Lore:The Raven

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Gridania's leading tabloid, The Raven prides itself on its flee-footed troupe of correspondents who travel far and wide to cover news as it happens. Drive by a tenet of timely tidings, it issues extra editions with uncommon regularity. Known to pull no punches in its reporting, The Raven has earned a reputation for delivering all angles of the story to readers.

Very little is known about how The Raven operates, but it likely relies largely on its field correspondents instead of regular reporters. What is known is that the only known reporter, Kipih Jakkya, seems to be responsible for the article series The Last Word. In addition the name of one field correspondent, Oliver Goodfellow, is known. Last but not the least, one of the special correspondents is called Martyn Ironer.

Raven - Goodbye, and Good Luck (01/11/2012)

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Kipih Jakkya here, bright-eyed and sharp-eared, filing her latest report on the numerous threats to Eorzea and how we may find deliverance from destruction.

Before I begin, I must announce, with great regret, that this will be my final report—the last of last words. As the specter of war and chaos spreads throughout the land, I find it harder to guarantee my safety and—more importantly—that of my little brother. I intend to take him far away, to wherever we may yet find refuge.

The great cities themselves may soon be in danger. The monstrously mawed Atomos continues to wreak havoc upon Aetheryte Camps, most recently in Coerthas and Mor Dhona. To further compound matters, the voidsent summoned by the floating beast have been spotted wandering far from any Aetheryte, fueling fears that nowhere in Eorzea is safe.

Our conflict with the Empire is approaching a terrible climax as well. Widespread rumors tell of a great allied force, bolstered by many brave adventurers, marching to confront the Garlean menace at the Carteneau Flats. However, it is also whispered that the VIIth Legion has fortified its encampments and now lies ready to repel any attack. How events shall ultimately unfold is anything but clear. For now, we can only offer prayers for our fighting men and women.

In truth, our prayers may possess more power than we realize. The sudden appearance of the Twelve’s divine symbols has caused a tremendous stir in recent days. Sharlayan scholars are now asserting that if enough Eorzeans were to entreat the gods at these sites, our combined religious devotion may well move them to act. If these claims are true, then perhaps there is still hope.

As a reporter, I have been blessed with the opportunity to meet countless amazing adventurers, and every moment spent afield and writing these missives has been a joy. Though I know not when it will come, I look forward to the day when I return to serve my dear readers once more. Until then, I shall keep my quill safe and sharp.

Farewell, and may the Twelve watch over you and keep you safe.

Kipih Jakkya

Raven - United in Prayer (25/10/2012)

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Fifteen years ago, in the Year 1557 of the Sixth Astral Era, the Garlean Empire conquered Ala Mhigo in an act of aggression which marked the beginning of their invasion of Eorzea.

Five years later, as a massive fleet of Imperial airships advanced into the skies above Silvertear Falls, the great dragon Midgardsormr rose from the depths of the lake, leading a host of its lesser brethren in ambush. Met with such fierce and unexpected resistance, the Garleans were forced to withdraw. Subsequent summonings of the primals by beast tribes brought the Empire's war of conquest to a standstill.

Alas, the conflict was reignited when Nael van Darnus led the VIIth Legion into Eorzea once more.

In response, the Order of the Twin Adder was revived, by the decree of Elder Seedseer Kan-E-Senna, to combat the Garlean menace. Ul'dah and Limsa Lominsa enacted similar measures, and the Grand Companies of Eorzea were reborn. Though distrust lingered between the city-states, valiant adventurers managed to persuade their great leaders to reform the Eorzean Alliance, and together we have begun to turn the tide.

At present, our combined forces are converging at the Carteneau Flats, where the VIIth Imperial Legion is entrenched. Preparations continue for what many expect to be a decisive, final confrontation.

But what of us whose place is not on the frontlines? Is there aught we can do to aid the Eorzean cause?

Archon Louisoix has called upon citizens and adventurers alike to “seek the divine symbols of the Twelve, engraven upon ancient stones strewn across the land, and offer supplication for Eorzea's salvation.”

Some may question the value of prayer in lieu of more practical means of contribution. Yet even the ancient texts of Stillglade Fane contain no references to these mysterious symbols. If these unprecedented manifestations are indeed evidence of the Twelve's providence, perhaps more fervent devotions might summon their divine intervention.

As this belief continues to spread, many Eorzeans have embarked upon pilgrimages to the holy stones, in the hopes that it might do some small good. If you, dear readers, have any faith that the Twelve may yet shine their countenance upon us and heed our pleas, I ask that you join us in prayer.

Oliver Goodfellow

Raven - Rising Panic (18/10/2012)

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Kipih Jakkya here, bright-eyed and sharp-eared, bringing you a report on the recent rampages of beasts and beastmen alike.

As mutterings about the imminent arrival of the Seventh Umbral Era swell into a deafening chorus of unease in and around the city-states, it appears the beastmen, too, are falling prey to the infectious rumblings of fear.

According to recent reports, roving gangs of Qiqirn and goblins have begun attacking travelers on the roads of Thanalan. While such incidents are certainly not unheard of in the lightly patrolled borderlands, these attacks have taken place in plain sight of the gates of Ul’dah. Never before have these beastmen been so bold, or shown such disregard for potential reprisals.

Mayhap, as some scholars have put forth, the looming threat of Dalamud has driven them into a self-destructive frenzy. Or perhaps they simply care not for consequences in their frantic rush to hoard supplies in preparation for the “end of the world.”

And while we are speaking of Thanalan, dear reader, let us not forget the rumors concerning the unusual numbers of cactuars careening around the countryside. Marcette, a naturalist and writer for Eorzean Geographic, postulates that exposure to the eerie and ever-present light of the red moon is responsible for the seedkin’s heightened state of agitation.

With both beast and beastman acting in such unpredictable fashion, a journey into the wilds is more dangerous than ever. Be you adventurer, merchant, or intrepid reporter, I urge you to remain wary—only the gods know what new dangers await us beyond the sanctuary of the city walls.

Till next time, may the Twelve watch over you and keep you safe.

Kipih Jakkya

Raven - Garlean Movements (11/10/2012)

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Kipih Jakkya here, bright-eyed and sharp-eared, bringing you the latest reconnaissance on the movements of the imperial army.

Garlean forces have resumed their attacks on Eorzean soil, presumably seeking to take advantage of the widespread chaos caused by Atomos and its minions. This time, however, the Empire has adopted a new approach for its incursions.

