Thirty finite authored accounts and actual reusable stock-neural recordings. This production library contains spoilers. Active-game discoveries and archive visibility are handled separately in the game.
Asset coverage | Authored library data | Speech manifest | Voice settings | World bible
Mara Venn | Survey of the Seven Rains | entry 1
We have named the fork after the tree with three white roots. Tovin wanted to name it after himself. I suggested he first learn which way his boots were facing. Our chart records paths we have walked, not paths we hope exist. Leave room between the lines. The jungle has a habit of making certainty look foolish.
Mara Venn | Survey of the Seven Rains | entry 2
A burning root blocks the eastern crossing, but the long northern loop remains open. I marked both. A blocked shortcut is not a sealed country. The Ember Heart is said to quiet the forest’s fever merely by being carried; learning to wield its flame in battle is another matter. If we find it, we must return here rather than redraw the whole expedition.
Tovin Reed | Survey of the Seven Rains | entry 3
Mara refuses to erase my short route. She has drawn a warning beside it instead. I called that untidy. She called it honest. Today we found her older marker beneath new ash, exactly where she said it would be. I have borrowed her pencil to write this apology. Please do not tell her how long it took me.
Mara Venn | Survey of the Seven Rains | entry 4
The flames have fallen away from the crossing. New shoots stand beside blackened roots, not in place of them. Tovin wished the scars would vanish. I think we need them. A traveller ought to see both the wound and the healing, or the next warning will sound like an old surveyor’s superstition.
Tovin Reed | Survey of the Seven Rains | entry 5
Mara died helping a stranger down the western rocks after the rain. There was no seal, no attempted release, no beast. We set her instruments beneath this stone because she wanted useful things to remain useful. I finished the connecting line on her chart. It bends around the place where she fell. That is not an error.
Iren Vale | Reedwater Relief | entry 1
We entered with medicines, rope and two kettles. Captain Senn says one kettle is enough for any sensible party. Senn has never tried to persuade a frightened child to swallow willow broth while six adults argue about tea. The rain has followed us for three days. Rain is not the enemy. A river denied its proper channel is.
Senn Vale | Reedwater Relief | entry 2
The old stepping stones are beneath the flood, but the wall marks their course. We will take the dry gallery today. Iren says the Tideborn Tear would lower the violent water without drying the wells. That sounds more useful than my first plan, which involved shouting at the current. The river has declined to obey my rank.
Iren Vale | Reedwater Relief | entry 3
Someone left a story about the drowned guardian. The healer in that story tried to release a keeper with power she had not mastered. I have no such ambition. These bandages and the people needing them are enough work. Do not mistake every abandoned medicine bottle for hers. Many ordinary hands have tried to help in this forest.
Pella Moss | Reedwater Relief | entry 4
We put the little waterwheel back on its axle. It needed a measured flow, not another flood. Senn held the beam while Iren turned the channel gate. Nobody looked heroic. We were muddy, cross and hungry. By evening the settlement’s mill was working. I wish the songs had room for that sort of victory.
Pella Moss | Reedwater Relief | entry 5
Iren and Senn died in the gallery collapse while carrying the last patients out. We buried them above the river, with two cups between their stones. Neither became a guardian. The wounded covenant is not the cause of every death. Some people give everything without touching a royal seal, and their names deserve a place on our maps.
El Anwen | Copperleaf Inquiry | entry 1
My first drawing of a storm conductor omitted the tree growing through it. A child from the canopy settlement corrected me. Copper carries the charge, she said, but the roots decide where the water goes. I have left the correction visible. A diagram can hold an observation; it cannot excuse us from making the next one.
Bren Orr | Copperleaf Inquiry | entry 2
The charged vines sing before they strike. First a low hum, then white forks beneath the bark. We waited for the sound to fade and took the outer stair. El has marked the warning with a forked sign as well as violet ink. Rain made every colour on my last notebook the same colour: regrettable.
El Anwen | Copperleaf Inquiry | entry 3
The observatory inscriptions mention a scholar trapped in a feathered shape. I cannot yet prove who she was. Knowing a rite’s words is not the same as practising its restraint; that warning appears in several hands. I have copied it without attaching a name. A good question should not become a false answer merely because the margins are empty.
Bren Orr | Copperleaf Inquiry | entry 4
The Storm Fang quieted the wild arcs, but the old receiver still waited for a deliberate charge. Calm is not the absence of power. El touched the marked conductor and the stone latch lifted. We used no lightning on the surrounding trees. I am beginning to understand why the forest distinguishes a keeper from an owner.
Bren Orr | Copperleaf Inquiry | entry 5
El died of fever on the return journey. The medicines slowed it, then did not. I have wrapped the corrected diagrams in oilcloth, not the clean copies. If another scholar finds them, please keep the crossed-out mistakes. Her last question was whether the little tree had survived the storm. I went back. It had.
