Archives:

• Hatching-Tide exclusive (04/15/11)

• Hatching-Tide follow-up (04/26/11)

• The Last Word: Storm over Gridania (04/27/11)

• Hatching-Tide conclusion (05/09/11)

• The Last Word: A Tempest of Testimonies (06/17/11)

• Hunter's Moon: The Curse of Dalamud (09/02/11)

High above the Twelveswood, the Raven circles, evermore seeking out truth hidden amongst the shadows of the trees.

In this edition, field correspondent Oliver Goodfellow has set his sights upon an odd, new festival recently arrived in Gridania, called Hatching-tide by its founder and followers. We try to learn more about what it is, whence it came, and what it portends.

16 Second Umbral Moon, Year 1572 of the Sixth Astral Era

No doubt you have all heard rumors of a motley crew of street urchins and spriggans, singing strange songs while dutifully dispensing outlandishly colored eggs to wary bystanders. These are the propagators of Hatching-tide, a lavish new festival conceived by an eccentric Miqo'te named Jihli Aliapoh, who to her followers is simply known as "the Dreamer." To learn more about the celebration, I attempted to speak with Jihli. It only took a few moments with the young woman, however, for me to realize I would need to take a different approach if I were to glean anything of value from our conversation. You see, the Dreamer only ever speaks when she is reciting from what I later learned was called the Dreamer's Gospel. Rather than attempting to decipher her cryptic musings, I instead opted to speak with a boy who appeared to be the Dreamer's famulus. And as it turned out, the boy, Bricot, was more than happy to answer all my queries.

As Bricot tells it, the idea for Hatching-tide came via a revelation experienced by Jihli late one starry evening. After drifting off into slumber, she was supposedly visited by twelve magnificent Archons who descended from the heavens on brilliantly colored eggs. As she stood in awe, one of the Archons stepped forth, placed his hand on Jihli's shoulder and whispered into her ear, "Rise, young Dreamer, and make ready the vessel for our return." The remaining Archons then began to sing, reciting the one hundred and twenty verses of the Dreamer's Gospel, and only when the echoes of the last line had faded did Jihli awake a changed woman.

You Can't Make an Archon Without Hatching Some Eggs

After penning all one hundred and twenty verses of the gospel, which rang clear in her memory long after her vision had passed, Jihli set forth to begin what she believed was the bidding of the Archons. To do this, she first needed eggs. Hundreds and thousands of eggs. Realizing that she could not achieve this daunting task alone, she enlisted the help of the city's children, whom she sent out in search of spare eggs lying about the city. In another move of genius, she convinced a local bury of spriggans to steal eggs from dodo nests, utilizing the voidsents' natural instinct to hoard small, ovoid objects. Once the eggs were gathered, she then began coloring them in the same vibrant patterns she recalled from her dream.

At first, the public scoffed at this wide-eyed Miqo'te and her queer troupe, but the more they witnessed the passion with which she sung the gospel, the raw determination with which she painted her eggs, the more they, too, began to believe themselves that the Archons were destined to return. And now, the Dreamer has scores of followers busy "warming" eggs in preparation for the Hatching Hour, a final ceremony in which the eggs are used to beckon the Archons back to Eorzea.

The Maddening Crowd

Even as we speak, the Dreamer's congregation continues to grow, but is this phenomenon truly a result of the masses belief in the prophecy Jihli sings, or is it something else that drives them, something less divine? It was only after further investigation, that I learned Jihli is offering specially crafted "egg caps" to all those who assist her in preparing for the Hatching Hour. Could it be that material lust is the true driving factor behind this festival's popularity? Perhaps we will never know, but what is certain, when the Hatching Hour comes and the celebration reaches its climax, all eyes will be on the Dreamer and her eggs. Will the Archons descend upon Eorzea, or will Jihli and her gospel fade into obscurity? The answer will be clear only when the Keeper's sands have run their course.

Oliver Goodfellow

Prophet or Pretender?

((The above is a reprint of the archived Lodestone post. Please find it archived, along with other lost gems, at Fragmenter Works!))

