For those without a home in the Vastiri, the
hot day is harsh, but the chill night is far worse.

Rare is the Necromancer who leads
his undead armies from the front.

Tale-women may not fight directly,
for they have a much higher purpose.

"When the Third Pact was written in stone, the Dreamer gave the alliance of men and
beasts knowledge. In return, they gave him a drop of blood; one from each of the
races of Wraeclast. In the centuries that followed, his Will began to subtly change."
- Book of the Benevolent Dreamer, Histories 220:5

"Deep in thought, you would tremble the very air before you.
Wreathed in light, you nurtured them all.
And yet... Your nature became you."
The Dreamer mused with aching heart, as remnants of forking tendrils burst forth.

A sensitive few among the first settlers of Ezomyr
followed the wisps by canoe. On a misty forested
island, Cirel of Tarth stood waiting to greet them.

If you see the blushing tree of the northern woods,
remember: "Blossoms of red, the tree's been fed.
Blossoms of white, prepare for a fight."

In a time of great need, surrounded by Abyssals,
the Wayward Druid came to the Sun Clan's aid.
It is a debt they have never forgotten.

Long ago, the witches of the Azak Tribe learned
how to tap into the flow of Vivid lifeforce to
'cooperate' with their enemies... forcefully.

"A traditional hatungo does not carry an axe,
it is true. But as Narumoa showed us, there
are many ways to crush one's enemy..."

Within lies a window.

"You mortals are insidious. You repress your
evil, or deny it exists. Liars! When I open
your heads, that violence floods out."
- The Raven Trickster

Dannig saw Seren in his mind's eye, a public ornament of
extravagance. Until she bore Cadigan a son and vanished.
Decadence covering brutality, like all Kalguuran customs.

The eldritch storm descended upon us, and bruised lightning
rained down. Metal withered and flesh melted before its
arcane power. There was no escape, no shelter. Only despair.

As the Maji approached the edge of Nothingness, she strung
fragments of the Wildwood's carcass together. When she
nocked her arrow, she pulled upon the elements of life itself.

"And here we shall remain...
trapped in our symphony of eternal anguish.
Artist and Composer, their fates entwined for all of time."
- Adamantia Brektov, the Composer

"The time has passed for diplomacy!
If they will not respect House Azadi,
then let them die gloriously... and loudly.
We are the masters of the Death Trades!"
- Ratha Azadi

"My people? I'm not doing this for them.
They belong to me. They want this for me.
Their sacrifice is a gift they give out of love
and adoration... I deserve it. I am their Queen."

Gruthkul was the Mother of Despair...
but one day, the Father will return,
and discover the fate of his children.

It is safer to be feared than to be loved.

An Ezomyte endures.

In death, the legendary boar's tusks were turned
to the slaying of Phaaryl's Eternal oppressors.

Not the sound of thunder on the wind, but the
rhoaback riders—death charging from the sands.

Knowing she could outlast any opponent,
Wrashmin fought not to win, but to delay.

The toughest armour is the trust of your people.

Some would question if the risk was worth it.
The rest were already dead.

The turtle's shell one day becomes its tomb.