I have a very long official title, but you may simply address me as Zarka. The young ones will harp on and on about our strict traditions, but I'm old enough to get away with it, so I do! My role is that of a keeper of tales. I was chosen by my predecessor, rather than being allowed to become a {dekhara} or perform other duties. I am not permitted near combat, for the stories I keep are one of our most valuable resources. We understand the plains of Vastiri through the lens of these words handed down to us over the centuries. We see what used to lie where sand dwells now, and hear the bold proclamations and lamentations of yesteryear. That is my role, to be the worldly eyes and ears of the Ardura.
— Rank and Status |
We will deliver you to Traitor's Passage, which will allow you to ascend the cliffs.
— MysticGoToG2_town |
Ah yes, {jingakh}, I hear you are interested in Keth. If we are to travel there, I would like you to attempt to do something for us. As a girl, before I danced with the scorpion, my favourite tale was that of a spirit that dances in the ruins of Keth. The last djinn, the third servant of water, bearing the name Amnaah. A minor power, one a mortal could reasonably hope to best.
I have long held hope that this tale is true - that all my tales are true. Capturing it would serve as proof that these stories I hold in my head and pass on to the younger generation are more than simply myths. Over the years, I have kept an eye out for artifacts that might hold such a being. I believe this bottle may serve. Will you take it and capture Amnaah? You would make a young girl very happy, even though she is quite old now.
— MysticFindDjinn |
It is our bane, young one. The desert is a harsh Sekhema. It is not the heat that kills you, nor the thirst, nor the chill winds at night. The Doom of the Desert is a severing of one's connection to other people. The desert is always shifting, and one rock looks much like another. Those who lose hold of their path for even a moment are never seen again, and those who fall among the dunes are forgotten, their bodies lost beneath the sands for all time. As a girl, I sometimes had nightmares about a layer beneath... a layer of bones... countless generations of Maraketh that have fallen from memory... being forgotten under the sands is our deepest fear, too unnerving for many to discuss, and it is why a promise to remember someone is the greatest respect we children of the desert can give.
— The Doom of the Desert |
Ah. I see. You would do well, child, not to show that letter to any other pair of eyes. If I am asked about its contents, I shall feign dementia. I suggest you... dispose of it... by giving it to someone who cannot read it. Am I being clear?
— Show Zarka the Final Letter |
Nasima, yes, Nasima! A great warrior, though with a complicated legacy. Born with eyes the color of blood, she was left to die among the dunes for being blind, but the Faridun found her and raised her. A {balbalakh}, one might think, but no. She became an impressive warrior in her own right, and when called upon to raid her people, she recognised her mother's voice, and turned and slaughtered her Faridun captors! A true role model from the ancient days, and a wonderful sleep-tale for the children.
— Nasima of the Second Sight |
I will tell your tale, {jingakh}. Return someday, and you might hear Risu tell it in my place.
— Goodbye |
Each young one is much like another. Faridun, Maraketh, what does it matter to an old woman? Others may scowl for letting Risu sit and listen to my stories, but none may order me silent.
— Risu |
She was a fierce warrior before she was blinded in battle. Focused, determined. Losing her sight has not changed that. I have no doubt that she will become skilled enough at blind-fighting to rejoin the ranks someday. Indeed, blind {dekhara} were once instrumental in decimating an Eternal legion during a sandstorm ambush, so it is not without precedent.
— Shambrin |
Trust in her, {jingakh}. While you are here, she is your Sekhema, and she will not lead you astray.
