Lore book/fr

Attention spoiler !
Cette page contient des spoilers. Si vous ne voulez pas que l'histoire du jeu vous soit dévoilée, ne lisez pas !

Les livres d'histoire et les parchemins d'histoire sont l'un des principaux moyens de connaître l'histoire dans le jeu.

Les livres d'histoire peuvent être obtenus en orpaillant, en les achetant chez les marchands et en pillant des ruines à la surface et sous terre. Les parchemins d'histoire ne peuvent être qu'achetés chez les marchands.

Pour lire un livre d'histoire, placez-le dans la barre d'outils, appuyez sur le bouton droit de la souris et il sera ajouté à votre Journal. Vous pouvez ouvrir votre Journal avec la touche "J".

Il existe 6 catégories principales d'histoires : les lettres, Jonas Falx, Tobias, la recherche, les archives de résonance et les chroniques, et chacune d'entre elles peut consister en plusieurs histoires différentes, et chaque histoire comporte généralement plusieurs parties.

Les histoires sont listées ci-dessous sans ordre chronologique particulier.

Lettres

Partie 1

Grand livre de l'Intendant, date inconnue

Nos stocks alimentaires sont épuisés. Il ne reste plus que la viande séchée de loup et de lapin. En gros, il ne nous reste plus qu'à mâcher du cuir. Nos gilets, nos ceintures, nos bottes. Nous tirons nos derniers souffles. La division de chasseurs a réussi à piéger deux écureuils en bonne santé et un oison gris, il y a moins de dix heures, je pense. Ce n'était pas assez pour nourrir tous les ouvriers. Ceux dans les mines ont été prioritaires, leur travail l'exigeait. Malgré le repas supplémentaire, leur santé se dégrade. Nous manquons d'options. De plus, Joseph, Barda et Jarin ont été emmenés ce jour-là. Ils ne se sont pas laissés faire. Les autres ont peut-être encore une chance. Je dois le croire, pour mon propre bien.

Partie 2

Grand livre de l'Intendant, date inconnue

Il fallait que je le dise à la femme de Jarin aujourd'hui. J'étais parti des abris depuis trop longtemps. Nous les perdons, aussi vite que nous perdons tout le reste. La pauvre femme était à moitié morte quand je suis arrivé. Elle ne survivra plus longtemps. Je ne suis resté que le temps de transmettre mes respects.

C'était un homme bon. Je ne serais pas ici aujourd'hui sans son aide. Néanmoins, je ne peux rien faire pour lui ou ses proches. Ils sont comme tant d'autres ici.

Restez en paix, mon ami. Je suis désolé.

Partie 3

J'ai arrêté de compter les jours. J’ai arrêté de compter les heures. Tout ce que je sais, c'est que chaque instant est le même - sombre, froid, rempli de peur et d'incertitude. Le travail est ardu, tout mon corps me fait mal. Peut-être qu'il me lâchera en premier.

Partie 4

Nous pensions savoir ce qu'était la faim, mais personne n'était préparé à affronter cette famine impitoyable. Je n'aurais pas souhaité cela à mon pire ennemi. La sensation de vide me tourmente. Je ne peux pas l'arracher de mon esprit. Chaque jour qui passe, notre force diminue et notre triste fin se rapproche.

Adélaïde, mon soleil, je vous prie de me pardonner. Je vous ai failli.

Partie 5

Personne ne sait si c'est le jour ou la nuit. Comment pourrions-nous savoir puisque nous ne sommes pas retournés là-haut depuis des semaines, voire des mois ? La lumière des torches est si faible, mais encore une fois, et si je perds la vue ?

Partie 6

Mark, mon petit frère, éternel sceptique.

Notre maison au-dessus a été perdue il y a longtemps. Même si je le voulais, il ne me reste plus de chemin accessible pour atteindre Maidentown en toute sécurité. Les Infectés ne dure pas longtemps là-bas, d'après ce que disent les chasseurs. Je ferais mieux de tenter ma chance ici. Aussi sinistre que cela puisse paraître aujourd'hui, il y a encore de l'espoir pour nous. Nous devons avoir la foi. Faites lui confiance à lui et en ses actes. Il réussira. C'est le seul qui le peut. Soyez patient et continuez à travailler aussi dur que vous le faites toujours.

Je vous embrasse, Annie

Partie 7

Je ne m'étais pas trompé. C'était la Pourriture. C'est la Pourriture. Et en quelques jours, je me transformerai en Pourriture.

Je ne l'ai dit à personne. J'ai simplement quitté le refuge et suis sorti. Le soleil se levait tout juste. Cela faisait de long et pénibles mois depuis la dernière fois que j'avais vu le matin. Mais avec les premiers rayons de soleil inondant le monde, la vue horrible de la terre est apparue. L'horreur que je ressentais était au-delà de toute pensée. Ce qui était autrefois un royaume de plantes fanées et d'arbres nus s'était transformé en une masse putride d'horribles boues noires aussi loin que mes yeux pouvaient voir. L'air était saturé par la mort. Je peux encore le sentir sur ma langue. Il y avait des cadavres en divers stades de décomposition gisant sur le sol. Ils faisaient un bruit nauséabond, s'effondrant sous le poids de mes pas.

