Oh Gustave, you madman, you saved us & yet condemned us all.
Another life mourned, a hero unborn, a missing lantern to shine the way forward.
Right you were, the box needed reimagining. But the box was not a box, it was a prison.
Everything is pre-ordained, a play we live through, like puppets on a string, dancing to the tunes of a scarred child's whims.
All are sinners, blood taints our lands, cowardice taints our souls. But the fight lives on, when one falls another must continue.
When ten fall, a hundred more stand tall. When all but one man fall, an optimist is all that stands between salvation & damnation.
It's not real, none of it is, merely a canvas. Just as we are not real, not free, mere toys to deal with grief.
We stared too long into the abyss, it not only looked back, it tainted our hearts.
Surviving is not living, living is not surviving. Lumiere is a graveyard, every grave standing alone, oh necromancer help us. No one else did.
Fortune or Karma, our fate is not fixed. Defy the rules, defy the canvas, defy the fate of two worlds.
For those who come after, for those who paved the path - to remember and to be remembered.
Not living, yet still living. We have souls, we have lives and we yearn for freedom.
Learn from history, take a plunge, form your party and adventure on.
Walk not completely on past pathways, in the footsteps of those who have failed. The world is ever changing, calamity hiding at every corner.
The world is not your enemy, don't aggravate those who don't aggravate. Blame not the innocent and naive, for the strings fate pulled.
Knowledge is key, art is power and your journey must paint a brighter future.
Stand together, stand as one. Keep their hearts as clean as their uniforms.
Tragic fates unite a party, the disaster expedition all but ended in catastrophe.
A watcher observes like a hawk, attracting disaster to those who sail to distant shores. Shake the watcher, prevent a tragedy.
A life worth more than we all bargained for, in grief she transitioned into all we stood against.
Remove the tragedy, remove the grief, the cycle must break. He must not succeed.
Family is family, pawns are pawns, grief is grief - yet war is a choice.
Don't let pawns stay as pawns, reach the end of the board, a transformation guarantees a chance.
Enemies are everywhere, turn not friends away. The world is colourful, embrace the colour.
Every ally tips the scale favourably, against the weight of giants, an army of ants is needed.
Mobility has been an issue for every expedition - the train station is promising.
The gestrals exist. Aid in baby sitting, a goldmine awaits.
Why is Dessendre? A pentagon circle, a shining star. It's edges are sharp, they cut deep and hard.
Maelle bears a terrifying secret, Verso can not be trusted, the paintress Aline is not what she seems, Renoir seeks destruction & Clea fights her war.
Maelle, she must be helped to remember. Chroma is the key, Lumina is the aid and the residue of expeditions past can be harnessed.
A painting within a painting, the outside on the inside. Draw from the outside to the inside to the outside.
Verso, the victim - a shadowy soul. Free him from suffering, merge the broken soul.
The barrier between both worlds, a screen to view the other side. Per chance it holds some hope, a parent and a child seperated by a sliver of screen.
Aline, we misunderstood what the paintress stood for, she holds the door open. Yet, beneath her veil, a dark secret brews.
Prevent her fall, buy us time. Investigate the darkness, landmines are far more dangerous than iceburgs.
Renoire, a greiving father, a guilty husband. Yet his fear has taken over. To save one or two, a million sacrificed are too few.
Don't trust the curator, a painted copy. Great strength will be needed to triumph against the odds.
Clea, cold, calculating and focused. Once a founder, now a death machine. Stay out of her path.
The nevrons are her agents. Chroma flows not back to Aline, but to Renoire. Her goal, his eviction, no price is too little.
Perhaps to them all, chronos is just chronos, beings are just figments of paint.
Perhaps we had it all wrong, where the collective fail, the survivor bears the highest burden.