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I have never known a woman more devout to her Goddess, nor kinder to those around her. Perhaps that is why Etia entrusts her with such power. I would not pretend to know the will of the Gods, but this halfling woman, High Priestess of Emporipol’s Temple of Etia, is the very visage of humble beginnings. And even now, with the power of her Goddess at her fingertips, she still remembers Clesal and those with whom she broke bread.

A curious and conniving man. Ambitious, cunning, and arguably one of my dearest friends. When I first met Therron Hallowtail, I thought him cocky. Now I think him deliberately obtuse, for this man has already predicted a hundred outcomes and plucked out that which he thinks best. This man would let you know that he was the youngest ever to achieve the title of Master Arcanist, and had you seen him on the battlefield, you would believe it without question.

To have fought alongside the woman who became the ArchDruid of Gloisil is no small honour. The world around her is her plaything: the wind, the skies and the earth below. And people often describe her as kind, soft and loving, but I know that while her kindness is true, it is a mask for the impossible power she possesses. If I were to name someone who I truly believed could kill me, it would be Oloren, but I am also glad to know that she would not.

Thron is as mysterious as he is outspoken. A man slow to empathise, I often wonder how someone from Elysium came to march in the armies of the Empire. But perhaps that is simply to be expected of a God-Touched of Esemis. This man has seen things that even I could not imagine, if the rumours of his past are to be believed. I would call him friend, even though his matter-of-fact manner can be somewhat abrasive, particularly coming from a man of few words.

Iranak, if you have taught me anything, it is that my perception of others can indeed be wrong. I have seen the feats of your physical strength and determination. I have also seen you care so deeply for your home, for Fellvokter. I hope that our choices lead you to peace, if not for you, then for the sake of your people.

They hold you in such high regard, and yet you have sought no title nor gold. Once this is over, if we do not return, I do not doubt that your name will be recorded in the halls of Nedfell, and that all of Fellvokter, and far beyond, will cheer your name.

But I also believe your skill in your craft, and the advancements you have made in enchantment, may well make the difference in the fight to come.

Iranak, whether we survive or we are simply remembered, I hope that the world continues to look at you with fondness.

Svenjen, when I first met you, I was frightened. You had spent so much time under the command of others that I think even you forgot who you were. Maybe if we had met sooner, I could have helped you, but I do believe that past made you what you are today.

Many see you as a master marksman, an assassin to be feared. But I have fought alongside you, and I have shared a meal with you, and I know that the true Svenjen is not the man pulling at the bowstring.

I hope that whenever this is over, you can walk on the winds of Sharum again, as yourself, and I hope that you would let me walk with you.

Our very own home, and arguably the most diverse of all Nineteen Realms.

The Root stands upon its own long history as the centre of the map. And yet I have met those in other Realms who know not of its existence, those who believe that their small settlements and cultures are the only truth. Perhaps such an existence would be far more peaceful than this short but busy life in the pursuit of knowledge.

A truly whimsical realm, floating upon a sea of nothing. The vibrant and ever-changing sky caused me quite the headache when I first arrived in this charming place. But behind the rolling grass and singing flowers lies a far more complex political structure. The Sylthari, ancestors of our own Thari peoples, have been pushed to the far north of the Realm following the loss of their Queen, while the Feyfolk take their place amongst the forests and the hills, and, much to the Sylthar’s dismay, Sa’alenora Castle itself.

If I were to describe The Dusk, I would need but one word: grey. I looked down at my own hands to find that I was as grey and as bland as the towering rocks and sharp ravines that tore through the landscape. Those who live in the Dusk, and seldom do, are not kind to visitors, nor are they true to themselves.

One would be surprised to find such a beautiful culture amongst the hot sand and rivers of magma, and yet the peoples of Moto-Mielle live a life of such inspiring tranquillity that you could believe they were instead spending their lives upon a sunny beach in Kathad.

Their relations with the Giants of this Realm are one of cultural comedy. They trade gifts that are so utterly useless to the other, and yet they do so with a smile. I was honoured to be invited to such an occasion, wherein the Giants’ own chief gave me a sword as big as I, and in return received a beautiful glass no larger than his pinky.

Were it not for the intense heat, I could see myself spending far more time here than is healthy.

The people here are strong and sturdy, and yet so attuned to the natural order that even the Druids of Gloisil may be put to shame. Their city, Barakar, is a marvel of stonework, and its central temple is adorned with gems and metals that would make any merchant's mouth water.

I had the pleasure of meeting with Ushu, the Realm’s guardian, a rather temperamental individual. I did wonder if he would rather me gone, but once I pushed through that hard exterior, it was truly an honour to spend time with a man of such robust wit.

Certainly not for the faint of heart, Sharum itself is a wonder to the senses. The ever-storm is truly a phenomenon. But what fascinated me most about Sharum is the way in which its people have adapted. Flying upon the currents with ingenious gliders, their buildings hang from the floating rocks as much as they build atop them, and they seem to have an intuition for the winds themselves. A leap of faith here is less a death sentence, and more a destination.

