I understand that you like to be called a 'shadow'. An interesting thing about shadows: they are strongest in the day and are utterly consumed by the night.
There won't be much daylight where you are going.
— __intro_pt2__ |
Your holy mantle is stained with the blood of the countless, Templar. A sacrifice worthy of a God... just not to the god you had in mind.
— __intro_pt2__ |
Your path is as forked the viper's tongue, Ranger. Are you the hunting animal or are you the thinking, feeling woman? Yes, you love the wilderness, but that does not make you wild.
— __intro_pt2__ |
I stare into the eyes of madness, Witch. I see a hunger for power that Nightmare would most generously satiate, should you choose to ask it.
— __intro_pt2__ |
You have bled and you have murdered, Duelist. Why? For your precious glory? And where are you now? At the end of a world on the brink of extinction. Glorious!
— __intro_pt2__ |
Kaom's Way took him down into the darkest of nightmares. Have you asked your Ancestors if that's really where the Karui Way leads?
— __intro_pt2__ |
There are few who understand the enormity of Nightmare. That kind of mind, that you and I both possess, are as rare as rhoa's teeth. All the answers, Scion, are in that beautiful skull of yours.
— __intro_pt2__ |
I am Tasuni, he who peers into the gloom, who hears the black hearts that thunder within the mountain deep.
If you seek enlightenment, find a torch. If you seek to understand the Nightmare, I can help feel your way through the darkness.
— Introduction |
The Maraketh are stranded in the sandstorm of reflection and regret. We look to our Sekhema to lead us out, yet the sandstorm is all she knows.
She needs me, her eyes and ears in the darkness, but she will never comprehend my gifts.
— Oyun |
Dialla has the {form} of a woman, yet the substance is one part corruption and nine parts death.
One day soon, you will see how lifeless she truly is.
— Dialla |
When a boil is fat with infection, it glistens with the lustre of false youth. Lance that boil and it weeps its corruption away and shrivels to nothing.
Whether by purpose or desire, you are the physician who has revealed Dialla's truest nature.
— Dialla |
Kira rides more swiftly and strikes more truly than any other {dekhara} here. If only she could learn to think as swiftly as she rides and speak as truly as she strikes.
Better and worse are judged not on the talents one prizes, but the talents one needs.
— Kira |
Petarus and Vanja. Two mouths that speak from one mind.
When together, they express some quite interesting thoughts. When apart, well... half a thought isn't really even a thought, is it?
— Petarus and Vanja |
The Maraketh speak of his betrayal, but Voll did what he thought was necessary to destroy the Beast.
Now he wanders the desiccation, tortured as much by his failure as by Nightmare.
— Voll |
In destroying Voll, you have avenged many a pretty, bloodied nose around here.
Well done, you.
— Voll |
Nightmare is not without sophistication.
In life, Daresso was tortured by frustration and shame. In death, Nightmare has erased his past and forged a dream world in which Daresso would remain contented and loved.
What if Nightmare could do that for all of us? Would we really wish to destroy it then?
— Daresso |
Daresso was always a good man at heart, chained to an eternity of love and triumph.
You set him free.
— Daresso |
The Red Sekhema was the woman who forged what it meant to be 'Maraketh', a people united, strong. Deshret lit fires in the hearts of women and loins of men. When she fell, so did the Maraketh. We've been falling ever since.
— Deshret |
My understanding of Kaom, the man, is that he was a prisoner of his own delusions. Now? He is a prisoner of someone else's.
The power of Nightmare to manipulate the soul never ceases to impress me.
That could be you one day, should you continue to follow this dark and winding path.
— Kaom |
Nightmare gave Kaom everything he ever dreamed of. How did it feel to make that dream die?
— Kaom |
Beneath your feet, Creation shivers and writhes. It yearns for transformation like a worm in a cocoon that dreams of wings and freedom. A transformation that only the Beast can excite.
A dark God of ancient sacrifice, a muse to the twisted and vile... the Beast, the Nightmare, the Darkness... names given to it by mortals that think with slugs bound in shells of bone.
Yet, one man knew the Beast's true name, understood its impenetrable nature.
Malachai.
— The Beast |
Upon death, our bodies return to the ground. Those that are marked with darkness nourish the corruption. Those that were mighty in life are stolen away.
They are carved and crafted, manipulated with malevolent creativity into becoming Malachai's servants. Forged into Ghasts of pure Nightmare.
— Ghasts |
The gate is open, and now I hear her voice as clearly as if she were sitting right here with me.
Words of a dead woman, reverberating up from the depths of Highgate. A spirit chained, yet not enslaved. Tortured, yet unbroken.
That dead woman is Deshret, and our Red Sekhema longs to return to the dust of her Vastiri. Free her, and I shall reward you as my gifts allow.