Mais le pire ... le pire de ce cauchemar était le silence total et sans fin. Aucune trace de brise, aucune légère agitation d'insecte. La Pourriture elle-même était morte, et tout ce qui restait était une atmosphère lourde. L'extinction dans sa forme la plus pure brillait dans mes sens les plus profonds. Je n'en pouvais plus. Pas à pas, je suis retourné vers la sécurité de la grotte et je me suis effondré sur le sol, sanglotant, hurlant et arrachant la peau de mes doigts affligés. L'image vivante de mon corps rejoignant ces restes contaminés et rongés par la pourriture me paralysait avant même que la peste ne le puisse. J'aurais aimé n'avoir jamais quitté ces murs. Aucun humain ne devrait voir ce que j'ai vu.

Partie 8

Nous ne pouvons nous permettre aucune compassion. Si vous soupçonnez quelqu'un d'être porteur de la maladie, soyez ferme et conduisez-le jusqu'à la tombe la plus proche. Par la force si nécessaire. Une erreur et tout est perdu. Nous devons être inflexibles. Nous devons être cruels au-delà de toute mesure. Moi-même et vos compatriotes ne font pas exception à cette règle. Si vous découvrez la pourriture sur vous, faites ce qui est nécessaire. C'est tout.

Signé,

Maréchal Durick Lawrence

Jonas Falx

Confession

Voir tapisserie "Saint"

J'ai conduit ces gens ici, dans ces profondeurs infernales. Je les ai livrés aux ténèbres et à la famine comme des agneaux à l'autel, et pourquoi ? Cette création monstrueuse... Je crains de la reconnaître comme mon enfant. Les gens ordinaires la voient comme si c'était le Salut. Comme si c'était Dieu lui-même. Et ils me voient comme le Messie. Je marche le long de leurs allées et de leurs abris précaires, et je frémis devant ce qui reste de l'humanité.

Ils vivent dans la crasse et la faim. Les services publics se sont effondrés sous la longue et insupportable contrainte nécessaire à ce projet. Ces hommes et ces femmes n'ont aucun moyen d'éliminer les ordures. Beaucoup d'entre eux ont déjà été frappés par la Pourriture. Si une autre âme osait s'aventurer à l'intérieur de leur maison, ils la déchireraient en lambeaux pour ensuite s'en nourrir. Et pourtant, par quelque pouvoir, ils résistent à leur faim lorsqu'ils me regardent. Ils pleurent de joie et m'offrent les maigres biens dont ils disposent.

Oh mon Dieu, aidez-moi s'il vous plaît. Je suis toujours votre fidèle serviteur.

Détérioration

Voir tapisserie Schéma C

Des clameurs incessantes. Les gens crient. Je suis inquiet. Les choses étaient plus calmes avant. Nous avions presque abandonné. Personne n'a parlé, nous avons juste travaillé désespérément sur le projet. Mais maintenant, il est presque temps de le réveiller et les gens sont excités. Ils sont trop excités.

Ils ne savent pas. Ils ne comprennent pas. Je ne comprends même pas.

Qu'avons-nous créé ? Quelle fatalité encore plus grande nous sommes nous infligés ?

Nous aurions dû tous mourir. Peut-être que nous aurions dû mourir quand la pourriture est venue pour nous.

J'ai commencé à voir des choses, même quand je ne regarde pas à travers la Lentille. En marchant dans les couloirs, en regardant les plans, ma vision change soudain et je me retrouve dans un monde que je ne peux pas comprendre. Je suis dans l'autre monde, et il s'infiltre dans celui-ci.

J'ai commencé à remarquer ses effets. Mes créations : adorées par les gens et sans lesquelles ce projet ne pourrait jamais aboutir. Elles me paraissent étranges maintenant. Il y a quelque chose qui cloche avec elles. Je leur ai donné la conscience de l’autre monde. Un eidolon a été retrouvé il y a peu de temps avec du sang et des morceaux de chair sur ses plaques. Les ouvriers ont considéré que c’était un accident, mais je connais la vérité.

Tobias

Partie 1

Je me suis réveillé dans le noir. Tout était sombre. Tout était douloureux. Chaque inspiration était une agonie.

Attendre n'a rien changé. J'ai commencé à ramper. Je ne sais pas pendant combien de temps. Des semaines, des mois peut-être. Tous les tunnels avaient changé. Non pas que je puisse me souvenir du chemin pour remonter.

Je tâtais mon chemin, ne trouvant qu'impasse après impasse. Je creusais à mains nues quand je le pouvais. J'entendais d'autres choses, là en bas avec moi.

Finalement, j'ai trouvé une sortie. Tout a changé. De la verdure à nouveau. Marron et rouge et bleu à nouveau. La vie est revenue.

