Prompt 3: Muster

Her face was in the dirt. Again. So often had this happened when training with her mother, she had started to wonder if this wasn't the proper state for her face to be in. Perhaps if she tried hard enough she could learn to live like this. To siphon off nutrients from Thanalan's many varieties of dirt.

Someone was standing over her. It was obvious from the fact that the blazing sun wasn't burning her back. Said someone was tall, just based off of the sheer length of their shadow.

"Are you going to lay there all day, or shall we go again?" Her mother's voice was firm, but amused.

Winttrach brought her head up, twisting her neck to peer into her mother's armored boots, "The former does seem appealing."

Summer Lily clicked her tongue, nudging at Winttrach with the toe of her boot. "Get up, little dragon."

With an overly dramatic sigh, Winttrach brought herself up from the dirt, brushing off waves of dust from her leather armor. Her wooden sword and shield were retrieved soon after, and her feet spread in the stance that had been battered into her.

Her mother did much the same, producing a wooden set of arms herself. There was no question as to how Summer Lily was able push Winttrach into the dirt so easily. The former was as tall as a roegadyn woman could come, while the latter still had so far upward to grow. Winttrach's eyes lingered off to the very real sword and shield that sat off to the side of their little arena against a shriveled tree. The sound of wooden sword hitting shield brought her attention back to the fight.

"Eyes on your foe, attention on your foe. Survey your surroundings when given the moment," Summer Lily said, sword pointed straight at Winttrach. Winttrach nodded, bringing her shield up, bracing herself. Her mother refused to move.

"What is the item in your hand, little dragon?"

"Uh," Winttrach muttered, looking down at the wooden shield as though it might be something more, "A shield?"

"Correct." Her mother strode forward, slamming her sword into the shield in question as though to prove that point. "What does that shield entail?"

The stinging in Winttrach's arm quickly returned as she bore the brunt of the blade against the shield. Shifting her stance to follow where her mother retreated to, she prepared for another blow, "Restricted movement, improved defense."

Another sprint, another blow, another retreat. "Correct, to a point." Summer Lily leveled her sword at Winttrach's face, "What does it mean for you?"

"I don't know," Winttrach said without a clue. The wrong answer. This time the charge ended with a shield bash, which left Winttrach stumbling, though she managed to recover her balance.

"You are a shield," her mother said flatly, blade prepared to run again. "You are the protector. The wall between friend and foe." Another strike, which Winttrach managed to deflect, even though she was clearly wavering. "You are the rally point. A creator of courage." Her mother's voice grew louder as she spoke.

Provoked by those words, Winttrach took a more stoic stance, ready for the next blow. Her mother charged again, with her most fierce strike yet. The younger readied herself, and stood for as long as she could against her mother's blade. Which once again placed her flat on her back.

A sigh escaped her mother's lips, "We have a long way to go." 

Prompt 2: Sway

 "Down winding road and darkened wood,

Nestled in trees,

Doth stand a lonely manor house

Can you feel the frigid breeze?

For when the moon departs,

Specters walk the halls.

Pray you keep away,

When lonesome darkness falls."

-

Their chocobo had been restless for what had seemed to be the last few malms. Now the beasts' sense of unease had reached a fevered pitch. Their yellow feathers ruffled the longer they traveled down the dreary path, mostly dirt with few patches of cobblestone peppered in. Beaks clicked, wings fluttered, and at times their mounts refused to move at all.

"Think we'll have to leave 'em here," the roegadyn said, climbing down from his mount and turning to tie it to a tree.

Frieda did the same, pulling her bow and harp from their perches on the bird's bags.

"Is there far left to walk?" she asked, trying to peer further down the road only to be denied by its numerous twisting bends.

"Nay," the roegadyn replied, trudging on down the path. "Be there in a couple minutes."

Harp and bow slung across her back, the elezen followed in step behind the roegadyn. His name, as he had abruptly told her in the middle of their initial meeting, was Quiet Breeze. She recalled thinking it was tame for the wild looking man who had asked to speak with her after a song. His long hair was peppered with grey in it, and his beard had likely not received any sort of decent trim for some time.

His demeanor had not matched with such a gruff appearance. Even now, trudging down this aged trail, his footsteps were soft and light. The movements of his head as he double checked his surroundings was swift and clean.

"You never mentioned exactly what it is you wanted to do, sir Breeze," she said, trying to spark up the conversation again.

"I do believe I did, miss Morrow." His brow furrowed as though he was uncertain of that. "I wish to commission you for a song."

"Well yes, but you didn't specify anything further," she added meekly.

They rounded yet another bend, bringing a wrought iron gate into fence. Frieda stopped in her tracks, while the roegadyn continued on. Beyond the gate sat a large manor, that looked to be in the process of being swallowed by Eorzea itself. The entire house sagged, creating a wave effect to the wood. Windows had broken inward, sections of the roof had vanished, and the entire structure was one strong wind from blowing entirely inward.

