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Ep. 18 - Wildheart - Interregnum IX: Mira
19 Plays1 day ago
Pages of a journal. Dated by Sanguine Lands alchemists at over 300 years old. Seem to be linked to the formation of Wildheart and the first settlers of this age to set foot in Erith. Reliability: Unknown.
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Transcript
Introduction to Wild Heart
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In wild
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hearts land where legends grow Tidal surges rise and flow Golden treasures deep below Time to get voice, here we go
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Gold on emerald shores, glories felt in ancient lore. But Dina sings to heal his scars, to color chosen stone and stars.
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In wild hearts land where legends grow, tidal surges rise and flow. Golden treasures deep below, time to get moist, here we go.
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The world moves in cycles, and between them, stories wait.
Myra's Journal and the Settlers' Arrival
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This is one that rises from the silence. Interregnum 9 Myra Pages of a journal, dated by Sanguine Lands alchemists at over 300 years old, thought to concern the early settlement of Wildheart, though their reliability remains uncertain.
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Entry 1 Arrival The Third Day of the Harvest Moon The sea gave us up to this land with reluctance, spitting us onto its shore beneath the sky the colour of iron.
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The air is thick here, heavy, the scent of damp, of stone, and of something faintly metallic, a tang that lingers in the back of the throat.
Discoveries and Growing Unease
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Commander Thorn, ever unreadable, took to the jagged cliffs and the ravines that split the land like old wounds and said nothing. Nothing for a long, long time.
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Then we began. New Gartron is built in the shadow of a ridge that overlooks the deepest of the ravines. A strategic choice, Thorn says, defensible.
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I say the cliffs are watching us. When the wind moves through the ravine, the earth hums low and constant like a breath drawn in and never released, but I keep my thoughts away.
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The settlers seem restless. Alchemist Vey found her calling within hours of landing, a rocky outcrop near the ridge, its surface lined with carvings that spiral inwards with uncanny precision.
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She knelt in the dirt, brushing away centuries with frantic hands. I stood at her shoulder and felt something settle in my stomach, something uneasy. The symbols are unlike anything we've seen before.
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I do not like the way they curve. The way they seem to pull at the edges of my sight. Vae is undeterred. She whispers of lost civilizations and buried knowledge while our food stores dwindle.
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The settlers keep busy, driving posts into the ground, raising walls from whatever the land will give us.
Mysterious Obelisk and Tensions
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They laugh by firelight, trade stories, but pretend they do not hear the wind when it shifts, but I see how they watch the dark.
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This place does not want us.
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Entry 2 The Vault The Eighth Day of the Harvest moon The carvings led us downward, a structure beneath the cliffs, its entrance sealed with stone fitted too perfectly to be the work of crude hands.
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The vault, Vey calls it, eyes alight with discovery. The air inside presses against the skin, dense and charged, a silence that listens.
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At its heart stands the obelisk, crystalline, towering, pulsing with a light that slides across its surface in restless patterns.
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The settlers whisper that it is unnatural. They are right. The thing shifts when I look at it too long, as though it exists in a space between thoughts.
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I do not like it. Errin Wythe does. He keeps watch by the entrance, but his gaze is always turned inward, toward the light.
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Thorn wanted the vault sealed. Vey would not allow it. He yielded, though the lines in his face have deepened. Outside the crops grow too fast, their roots twisting in the soil, the livestock shy from the cliffs.
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At night the hum grows louder, and the whispers began.
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Entry 3 The 15th day of the harvest moon. Erin Wythe is gone. His torch was found at the mouth of the vault, half buried in the dirt, the wood twisted as if gripped by fire and then released.
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There are no tracks to follow. The settlers murmur of figures at the cliff's edge, shapes that flicker in the periphery. Gonman turned around.
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Watchers, they call them. I only half believed until I saw a sliver of darkness where there should be none, shifting with purpose.
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Vey says the obelisk is changing, its patterns forming something like a map. She is thrilled. Thorn is not. He paces the camp, orders patrols, but the guards hesitate.
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Garen Voss refuses outright. Something moves in the dark, he tells me. It knows our names.
Crisis and Diverging Paths
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I do not ask how he knows this.
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Entry 4 The 22nd day of the harvest moon Morning arrived in silence. No birds, no wind, just the weights of anticipation, and then the earth trembled, deep and resonant, like a distant beast stirring in its sleep.
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The stream below the ravine began to rise, roiling, climbing higher, faster. The wave came. A wall of water, sudden and deliberate, carving through the ravine with unerring force.
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It took men and homes alike, left the land scoured and bare. Garen Vos was among the lost. The vault, untouched.
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The obelisk, brighter. Vae calls it a message. Thorn a warning. I look at what remains and see a graveyard waiting to be filled.
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Entry 5 The 25th day of the harvest moon Eleven graves, shallow and makeshift, marked with stone and splintered wood.
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We did not linger over the burials. The dead are beyond our reach now. Thorn and Vey argue. She speaks of understanding, of unravelling the patterns the obelisk offers us.
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He speaks of leaving. The settlers lean toward him. They whisper of watchers in the mist, of voices in the ravine that speak without words. A guard tells me she heard them last night.
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When I ask what they said, she only shudders. The obelisk pulses in the dark, slow and steady, a heartbeat that does not belong.
Decision to Leave and Call for Stories
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weight. A weight is pressing on me, on us all. This will not last.
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Entry 6 The Seventh Day of the Frost Moon Final Entry
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At midday, the sky darkened. The sun vanished. Vae screamed. She pressed her hands to the obelisk and whispered, The stars are wrong.
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Then the rumble. The wave followed. I do not know how many were lost. I do not know if we will see ye another sunrise.
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The land is drowned. The ravines fill with restless water. The obelisk stands unchanged.
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Thorn is gone. Vey kneels before the stone, murmuring words I do not understand. The settlers gather in silence.
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They do not look at the water. They do not look at the cliffs. They only look at me.
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Waiting.
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I do not know what to tell them. We cannot return across the oceans. Our ships are gone. This land is all we have. But we must leave.
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We must move west. Away from the waters. Away from Vey and the obelisk. To safety. But how do I do it?
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How do I lead these people?
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Thank you for listening. As we continue to share the stories of Wild Heart, we'd love to hear your thoughts. If this tale has sparked your interest and you'd love to learn more about the characters, let us know.
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Your input could help shape the stories we tell next. Until next time, farewell.
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In wild heartland where legends grow Tidal surges rise and flow Golden treasures deep below Time to get moist, here we go