The Lorekeeper's Tome

The ancient silver dragon who lived among the Builders and remembers everything - the keeper of the north.

A common roadside robber - desperate, armed, and dangerous in a pack.

A cruel, proud wyrm of ruined towers and corroded castles - its acid breath eats the proud works of men hollow.

Living flame given shape and hunger - a roaring spirit of pure fire that ignites all it touches.

A rat grown to the size of a dog - the cellar-vermin of the Reach, dangerous in numbers.

The adaptable folk who hold most of the Reach's cities and fill the ranks of the Cathedral.

A hulking, dim-witted brute twice the height of a man - all strength and appetite, little sense.

Old bones stirred to a mockery of life - not a thing that wanders, but a thing that is RAISED.

The lost golden age before the Cataclysm, when the Builders raised a world of wonders now fallen to ruin.

The working of the world's own structure - magic that draws on nothing in the heavens, only the bones of creation.

The ancient catastrophe - the fall of the Builders - that tore the Gulf and set the Hold to failing.

The dominant church of the Reach; devotion to the Living Sun as a wall against the dark. Answer: RESIST.

One of the seven lost jewels of the Obsidian Crown - the green stone, said to open the eyes to hidden and distant things.

A temperate borderland in the southwest of the Reach; the first region the party walks.

The warm, true sun of the Reach; source of light, life, and Radiant magic.

The ancient order of scholars who watch the world and write down what they see - keepers of memory across three thousand years, that no age be wholly lost again.

The great island where Arkenfall takes place, roughly 500 miles across.

The capital of the Reach, a coastal city in the Central region.

The bow at the back of the ambush - the reason you never see the whole band at once.

A modest market town in the Green March; the party's first settlement and safe harbour.

The long-lived and arcane-attuned, who remember older workings and carry the arcane in their blood.

A ravenous corpse-eater of the rare cursed places - quick, vicious, and hungry for the living.

A deceitful forest wyrm whose breath is a rolling cloud of killing chlorine gas.

A larger, meaner ogre that has fought and won its way to the top of its kind.

The great Bone Dragon of the Ashen Marsh - a living wyrm crowned amid a hall of bones, king of his drowned domain.

The great library of the Lorekeepers at Velmoryn - the accumulated memory of three thousand years, kept in stone against another forgetting.

The world-ending disaster that shattered the Builders' age and tore open the Gulf - the fall from which the world has never recovered.

A second sun that gives no light, only the Drawing; ringed by the Crown of Fire.

One of the seven lost jewels of the Obsidian Crown - the white stone of swiftness, granting speed and the gift of acting first.

Magic drawn from the heavens - and therefore divided, for there is more than one light in the sky of the Reach.

A living surge of water - a spirit of the deep that drowns, batters, and cannot be cut.

Feral pack-hunters of the roadsides and ruins - cowardly alone, deadly in numbers.

The militant arm of the Unmakers; those who would actively hasten the Drawing rather than merely accept it.

The hard hand that holds a band of cutthroats together - skilled, armored, and worth a bounty.

A proud desert wyrm whose breath is a lance of searing lightning.

The deep-folk of the Iron Hills - stubborn, armored, and resistant to magic and poison.

A spirit of living stone and soil - slow, near-unstoppable, and crushing.

A greater ghoul, fouler and stronger - the cunning, reeking lord of a corpse-haunt.

A master necromancer who guards the Obsidian Crown on its far island - and the living dragon that wards it with him.

The founder of the Lorekeepers - who, amid the ruin of the Cataclysm, resolved that the world's memory would never be wholly lost again.

The mightiest of its kind - an ogre grown to terrible size, ruling lesser brutes by force.

The divine art of the Living Sun - healing, blessing, warding, and standing against the Dark. The Cathedral's power.

One of the seven lost jewels of the Obsidian Crown - the golden stone of consequence, sharpening every blow into the next.

The eighth kingdom of the Reach, swallowed whole when the Cataclysm tore open the Gulf - lost beneath the waters of the storm.

A quiet moon-faith of grief and acceptance; they tend the dying and refuse both fighting and hastening the end. Answer: MOURN.

The moon of the Reach; she makes no light, but reflects both the Living Sun and the Crown of Fire.

A collapsed watchtower above Brindleford; the first dungeon, and where the Mercury Point is recovered.

The great scholarly city of the Western Reach, home to the Athenaeum.

The true wolf of the Reach's forests and hills - a disciplined pack-hunter, and no mere dog.

The great blue dragon of the deep desert - a storm given scales, ruling the dunes from beneath the sand.

