Diablo 4 Notice

Lilith opened my eyes to the crimes of Inarius. He betrayed her, banished her. He sapped the power of her children. He’s the reason we’re weak, the reason we die. He ruined us because he feared us! We’ll show him he was right to be afraid.

How silly my idle fancies of yesterday seem now. I believed in the Horadrim, but I was misled. With them as our champions, we can barely survive. But Lilith will make us victors. All my life, I’ve been searching…but it was me that needed to be found.

How sweet this taste! Lilith asked me to aid in a ritual: sacrifice a priest from the escort. He had no fight. He just prayed as we made his blood useful. Forgive my hand, I’m still shaking. Power dances along my bones. I walk the path of our maker now.

Signs of a bloody struggle, but this kill was never dressed. It seems the hunt was interrupted.

Signs of a bloody struggle, but this kill was never dressed. It seems the hunt was interrupted.

“If anyone finds this, leave this place. Something unnatural stalks these woods. It’s slaughtered 5 of us already. We’re going to head south and hope the animals don’t…” The remaining pages are shredded and soaked in blood.

“Settled in the most unlikely of places, Malnok sits around a frozen lake deep in the mountains. The town is known for its rich natural mineral deposits, the mining of which became the town’s primary industry with the establishment of Anica’s Claim…”

A torn and tattered page from a journal. It reads: “The corruption has lingered and festered for years. This is exactly what my work requires.”

A journal page with dirt smudges that makes parts of the writing illegible. It reads: “So many bodies! [illegible] everywhere lie corpses. [illegible] ample material for the experiments.”

A blood-splattered page ripped from a journal. It reads: “I’m so close. After so many failures, the hosts are almost viable. I will cure my illness and death itself.”

A torn faded journal page. It reads: “The insects have infested my failed trials. Perhaps they are related to whatever happened to this place so long ago?”

A journal page written in red ink. It reads: “The corruption here is affecting me…this is no mere plague. No matter; soon it won’t matter what happens to my mortal body.”

The defenders of this keep slayed countless vampires. It was still not enough.

The vampires clearly abhor all living things. These fallen knights may have considered their quick deaths a mercy if they’d known of the fate that awaited their comrades.

“… since the disturbance in the Archives. We have seen an increase in the activity of the vampires near the fortress, but we do not fear these abominations. No reinforcements are necessary; the Light will preserve us if they dare show themselves.”

Trapped by the Khazra’s icy storm, these villagers’ shelter became their tomb.

A typical display of the Kazhra’s cruelty, these villagers were used as part of the ritual which destroyed their homes.

These carvings are a monument to Nostrava’s skilled woodworkers. Their features are so lifelike it seems like they could almost move.

Tools of master woodworkers. Normally handled with great care, these seem to have been abandoned for some time.

This tombstone has been defaced and is unreadable.

“Here lies Maryam, forever a light in the darkness.”

“Here lies Sir Thom – guardian, mentor, friend. He gave his life protecting all from harm.”

Almost covered with charred rubble, this monument was seemingly defaced. A barely legible Zakarum decree is inscribed on its surface; one can barely make out something about the light revealing all truths.

It seems these villagers tried to escape the flames engulfing their home, but they found no shelter here.

A huge pile of loosely covered corpses. The marker reads: “Akarat forgives ALL heretics in death”

This ritual site appears well used. There must be a large amount of sites within these ruins in use by these cultists. What they are doing and how they move past the snakes is a mystery.

“Warning! The Serpents still prowl the Temple Ruins.”

Hawezar’s rapidly growing moss is often used as bedding in the absence of other options.

To combat the humid swamps, wood is carefully bundled and left to dry before burning.

These tools are heavily worn. It appears these cultists have been excavating for some time.

“None are permitted to enter the Ritual Site without explicit permission from the High Priests. All initiates are to continue excavation efforts. Glory be Destruction!”

This blade is thrust deep into the stonework, far deeper than any normal person could manage. What could have created such a massive force?

The violence here seems like it was indiscriminate. Zakarumite and Kehjistani alike fell in droves.

Signs of battle litter the keep’s grounds, yet some of these corpses show no obvious battle wounds.

An ancient idol dredged up from the deep, carefully erected and adorned with briny charms. Haunting work with unknown purpose.

These chests are cast open and covered in brackish filth; it seems the Drowned already pilfered their contents. Hells know what they do with their ill-begotten treasures leagues under the sea.

The retainers of the flame suffered a grim fate, but they went down fighting. A clean death is surely better than joining the ranks of the Drowned.

The remains of the ruins’ former inhabitants lay ashen and broken throughout these halls. Something truly horrific occurred here.

These bandits show no respect for life or decency.

The Watchtower has been turned into a symbol of fear and oppression.

This equipment looks worn and corroded from the salt. Miners of this town would have had significant maintenance costs to keep them in working condition.

Whoever built this temple is long gone, along with any knowledge of whatever gods, or demons, it was originally dedicated to.

Thorn beasts don’t kill for amusement, but the amount of quills in this hunter implies otherwise. What made them so aggressive?

This hunter’s state is clearly a bear’s handiwork; his innards are strewn across the clearing. It looks like the beast played with its food long before it began to eat it.

The wargs almost tore this hunter to pieces. Though some of the bite marks on his corpse appear… human?

[PH] The monsters- they’ve taken over. We sealed the door as best we could, but so many of us are wounded or dead. Please eradicate them and find where they’re coming from. No where is safe.

The markings are illegible, but a whisper is heard

The markings are illegible, but a whisper is heard

The markings are illegible, but a whisper is heard

The inscription is badly marred by claw marks:
“May — Light of Fath– Inarius —- do-n upon all w—y trav—-s of this h–y l-nd. Turn —- face tow—- its r—–ce and find — —-ngth —ewed.”

“May the Light of Father Inarius shine down upon all weary travelers of this holy land. Turn your face toward his radiance and find your strength renewed.”

CORLIN HULLE

A foul sorcerer waits in northern Sinner’s Pass to assail the unaware. Challenge him with vigilance, as he practices various uncanny magicks.

SIR LYNNA

Once a promising and devout member of the Knights Penitent, the heretic Sir Lynna has renounced the Light and now lives in darkness. The faithful should avoid Kylsik Plateau, where she has been seen most recently.

ROTSPLINTER

Seen west of Menestad at Melnik’s Hill. This wretched creature is infested with hundreds of poisonous spiders, driving it into a frenzy. Beware, disturbing it may dislodge the putrid swarm inside.

A map of Estuar, with a throng of red markers and arrows all pointing towards the fabled city of Caldeum.

“My Brothers and Sisters rejoice! We march across this forsaken land to bring the Light to its darkest corners!”

RENN DAYNE

This blackguard has been overheard whispering to an unseen ally, which seems to provide him great strength in combat. It is possible that he has made a bargain with a witch! Stay away from his haunt in the Spiteful Rise to the west.

TREMBLING MASS

This putrid, horrific wretch has been spotted many times in Diseased Embankment, to the east. Numerous hunting parties have been sent to slay the creature, but no matter how many times it is destroyed, it seems to re-appear within hours.

CAPTAIN WILLCOCKS

Whatever final mission drives the Captain’s ancient bones is unknown, but nothing seems to be able to put him to rest. Though he has been brought low many times, he continues to rise and wander the southern region of the Dark Dross.

EERIE STATUE

A strangely lifelike statue of a Nangari has appeared in the northern Foulsands region of the Rotspill Delta. The horrible chanting of the cultists that are drawn to it seems to never relent. Be wary, there is some eldritch power at work!

“For Symon, whose pursuit of knowledge was worthy of praise, but his love of his fellow man even more so.”