-

"In younger times,

In timid woods,

A gentle couple's love,

Did bud inside that grand estate

As blessed from gods above.

To feast and dance

The night away,

Came neighbors near and far,

Enthralled by the grand duet,

Of the pair of beaming stars."

-

Quiet Breeze approached the gate, producing an aged ring of keys, and slowly flipped through it. Frieda watched him fiddle with the keys, stumbling with them, and trying a few more than once. Eventually he managed to open the gate, and stepped inside. They crossed the decaying grass in silence, Frieda in quiet observation, Quiet Breeze in mourning.

Picturing the grounds in their grander state was an easy feat for Frieda. To see the paths complete, the fountains flowing, and the hedges finely trimmed must have been a luxurious sight. The path they walked was wide, perfect for a carriage to be pulled, of course by only the most illustriously bred chocobos. Those that were not beasts of burden, but instead signs of prestige.

A once grand staircase worked its way up to a large open door. Once again the key ring emerged from the roegadyn's jacket pocket, and once again he fiddled and fussed with them. Throwing the door open with a sorrowful creak, he entered into the sagging foyer.

-

"Until a night of darkest moon,

Did foulest souls descend,

Upon that gloried place,

Whose guests would meet their end.

Gold and jewels were their demand,

Sharpened blades did swing,

A herd pressed through the hallowed halls,

Which echoed hollow screams."

-

She stood at the precipice of the darkened foyer, arms drawing around herself. What light found its way through the door served to illuminate an ancient scene. Numerous expensive tables and chairs lined the halls, framed around a formerly grand staircase that lead up to the second floor. Silver and gold platters and wares lined every table, their metallic sheen stolen by the layers of dust that the years had covered them in.

The old man found a turned over chair, brushed a few years of dust from it, and took a seat. He looked at the bard expectantly, motioning her in. With a few hesitant steps, she allowed herself to enter the desecrated place.

Spreading his arms dramatically, a motion he had practiced since devising his plan, the roegadyn turned to Frieda. "This is what I would like to commission."

Frieda took in the room once more, before her gaze settled on the man. "I don't understand."

He produced a handkerchief and wiped at his nose, "I can't claim to understand it either. But what I do know is this, miss Morrow. My lord and lady did meet their end in this house, many years ago. And they have not been allowed to rest since."

Her eyes went wide with fright as her mind gripped those words. Ghosts or spirits had never been part of the bargain she had entered. She shuddered backing away again, "I still do not understand what part you wish me to play in anything."

His large hand flew up, halting her for a moment. With even greater hesitation, she drew herself back into the foyer. "It is not truly you I seek, miss Morrow. But adventurers. And yet I have never been able to draw them in myself." She nodded slowly, prompting him to continue. "But what draws in those with a sense of adventure more than the thought of being framed in legend by the song of a bard? What would pull one to this place faster than a slot to be filled in song?"

She felt herself nodding, understanding.

-

"Forever moored in mournful place,

Chained at very soul,

Still stands a couple,

Hands locked in horror's pull.

For a set of those, brave of heart,

To enter their domain,

And slay their cruel facsimile,

Else ever they'll remain."

Her hands continued across the harp strings to sustain the note, voice drawn out for effect. When finally she released the note, she bowed her head dramatically, and laid her harp upon her lap. The inn was silent for a moment, before breaking into applause.

Smiling, Frieda stood and bowed, eyes scanning the crowd. She let out a sigh of relief as she walked off stage, noting a party at the back. A serious looking man was nudging his cohort, and pointing towards the notes he had made in his journal. Said cohort was nodding thoughtfully, before producing a map. Taking in a deep breath, Frieda found her way back to her seat near the wall.

The scent of adventure lingered in the air.

Prompt 1: Crux

"Call it," he said, holding the gil between his fingers, head side faced towards her.

She smirked and rolled her eyes.

"Heads."

Winttrach's eyes followed the coin as it spiraled through the air, finally landing in the midlander's sweating palm. He turned his palm slowly, as though the contents of it could bite him. His face fell the moment he set eyes on it, feeling the sting of the coin's result.

"Tell me how you do that one of these days," he muttered glumly, turning to motion one of the barkeeps over. To both of their surprise, one was already approaching.

The elezen, hair covered fully by a wrap, leaned down to look at Winttrach. His thumb jerked backwards towards the entrance of the Quicksand. "Fella out front's lookin' for ya."

Her eyebrows knitted together as she leaned over, trying to get a glimpse of who the requester might be. "Who is it?"

The elezen shrugged, standing back up, "Hells if I know, standin' out on the street now I think. Won't miss him, trust me."

She and the midlander exchanged a glance, before she shrugged and stood. "Can't hurt, I suppose," she said, making her way out the door.

Bustling as the streets outside the Quicksand were, the barkeep had been correct. Winttrach identified the man without a second glance. His aged face, with both his hair and beard graying, stood out against the bright white and blue of his armor. He was leaned back against the railing near the entrance, eyes locking onto her the moment she stepped out of the building.