A living whirlwind - a swift, near-invisible spirit of wind that buffets, blinds, and hurls.

The Lorekeeper who first noticed the Crown of Fire around the Dark Sun was changing - and began the long count of it that the order keeps to this day.

The lingering spirit of one who could not rest, bound to the place of its grief or its death.

A bat with the wingspan of a man, roosting in caves and ruins - blind in the light, deadly in the dark.

The brutal get of ogre and humankind - strong as a brute, cunning as a man, and at home among raiders.

The small, quick, and absurdly lucky - underestimated everywhere, and fortunate beyond all reason.

A white wyrm of the frozen heights whose breath is a blast of killing cold.

A seaborne brigand of the Western Coast and the Island Seas - bandit, sailor, and killer.

The cosmic pull of the Dark Sun, dragging the world slowly toward nothing.

The slow truth behind three thousand years of decline - that the Builders' great working has been failing since the Cataclysm broke it.

A vast body of water torn open in the Cataclysm, crowned by an eternal storm. A single ruined island lies hidden at its heart.

One of the seven lost jewels of the Obsidian Crown - the shifting stone of balance, granting resistance and deep steadiness.

The public arm of a movement opposed to the workings; the Order of the Long Return is its militant arm.

The divine art of the Dark Sun - the drawing-down of the pull toward nothing. The source the Necromancer drinks from.

The great ice dragon of the northern wastes - hoarder of an ancient power buried in the frozen dark.

The ring of fire blazing around the rim of the Dark Sun.

A two-headed giant-kin - twice the watchfulness, twice the appetite, and impossible to take by surprise.

A frog the size of a hound, lurking in marsh and pond - patient, then sudden.

The tinkers and lore-keepers, drawn to both arcane study and the divine mysteries.

A creeping mass of living acid - mindless, slow, and dissolving everything it touches.

The captain's enforcer aboard a pirate ship - the fist that keeps a murderous crew in order.

A hungry stain of darkness that was once a soul - it drains the strength and the light from the living.

The Lorekeeper who laid the long records side by side and showed that the three workings of the divine track the three lights of the sky.

The Builders' great working that resists the Drawing; now failing.

The three thousand years since the Cataclysm - a slow age of decline, in which the survivors rebuilt a lesser world among the ruins of a greater.

One of the seven lost jewels of the Obsidian Crown - the red stone of force, lending strength to every blow.

The divine art of the Pale Sister - a mingled, two-natured magic of easing, stilling, warding, and passage, neither wholly of life nor death.

Seven volcanoes set along a ragged mountain arch through the interior of the Reach.

The great red dragon of the Frostspire - vast, fire-breathing, and driven to madness by the thing it hoards.

The term for magic in the Reach.

Seven cosmic artifacts the party gathers across the Reach; each a domain of power with a shadow.

An ancient black dragon lairing in an acid-eaten fortress - one of the two guardians of the Obsidian Crown.

A disciplined raider of the deep water - more soldier than pirate, sailing the approaches to the Gulf.

The rare blood of wyrms - tall, strong, scaled against fire, proud and conspicuous.

A transparent cube of living acid that fills a corridor and engulfs all it meets - near-invisible until too late.

A monitor grown to the size of a horse, sunning on warm rock and hunting whatever it can catch.

A spirit of pure hatred for the living - it flies, it passes through walls, and its touch withers.

The relic named in the game's title - a physical keystone sought across the Reach. Its full nature is sealed.

One of the seven lost jewels of the Obsidian Crown - the black stone, most feared of the seven, said to darken the soul of any who bear it.

The radiant heralds of the Living Sun, named by the Cathedral as angels - though what they truly are is not settled.

A gangling, ravenous horror whose wounds knit shut as fast as they are made - only fire keeps it down.

A Lorekeeper of several hundred years past who sealed his great Tome and vanished from his post - long judged a deserter who broke his keeper's vow.

A massive, stone-grey troll of the deep dark - blind, regenerating, and monstrously strong.

A crab the size of a cart, armored and pincered, haunting tide-pools and sea-caves.

A beautiful, deadly singer of the reefs whose song lures ships and sailors to their drowning.

The vanished makers of the Hold and the great workings of the elder world. Arkenfall is named for their fall.

The lost eighth kingdom, drowned when the Gulf tore open. Only its volcano remains - a ruined island hidden at the heart of the storm.

One of the seven lost jewels of the Obsidian Crown - the blue stone of the mind, granting mastery of will and freedom from fear.

The Lorekeeper of the present day, who keeps the watch and the record as a hundred generations have before him.