Before I launch into an explanation of this development, dear reader, allow me to provide some background on Garlean military structure. The imperial army is composed of large-scale units known as legions. Of the fourteen such units believed to exist, it is the VIIth Imperial Legion, commanded by Legatus Nael van Darnus, that currently threatens our hearths and homes.

According to our sources, each legion is comprised of ten infantry battalions known as cohors. These cohors are further broken down into three companies, or manipuli. Finally, a manipulus consists of two platoons, or centuriae.

Our troubles lie with this last unit. Previously, the Empire pushed into our territory with entire manipuli. Recent days, however, have seen the attacks scaled back to the smaller centuriae.

“But surely,” you must be thinking, “Would that not make them easier to defeat?” Unfortunately, the answer is a resounding “nay.” Respected adventurers have described these centuria units functioning as elite shock troops—platoons that are provisioned with the latest in magitek weaponry.

Twin Adder strategists theorize that the Empire seeks to prevent the Eorzean Alliance from amassing by deploying these smaller detachments to threaten the realm on multiple fronts.

With rumors of a climactic battle on the wind, it seems the Garleans are seizing every opportunity to interfere with the alliance’s preparations. It is imperative, now more than ever, that we stand together to confront the invaders. Valiant adventurers everywhere, I pray you answer the call to arms!

Till next time, may the Twelve watch over you and keep you safe.

Kipih Jakkya

Raven - Alliance Takes the Offensive! (04/10/2012)

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The Autumn War is the name given to the conflict that erupted when the nation of Ala Mhigo invaded Gridania one hundred years ago. During this time of strife, our Gridanian ancestors were joined by troops from Ishgard, Ul'dah, and Limsa Lominsa, and, thus reinforced, succeeded in forcing the invaders back across the border.

And now, as the imperial army looms on our very doorstep, the disparate nations of Eorzea once more band together in common cause. Though Ishgard has shown no willingness to go to war, both Ul'dah and Limsa Lominsa have committed their soldiers to the Eorzean Alliance. Joint operations are already underway, and by all reports have proven most effective.

But the alliance leaders have only just begun—they are assembling an army so massive it will dwarf any force brought together in our realm’s history. With this great host they mean to march forth and smash the invading Garlean force. I wonder—as must you, gentle reader—if victory is truly within our reach.

The key to vanquishing the imperial war machine may be found in the hands of Archon Louisoix, a scholar who hails from Sharlayan, the great seat of knowledge. I put forth this presumption in light of news from well-placed sources, who claim that the Archon has joined the Eorzean Alliance to serve as its chief tactician.

Louisoix is known for his work alongside the Order of the Twin Adder, and the contributions he has made towards the downfall of the primals. He is also lauded as the foremost authority on the prophecies that surround the Seventh Umbral Era.

My sources also inform me that the alliance’s shift to the offensive is based on an initiative put forth by Louisoix himself, and that a legion of heroic adventurers—responsible for defeating the primals at his behest—is set to join the coming fray. Mere spectators that we are, we can but guess at what brilliant strategies the archon has contrived. Nevertheless, I pray to both the Matron and the elementals that this all-or-nothing gambit succeeds. For it is not only the lives of our soldiers, but the future of Eorzea that rides on the outcome of this fateful battle.

Oliver Goodfellow

Raven - Unquiet Atomos (25/09/2012)

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Kipih Jakkya here, bright-eyed and sharp-eared, bringing you another report on the entity known as Atomos.

Allow me to refresh your memory, dear reader, of the menace in question.

Atomos is the nightmarish creature that suddenly began appearing in the vicinity of the aetheryte camps. This horror, easily recognized by its massive maw, has the frightening tendency to manifest itself in midair without warning…and then just as mysteriously disappear. While present, the entity is often witnessed siphoning some manner of energy from the aetheryte, as well as summoning strange monsters to run rampant in the area. The creatures called forth by Atomos have sown chaos and panic, their intrusions leaving many and more feeling harried and hunted. But they are not the focus of this article.

For Atomos itself has begun inflicting harm upon any who draw near. It seems this unpredictable and terrifying visitor is growing ever more dangerous.

But fear not, gentle reader, for all is not doom and calamity. Though Atomos has proven impervious—oblivious, in fact—to anything thrown at it until now, it appears that the creature is beginning to sustain damage from ordinary blows. Scholars theorize that its presence on the material plane has solidified, thus allowing it to feel the effects of physical actions. There is much, however, that we still do not know about its true nature.

Yet despite the mysteries that remain unsolved, could this not mean that a determined force of adventurers could conceivably slay the floating invader? Such an endeavor would, naturally, be rife with danger, but if the attempt were to succeed…

If my words have inspired any heroes to confront Atomos, I beg that you do so with the greatest of caution. I will, as always, strive to bring the latest developments on this situation to light.

Till next time, may the Twelve watch over you and keep you safe.

Kipih Jakkya

Raven - Atomos Identified (06/09/2012)

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Kipih Jakkya here, bright-eyed and sharp-eared, bringing you a report on the continued assaults on aetheryte camps by the mysterious floating monster now known as Atomos.

The name, which roughly translates to “The Indivisible” in the Eorzean tongue, comes from an ancient Hyur myth of an entity with the power to breach the borders between worlds.

As attacks continue to occur, it has become clear that this Atomos is the source of the voidsent and is summoning swarms of the monsters from another world. Once scholars compared the creature to the Atomos of legend, the name spread like wildfire.

Inexplicably, the Grand Companies of Eorzea have yet to respond to this grave situation. Rumors tell of troops massing in secret to confront another threat, but this reporter wonders what enemy could be so great as to warrant ignoring this crisis.

For the time being, it seems we must rely on courageous souls to protect us from Atomos and its voidsent minions. Already there are tales of adventurers battling the beasts as they seek ways to banish them for good. Whoever you are, know that all of Eorzea is praying for your success!

Until Atomos is driven from our lands, I urge one and all to continue practicing caution when visiting aetheryte camps. As for myself, I shall continue my investigations and bring our dear readers new information as it becomes available.

Till next time, may the Twelve keep you safe during your travels.

Kipih Jakkya

Raven - Aetheryte Camps Under Siege (24/08/2012)

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Kipih Jakkya here, bright-eyed and sharp-eared, bringing you a report on the hitherto unknown entity spotted in the vicinity of various aetheryte camps.

Though eyewitness testimony has been conflicting, all sources agree that the mysterious beast possesses a frighteningly large mouth. Traumatized survivors spoke of an abysmal, hypnotic nothingness that stilled their very souls.