Je pouvais enfin m'examiner. Tout faisait encore mal. J'étais cassé. Chair à moitié partie. Articulations manquantes. Pas de jambe. Je ne me souviens pas de ce qui s'est passé après que la maladie noire ait atteint ma tête.

Partie 2

Il m'a fallu de nombreuses années pour retrouver ma concentration. Autour de moi, l'humanité a recommencé à s'adapter et à s'épanouir.

Inconscient de leur danger. Je me suis mis au travail ces derniers siècles. Bien que je ne sois ni érudit, ni alchimiste, mon esprit est fort. J'ai déchiffré et appris une grande partie de ce que Jonas et les autres savaient déjà.

J'ai l'intention d'utiliser ces connaissances sous peu pour inverser la tendance. C'est peut-être pour cela que je me souviens maintenant de ces années sombres et douloureuses après le réveil. Que cet effort soit plus doux pour vous, mes amis.

Partie 1

Je ne suis pas du genre intellectuel. J'ai appris dès mon plus jeune âge que la vie est plus facile à appréhender comme une tâche : il y a du travail à faire, alors faites-le et ne vous plaignez pas. Penser semblait être un luxe.

Je suis toujours ce credo, mais à la longue, j'en suis venu à apprécier le pouvoir de la pensée.

La pensée m'a sorti de la misère désespérée. La pensée a donné à mon village la force de survivre aux saisons les plus difficiles. La pensée a vu mon peuple élever la voix dans l'espoir pour la première fois depuis des années. Je parle, bien entendu, de lui. Mon ami et compagnon, Jonas Falx.

Notre tâche ici sera accomplie dans quelques jours. Je souhaite rendre compte des événements qui se sont produits jusqu'à présent. Je ne sais pas si quelqu'un vivra pour lire ceci, mais je ne peux pas m'en empêcher. Une folie m'oblige à écrire, bien que je ne sois pas un maître érudit.

Cette tâche serait mieux appropriée pour Jonas, mais il n'est pas en état de la terminer.

Je m'égare. Permettez-moi de commencer depuis le début et pardonnez-moi mes lacunes.

Partie 2

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.

It was here in the shade of night that I came upon him: The lord's son, Jonas, stumbling in the dark towards the library. In truth, I presumed myself dead when he discovered me. No harm came to me, however.

The boy was also seeking to avoid his father's cruelty, and in me he saw an ally. I knew the forests and paths around this land, as well as the quiet places. In time, I would show them to him. My trespassing onto the estate became a common occurrence. I would teach him about the land and the yeoman's life, and in return he offered me lessons in writing, art, and the natural philosophies

This arrangement continued in secrecy until the day the old Falx died and I was able to walk through the front door as an honored guest. In the same manner, Jonas was welcomed and honored when he came to my village.

We were fast friends. Brothers. We were prepared for the coming storm.

Part 3

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.

Jonas made great progress here. In a scant few years he was held in high prestige amongst the peerage and consulted for many natural and philosophical concerns. He found in himself a great propensity for invention, producing many valuable tools to ease the toils of the common folk. For this, I was very grateful.

For my own part, I had failed in irritable fashion to ignite any kind of social upheaval. The nobles of the university would pay me no mind, short of glares and outright threats. The workmen, drivers, and cooks treated my words as a fearful poison. Only Jonas would ever listen to my hopes for a peaceful, equitable world free of the chains of serfdom. At times, I suspected he simply humored me, but now I know better.

Part 4

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.

Soon, the country would begin to understand its own fragility. Each day there were new reports. Refugees wandering from town to town. It felt as though we had all been sentenced to death. That helplessness returns to me still, when I close my eyes. When the emperor sent out the call for assembly, Jonas was among those compelled to find a solution.

I was there when he was told the news. I remember finding it strange when for a moment his face ran pale and he seemed to shake with fright. But there was nothing strange about that, I see now. He locked himself in his laboratory and bade me not to disturb him. For months he continued this way, leaving only to eat and drink. His youthful looks quickly deteriorated and it seemed as though a great weight bore down on him. He emerged in time for the Diet, with a heavy, unwieldy pile of schematics.

Part 5

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 "Salvation"

Research

Diet of Kings

See tapestry "Diet of Kings"

Scribe's notes, 1318:

Master Jonas Falx, please come forth.

The lords and ladies rose when he entered the room. Even the kings gave him small gestures of welcome. He walked to the center of the court, his attendant behind him bearing a great collection of drafts.

My lords, as I'm sure you're now aware of, we face a nightmarish threat.

This disease, or plague as it has been called, is not overly complex. Neither is it beyond our vision. It is, quite simply, desolation made manifest.

Here his attendant began laying out a number of medical diagrams upon the floor. Master Falx issued from one parchment to the next, gesturing as he went.