None shone brighter in the Light than Que-Hegan Sankekur, but even this was not enough to protect from Mephisto, so vile was his touch.

And those that loved Sankekur the most bore his body to the edge of the world, and swore to keep it safe from those who would seek the evil that still poured from it.

So it was that Mephisto was struck down, and Sankekur freed at last from Hatred’s grasp.

ABE-MARI

Zakarum scholars note that the terrifying spirit that has been seen emerging from a strange statue on the western cliffs of the Searing Expanse bears a strange resemblance to Abe-Mari, noted Taan Clan sorcerer of ages past.

NINE-EYES

The colossal scorpion Nine-Eyes has been spotted along the western edge of the Scorched Gulch. She is deadly enough on her own, but her numerous poisonous children burrow under the sands and will emerge to protect their mother if threatened.

PRIESTESS QIN

Recently, a woman has been seen preaching to a small group of faithful in Hakan’s Oasis to the northeast. However, while she wears the robes of the Zakarum faithful, no one seems to have heard of her before her sudden appearance.

FARAYA TEHI

This unfortunate soul who wanders, bloated with rot on the western road to Alcarnus seems to pulsate and throb even more than other wretched undead creatures! Do not endanger your soul by daring to go too near this accursed thing.

This knight has had much of his flesh picked to the bone. Large gashes have shattered the skull and chest.

An odd assortment of empty bottles. Some of them still reek of strong spirits.

The beast escaped from the trap but didn’t make it far. Whoever was hunting this creature is nowhere in sight.

A rune left by Lorath hums with Horadric magic, sealing shut the gate to Hell.

Every tool has been stored away with care, and the books have all been arranged by their proper subject.

Books covered with meticulous notes. Scrolls featuring lengthy alchemical formulae. Somehow, you get the sense that everything is half-finished: one project after another abandoned in search of a new discovery.

A goatman skeleton, propped up for scientific inquiry.

Alongside the tools, a few scraps of paper cover the table, but there are never more than few hastily scrawled sentences written on them.

The body is fresh, with warm blood seeping from puncture wounds. The surrounding corpses suggest that Azim’s escape attempt was not entirely fruitless.

In honor of the great Horadric mage Donan and the brave druids Airidah and Nafain, who vanquished the demon Astaroth and ended the Days of Ash.

The parchment is covered in Horadric runes beyond your comprehension.

The severed head of this brutal combatant is now proudly on display. Death to the foul goatmen! Glory to the Bear Tribe!

The merchants’ goods have been broken open and thoroughly ransacked.

The fatal wound appears to have been an arrow in the neck. The handiwork of the hunters from Margrave, no doubt. Thick scars crisscross the skin of the forearm in peculiar patterns, as if drawn intentionally.

One of the merchants who was with Perithan. Anything of value has been stripped from the body.

Priest Matvey says I am ready. I shall leave Margrave at dawn. The journey will be long, but my faith is endless. Light, grant me safe passage to the monastery, that I may better know your grace within its hallowed halls.

This old cooking pot is lined with rust.

Many of the notes here deal in mathematics and astronomy. Each page is lined with commentary on star charts and prophecies.

Donan brought a book on his visit. The writing is ancient! A scroll from the Vizjerei. Lorath will not be pleased. But if I’m to fight by his side one day, I need to study everything. Lorath is wise but he’s cautious. I’ll prove myself to him yet.

Behold the truths that lie within.

HERE LIES VHENARD WHO WAS EVER SEARCHING
NOW SHE SLEEPS AT THE STEPS OF KNOWLEDGE

I will die… frozen to this mountain. Heavens above, I can hear the voices of angels… and they are laughing.

Rejoice in your faith! The Father is prophesied to redeem us all. “A spear of Light, piercing Hatred’s heart.” When he ascends to the Heavens, he shall lift us with him to the Light above.

Our Father Inarius laid down this ground, opened up this sky, and created this Sanctuary from the bounty of the worldstone.

Cast down from the Heavens, but prophesied to return. Our Father Inarius will ascend to the Heavens and on his wings we will be redeemed.

The helmet’s spikes recede deep within the helmet, as part of a metal slab that protrudes downward. The metal tendrils stretch to the helmet’s base and latch onto a studded leather cap, denying any room for a head.

A variety of texts on local history, old kingdoms, and forgotten faiths.

The Father points the way to the Light, but the Order of the Knights Penitent was founded to carve out our path to it.

The falling sickness claimed her childhood, but the Father gave her new life. The Reverend Mother Prava is but one of his many blessings.

This world is a temporary one. We were born into sin and corruption on Sanctuary, and it is only through the good works of the Father we shall be lifted to the Heavens above.

From Yelesna, I set out on my pilgrimage. I offered thanks at a roadside shrine and received a blessing for my journey…

Beacon of warmth in winter’s embrace, patience rewarded by nature’s own grace.

A dead priest. A huge gash across his neck has drained him of his blood.

A book detailing dozens of infectious diseases that can be found in the swamps. Several pages are dedicated to a horrific, incurable, and fatal disease that causes plants to grow from inside the victim’s body.

A book of ghost stories and children’s tales. One particularly gruesome story describes a man with no skin stuffing a child into a bloody sack and vanishing as punishment for not obeying his parents.

An ancient book describing the medicinal uses of common flora and fauna found in Hawezar. One chapter describes a cure for “tainted blood” that requires the venom of a spider found only in the Blind Burrows.

A small collection of mostly-used candles.

The head is silent and still. Whatever lingering magic kept it animated has faded.

Two simple cots lay covered in dust. No one has used these recently.

A few putrid scraps of meat are stuck to the ruined pot.

Here rests Luka

My son, your smile brought warmth to my life
Your kindness brought light to all who knew you
I love you

In memoriam of
Katherina Kressen
Died at 68
Stubborn until the end.
You never asked for help.
Now you don’t need to.
Rest easy, you wrinkled bat.

In memoriam of
Eugen Kovak
Died at 34
Never a finer smith
Blades sharp and strong
Shame you weren’t better with them

In memoriam of
Imrich Nagyova
Died at 8
A better man than most
But half the size
Nothing scared you
Not even death

In memoriam of
Agata Molnar
Died at 38
You loved the sea
And sought to keep it for yourself
But instead, it kept you

Her body was pulled apart from within. Internal organs, flesh, even skin is missing in large swathes. Her face is frozen in a hateful snarl. Whatever killed her, she fought it until the very end.

His body was pulled apart slowly, although no weapon marks are visible. The ritualistic symbols on his terrified face seem to have erupted from beneath the skin. What a horrible way to die.

A coarse sack filled with dried, pungent leaves. Mold and bugs suggest that this bag hasn’t been opened in some time.

Expensive bottles of ale, imported from Kingsport. Empty bottles have filled with murky swamp water. The few sealed bottles are covered in dust and moss; their corks defiant against the swamp.

These bags have been torn open. Their contents lay strewn about, the valuables taken, leaving only soggy remains.

A simple gambling set. However, one of the dice sets seems to always land on sixes.

Despite its age, this is clearly a dagger of remarkable craftsmanship. The hilt appears to be hollow.

Berolt, our highest priority is the rescue of our Brothers and Sisters. Once they are safe, clear any heretics from the ruins beyond. Be wary, there is something evil lurking beyond the walls. -Brother Warwick

Samil has noticeably bloated and decayed since last seen. The rapidness, perhaps, was caused by Zurke. The hut is thick with the sickly, foul odor of rot.

