hree rose to rule above, one was left beneath.

Origin is no place upon a map, but a faint shimmer that lingers within.
It lies somewhere between pride and guilt, shaping every step even when we pretend not to feel its weight.

Power was never meant to comfort.
It tempts with the illusion of purpose, then hollows the heart it crowns.
Those who seek it crave to be seen, yet it blinds more than it illuminates.

Love, when it appears, feels like a fleeting light on distant waters - beautiful, unreachable, gone before the hand can touch it.
In the hunt alone did I glimpse affection. It was never the prey that sustained me, but the stillness, the fleeting closeness shared with another soul.

They were names without faces, echoes without warmth.
A lineage whispered more than lived, their stories reaching me only through silence.
In the space where affection should have spoken, I heard the language of distance.

So I learnt to grow in silence.
No praise, no witness, only the quiet work of endurance.
Each scar became a mark of truth, each loss, a fragment of resolve.
From absence I shaped my will, and from shadows, my strength.

There was a time I believed pain could be shaped into meaning.
That what was broken might still serve some hidden good.
I see now how easily sorrow disguises itself as purpose.

My choices were not wise, but human.

And somewhere, deep in the quiet that follows, a faint memory lingers.
A child's gaze, neither accusing nor kind,
only waiting to be seen.

– The Forgotten Tomes

Upcoming next: a Mystical Shimmer.

hat, my boy, is why I now navigate by echolocation.

- Nameless Blind Wizard.

The first feature teaser is a quick one. Or better said, a quick win - Spell Opacity is here!

This upcoming feature will let you customise the opacity of spell effects for a clearer and more focused game view.

A new spell effects menu will be added under Graphics → Effects in the Options menu.

• Your own spells
• Other players' spells
• Monsters' spell effects

Each one goes from 0% to 100%, giving you full control over how much magic fills your screen. An explanatory tooltip will help you get started.

The gif is only illustrative. In-game, opacity can be adjusted precisely in 1% increments.

While this may seem like a small update, it aims to make your hunting experience more comfortable and focused. Let us know what you think!

Transparent destruction,
Your Community Managers

omewhere where dreams seldom last...

"Did you hear what that drunkard in the corner was howling about?"

"Aye, he wouldn’t shut up about lizards, rats and undead dragons. The man's a total lunatic."

Normally, I'd agree. But yesterday in the Coastwood, I overheard two shadowy figures whispering about a lizardman hiding in Ab'Dendriel. When I asked Llathriel, she said I’m too young for such things - then added that some life-weary souls had gone there to enter the Hellgate of their own will, never to return. Rumour has it that an ancient power stirs behind it. I think she meant to scare me, yet she sounded deadly serious.

"So you actually think there’s something to it? Well then, time to show Daddy that spoilt brats can be heroes after all. I'm in - let's slay some villains and save a few maidens while we're at it."

And with that, they were sold. Two would-be adventurers drunk on the idea of glory, armed with more confidence than sense. They left before dawn, their boots still shining and their swords barely dull enough to cut bread.

Elsewhere in the same woods, another man was hunting something real.

He remembered the sailor’s tale. The place, the scent, the promise of something old and cold beneath the trees.

They called him Scarface. The name had decades on it. The hole in his chest did not. A stranger's bolt had found him days ago; the wound still pulsed like a second heart.

His eyes carried the dim shine of someone who had seen too much and cared too little. For sure, he was not seeking glory. Heroes chase legends; hunters chase blood.

Ab'Dendriel disgusted him. Too pure, too polished, too certain of its own goodness. The elves kept their hands clean; he made a living from what their hands wouldn't touch - dirt, bones, and corrupted magic.

That night, fate, or something equally foolish, wove some different stories together.

The two boys crept through the undergrowth, whispering about honour and destiny, loud enough for even the trees to roll their eyes.

Then a man stepped out of the dark. Scarface. No warning, no mercy in his eyes, just the quiet certainty of someone who has already buried too many people to bother counting.

They froze. He studied them for a moment, like a hunter sizing up sick prey.

"So," he said, his voice dry as ash, "the necromancer sends children now? His assassins used to be braver."

That was all it took.

The first boy dropped his weapon; the second tried to speak but only managed a whimper. Then they both bolted, stumbling through roots and branches, tripping over their own courage, panic leaking from every breath. One of them started crying. Maybe both.

Scarface did not move. He watched them vanish into the dark, listened to the noise fade into nothing, then shook his head.

"Pathetic," he muttered.

He crouched beside a patch of disturbed soil. Something caught the moonlight. A scale, slick and recently shed.

"The green-skin is near," he said quietly. "Very near."

The forest did not answer. It was still laughing at the unsung heroes of Ab'Dendriel.