High above the Twelveswood, the Raven circles, evermore seeking out truth hidden amongst the shadows of the trees.

In this edition, field correspondent Oliver Goodfellow revisits Jihli Aliapoh, also known as the Dreamer, and her faithful followers to investigate what is unfolding into one of the most peculiar events in recent memory.

27 Second Umbral Moon, Year 1572 of the Sixth Astral Era

Whether you are follower of the Dreamer's gospel, or simply someone caught up in the season's festive mood, there is no denying that with each passing day, anticipation for the Hatching Hour—the ceremony in which the eggs are used by the Dreamer to summon forth the fabled Twelve Archons—continues to grow. Which is why the heinous crime committed in Jihli's storage tent last night is that much more shocking.

And to add to the mystery, it was soon found that something else had gone missing as well—one of Jihli's spriggan famuli, Twiggy, was nowhere to be seen.

Robbery or Ruse?

Spriggans are feared across the realm as furacious furballs prone to pilfering any piece of property they can carry, and so in light of this new evidence pointing to the involvement of a spriggan in the theft of thousands of eggs, the whole affair raises the question, why were the creatures allowed a place beside Jihli in the first place? Last week I reported that Jihli enlisted the spirggans to help collect eggs, utilizing to her advantage the creatures' natural instinct to hoard small objects, but what exactly was it that prompted her to do so?

After speaking once again with Jihli's assistant, Bricot, the answer becomes clear. It appears that three days before the commencement of Hatching-tide, two spriggans appeared on the doorstep of the Dreamer's home, both carrying eggs. Whereas most of us would view wild beasts loitering about our homes as a nuisance and place an immediate call to the Wood Wailers to have them removed, Jihli took the whole scene as a sign from the Archons—the two spriggans obviously sent to assist her in preparing for Hatching-tide. And with that, she enlisted their services, not once stopping to think that the appearance may simply have been coincidence.

The bite marks on the broken lock, the tiny footprints leading to and from the tent, the clumps of dark fur in and about the empty egg boxes, and Twiggy's apparent absence from the festivities this morning all point to the spriggan's involvement in the tragic disappearance. Yet the case may not be as cut and dry as it seems. Another of the Dreamer's spriggan servants—a veritable dust bunny answering to the name of Diggy—is still working alongside Jihli this morning, sweeping up eggshells and fetching egg caps as if nothing transpired the night before. Considering the gregarious nature of spriggans, combined with the sheer number of eggs that were stolen, it seems unlikely that Twiggy could or would have have worked on his own, leading one to believe that there may be more to this story than is apparent.

Oliver Goodfellow

Eggs in One Basket

Upon finishing the day's sermon, Jihli made her way to the double-walled tent in which she and her followers had been storing the eggs collected from the festival-goers. After seeing that the eggs collected that day were secure, she fastened the entrance with a sturdy lock and returned to her nearby chambers, where she meditated until the sands of slumber granted her blissful respite. What awaited her the next morning, however, was a harsh reality—not only was the storage tent lock broken, but the eggs within gone...

Are we to believe Jihli and her tale of betrayal? Could it be that a rogue spriggan is working on his own to foil what could be the most important moment in Eorzean history? Or could it be that Hatching-tide is naught more than a grand performance, and to prevent the hoax from being exposed, festival ringmaster Jihli Aliapoh engineered the theft herself?

Whatever the answer, you can rest assured the Raven will find it.

((The above is a reprint of the archived Lodestone post. Please find it archived, along with other lost gems, at Fragmenter Works!))

The heavens seem hell-bent on inundating Gridania of late. While the Twelveswood is no stranger to willful weather, something is afoot that sits ill with this reporter. Driven by an inner disquiet, I set out on a mission to give shape and form to intangible trepidation.

28 Second Umbral Moon, Year 1572 of the Sixth Astral Era

Ere long, I pick up the trail of irregularity, catching curious whispers on the wind that deaspected crystals have been circulating. Yes, you read true: these crystalline manifestations of aetheric energy are turning up utterly divested of aspect. Even a wee tot could tell you that such a thing is an affront to the very laws of nature.