Three corpses are arranged and marked with wooden stakes. Some look unnaturally putrid and rotten. Zurke is only interested in the healthiest body, but he wasn’t forthcoming about what he considers healthy…

A stack of old tomes with faded and fraying spines. The oldest and thickest reads, “The Roots and the Tree: Hawezar’s Beginning and End.”

Next to a book titled “Legends of the Bog” is a note covered in shaky handwriting: “The ‘wedding’ of Tree and Serpent. What a ridiculous story. The Tree could not have come to Sanctuary… from where, then?”

RIP

Pay your respects to her, and she will see you safely on your way. Ignore her, and suffer the fate of these poor fools.

The maggot corpse appears fresh. It’s flesh has been pinned back to reveal a yellow-green interior that still shows signs of movement.

The abdomen of the guard’s corpse looks to have suffered a massive rupture and shows signs of being devoured from the inside.

The corpse reeks of bile and blood. It’s clear the swarm of maggots and flies had been feasting on her before bursting from her stomach.

Chunks of infected flesh lay piled on the table, some still attached to limbs.

Infected growths simmer over the heat, rendering down into foul, black oil.

“The boat leaves with the new moon, and I want it full! Alchemists up north are buying every drop. Get out there, grab more infected, and get cooking!”

Infected corpses, mangled beyond recognition. Their growths have been hacked from their bodies.

A variety of flora only seen deep in the Hawezar swamps. A note next to the pot reads, “Antidote extracted from leaves shows promise.”

Taissa has scrawled in the margins of one of the books: “Andariel is both the torment and the tormenter. There is no end to the cycle.”

A well-worn child’s toy. The letter “T” is stitched onto one ear.

“Taissa, I have checked on Timue as requested. Her affliction remains as it was before, but she asked about you. Perhaps it is time you visited her yourself?”

The cauldron reeks of demonic fire: sulfur, ash, and blood.

What my sisters do not understand is that we have more in common with Lilith than with her enemies. The Tree may exist outside the Eternal Conflict, but we don’t. Our survival lies with the Mother of Sanctuary.

The prophecy lives in my dreams. Sanctuary falls, and I along with it. But Elias says there is another path. Lilith. I feel a connection with her, deep in my bones. I know she is the answer.

The effects of death have long set in, her body pale and rigid. Her fists are balled, even in death gripping tightly to her weapon.

Paladin Marshal Carthas. Slayer of Mephisto. Defender of the Black Tomb. You are a Light in the darkness, brother, and we will live by your example.

A frayed tapestry depicting a paladin slaying a faded representation of Mephisto.

The mural is worn and battered. Despite its state, the artistry is clearly evident.

I, Carthas, and my most trusted retinue, Alodia, Mathias, and Eleazar, seal this place with ourselves inside. Though we fall to Mephisto’s corruption, we shall not forget our duty. Even in death, we guard the body of Sankekur.

they have turned my mind is breaking I am not a coward I do not run this is my only victory
my blade hungers for blood it shall only find mine own

I couldn’t stop them
forgive me forgive me forgive me forgive me forgive me forgive me forgive me forgive me forgive me forgive me forgive me forgive me forgive me forgive me forgive me forgive me forgive me forgive me forgive me forgive me forgive me

A brief epitaph dedicated to Zakarum paladins who guarded the body of Sankekur.

Below, a long list of names covers nearly all remaining space.

One of the figures holds a book bound in flesh. Each page is affixed with a withered mortal face. They seem to whisper in your mind: acts of violence, revenge, and depravity fueled by Hatred.

Words have been carved into the chest of one figure, in the shape of a nautilus spiral. “Oh Hatred, most generous of the Three. Your chalice is ever full. When I am fearful, give me courage. When I am tired, give me vigor.”

Broken, crumpled, and devoid of Light.

He makes no sound and draws no breath, but his eyes seem to be watching you.

The artifact’s edge is cracked, but it still pulses with magic. Glimpses of the nightmare realm flicker across the Eye’s surface.

A dead demon brute, bearing wounds from Lorath’s polearm

Mercenary wanted for one-off job. Must not be afraid of goatmen. See Shahos by the docks.

“Here is Jazadar … Traitor … thieves.”

“Look … his prison … warned. Follow … not.”

A thick, dark ichor oozes from its shattered skull. And yet the fly demon’s jaws quiver, seemingly ready to snap.

Amongst the rubble are broken vials, bone, and broken stone from the overhead pillars. If the conduit Izle seeks is here, it would be unusable.

Scattered on the table are papers stained and brittle with age. Perhaps these once detailed magics from a world long past. There are unbroken vials here but none appear to be what Izel is seeking.

Corpses litter the floor, fresher than the athenaeum’s age. The burned bones indicate hostile magics caused the robbers’ demise. Thankfully they triggered wards before you did.

Jagged symbols litter the page. You feel a dark pressure emanating from the paper.

The cauldron is filled with the same acrid liquid from the caves. The gas rising from the bubbling liquid stings your nostrils and burns your lungs.

Crates of poison line the walls. There seems to be enough here to poison the oasis ten times over.

This is a formal letter from High Confessor Prava commending Osric for “quick, decisive action” in the taking of Caldeum, expanding his command with another half-dozen soldiers, and granting him a modest increase in pay.

Hader escaped into this passageway. I can see faint light emitting from the other side, but the way has been hastily blocked. I should look for another entrance…

We’re all set. Those pigs-born miners suspect nothing. The eastern guards will change shifts at dusk – that’s your opening to attack. I’ve risked my neck and earned my share. Do not try to cheat me. – Nageed

Walk the road of faith to a lone desert chapel. Stand at Akarat’s feet, follow his example, and be rewarded.

And when all is lost, stand before the golden watchers at the palace gates, plead for their help, and be armed.

Blessed Bala, architect of all creation, our cursed feet dirty your earth. We walk in accordance to your teachings, so the right path may be found. We bathe in your lifeblood, deep within the crevices of the earth, and Praise your likeness.

Divine Dialon, god of determination, pass judgement upon the weak. May our souls be cleansed and resolve strengthened. Our hands are torn as we move soil and stone for you. Your servants Praise at the feet of your effigy to be bathed in eternal flame.

As you get closer to the altar, your teeth begin to ache. There is a distinct humming. It appears somethings are missing from the three altars…

Magnificent Mefis, beacon of love, hear your accursed servant. Anoint us with your infinite grace. Cleanse our minds, so we might repel malevolent forces. Where friend turns against friend, we cower and Praise before your majesty.

The only remains of this cultist’s corpse are tattered robes and bone. How many ages this body has lain here can only be guessed.

Though no sources indicate what has transpired in Omath’s Stronghold, our enlightened leaders have proclaimed our seat of power in the south unholy. Perhaps one day with Akarat’s blessing, this place will return to the light…

Barbed hairs pierce through Mahjoob’s skin, oozing bloody pus. The flesh around his wound has wilted and peeled back, revealing a thick, leathery carapace underneath.

Enlighted by Elias’ teachings, Genbar crafted this statue to show his devotion to Lilith and her cause.

Inscribed are the words to a Knights Penitent battle prayer.

The bloated remains are slimy and gray from decay. Small tendrils of hair cling to the body.

It promised to take Callum away. To make father notice me.
Callum’s gone, but I’m still alone.
It calls me to the water. Twists inside.
I won’t be alone anymore.

I saw the girl again. A strange reedy child, too pale, too thin, eyes too big.
But her strangeness cannot obscure how she looks like my husband. How much she resembles my Cecil.

I saw Eadar again at the shoals. She said nothing to me, only stared at me with the same eyes I see looking out of our daughter’s face.
I think I prefer the yelling and pleading. In her silence I can hear my own guilt, and it is unbearable.