— Asala |
This is the tale as it was told to me by our {akhara}'s tale-woman before me, and as told to her by the tale-woman before her. These words have remained unchanged since the beginning. Many thousands of years ago, we were a simple people. Hunters. Roamers. We moved valley to valley in search of meat and berries. There was none of the discipline we know today, but that was about to change. These fair plains became barren and lightless, a time those generations called the Winter of the World. One thousand years of ice brought hardship and suffering, but that was only the beginning. To the south, the foreign tyrant Ahn fell, and horrible creatures flooded forth under this darkness, seemingly born of bone and blood and foul magic. Survival meant banding together and creating the strict traditions that eventually became what we know today. To fight was to live. Disorder meant death. In the darkest depths of that era, when hope was but a memory, the twin sister Sekhemas Solerai and Lundara arose to unite our scattered peoples for the first time. They wielded the essence of gold and silver, gleaming with such ferocity that the grey skies had no choice but to give way. The creatures retreated under the sands, never to be seen again, and our fair plains blazed with emerald forests and sapphire rivers. This brought about the most glorious age of our people. A time of conquest, wealth, great heroes, and gods that lasted for another thousand years. But then, one fell winter... the gods vanished. Our beloved Garukhan was the last to succumb, holding on for two moons against a powerful enervation. She gave what final orders she could, mandated our traditions be upheld, and then went silent. The Maraketh were not disturbed. We did not lose hope. We knew who we were, and those values had not left us with the departure of the gods. When the sky burned, when the Vaal fell, when the Eternals came and sought to be our masters, and then fell as well, we endured. We have protected these fair plains for three hundred and four generations, and we will continue to do so for another three hundred and four. That is our duty, and our birthright.
— History of the Vastiri Plains |
Since we do not have forty-five spare hours, I suppose I could tell you a small piece of one of Sekhema of Sekhemas Orbala's adventures. Her second adventure took place three moons before her dance with the scorpion. She was not a Sekhema at that time, not even a {dekhara}. Word had not spread of her first adventure yet, either, for only her sister knew of the bandit-chase for Solerai's Spear that ended with Stridevolf in flames, so at that time she was still unknown. For that reason, she initially said nothing when a visiting Vaal dignitary insulted her mother. He was a devotee of Arakaali, and wished to indulge in unmentionable activities. When Orbala's mother rejected him, he spoke vile words, then departed. Orbala could not let this stand. She crept from her home in the dark of the night, tracking the dignitary's entourage through many unfamiliar forest roads. She found him bathing at the foot of Keth's second river, Halani. Aiming true, she struck him through the throat with a single arrow. It was then that his entourage appeared and explained that he had merely been a Maraketh spy playing a role, and that his insult had been intended to spread his reputation ahead of his passage. Orbala was given a choice: to face the justice of the Plains for her slaying of this important agent, or to don his clothes and fulfill his mission, masquerading as a Vaal dignitary in his place, so that the Sekhemas might assess threats on the border between the two peoples. She succeeded in her ruse through many dangerous and humorous situations, although this adventure also ended with Lira Vaal in flames.
— Orbala's Eight Adventures |
A brave request, but that is rather a long tale! I do not have five uninterrupted days to tell it. Perhaps, ask again after this conflict is over?
— MysticOnKalandra |
I am sorry, {jingakh}. I do not believe I have the strength to tell that harrowing tale right now. I must use what time I have left to teach my tales to Risu. Perhaps one day, she will tell it to you.
— MysticOnKalandraLater |
Here we are. You may disembark from that side. Guards! Lower the ramp!
— MysticTraitorsPassageArrived |
So, your shade is actually the Thief of Virtue. I suspected as much. There are many conflicting accounts of what happened to cause the return - and death - of the gods, but one thing is true in all of the rumours. He played an important role. I refer you to Orbala's great adventures. Every single one of her tales ends with at least one city in ruins... but she is still a hero, and we still remember her fondly, because her intent was noble. As the tale goes, the vine climbs towards the sun for light. It does not mean to crumble the wall. It is much like this desert. We are not in denial about how it has changed. We see that it was once verdant, and we know that it will one day be so again. Devastation always heals, given enough time, and perhaps the Thief of Virtue will eventually forgive himself as well.
— The Thief of Virtue |
We shall wait here, {jingakh}, but the military carts have departed for the Gates. Make haste!
