Lore:Hatching-tide

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2011

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. 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.

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.

Update:

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.

2012

Prophet or Pretender?
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.

Update:

The Best Laid Plans 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.

Visitors in a Half Shell
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.