One recent account from Camp Brittlebark in Mor Dhona further states that, whilst hovering high above, the great jawed horror seemed to summon strange creatures from the aether. Panicked travelers fled for safety as the camp erupted into chaos, yet moments later the monster and its minions vanished as abruptly as they had first appeared.

Similar stories have led to speculation that these otherworldly beings are in fact voidsent.

According to Marcette, a naturalist at Eorzean Geographic, voidsent are creatures so radically different from the other inhabitants of Eorzea that, logically, they must have originated in another world (the “Void”, as it is commonly referred to by experts).

Could these unexplained occurrences be connected to the increasingly observed disruptions of elemental balance, as hypothesized by the Ishgardian scholar Domitien? Has the flow of aetheric energies grown so twisted that travel to other worlds is now possible, and is this massively mawed monstrosity the product of such a connection?

If so, to consider what might emerge next is truly terrifying. All adventurers are advised to be wary when visiting aetheryte camps.

In other news, Eorzeans everywhere have been discussing the hauntingly beautiful curtains of light observed throughout the land. While I have never before seen such an awe-inspiring sight, I cannot shake this troubling suspicion that it is yet another grave portent for our future.

I know not what lies ahead, but I shall continue to investigate these unnatural incidents and deliver the truth to our dear readers.

Till next time, may the Twelve watch over you and keep you safe.

Kipih Jakkya

Raven - Dalamud Approaches (16/08/2012)

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Kipih Jakkya here, bright-eyed and sharp-eared, bringing you a report on the ever-expanding Dalamud.

But is the red moon truly swelling in size?

One theory states that Dalamud may actually be moving towards us, thus the illusion of gradual growth. I had the good fortune to speak with Domitien, an Ishgardian scholar and proponent of the “moving moon” theory, and he was kind enough to elaborate further on the subject.

According to Domitien, the red moon's growing proximity is wreaking havoc on the natural balance of the elements. As evidence to support this claim, he points to the recent and wide-ranging discovery of crystals that either exhibit an extreme concentration of a particular elemental property, or appear to have lost any such properties altogether.

And what might the consequences of such a disruption to elemental balance entail?

Domitien hypothesizes that the disturbance could give rise to peculiarities among monstrous wildlife, as well as alter the flow of aetheric energy. This last point is especially worrisome, as the “rivers” of aether that run through the land are what make instantaneous travel between aetheryte locations possible. Should the aetheric flow become sufficiently warped, it may well prevent us from using aetherytes altogether.

There have been no reports of “broken” aetherytes to date, and I, for one, certainly hope to hear of none. Domitien, while your ideas are fascinating, you must forgive me for praying that your theory is somehow flawed!

I shall continue to investigate the disturbing influence Dalamud exerts on Eorzea, and pass on any new knowledge that I manage to acquire.

Till next time, may the Twelve watch over us all.

Kipih Jakkya

Raven - Imperial Concerns (10/08/2012)

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Kipih Jakkya here, bright-eyed and sharp-eared, bringing you a report on the latest movements of the Garlean Empire.

Unease among the populace continues to rise as imperial raids that began at the frontier camps slowly edge closer to the cities proper. I thank the Twelve for the local militia and adventurers, whose heroic efforts have blunted the worst of the attacks thus far.

As I pen this article, there appears to be a lull in the Empire’s constant assaults. It would be reckless, of course, to hope that the imperial army has withdrawn—I am more inclined to believe that the enemy plots some new, sinister strategy with which to test our defenses.

And now on to another unsettling topic. Rumors abound of the massive Garlean fortress that appeared in the west of Mor Dhona almost overnight. Although the Empire is unsurpassed in its mastery of magitek, none could have suspected it was capable of such a feat of rapid construction. The Order of the Twin Adder has dispatched scouting parties to gather intelligence on the imperial base, and I, for one, am breathlessly anxious to hear what they discover.

Lastly, we come to the issue of the Empire’s airships. An ever-increasing number of folk are coming forth with claims that they have espied vessels of imperial design in the skies of Mor Dhona and Coerthas. Disturbingly, these sightings are of multiple warships flying low and in formation. The frontier raids had just begun to ease off—must we now contend with an increased imperial air presence? One can only hope that this sudden burst of aerial activity is not a precursor to a large-scale assault.

And with our eyes involuntarily drawn to the heavens, we cannot help but take note of Dalamud’s continuing growth. There are those who swear the swelling of the red moon is part of the Garlean’s grand scheme, though I do wonder if there is truly a connection.

Gossip and rumors aside, of one thing we can be certain: the Garlean Empire is on the move once more. Stay alert, and inform the authorities should you encounter any imperial activity.

Till next time, may the Twelve watch over you!

Kipih Jakkya

Raven - Coerthas Pummeled! (09/08/2012)

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The region of Coerthas, situated in the central area of Abalathia’s Spine, is reeling from the destruction wrought by a violent barrage of meteors. We have heard similar reports of meteor impacts and their effects on the native monster population, but never before have these celestial rocks fallen in such numbers within such a brief time, and never with such devastating focus on a single area.

The utter confusion left behind in the wake of this disaster can be no more evident than in the account of a local shepherd, who claims to have seen a great chunk of stone tear itself from the ground and fly straight up into the sky. Can we attribute this unlikely tale to a mind suffering from shock? Or might a force even more unnatural be at work here?

News of the Coerthas meteor storm has sent the Order of the Twin Adder into a frenzy of activity. According to our sources, a squad of Eorzean Alliance scouts previously dispatched to the region has failed to report back. Efforts to ascertain the squad’s fate continue amid fears that the soldiers perished in the sudden, brutal downpour.

Putting thoughts of this tragedy aside, one might wonder why the Eorzean Alliance felt it necessary to send a reconnaissance party into what is ostensibly Ishgardian territory. I suspect an “imperial concern” featured prominently in the decision, though liaisons for the Order remain resolutely tight-lipped on the subject. As I pore over reports detailing the ever-increasing number of imperial warships on course for Mor Dhona or Coerthas, I am unable to suppress a mounting sense of dread.

One can only pray that the Order gains swift control of the situation, and sees fit to release a statement free of alarming obfuscation.

Oliver Goodfellow

Raven - 'Neath Garuda's Shadow (25/04/2012)

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Eyewitness reports of a “great winged monster” haunting the outskirts of Quarrymill have sent the Order of the Twin Adder into a flurry of preparation. It appears that the upper echelons of the Order believe the feathered beast to be none other than Garuda herself, and have placed the Grand Company on high alert.

