Lore Bible – Part 2

5. The Cult of Malakar

The Cult of Malakar is a shadowed congregation devoted to the Black Dragon, viewing him not just as a force of destruction but as an instrument of rebirth. Their doctrine, inscribed in ancient tomes bound in dragonhide, speaks of the world’s cleansing by fire and the purging of the unworthy to make way for Malakar’s promised age of darkness—a time they call The Scouring. The cult’s roots stretch back centuries, its members shrouded in secrecy, their rituals held in hidden crypts and abandoned fortresses long forgotten by time.

The cult believes that Malakar’s fire is not merely destruction, but a form of purification. To burn in his flames is to be reborn free of sin, and only the faithful are promised survival through the ashes. Their ceremonies often involved the burning of effigies, offerings of blood, and the chanting of hymns in the lost tongue of the Dragon Priests. It was whispered that those who proved their devotion would be blessed with Malakar’s Ashen Sight, a form of clairvoyance that allowed them to glimpse echoes of the past and foresee the fires yet to come.

Elowen’s parents, once loyal members of the cult, held positions of influence. Her father, an Ashen Priest, and her mother, a Seeker of the Flame, were instrumental in spreading Malakar’s influence across the coastal regions. But their faith was shattered upon the birth of Elowen. A prophecy, spoken in the halls of the cult’s secret sanctum, spoke of a child born with the blood of both shadow and light—one who could bind Malakar’s fire or extinguish it altogether. Fearing for their daughter, they abandoned the cult and fled to Trastmoor, severing ties and hiding their past under layers of secrecy.

Their defection was seen as a betrayal of the highest order. The cult hunted them for years, sending shadows in the night and whispers on the wind. It is said that the night Malakar descended upon Trastmoor, it was not just for conquest but for retribution—to claim the traitors and the child they protected. Elowen’s parents paid for their defiance with their lives, and Trastmoor burned as a testament to the dragon’s wrath.

Even now, remnants of the cult linger in the shadows. Hidden shrines marked with the sigil of the dragon are whispered to still exist in the ruins of abandoned towns and beneath the surface of forgotten catacombs. Those who follow Malakar’s creed work tirelessly to recover the Codex of Memories, believing it holds the key to unlocking Malakar’s full dominion over fire and shadow.

The Cult of Malakar is not gone. It is merely waiting, watching, and biding its time for the next flame to rise.

The Codex of Memories serves as a collection of fragmented stories, encounters, and echoes that highlight the emotional core of the narrative. These memories are experienced by the player as they explore the ruins of Trastmoor and other zones, revealing hidden truths about Malakar’s cult, Elowen’s family, and the fate of those who resisted the darkness.

Trastmoor was once a jewel on the northern coast, its cobbled streets winding through bustling markets and towering arches of stone. The town was anchored by its great church, perched upon the hilltop, its bell tower visible for miles out to sea. Fishermen would watch its silhouette each dawn, marking it as a sign of safe return. Traders from distant lands spoke of its vibrant market square, where the scents of fresh bread, salt-crusted fish, and spiced wine mingled in the air.

The town’s prosperity was owed to its position as a crossroads for travelers and merchants. But with prosperity came envy, and shadows grew long in the alleys of Trastmoor. Whispers began of robed figures moving under moonlit skies, of gatherings in the church’s shadow where the light did not reach. At first, the disappearances were sparse—a wayward traveler, a merchant who had drunk too much and wandered into the night. But soon, even those of the town began to vanish. Families mourned quietly, unwilling to speak of what they feared.

The arrival of Malakar’s cult was gradual. It seeped into the roots of Trastmoor like a slow poison. At first, they claimed to be seekers of truth, harbingers of a new dawn. They spoke of rebirth through flame and redemption through ash. Some were swayed, others were silenced. The great church, once a place of light and sanctuary, became their meeting ground. The priest who had long served the town was found one morning, hung from the bell rope, his eyes open to the morning sky.

Fear became the currency of Trastmoor. Doors were bolted at sundown, and windows shuttered tight. Those who resisted vanished, their names whispered in prayer and quickly forgotten. The night Malakar descended is still spoken of in hushed tones. His shadow spread across the village like spilled ink, and with it came fire. The markets burned first—stalls collapsing under waves of flame. The church bell rang out, its mournful cry echoing as if it too wept for the dying town.

When dawn broke, nothing remained but smoldering ruins and the hollow frame of the church bell tower. The sea breeze carried ash far beyond the village, scattering fragments of its history across the land. To this day, the ruins of Trastmoor stand as a testament to Malakar’s wrath, its shadows still whispering the secrets of those who perished beneath the dragon’s fire.

4. Elowen’s Journey

Elowen was only a child when the fires consumed Trastmoor. The screams of her neighbors, the bell’s mournful toll, and the roar of dragon fire were etched into her mind like scars that never faded. Yet, she survived—carried away from the flames by a mysterious figure whose face she could never remember. She awoke far from the ashes of her home, clutching a simple silver pendant with the crest of the Templar, its chain still warm from the fires she had escaped.

Years passed, and Trastmoor became a forbidden memory. Elowen wandered between settlements, never staying too long, her path guided by whispers of survivors and rumors of shadows that moved in the night. Her pendant grew colder with each passing year, its shine dulled but never forgotten. In the solitude of her travels, Elowen learned to survive. She hunted in the wilds, traded with travelers, and gathered fragments of stories from those who spoke of Malakar with fear and reverence.

Her journey back to Trastmoor began with a whisper. A rumor of movement among the ruins—a flicker of light where none should burn. Drawn by the pull of memory, she returned to the village she had long since abandoned. The cobbled streets were cracked and choked with ash. The bell tower, blackened and hollow, stood like a skeletal finger reaching toward a grey sky. Shadows clung to the corners of broken homes, whispers of the past caught in the breeze.

It was there, among the ruins, that she first touched a fragment of the Codex of Memories. A shattered mirror, its surface dusted with ash, called to her. When she touched its glass, her vision blurred, and the world fell away. She saw Trastmoor as it had been—alive and whole. She watched herself as a child, running through the markets with her friends, her mother calling her back with a smile. But as the memory faded, the flames returned. Malakar’s shadow crept across the town, and Elowen screamed herself back into the present, her hands shaking against the glass.

That day marked the beginning of her journey—not just to reclaim her past, but to unravel the secrets of Malakar’s wrath. Piece by piece, she would gather the echoes of Trastmoor, reliving its final days through the shards of memory left behind. She would discover the truth of her family’s past, of the cult that once held her parents in its grasp, and the mysterious protector who sealed away her memories to keep her safe.

Her journey was no longer about mere survival. It was about redemption, about reclaiming the history stolen from her. And in doing so, she would confront the shadow of Malakar himself, seeking answers to the questions that burned within her soul: Why was Trastmoor chosen? Why had she been spared? And what did the pendant around her neck truly signify?

Elowen’s journey was only beginning. And with each step, the shadow of the dragon loomed ever closer.