It rots the body in its entirety. It begins externally with numbness and darkened skin. Proceeding further into the ligaments, the victim may lose control of entire limbs. Eventually, the flesh sloughs off in small heaps. By this time, the victim has likely entered a cataleptic state. This may as well be a blessing for them; the rot will have overtaken their eyes and ears now, depriving them of their senses.

Arriving at the last parchment, he paused and gazed upon it. Many of the gathered assembly also leaned forward to see the image more clearly. From the scribe's desk it appeared only to be a drooping mass of charcoal smearings.

This is all that remains of the poor souls. In its final stages, the rot consumes the mind and body whole, leaving nothing left of distinction.

Here His Majesty, the King of Undland interjected, Is there truly no method of treating this malady? What preventions are available to Us?

No preventions, Your Grace, save total isolation from the populace. Even such a drastic method as that will only last until the food supply is infected. As for treatments, I have found none. Perhaps some of my betters from the academy have made progress, but judging by their silence I think not.

He paused again here and cleared his throat.

It is a certain death. However, I stand here now to offer you a better fate.

Dmetri's Notes

Part 1

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

I cannot seem to make sense of it myself. It irks me terribly. Lord Chamberlain Folse will be here within the month; no doubt he will carry with him the end of my erudition if I fail to provide him his answers. My only consolation here is that the other scholars have failed more bitterly than I. One of them, the older, goutish fellow caught fire to his laboratory trying to incinerate the black filth.

As for me, I have been loathe to even approach it. This... excrement, whatever it may be, I catch myself on the edge of prudence whenever I investigate it. It seems to spread, regardless of condition. No procedure I have tried can halt it. I vacillate between fury and flight. How should I kill it? What can I do to stop this? And all the same, what can I do? Can it be stopped? What dreadful scourge is this?

But enough of this. The dark substance haunts my thoughts, but I will not suffer its rule. The Lord Chamberlain will be here soon, and I intend to have results.

Part 2

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

That Falx boy came to visit today. Troublesome. If it were my decision, I would have sent him on his way without even a glance into our library, but the rector would have none of it. It seems fear of the boy's father has spread throughout the academy. Unbelievable. To think that an upstart sellsword who butchered his way into the nobility could startle and cow his betters into submission. Perhaps I should not be surprised.

It is foolishness, however. The house of Ingmar Falx should never be welcomed into our institutions. We of the finer bloodlines should not give way to the masses. They may win the emperor's favor with conquered cities and burning fields, but we will always have his ear with our superior acumen and grace. It is a birthright we risk depriving ourselves of, should the lowborn be given proper education.

Part 3

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

Despite my best efforts, I have been recruited for a sojourn into the fields and farmsteads of the neighbouring countrymen. For the last week, various planters and merchants have been flocking to the university in droves, bleating for our wisdom and assistance. Apparently there is some new blight threatening to ruin the year's harvest, and they cannot solve this affair on their own. Well, such is the responsibility of the learned class.

This expedition has taken myself and two colleagues a short carriage ride south to the village of Grolte. A miserable, muddy village to be sure. We've taken residence in the mayor's house, where I now write this entry. The mayor has sworn to take us to the infected fields as soon as daybreak tomorrow. I look forward to finishing this task decisively and returning to my studies. Perhaps a hot bath and a bit of delousing will be in order as well.

Part 4

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

He's a genius. There, I admit it. I have hid from it too long. He's the only one who can save us at this point. Maybe he's always been the only hope.

The convention has come to an agreement. In light of the endless reports of devastation, and the collapse of two neighboring kingdoms, we have decided that Lord Falx's Grand Machine is our only viable option. We are to begin sending materials immediately.

Part 5

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.

It was not always so grim, was it?

No, not always.

I remember brighter times. I remember running through the forest. I remember a foolish girl eying me from across the table. I remember the spiteful glare of a noblewoman.

A scourge came upon us. A scourge, indeed.

Resonance Archives

An Inconvenience

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

Whinging

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.

Chronicles

Blind Bat Rickhart

Part 1

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.

Part 2

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.

Part 3

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.

Part 4

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.

Part 5

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.

Part 6

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.

Part 7

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.

Part 8

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.'

Breakdown

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.

Brief Discussions with the Traveler

Part 1

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?

Who stands before me?

If you've no appointment, begone from my office.

I've no time for the rabble.

TRAVELER

I wonder if you might reconsider.

How different are you from them,

when your worth is weighed in full?

ODWIN

I can't understand what you mean.

Just look out there.

Look at the people digging for worms.

Digging for carrots and iron.

I've risen above that. Through my own work!

Why be a grub when you could be a lion?

What does it matter if they suffer as a result?

The lion does not cry over its meal.

TRAVELER

Perhaps you're right, sir, though

I cannot but hope for otherwise.

What a cruel world you paint yourself in.

I wonder, what will you do

when a greater lion comes hungry for you?

Indeed he will not cry for you.

Must you then cry alone, at the end?

ODWIN

Hmph! What sentiment is this?

We are alone from the beginning.

Should I encounter an overwhelming foe,

It is my own weakness that I have to blame.