— MysticTraitorsPassageSendoff |
We did send a single {dekhara} to the island of Ogham to glean what clues we can about Corruption. She verified much of what your shade told us, and brought back a few tales as well. It seems you are a natural fit for the mercenary role you serve with us, given that you did the same in Ogham for their legendary hero, Finn. New Ezomyte myths are rare in these parts. The other tale-women will be quite impressed when I tell them how Finn saved Ogham and built a grand treetop mansion in which to house and feed his loyal vassals. How unbelievable! A fortress {in the trees?} I've hardly seen a single healthy tree in my time, but Ogham is covered with trunks as tall as the Ancient Gates themselves! Whole forests, and rivers, too! Truly, a wondrous land.
— MysticOnEzomytes |
Change. And time.
— MysticConversationWithMentorOne |
Indeed, and it dragged out Keth's fading for several hundred years. It became a vulnerability, a target for raiders and conquest. Best to put a wounded beast down.
— MysticConversationWithMentorTwo |
What else can you tell me of Garukhan?
— MysticConversationWithMentorThree |
The soul all Maraketh share.
— MysticConversationWithMentorFour |
Yes, but their location has been guarded well.
— MysticConversationWithAsalaOne |
A tale-woman would die before divulging her secrets.
— MysticConversationWithAsalaTwo |
The other {akharas} are calling you the Hand of the Ardura.
— MysticConversationWithAsalaThree |
That is not for me to determine, young one.
— MysticConversationWithAsalaFour |
As you should, unless someone more capable emerges.
— MysticConversationWithAsalaFive |
Of course, young one. There is always another story. The new moon approaches.
— MysticConversationWithRisuOne |
That is not the tale I usually tell on the new moon, but perhaps adjustments can be made!
— MysticConversationWithRisuTwo |
Do the Faridun have any tales?
— MysticConversationWithRisuThree |
No, who was he?
— MysticConversationWithRisuFour |
That doesn't sound likely. Poison is underhanded and dishonourable.
— MysticConversationWithRisuFive |
Ahh...
— MysticConversationWithRisuSix |
Welcome to the Ardura—oh, hmm. I know who {you} are. Don't worry... I won't hold it against you, young one, but we cannot travel anywhere at the moment. Hyenic raiders are harassing the trade route ahead. For the time being, we are stuck here.
— Introduction |
You are seeking passage on our caravan? We cannot travel anywhere at the moment. Hyenic raiders are harassing the trade route ahead. For the time being, we are stuck here.
— Introduction |
{You} defeated the raiders? Despite your past, we could use someone of your skill. Welcome to the Ardura {akhara}. You may travel with us in exchange for your service. You will even have the respect of one of our own for as long as you stay. If anyone says otherwise, tell them to speak to me.
— The Ardura Caravan |
{You} defeated the raiders? Fate sends us a fortuitous stranger! Welcome to the Ardura {akhara}. You may travel with us in exchange for your service, as a {jingakh}, and you will have nearly the respect of one of our own for as long as you stay.
— The Ardura Caravan |
Ah, you released Balbala, the Traitor? Then it is your duty to redeem her soul, by allowing her to serve as a mentor Djinn during your dance with the scorpion. This will not be a simple matter, the old ways are required. Speak to Asala. The ancient trial is not far from here, and the caravan is duty-bound to carry you there.
— The Trial of the Sekhemas |
Ah, you released Balbala, the Traitor? Then it is your duty to redeem her soul, by allowing her to serve as a mentor Djinn during your dance with the scorpion. In modern times, we give aspiring {dekharas} a straightforward test. For {this} task, however, the old ways are required. You will have to face a much deadlier trial. Speak to Asala. The original trial is not far from here, and the caravan is duty-bound to carry you there.
— The Trial of the Sekhemas |
I'm proud of you, young one. Few have the strength to redeem themselves, let alone others. Perhaps, one day, you will lead an {akhara} of your own.