— Deshret |
I felt it, {saw} it... the storm of her release. Our Red Sekhema is free to mingle once more with the red earth of our birthplace.
Deshret was the howling wind, the lash and bite of the driving dust. Our wild Vastiri is weakened by her absence no longer.
You've done yourself proud today, exile. Righted a wrong that we Maraketh have borne for far too long.
And of course, as promised, you shall be rewarded.
— Deshret |
Malachai is what every Ghast aspires to be. The hands and eyes, the voice and mind of the Beast itself.
I see him in my dreams, forming his designs, crafting his tools, refining the chaos of nightmare into a vision. A future that you and I would not recognise.
That neither you or I belong to unless, of course, we choose to accept the dark embrace.
This is Malachai's greatest work. An act of invention like none other. Should he succeed, he will awaken the Beast.
What then? The Beast is not Death. Life will go on. A life like nothing we have seen before.
— Malachai |
Ghasts have no use for words. To speak in nightmare is to speak in emotion and image... in thought.
I see and feel the darkness, and that is how I know that the cataclysm was no accident. Its images are far too rich with intention, far too steeped in satisfaction.
Malachai's satisfaction. Malachai devastated my people, destroyed the Eternal Empire, for one reason. To put himself right where he is now, within the Black Heart of the Beast.
— Cataclysm |
Malachai's apprentices. Shavronne of Umbra, Doedre Darktongue and Inquisitor Maligaro. You'll find no more devoted servants in all of Nightmare. In life, they were the three finest forgers of corruption in the Empire.
I'm inclined to agree with Malachai on this one. It would have been such a waste to let them languish in death.
Poor Deshret. Each had their wicked way with her, you see, their turn at trying to subsume Deshret into the collective corruption. Ingenious, they are. True artists. Had Deshret been in possession of an imagination, they might well have succeeded in creating a Ghast of her. Fortunately for us, Deshret never had such a faculty.
— Malachai's Apprentices |
If Deshret were able, she'd thank you for dispatching her tormentors, Malachai's wicked little trio. You'll have to content yourself with my thanks, instead. Deshret has been avenged, as is the way of the Maraketh. Tidiness helps one sleep at night, don't you think?
— Malachai's Apprentices |
It took a Shadow to destroy the darkness. The progeny of light, bound to obey the candle whether he likes it or not.
I know that's not quite what you expected to hear but then the expected is not always what's needed. You have come to the end of the world, and now you need to return to the beginning.
Oriath. Upon the mountain high, a gateway has opened, one that shall lead you back home. Hurry, for as the death throes of the Beast soften and still, I see the gate beginning to close.
Follow the light, for that's what Shadows do, don't they?
— Malachai |
Ah, Witch. I knew you would embrace the Beast. Yet I couldn't know that you would squeeze the very life from it. Honestly didn't think you had that much love in you.
Now one thing remains to be seen. Your regard, your touch, your embrace... can mean only doom for the loved. Please, choose your loves wisely, Witch, lest you break poor Oriath's heart.
Yes, that's right. Oriath. Upon the mountain high, a gateway has opened, one that shall lead you back home. Hurry, for as the death throes of the Beast soften and still, I see the gate beginning to close.
Follow your heart, Witch, no matter how dark it becomes.
— Malachai |
You are a confusing creature, Duelist. Your heart beats for no one but yourself yet you have committed the greatest and most selfless of acts. Was it an act of the heart or merely... an act?
Regardless, you may now stride heroically into the sunset, back to your grand arena.
Yes, in Oriath. Upon the mountain high, a gateway has opened, one that shall lead you back home. Hurry, for as the death throes of Beast soften and still, I see the gate beginning to close.
Ever pursue your glory, Duelist, lest you be forgotten.
— Malachai |
You're going to tell me that you didn't kill the Beast, that it was simply your God acting through you. Please don't. I fear I might be ill upon your self-righteous toes.
No, Templar. You did this. The oh-so-ordinary man who shall be heralded as 'the chosen one' by the adoring sheep of Oriath.
Yes, Oriath. Upon the mountain high, a gateway has opened, one that shall lead you back to your flock. Hurry, for as the death throes of Beast soften and still, I see the gate beginning to close.
Continue to believe in those lies, Templar. It brings out the best in you.
— Malachai |
For a lover of nature, Ranger, you surely know how to destroy it. Yes, you can argue, that the Beast was beyond nature, unnatural to its blackened core. I won't believe you though. It {died} after all. Quite a natural thing to do, wouldn't you say?
Something to think about on your way back to Oriath, Ranger.
Yes, Oriath. Upon the mountain high, a gateway has opened, one that shall lead you back home. Hurry, for as the death throes of Beast soften and still, I see the gate beginning to close.
Continue your wild ways, Ranger. They seem to come so... naturally.