[Exit TRAVELER suddenly]

Of course no one will weep for me!

Ah, but he is already gone.

Part 2

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.

Though I would not make so fine a meal.

You seem at ease, huntress.

Are you not shock'd at my arrival?

CASSIA

Mine eyes have seen much and more

That make your magic a paltry show.

Truly, what is one strange man

when compared to the strangeness

of this shifting, monstrous world?

I have seen bone fall off skin,

And time turn sideways.

I confess, those sights alone

now hold merit for such cries.

TRAVELER

For a moment, I questioned

your solitude. I see now,

why you walk upon this track.

For shame! I have been foolish.

It is agreeable, yes,

To roam the forests and see

The shadow of our canopy,

But you mustn't forget this:

It is only by the grace of light

That you may bear witness to any matter.

We are all blind fools without it,

stumbling quietly from place to place,

just as I do.

CASSIA

Hm. Perhaps I have judged you in haste.

You hold a fair measure of wit,

Though your badgering carries

the weight of this argument.

Part 3

ACT III.

WYRE

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

I could hold my own keep,

And thenceforth demand whatever good I may desire.

Should I seek a fine supper? Why, I'd simply ring a bell,

And in brief time a roasted duck would appear before me.

Or perhaps a horse? Readily,

They'd fly over fields to carry my saddle.

And if my demands are not filled forthwith?

I would seek myself a rough crowd,

Such as the one I am truly given to,

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

TRAVELER

Clever fellow! Your kind is familiar to me.

My eyes can see the toils of your mind

As clearly as the toils of your hands.

Your head is as fallow as your field.

WYRE

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

There'll be no tilling ‘til the fill of coin is mine to feel.

In meantime, I'll keep to the byways and start my fortune

From the shares of the old merchants.

If I must contend with the drifters in my home,

then I shall rival them on the roads.

TRAVELER

Come now, look at this earth.

Can you not see the life under the surface?

Look, look! There lies a secret hold for you.

There is a future here beyond your dismay.

Though you must work, you wield the strength

To make mountains. A seed, planted in patience,

will take root and grow tall. Taller than your worrying.

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

WYRE

Oh, is that so?

I should like to see you try it sometime!

I wonder how your own hands might fare

Under weight of scythe and rake.

TRAVELER

Believe me, dear man,

I have toiled much,

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

[Exeunt]

Part 4

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.

It is here that words are silenced

And lofty dreaming put to rest.

May I forgive myself a moment of weakness:

My skin longs for the caress of the soil.

Silent keener, please, if you would favor me,

Tell me of the one you've lost

And of the brighter days behind.

METILDA

He was my husband, stranger.

A loud man, and one of poor mirth,

but he was patient and pigheaded.

To his last breath he believed himself

cured of his illness.

As for the brighter days,

I can think of none.

The hunger, the cold, the foul screams of night.

They have always been there and will remain.

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

TRAVELER

I see I have asked too much of you.

I cannot expect to restore your peace,

Nor can I hold the sun in the sky,

Nor warm the sad earth,

Nor banish monstrosities.

No, I am only a man,

But I can offer you the knowledge I have.

The knowledge that has sustained me,

Through my years of doubt:

There's more to this world

Than can be owned by man or reason.

‘Though it is painful,

I beg you to hold on to the hope that binds you.

There is more strength in dreaming than despair.

You are not alone, even in this tomb of silence.

Work with your fellows,

Hold firm to your baffling fantasies,

And you may find yourself, someday,

In the presence of warmth and plenty and sanctuary.

METILDA

I know you now, stranger.

You are that lost soul of song and tale.

Always late, never lingering,

yet you leave more than you arrive with.

The Morning

See tapestry "Resolve"

Part 1

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? No! This has been happening since my grandfather's era. Since the time before that! I'll tell you about when it began. When Bearfirth, the first of us, saw the protector light go dim and realized she was not alone in the forests...

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.

Part 2

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.

Part 3

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. For twelve years she fought! Every day she would rest and enjoy the bountiful wonders of this world, and every night she would rise and battle the creatures that came to hunt her. She felled hundreds of them, yet they always returned. As time passed by, she grew wise. Climbing to the high mountaintops, she called out- Called out! In a clear voice that rang through the dales, she called, '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.

Part 4

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.

Part 5

Seeing this, she makes the Third Trade, the Final Trade! She asks of them, 'Survive this night. Stay watchful, do not give up yet. Do this for me and my strength will be yours.' Her people are hesitant, but they bind themselves to the trade. They keep watch. The shades scream and roar at them - Can you hear them? They're still out there, screaming at us now! But her people do not run. They have an oath to fulfill. They build the walls stronger and trust that Bearfirth will hold up her end of the bargain. When the sun finally returns, it finds them proud and cheering. At last they know the madness that Bearfirth knew: They learned that by fighting in the face of hopelessness they could accomplish anything. 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.

The Patronage of Tibalt Amaro

See tapestry Schematic B

Part 1

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]

Part 2

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!

