Crafting Motif 125: Blind Path Cultist Style

Author (in-game): Camp Prefect Acilius Hayn

I have gathered my research on recovered armor from the Blind Path cultists into the following annotated notes. It is frustrating to admit that the crystalline material used extensively on this armor eludes many of the standard testing methodologies I’ve brought to bear. It is clearly some form of creatia but formed and latticed in a manner I’ve never seen before. In an effort to expediate efforts to research both the cult itself and their armaments, I hope these documents prove useful. To the curious and sticky fingered, hands off.


A vicious thing, this axe. An edge that could cut stone as easily as it could split a warrior in two. Its two-handed variety is heavy, maybe even impossibly so, requiring two aides to lift it onto my workbench. How then can these cultists swing them with such ease?


At first glance I believed the talisman that cinches their belts to be made of some sort of opalite, but this does it a disservice. It catches the light in such a strange way, refracting it into colors more varied and wondrous than a spring shower’s rainbow. It almost makes my eyes ache.


Perhaps anecdotal, but it seems that mud does not stick to these boots. Water, dirt, even blood, all seem to bead and fall from the boot like leaves from a tree. I can’t imagine what benefit this may provide in combat, but I find myself jealous of how tidy and unblemished their antechambers must be.


It seems that arrows loosed from this bow create a small flicker of light, perhaps due to its crystalline detailing. At first, I considered this a flaw in its design, a weakness that reveals an archer’s position. In truth, by the time you notice this trickery of light it’s already too late.


The delicate ornaments at the center of the Blind Path chest pieces are alluring. I can find no other word for it. During my research, I have found myself, on multiple occasions, staring into their fractured luminance. In these moments I feel a sense of, is it longing? I struggle to put into words the deep well of emotions that bubbles up, as if there is a promise about to be fulfilled.


The tip of the dagger comes to a needle-like point, just as sharp as the blade itself. The Lieutenant who brought me this dagger felt it necessary to drive its point into my table. Imagine our surprise when it slid through the lacquered wood as if it were butter.


These gloves are a particular marvel. The fingers seem to conform to the individual. The same glove fits the smallest hands as snuggly as it does the largest. I’ve unthreaded more gloves than I can count, and I still can’t fathom how it works.


Do not wear this helmet. Apologies for being blunt, but I fear there are some lingering magics that ensorcell these helms. The thick leather completely covers your eyes, and the ensuing darkness engulfs not only your vision, but your mind. These shadows are heavy. They twist and churn as, something from a far distance, approaches.


The thick leather of these grieves feels almost shale-like in texture. When worn, they provide a steadfast balance that even the mightiest mace blow cannot shake. They are of remarkable make. In fact, I’d steal the design myself if I could only understand how they are woven so densely.


Fanned crystalline blades line the sides of this mace. These sharp crystals help pierce metal armor, effectively weakening it ahead of the mace’s full crushing blow. The damage caused is frightening and far beyond what field repairs can address. My tent is littered with pieces of armor crumpled as if they were paper.


Soldiers have warned me of the feathered crystals that adorn the cultist’s shields, fearful of what they reveal. Upon observation, it seems that the crystals reflect a distortion of its foe. A double that appears to be right behind the viewer, ready to strike. I’ve assured the soldiers that this is simply a parlor trick and nothing more.


The crystal structures that adorn the Blind Path’s shoulder pieces are just as sharp as their bladed weapons. A shoulder bash now becomes a lacerating blow, leaving many of our soldiers wounded with deep, parallel gashes.


I find the staves most maddening of all. The mirror-like crystals atop it refracts light into scattered, near imperceptible beams of color. A beautiful sight, perhaps, but it’s what these beams of light reveal that frighten me. I have seen, well, myself. Glimpses of my morning and flashes of what could be my near future. Tricks of course. They have to be.


I cannot explain it, but the cultist’s swords make me ill at ease. I feel … sorrow when I hold them. A sadness for something that lies just beyond a crystalline haze. If only I could cut my way through to this beautiful land. If only I could shatter the world that keeps me at bay.

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