With the ominous change that has befallen Dalamud, it is tempting to believe rumors heralding the Seventh Umbral Era's imminent arrival and give in to crippling despair. But no, I cannot indulge such selfish desires while a threat most real and solid exists within arm's reach. I shall steel my nerves and see for myself just what manner of being this Garuda may be. It must be noted here that this article could not have been penned without the invaluable cooperation of Bowlord Lewin and his extensive knowledge of Ixali history.

Some 550 years in the past, the Ixal chose the forest of Tinolqa* as their homeland. The stories say they built their nests in its trees, and, spreading their wings to the wind, were able to soar among the branches. Even in this ancient time, the Ixal, feeling kinship with the creatures of the sky, revered Garuda as the Empress of Birds. During this age of prosperity the feathered beastmen flourished and multiplied, overflowing the borders of their territory. Their unchecked growth, however, angered the elementals, and the Ixal were cast out of the forest. The exiled birdmen, in search of a new place to roost, migrated en masse to the great canyon known as Xelphatol.

But the trials of the Ixal did not end with the loss of their home. Inexplicably, the young that hatched in the land of Xelphatol were born without certain feathers they needed to catch the wind. As generations came and went, the Ixal lost their ability to fly completely. All that remained to them was an insatiable hunger for the sky. The birdmen's invention of the dirigible 150 years ago is most like the culmination of this tragic history and their undiminished yearning to fly.

This brings us to events of ten years past. Just as the Amalj'aa and the kobolds succeeded in summoning their gods, so too did the Ixal call forth the primal Garuda. Their motivation for doing so, hypothesizes Bowlord Lewin, was to regain the power of flight through the grace of the Empress of Birds. Yet no evidence has been found to suggest that the prayers of the birdmen have been answered. Quite the contrary, the unpredictable and violent Garuda has done naught but tear across the land like an untamed storm, relentless in her quest for blood. Perhaps the Ixal now, too, regret unleashing this unholy terror upon Eorzea.

Oliver Goodfellow

• The Twelveswood. The word “Tinolqa” means “Blessed Forest” in Ixali.

Raven - Shell-shocked (11/04/2012)

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This year’s Hatching-tide festival has come to a close in fine fashion, with citizens and adventurers alike having done their part to recover the decorated eggs from the thieving spriggans. Although it would seem that everything unfolded according to script, upon speaking with event organizers, The Raven learned that something came to pass that exceeded the bounds of improvisation.

In preparation for the event, Jihli Aliapoh and her fellow Dreamers had ordered a large shipment of dodo eggs from the Near Eastern city-state of Radz-at-Han. According to the merchant charged with fulfilling the delivery, however, mixed amongst the eggs were ones that resembled those of no cloudkin he knew. In the course of the festivities, word spread of these unusual specimens, and those folk fortunate enough to come into possession of one went to great pains to see it safely stored. Alas, it was to no avail, for when dawn arrived on the final day of Hatching-tide, naught were left of these eggs but broken shells.

So what, precisely, is the true nature of the enigmatic eggs? In seeking to shed light upon the mystery, this reporter tracked down an individual who claims first-hand knowledge of the truth. It is with pleasure that I now present his eyewitness account to you, our dear readers.

Our interviewee is a member of the Wood Wailers, who was on patrol the night before the incident. Upon being relieved of his shift, the man returned to the barracks, where he enjoyed a quiet moment gazing up at the starry night sky while taking swigs of mead. He believes he dozed off at some point, for when next he was aware, the skyline had taken on the gray hue of early morn. It was at that moment that his eyes were treated to a radical sight: a long train of baby turtles waddling amidst the morning mist.

As any forestborn will know, turtles are not native to the Twelveswood. And so it was all the Wailer could do to cry “Turtles!” before staring, shell-shocked, as the little critters continued their leisurely parade, taking their leave of Gridania by way of Black Tea Brook. Regaining his composure, our eyewitness sought out his fellow Wailers, whereupon he recounted to them what he had just beheld. Being rather disheveled from a night out in the open and with drink still heavy upon his breath, however, he made for an unconvincing sight to his comrades, who disregarded the tale as the ramblings of a drunkard. It was not long thereafter that I caught wind of the man and approached him with my questions.

The issue of eyewitness credibility aside, one thing is beyond doubt: Thavnair, the island upon which Radz-at-Han is situated, is indeed home to such turtles as were described. We at The Raven shall leave it to our informed readers to decide for themselves whether the account can be given credence.

Oliver Goodfellow

Raven - Dalamud Nigh (05/04/2012)

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For those who are unfamiliar, legend holds that the greater and lesser moons are respectively the goddess Menphina and her loyal hound, Dalamud. Since time immemorial, the two have been engaged in an unending dance across the heavens.

Although there was never any doubt that Dalamud has been growing larger and redder in recent moons, till now most folk had been going about their lives without paying the celestial body much heed. However, so great are the changes the lesser moon has exhibited of late, one can no longer gaze up at the sky and fail to be racked by a sense of foreboding.

Ever since Dalamud began taking on a crimson hue, countless theories have been in circulation seeking to explain the anomaly. A great many believe that Menphina's hound is bathed in the blood of a vile fiend who had designs upon his mistress's life, even as others swear that the changes portend the Seventh Umbral Era. Yet another theory, originating from the Holy See of Ishgard, claims that the phenomenon signals the awakening of the great wyrm Nidhogg, who has lain in deep slumber for the past two decades.

Over in Thanalan, the wealth-minded Ul'dahns can be relied upon to turn any situation into profit, and that is precisely what they are doing at this very moment. Wares of questionable utility, the sale of which could only be described as fraud, have emerged in such numbers as to fair flood the market. It is difficult to decide whether the Ul'dahns are deserving of admiration or contempt for this peculiar brand of stoicism in uncertain times.

Were it only coin that folk are being deprived of, there would not be so much cause for complaint. Alas, the present climate of fear has given rise to doomsday cults, the most prominent among which is called the Lambs of Dalamud. The cultists hold the lesser moon as their god and savior, and dark rumors run rampant of live sacrifices being offered in the name of their twisted faith. Reports of missing persons grow in frequency, and citizens are urged to refrain from wandering the streets unaccompanied between dusk and dawn.

“The future is but a reflection of the past”—so wrote Saint Coinach, who dedicated his life to excavating the ruins of the ancient Allagan Empire that the wisdom of ages past might be recovered. Inspired by his words, this reporter paid visit to the Quiver's Hold and requested permission to peruse the records of old.