A malevolent serpent of animated water lurking in pool and cistern, striking to drag prey under.

A robed figure of cold and shadow - a powerful death-spirit that drains life and commands lesser dead.

A green-shadowed death-spirit bound to a corrupted wood - the grief of a poisoned forest given form.

A venomous hunting spider the size of a hound, webbing the dark corners of forest and ruin.

A small, vicious, cowardly raider that swarms in numbers and flees when the tide turns.

A shapeshifting predator that disguises itself as treasure - the chest that bites back.

A troll with hide like rough granite - slower to wound, just as slow to die, and turned to stone by the sun.

A pale, swift spider of the deep places - smaller than its forest cousin, but its venom is worse.

A predator that hangs disguised as a cloak or a patch of shadow, then smothers its prey.

A white-furred troll of the Frostspire - it shrugs off cold, regenerates, and only fire brings it down.

A goblin blooded in war - bolder, better-armed, and the backbone of a warband.

A spirit of the killing cold, haunting the Frostspire heights - it strikes by night and freezes the blood.

A troll of the volcanic deep whose blood runs like embers - the rare troll that fire cannot stop.

A segmented horror as long as a man is tall, poisonous and fast, infesting marsh and ruin.

The skulking bowman of the warren - poor shots alone, murderous in a massed volley.

A cave-dweller disguised as a stalagmite, dragging prey in with sticky tendrils to its toothed maw.

A death-spirit of the Desert of Glass, risen from those the desert swallowed - it haunts the dunes and ruins.

The sword and the shield - no magic, no tricks, just the wall the party stands behind.

The warren's spell-caster - crude magic, vicious curses, and the spine that stiffens a warband.

A blue-skinned ogre of the frozen heights - slower, hardier, and at home where men freeze.

A ceiling-dweller disguised as a stalactite, dropping like a spear onto whatever passes below.

An armored, many-legged scavenger of the coastal shallows and sea-caves.

The oath-bound - armored melee fused with divine power, a bulwark against the Drawing and those who serve it.

A barrow-dead warrior whose will outlasted its flesh - it guards its tomb and hates the living warmth.

A lesser dragon-kin - winged, two-legged, and armed with a venomous stinging tail.

A cave-creature that snuffs out all light and drops to smother its prey in sudden darkness.

The biggest, meanest goblin in the warren - it rules by fear, and its death scatters the rest.

A greater barrow-lord, its will grown vast in the long dark - master of a whole tomb of the risen dead.

A crude, boulder-throwing giant of the uplands - the smallest of true giants, and the most common.

A many-headed reptilian horror of the marsh and deep water - cut off one head and two may grow.

A boulder-shelled deep-dweller of the Iron Hills - slow, near-impervious, and hard to kill.

The shadow - locks, traps, and a dagger in the dark; the one who makes dungeons survivable.

A rare caster who works the Pale Sister's mingled light - a mournful keeper of the boundary between living and dead.

A translucent desert scorpion the size of a war-dog, near-invisible in the Desert of Glass.

A small, scaly tunnel-dweller - individually feeble, collectively cunning, and fond of traps.

A vast coiling wyrm of the deep sea - the terror of every sailor on the Island Seas.

The risen bones of a warrior, still armored and still skilled - a Skeleton that remembers how to fight.

A blood-draining flying pest of marsh and cave - small, but they come in clouds.

A grey, reclusive giant of the high cliffs - a deadly thrower of stones, and best left undisturbed.

The pathfinder - a ranged specialist and master of the wild, the party's eyes in the wilderness.

A towering raider of the frozen north - cruel, cold-blooded, and a warrior where lesser giants are brutes.

A constrictor long enough to swallow a man, coiling in marsh, jungle, and ruin.

A kobold of the digging-crews - tunneling through the Iron Hills, dangerous mostly in their warrens.

A giant fungus that screams at light and motion - harmless itself, but it summons what isn't.

The ascetic - unarmored and unarmed, who turns discipline itself into a weapon.

A kind of dragon that lairs among the bones of its kills - named not for its body but for the charnel halls it builds.

An immense armored sea-beast whose shell is mistaken for an island and whose breath boils the sea.

A smith-warrior giant of the fire-mountains - black-skinned, flame-forged, and disciplined in war.

A viper grown large and quick, whose bite kills where the constrictor's coils only crush.

The cunning hand behind a kobold warren's deadly snares and deadfalls.

A corpse risen by sheer force of vengeance - it returns from death to hunt the one who wronged it.

The voice - songs that hearten allies and unmake enemies, and a silver tongue that opens doors.