Part 3

[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!

Part 4

[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.

Part 5

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.

The Spy and the Sparrow

Part 1

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.

Part 2

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.

Part 3

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.

Part 4

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.

Part 5

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.

Part 6

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.

Part 7

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.

Part 8

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.

Part 9

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.

Part 10

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.

The Weight of Stone

Part 1

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.”

Part 2

“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....”

Part 3

“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]

Part 4

“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]

Part 5

“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.

Part 6

“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!”

Part 7

“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.”

Part 8

“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”.

Part 9

“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.”

“No, no. You have to feed your own too, right?”

“It’s not profitable to come out here any more. They’re rationing even the mushrooms now, and there’s no more trade happening either.”

“Right. So no more haggling over your wares, eh? Haha. Yeah.. alright I guess.”

“....are you sure you want to stay? Why not pack up and come back with me?”

“No, no. I can’t. There’s still the mine, isn’t there? And the kids are still here, too. The Greys, and the Pebbles. Even old hag Bergman is still here, all the good it does us.”

“Hal, about that mine shaft... No, never mind. It’s too late now, isn’t it.”

“They haven’t told us to stop.”

“I see.”

“Right. I don’t want to keep you! Off you go, yes? Say hello and goodbye to your wife as well.”

“Goodbye, Hal.”

Admirer of the Miller

Part 1

The Pond

What could have been if this chaos had not come between us? I can't stop thinking about him, it grieves me, drives me mad. All I can do now is to write down these memories and draw what I remember with charcoal from the dying fire.

I remember the first time I saw him vividly since it was such an unusually beautiful and peaceful day. The harvest of rye had begun but I snuck away early that day from the workers to enjoy the still summer evening out in the forest. Leaves rustled softly as I walked and small twigs crackled under my feet. Bushes and ferns brushed against my legs and arms.

I reached a glade with fallen trees and pools of water. I made myself comfortable, laying on top of a few moss covered rocks. The surface was dry and soft and the cranberries were blooming all over, buzzing with life. Looking up between the treetops I saw the partly cloudy sky. I would do anything to go back to that moment.

Feeling drowsy from the sweet, warm air I closed my eyes and just listened. I heard crows scrambling around in the trees and small bits of branches splashed down into the water beneath. Bees were humming to and fro close by my face. A fox barked in the distance.

Footsteps, branches snapping and brushing of vegetation. The sound stirred me from the haze. I thought it was a deer. It was very faint, but getting closer. I looked up and saw a tall man slowly walking towards the bigger pond in the glade. He sat himself down on an old log right by the water. He sat very still, as did I, and just looked at the water and the bugs that were dancing there.

He was fair and had light, long hair with wavy locks. His gaze was cold but at the same time gentle and at ease. By the look of his rugged hands, strong shoulders, and patched linen clothes he was a hardworking man.

Part 2

He leaned forward and picked something from the ground. He looked at his find and pulled a string from his pocket. After a brief moment of tinkering he seemed to have made a necklace that he hung around his neck. A gentle smile spread across his face as he held up the adornment piece in his hand, admiring his simple creation.

I was careful to stay still, not making my presence known. I did not want to disrupt the stillness with my awkwardness. And at the same time I could not take my eyes off him.

He brought out a piece of folded, yellowed parchment out of his belt bag that he proceeded to scribble on, pausing every now and then looking up, his thoughts seemingly far away.

Carefully he put away the parchment and got down on his knees by the clear forest pool and cupped his hands. He took a sip and then splashed his face, making his short beard glitter with water drops.

He removed the necklace he had made and hung it on a thin, leafed branch, looked out over the pond one last time and then contentedly walked away through the brush.

Of course I was curious and walked over to the place he had been and inspected the necklace he had made. It was made out of a large acorn from one of the nearby oak trees. If I had only had the bravery to get up and greet him that first time I saw him. But who was I, a shy cow farmer's daughter to do that?

Part 3

The Carriage

As the harvest season went by and autumn was reaching its end, I sometimes went back to the ponds in the forest where I had first seen that mysterious man. I had not seen him before in my village nor could I remember seeing him in the neighboring village either. It was like he had appeared out of nowhere and I couldn't stop thinking about him, to the point where it almost hurt.

The acorn necklace still hung there, untouched. The summergreen color of the seed was gone and it had turned into a shiny bronze. At some point I realized that he probably wouldn’t come back for it, so I took it and put it around my neck. I felt silly but it was pretty, in a childish and playful way.

My life on the farm got more busy and rough as winter approached. The cows needed to be fed several times a day as well as the morning and evening milking. The water in their troughs froze and firewood in our cottage was running low. When the winds were just about to turn freezing and snow was in the air I brought with me my little wooden cart, to the nearby spruce forest to gather some firewood logs to take home and cut.

