"To scrape the sky,
to touch the clouds themselves,
is to know true freedom."
- Mutewind saying

The sea swells, the sky thunders; two ships tilt at odds.
Flashes of light show only swinging axes... and a grin.

Among the Templars, a secret few ate the sins of others.
They bore this burden to empower their hidden Order.

To become a warrior and a hunter, each young
Azmeri must prove themselves before the Spirit.

The relative peace under the fledgling Empire saw
the first Sekhema to choose, in her resplendent age and
wisdom, to step down. The role of Zaitema was born.

In his broken madness, Xesht spills forth the hordes,
reaching out to wreak pain and ruination.

Before the starlight barrier failed, before the end came,
countless Kalguuran settlers sought a new life on Wraeclast.
Of the towns they founded and the lives they lived, little remains...

A simple instruction that will purify an entire region,
making it safe and kind for weary travellers.

When darkness comes, we pray for light.
When darkness is all that there is,
we pray for death.

"I see a pattern in these towers. Whoever the Precursors were, they sought to master
this world, to shape it as they saw fit. My people had the same ambition..."

"If they had ever completed the tower network,
it could have changed the face of the world..."

Darkness and light, naught but forest between.
As the forest fades, the twilight hunt begins.

The lash of the whip,
the ire of the tithe...
the press of the boot.

The Well was naught.
The Precursors dug too deep.
The Well always had been.