A Bitter Path, Illuminated - 3

Contains spoilers for locations and lore from Final Fantasy XIV: Shadowbringers.

Day 93

                I cannot understate the surprises to be found in my meeting with my mysterious correspondent. As per my expectations, it was in fact a pixie I had been set to meet. The agreed upon directions were followed, and we met in a field of flowers on the eastern side of the pixie’s main abodes. Off in the distance I could make out a lake and a castle, though as I would later learn both are best avoided.

                Said pixie distinguished themselves from their peers by having somewhat drabber colors. While most seem to frolic in greens and blues and oranges and reds, the one I met had adorned themselves in purples and greys. Their hair was carved short, and far from the playful pigtails and braids of the others as well.

                Much to my surprise, the item of my they had acquired was in fact the journal. So tired was I in the past few days that I hadn’t even noticed the object of my quest had vanished, so allow that to inform you of the state of me. The book itself was nearly as large as they were, but they carried it all the same. I presumed that to get it back in my hands would require even more games, but instead they returned it immediately, with so little fuss that I presumed there had to be a catch. I made sure to look the journal over to make sure that it had not been cursed or tampered with, but all I found were tiny fingerprints.

                As a final bit of shock, the pixie claimed to have been enthralled by the book. They too wished to be free of Norvrandt, or at the least Il Mheg, and made me swear to take them with me. I presumed I would be forced to agree out of my own safety, lest I be turned into a stone or a shrub, which of course I did. As I supped, we spoke at length about the places in Il Mheg itself which could prove as an escape, many of which would never have been mentioned by the book. A travelling companion worth their salt indeed.

Day 96

                Niamh Áine as she wishes to be called seems to have done a wonderful job of mapping out these rolling hills, which is excellent, as there is no possible way I would have managed without them. The magicked airs of Il Mheg, mixed with its endless rolling hills, and the endless sky of light, are impossible to navigate. It reminds me of the few times I can remember seeing snow, where the reflected light would blind anyone.

                An additional boon is that whenever I have been poked at by the local fae, Niamh’s appearance seems to drive them away. I suspect her lack of energy and somewhat dour attitude has put a barrier between herself and her fellows, as she has never had a want for play. I will admit that her natural cynicism has proven a bit disheartening at times, though I hope that I am able to remove some of it in time.

                Were it that I could say that things have continued upward. We have canvassed much of Il Mheg proper, including a few of its surprisingly elaborate cave systems. Ever still my quarry remains out of reach. The caves only lead to dead ends, and the borders of the region reach up far too high for myself to climb. Even if I could climb them, it would be wasted effort. Niamh fluttered up the height of one such wall, only to return bringing the worst news. Far as they could see, there was nothing beyond but the Flood.

                Few times in my life have I felt such pain and hopelessness. It was Il Mheg especially that the author had hoped would be their salvation. The place they had never been able to reach. Perhaps it was foolish of me to have held such high hopes myself. Surely if there was a place beyond Nordvandt, beyond the Flood, people would have been flocking to it. But then I consider that helpless look I see where it seems that I find myself, and I am forced to hope that it is simply because we have lost the will to look.

                Whatever it may be, my time in Il Mheg has ended. We have returned to Lakeland for the time being. In the morning we will begin the trek towards the Greatwood. Should there be no escape there, I fear I do not know how I will proceed.

Day 98

                I have spent not but a day in the Rak’Tika Greatwood, and already I feel reinvigorated. The trees provide an excellent shade from the wicked white, something I have not truly felt since I left one of the arbors in Holminster. While personally I could live without the swampy lowlands, and the various prowling beasts, the area itself has a completely different aura to it. My companion does not seem as impressed, but I am unsurprised.

Day 99

                It was brought to my attention by Niamh, who earlier reviewed my entries up to this point without proper permission, that I have never properly introduced myself to any potential readers. I suppose I never truly considered this a work for anyone else but myself, but in the spirit of my finding a new path in the works of another, I feel that in the spirit of due diligence, I owe it to whomever make pick up this tome some time from now.

                So it is to you, dear reader, I must say that my name is Agatha Hargrave. Born and raised in Holminster Switch, a town locale to one Lakeland, of Norvrandt. I specify all of those in the hopes that these pages are read from outside of the Flood’s walls, which is my current goal. My entire life has been spent under not a sun, which I only know of through stories told by my grandmother, but under a sky of pure light.

