Lore

Day 72 surveying this dreadful land.

My first warm meal in months, albeit at the hands of a godless shaman and her primitive followers. Still, even I can find something bucolic in this hamlet of Marin.

But their prayers to hunks of stone keep me from sleeping. And I don't care one bit for the squawks and caws from the surrounding forest. What bird makes a sound so loud?

I realized these were not the Cerim of legend - silent, mystical warriors beating back the Pestilence - but rather a foul perversion. Perhaps graverobbers cursed for their greed, ancient armor imprisoning their corrupted spirit.

What torment or foul purpose kept them on their feet? I held my breath in the bushes and willed myself to stillness - answers could come later. For now: survival.

- from Adventures in the Wild

by Sulin Froth

A ring of birdmen circled me, faces hidden behind elegant assemblages of feather and bone.

I attempted to reason with them, but they responded only in squawks and chirps.

Fight or flight - to the Balak Taw they are perhaps one and the same. But how was I to escape these men gone mad in the treetops?

- from Adventures in the Wild

by Sulin Froth

The Boarskin drew closer, a foul stench wafting off their filthy bodies. Their pig head masks might've been the cleanest thing about them.

I had heard rumors that their whole tribe is one family, bizarrely believing itself descended from Sacrament's founder, with the branches of their family tree weaving back in on itself over and over.

"I too am a distant relative of Kafron the Great," I said, as I began a desperate negotiation for my life.

- from Adventures in the Wild

by Sulin Froth

A way out - a light at the end of the tunnel! I clung to that foolish notion, even as the cave sloped downward and walls grew slick. Not until the light began to pulse and throb did I realize my mistake.

Perhaps they had once been men - buried alive or lost as I was - before the Pestilence dripped down their throats. Now they were The Gloam. And they hungered.

I held my breath and crept backwards. For once, darkness was my ally.

- from Adventures in the Wild

by Sulin Froth

As I raced through the putrid swamp, the Nith rose up to my left and right. The Pestilence had rotted their minds, the acidic waters their limbs, leaving only savagery and bloodlust.

My sole hope was to reach solid ground, draw my sword, and make a last stand. Even if I were to die, I refused to surrender my corpse to these noxious waters.

- from Adventures in the Wild

by Sulin Froth

I tipped my hat to the surly innkeeper, for I wouldn't be needing her services. I hadn't come to Sacra for creature comforts. No cold ale nor warm bed for me. I'd come to sink my teeth into the isle's wilderness, and see if it would bite back.

Ancient ruins loomed. Unseen birds called out to one another. The sun set over the Ashen Sea. I shouldered my pack and set out through Sacrament's gates...

- from Adventures in the Wild

by Sulin Froth

Day 56 surveying this piddling expanse.

The Lowland Meadows and Hunters' Vale beyond are, frankly, a testament to the weakness of character so prevalent here on Sacra.

Abandoned structures, untilled fields, the wolf population left unchecked - how can some denizens of this island wish to govern themselves, when they can't even tend to their own backyard?

Day 15 surveying this troubled isle.

A range of inhospitable rock juts from Sacrament's eastern edge. Curious to see the workings of the island's industrial heart, I made for the quarry that teems within the Nameless Pass.

What I found there were conditions so vile, I wished I were back in the keel of the Abalonian, heaving my guts into my satchel. The quarry employs deviant laborers who are forced to mine ore at the bloody end of whip and rod. A disquieting spectacle, but hopefully just a hiccup on my survey.

Learned Maker

he shapes the home

the family

the law

the way

the bars won't hold them back for long

sacrament abandoned me

god abandoned me

no one will remember my name

I find myself talking aloud to the Sayer as I try to tease out her secrets. Yet another reason I suppose I'd make a poor Cerim - the Unspoken thrive in silence.

But if I am quiet, all I hear is my father's voice in my head - 'history compels patience, Elsa.' And my mother too - 'don't forget to eat, child.'

It seems unfair that the dead can wait an eternity while we living have so little time.

Day 113 surveying I know not what.

I'm finished! I'm through! Even if they throw me out of the Surveyors' Union - I will not abide another step on this cursed isle.

No more horizons. No more blank maps tempting me to fill in their lines. All I ever wish to explore is the bottom of a bowl of warm soup.

Farewell, Sacra! Someone else can complete the damned assignment. I'm departing these cursed shores and I will relish every moment of the journey home.

Day 22 surveying this disappointing hunk of rock.

Nothing shakes my faith in the one true God like spending days amid the holy men of Caylen. I refuse to believe He wishes us to be so singlemindedly dull in our pursuit of his grace.

Yes, their Cathedral is lovely, but where am I to find a refreshing ale or a decent game of chance? And maybe a bit of music instead of those damn bells?

Day 35 surveying this miserable rut.

The Orban Glades smell of rot. All day I hear the wet squelch of my boots sucking mud, all night I try and fail to warm my socks by the fire.

Strange figures call this swamp home. Years of bog life has rotted away their lower limbs. Something else perhaps has rotted away their minds. It might be time to petition to bring my survey to a close?

Day 41 surveying this backcountry hovel.

Is there no inch of Sacra that these wretched people aren't able to let fall to squalor? Do they see the ancient ruins all around them and think "let us add to this noble tradition"?

I make camp in an abandoned coastal fortress, what I'm sure was once a proud structure, a beacon to arriving ships. Now? A roofless monument to poor masonry. I hope it doesn't rain tonight.

Day 1 surveying Isola Sacra.

Today I begin my grand tour of the island of Sacra! It's my first surveying assignment, and admittedly not my first choice, but every journey begins with a single step!

With any luck, I'll be home on the mainland submitting my report within a week's time, two at the most. As for what comes next, I am breathless at the possibility of it all.

All fall, only some RISE!

Phalen chokes us and then taxes us.

We ask for food and medicine, and they send soldiers.

Ellsworth, Elias Grafston, and the Lords of Tir are just puppets of the mainland.

Rise up! Take back your home!

You have always been RISEN.

Tolek Duvain was 9 years old when Bolein Knights burned him alive in his own home. His crime? Being the child of parents who dared question their king.

There are a hundred Toleks on our province of Sacra. A hundred provinces in the Ashen Sea.

We fight for them all.

We are many. We are Risen.

Dead, warriors may fall. But we will not.

Upon deaf ears, prayers may fall. But we will not.

Struck down, our allies may fall. But we will not.

WE RISE.

Restless Seeker

he strives for growth

for vision

for valor

for more

O Hero,

O Breaker of the Way!

Where no ship had sailed, no Noble foot set

Since the days of the Great Plague

He brought Life, and Light

And built this city.

O Father,

O Child of the Embrace,

Through these cobblestones and flags

Plowed from earth and bone

He brought Order to Heresy

And built this city.

Across the Waves He Sailed

Onto Barren Shores He Stepped

Through the Haze of Wastes He Saw

Into History He Leapl

Learned Maker

he shapes the home

the family

the law

the way

Restless Seeker

he strives for growth

for vision

for valor

for more

Sacred Mother

she carries the earth

the harvest

the heart

the dawn

The Forsaken

unto her

we spare no word

cast no eye

give no prayer

The Forsaken

unto her

we spare no word

cast no eye

give no prayer