Far be it from this reporter's intent to incite panic, but if history has taught man aught, it is that we dismiss portentous signs at our peril. Are these incidents merely isolated occurrences? Or are they a dire warning of disaster? This I leave to you, our informed readers, to ponder.

Kipih Jakkya

The Last Word
Storm over Gridania

Perchance this development does not suffice to chill spines, the frightful rumors being propagated by a camp-bound transient could well prompt folk to run for the hills. This shady figure is said to manifest with nary a warning, preach feverishly of impending doom, and then vanish like a phantom only to reappear elsewhere. Though the ramblings of this seemingly touched soul are largely lost to gibberish, such is the zeal with which they are delivered, more than a few citizens are like to be taken by fear.

((The above is a reprint of the archived Lodestone post. Please find it archived, along with other lost gems, at Fragmenter Works!))

High above the Twelveswood, the Raven circles, evermore seeking out truth hidden amongst the shadows of the trees.

In this final chapter of a three-part series on Hatching-tide, field correspondent Oliver Goodfellow brings us a first-hand account of Hatching-tide's highly anticipated climax.

9 Third Astral Moon, Year 1572 of the Sixth Astral Era

The festive decorations have been taken down, the spriggans have returned to their dens. Where heavensent melodies rang out amongst the city's boughs, the all-encompassing hush that defines our city has once again been restored. After weeks of roistering and revelry, Hatching-tide has at last come to a close.

And waited.

And waited.

And just when it seemed that the onlookers were on the brink of abandoning hope, the impossible occurred. A crack appeared in one of the eggs. A hush fell over the crowd as they slowly stepped forward to take part in what could only be defined as a miracle. And as hundreds collectively held their breaths, the shell gave way, and out crawled...not a god, not an archon, not a savior, but a baby dodo.

Yet even after the crowd cleared, leaving Jihli alone with the newborn skykin, the Dreamer remained with the eggs, a somber look full in her dark, round eyes. It was as if her mind had accepted the fact the Archons were not coming, but her heart refused to abandon the faith that had been placed there by her vision. I watched in silence from afar until she finally collapsed, the exhaustion of the day—and perhaps the whole festival—finally taking its toll on the young woman. With the help of her assistant, Bricot, I carried her back to her home and put her to bed.

However, when I returned the next morning to receive one final comment on the ceremony's unfortunate outcome, I was dealt a blow most unexpected. The vision, the festival, the betrayal, the failure—what came to her in a single night, several moons ago appeared to have been taken from her just as suddenly. Jihli's mind had been stripped of every last memory concerning Hatching-tide. She was even unable to recall me and our numerous conversations. For her, it was as if the past few months were but a mere figment of my imagination.

Oliver Goodfellow

Advent Averted?

But not before the unfolding of a series of queer events. As the Hatching Hour drew nigh, followers of the Dreamer gathered in a small clearing near her storage tents to witness Jihli attend to the rite of summoning. After a full recital of all 120 verses of the Dreamer's gospel and some frenetic waving of hands, Jihli climbed atop her mountain of Archon eggs and proceeded to fall into a deep state of meditation as the eager crowd watched on silently and waited.

As a reporter, it is my job to seek the truth, and over the years I have come to hone a sort of sixth sense, if you will, that allows me to discern whether or not I am being subjected to a falsehood. And after all I'd seen over the past few days, it would have been simple to chalk the various happenings surrounding Hatching-tide up to an elaborate ruse conceived by Jihli and her followers. When I looked in the Dreamer's eyes that morning, however, there was no question Jihli was telling the truth...or at least believed she was.

And that, my loyal readers, is the rest of the story.

But what did the public believe? It was when I interviewed the people of Gridania regarding their impressions of the festival, its outcome, and Jihli's transformation, that I was treated with one final surprise—a fitting end to what had proven one of the most surprising events to befall the city in recent memory—not one person had ill words for the former Dreamer or her bizarre band of followers.