Father always said it is true love that feeds the deepest hate. I thought that, having Roina, I need not want her father.
I thought I might be strong. But daily…I hear whispers that tell me I am not.

Two young boys. Their bodies are bloated with water, as if they drowned. But they’re too far from water.

A wooden statue of Shoh’ba’s woodraith familiar. It appears to be made of its shed bark.

A wooden statue made of Mochrann’s shed bark. It appears corrupted with the same energy that killed Mochrann.

The deer have torn apart various portions of the corpse. What remains is riddled with teeth marks. From the blood trail and marks on the ground, it appears the traveler was alive for some time after the initial attack.

The magic here feels wild and untamed. It carries an undertone of contempt for living things but does not feel demonic in nature.

Something large crashed into this fence leaving blood and traces of fur that lead deeper into the thicket.

“STAY AWAY! ACURSED BEAST ROAMS HERE!”

Scavenged herbs, murky potions, and makeshift talismans. The work of a dedicated amateur.

Heavy chains, bolted to the floor. A few of the links have snapped.

One of the guardians Donan ordered to watch over Yorin. Just a broken corpse now, marred by claw marks. Yorin’s mace sits atop the body, but there is no other sign of the boy.

Filled with a woman’s garments, seemingly untouched for years. A dust-covered note atop the clothing reads: “Crafted by Caldeum’s own royal tailor. They call it silk woven of sunlight. Who better to wear than you, my love?”

A hefty tome entitled “A Guide to the Weights and Measures of Ancient Kehjan: Volume II”. The pages are well-worn and riddled with handwritten notes.

A short book entitled “Journey Beneath the Twin Seas”. The pages are filled with illustrations featuring a group of young adventurers exploring ruins and fighting off monsters.

The Immutable Tenets of the Light

The Wisdom of Father Inarius

A small book entitled “The Path to Redemption”. It contains prayers recited by the Cathedral of Light.

The First Forest: A Guide to Scosglen and the Caoi Dúlra, written by Braega.

A large tome entitled “Grimoire of Ash”. The pages are filled with ancient writings of Hell’s fire demons. One passage is about Astaroth, the Charred Duke.

A Practical Guide to the Customs of the Skovos Isles

A weathered tome entitled “The Book of Wards”. Notes are scrawled in the margins of a section about fire magic.

A table cluttered with alchemical instruments. A piece of parchment lists ingredients for an elixir to cure insomnia.

A stack of papers bearing the title “The Fall of Astaroth”. It appears to be an unfinished chronicle of Donan’s battle against the demon. Numerous lines have been crossed out and rewritten.

Donan,
I know losing your wife has been hard, but do not let that grief blunt Yorin’s potential. You cannot shelter him forever. He must be free to find his own way in the world. His faith in the Light will shield him danger.
Reverend Mother Prava

HERE LIES BRAEGA
BRILLIANT SCHOLAR
LOVING MOTHER AND WIFE

I am with you as always
In every branch and stone
Born from this land I was
And so to it I return

HERE LIES YORIN
SON OF BRAEGA AND DONAN
PROTECTOR OF SCOSGLEN

He was the true Light

HERE LIES DONAN
FRIEND, FATHER, HUSBAND
HORADRIM OF THE FIRST CIRCLE
WHO WALKED INTO HELL FOR ALL OF US

It was more than enough, brother

The corpse of a young woman, badly mangled.

A broken necklace of druidic charms.

A woolen frock, badly torn and soaked with blood.

A simple memorial, fashioned from the planks of a wagon. A scrap of Deidre’s frock has been draped over it, carefully cleansed of blood.

His throat is violently ripped open. No other signs of wounds.

Goods intact. No signs of thievery.

Airidah came for a visit. Dad gave her salt and water.
She thanked him. Then went on her way.
I wanted to go with. Help her sing to the dead, but dad didn’t let me.
Said that we share the hills with the druid, but her work is not our work.

She dragged herself here in her final moments. Her faces holds a grin of satisfaction.

Her quiver only holds a single remaining arrow.

His throat is slashed open. Eyes stare calmly, accepting.

The marker is plain, but beautiful in its simplicity. Carved runes spell a name: “Éadaoin.”

Druid wardstones marred by deep scratches. Their runic lettering broken, these inert stones now serve only to uphold a symbol of the Cathedral of Light. The cross bears an inscription in a ragged hand.

Another pile of broken, inactive wardstones. Whatever power they once held over the evil in this place is gone.

The final wardstone lies in pieces, like the rest.

“INARIUS IS A PEST,” is written in blood across the torn banner.

Claw marks riddle the decaying body. A single word is written across the fallen knight’s chest: TRESPASSER.

The helms are old, dented from violent blows and spotted in dried blood.

The stone is carved with a message welcoming travelers to the forest, where they can become one with nature. But something has been written over it, in dried blood: “CATHEDRAL DOGS NOT WELCOME.”

This bear has been expertly skinned. The wounds underneath are similar to those that afflict Bearfa.

A simple basket that will no longer hold anything.

The broken remains of druid charms.

The boiled leather is marred by long scratches and tooth marks.

The goatmen raids are getting worse. Conall’s farm was burnt out last week…the whole family lost.

It used to be the druids protected us. Now they’re gone, and they left nothing but their crumbling ruins.

I went to the Umbralwood yesterday to search for anything from the druids. Lorcan said it was a fool’s errand and refused to come, but I found a small wolf carving that radiated a strange power. I’m almost positive this is how the druids shapeshift.

I haven’t told Lorcan, but every night I sneak out to a secluded place and try to unlock the totem. I barely sleep anymore, and when I do, I dream of running on all fours through the woods hunting the goatmen. They’re calling to me.

Lorcan seemed tired this morning. Complained of odd dreams. Could he be hearing it too? Tonight will be my last attempt, I can feel it. When the totem calls, I will answer.

A gruesome collection of partially eaten corpses. Scraps of fine clothing suggest these may be the remains of the royal family.

Only the worthy earn the Grinning One’s attention. Prove themselves. Now, they know true happiness—their bliss boundless. The Old One’s Eternal Gift.

Only fools seek the Grinning One’s attention. Offer themselves. Now, they know true suffering—their torture endless. The Old One’s Eternal Gift.

My Bright Ray, I received your last letter from Alzuuda and the gold you sent. I wish you would give up this mercenary life and come home. Having you here is a greater blessing than gold. I have kept Little Tuya safe –

Scrolls of incantations for the summoning of minor demons. Drawings resemble the four-legged demons in the canyons.

An expertly-carved statue of Lilith, covered in blood and viscera.

The remains of a fine stone statue, smashed to pieces.

Ogai’s jaw is ripped open, a horrid smile spread across his face. The jawbone is missing.

The body is dressed in robes identical to Ordun’s. Large chunks of flesh have been brutally torn off, but the contents of his bags remain untouched.

I, Andreea of Lakren’s Overlook, offer a debt in exchange for my deepest desires. May this ledger be bound until my desires are granted, or upon my death, whichever comes first.

-Signed, Andreea of Lakren’s Overlook

Towards the light where the remains of our folly wander the twisted paths, seek the high place.

Up the coast to where we watched our brave crusaders set forth to the western lands.

In my dreams, a figure bathed in Light, named Izzoth, came and spoke words of great power. I have written them down and placed the scroll at Khotun’s Reach where only the faithful will find it. Seek the first trail marker at the graveyard of ships.

You who have followed the path, speak the words of power given by the Light, and commune with the divine. (The words are in a strange script and appear to move on the page.)

A vessel hums with the cursed energy contained within, collected from all the ills inflicted on the population by the cruel Overseer Salak.

