Lore book: Difference between revisions

'''Lore books''' are one of the main ways of getting lore in the game.

Lore books can be obtained by [[panning]], buying from [[trading|traders]] and looting [[ruin|ruins]] on the surface and underground.

To use a lore book, put it in the hotbar, press the {{tnt|Using|right mouse button}} and it will be added to your Journal. You can open your Journal with the "J" key.

There are 6 main categories of lore: Letters, Jonas Falx, Tobias, Research, Resonance Archives and Chronicles, and each of those can consist of several different stories, and each story usually has several parts.

The stories are listed below in no particular chronological order.

== Letters == <!--T:3-->

''Quartermaster's Ledger, Date unknown''

=== Part 2 === <!--T:5-->

''Quartermaster's Ledger, Date unknown''

=== Part 3 === <!--T:9-->

''I've stopped counting days. Stopped counting time. All I know is every moment is the same - dark, cold, filled with fear and uncertainty. The work is heavy, my whole body aches. Maybe it will give up first.''

=== Part 4 === <!--T:10-->

''We thought we knew what hunger was, yet nobody was prepared to face this merciless starvation. I could not dare wish this upon my greatest enemy. The feeling of emptiness is crushing me. I cannot tear it from my mind. With each passing day our strength wanes and our demise reaches closer.''

=== Part 5 === <!--T:12-->

''Nobody knows if it's day or night. How can we know if we haven't been up there for weeks, maybe months? The light of the torches are so dim, but then again, what if I'm losing my sight?''

=== Part 6 === <!--T:13-->

''Mark, my little brother, ever skeptical.''

=== Part 7 === <!--T:16-->

''There was no mistake. It was the Rot. It is the Rot. And in the matter of days I will turn into Rot.''

== Jonas Falx== <!--T:22-->

:See tapestry [[Tapestry#Holy|"Holy"]]

''I led these people here, down to these hellish depths. Gave them up to darkness and starvation like lambs to the altar, and for what? This monstrous creation... I fear to recognize it as my child. The common people look upon it as though it were salvation. As though it were god itself. And they see me as the messiah. I walk amongst their halls and shelters, and I shudder at what remains of humanity.''

=== Breakdown === <!--T:25-->

:See tapestry [[Tapestry#Schematic_C|Schematic C]]

''Constant clamoring. People shouting. I'm worried. Things were quieter before. We had almost given up. Nobody spoke, we just desperately worked on the project. But now it's almost time to wake it and the people are excited. They're too excited.''

== Tobias == <!--T:31-->

''I woke up in the dark. Everything dark. Everything painful. Every breathe in agony.''

====Part 2==== <!--T:36-->

''It took me many years to regain my focus. Around me, humanity started to adapt and flourish again.''

=== Reflection=== <!--T:39-->

''I am not the reflective type. I was taught from a young age that life is better treated as a task: there is work to be done, so do it and do not complain. Thinking seemed like a luxury.''

====Part 2==== <!--T:45-->

''I stole into the Falx estate once, as a young man. I had intended to bring home a few pounds of our wheat and perhaps a handful of coins. I dared not take too much. The old Lord Falx mostly ignored our village in the shadow of his fiefdom, but he was harsh, stringent man who would not suffer the insult of a robbery. Nevertheless, I intended to rob him.''

====Part 3==== <!--T:50-->

''Together, we rode for the university. Jonas, up to this point, had been the subject of much talk throughout high society. Those who had met him regarded him as something of a prodigy. A scientific genius. Coupled with his newly inherited lordship, he was expected to do great things. He enrolled at Caydehill to fulfill that potential. Seeking to make my own impact on this country, I accompanied him as a valet.''

====Part 4==== <!--T:53-->

''It was at this point, some years later, that a change occurred. Although he never deigned to speak of it, I believe Jonas had some kind of breakthrough. His inventions grew equally more wondrous and monstrous. The golem, the locusts, the things without which our endeavor would fail: these he created and shared freely with the world. The people, both common and titled, began to see him as a shining light here to guide them to a new era. In truth, perhaps that would have come to pass were it not for the great adversity we were soon confronted with.''

====Part 5==== <!--T:56-->

''The rest, I have lost the will to speak of. I only wish to say that my friend, my brother, has done the best he could, and that I am not without hope. Our time down in these dark caverns has not drained me of life; it has convinced me of it. I have seen my dream of a better world come true in these depths. I have seen noble and commoner work, sing, weep, and die side by side. I have seen horrors, but I have seen humanity face them with hard eyes and clenched fists. I have struggled alongside the fiercest stars of our ruined land: scholars, engineers, soldiers, hunters, merchants, even beggars. All who found the strength to resist our doom. My countrymen.''