The festival, no matter what its original purpose, ultimately succeeded in bringing laughter to our city in a time when spirits were at their lowest. When the celebration seemed as if it might be sullied by a dastardly deed devised by a rogue spriggan, the people of Eorzea banded together to recover the lost eggs, ensuring that the Dreamer might have her opportunity to conduct the rite of summoning. Yes, it is true no archons hatched from the eggs that day, no saviors descended from the heavens to save us and the realm, but perhaps we were simply looking in the wrong direction all along, for something truly great was born of all this. Something that just might save each and every one of us when the coming darkness falls.

((The above is a reprint of the archived Lodestone post. Please find it archived, along with other lost gems, at Fragmenter Works!))

I put quill to parchment today in hopes of making known to one and all the first-hand accounts of adventurers regarding the strange occurrences of late. What follows is the fruit of my "putting feet to moss," to borrow the words of a peer—solid, irrefutable evidence of the great peril bound for Eorzea.

18 Third Umbral Moon, Year 1572 of the Sixth Astral Era

Allow me to begin with deaspected crystals. How does one go about describing these affronts to the laws of nature? Some compare them to eggs bereft of yolk, while to others they are akin to Fen-Yll wares of slipshod craftsmanship. Others still find a metaphor on a grander scale more fitting, such as a Gridania lost to the elementals' guidance. If this reporter might be permitted an opinion, however, deaspected crystals are a metaphor unto themselves.

In seeking to cast light upon the murky forest of the transient's gibberish, I came to know of one T.M., who posits a connection between the words septenary moon—that’s seventh moon, to use the common term—and the calamity prophesied by Mezaya Thousand Eyes, writ in the seventh verse of the Divine Chronicles. Sensing that this hypothesis bears further investigation, I resolved to delve into what historical records I could find on the subject matter.

Kipih Jakkya

The Last Word
A Tempest of Testimonies

The crystals have been turning up in all manner of locales, with seemingly no rhyme nor reason to their distribution. Inquiring one adventurer of her recent discovery, I received a vivid recounting of the time she found one elbow-deep in the steaming entrails of a felled quarry. Speaking with another, it was simply a matter of chancing upon a specimen while undertaking a levequest at the behest of the Adventurers' Guild. The adventurers with whom I spoke came from various walks of life. Yet all were united in the misgiving that mayhap this phenomenon be connected to the unusual weather patterns assailing the Twelveswood in recent moons.

Now, I trust you will recall the shady figure who has taken to loitering about aetheryte camps—aye, the one inciting fear among the populace with unsettling prophecies. One R.G. mustered up the courage to venture a conversation, only to have him cast some unknown spell upon her with nary a warning. For a blessing, the brave lass took no harm—on the contrary, she reported feeling a tremendous sense of well-being permeating through her. Such inexplicable acts, however, serve to heighten my apprehension rather than allay it. And as if the interminable ramblings of one man sufficed not to bleed the ears, some individuals have taken it upon themselves to warn passersby of false prophets with such fervor as would wake the dead. Will our camps never know peace again?

My research lead me to another adventurer, one V.P., who lends further weight to the apocalypse theory by quoting The Five Ages—aye, that hefty tome seen hither and thither that describes Eorzea's cycle of prosperity and destruction. If I might be forgiven for paraphrasing from memory, the passage of interest states that the Sixth Astral Era must give way to the Seventh Umbral Era, the coming of which will end life as we know it. I believe I speak for the most of us when I say I hadn't imagined that the doomsaying words of a grandiloquent tome would come to pass in my lifetime.

In sharp contrast to this grim outlook, I encountered adventurers also who were taking the imminent catastrophe in their stride. Case in point was one H.Y. who, upon hearing of impending doom, proceeded to well-nigh shout out challenges to the heavens in playful defiance. While a part of me cringed that such a show of bravado might tempt fate—or at least hasten the day of reckoning—I found myself comforted in the knowledge that come what may, we will always be able to rely upon the optimism and fortitude of adventurers to turn night into day.