Death and darkness infest this vessel. Overseer Hajar collected as trophies the souls of those they callously tortured and petrified.

This vessel conceals its true nature. There is little to discern one from another just by looking – only the faint scent of Ovseer Kafan, full of their lies and deceit, would ever warn you that a curse was placed upon this curio.

A former local’s personal journals documenting daily affairs.

An assortment of worn cookbooks. Recipes line the pages.

A few classic works of literature.

The body has been ravaged by being weeks in the hot sun. One of the many guards strewn across the marketplace, they must have fought so hard for their lives. These poor souls never stood a chance.

Looks like the City Guards put up a fierce fight and held them off so people could try to escape. Piled up boards, tables, anything they could find was used to try and stall the incoming massacre.

At the center of the map is the Temple of the Primes, an ancient complex buried beneath Mt. Civo. Notes are scrawled across the paper. They appear to be calculations for how much of Guulrahn’s populace would be needed to excavate the temple.

Sketches of three shrines, each depicting one of the Prime Evils: Diablo, Baal, and Mephisto. Below the drawings, Elias has written, “Only the blessed can open the way.”

Most of the pages are smeared with blood. The legible entries speak of the cannibals overrunning the city. On the last page, Oyuun has written, “She’s not coming. I pray that means she made it out.”

Filled with an assortment of knickknacks: a simple dagger, a few coins, and a lock of dark hair, bound by a blue ribbon.

An old damp ledger. Tucked between the pages is a folded note. Most of it is illegible, but you can make out a few words.
“…earthquake damaged outer walls…”
“…seal away the section…”
“…leave the dead inside…”

This corpse was bound hastily, but tied with funeral charms honoring the dead. Blood stains the cloth and drips unto the earth below.

Covenants, Verse 7
In the mountains, the Mother and I saw a village. The people, cold and hungry, prayed to a Light that would give them no warmth. But in her presence, a new fire was stoked in their hearts. They would never go hungry or feel cold again.

All brave volunteers are needed to help rebuild this broken world. Train under Lakren the master builder and help save Sanctuary.
Tools and coin will be provided.

The corpses of the Triune cultists sent to bring the Word of Lilith to these bandits. All valuables have been stripped from the bodies. A trail of blood leads elsewhere. Perhaps there’s a survivor.

Brethren, the bandits of Onyx Watchtower are nothing more than common thieves, but they hold a location of extreme value. We will bring to them the Word of Lilith giving them a purpose in life and thereby swelling our own ranks.

The Horadrim Elias and I are not to be disturbed for the remainder of our meeting, except by the arrival of Lorath Nahr. Should he appear, escort him to the Sacristy at once.

“You who would seek to know Darkness, kneel before the Light. Speak the words of the Litany, and accept our holy burden.”

Through the Day, I have prepared to accept this burden of knowledge.

From Morning, my eyes were opened and I saw the coming darkness.

Unto Evening, I shall keep it safe, and into the Night hereafter.

The goat thief’s body has turned to dense salt. Large portions are missing, as if eaten.

Though timeworn, you endure. Before your colorful kin, I say: Yes, I keep our traditions!

Shout your rejection, “no Mother of mine” at her towering statue in rift’s hidden shrine.

Torn flesh and bite marks riddle the corpse. Jaw agape, they express both surprise and terror.

This is a Notice Sign. You can assign different material types (wood, stone, etc.) to represent readable objects you want the player to use. You can add an image or accompanying narration in the form of Disembodied Voice lines.

This is Notice Text.

Always assign a Sign Material (paper, wood, stone, etc.) for what to show in the background of this panel. This panel supports 454 characters, but limit this text to 225 to allow room for localization.

This is a Notice Type Sign. You can assign many different material types (wood, stone, paper etc.) to represent readable objects you want the player to interact with. You can add an image (in the case you want something like a portrait or frieze) or accompanying narration in the form of Disembodied Voice lines…

This is Notice Text.

Always assign a Sign Material (paper, wood, stone, etc.) for what to show in the background of this panel. This panel supports 454 characters, but limit this text to 225 to allow room for localization.

This is a Notice Type Sign. You can assign many different material types (wood, stone, paper etc.) to represent readable objects you want the player to interact with. You can add an image (in the case you want something like a portrait or frieze) or accompanying narration in the form of Disembodied Voice lines…

This is Notice Text.

Always assign a Sign Material (paper, wood, stone, etc.) for what to show in the background of this panel. This panel supports 454 characters, but limit this text to 225 to allow room for localization.

This is a Notice Type Sign. You can assign many different material types (wood, stone, paper etc.) to represent readable objects you want the player to interact with. You can add an image (in the case you want something like a portrait or frieze) or accompanying narration in the form of Disembodied Voice lines…

This is a Notice Type Sign. You can assign many different material types (wood, stone, paper etc.) to represent readable objects you want the player to interact with. You can add an image (in the case you want something like a portrait or frieze) or accompanying narration in the form of Disembodied Voice lines…

A healer’s tools. They look freshly used.

Herbs. Mushrooms. Organs. Not for cooking.

Whatever is brewing smells awful.

Sign many different material types to represent readable objects you want the player to interact with. You can add an image (in the case you want something like a portrait or frieze) or accompanying narration in the form of Disembodied Voice lines.

GARBHAN ENNAI

The Butcher of Cerrigar, Garbhan is more beast than man. He has evaded our hunters every attempt to slay him. If traveling through The Harrowfields, be wary: he will smell you far sooner than you will see him.

BLIND EDLIN

While it is true that Blind Edlin is a story told to wayward children, there can be no denying the sound of a bell issuing forth from the Blood Vale. Whether or not the stories are true, be wary while traveling through that accursed place.

GASPAR STILBIAN

As dangerous as The Scar in the northeastern Highland Wilds is, the appearance of this cruel stranger has made it worse. Gaspar has overpowered any who have attempted to capture him, his fists wreathed in fire.

LORD EÒNAN

A gaunt figure has been spotted in the Dark Thicket, in the Deep Forest to the south. The possibility that the blood-mad Lord Eònan has returned from the grave is too dangerous to ignore.

ZAROZAR THE MIGHTY

Legends speak of a barbarian warrior who’s bloodthirst was so ferocious, he terrified even the cannibal tribes. Zarozar’s spirit still haunts Desolation’s Reach, searching for a worthy challenge.

PITILESS GUR

A creature so merciless, those few that have survived an encounter with him claim he has a heart of ice. There may be some truth to this, as even the heat of the Boiling Planes is brought to chill he stalks nearby!

ALMUNN

Do not travel through the Ashen Tread in the southern Scarred Coast without mercenary escort! A horrific demon calling itself Almunn scours the area for its next victim.

BHOTAK THE INEVITABLE

The Khazra Bhotak was slain by the Piercing Suns mercenary company, but somehow his ragged, bloody form has returned. Take extreme caution when traveling east through Wayfarer’s Folly, for Bhotak ensures that name is well-earned.

Filled with various foods and supplies to guard against the harsh conditions.

A pungent odor rises from the pot. Some kind of fermented meat?

The burned bodies of goatmen lay in a pile. The unpleasant stench of charred fur and blood clings to the frigid cave air.

The grave of a fallen warrior of Bear Tribe. Their weapons and armor displayed proudly seems a testament to their honor.

Well-kept, but well-worn. The cold is hard on steel, as are the Khazra.

A long extinguished brazier, cold to the touch. Jagged words are scratched into the rusty metal: “Inarius is a goat.”

“People of Kyovashad, the Light is in need of defenders. Those who join the Knights Penitent will be provided training, food, shelter, and a chance to cleanse your soul of sin.”

“Strong are those who stand in the Light. Stronger yet those who fight alongside him!”