— ZarkaA2AscendancyCompletedSorceress |
This is a time of change indeed! For at least eighty generations, the tale of Balbala has remained the same, but now you have changed the ending. The desert is a little kinder this day.
— ZarkaA2AscendancyCompleted |
A sandstorm barrier! Foul sorcery, right out of the tales!
— ZarkaA2SandstormSeen |
Jamanra can control the sands? This was not an ability he had in life. It must be born of Corruption. There {is} something in the tales that could help us overcome such a power. It was said that the Horn of the Vastiri could control the winds. I believe the Horn's location has been lost to time... {but}... perhaps it is possible that we can reconstruct it. We would have to retrace the steps of our greatest heroine, Orbala, on her final adventure. Speak to Asala. She knows the tale, and where it might take us. Let her know how you wish to begin. Or, you may seek my wisdom if you have further questions.
— Dispelling the Sandstorm |
Ah, the Horn... how to condense a seven-day tale? It was created during Orbala's eighth adventure, her final quest before becoming the Sekhema of Sekhemas... she wrested control of the three elements. Her trusty war-steed, the great mastodon Ekbab, gave its tusks for the carving and the channeling of lightning. The essence of water was a secret held at the heart of Keth... and primordial fire must be earned from those that originally brought it to Wraeclast. We will find {them} at the Valley of Titans. Yes... those are the three elements we will need.
— Recreating the Horn |
This is not the first time the sands themselves have been used against us. The Necromancer of Weeping Black, Saresh, once waged war upon the Maraketh out of the nascent desert regions of that era. He commanded not only armies of the dead, but vast roiling storms as well. Hearing of this threat, Orbala set forth on a quest to master the elements, and, in three places of power, she proved herself to the winds. Her reward came to be known as the Horn of the Vastiri. When she drew in a mighty breath and sounded the Horn, it was {so powerful}, every tent across the entire Plains blew open. You can imagine what it did to the Necromancer's sandstorms... seizing their moment, the united {akharas} stormed forth to savage the undead armies of Saresh. For this victory, Orbala was made the Sekhema of Sekhemas, and, after ruling with strength and cunning for many years, later became our Queen of the Wind, greatest goddess of the Maraketh. Her divine name was Garukhan, which means 'ultimate sovereign.' The tales, unfortunately, make no further mention of the Horn after that.
— The Tale of the Horn |
This ruby is beautiful and quite haunting. Perhaps it is simply my imagination, but I feel as if there is something staring back at me from deep inside.
— The Flame Ruby |
These tusks are truly worthy of Orbala's steed!
— The Mastodon Tusks |
There was a goddess of water lying at the heart of Keth? I wonder what her role in the past involved. It is my sacred duty to keep our tales, but I know nothing of this goddess! How could we Maraketh have forgotten something so important?
— The Essence of Water |
There was a goddess of water lying at the heart of Keth? Halani! I wonder what her role in the past involved. It is my sacred duty to keep our tales, but I know nothing of this goddess! The tales say that Halani was the name of Keth's Second River, so the truth must have drifted over the generations. How could we Maraketh have forgotten something so important?
— ZarkaA2AcceptsEssenceOfWaterNamed |
Keep following Orbala's trail, young one. There are still two more acts to her story.
— ZarkaA2TwoMoreThings |
Keep going, young one. We are nearly at the end of Orbala's tale.
— ZarkaA2OneMoreThing |
Impressive, young one! Now we have everything we need to recreate the Horn of the Vastiri. It'll take a bit of carving... hmm, I think the Flame Ruby goes here... imbue the essence of water with the proper motions... maybe I'll just tighten that there... snap that off... oh! I hope that wasn't important... alright. It's {a bit} like the original Horn. If my fingers were more nimble, I could have done better. This won't blow a gale across the entire Vastiri, but it will serve our purpose. Here. Take it. You retraced Orbala's journey, so you should be the one to sound the Horn.