''Our greatest endeavour will come to life in a matter of minutes. I go now to meet my comrades and see the result of this: our last, finest gambit. May our work be not in vain.''

:See tapestry [[Tapestry#Salvation|"Salvation"]]

== Research == <!--T:58-->

:See tapestry [[Tapestry#Diet_of_Kings|"Diet of Kings"]]

''Scribe's notes, 1318:''

=== Dmetri's Notes=== <!--T:71-->

''These are the findings of Dmetri Arvo, regarding the natural philosophies of Caydehill University:''

====Part 2==== <!--T:75-->

''These are the findings of Dmetri Arvo, regarding the natural order of Caydehill University:''

====Part 3==== <!--T:78-->

''These are the findings of Dmetri Arvo, regarding the natural habitat of Caydehill University (And its surrounding territories):''

====Part 4==== <!--T:81-->

''These are the findings of Dmetri Arvo, regarding the proceedings of the Diet of Kings:''

====Part 5==== <!--T:84-->

''Put the beakers away. Pull the tools from the walls. Look not to the plans of great ambition and great purpose. Take only your pen in hand and write your last words. Give praise and thanks where it is deserved. Say farewell to those still here. Now go and stand in the city. Stand in the hills and valleys. Stand and witness the end coming for us all.''

''A scourge came upon us. A scourge, indeed.''

Apologies, Florian.

We’ve been dealing with a shortage of supplies regarding the generator. I mentioned already that broken pump. We’ve also found an issue with one of the gears just this morning.  

Naturally, I’ve repaired the gear already and need only to reinsert it now, but there might be some delay before we can requisition a new pump. I shall ask Wade and his team if I might repurpose one of his devices from the mines, but I suspect he will be loathe to part with it.  

In the meantime, I fear there will be some disruption to the mechanisms running these archives. I know the scribes find it unpleasant, but you’ll have to enter the library through the maintenance room for now. Don’t worry, he won’t bother you.

:- Ibrahim

Tired of all this damn shoveling.

Every morning, “Eustace, the boiler needs more coal”.

And every night, “Eustace, the gassifier needs more coal”.

I suppose I should be grateful to still be alive at this point, but honestly couldn't they make some kind of little metal man to shovel the coal? And then leave me in peace.

I'll make sure they both stay lit of course. Make sure the little metal men are keeping up their work and all.

Yes, I quite like the sound of that. Foreman Eustace, keeping everything running. Now that's got some weight to it.

Never go into the caves. Never go under the ground. Haven't you heard the story of Blind Bat Rickhart? He was a young boy, just like you lot. Curious, rambunctious, and ready for adventure. Some say he was born in one of the villages around here.

Well there wasn't much to do in the fields for a boy like that. He couldn't be bothered with tilling the soil or gathering wheat. One year, as it came to be harvest season, he decided to slip away while everyone else was working. He knew his father would be furious, but Rickhart was a greedy boy and he wanted his adventure.

After a long day of traipsing through the heath and forest, young Rickhart had had a great deal of fun, and now the wrath of his father was clear in his mind. He was terrified of going home, so he decided he would stay out for the night and give his father time to calm down and worry about him.

He wasn't very bright, but he wasn't very stupid either. He at least knew better than to be caught roaming about at night. By the time the sun was almost gone, he had stumbled upon a deep, well-hidden cave and decided he would pass the night there.

Well, the sun went down, and he had himself a nice fire built just near the mouth of the cave. He was safe and hidden there, but the rocky floor was uncomfortable and Rickhart was bored of sitting around. So he decided to play a little game with himself. He would walk into the cave's darkness and see which gave out first: his courage or the cave.

So he started walking deeper into the cave, brushing off all the warnings his parents and elders had given him since he was born. They had always told him that there were dark things under the earth. Darker even than the monsters we see at night. Rickhart was scared, for sure, but that was all the more thrilling for him. He felt himself just getting into the real adventure as he took one step and then another, deeper and deeper.  

His heart beat like a drum on festival night, but he kept going. He was giggling now, thinking how much fun he was having. He was sure it was all just a silly jaunt, but the images of torn flesh, long hairy limbs, and scraping metal started to fill his head. He could hear his grandmother's ragged voice as he remembered all the old stories she'd told him about the Drifters and horrible Groundlings.

On the verge of giving up and running, he bumped headfirst into the cave wall. He'd made it to the end. He breathed a sigh of relief, did a small jig to celebrate his victory, and turned to walk back to his warm fire— only, when he took his first step back the ground gave out beneath him. He fell and fell through the earth, scraping and tearing his skin all the way down.

When he finally came to stop and got a chance to right himself, he was far below the little cave where he had started. Now young, foolish Rickhart had only one thing in mind: he wanted to get home as quickly as he could. That being said, he couldn't see anything in the immense darkness, and he was so disoriented from the fall that he wasn't quite sure which way he'd came from. All he could tell was that he had landed in a large cavern, and that he could only figure out by the echoing sounds of the rocks sliding after him.