                I was raised primarily by my mother and my grandmother, my father having caught the sickness of the sin eaters when I was young. A story I was never told properly, due to the cold feelings it brought about in both my mother and my grandmother whenever the topic arose. While I hold no ill to either my mother or my grandmother, I can say that I grew tired of their willingness to accept and remain. I wished for more out of the world, at the least to see it. I suppose I took it upon myself to have a wanderlust great enough for all three of us.

                I wish there was more to the story, but there is not. Much as the light in the sky, my life was stagnant. I was taught, I was raised to work, and that was to be thought. I would do so until I died to one thing or another. But now dear reader, I have a new goal, as you well know.

Day 107

                The hundredth day since my departure passed without anything of note occurring. In a way I felt that such a grand number would have meant the foreshadowing of some equally grand event, but as seems to be my fate, I am eternally disappointed. It was a day like any other, so much so that I did not even notice that such a number had passed until I lay down that night to add to my tally.

                The following days were no less disappointing. We have covered this swamp from north to south, east to west, insofar as we are allowed to do so. The local religious group restricts movement into the deepest recesses of the forest, not that it stopped Niamh. I spent a day alone waiting to hear back from here, but while she did tell of any number of temples sunken into the earth, beyond still appeared to be an endless wave of white.

                Sitting in camp, I felt at a loss for how to proceed. My companion also appeared to be losing interest in our quest, saying “I suppose should I see a need I shall slip to one of the other realms for a time away from this one.”

                I asked her to expand on this, and she told me that the pixies have access to what she referred to as ‘realms’. The places of dreams, of nightmares, and other places that appear to be, but are not Norvrandt. The idea has stuck with me for a time, though I still refuse to completely move on from the my search quite yet. It has made me dwell on a few of my readings on aetheric movements from the arcanist’s tome I have acquired. I am forced to consider if such can be done with a mere mortal such as myself. To move across to one of these other places. For the time being, we are to return to Eulmore. I have one last option I must confirm.

Day 112

                On the first night we camped in Eulmore, my journal was stolen from my bag. Everything else remained as it was. I was forced to interrogate the pixie to make sure she was not pulling some trick, but she was just as surprised as I was at the theft.

                We spent some time searching the area for where it may have gone, but to no avail. Disheartened, I could not bring myself to travel much more that day, and we settled in at one of the nearby villages, where someone offered to let me a room. In the morning, I found that the journal was once again in my bag.

                The pixie and I deliberated on whether it was possible we had overlooked it, but were in agreement that we had not. How and why someone had stolen it is beyond me. Let alone how they entered my room without our knowing to return it. We have decided it may be in our best interest to be more watchful during the night.

Day 114

                Dear reader, today is the first time that I must admit to feeling lost. Hopelessly and truthfully lost. I returned to that forsaken cliffside today with Niamh, in the hopes that she would be able to see beyond it. My deepest held wish and hope was that it was Mount Gulg which held the answer. That unreachable place, that behind would be our salvation. As you are likely expecting, such was not the case.

                All that Niamh reported back to me was that the plateau at the top of the cliff contained dwarves. That was the only information of note to be found. Beyond Mount Gulg was the same as there was beyond anything else.

                I shall not lighten this blow for you, much as I could not lighten it for myself. I had had my suspicions that this would be the case, but all the same I felt well and truly defeated. I had no where else I could even imagine going. Nothing sprung to mind that I could further explore that had not already been mapped out by the journal’s author. Nor did I feel up to the task of going through each and every part and parcel of land to verify their claims.

                We returned to the shantytown where I had originally found the journal. My intent was to return it to where I had found it. Perhaps someone else would be better served by it, or perhaps I would simply be putting them on the same path of disappointment. I could not say. All I knew was that I wanted to be in possession of it no longer. Hope was a terrible thing to give and take so freely, and I foolishly had devoured it whole.

                But upon returning to the hovel where I had found the book, we discovered a well-dressed man. So clearly did he not belong there that neither I nor the pixie immediately noticed him. It was not until he spoke, and after we had both let out terrified screams, that we realized that an additional person was in the house.

                He was an elven man, and quite tall, far as my interactions with that lot can judge one to be. His bookish appearance and prepped manners made me wonder how the people outside had not torn him limb from limb in anger. I am certainly glad they did not. The man told me that his benefactor in Eulmore had taken an interest in my quest and wished to speak to me in the hopes of furthering it.

                There was no possible way I could have declined, dear reader. For one as hopeless as I had been in that moment, so cynical to the very idea I had once been chasing, I had still tasted the sweet nectar of promise. The man offered me more. Of course I accepted.