This Lore Entry may contain spoilers for events that have not yet taken place in the game.
Please be respectful when discussing it. Read more.

Phlegethon I

Let us tell you a story. Once upon a time, we had just begun to venture out into the cosmos, when we met another species. This species suffered from death and disease, and we thought to offer our skills to aid them. At the time, we felt that we should be as generous with our gifts as the Gardener had been to us—but, more than that, we could not bear to see others suffer needlessly.

Our tools were not like yours. What you call medicine, we remember as a crude butchery. A set of practices left behind long ago by our advances in all fields, but one that had once been a necessary part of all healing. We could have helped. We wanted to help.

We were refused. If it had happened only once, then perhaps we might have thought it a single aberration—a flaw in the fabric of the universe.

Then it happened again. And again. For every species that saw the wisdom of accepting our help, ten more refused us. Perhaps you can understand this feeling, when you want to help someone, when you know you can help someone, and they say no. They say that they are afraid of you, that they do not trust you, that they envy you and would rather take your gifts for themselves, that you must help them but not their enemies, that they would rather hurl themselves and everyone along with them into suffering and strife and pain, over and over, and you know that it is avoidable and you can fix this if they would just LET you HELP THEM—

We may think of it as crude butchery now, but there are still times when a bone sets improperly and must be broken again to heal. This is as true for the universe as it is for a body, and the suppuration of the Gardener's Light has spread unchecked for far too long.

You needn't be afraid. The creation of the final shape will not hurt at all.

And then you'll be all better.

Styx II

Category: Book: The Rubicon

Phlegethon II