So he started feeling his way around, looking for something, anything to give him some direction. His hands found a rock face, but something was strange about it. The rock was smooth to the touch. He followed it for a couple feet and realized it formed an entire wall of smooth, even rock. There was some kind of wall here, carved into the earth.

Having no other option, Rickhart held his hand to the wall and used it as a guide, walking alongside it, but it led him deeper into the cavern. He followed it for a while, until it suddenly fell away and Rickhart lost his balance, stumbling to the ground. He stood up, and decided to not risk venturing further. He held onto the wall again and tried to walk back to the place where he thought he'd fallen through the dirt.

Only, after walking a good distance, he found himself somehow further into the cavern, judging by the sound of his footsteps. In his confusion, he reached out into the open darkness beyond the wall... And felt his hands touching another strange, carved stone wall. He realized suddenly that this was some kind of maze, full of walls in the same shape and design; he must have latched onto the wrong wall after falling onto the ground.

He was lost. Trapped under the earth in a dark labyrinth with only his grandmother's horrible stories to keep him company. He suddenly remembered all the warnings he'd been given. Never go underground. There are dark things there. Terrors that you can't understand. Rickhart's skin jumped. He felt eyes on him. These unknown 'things' watching him. Waiting for him. He hears movement. A skittering echoes through the cavern. It's getting closer.

Panicking, Rickhart turned and ran through the maze, stumbling from wall to wall, moving as fast as he could to get away from the skittering. He could still hear it getting closer. He could hear it breathing now, quiet and shrill. He could feel it just behind him. Something large and bristling with hair. He was terrified. He was sure this was the end.

Just then he crashed into something different. It was large, cold, metallic, and did not give when he hit it. Rickhart was pushed back onto the ground from the impact. The skittering stopped. In its place, this large metal thing started to move.

He heard clicking, cranking, stomping, steaming, and other unrecognizable sounds. The thing seemed to be turning about to face him. He was frozen, trying desperately to disappear and somehow wake up in the warm wheat fields and smell his mother's cooking, but instead all he could smell was something like eggs left cracked and burning in the sun.

The thing stopped moving. Stopped making noises. Just stood there, like a statue. Gathering his wits about him for a moment, Rickhart realized perhaps it hadn't actually noticed him. Just as he was about to crawl away, the thing suddenly shined one huge light in his face. Rickhart screamed.

Two days later, the villagers found him after combing through the forest. He was shaking. Blind in both eyes. Covered in dirt. His hands were torn to shreds. Said he dug his way out. He just chose a direction and started digging. Came out through a nearby hill.  Got lucky, I suppose. They took him home and did what they could to take care of him, but he was never the same after that. His vision never came back. He would still have shaking fits from time to time. It took his family years to finally get him to tell them what happened. They told the rest of the village about it, and the story spread from there.

Sometimes he would tell the story to curious travelers and young children. There was one thing he always said. One thing he always finished his story with. 'Do you remember the giant metal thing I mentioned?' he would say, leaning in close. He'd whisper, 'The thing that shined a light on me? Well, the truth is, it wasn't a light at all. No, not at all. It was an eye, you know. It saw me. Stared into me. I can feel it staring at me all the time. Except when I tell this story. Then it looks away from me. And where do you think it looks instead? I'm sure you'll figure it out.'

Constant clamoring. People shouting. I'm worried. Things were quieter before. We had almost given up. Nobody spoke, we just desperately worked on the project. But now it's almost time to wake it and the people are excited. They're too excited.

They don't know. They don't understand. I don't even understand it.

What have we created? What greater doom have we wrought upon ourselves?

We should have all died. Maybe we should have all just died when the Rot came for us.

I've begun to see things, even when I'm not gazing through the Lens. Walking down the halls, looking at the prints, suddenly my vision shifts and I'm in a world I cannot comprehend. I am in the other world, and it is leaking into this one.

I've begun to notice its effect. My creations: cherished by the people and without which this project could never succeed. They are strange to me now. There is something wrong with them. It is the otherworldliness I have given to them. An eidolon was found two shifts ago with blood and mutilation splattered across its plates. The workmen, they wrote it off as an accident, but I know better.

ACT I.

SCENE I. A large study filled with charters and packaging.

[ODWIN at his desk, working intently. Enter TRAVELER suddenly.]

[TRAVELER observes ODWIN and his study for a few moments. ODWIN has not noticed him.]

TRAVELER

:I can see you've spent quite a lot of time here.  

ODWIN (startled)

:What! Who... See here now, who's there?  

:I've no time for the rabble.

TRAVELER

:I wonder if you might reconsider.

