Slight changes and inconsistencies matter. In my exploration, paying attention is the only way to advance. The wares they sell always proved to be extremely beneficial, even if it took time and effort to master them. The people of this place are fine people. Though despite my initial regret, the tool did prove useful in other ways, allowing me to advance with ease as I mastered the new technique it offered. There’s no recouping my funds, no undoing the path I took.
Though upon testing, I learned of an unforeseen limitation that made it useless in the way I intended. I purchased an item I thought would aid me in a specific way in my travels. Problems did surface from our lack of a shared language. Their aid and wares are useful, but I have no way to thank them other than noises that I know are equally confusing and lacking in detail to them. I have never communicated like this so effectively before. With a bit of thinking, those noises and images were enough to communicate. Unfortunately, since we share no language, we had to communicate through crude noises and images. Often, the only times I could tell the difference between an enemy and a friend is the moment of calm when I approached, waiting to see if they would attack.Įventually, I found enough local currency in my travels, and I spoke to those in the small village that offered goods to sell. Though many of the locals looked like the variety of malicious foes, I learned to not judge them by appearance. When I assured myself I knew everything the world could use to threaten me, it punished my reckless behavior with something new. For every time I thought I knew how a creature would react, I would pay for my overconfidence with a gash or a gunshot. The creatures, relic-robots, and even the land itself possess a level of unpredictability. While I thought it was some strange machines inside of me that caused this, perhaps it is something within those crystals that infects us all and brings us back from the grasp of death.
And there’s a strange crystal that I can watch regrow at speeds even faster than it takes me to return to the realm of the living. I fought those who tried to kill me, only to find them again later. I, along with the machines and creatures of this broken world, do not forever lose our breath. Nothing missing, nothing lost, so far as I can tell. When I die, I awaken once more not far from where I fell. Something inside me- inside everything- brings us back. Learning to switch from sword strike to a gun blast to a tactical retreat proved to be just as good as any wares the locals offered for purchase.īut not even those skills could keep me from death. Timing, precision, patience, and a calm mind were the qualities that furthered my progression. Fighting them is not easy, especially if they gained the advantage in numbers. While many of the locals are kind, some were malicious, as were the relics and machines that remain active throughout the torn land. Everything in this place requires such attention. This extends beyond traversing the battle-scarred land. Looking for small details, exploration, experimentation, and retreading old ground became critical in my journey. Without an accurate map to place my faith upon, I must rely on the particulars of the torn land itself. Still, this map is more favorable than having nothing at all. It makes returning to a spot after parting particularly difficult. To complicate matters more, I often find myself going deep underground and stumbling upon branching paths. However, capturing details such as size, distance, and positioning wasn’t quite in the cartographer’s skill set. It shows me basic structures and patterns of the torn world.
The map is, well, abstract at the best of times. Progression: that is what truly matters.īefore my journey began, I gained a map of this broken land. So I press on, not stopping to dwell on these small things. What does it mean? Will I ever understand? Will I ever receive any closure? I cannot dwell on such things. I find myself laying where I stood before, groggy and weary for a moment before returning to normal. My travels through this land are not easy. The scars and aftermath litter the land, offering a silent and thoughtful look at the devastation of war. The turmoil of this broken land and warring people remain a frozen portrait of the tragedy that came. The corpses of monstrous machines stretch up from the waters and mountainsides, but they harm no more. Deadly waters and cliff faces encroach on the walkable land. Vine-covered artillery offers no threat beyond their image. Though I do not require such things to know what happened here long ago. I’m a drifter, a pilgrim that knew nothing of this place or its people.
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