Seeker's Journal

Ark Teknos

Secrets In The Waves

It’s like your mentor always told you. “The best way to find someone who’s lost”, he’d say, “is to go to places where journeys start”. And where do journeys start round here? Ports. That seemed like a great idea. Three days ago. But you’ve found nothing so far. It’s windy and damp. And someone has stolen your shoes. But there’s something odd about this place. It’s like half of the port just sprang up recently. And some of the crews have big, darting eyes. Eyes that seem full of secrets. You spot one, shiftily loading weapons onto a ship. Weapons like you’ve never seen before. You don’t know what this is, but it’s definitely something.

Neowave Desert

A Lead, With A Catch

The man smirks, beneath his wide-brimmed hat. “A description?”, he sniggers. “I can do better than that”. He shifts his weight, so he’s now leaning into your face from the other side of the table. “You see, I’m not a guy that believes in chance”. He places a smoke in his mouth, and the person next to him hurriedly stretches over to light it. “If I need something, I take steps to make sure it happens. And one of the people you’re looking for, it seems… I’m looking for him too. He was doing me a favour, you see. And when folks do me a favour…”, he takes another drag. “...I like to keep an eye on them.” He silently pushes a device across the table. A tracker. A little display lights up. “Now, I’m not the sort of person who goes looking. But maybe you are”. He leans back, conclusively. “So you go find him, and get us both what we want.” You move for the tracker, and feel someone beside you grab your hand. “Of course”, the man says, “same terms apply. If you want something from me, maybe you can do me a little favour too…”

Aeon Morrow

You're My Only Hope

“YESSS IT’S TRUUUUUUUUUUUUE”, the old man says, demolishing another scrap of cloth with a wave of tears and snot. “HE LEFT US MORE THAN 20 SUNSETS AGO”, he blubs, wheezing out words in between wracked sobs. “ALL HE EVER WANTED WAS TO BECOME A LEGION FIGHTER. AND NOOWWWWWWW…” He disappears once again into a snotty mess. A little while later, you emerge from the house. With a name, with a picture, and as much information as you could get from someone who was mostly heaving snorts. Best of all, you got a place. The place he’d been when he’d sent his grandfather a letter, just before he vanished. It’s time to gather the Seekers, and start the search.

Shoreridge

Find Her

The cloaked figure stands up, and steps away from the terminal she's been draining of information. 'I don't know what you expected to find here', she says. 'The people here don't go in for this Legion stuff much. That's why they probably barely notice she's gone. But I notice'. She kicks the terminal angrily, ignoring its frustrated little bleep of resentment. 'She went missing 15 sunsets ago. And they haven't said a word. Both of us can handle ourselves, so whatever happened to her must have been big. I was planning to head to the arena myself, when I was old enough. But I've got a new plan now. I'm going out there, and I'm going to find her'. She checks her wrist-computer, to make sure the information from the terminal was uploaded. 'You look stupid as hell', she says. 'But you look grisly enough to work as extra muscle, or at least a big target. So I guess you can hang around for a bit'. She strides to the end of the street, and then turns. 'So', she says. 'You in, or what?'

Grinferno Plains

Creating The Real

'YES', you cry. 'That must be it'. The trader glances back at the visor, glowing in that weird way that screams 'CLUE'. He turns back, confident. 'So what's it worth to you?'... 'The question is: What's it worth to you?', you reply. 'On my travels, I met some wise magicians, seeped in Magna. And they taught me a great power'. The trader's eyes widen, in wonder and maybe fear. 'I learned the art of Creating The Real. Conjuring great riches and dreams from the heads of those that believe. So, all you need to do is close your eyes, and imagine the thing you want the most. And if your heart is pure, I will draw it from nothing, and it shall be yours'. When the trader opens his eyes, a few ticks later, you're long gone, chuckling, with the visor stuffed under your arm.

Sheerclaw Jungle

You Can't Get That In The Shops

The smoke was a dead giveaway. You tracked it through the trees to a tiny space, underneath the shelter of a green canopy. A camp. And not a camp for hunters, or traders. There are small, but unmistakable signs. The materials. The markings. This is a fighter's camp. Los Astran fighters. But what were they doing here? You spot a glinting object, next to the abandoned fire. A gauntlet. Glowing in a dark, unusual way. You recoil, your every muscle screaming at you not to touch it. You throw a blanket over it, and stuff it warily in your backpack. Maybe the rest of the Seekers will know what this means.

Infernal Swamp

Message Received

Bleep. Bleep bleep. That’s not the noise of a swamp. Unless there’s an insect here that’s learned to sound like a piece of tech. Actually, at this point, you wouldn’t put it past them. You cry out in triumph. A recording device. Someone was here. You try to play it. But it’s gummed up with mud, and who knows what else. But you can bring this back. Someone will be able to clean it up. With a bit of luck, it’ll contain a message that could blow this search wide open. But one thing’s for sure, if it means coming back to this hellhole, it’s someone else’s turn to get wet and muddy. You’re going to stay somewhere warm for a while.

The Wailands

Tell Me Your Dreams

You wake up with a start. What was that? A dream? A nightmare? No, it felt like more. You remember the dark figure. The eyes that pierced your chest. That felt like they soaked up every inch of your being, and left only void. You have never felt so scared in your entire life. And yet you cling to the memory, like someone hugging a hot stove. NO. The details can’t leave you. It’s all you’ve found so far. The figure, in the space beyond, repeating a single phrase. You look down, in terror, to find the words again, branded into the flesh of your arm. Etched, in sure but tormented letters. “We aRe nOT loST”, it read. “WE are OTHER”.

The Wastes

No clues found so far

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Skyroar Mountains

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