A living tree of the old forest - slow, ancient, and a peaceful guardian unless its wood is wronged.

A treant twisted by blight or dark working into a thing of malice - the forest's guardian turned against it.

A fallen warrior raised whole in mind and might, wielding the Unmaking in service of the Dark Sun.

A green-scaled wyrm grown wholly into the deep wood - cunning, camouflaged, and territorial.

A black desert scorpion the size of an ox, all claws and venomed sting.

The warren's eyes - quick, quiet, and gone to raise the alarm before you knew it was there.

The largest of the giant-kin - a living landslide, slow and dull but nearly unstoppable.

The artillery - the deepest and most powerful arcane caster, and the most fragile thing in the party.

A proud, aloof giant of the high peaks and thin air - noble, dangerous, and rarely seen below the clouds.

A warty marsh-toad the size of a calf, with a tongue that drags prey down its gullet.

The warren's ranged fighter - a sling, a pile of stones, and the high ground.

A squat, foul wyrm of the deep marsh - less majestic than its kin, no less deadly.

The hand of faith - the party's lifeline of healing, blessing, warding, and calling the fallen back from death.

A mass of animated, strangling vines given a malevolent will - the creeping rot of a sick forest.

The great green dragon of the deep forest - a schemer of legend, named in the hush of the woods.

A muck-cloaked horror of the Ashen Marsh that erupts from the mire to seize and drown the unwary.

A wasp the size of a hawk, whose sting paralyzes - and whose nest is a horror.

A savage hyena-headed raider of the dry country, running in cackling, ravenous packs.

A monstrous brute that rules the deepest halls of the Iron Hills - a guardian of something old and important.

The arcane gish - a warrior who weaves a limited arcane art into the fight, in armor, mid-swing.

A deep-cave beetle that glows with its own cold light - harmless enough, prized by miners.

The goblin-kin's disciplined soldier - larger, armored, and frighteningly organized.

The keeper of both keys - the only caster who wields arcane and divine alike.

A drifting light of the night marsh that lures travellers off the safe path to their deaths.

A many-armed terror of the deep coast, dragging the unwary down from the rocks and decks.

The iron will at the head of a hobgoblin company - a true commander, not a brute.

A tentacled ambusher of the flooded coastal caves, reaching out of the dark water to drag prey under.

The death-arcanist - raising minions, draining life, and commanding the very dead that others repel.

The grey dwarves of the deep dark - a sundered kin, grim, cruel, and hostile to the surface folk.

A many-tentacled monstrosity of the deep reefs, lashing the decks of ships that stray too near.

A silent skirmisher of the elf-kin gone down into the dark - the eyes and blades of the deep.

An illusory predator of the Desert of Glass that hunts from within the shimmer of the heat-haze.

A nameless marsh-predator dripping with poison - fast, vicious, and best avoided entirely.

A wailing spirit of sorrow whose keening scream can stop a heart - the grief of a place made deadly.

A vast, shaggy bear of the deep caves and cold hills - territorial, and nearly unstoppable when roused.

The dark elves who have given themselves to the Unmakers - the deep kin turned to the Dark Sun's cause.

A bear grown to monstrous size, the apex predator of the northern forests and hills.

A skirmisher and outrider - lightly armed, quick, and the first sign of a larger force.

A wolf the size of a pony, pack-leader and apex hunter of the deep forests.

A trained fighting man - the rank-and-file of any organized hostile company.

A white wolf of the Frostspire, its frost-touched bite chilling as it tears.

A hardened soldier who has survived many fights - the steel core of an enemy line.

A tusked forest brute that charges first and never reconsiders.

A fanatic who fights without fear of death - faith, or madness, in place of sense.

Not one rat but a living tide of them, flowing through the dark and stripping what it covers.

The brutal chieftain who has united the broken clans of the Shattered Highlands under one bloody banner.

A blinding, shrieking cloud of bats that fills a cavern and fouls every torch and bowshot.

The lowest initiate of the faith of the Dark Sun - a robed fanatic with the first stirrings of dark power.

A biting, stinging cloud of marsh and ruin - small mouths in unsurvivable numbers.

A practiced wielder of the Unmaking - the working core of an Unmaker cell, dangerous and devout.

A flood of small venomous spiders pouring from a broken nest - a carpet of bites.

A high priest of the Dark Sun - a master of the Unmaking and a leader of the faith's darkest work.

A militant fanatic of the Order of the Long Return - a warrior who would hasten the end of all things.

An elite knight of the Order of the Long Return - the militant faith's heaviest and most dangerous blade.