:when your worth is weighed in full?

ODWIN

:I can't understand what you mean.  

:The lion does not cry over its meal.

TRAVELER

:Perhaps you're right, sir, though  

:Must you then cry alone, at the end?

ODWIN

:Hmph! What sentiment is this?

[Exit TRAVELER suddenly]

:Of course no one will weep for me!

:Ah, but he is already gone.

ACT II.

SCENE I. A broad forest.

[CASSIA stands low, bow in hand. She spies her target and pulls the bowstring taut.]

[Enter TRAVELER suddenly, directly in front of CASSIA.]

CASSIA

:Ha! It is the merry vagabond himself!  

:I near mistook you for a stag.

TRAVELER

:There's merit, perhaps, in such a thought.

:Are you not shock'd at my arrival?

CASSIA

:Mine eyes have seen much and more

:now hold merit for such cries.

TRAVELER

:For a moment, I questioned

:just as I do.

CASSIA

:Hm. Perhaps I have judged you in haste.

:the weight of this argument.

ACT III.

WYRE

:Aye, it would be ages better to be a man of money.  

:And ask these villains to find their own bells to wring.

TRAVELER

:Clever fellow! Your kind is familiar to me.  

:Your head is as fallow as your field.

WYRE

:Away with that! My intent I have already made known.  

:then I shall rival them on the roads.

TRAVELER

:Come now, look at this earth.  

:That is the gift, the grand citadel of the humble farmer.

WYRE

:Oh, is that so?

:Under weight of scythe and rake.

TRAVELER

:Believe me, dear man,

:and still I see the fruits of my work laid out before me.

[Exeunt]

ACT IV.

SCENE I. A small burial yard.

[METILDA kneeling at a gravestone.]

[Enter TRAVELER suddenly, at a distance]

TRAVELER

:Ah... I know this sight.

:And of the brighter days behind.

METILDA

:He was my husband, stranger.

:Fool that he was, my dear Flynnt has escaped our sorrow.

TRAVELER

:I see I have asked too much of you.

:In the presence of warmth and plenty and sanctuary.

METILDA

:I know you now, stranger.

:yet you leave more than you arrive with.

:See tapestry [[Tapestry#Resolve|"Resolve"]]

Gather round, gather round!

This is a story to get you through the long, cold night when it comes for you, like it has this night for us.  

Do you think we were the first to feel the cold? The first to see the ghosts wandering through the night?  

There was a time before this one, when the world was dark. There was nothing out there. No light. No trees. No birds and no music. What horror! A great miasma of nothingness. Can you imagine such a place? Through this emptiness a woman crawled. Alone. Starving. Lost. She only knew suffering. Only knew pain and grief. But she continued living, because she did not know of any other path.

One day she dreamt of great storms, trembling earth, turning wheels, and she woke to a new world. One of vibrance. Of light! Beautiful light! And beautiful green! Here now were the birds and beasts. The fruit and grains. The winding rivers and the great horn mountains. Where before there was nothing now there was wonder all around. She was the first to walk our world. Our home.

Thus she came to know joy. But when the sun left the sky and the night fell over the new land, she heard the whispers, the groans, the crunching footsteps of those abominable shades that haunt us still. She then came to know fear, and a dreadful fear it was! She fled into the dirt and the quiet places. Deeper down she went, hounded by the foul voices, until she came upon something hidden and strange. There in the dark she found herself in the presence of a god.

And so the First Trade was conducted. The god granted her a madness. The madness to keep struggling in the face of fear. In exchange, she swore fealty to it. She swore to never forget what the god taught her.  

Then she climbed. She returned to the surface, and in her madness she fought the monsters that harrowed her.  

'I am Bearfirth! I am mighty! If you hear my voice, come find me! Come look for me in the plains, in the forests, by the rivers! Find me, and you too will be mighty!'

And her voice was heard. Other men and women appeared. Those who had been hiding in the dirt and the roots. In the gray shadows. They heard her voice and were entranced. They followed it to the source and came together as a crowd before her. They were fearful and hungry.

Now comes the Second Trade. She offered them wisdom in exchange for strength. The people, desperate for guidance, agreed to the deal.

Working together, Bearfirth and her companions built the first home. These walls were made from only mud and stone, but the ghosts had not the power to overcome them when the sun left the sky. The people rejoiced when they saw this, but Bearfirth, upon realizing she would not have to battle anything that night, felt the years and years of exhaustion, once held back through willpower, now fall upon her as a flood. Collapsing to the ground, she knew that her life was at its end.  

The people gathered around her, fearful and lost again at the thought of her leave-taking. They think they will have to return to the dirt and roots if she is gone. They think she pulls the morning into the sky.

Seeing this, she makes the Third Trade, the Final Trade!