For over 150 years, the men and women of the Gods' Quiver have held vigil over the Twelveswood's skies for Ixali dirigibles. The logs which they keep are so meticulously detailed as to include mention of the weather. Browsing through the nigh endless piles of parchment bearing such information, I finally came upon that which I sought: a reference to a blood-red Dalamud from ten summers past. On the night in question, an archer on duty at a guard station in the East Shroud noted that the lesser moon was giving off a reddish glow and promptly reported the development to Stillglade Fane. This anomaly, however, proved to be fleeting; by the time dawn broke, Dalamud had reverted to its normal hue, with scarce more than a handful of souls having borne witness to the baffling occurrence.

Only once before in living memory has the lesser moon been observed undergoing this phenomenon of sanguineous swelling. What was it that triggered that first recorded case, and is there any common ground between then and now? Despite the best efforts of Eorzean scholars, the answers to these questions yet elude our knowing. In the meantime, I shall join the citizens in the collective prayer that those subscribers to the apocalypse theory will be proven wrong.

Oliver Goodfellow

Raven - Scrambled Eggs (26/03/2012)

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Our dear readers will recall Hatching-tide, the outlandish new festival born of a dream beheld by a Miqo’te named Jihli Aliapoh. Better known as the Dreamer, this eccentric young woman claims she was visited in her slumber by twelve magnificent Archons who descended from the heavens upon brilliantly colored eggs. Inspired by the vision, Jihli set about doing the Archons’ bidding—that is, to make ready the vessels for their return. As word of her impassioned undertaking spread, the endeavor of one woman grew to become that of all Eorzea, leading to the birth of the Hatching-tide tradition.

Alas, in spite of all the build-up and anticipation, the Twelve Archons failed to appear as prophesied. And as if to rub salt into the wound, not a day after the Hatching Hour had passed, the Dreamer was found unconscious and bereft of all the memories pertaining to her labor of love, an affliction most folk ascribe to acute emotional trauma. So it was that the curtains came tumbling down upon the inaugural Hatching-tide.

While it would seem that the festival was a resounding failure, the prevailing sentiment is rather different. Of those citizens and adventurers who partook of the revelry, the majority recount their egg-hunting experience with great fondness. Even though it failed to deliver upon its declared objective of beckoning the Archons, Hatching-tide brought together the citizens in common cause and lifted morale in the midst of troubled times. And so it comes as no surprise—leastways to this reporter—that the festival returns for the second year running, that folk might enjoy a moment of respite even as the bloody-red Dalamud bears down upon them.

At this juncture, our readers are certain to wonder how the event will be held, with the Dreamer lost to her memories. Racked by the selfsame doubt during my investigation, I broached the subject in an interview with those individuals who played key roles in popularizing the first Hatching-tide. They gave me to understand that Jihli, despite having no recollection whatsoever of her efforts the year past, graciously agreed to reprise her role for the happiness of the people, a most noble gesture. As I made to take my leave of the event organizers, they presented me with a flyer featuring an all-too-familiar face. It would seem that not only decorated eggs will make a reappearance—in the name of faithful recreation, those sooty-black voidsents we all love to hate will also be returning to the fray.

Oliver Goodfellow

Raven - Moogle Myth Made Manifest (02/02/2012)

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That the moogles are our friends and allies is a fact all Gridanian younglings are raised to know. The relationship, however, has not always been one of amity. It was in the age of Gelmorra, back when the elementals did not suffer our presence in the Twelveswood, that the first contact between man and moogle took place. In the beginning, the moogles saw our ancestors as naught but an odious plague, whose existence served only to wake the elementals’ wrath.

But through great effort, our forbears eventually succeeded in communing with the elementals, and were permitted to abide in the Twelveswood. And with the elementals’ acceptance came the moogles’ grudging respect—a respect which grew into understanding and, over time, friendship. The moogles have since stood staunchly by our side, helping us to further our intimacy with the forest and its mysteries. Without their wisdom and guidance, I daresay Gridania would not have flourished into the great nation it is today.

But how well do we truly know the moogles? For the most part, our winged friends keep to the depths of the Twelveswood, seldom appearing in the city proper. Fellow residents of the forest we may be, but there the similarities come to an abrupt end; from physical appearance to culture and fundamental values, there is precious little we have in common with the moogles. For one, they possess their own unique mythology, separate from that of man.

Of the innumerable tales passed down through their race, there is one which claims prominence above all others: the legend of Good King Moggle Mog XII, which explains the origins of mooglekind. The legend holds that, in a time long forgotten, the moogles dwelled in the heavens alongside the Twelve. However, a great war broke out among the gods, and the celestial realm was laid to waste. Upon seeing this, the reigning moogle monarch, Good King Moggle Mog XII, lowered his subjects down a rope—the longest ever woven—to the realm of mortals, that mooglekind might again know peace. Or so the tale goes.

In contrast, our own histories mention naught of any such conflict among the Twelve, and scholars were unanimous in branding the tale a product of the imagination. Of late, however, events have transpired that serve to cast doubt on that conclusion. Recent moons have seen first-person accounts of encounters with Good King Moggle Mog XII being reported nigh without cease, and even the most orthodox of thinkers have been forced to reconsider their opinions on the matter.

By now, all Gridanians—and most adventurers—will doubtless be familiar with Louisoix, head of the Circle of Knowing, who has journeyed to our nation for no other purpose than to quell the mounting primal threat. The native of Sharlayan has identified the moogle monarch as a primal, whose voracious appetite for aetheric energy could end life as we know it upon Eorzea. Coming from such an authoritative figure as Louisoix, these tidings are grim indeed.

With fears of the Seventh Umbral Era still running rife, the air of tension enshrouding the nation grows ever more palpable. But come what may, you may rest assured in the knowledge that naught takes place that escapes the notice of The Raven.

Oliver Goodfellow

Raven - Wolves in Sheep's Clothing (26/01/2012)

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Our ordinarily peaceful community has been racked by a series of abductions. Upon learning of these heinous crimes, most folk would be quick to suspect the hand of the evil Empire, and this reporter was no exception. In the course of my investigations, however, I have come to the conclusion that a doomsday cult calling itself the Lambs of Dalamud is the likeliest culprit.

Those familiar with celestial lore will know that the lesser moon Dalamud is held to be the loyal hound of the goddess Menphina. As might be inferred from their name, however, the Lambs of Dalamud have taken him as their lord and savior. Religious hardliners will doubtless cry heresy, but such trifles will keep—there are far more pressing matters at hand.