And here my second missive comes to an end. While my investigation brought me across many and more noteworthy first-hand accounts, for now I shall stay my quill, that the implications of the above findings might be given due time to sink in.

In closing, it has come to my attention that, of late, certain other papers—The Mythril Eye, The Harbor Herald, and The Sultana Sun Times, to name but a few—have belatedly seen fit to report on the selfsame object of my pursuit. While I doubt not the integrity of their journalism, if it is the latest tidings you seek, know that naught read beyond the sheets of the The Raven will fulfill your needs.

Till next time, may the Twelve watch over you.

* My sincerest thanks to R.G., T.M., V.P., and H.Y.—the kindly adventurers who consented to my use of their diary entries as inspiration for this article.

((The above is a reprint of the archived Lodestone post. Please find it archived, along with other lost gems, at Fragmenter Works!))

The inexplicable happenings assailing Eorzea of late seem to know no cease; as one incident begins to fade into the dark reaches of memory, another emerges to take its place.

2 Fifth Astral Moon, Year 1572 of the Sixth Astral Era

Recent moons have seen the nation in the grip of apprehension at the changes exhibited by Dalamud. Those who have an interest in astrology will know Dalamud to be the celestial body that orbits the moon in perpetual dance. For others the name will recall childhood tales of the loyal hound of the moon goddess Menphina, who would put to flight in a flurry of torn flesh and gushing blood those who meant his mistress harm.

For some, it would seem this so-called “curse of Dalamud” has already become grim reality. During my investigation, I came upon rumors of a small company of Ul'dahn goldsmiths whose entire shipment of earrings was stolen—earrings themed upon the twin moons withal. My curiosity roused, I sought a meeting with the leader, one Master Joldewin, who related with unrestrained misery the misfortune that befell him and his two apprentices.

Kipih Jakkya

Whatever it is Dalamud conjures up in your mind, lately it has taken on such an angry red hue, even those ordinarily indifferent to the affairs of the heavens have been hard-pressed to ignore the change. Verily, a growing number of citizens are seeing this as an evil portent. With a sanguinary eye seeming to glare down at all creation, you can scarce begrudge folk their sense of foreboding.

The earrings had been commissioned by the Adventurers' Guild, he began, and were meant as gifts of gratitude to be presented to adventurers for their part in vanquishing the Bombards of the summer past. The earring's design, which Joldewin proudly explained is of his own devising, comprises a single lustrous pearl to which a smaller crimson gemstone, wrought of meteorite found during the Bombard outbreak, is joined in a tasteful homage to the Keeper of the Twin Moons.

The goldsmiths toiled many a sleepless night that they might fulfill the order by the stipulated deadline. Here, and ever so briefly, an expression of joy formed on the veteran goldsmith's face as he recounted the day the fruits of their labor were borne away by delivery caravans. Alas, the earrings never arrived at their intended destinations. En route to each city-state, the caravans were beset by—and I quote—“packs of overgrown white rodents,” who made off with every last earring.

As I sat dumbstruck, struggling to visualize a pack of rats bearing away ornate earrings—four to a crate, perhaps—Joldewin's voice shrilled in anger as he revealed to me the loathsome individual he suspects to be mastermind behind the theft: the Lord of the Rats. Aye, you read true—that thief of legend said to hold dominion over all rodentkind, whose imaginary exploits have served to fascinate and frighten many a youngling at bedtime.

Most folk, upon hearing Joldewin's story, would doubtless be inclined to think that he and his crew, despairing of meeting the deadline, fabricated an excuse out of their desperation to save face. I would be lying if I said the selfsame suspicion had not crossed my mind. Yet stranger things have happened, and I, for one, will not rush to pass judgment. Should your travels bring you within earshot of lamenting goldsmiths, dear readers, mayhap you could lend an ear to their side of the story, that you might discern for yourself the truth of the matter.

And here I take my leave of you. Till next time, may the Twelve watch over you.

((The above is a reprint of the archived Lodestone post. Please find it archived, along with other lost gems, at Fragmenter Works!))

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