She asks of them,  

With their newfound strength, they worked together and made a grand village. They spread to distant lands, making villages and helping those in hiding there. And always, they remembered that long night and the sunrise that came afterwards.

:See tapestry [[Tapestry#Schematic_B|Schematic B]]

Hail!

Ridiculous. No.

Hark!

I am Tibalt Amaro, cousin to the King and third viscount of...

No. Suppose I just speak plainly...?

I made a purchase yesterday. A rather peculiar one. Having just returned from my cousin the King’s residence, and seeing one of these… Bells, as they are called, though I myself have no idea why, nothing bell-like about them at all. Akin to a snake, more like.

I am a God-fearing man and find this form unnerving. Curious that our Church, so eager to lambast every drunkard and enjoyer of the carnal pleasures, remains largely mum on these. Truly.

Where was I...

My cousin the King swears by this contraption, and it cost me a pretty penny, but soon, I hear it said, no noble house shall be without one. I wonder what other such inventive tools there are, and what their use might be.

On the way back to my estate, I heard word of a traveling alchemist from the Orient, and decided to invite him here with his cart of curiosities. Provided he shows, I might host him for a while, though frankly, he’d do well to entertain me. We shall see how he fares.

Ah, my throat is dry. I suppose that's enough for now. How do you make this thing inert?

[Shuffling, followed by scratching, followed by clanking until a sudden thud, then silence]

Yes. So. I shall now speak. Ahem.

I am becoming accustomed to the appearance of this device, though it has been some days since I have used it last. Some malfunction - the crooked merchant’s oversight, I am sure - had it just standing there, waiting for the man to arrive and repair it. It better work fine now, or my cousin, the King, will learn of this.

I have mentioned before an inventor. A man by the name of Dastan, where from he hails and why he uses only his first name he does not say. A quiet, small man, unassuming and humble.

[Audible groan]

God Almighty, such a bore.

In my sudden fascination with these mechanical toys, I have assumed that inventors are universally bright and intriguing, but no. This Dastan fellow has brought with him trinkets and baubles aplenty, but nothing to truly inspire.

A ball that gyrates in the air when spun - a parlor trick, appropriate amusement for a child perhaps, but nothing more. A short reed, through which wine can be poured and which supposedly makes it more palatable - although I tasted no difference. A spice grinder in the shape of some exotic hulking beast… the rest are too uninspiring to even remark upon.

I shall give him a day or two more perhaps to present something from that rickety cart of his to truly put a spark in my eye, or else my hospitality will come to an end. I have no patience for charlatans!

[The nobleman’s voice is excited, the change in tone obvious in comparison to the previous entries]

I had started this day resolved to run the inventor out, but he has finally pulled through! I heard him working on something in the stables overnight, the man looked like he hadn't slept at all when I approached. It was the most peculiar thing: wings crafted out of thick fabric and spread over scaffolding, the likes of which I have never seen - to think he kept them under covers for all that time. “They are not ready, and need to undergo trials.” he said. “Come now,” says I, “the sky is clear and you surely have faith in your craft?”

Cruel, perhaps, but the gambit was well worth it.

Dastan took the contraption to a nearby hill and rode down it like he would a cart. It seemed he would crash on the bottom, but something miraculous started happening in front of our eyes: the invention started lifting, and then sprung into the air!

At first I thought it a mere illusion, a trick, but no! He circled the hill and came to a stop at its feet, shaking and pallid as a man not long for this world, but intact! I have fed him, let him rest, and summoned him to my study, where he has just now left. Tomorrow I shall try out this contraption. Dastan was trying to object, but he relented after I offered my price. Truly, wealth can open many doors and I am fortunate to possess enough to afford such a bargain.

Tomorrow, God willing, the name Amaro shall go down in history as the first man to have taken flight! My cousin shall be so envious!

[The nobleman’s voice breaks before he can utter a word, and sobbing can be heard for a few long moments before he composes himself to speak clearly]

Words escape me. There is truly no way I can describe the wonder. The wind in my face, soaring above the ground, seeing the world as I have never seen it before! Dastan… a genius! A visionary, blessed by God, for how else to explain his talent?

Today, he is resting in my best guest chamber, my servants catering to all his needs, no expense spared. Tomorrow we shall speak of many things. My skull feels close to bursting with all the thoughts of what could be achieved with this invention.

And now that I have tasted flight, I can scarcely stop thinking about doing it again.

Amaro: I should very much like to have this recorded for posterity. All chronicles shall remember this day, Dastan!

Dastan: As my lord pleases, though I must state again that the endeavor will be… challenging.

Amaro: Nonsense! What you have managed once, you shall do again, and faster this time, with my funds at your disposal! Together we shall share the gift of flight with kingdoms far and wide! Your name shall be as wide-spread as that of Falx, and with good reason!