— The Recreated Horn |
We need more than just common tusks from the Badlands. You must find the greatest among them, the remains of the mastodon war-steed Ekbab. You will know his remains when you see them.
— ZarkaA2MapUIMastodonBadlands |
The essence of water was said to be kept at the heart of Keth, from whence the seven rivers sprung. The sands have reclaimed the city, but there must still be ways inside. Seek the sanctum at the heart of the shrines.
— ZarkaA2MapUIKeth |
We must still respect the ancient agreements. You are permitted to enter the Valley of the Titans, but only for the Rite of Flame. Find the crystalline dais, call for the rite, prove yourself... and then depart, with haste.
— ZarkaA2MapUITitanValley |
During the Winter of the World, the trial to become a {dekhara} was brutal and unforgiving. It was overseen by one of our earliest goddesses, Varashta, in a series of chambers beneath the sands. There, an aspirant and a mentor may both earn honour.
— ZarkaA2MapUIAscendancyTrial |
The tale-women still talk of you rejecting the honour of our role. I hope your time of banishment has taught you some respect. If I were to count the days, I suspect I might find you have returned to the Plains of Vastiri somewhat early... but it seems my infirmities are suddenly clouding my sense of the seasons. I won't tell if you won't, young one.
— ZarkaA2BanishmentGossip |
It is rare to see one of your kind here, Monk. Tread carefully. The Third Pact still governs both you... and your master.
— ZarkaA2TheDreamerGossip |
As a servant of the Dreamer, the Third Pact explicitly forbids your kind from entering the Valley of the Titans. Hmm... but necessity sometimes overrides tradition. Do what you must, and speak of this to no one.
— ZarkaA2TitanValleyForMonkGossip |
Ah, Deshar, the City of the Dead! In these harrowing times, one could be forgiven for thinking the risen dead live there—if that form of existence can even be called living. No, no. Long before we had to worry about the dead rising, we built towering spires to return our people to the sky. Our Honoured Dead lie openly, enjoying the sun, not hidden from it under the earth. Over time, they are scoured away, becoming the wind and sand you feel on your skin at this very moment. I will soon make the journey to Deshar myself, once I train a replacement. I could wait, but I prefer to meet Death on my feet. Who knows? I may even be the first mortal to win my battle, and defeat Nekraata in spiritual combat. I might not look the part now, but when I was younger, you would have found me to be a formidable rival!
— Deshar |
Ah, Deshar, the City of the Dead! In these harrowing times, one could be forgiven for thinking the risen dead live there—if that form of existence can even be called living. No, no. Long before we had to worry about the dead rising, we built towering spires to return our people to the sky. Our Honoured Dead lie openly, enjoying the sun, not hidden from it under the earth. Over time, they are scoured away, becoming the wind and sand you feel on your skin at this very moment. Deshar is our most sacred monument... I myself will soon make the journey there, once I train a replacement. Most do wait for their bodies to fail, but I would prefer to meet Death on my feet. Who knows? I may even be the first mortal to win my battle, and defeat Nekraata in spiritual combat. It might not look like it now, but I was a rather powerful Sorceress in my time.
— Deshar |
Jamanra? That's a tale I rarely tell. Every few generations, the Faridun stir up trouble. Jamanra was their most successful attempt at causing problems. A very long time ago, he spread dangerous ideas among the outcasts, and spoke to the Maraketh as if they were equals. His offenses were so great, the Sekhemas joined together to approach and rebuke him. The tale says that he was so in awe of the glory of our leaders, he ended his own life, and chose to fall forgotten in the sands. It is a strange conclusion to his tale, I must admit. But this is what is told. If he has been somehow reanimated through Corruption, he will have only one goal: harming us.
— Jamanra |
I must confess that my knowledge of Jamanra seems rather tainted by historical... biases. I am honour-bound to do more research before I tell his tale again.
— Jamanra |
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