Ossa Flint | Rootbound Works | entry 1
The quarry workers blame the mountain for every fallen stone. I have met many mountains and none has drawn a wage or signed an unsafe scaffold permit. These new mineral ridges are different: they rose across an old road overnight. We will mark the disturbed stones, leave the ordinary cliffs alone, and stop calling every rock a curse.
Jori Flint | Rootbound Works | entry 2
Ossa says the Rootstone can settle a fractured crossing before its bearer has mastered battle. That does not mean every boulder is waiting for a command. We found the old builders’ square mark on three loose stepping stones. I marked those, not the whole hillside. A traveller needs a few readable promises, not a thousand doubtful buttons.
Ossa Flint | Rootbound Works | entry 3
A defender’s carved warning says a shelter can become a prison. I thought of our retaining wall, which keeps a sapling alive but gives its roots nowhere to grow. We removed two stones and braced the rest. The apprentices expected a speech about strength. I told them to fetch a wider spade. They looked relieved.
Jori Flint | Rootbound Works | entry 4
We found coins pressed into jade near a great lair. Tessa wanted to prise them loose. Ossa asked why the creature’s wealth mattered more than the abandoned workers’ camp nearby. We left the coins and repaired the camp’s stove. Tessa still disagrees. I have written her objection here because a useful account should not pretend we always became wiser together.
Tessa Ward | Rootbound Works | entry 5
Ossa and Jori died in the old quarry fall, bracing the beam long enough for us to crawl out. No king witnessed it. No covenant changed them. We finished their bench beside the safe crossing, leaving two tool marks where their names should go. I once thought a treasure was something you could carry. This one is somewhere to sit.
Nemi Wren | High Canopy Search | entry 1
We are looking for my brother, not a crown. Leth checks the knots while I count the platforms. We have agreed that nobody climbs ahead alone. It is an easy promise in the morning, harder when the wind offers a faster route. I have tied a small silver thread into our shared rope so I can find it in the dark.
Leth Sora | High Canopy Search | entry 2
The violent gust stops at the carved feather marker; the ordinary breeze keeps moving beyond it. Nemi can hear the difference. I mostly hear my own teeth. We will walk the sheltered loop until the Skyfeather answers. If the gale settles, do not cut every hanging leaf still. Wind belongs in a living canopy, even when it inconveniences me.
Nemi Wren | High Canopy Search | entry 3
A shrine visitor told us of an adventurer who believed four awakened powers would be enough. She did not know his name. Leth wanted to turn the tale into a rule about every serpent. I asked him to leave room for actual snakes. The jungle had rare creatures before our failures gave it more. Fear is a poor naturalist.
Aren Wren | High Canopy Search | entry 4
Nemi, if this reaches you, I am at the northern settlement with a badly mended ankle and an excellent cook. I did not vanish into a royal mystery. I fell off a wet ladder. Please ask about ordinary accidents before challenging any ancient beasts on my behalf. I have sent this by the sheltered road, with an extra length of rope.
Aren Wren | High Canopy Search | entry 5
The reply arrived too late. Nemi and Leth died in a canopy storm while helping another party cross. We found their shared knot still holding. They never attempted the princess’s release and were not transformed. I keep their rope at the settlement gate for travellers who have mistaken going alone for going bravely. Ask for help before the weather changes.
Siv Marr | Whitefern Passage | entry 1
Snow rests on the broad leaves here, though the lower jungle steams. There is no sixth seal to find. Cold follows height, shade and the season; corruption follows a wounded covenant. We must learn the difference or we shall spend the winter accusing innocent weather. Tomas has drawn a snowflake beside a feather to remind himself. It is surprisingly cheerful.
Tomas Pell | Whitefern Passage | entry 2
I expected a forgotten army. We found one abandoned kettle and a pair of socks hung neatly above it. Someone hoped to return. Siv lit the marked brazier with a small controlled flame, not the red fire raging below. We left dry kindling for the next party. Keeping a camp warm seems a reasonable ambition for an adventurer.
Siv Marr | Whitefern Passage | entry 3
The distant storm has quieted, yet frost remains on the north-facing stones. The forest has not failed to heal. These white branches were white before the Hollow King woke. I have marked a sheltered return route and the last reliable spring. Anyone promising a perfectly green jungle has probably never climbed out of its warmest valley.
Tomas Pell | Whitefern Passage | entry 4
An older letter records Aveline asking for river measurements rather than another statue. She knew which settlement’s well failed first and which path the healers used. I had thought a princess’s duty was to wait inside a beautiful story. Siv laughed, then made me copy the measurements. Perhaps the useful parts of a kingdom rarely fit on a banner.
Siv Marr | Whitefern Passage | entry 5
Tomas died crossing the ice to bring our porter back. We placed his notebook beneath the whitefern memorial. He was not cursed into a monster; he was a frightened, funny man who went back for someone. I am leaving his earlier pages with this one. Remember the socks and the bad drawings as well as the last crossing.