This was perhaps the most difficult Realm of my journeys, for I cannot, to my dismay, breathe underwater. But the kindly folk of this Realm assisted me to one of their villages, a small pocket of air suspended in the infinite expanse of ocean, and their people were so curious and so kind.

Such isolation often results in fear of others, and yet I was met with song and rather salty food.

Beauty and warmth in their rawest forms. The land where the Gods walk. That statement in itself is a lie, but one could believe it.

Golden towers and golden rivers, all here feels rich and prosperous. And yet its people are perhaps a little too comfortable. I felt little welcome here, perhaps because I am not of the God-Touched. But whispers carry far in the calm, and my presence ruffled more than a few feathers.

Trees. All of it trees. Old trees, young trees, not a meadow in sight.

For such a peaceful place, I had never felt more lost. Each turn brought a new pattern of bark, and each look to the sky was met only with a thick canopy of vibrant green leaves. And people here thrive in it. They move through the trees like I do down the familiar roads of Eikia. They hunt and forage, and they worry not for the comfort of a stone foundation and warm hearth.

Their culture is built entirely around this enormous forest, and I think we could all learn a thing or two from that.

My own little corner of paradise. Seventeen years I waited for permission to come here, to explore the archives at my own whim, and yet I found myself disappointed.

When so much collected knowledge is at your fingertips, it can be difficult to know where to start, and no knowledge is given to those who do not know what they seek. You do not browse Arcadia like you would a library, and perhaps that is why those in control are so vigilant about those who may access its corridors, for one could spend as much time here as they have questions to ask.

If propaganda wore a face, it would be Heliopolis. Perhaps in the past, the Thalaryn were a noble and powerful people, and if history were to be believed, that would be the truth. But those I met cling so desperately to this long-forgotten past that I could not help but feel sorry for them. Their past, present and future are consumed by ancestral triumphs.

And yet they treated me with the bawdy kindness one might expect in a tavern in Politou or even Athenga. They sang songs of their victories, and life here seemed to be a celebration, as wine flowed heavily beneath the thatched roofs and overturned warships they had made their homes.

Were I to wake up here and be told I was in The Root, I would believe them. Perhaps this is what our home would look like with the cities and the farms and the never-ending drone of industrialisation.

But one should not get too comfortable here, for its ecosystem is far more hostile than the rolling hills that separate our nations. The land here actively fights against any form of handmade intervention. Even a small campfire will be swallowed by the ground itself if you were to look away for long enough, and the beasts here, while most are recognisable, are truly frightening. Long, scaled bodies and sharp teeth, like wingless dragons.

Home of the Giants, the True Giants. Our own Northern Giants are to them as Halflings are to Dwarves. They are bigger, stronger, and yet they abide by rules that, perhaps at some point in The Root’s long history, were forgotten.

Separated into great clans, these Giants know little of the other Realms, or perhaps they simply don’t care. These creatures are not unintelligent. In fact, there is a nuance to their way of life. They do not lack knowledge from a lack of, or inability to pursue, it, but for the simple reason that they do not require it. They have existed this way for as long as time has been, and will remain so as long as they are left at peace.

Home of the Dragons. So few now remain in The Root that to see so many up close was itself a gift. But they do not take kindly to humans, and one could understand why.

What little time I had here was truly a gift, to stand upon the mountains for but a brief moment.

I would be lying if I claimed that my journey here was not ill-planned. The archives of Eikia do not do this place justice. The sheer scale of these creatures is utterly terrifying.

I would love to have spent more time here, but being a mouse in the lion’s den was not as exhilarating as one might believe. But nonetheless, to have stood upon the back of a tortoise and not known that you were atop a living creature is an experience everyone should have at least once.

On my travels, I have come across truly exciting, wonderful and terrifying sights, but none could have prepared me for Infernus. It was deathly quiet, and I am not sure that I saw any more than whatever will exists there had intended me to see.

I was warned, and I did not linger, but the unrest that had so long been documented by scholars seemed not to exist.

I can see now why Morveth is known as the world grave. That anything lives here is itself nothing short of a miracle. The darkness, illuminated only by slithering creatures and pulsing fungi, was filled with cackles and chirps that echoed off the cave walls like bells.

And the surface, even upon approaching it, caused me such pain that, had I not left immediately, I fear I would not be writing this now.

I will not speak of it, for that which I saw and that which I was forced to leave behind would motivate me only to return for one last look.

My journey here has been delayed, for those above me have strongly advised against it.

But I was able to meet with someone who had been.

The man no longer remembers his own name. He whispers in more languages than I could study in a lifetime, but what little I could make out spoke of glass fields and broken truths.

Life

I’m not sure why Etia puts such trust in me. When I came to Emporipol looking to be an acolyte, I never would have imagined myself here now as the High Priestess.

