“But what they created wasn’t remnant or envoy, it was something different. The many stories differ on what – a drifter, a machine, a seeker, a monster. For years it wandered, collecting tales as others would figurines. Everywhere it went new stories blossomed, until, they just stopped.” – a fragment from the memories of Serrata Paige.

“We searched for ages for rumour, for story, for precedent for what we were about to do. If anyone before us had created a remnant, perhaps then the path that we were on wasn’t heresy, perhaps what we were creating wouldn’t be an abomination.

The closest we could find was a collection of stories from the Sounds; of something called the Spindle, called the Anchor, called Nepps.” – A fragment from the memories of Serrata Paige.

“Friends, I don’t know how much you’ve heard about this place. I don’t know whether you’ve heard the stories – the rumours – about what has happened here in the past. This is the story of Carn’s Brook. You’ve heard of this surely?”

C/W: death, mild horror

You’re crouched outside the lair of the Mustang, near the burned tree. Your friends are with you, exchanging nervous looks. Like you, they’re having second thoughts. Like you, they smell death in the air and wonder if it’s their deaths. Keen has a big piece of sheet metal with a rope across the back, because the Mustang breathes fire. Niamh has a rifle, because the Mustang is far too swift to catch. Yelena has the teachings, because maybe the Mustang can still be reasoned with. You have a knife because, in the end, someone has to cut the Mustang’s throat. It’s the witching hour, the moon is full, and fresh blood is on the ground. The Mustang will surely run tonight.

C/W: violence, death

“The instructors taught us this trick. When a remnants influence begins to cause things to slip, build constants. Mark the world, use them to observe and comprehend. That’s the purpose of this record.

This is waking 11 or 12.”

– Oken nim Sharif

C/W: trypophobia, discussion of butchery and preservation, violence and horror

“Scur, 1502. Relict: leaching of time from surrounding territories

Lead agents: Oken nim Shalif, expunged”

– Index of Assignments, Tenders of the Dawn’s Embers

C/W: Trypophobia, discussion of death

“Eolith whispers slow. Setting sun, rays lie thick. Cool, harden, coat the tongue. Long, dry exhale, salt-heavy funeral sigh. Atrophy creeping. Old crystalline veins, crumble dust-like, flake and fall. Decay extends, searches.

Hide the heart. Calm the pulse, slower, slower. Extend the reach. Split the chrysalis. Wake the hive. Grasp the roots outside the edges – unheeded time, more use here. Others waste, redirect. Bind the wound.
Brace.”