Dastan: I am humbled, my lord.

Amaro: Enough coyness! Those who listen to this recording shall know the names of both Dastan the inventor and Tibalt Amaro his patron! But tell me, friend, have you thought about what I asked?

Dastan: Yes, I have.

Amaro: Well then, let’s hear it!

Dastan: Farah, my lord.

Amaro: Fa-rah. An odd word. What is its meaning?

[Silence for a few short moments]

Amaro: Fitting. Truly. Very well then. I proclaim that we shall build a workshop on my lands, and in that workshop we shall construct Dastan’s Wings of Farah. We shall make them available to all in time, so that none of those made in God’s image shall be without the joy of flight. This I solemnly swear.

Dastan: Inshallah.

POST SCRIPTUM

I have so far found no more concrete mentions of either Tibalt Amaro, Dastan or “the Wings of Farah”, though some fragmented records exist to suggest the existence of mechanical wings of some description. It is unclear how many were made or how many survived intact into our dark era.

Of note, a children’s story heard by one of our brothers offers an interesting detail, as it concerns a flying bear. The Amaro family crest was a brown bear standing on its hind legs. Pure coincidence, perhaps, but I have recorded it herein as a curiosity.

My Honorable Lord.

Successfully recruited. Had to prove intentions, apologies to Baron Tassi for disturbing his sleep and the stolen chamberpot - crude sense of humour.

Group I joined is chapter of a bigger organization. Intentions unclear, but much talk of self-sufficiency.

Made up of both men and women. Peasantry foremost, some craftsmen: a cobbler, two carpenters, a servant. Just under two dozen souls. None can write or read I think, but I shall keep vigilant.

Will ingratiate myself with them and keep gathering observations.

Await further missives.

My Honorable Lord.

Confirmed suspicions. Heard boasts of loot from the raid on your lordship’s holdings and Viscount Cardoso’s ale stores.

Bandits work together with another group, spoken of as friends not competitors - likely another chapter.

Targets for attacks decided based on current needs - medicinal supplies right now, advise to send word to all at risk.

Recruitment seems to be regular but not codified, though generally proof of worth expected. Obtaining a noble’s belonging or acquiring a small amount of supplies through some swindle seems a common story.

No suspicion of ill intentions after a newcomer is welcomed, confirming your lordship’s assumptions - these are not sophisticated folk. Meeting places determined by a method I am not yet privy to, but aim to learn.

Await further missives.

Have drawn suspicion from Florin, Harrach subject, smithy.

Advise capture or slay when next seen. Balding, black beard sheared, stout of posture but walks hunched.

Next raid Lord Cardoso’s livestock. A rat supposed to open the way, but no violence planned.

My Honorable Lord.

I beg of you to accept my apologies for the tone of my previous missive.

Being under scrutiny, I had to be brief and omit the proper language expected by your lordship.

Allowed to write the current missive in comfort. Resting after thwarted raid.

Florin dead of putrefaction from arrow wound - my compliments to Lord Harrach’s archers.

Group is currently hiding within the Capillaries. Advise restraint in retaliation, reasoning as follows:

Helped escape wounded lad by name of Antek from under Lord Harrach’s outriders, impressing others.

I implore your lordship and allies to grant time until my next missive. Will attempt to garner authority before a larger meeting of the groups, supposed to take place within the month.

With luck, I may be able to deliver your lordships more than just foot soldiers.

My Honorable Lord.

My sincere thanks for your generous and wise decision to abstain from violence against the bandits.

I realize the recent attacks have been a nuisance, but my plan is bearing fruit.

My contribution to the raids was noted (my apologies to the guard at Viscount Cardoso’s estate, I pray his knee heals well), and my reputation among the group is now well established.

I have been informed that the chapter has been noted by a certain Sparrow.

Unsure as of yet if this is a nom-de-guerre or a title, but have heard it often lately.

Tomorrow we are to join a meeting which addresses the current make-up of the group and its priorities.

I will send another missive as soon as I am able to do so in less plentiful company.

My Lord.

Apologies for such a long pause in my missives, but I have hardly had the opportunity to write.

New additions to the group include a scribe and an escaped nun, I would rather not take unnecessary risks, as both are ardently devoted to the cause.

Meeting with Sparrow was akin to a rowdy commoner’s moot, with ale, food, and merriment aplenty - a treat for my chapter at least, as we were struggling with supplies in recent weeks.

Did not manage to get a closer look at Sparrow, but heard her speak - a woman of strong build, perhaps a mason or otherwise a physical worker, with a loud voice and much of a following within the ranks.

Many issues raised, among them supposed attention paid to the Flock - a moniker now also adopted by my compatriots - by the Blackguards, broad goals for the coming months, many harsh comments on life in the tunnels.