The table is strewn with pouches full of sand. Scraps of paper are attached to each bag, and each bears the same note: “Father Inarius gazed at this sand and moved it with his awesome power. Three hundred gold.”

The book is battered and torn. The words “Where was the Light when my girl died?” are scrawled across every page, making the original text illegible.

“By order of Reverend Mother Prava, blacksmiths shall now devote half their time to forging armaments for the Knights Penitent.”

“NOTICE: At the start of the new month, Reverend Mother Prava will hold a sunrise sermon in celebration of the Divine Advent, the day Father Inarius returned to the world.”

“Blessed are the Knights Penitent who stand at the Father’s side, for they will earn a place in the Heavens.”

Beneath the heavy tarp lie crates of vegetables and fruit, preserved by the frigid weather.

Clothes, books, and other assorted items sit in a heap. Many faithful have made the trek to Kyovashad to join in prayer or in battle.

“Scorpion venom, sulfur, gallowvine, goat’s heart, bone dust, and a vial of the subject’s blood.”

A plaque at the shrine reads: “Take one stick of incense and place it in the fire. The Father will see your offering and show mercy to any of your loved ones that are ill.”

A plaque at the shrine reads: “Children of the Light, be not afraid. Pluck your finger and let the blood drip into the flames as a sign of your faith and courage.”

The wood is branded with a phrase: “Let this be the first step on your journey to the Light.”

“Take the fight to the denizens of Hell, before they bring Hell upon us!”

A place of prayer, maintained for locals and travelers. A fresh candle sits atop heaps of spent wax. The Light is never allowed to go out.

The official seal of the Cathedral of Light, cast in heavy bronze. The surface is heavily tarnished, touched by countless pilgrims at the end of their journey south. 

Crowned by the Cathedral Cross, the great pyre stands as tall as any roof in town. Charred corpses of the condemned remain lashed to the timbers – a clear warning for all who enter Margrave.

Piled high and still smoldering, countless corpses await final burial outside the walls of Margrave.

Hooks, prods, and cruel shapes hang from the rack. Some look like old livestock tools, fitted for human captives. 

Whatever creature fed on this man, it had claws the size of daggers. The people of Margrave have more to fear than bandits in these woods. 

“Citizens and pilgrims of Margrave – At the toll of the bell, all men, women, and children must assemble around the Pyre. Together, we bear witness to the wages of sin.” 

“Beware! Many lives have been lost to this canyon. Some say vampires lurk in its shadows.”

A pot full of old vegetables and lentils, but barely any meat.

The epitaph reads: “We should have left this place long ago. I will wait till the ground thaws, you were a good man who deserves a proper burial.”

Scattered notes and ledgers. The one at the top reads: “I’ve lost everything since the Knights fled from the vampires up north. My family is gone too. I am just alone amongst these drunks.”

A merchant’s neglected old crates. Many haven’t been used in a very long time.

“May the Light protect those who seek the light of Inarius. May you find peace while on your travels to Kyovashad.”

“If ye cheat while gambling, you’ll be banned a month and short a finger. Twice, either hand, yer choice. Thrice, and you meet the end of a rope!”

“Knights who serve the light shall forever bathe in the glory of the heavens. Join today!”

Crates of rations, dried venison, medical supplies, and strong ale—a garrison preparing for a long winter it seems.

The barrels are stacked neatly, with tight corks. The drink inside is clearly high quality and valuable.

The shield bears the scars of many battles. An inscription reads: “Faith in the Light shields against the darkness.”

These rotting, stinking corpses of the undead are a grim reminder of the dangers just outside the city.

This bell looks like it was reclaimed from the Drowned. Taken apart and repurposed, its death knell has been silenced for good.

A game of chance in which players bet on dice marked with the four card suits (crowns, stars, snakes and lions) plus a skull and an anchor. Originally played by Westmarch sailors, the game has become popular in Backwater as well.

All manner of alcohol hailing from all of Sanctuary’s sunless corners, collected here. Even the dregs of society need a taste of home it seems.

Once a piece of shipwreck, now a jobs board. Runs the gamut from lost items to bounties on heads

Littered with countless holes from bouts of knife throwing. A blood stain of dubious origin trails from the dummy.

Tools, weapons, and clothes are of little use to the dead. Folks take as they please from these piles.

The table shows deep gouges, scratches, and stains, likely from games both revelrous and mutinous.

This severed hand still weeps blood. It was only recently separated from its owner.

A bubbling greyish-brown liquid simmers away. While aesthetically repulsive, the scent is sweet and vaguely alluring.

A fresh pyre prepared for those who recently succumbed to disease. It appears the people of Wejinhani still honor the dead, even if they can’t be buried.

A carefully organized table of ingredients used in the creation of various healing aids. Moss, spiderwebs, bark…from the look of it, there is little from the swamp that isn’t used.

“Mother,
I’m sorry for disappearing after saying those awful things. I know it was hard watching me die in front of you, so I sought aid in the swamps of Hawezar. You were right. Nothing could be done, but I had to try. Please don’t hate me.
Myfi”

“Elewka—Marsh Foot—Swamp mangrove oil, 2x daily—Full recovery
Nikoyo—Serpent’s Chills—Beyond aid—Pyre burning set
Msias—Bone Mold—Removal of arm advised. Agreement reached
Zaita—Rotting Spasms—No cure. Make as comfortable as possible”

A large basket of spike fiend quills of various sizes. The tips appear to be coated in some sort of sticky substance. Were these removed from someone or are they used for healing?

A tattered recipe book containing detailed drawings, diagrams, and recipes for different healing agents. The margins are covered in notes written in various styles. This book has clearly seen the hands of many generations of healers.

A rsuty cage once used to hold deserters and enemies of the Zakarum.

A quintain formerly used by the Crusaders to prepare for battle. It has since wasted away with the rest of the fortress.

A statue of a saint of the Zakarum faith. Her name forgotten to time.

A statue of Akarat tarnished by time and nature. Surprisingly, the tome he holds is still legible.
“Embrace the Light with all that you are and you will overcome any evil that stands before you.” 

All empty. Where faith fails to provide solace, perhaps drink is a handy substitute. 

Worn Crusader helmets bearing no name or special ceremony. Likely a reminder of what happens when your name is lost to the Order. 

Coin, fruits, and other small tokens fill the bowl. The people here are few in number, but devout.

Various maps of the Hawezar swamps covered in circles that have been crossed out. It looks like most of the region has been scoured. 

The sickly-sweet odor of Hawezari flora wafts from the incense. Cut off from major supply routes, incense herbs must be foraged.

Moss and dirt cover most of the bench. Despite its age, the seat still sees regular use.

A lone lit candle sits amongst a sea of empty votive holders. Some still hold the faith close to their hearts.

Dog-eared and tattered, the worn pages show the precepts of Akarat. How many generations of Crusaders have read over these words?

The Crusaders who first settled here shaved their heads to stave off lice. The practice has since taken on symbolic meaning, indicating one’s piety and devotion.

These weapons shows clear signs of neglect: dents, chips, and gouges mar the metal and deep cracks etch the leather scabbards.

An old relief that tells a tale from the Zakarum faith. Its imagery faded and worn, much like the morale of the Crusaders.

Bandit gangs mark their turf in this city with flags. These colors signal one of the most ruthless crews, the Fifth Eye.

If there were coin, the Zakarum priests would distribute it to the poor and lame. As of now, it stands empty.

Freshly caught, and overly fragrant. It seems fish makes up a large part of the diet here.

Flies feast on a pile of luxurious fruits and cheeses casually forgotten by the wealthy.