— Malachai |
I'm sure your Ancestors are very proud of you, Marauder. Yet also rather... confused. For even the great and powerful Beast could not slay you! And if you can't be killed then how will you ever sit at your Ancestors' table?
Quite a conundrum that. Something to mull over on your way back to Oriath.
Yes, Oriath. Upon the mountain high, a gateway has opened, one that shall lead you back to where it all began. Hurry, for as the death throes of Beast soften and still, I see the gate beginning to close.
No one ever said that the Karui Way was an easy way, Marauder.
— Malachai |
You had no idea who you were when you left Oriath, did you? A slave to the names others gave you. So you went ahead and forged yourself anew. Bane of Nightmare, Purger of Corruption.
But that leaves us with a rather tricky question, doesn't it? Who are you, when everything you have lived for is gone? Perhaps the answer awaits you in Oriath.
Yes, Oriath. Upon the mountain high, a gateway has opened, one that shall lead you back home. Hurry, for as the death throes of Beast soften and still, I see the gate beginning to close.
So many questions, Scion. Yet the answer is so often the same.
— Malachai |
The nightmares are but whispers now, yet like prophets, cowering within crevice and crack, they speak of old gods returned, and the reprisal of an exile to our beleaguered land.
— Greetings |
My sister, Kira has grown obsessed with the Vulture of the Wastes, our goddess Garukhan. Kira has taken Oyun and plans to sacrifice her, imagining she can re-forge herself as a Red Sekhema, a warlord destined to unite the Maraketh under her bloody banner.
My sister's betrayal is too great for forgiveness. Like a rabid dog wandering the mountain pass, she must be put down. I ask this of you, for you are familiar with such barbarism and will not feel the pangs of mercy that I would.
On her person, I suspect you will find Oyun's royal mandate. The Sekhema Feather. If Kira truly wishes to take the throne, she would need such an item to be considered more than a simple usurper. Bring it to me for safekeeping.
And please, return our Sekhema Oyun to us, if you can... if she still lives, that is. But don't risk your life for hers. I know her mind. She would not want that.
— Oyun |
The shadows are lifting at last! Hand in hand, you and I, we have guided my people towards a brighter future. I suppose you wonder why I do not mourn? For my sister. For Oyun.
Why should I? There is no sense in shedding a tear for those who stand in the way of progress. They have passed from this coil, and that is the best thing either could have done for their people.
With our poor sekhema removed from her saddle, the way is clear. In lieu of a worthy leader, I shall step up, and with the backing of my followers, claim the throne of Highgate.
Irasha may spit and curse, yet her duty shall overcome her distaste. She will bow to the one who bears the feather as high custom dictates.
— Feather of Sekhema |
It seems as though fate shan't be content with just the taking of my eyes. It is pernicious enough to steal my vision from me as well!
I had planned to lead my people into a brighter, better future with the passing of our dear Oyun, but fate uses you to torment me. Still, I must not despair, time is on my side, and in Wraeclast, nobody remains as Sekhema for long.
— Feather of Sekhema |
Yes, I know of that dark god perched atop your shoulder. His image comes forth in my mind's eye, and I hear the sound of his breath crackle against the coldness of our mountain air.
He has a different energy to the other gods revealed in my dreams. Less hostile, more empathetic to the plight which humanity suffers... should his brethren be left to roam free.
It seems, Lord Sin, as if you are on our side.
— Sin |
In the twisting, shifting black smoke of my dreaming, I saw the Beast, lying slain at your feet. I saw the rise of the old gods, their rigid, dusty remains, springing in sudden haste to life. I saw the growing of their power as the corruption began to fade.
I felt utter anguish, the madness of the Beast's last, rabid breath, yet my sight, my power, still remains. It would appear that I was permanently marked by its corruption, even as I was birthed from my mother's womb.
Well now my mother is no longer around to protect me, and the Beast lies rotting in the bowels of that wretched mountain.
— The Beast |
By the gods and by the death of gods! You still live! I don't know what you did, but I can sense something has shifted. A weapon has been discovered perhaps, to turn the tide of bloodshed brought on by these sickening gods? Tell me, what did you find?
No, I mustn't enquire, for fear of losing my mind as well as my eyes... Oh, I am struck by a peculiar yearning, exile. It is as if I am a man stood on the precipice of a cliff, with an insatiable longing for the ground.
Please, leave me, before the frenzied voices inside my head devour my body and soul.
— The Beast |
Why ask me about her? That woman doesn't like me very much and I can't say I'm particularly fond of her either.
She seems to have gotten it into her head somehow that I'm the epitome of all evil - a selfish, blind villain. Nothing could be further from the truth - other than the blind part of course.
I suppose Irasha has good intentions - she truly wishes to see our tribe flourish, however she is too caught up in ancient traditions to see that for us to truly flourish, we must transcend tradition, we must become progressors of the future, not attendants to dry, dusty history.
— Irasha |
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