Heard many stories, most find many listeners nodding their heads in agreement.

Surprised by the group’s steadfastness, despite coming from many backgrounds and speaking different tongues. Their spirit will be hard to subdue anew.

Shall write again soon, details of new targets are expected to come down from Sparrow within the next few days.

My Lord.

I hope this message reaches you swiftly.

The next planned attack targets your Lordship’s estate with the goal of procuring valuables from their storage at the Stout Holds.

I have offered that due to some of the goods held there being connected to Falx’s project, there is a risk of Blackguard retribution, but to no avail - Sparrow seems to have reassured all involved that the raid will focus on precision so that doesn’t happen.

Myself and Antek have been chosen to spearpoint the raid. My Lordship, I once again humbly request your restraint - the raid needs to achieve at least partial success, as all involved are said to expect an audience with Sparrow.

This is my chance to speak to her alone, and relay all I learn to your Lordship and allies.

Myself and Antek will wear red scarves around our heads - I am fairly certain that no one else shall use such a distinctive piece of garb.

I entreat your Lordship to instruct the guards to let us two roam unchallenged, and I pledge to only take as much as is deemed necessary to impress the group and Sparrow.

I write to you distraught and disconcerted.

Antek is dead, the young lad stabbed through the throat, giving his last breath in the interest of the cause.

My cause.

Have I not made it clear we would be distinctly dressed? Have I not made clear my wish that the boy be unharmed?

The letter I passed has been read, I know this as one of the guards, seeing me approaching, laid down his arms and pointed me to the meager trove set aside for me to slip away with.

Why then, pray, has this same approach not been extended to Antek just moments before?

My Lord, I realize the tone of this letter may be inappropriate, you should however know my disappointment.

The lad had promise and was crucial for building my good standing among the Flock. I am now bereft of not just a compatriot, but a valuable asset.

I have been invited to meet Sparrow. Expect my next missive soon after.

Sparrow knows, has seen through my ploy, I am certain.

Writing in haste, being watched.

Next attack baron Tassi’s weekly convoy. Sparrow leads.

Plan to surrender to guards, red sash across tunic. Capture and deliver to your Lordships for details on Flock and Sparrow.

To whoever reads this.

Should’ve seen your guards’ stupid gobs when Emric or whatever his name really was fell over with a bolt through his head.

Bastard thought he was so smart, but not smart enough to cover his tracks. The one who forwarded his messages to you has been warned. For her sake, let this be the last one she delivers.

You must think of us as simpletons who can’t recognize a double-crossing rat when they see one. If there are more, I will know. And when I do, a quick execution will be the best they can count on.

We are not cruel, but can be if that is the only thing you lords understand.

How many of your people have we killed over the last months? A handful, perhaps, accidents happen.

More of your servants, subjects, even guards, have joined our ranks when they understood the truth.

We do not need you. There are no fields to till in this darkness, no castles to impress from a distance, no authority you hold that cannot be challenged.

Why would we serve those who have naught to offer but endless toil and the expectation to have their boots licked?

The Flock offers every man and woman a way to take their lives in their own hands. If they serve, then only because they wish to, not because they are forced to. In all of us, though we come from disparate places and are not all peasants nor burghers nor soldiers, this universal truth we understand well: our fate is our own to forge. And we do not need approval, from God Almighty perhaps, but not from the likes of you.

When we establish ourselves and make ourselves known to all, we shall perhaps approach you to deal as equals.

Until then, do not cross us, or it might be you lying on the ground with a bolt in your skull.

Stationary, long term recording.

Place of origin: unknown.

State: background noise, technical issues.

“And this one is for you, my lovely niece!”

“What is it? It’s heavy! And clinking...”

“Well, why don’t you open it, hm?”

“Are they... stones?”

[boisterous laughter]  

“You sound so disappointed! What’s so bad about stones, little Emili?”

“But there’s stones everywhere!”

“Indeed there are. But these here are special.”

“Special stones?”

“Marbles! Worked on them myself, see? All round and smooth and easy in the hand.”

“So they’re round stones. But still stones!”

“Haish, aren’t you impatient today. Look here. Let me show you... You put one down like this, see? And then you take the others and try to... ah-ha! Almost hit it. Want to give it a try?”

“It looks easy.”

“Well, you’d think so, wouldn’t you? Want to make a bet with your uncle?”

“Mama said you shouldn’t gamble.”

“Right, your mother is absolutely right. Well then, I guess, then I’ll take these here back and search for a better gift for our little girl...”

“Give them here! You gifted them, so they’re mine now!”

“But you didn’t want them, did you?”

“No! I want them! You can’t catch me so you can’t take them back!”

“Hoi! No running! Wait- If your mother sees you-! And off she goes... little whirlwind.”