It serves as both a barrier and as a decadent display of wealth.

There’s a good chance the contents would be considered less than legal in most other ports on Sanctuary.

The body hangs in a prominent place, where it can be easily seen and smelled. This corpse was meant to send a message.

What little meat is left on this starving animal’s bones has been stripped and eaten.

Strange bittersweet scents cling to the pipe. The substance inside is probably banned in other cities.

Drying vomit fills the bottom half. The stench is overwhelming. Disease lingers in this part of town.

Storms, raiders, and beasts alike prey upon ships coming in and out of the port. Those that make it back to shore frequently need repairs.

Priests hand out helpings of soup to the hungry. Prayers, conversations, and good cheer are shared amongst the community around this counter.

This forgotten corpse serves as a reminder that even though it is a beacon of life in a harsh land, death still surrounds the oasis.

The sign points the way to the healer. “All sick and lame are welcome.”

Armor dedicated to those who came before and those yet to come.

A wish from a simpler time when these waters held magic, not bodies.

The plans are brilliant yet desperate. The armies of despair fill the small map of Kehjistan.

A small child’s toy made from a grown man’s nightmare.

After the body was stripped of anything valuable, it was propped up for target practice.

Streaks of red line the bottom of the bowl. Smudges of red powder decorate the outer sides, where it was handled.

“BEWARE! Your life is forfeit beyond this point. In the Fields, man preys upon man. Turn back if you wish to live!”

A fighter probably gripped these beads in prayer. Now, they lie in a pile of items scavenged from corpses for resale.

Available to all who need it, this stone is used to sharpen blades before battle. It’s weathered from years of regular use.

Abandoned armor of Knights Penitent, battle-scarred and soot-stained.

A young man of Tarsarak, convicted by the Knights and hung for all to see.

Provisions, water-skins, saddles, tents, and weapons. Tools of the trade for any desert guide.

An old Kehjistani banner, carefully restored. The gold-leaf script reads: “Long live Alcarnus, shelter from the winds.”

Heaps of stained clothes, shoes, and other articles. Remnants of those judged guilty by the Knights Penitent.

Dwindling sacks of metal ore. With the mines closed in the south, such materials have grown scarce.

“By order of Inarius the Father, anyone known to have served the demon Lilith must be delivered at once to the Knights Penitent. Those found giving aid to these heretics will face the Light in kind.”

A ward constructed of cattle bones and twine, placed by the gate to deter evil spirits from town.

Those visiting in years past rung the bell to show their honor for the gods.

Not all those who venture into the crypt return.

The cabinet doors are locked tight. It reeks of decay and a smear of blood from under the door shows it’s been in use.

The holy symbol of the god for which those who visit seek to find.

The pilgrims choose to leave their trail shoes and start on a path anew on the way home.

A painted deer skull, ribs, and talismans lashed to a thick log. Even the stables receive protection here.

Latticed branches woven to withstand the strong winds of the hills. Another form of protection for the locals. Superstition is strong here.

Bundled charms hang in nearly every nook and cranny of Braestaig, guarding against all manner of creatures and fiends that lurk outside their walls.

A well-loved prayer book sits amongst other knights’ possessions. Prayers won’t protect them from what is to come.

A hastily painted protection ward guards the door of this home. Despite the thick stone façade, the faint cries of a newborn can still be heard.

Tinctures made of various herbs, sap, bark, and leaves from the hills. The people of Braestaig look to nature to clean a wound, cleanse a spirit, or protect their home.

Talismans, candles and carvings decorate this central totem. The woody, almost sweet smell of burning pine hangs in the air. It seems commitment to the Old Ways is strong here.

Bottles of salt and resin, bags of dried herbs and bark, and various other components used to create the wards that guard this town.

New talismans cover this druidic totem, bearing the names of the dead alongside runes of hope and healing.

Scattered goods and broken valuables, dropped amidst the chaos.

Scraps of linen lie soiled with blood and soot. Many were torn from clothing in the rush to treat the wounded.

Phlegm, blackened with soot, floats atop the water as survivors desperately try to clear their lungs.

An unknown victim, burned black and contorted in agony. Astaroth’s flames did not kill quickly.

A banner of the chieftains of Cerrigar, tattered and faded with age.

“Behold Airidah, Nafain, and Donan – Enders of the Days of Ash. Let their victory remind thee of the Light we share between us.”

The statue of the former heroes of Scosglen stands in dishonor, defaced by the curses of an angry mob.

An altar to Father Inarius presides over this makeshift chapel. Beneath it lies an old druidic shrine, almost hidden from view.

The Knights’ weaponry appears well polished and unblemished. They haven’t seen much use here in Cerrigar.

The door is locked. Faint cries and murmurs can be heard inside.

The door is locked. Faint cries and murmurs can be heard inside.

The door is locked. Faint cries and murmurs can be heard inside.

Scraps of parchment are pinned to every open space: names and descriptions of those missing since the attack.

A mighty iron brazier sits at the head of the hall where the chieftains of Scosglen gather round to hold council.

A fresh offering sits before an uncovered druid shrine, splayed open to appease the spirits of the Old Ways.

“In the name of the Father, let their sins be known in the Light.
Greum: Assault, Blasphemy
Adean: Public Disorder, Indecency
Caitir: Theft, Attempted Bribery “

Having lost their homes, folk from the lower city seek shelter wherever they can.

Fine pelts, supple leather, healing herbs, and rare minerals; bound for trade in the market.

An ancient oak, carved with runes and lovingly adorned. Clearly a place of worship for all who practice the Old Ways.

An ancient oak, carved with runes and lovingly adorned. By luck or prayer, it stands unscathed by the fires of Astaroth.

A wooden ceremonial shield, carved with figures and runes of a local family lineage.

“Here lie the triplets Mallory.
The first was trampled in the road.
The second died of fever.
The last joined her siblings out of grief.”

“I was Zelma, mother and farmer.
I tilled the soil, and here I’m planted.
I pray one day I’ll sprout anew.”

“Here lies Old Nan Gylmor.
Long she lived, far she traveled.
Content here at home, she rests.”

Druidic charms of wood and bone, carved with runes for health, prosperity, and protection.

A collection of bones, husks, and cores to be used in some kind of soup. Food for the desperate.

A simple tarp and some sticks. A makeshift shelter for the miserable.

A box of vegetables is carefully hidden inside this stump. Those who are hungry do what they must.

“By order of the Chieftain:
All persons who possess livestock should be prepared to surrender their livestock to the guard for slaughter and redistribution.”

“Limited supplies have been found and will be rationed this evening.”
-Chieftain Eiruig

The boxes are almost gone. Most are partially empty and won’t last long.

Ration tokens used by the town to distribute food. Hard to find. Easy to steal.

“By order of the Chieftain: In the pursuit of the Light, the town guard will begin searching all homes. With your help, we can root out sin from our village.”

A druidic altar of the sea constructed from a whale’s bones. A fresh offering rests atop the shrine in hopes of appeasing the spirits and bringing loved ones home safely.

Various hides prepared for leatherwork. It seems the small presence of livestock is as valuable as the fish and offers diversity to craft, sustenance, and trade.

Many homes and buildings around town have a barrel outside for the placement of poles and spears. Rumor has it, it’s considered bad luck to deny one’s tackle access to the sea air.

Those who can’t go out to sea help by trawling the surf and tidepools. All who are able lend a hand to ensure the prosperity of the town.

It appears fishing vessels are not the only ships to dock here. These goods were brought in by trade ships from far distant shores.

The mounted body of exceptionally large fish. A mighty trophy for whoever managed to land this catch.

Buoys hang from knotted rope, a votive of prayer. Lover, friendship, and fishermen knots are all displayed.

