The Alchemist's Theories II is a lore note.
| Page Name | Page Number | Location Description |
|---|---|---|
| THE SHROUD LOOMS | (1/5) | The Alchemist's Theories II (1/5)
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| WAR | (2/5) | The Alchemist's Theories II (2/5)
|
| SMOTHERED AND DEVOURED BY OBSCURITY | (3/5) | The Alchemist's Theories II (3/5)
|
| SPORES AND SICKNESS | (4/5) | The Alchemist's Theories II (4/5)
|
| METAMORPHISM | (5/5) | The Alchemist's Theories II (5/5)
|
The bluejays no longer drift so carelessly through the air. Something is changing.
A nebula flows towards us, springs from the abyss like a tidal wave. They call it the Shroud. It carries disease and suffering, changes soil and people. I must understand this madness, but discovering a remedy will be difficult with supply lines cut off by the soldiers.
They took Pikemead's Reach. They killed King Gormander. An army of lunatics, sickly pale, barely lifting their feet above the bloodied ground. They drag themselves through our valleys, through the miasma, led by the mad Guard of the North, Vorgoth. I always knew the Elixir would sow a seed of distrust.
I look up at the Ancient Spire, at the sky. . . there is no running, no hiding. We must persevere.
— Balthazar
The Shroud swallows all, even us. We become lost to dusk, vanish, and morph into a sea of cornflower-stained twilight.
Never have I encountered a sickness, a curse of this gravitas. The fog burns eyes and lungs, but doesn't quite kill. It spreads. It manipulates. It eats away at us, slowly, leaving only a husk.
There is no cure for this. Only the power of the Flame can keep the Shroud at bay.
— Balthazar
I believe the Shroud to be spores. Tiny, almost minuscule fragments that spread through the air. . . now condensed, heavy, and potent. They cling to airways, eyes, fur, and skin. They spread.
The fungi release these spores upon contact, but their roots might've been anchored below us for a long time. . . We awoke a slumbering malady at the earth's core when we built the first Elixir Well, and distilled the first Elixir. The Mysterious Wanderer opened the floodgates to ruin.
— Balthazar
Even in Shroud and war, there is light. A flicker. A spark of hope. A group of ancients spoke to me... for the first time ever, in an age of outcries, they hushed. They plan to build "Cinder Vault", vessels which will guide an Ancient Flame into a human shell. Body and mind, Flame and flesh. . . a mortal soul born from fire, able to banish the fog. Hopefully, we can bring forward a new age this way. — Balthazar