darkness, lest I begrudge the light.
— The Breaker of Oaths |
I have long wondered where that being fits into the natural order. I have come to believe that she is the manifestation of the pain of the Nameless, those countless multitudes forever silently screaming in their realm of shadowed nonexistence. Someone must have Named her long ago, but we may never know what she was called... and until we do, she can never truly be banished.
— The Incarnation of Agony |
I've seen those ancient statues of the two sisters fighting each other. I don't know who they were, but being near them makes me feel... haunted...
— The Warring Sisters Statue |
The Draíocht once gave the people of your world a special kind of wood, one which grows at the dark borders of this realm and the next... an Unnamed heartwood, of a kind that even the Trickster had no power over...
— The Raven Trickster |
There are many names for the Draíocht, and for the spirits and beings that comprise it. Just like nature itself, it's difficult to distinguish the parts from the whole.
— The Goddess |
By the way, my friend... my name is Flavia. It is good to truly meet you.
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