“Oi Bert! You’re finally out of the tunnels! Was that your niece?”

“Sure was. The girl grows like a water root, almost didn’t recognize her. How’s it been up here? Any news?”

“Merchant’s been scarce. Last shipment of oil and coal was late – but they still take the ore as if it is their bloody right.”

“Shush Hal, not so loud. You know damn well it is their right, and we should be proud to procure the ore they use in the main city. I tell you, our ore is what makes the crawlers and even your lanterns!”

“But it wouldn’t hurt them to show some more appreciation, now would it?”

“We’ve all got our packs to carry, down here. And it’s not like up top was any better, now was it?”

“Right, you’re right. Just being uneasy, is all. But as long as the tunnels don’t run out, they’ll have a need for us.”

“Right. Right, as long as there’s ore....”

“Bertram, you’re back. Emilia came running just a moment ago. Said you gifted her stones and wanted to bet on them? Of all things?”

“Miriam! Your little whirlwind is fast on her legs, isn’t she? And got a loose tongue, that girl.”

“Don’t you entice my kids to any shady deals, you hear me? It’s bad enough I have to tell her father off each time. You brothers - I should have never married a miner!”

“Ach, Miriam, don’t be like that. There’s nothing but miners in this town, anyways!”

“And you have the gall to sound proud about it. Tell me, how’s the tunnels these days? Your brother comes back every day with dust stuck everywhere. I’ll give up washing his clothes soon!”

“The tunnels, huh.”  

[low voices fading away]

“I won't lie to you, Miriam, …seen better days… but surely…”

[some entries are unreadable, the text covered with blotches and stains]

“The sixth right tunnel is barren.”

“What about the third?”

“Traces remaining. We sent Bert and his men a day ago, he should be back soon.”

“If there’s no ore to be found there either...”

“Nothing to do about it.”

“We can go deeper.”

“You think I haven’t thought of it? But the men are uneasy, and I get where they’re coming from. The air down there is stale. And thin.”

“But you tested the depths. The lamp kept burning even down there, didn’t it?”

“So far it kept burning. But if we can avoid it-”

“Hush. Someone’s coming.”

[Half a page seems to be ripped out, with uneven edges]

“Oh my god.”

“Are they... are they alright?”

“What happened?”

“Is that Bertram? Someone call the Greys!”

“....the tunnels. Down there, if the supports failed…”

“That’s why we needed that bell down there..!”

“Hey, man. Are you alright? Can you hear me?”

“What? I can’t.... Be quiet you lot! I can’t hear him!”

“Verdammt! Where? Are the rest of you still down there?!”

“We need to assemble a search party right away. They went down the third tunnel, if we hurry, we may still...”

“...two days ago...”

“But we can’t just-!”

“Someone get him some water and call...”

The rest of the conversation is lost. Despite repeated listening, the quality of the recording and overlapping voice lines made a complete transcription impossible.

“What do you mean, you have to raise the prices? Again? Didn’t you sell these to me for half the price just last time?!”

“Sure did. Can’t anymore.”

“That’s all you have to say?!”

“Look here, Halfred, I have to feed myself too. You know how hard it is to get fresh food these days. It’s not like it grows on stones.”

“But-”

“Take it or leave it, Hal.”

“...Fine!”

“Mama?”

“Yes, my darling? What is it?”

“Will uncle Bert be alright?”

“....of course, sweetheart. He’s big and strong, isn’t he? Just like your father. You know how the miners are.”

“Yes! All miners are strong like ox-hen!”

“Oxen, my dear. Did old Bergmann talk to you about the above again? That woman has too much time on her hands…”

“She told me that we’re special! ‘We’re strong and the dark won’t scare us none, no fear, because we miners were always down here!’”

“No fear… Well, I guess my little wildling isn’t scared of anything anymore, huh? You really do take after your father and uncle both.”

“Yes! I’ll be big and strong like uncle Bert one day, just you wait, Mama!”

“Sometimes I wish your father had a bit more fear in him. Or some thoughts left for his family waiting at home for him!”

“But Mama, you were the one who chased him out with your broom last time…”

“And he earned that scolding! Now come along, your uncle is waiting for that medicine you’re carrying.”

“That poor family.”

“It wasn’t enough for Bertram to come back in that state, now even his brother…”

“-heard Miriam cry all night.”

“What about the daughter?”

“They say he went too deep, …not enough air…”

“Hush, they’re carrying the body out.”

“From the stone we make our living, and to the stone will we return.”

Following is one of the only complete records of a tunnel burial, a local tradition observed in the rural mining settlements. Cross referencing with the documentation provided in “A Miner’s Guide to the Depths”.

“This is the last one. I won't be coming back Hal. You’re on your own from now on.”

“I see. I guess it’s goodbye, then.”

“I’m sorry.”