As I was struggling with the frozen logs a small horse wagon, loaded with sacks and covered from the snow, came rolling on the muddy forest path. The driver had a thick cloak with a hood covering half his face. The gray, heavy mare was trotting energetically but slowed down to a walk at the light tug of the drivers hands on the reins. The snow was starting to come down heavy and my clothes were by now all covered in white.

The driver stepped off the wagon and put up a hand in the air as a greeting. I hesitantly waived back. He pulled out a thick blanket and threw it over his horse. He stroked the old, gray mare between the ears and she snorted content. The driver turned to me.

“Do you need cover from the storm, lass?” he said in a concerned manner.

“If you need help, that is.”

Part 4

Since I was getting cold from the snow and wind I precariously walked over and stepped into the wagon. It was dark and not much space, but at least it was dry and sheltered from the wind.

Before the driver entered the wagon he loosened the horse from the harness and let her walk free. The wagon creaked as he got in beside me. He turned around behind him, lightly brushing against me, as he opened a bag of grain. He scoped out a fist of grain and called his horse, “Dapples, come here girl.”

The cart horse's head stuck into the wagon and she happily ate the grain from the driver's hand.

“I hope you don’t mind her joining us.” He said with a grin while rubbing the horse's muzzle.

The driver lowered his hood and I found myself staring as I recognized him. His hair was long, light and slightly tangled from being under the thick woolen hood and his eyes were dark green. My heart couldn't believe the luck that I had stumbled upon him again.

“We certainly weren’t expecting this weather today. Dapples and I were just picking up some grain to bring to the mill.”

“Are you... the miller?” I asked since I remember the miller in the neighboring village being much older.

“Not exactly. Or well. I work the mill now that my father passed. I am the miller's son.” He was quiet for a moment and fiddled with the reins. “I guess that makes me the miller now.” He looked at me with a sad smile.

“I’m so sorry about your father.” I mumbled, looking at my hands.

We sat in silence for a while, shoulder to shoulder, melting snow dripping from our cloaks and our breaths were smoking from the cold. I wanted to ask a thousand questions, but I couldn't bring myself to do it when I saw the hurt look in his eyes. But maybe that was exactly what I should have done.

“Your father must have meant alot.”

“He was a rough man as millers go, but he did have a good heart. I left my life as a brewer to come back to the mill when he got ill. The old man deserved no less.” The miller scoffed. “I do miss the brewing business though. It was a breath of new life from the slow, farming labors. But as long as I get to brew some of my special Miller’s Mead, all is well.”

He smiled slightly, then he caught sight of the acorn necklace hanging around my neck.

Part 5

“That necklace...” He paused.

When I realized, my cheeks blushed and I cursed myself that I still had it, although now I am very glad I kept it. I stammered: “I...I found it by…”

“The ponds in the forest.” He said slowly and looked curiously at me.

“I actually saw you there.” I quickly confessed. “And I...” I started fiddling with the knot of the necklace.

He put up his hand in the air to stop me before I could take it off.

“Please, keep it.” He laughed heartily and gently pet Dapples, who was standing half asleep. “Now, where to? Let me drive you. The storm doesn’t seem to be letting up.” He backed up his horse and hopped out of the wagon.

“That’s very kind. But I need to bring the firewood home.” I excused myself.

“Dapples might be an old mare, but she doesn't mind a little bit of extra cargo.” The miller winked, and refastened Dapples to the wagon, and proceeded to load the firewood. I felt a bit overwhelmed by this kindness and quickly sprung to my feet to help him, saying thank you again and again.

Part 6

We got into the carriage, our clothes completely covered in snow. The miller asked his horse to move forward in a slow trot. Despite the cold, I found the wintery landscape delightful. The snowflakes tickling the skin of my face and the fresh bite in the air. Come to think of it, it is probably winter on the surface now. If there only was a way to feel the snow again.

I had a piece of parchment in the pocket of my skirt which I used to make a sketch of Dapples trudging through the snow. The miller glanced at the paper and I shyly showed him the drawing. His eyes brightened.

“Beautiful. In a way it’s like... a poem without words, isn’t it? I… I used to write poems.”

He slowed down Dapples at a sharp turn in the road.

“I saw you writing something, when I saw you there, at the pond.” I remarked, folding the parchment again and then pulling the cloak tighter around me.

“That was the first time I wrote after many years of not writing at all.” He noticed the curious spark in my eyes.” I know what you are thinking. It has been a long time since I wrote something worth reading. I could not bore you with my nonsense.”

He seemed a bit embarrassed so I left it at that. Perhaps he had never shared these things with anyone before.

“If you say so. Another time then.” We briefly looked at each other, smiling shyly.

We rode off down the road as the snowstorm seemed to be waning. My skin was cold, but I felt warm on the inside all the way home. His presence made me feel so comfortable and safe in a way I had not felt before.

Part 7

The Mill

In early spring when it was almost time to sow the rye I was herding my family's three cows through the woods of the neighboring town. I had my cowherd staff, guiding them through the trees, letting them eat off the sparse, sprouting grass that was growing there.

