I want to get deeper into the story in Dying Light 2: Stay Human. I really do. However, I keep getting distracted by NPCs who huddle around campfires and tell tall tales. I love this kind of stuff, so I can’t help but join them and while away the hours (or minutes — these stories usually clock in at about three to four minutes a piece) listening to these stories.
So far, I listened to a man ramble on about a slave ship, I heard Ariel’s story about how her dad worked in pest control, and I checked out a really depressing tale by a woman named Sara.
Well, I found another one, and this time, there’s a full-on stage set up and a crowd. Okay, the crowd is like five people, but that’s still one or two more than I usually see at these events.
I’ve been transcribing Dying Light 2‘s campfire stories whenever I encounter them, so I’ll give this one a whirl as well.
This starts when a woman in the crowd says, “An epic poem, if you please, storyteller.” And then a man says, “Oh, my favorite!”
The guy on the stage starts his story: “A tale of heroes for our two war heroes on their special day. A story of the secret language of the Nightrunners.”
And then the crowd goes, “Praise to the Nightrunners!” I guess this is a thing, so you’ll have to get used to it.
“But we must remember,” the man on the stage continues, “the perilous life we lead. So this reminds us of the horrors that must be faced with the brave hearts of heroes.
“In the before, the first year after the fall, a monster came to a city of man. Terror it sowed, and death it reaped. All fell before its maw. Life became hiding, life became fear, life became despair.
“A stranger appeared, leaping, swinging, climbing in ways never seen before. He bore no weapons. He wore no armor. He made a promise to rid the city of the creature. The city laughed, ‘Hahahaha! What are you going to do? You leap prettily about. What shall you use to slay this creature, hmm? Harsh language?’
“‘I am a Nightrunner. I hold the secret language of the Inhibitors.'”
“Praise to the Nightrunners!”
“As you are ignorant of this language, you must stay hidden while I battle the beast. ‘Twas true; the city folk knew not of Inhibitors. It was early days. The Nightrunner went forth to confront the beast.”
“Praise to the Nightrunners!”
“But one youth wanted to see this language, wanted to transcend their ignorance. So they followed the Nightrunner at a distance. The youth heard the battle joined and followed the sound. What they saw, they could scarcely believe. The Nightrunner, toying with the beast, evading every claw, bite, and tail, moving as no one ever moved before, moving like poetry, moving like language. The creature was beaten, the creature was exhausted. The creature fell at the Nightrunner’s feet.
“The disobedient youth shouted a cheer, but the Nightrunner had not finished the job. The creature leapt towards easier prey, but before its maw closed, the Nightrunner blocked its path. Its maw closed on his arm, ripping it from its home and swallowing it whole. Now the beast will learn the final lesson of the Inhibitors. ‘My blood!’
“The monster shrieked. The monster melted. The city saved by the poisonous blood.”
“Praise to the Nightrunners!”
“The city healed the Nightrunner. The youth begged them to stay. Alas, the dawn came, and that break of day found the Nightrunner gone. But the Nightrunner left a map for the disobedient youth, showing where they could go and learn this secret language. And this map leads all the way to Villedor, to the canteen of old Frank Marwey.”
“Praise to the Nightrunners!”