Cults have been on the rise of late. This comes as no surprise to scholars, who explain that the current climate of uncertainty renders folk vulnerable to the offer of salvation touted by entities they would otherwise spurn. Naught is new about cults—they have existed since antiquity, and are harmless for the most part. Every so often, however, one will emerge whose unsavory ambitions threaten to plunge society into disarray. And by my reckoning the Lambs of Dalamud is such a cult, capable of committing unspeakable evils in the name of their fanatical beliefs.

Now, I must confess that the case against them remains inconclusive. Nevertheless, I shall relay to you what I have learned, that you might form your own opinions on the matter. First of all, no sooner had the Lambs of Dalamud arrived to propagate their faith than the first case of abduction was reported. From refugees to war orphans, people from all walks of life began vanishing without a trace. To further implicate the cult, there is a man who claims his daughter was taken in front of his very eyes by a mob donning robes of crimson in a sick imitation of Dalamud’s bloody hue.

As if all the talk of the Seventh Umbral Era did not cast a dark enough shadow over our lives, folk now durst not leave their homes for fear of the cult; only the gods know what horrible fate awaits those taken. Are there no brave souls out there who would arise to put an end to this waking nightmare?

Our world grows ever more perilous, gone are the days when a citizen could walk through a lonely lane unmolested. Till next time, do take all care, and may the Twelve keep you.

Kipih Jakkya

Raven - The Goobbue Tamer (18/01/2012)

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The goobbue—that massive, lumbering seedkin possessed of a perpetual grin and arms as disproportionately long as its legs are short. Although ordinarily placid when observed in their natural habitat, little short of a stout stone wall will stop one when agitated. Mind you, this has not served to discourage our Ul’dahn neighbors from parading the creatures about in the many opulent celebrations they hold—an impious practice, as I am certain any forestborn would agree. On such occasions these luckless beasts are bound by powerful magicks, lest they get it inside their heads to turn upon their captors.

As if exhibiting goobbues for the dubious pleasure of folk were not in poor enough taste, word has reached my ears of a man who has made it his business to ride them. Aye, mounting the towering seedkins as if they were chocobos; one difference being that a thrown rider could well land within the creature’s razor-lined maw rather than upon the relative comfort of the ground. A thoroughly deserved fate, I am inclined to believe. But this reporter shall set aside personal opinion for the nonce in the name of objective journalism.

By all accounts, the individual in question is a wandering minstrel come to Vylbrand from as yet unknown shores. If rumors can be given credence, he is capable of influencing the humours of goobbues by way of an enchanted horn, one whose distinct sound beckons the creatures and tames them besides.

Much and more regarding the whole affair still eludes my knowing, the goobbue tamer’s true identity for one, the workings of the horn for another. I shall continue my investigations, and would be duly grateful for any morsels of information that adventurers may have come upon in the course of their travels.

And here I put down my quill. Till next time, may the Twelve keep you.

Kipih Jakkya

Raven - Gone with the Snow (01/01/2012)

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Readers may recall Winter’s Knell, the Ala Mhigan festival to usher in the blessing of ice and snow scheduled to be held in Hyrstmill. Answering the clarion call of Black Rabbit Traders, score upon score of adventurers made their way to the hamlet, where they gleefully assisted in the making of Father Frost in a flurry of ensorcelled snowballs. Paying the venue a visit the day past, I could not help but be astonished by the rapid gains in size made by the snow giant. And as he grew, so too did the collective hope of the populace that winter will come to the North Shroud as it rightly should.

Alas, that hope would vanish into nothingness, as if it had never existed. To the great dismay of all involved, when the day of the ritual dawned, Father Frost was nowhere to be found. Waldomar, the Ala Mhigan native overseeing the festival, is adamant that such a vast amount of ice could not have melted away overnight; the fact that nary a pool of water remained where Father Frost once stood certainly lends credence to the theory. Yet that is the least of the man's worries. In keeping with tradition, a priceless Ala Mhigan relic—a gemstone called the Heart of Winter—was embedded within the snow giant's breast, and has gone missing withal. Suffice it to say the turn of events has left Waldomar and his kinsmen visibly distressed, and casts a stark shadow over this year's Heavensturn festivities.

From tasteless hoax to sabotage to grand theft, speculation runs rife regarding the nature of Father Frost’s disappearance. Whatever the truth may be, we at The Raven pray that it will come to light in all swiftness.

Oliver Goodfellow

Raven - Winter is Not Coming (14/12/2011)

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The North Shroud is unseasonably warm this year. In fact, there are some as say winter has yet to arrive. This makes yet another strange phenomenon assailing the land, and consternation is writ plain on the faces of Gridanians. Between this and the bloody-red hue of Dalamud, the citizens can scarce be begrudged their sense of apprehension.

An odd few have been heard expressing that they would as soon skip the harshness of winter in favor of an early spring. This way of thinking, however, is dangerously naïve, warns Fufucha of the Botanists' Guild. The bounty of ice and snow is no less important than that yielded in warmth, stresses the Lalafell, before going on to remind us in a motherly tone that nature is dependent upon the turn of the seasons. The coming of the cold tells plants to shed their leaves against the chill, and animals to hoard what food they can. A late winter would cause seeds to sprout prematurely, only to wither before the onslaught of biting wind.

Far be it from this paper's intent to incite panic, but the situation is grimmer than one might think. This grimness certainly was not lost upon an Ala Mhigan refugee named Waldomar, who took it upon himself to approach Stillglade Fane with a proposal: the holding of a festival hailing from his homeland called Winter's Knell.

According to the Hyrstmill resident, Winter's Knell is but one facet of the Starlight Celebration observed in his native Ala Mhigo. The festival entails the building of Father Frost, a giant of snow, in a ritual to usher in the blessing of winter and pray for the well-being of loved ones.

As any forestborn will know, the conjurers, ever seeking the elementals’ blessings in all affairs of state, are widely regarded as being excessively measured in their actions. And so it came rather as a surprise when Stillglade Fane received Waldomar's proposal with open arms, wasting no time to engage the services of Black Rabbit Traders to assist with the festivities. This behavior on the conjurers' part was so uncharacteristic, The Raven resolved to discover the forces that compelled it. And discover them we did, via a confidential interview with an initiate of Stillglade Fane, who agreed to speak with us on the condition of anonymity.