I stood leaning on my staff, looking out over the town below, seeing the townsfolk going about their business. Smoke was rising from the cottages, the sweet smell of fresh bread wafted trough the air, and the white sails of the mill were cheerfully spinning in the bright sky.

From a distance I saw the miller carrying sacks of grain from a wagon into the mill. He was moving vigorously, not stopping to take a break. He greeted some townsfolk on their way into town and then moved the horse and cart out of the way before he disappeared into the mill.

I was awoken from my daydream, hearing the cows from a distance. The three of them were heading out on the fields. With hurried steps I went out after them but alas they were full of spring energy and cheekiness and just kept running ahead of me. Remembering this now, as I sit here in the cold mountain, I realize how much I really loved those animals, even when they were that naughty.

They were stopped by a ditch between the mill and the field and I finally got to them. I got in between them and tried to turn them but ended up startling them. One by one they scrambled down and through the ditch to the other side, pushing me off balance and shoving me into the mud. I can still remember the taste and the awful feeling of my feet sinking.

Part 8

I saw the cheeky heifers running, skipping, and leaping along, headed to the bright green, sunkissed grass on the hill by the mill. Desperately I tried to group them together but at this point they were all way too mischievous. They ended up scattering, one of them stomping in through the door of the mill. I was staring in disbelief. There was a commotion, the sound of crashing wood, and a cloud of flour flying out the door quickly followed by a ghostly looking cow covered in white flour, bellowing and coughing.

Out from the settling flour stumbled the miller with a wooden shovel in hand and dusty sleeves rolled up to the elbows, swearing, “Damned cow, where did you come from? Shoo!”

He hesitated when he noticed me and looked me up and down. “Please, herd your animals somewhere not near the mill.”

“They got away and...” I started, flustered.

He chuckled and raised an eyebrow when he recognized me. “So you are having a bad day as well aye... cowherdess?” He laughed and brushed the flour off his chest. “Last time we met in a snowstorm, now you brought cow mayhem and took a mud bath.” He put the small, wooden shovel on his shoulder.

“Your four legged friend here knocked down two sacks of spelt flour and knocked the lever from the wooden axle. Jammed it completely...”

The sails of the mill made a pleasant low, muffled sound as we stood looking at each other. I need not to say that I was beyond embarrassed at that point, just hopelessly standing there, messy, cold, and without cows. But his smile comforted me and ensured that he wasn't too mad.

“The mill will be fine. The brakes are on. Let me help you gather your wild animals.” He looked slightly amused as he grabbed a rope from the wall in the mill.

Part 9

We managed to gather the cows into the horse pasture nearby. He noticed I was shivering from the cold, wet clothes I was wearing so he brought me inside the sparsely lit mill. It was quite loud inside from the wooden machinery still spinning.

“We had dairy cows when I was little” He mentioned, looking at me, understanding. “They always got into trouble. Can't live with them and can't live without them” He put his thick woolen mantle around my shoulders when I sat down. It was still warm from his body. The hood was too big and messed up my hair. He lightly brushed a lock out of my eyes.

He grabbed a wooden hammer and started working on the dislocated machinery. I kept stealing glances at him as he worked. “You are staring.” He mumbled looking back at me. “Come and help me instead.”

We managed to get the mill's machinery in working order again and the Miller declared he needed a drink. He proudly brought out a jug of his home brewed Miller’s Mead that we shared. It was delicious, a rich taste of honey, hops, grain, and spices. Fit for a noble! Sadly, I doubt I will ever get to taste it again.

The alcohol soon turned our slightly awkward talk into soft hearted banter. I asked him about his poems that he had mentioned on our last encounter and after much persuasion he brought out a couple that he had written.

Part 10

A slight bit of nervousness showed in his eyes when he told me that no one else had heard them before and he ran his hand through his hair several times as he started reading out loud.

“I like how they describe little details in life in such a simple but beautiful way.” I said as he took a brief pause. He seemed relieved to hear this and regained his courage to keep reciting.

“You might recognize this one.” He said softly, looking at me and shared his words as he had memorized.

Acorn on a string. Isn't it a delightful thing? A great oak tree born from a small seed. Growing slowly but steadily. Silently saying, ”This is but all I need.” I carry this one acorn with me. It reminds me of what small things hold. And thus it makes me stronger and bold.

I brought out the acorn that was still hanging around my neck. The miller nodded silently.

“I would like to see you again soon. There are so many odd rumors going on out in the villages.” He said and pulled me into a light, warm hug. “And I really don’t mind taking care of you, cowherdess.”

“I’m sure they are just rumors.” I said blushing. And oh, how wrong I was saying that.

That sunny spring day was the last time I ever saw the miller. Only a week after we had met in the mill, the gathering and evacuation of villagers and townsfolk started. I so dearly hope that the miller is safe in a shelter like I am, so that we might have a chance of finding each other again when all this is over. If ever. I still have that acorn, hanging close to my heart. It reminds me of what I have lost, but it also gives me hope. However slight it may be.