Purveyors of the practical and outlandish come to these docks to sell items of the woods and waves.

A towering shrine of whale bone reminding visitors and trespassers alike that Marowen’s people are as formidable as her waters.

A half-full cart sits abandoned; personal items strewn across the ground. It appears the owners discarded their excess in order to flee the town faster.

The docks are far more desolate than before. It appears many fishermen discarded their gear and abandoned these shores.

While its coat appears healthy, the insides of this deer writhe with the corruption of the Moors.

A woeful sign that the corruption of the Moors has trickled down into Tirmair and tainted the waters of the loch.

Drying fish hang from a rack. Chunks of rotten flesh have been removed in the faint hope it will still be edible.

An open ledger with angrily scrawled notes detailing places that no longer have game, are too dangerous, or are so tainted it isn’t worth setting traps there anymore.

While previous entries were forged in frustration, a new entry written with legible hesitancy reads, “I’ll believe it when I see it with my own eyes. Whispers around say our curse has lifted. Spirits, let it be so.”

A long list of out-of-stock items. It stands as a timeline for the decay of the land as the items change from obscure ales to more common items like deer meat, fish stock, and honey.

A druidic altar adorned with painted runes that serves as a place of worship for the Old Ways. Despite only catching a few clean fish, some souls still chose to offer their day’s work to the ancestors.

A barrel stands mostly empty, save for a few small fish and an eel.

Rendered mostly illegible by ash and years of water damage, these scrolls are perhaps all that remain of the vast quantities of druidic knowledge once stored in this place.

Carefully stacked cairns stand proudly around Túr Dúlra, each a lasting testament to the druid lives that perished in Astaroth’s flame. These memorials honor not only a lost people, but their way of life.

Once a place of learning, the charred benches sit as ghostly shadows amongst the ruins. Echoes of a time the druids walked these halls and shared their teachings before being forever silenced.

This statue—once exquisitely carved and a thing of beauty—now sits neglected and eroded. The moss growing over its surface covers old scorch marks.

Wooden talismens inscribed with tales of great feats of the first druids. These totems share the history of the druidic people of Sanctuary as well as their guiding precepts.

Various totems around Túr Dúlra mark locations for druids to stop and acknowledge not only the blessings provided by nature, but the road their predecessors walked and the hardships their people endured.

Most of Farobru’s wealth comes from its rich harvests and position along the supply route.

Scosglen’s lumber fetches a hefty price in the desert.

“Grain and feed. Best in the Steppes!”

Since the closure of the Acrid Caverns, ore supply has all but stopped.

The onslaught of the wasps has gotten bad enough to drive farmers from their homes.

Preserved long ago by the builders of Jirandai, this tree stands as the center of the Yinsuk Shrine. The prayer candles burn day and night, lit by travelers and merchants alike.

Cannibals have been testing the city’s northern defenses. These got well past the barricades before they fell.

A once-mighty church of the Zakarum, built at the height of their empire. Even ruined, it lends a sense of legitimacy to the new masters of Jirandai- the merchants of the Dry Steppes.

Heavy cranes reach over the edge, poised to lift cargo from the canyon below. The Merchants take their security very seriously.

Swords, pikes, and spears from throughout the East, scarred by heavy use. The Merchants have hired whoever they can to protect Jirandai.

“To all residents and visitors – Signal the watchmen when approaching the northern barricade, and cross at your own risk! We are not responsible for your safety beyond our borders.” – Jirandai Mercantile Council

The crumbling stone has a few discernable words:
“…spill their blood to be deemed worthy…”

The barbarians were the first to settle Ked Bardu. The city has grown around them, but their encampment remains largely unchanged.

The butcher’s stockpile runs low these days. The increase of people has made it difficult to keep up with demand.

Merchants from all around travel to sell in the markets of Ked Bardu. The reputation of the barbarians’ metalworks brings visitors looking to buy.

The Oxen symbol on the banner represents the resilient and stubborn nature of the people living off the harsh land of Dry Steppes.

The blood-soaked and tattered clothes of refugees. Those that fled their homes in Guulrahn had little time to gather anything.

The barbarians have left these skulls as a warning to anyone daring or foolish enough to attack Ked Bardu.

The commoners of Ked Bardu make a living off the land. The farmers raise livestock to bring to the market.

The Great Forge was built by the barbarian settlers and is the oldest structure in Ked Bardu. The stains of ash and soot covering the bricks are testament to centuries of creating legendary weapons.

The wealth of the merchants provide safety. The mercenaries prioritize protecting those with money.

The survivors of Guulrahn have settled in makeshift camps on the west side of town. Ked Bardu doesn’t have the resources to build quick enough to house its growing population.

The Oxen Gods stand as guardians to this sacred fountain. It is said that one who presents a worthy offering cleansed in these waters may gain their blessing.

Little mercy was shown to those bandits who survived the retaking of the Onyx Watchtower.

These goods have been reclaimed from the bandits that stole them. Food and drink will be given out to the tower’s new keepers, but the illicit spices will likely make their way to Ked Bardu.

Those who have returned to the tower have put together a shrine for the guards that were slaughtered by bandits.

When watchtowers lined the roads, this signal fire was one of many used to communicate with other towers. Now defunct, it signals only safety to travelers on the road.

Those emerging from the Fields victorious may wish to clean their hands of blood before conducting business in town.

Blood red grains fill the crate. This merchant deals in Blood Sand.

They’ve been stripped of all weapons and armor. Even so, the bodies still have value, and those looking for lost loved ones must pay a fee to retrieve them. 

Blood red dregs are collected at the bottoms of these well-used tea cups. 

Weapons left on the fields have been collected here and offered up for sale. They’re no use to the dead, anyway.

Lilith showed me the ugly truth of our cosmos. The Eternal Conflict. Angels and demons have battled over control of all creation for all time. To what end? I asked, and she simply laughed.

Lilith saw a way to escape the Eternal Conflict. She tells me it started with the seduction of the angel Inarius. All this time, he was just as fallible as any man.

Lilith is Sanctuary’s mother. Somehow, I felt the truth of it the moment she said it to those Knights. Now I know how. She used Inarius to craft this world, a refuge from the Eternal Conflict.

All my life, I’ve sought the origin of humankind. It was always her. From the union of angels and demons came the first generation of humanity. They were powerful. Movers of mountains, shakers of seas.

She was so proud in the telling of this part. Lilith and Inarius bore a son together: Rathma. He is wise beyond years, the first to untangle the power of necromancy. She says his lair lies deeper in…

Urgent: Looking for able bodied adventurers to clear out a nest of snakes in the Vyeresz village.

Most of the inscription has been lost to time.
A few barely legible words read:

… GREET … Death … open arms …

Most of the inscription has been lost to time.
A few barely legible words read:

… BID FAREWELL … all … you love …

Most of the inscription has been lost to time.
A few barely legible words read:

… GRATITUDE … rewards … virtuous …

Most of the inscription has been lost to time.
A few barely legible words read:

… ATONE … thy darkest … sins …

Most of the inscription has been lost to time.
A few barely legible words read:

… dare … PROVOKE … ire … fate …

Most of the inscription has been lost to time.
A few barely legible words read:

… EMBOLDEN … soul … unrelenting evil …

Most of the inscription has been lost to time.
A few barely legible words read:

… GIVE AID … meek …. powerless …

Coated in dried blood. Is this intended to catch beast or human?

8th of Jerharan – Kamien, traveling scholar – denied.

26th of Jerharan – Guulrahni refugees (multiple) – denied.

1st of Damhar – Elias of Aranoch, Horadrim – admitted.