From Etia I have learned warmth. I can heal wounds and have even regrown a limb or two. But I never thought, back when I was helping women through their labours and blessing newborns, that I would be standing here now with such power.

Etia’s silence in these darkest of times is perhaps a message in itself, a part of the Gods’ wider plans. But I know that she trusts me.

Death

Being a priest of the God of Death is more rewarding than I could have ever imagined.

Death is frightening, not to those who die, but to those who live on after. Grief is cruel. It is the absence of hope.

But for every rite, for every mourning widow, and every small child that now stands an orphan, I hope I can provide some sense of peace.

And if today I can ease someone’s passing, and tomorrow I can ease another, then I will have done my duty.

Peace

I’m not sure what peace means anymore. I have travelled The Root, and I have seen injustices behind closed doors while the village sings of its prosperity. I have seen hunger and desperation, greed and wealth.

Xeneas was an anchor to my understanding of the world for so long that I think I forgot why I began to pray to her in the first place. And as I looked over our eastern border, I had to question what concern the Gods had with us, with the individual. What was the bigger plan, and what did peace actually mean to those who do not walk among us?

The only answer I ever got was to preserve The Balance.

But what The Balance is, I do not know.

War

I have never felt joy in war. In battle, when I taste the iron of blood and the hairs on my skin stand to attention, there is excitement, exhilaration and thrill, but not joy. And yet war has become such a necessity, to protect those whom we love.

But Esemis himself has not guided me forward to kill others in his name, nor to butcher the enemy for glory, but instead to fight because all things must be in balance.

What that means exactly, I am unsure. But I would follow him to the end.

The Oceans

Seventeen years I have spent on the seas. I have weathered storms and gone toe to toe with pirates, all to drag the coffers of wealthier men from shore to shore.

And in that time, I have seen many a deckhand praying to Saius, hoping and pleading for calm waters and safe passage. But I do not believe that he has ever truly answered those prayers. Each safe passage is met with thanks to the Gods, but I have come to learn that our ship is but a drop in the ocean of the Gods’ concern.

The Lands

We can carve through stone and rock, make homes of mountains and castles from the bedrock. And yet the world does not buckle.

Nolene is the fortress by which I live my life. Be it upon hilltop or within ravine, I will fight with the strength of iron. For I am the diamond that she has formed, the silver blade to which she gave breath.

Natural Law

I see her in the butterflies and the flowers, in the weeds and the rats. In the vines that crack through the stone walls of the fortress.

I have often been asked what my Goddess means to me, and in truth, there is no simple answer. For her dominion is not life, nor is it chaos, but the order by which all things live: resilience, perseverance, and will.

And so my duty to her is neither to protect nor condemn, but simply to facilitate nature’s law.

The Craft

She looks down upon us from our statues hewn from the mountain stone. She watches as we hammer iron and forge steel. Every ring, every blade, every button on your breast is made in her name, for she is the craft, she is the skill, the knowledge, the epitome of all that it means to be a Dwarf of Fellvokter.

So the next time you step up to the anvil and the sweat drips from your brow, remember that she is watching, and that her will stands with the strong.

Order

Where there is law, there is peace. Where there is order, there is prosperity. It is our duty to maintain order, even at the cost of the individual. Your crimes have been determined, and your punishment shall be death. You have placed the sanctity of this city at risk, and there can be no reprieve for your indiscretion.

Go now, for you have thus been judged. And by Sodall’s will, order shall be returned in your passing.

Chaos

I have enjoyed this life, perhaps far too much. I have drunk myself into the black and swathed my way through brothels all over Anatoli. And I believed for so long that it was that which Idhur desired.

But as my body grew old, and the ale no longer took hold, and the women longed for younger men, I realised that it was not chaos in defiance of order that Idhur had tried to lead me toward, but instead the small moments of change that carry the paths of all things.

Perhaps if I had realised this sooner, I wouldn’t be lying alone on my deathbed.

Light

I can feel his warmth so greatly and so viciously that I remember no moments without him. I have carried the weight of his words with such entirety that I have little left to offer, and I would do it time and time again.

But even I struggle to interpret his will. He speaks to me of the Balance and leads me to the ends of the Realms. I have fought with those who would seek power for the sake of their people, and watched those who would do harm walk on by, all in his name.

Maybe I am a fool to trust in that which does neither walk nor breathe, but each time the sun rises, the cradle of his warmth is enough for me to persevere.

Darkness

Every star and shadow is carried by her. And I carry them through her. Her will is like a crushing weight upon my chest. I see it in the eyes of my sister: fear, often sadness, that this has become our life.

I have often wondered whether what we were doing was for the greater good, but I believe that there is something more than wars and factions and the histories of this world. And though Umis may not speak it, I have seen within the dark the whispers and the things left unsaid.

Soon all shall be revealed. Perhaps not in my lifetime, but certainly before the night has ended.