Among a host of other startling revelations, we learned that the conjurers have no expectations whatsoever that the festival will actually beckon cold weather to the North Shroud. In allowing the ritual to proceed, they mean only to assuage the mounting tension among the populace with a touch of revelry. And if relations between forestborn and Ala Mhigans were to improve in the course of events, they would be well pleased. With the dual threat of the Garleans and the Ixal bearing down upon us, our nation's leaders are bent on wringing out all the unity there is to be had.

The matter of motive aside, Winter's Knell comes to the Twelveswood for the first time; whether winter will follow in its wake, however, remains to be seen.

Oliver Goodfellow

Raven - Light of the Future (22/11/2011)

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When one thinks of concerts, celebrations, and other like events in Gridania, Mih Khetto's Amphitheatre immediately comes to mind. Just recently, the amphitheatre hosted a once-an-era ceremony commemorating the reformation of our nation’s Grand Company, the Order of the Twin Adder. The highlight of the proceedings was the appearance in the flesh of Elder Seedseer Kan-E-Senna, who graces the city-state with her exalted presence once more after her spiritual wanderings in the Twelveswood.

Standing in solemn majesty before forestborn and visitors alike, she delivered a rousing speech as chosen of the elementals. In their name, she urged one and all to unite in common cause to fend off those who would sully the sanctity of the Twelveswood—for so long as we stay true to the forest, Nophica will never abandon us to the darkness.

Our ancestors once lived in fear of the elementals, concealing themselves within caverns that they might elude the wrath of the forest. This was in the age of Gelmorra, the subterranean city that was home to the first folk who dared set foot in the Twelveswood. Over time and through unceasing effort, the art of conjury was refined, and our cave-dwelling forebears finally succeeded in communing with the elementals. So it was that man was permitted to abide beneath the canopy of the forest, rather than within the dark of the earth.

Since that time, it was commonly believed that man called the Twelveswood home only at the elementals’ sufferance. However, the Elder Seedseer revealed in her speech that we are as much part of the forest as the grass and the trees. This revelation fell like a thunderbolt for most forestborn. But then the implications of the message sank in, and shock gave way to inner peace and a heightened sense of empowerment. To see the expressions of those present, one would think they had just been freed of their shackles.

In bringing the ceremony to a close, the Elder Seedseer bathed the amphitheatre and the audience in the divine light of the elementals. And it is by that light that we shall banish the shadow that takes the heinous form of the Garlean Empire. With the Matron smiling upon us and our staunch adventurer friends fighting by our side, there exists no night that we cannot turn into day.

Oliver Goodfellow

Raven - Impudent Impulses (02/11/2011)

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It all began with a band of prison wardens who took leave of their senses and stations both in order to return home before sunset in observance of All Saints' Wake. In the absence of watchful eyes, a murder of malevolent imps managed to break free of their confinement en masse. Rather than fading quietly into the night, however, the devilish creatures sought to humiliate their former captors, and thus challenged the Adventurers' Guild to a contest of wits.

The imps would pose riddles, which representatives of the guild must attempt to answer. A correct response would earn the guild pumpkin cookies, of which a specified amount must be amassed by the conclusion of All Saints' Wake. If the quota were met, the imps would swear to return to their prison cells of their own volition. Elsewise, the Adventurers' Guild must promise to pursue them no more.

Word of the challenge ruffled the feathers of many in the guild; indeed, most were of the sentiment that swift and brutal force should be employed to recapture the winged fiends. With the imps at large in the city, however, it was judged that open acts of aggression could lead to casualties among civilians. And so it was decided that the issue must be settled in conformance with the prescribed rules.

All Saints' Wake arrived this year with much nervous biting of knuckles at the Adventurers' Guild. This reporter was present to witness the counting of cookies before the leve counter. A veritable mountain of the baked treats had been painstakingly gathered through the efforts of altruistic adventurers…but would it be enough?

I am pleased, dear readers, to describe the unrestrained jubilation that broke out as the 999,999th cookie was accounted for. The imps conceded defeat, and—to everyone's astonishment—very graciously honored their side of the bargain, returning to their cells with neither bitterness nor a demand for a recount. Pats on the back were exchanged all around, and many could be seen heartily munching pumpkin cookies in a gesture of triumph.

Doing my rounds of interviews of those involved in the operation, my eyes once more fell upon the prodigious pile of cookies that fair reached the ceiling. To be able to bake such a vast amount within a matter of days, I could not help but appreciate that the imps must be as resourceful as they are mischievous.

As I mused upon this, I absently bit into a cookie, one from a generous basketful proffered me earlier. It was at that very moment that I noticed what appeared to be traces of gysahl greens—aye, the selfsame leafy plant favored by chocobos—embedded within the half still in my hand, in a fibrous state that could only be described as digested. Here my chewing grew labored. For the sake of propriety, I forced down what was already inside my mouth, but not before breaking out in cold sweat at the implications of the discovery.

We might have bested the imps in the challenge, but I daresay the odious little devils managed to have the last laugh after all.

Oliver Goodfellow

Raven - Impish Impositions (13/10/2011)

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Daniffen. Randolfe. Llafymae. These names may or may not ring a bell. If ever you have had occasion to visit the Adventurers’ Guild, however, I daresay you already know the personages to whom they belong. Aye, I speak of the saints of old who grace guildleves—the individuals revered as paragons of virtue and raised high by the Twelve themselves. Their legacy remains with us to this day, most visibly in the form of splendid stained crystals upon said guildleves. And then there is the ancient custom called All Saints’ Wake.

Legend tells that, at the same time each year, the Twelve honor the saints by inviting them to the celestial realm for a feast of deific proportions. While this show of favor from the gods is no less than the saints deserve, in ascending to the heavens, they leave the mortal realm bereft of their divine protection. During this time, it is said that creatures of darkness come out from hiding to wreak havoc upon mortalkind, and with such gusto as if to make up for the rest of the year when their devilry is kept in check. Fearing for their safety, folk took to returning home before sunset and barricading themselves indoors with kith and kin until dawn arrived to banish the night. Over time, this practice took root and flourished into the annual tradition we know today.

All Saints' Wake draws nigh once again, and folk can already be seen scrambling for the supposed security of their abodes before the sun kisses the horizon. As common sense dictates, there are those of certain professions who have not the luxury to observe the custom. However, it appears this fact was not made known to a rather superstitious crew of prison wardens, who decided to retire for the day well ahead of the scheduled change of shift. And as ill fate would have it, these wardens had charge over the surveillance of none other than a malevolent band of imps. Left utterly unguarded, the winged fiends managed to win free of their cells, and are now at large in the city-state. The imps have since assumed the form of citizens, the better to afflict hapless townsfolk with such vile deeds as only their vile minds can conceive.

When the incident came to light, the Adventurers' Guild was promptly tasked with returning every last one of the creatures to imprisonment. Runners have now been dispatched to each of the three city-states, garbed in the likeness of a demon said to plague the mortal realm during All Saints' Wake. All attempts to seek an explanation for the peculiar choice of costume have yet to yield a satisfactory answer, but some suggest that it is intended to draw the attention of adventurers.

One cannot find fault with the Adventurers' Guild for keeping in the spirit of tradition in the face of an imminent outbreak of chaos. However, only the gods and the saints above know how their bid to recapture the imps will unfold.

Oliver Goodfellow

Raven - Twin Adder in a Tangle (03/10/2011)

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After an extended absence, the Elder Seedseer has finally returned from the depths of the Twelveswood, much to the relief of the citizenry. And by her decree, after entire eras in slumber, the Order of the Twin Adder has been roused to wakefulness once more. Yet, in the midst of these heartening developments, a stifling air of tension now enshrouds Gridania, a product of the uncertainty over whether the Grand Company will live up to the weight of expectation.

The day past saw our nation’s leaders assembled at the Adders' Nest to make provisions for the nation’s defense. Among those in attendance were the ranks of conjurers, who partook in discussion on matters such as military structuring, fortifications, arms manufacturing, provisioning, and so forth. Needless to say, the Twin Adder has much work to do if it is to become a full-fledged military force rather than a token presence, and the closest cooperation with our nation’s guilds will be central to success.

In particular, the eyes of the nation are locked upon the two pillars of law and order in the Twelveswood: the Wood Wailers and the Gods' Quiver. As elite warriors among forestborn, charged with the security of the city-state and its surrounds, theirs is a heavy burden. Yet events of recent moons have not helped to engender public confidence. Take, for instance, the infiltration of the Thousand Maws of Toto-Rak by imperial troopers. This incident alone seemed to push our resources to the brink, rendering our shortage of manpower painfully apparent. As we stand, Gridania can ill resist the Empire should it come at us in force.

In the beginning, the Order of the Twin Adder was taking on adventurers solely in a provisional capacity. However, as more and more of these recruits went on to distinguish themselves in missions of consequence, the Twin Adder could not help but take notice. And so when options were discussed on ways to augment Gridania's underwhelming host, it took next to no time for our leaders to unanimously settle upon a solution: to accept adventurers as fully inducted members of the Grand Company.

It had been known that the Twin Adder means to establish four units, each named for the four noble beasts of legend: the White Wolf, the Blue Badger, the Red Otter, and the Black Boar. Now, however, a Yellow Serpent will be joining the fray, and it is beneath its banner that non-Gridanians - in other words, adventurers - will charge into the field of battle.

I would like to take this opportunity to unreservedly applaud the move. Ours has been a closed society; more often than not in history, Gridania has kept her distance from the other city-states of Eorzea. But we can ill persist in this way of thinking any longer. A terrible enemy has reared its head, and threatens to lay waste to all we hold dear. If we are to survive the coming storm, we must look beyond petty differences between our neighbors and ourselves. Elder Seedseer Kan-E-Senna - may the Twelve forever shine their countenance upon her - has ever championed cooperation and harmony as a way of life, and this philosophy rings truer now than ever before.

In closing, far be it from my station to make a personal plea, but I would call upon all adventurers of the realm to join your strength to ours. As fellow Eorzeans, let us walk hand in hand that we might together banish the encroaching darkness and usher in a new era of prosperity.

Oliver Goodfellow

Raven - The Curse of Dalamud (02/09/2011)

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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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Kipih Jakkya

Raven - A Tempest of Testimonies (17/06/2011)

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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.

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.

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?

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.

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.

Kipih Jakkya

Raven - Toto-Rak Investigation Team Feared Lost (18/05/2011)

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A tragedy has occurred at the Thousand Maws of Toto-Rak. A notorious dungeon that once held poachers and arsonists—the vilest kinds of criminals ever to defile the Twelveswood—the mere mention of its name is enough to set the hairs of any forestborn standing on end. Up until three decades ago when the Elder Seedseer closed and sealed Toto-Rak, declaring it barbaric and unworthy of Gridanians, the dungeon was dreaded far and wide as the seventh hell made manifest.

Not a few days past, The Raven received a tip-off that shady individuals appearing to be Garlean mercenaries had been skulking about the long-abandoned dungeon. Recognizing the potential graveness of the situation, our editor-in-chief spared no haste in alerting the Order of the Twin Adder. In so doing, The Raven essentially forwent an opportunity to garner an exclusive. As a gesture of gratitude for our responsible judgment, however, the Order kindly permitted us representation among their elite squad of four dispatched to investigate the rumors. So it was that special correspondent Martyn Ironer struck out for the Thousand Maws of Toto-Rak.

"Now entering…*buzzzzzz*…Thousand Maws…*fizzzzzz*…"

No sooner had the party set foot within the dungeon's dank, foreboding passageways than a problem arose. Lightning aetheric interference, the source of which is presumed to be Imperial, severely degraded the transmission from our correspondent, the Order issue linkpearl loaned to us unable to pierce the haze.

After what felt like an interminable length of time in oppressive silence, a fragmented signal finally broke through to us. Our relief would prove to be short-lived, however, as a scene of horror we dared not imagine played out on the aether.

"Glowing wall…impedes advance… Curses…!"

"Unidentified device…likely Imperial… Do not tamper…"

"Oh gods… It's back again… C-Come no closer… Aiiieeeeee!"

This was the last contact we received before communication failed entirely with an ear-piercing crack. Naught has been heard from the party since. That our veteran pugilist correspondent - accompanied by a squad of Twin Adders, no less—would vanish without a trace is truly a disturbing turn of events.

The truth yet remains beyond our glimpsing, hidden deep within the mildew-lined cells of Toto-Rak. This much, however, is plain: an Imperial machination is afoot. We at The Raven offer our sincere condolences to the families of those lost, and implore the Order of the Twin Adder to take swift and effective measures to bring the heinous plot to light and secure the safety of Gridania and her citizens.

Oliver Goodfellow

Raven - Case Cracked (10/05/2011)

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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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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

Oliver Goodfellow

Raven - Storm Over Gridania (27/04/2011)

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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.

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.

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.

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

Raven - Hard-boiled High Jinks (26/04/2011)

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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.

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…

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.

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 spriggans 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.

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.

Oliver Goodfellow

Raven - Hatching-tide (15/04/2011)

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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.

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.

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