His hand raised in greeting, motioning her closer. Bright as his smile seemed to be, she felt drawn to the tired look in his eyes. Her stance stiffened as she approached, leaning against the railing as to look out on the street. He turned to follow suit.

"Long time no see, girl."

"Same to you, old man."

There was a pause as he turned to size her up. "How have you been?"

"Best as I can mange, I suppose," she said. Her mind ran over the proper response to that. Was she well, was she doing alright for herself, she had never been able to decide.

"Figured as much," he said, fingers tapping against the railing. "Watched you fight in the arena the other day. Did pretty well, all things considered."

That managed a laugh from her, "And what is that supposed to mean?"

His armored boot nudged at her shoe, "Feet were a bit wide, stance a bit broad. Nothing that can't be worked on."

"Still won," she said dryly, "So it couldn't have been that bad."

He chuckled in return, preparing to comment of further, before she cut him off, voice serious.

"Why am I out here, Gideon."

"Well," he began, choosing his words carefully, "Watching you fight made me think of something."

"Did it."

"It did," the rhythm of his fingers on the rail picked up tempo. "I've a few positions to fill for the Sultansworn. I thought perhaps you might consider it again."

Her eyes closed and she let out a deep breath. Much to his surprise, she didn't immediately dismiss the notion. It almost disappointed him. He had prepared a rebuttal and everything. Instead she stood there in silence, staring out at the passersby on the street.

"Give me time to think on it," she finally said.

His eyebrow arched, "Do you mean that, or do are you just hoping to run me off?"

"Both," she said.

Gideon considered her for a moment. With little hesitation, he reached up to put a hand on her shoulder, squeezed, and turned to leave. "You know how to reach me."

"I do," she said, gaze not diverting from the street.

A Bitter Path, Illuminated - Part 9

Spoilers for Final Fantasy XIV: Shadowbringers, up to patch 5.2.

Day 14

                It was early morning when the message came to me. I do not even know if dawn had started to creep into the nearby forests, though I do know that I required a candle to see my way to the door of my room at the inn. I did not get the opportunity to see who had left the message. Where or when they had even properly arrived from, I believe I may never know. The letter they left was in a crisp envelope, with a seal that I still feel as though I should remember.

                I can tell you, reader, that I gasped so loudly at the message itself that I managed to stir my fae friend. She rose from her perch at the window with a start, under the presumption that a thief had broken in in the night and had caught me off guard. Instead I had been surprised by word from my benefactor.

                To tell the truth, I had started to feel as though I would never see them again. I have been here a short two weeks, and still I had started to presume I would never be able to return home. The letter my benefactor had sent me did not necessarily assuage those concerns. They asked for my presence at an establishment I had never heard of for dinner, as they had matters they wished to discuss. It was almost comforting to see something I was at least familiar with, insofar as I can claim to be familiar with the woman. Her vagueness was predictable, at least.

                The remainder of the day was rather uneventful, considering the events of the morning. While I went about some of my planned escapades, my attention could not be captured by meager sights. Every now and then my neck would prickle, and I would search the crowds. I never saw my benefactor, and I do not suspect she was ever present. She had always presented herself as the type of person with better things to do with her time. All the same, knowing that someone else from Norvrandt was present somewhere in the city set me on edge in a way that I could not explain.

                I believe that my benefactor’s presence reminded me too much of the fact that I did not arrive here of my own accord. It made me wonder if I was alone in this type of bargain, or if there were countless others here. Confused tourists, or otherwise. I say otherwise, because the focus on my own wants to escape Norvrandt had blinded me to the fact that it was very likely that I was a piece on my benefactor’s game board. The fact of the matter is that she would not spend her time on something that did not benefit her.

                Niamh was not nearly as concerned as I. She fluttered about, tugging and pulling at people who couldn’t perceive her when she grew bored of whatever it was we were looking at. When we stopped for lunch, she took great pleasure in over-seasoning a few people’s soups. In retrospective I should have not allowed such to transpire, but my thoughts remained elsewhere.

                When the awaited hour finally came, I found myself in a restaurant on the northern side of Gridania. The staff asked if I had visited before, and when I said no, I was regaled with the tale of how long their establishment had been around. I believe they said something about lasting through multiple calamities, but the truth of that I cannot be bothered to verify.

                I was led out to a private patio, where two chairs and a table had been prepared. My benefactor was already there, just as I expected her to be, and we were left alone. In her hand was a local wine, the bottle on the table showing it was a local label. Were you to ask me, I would dare say I could recite to you the entirety of that label. The color of the chocobo on it, and the furry pommed creature holding up the bottle as well.

                The point I am struggling to make, without expressing it so bluntly dear reader, is that I do not know if I will ever be able to forget this conversation.

                There was no prompting when I arrived, and we were left to our lonesome. I inferred I was to take a seat, and I did. My benefactor never once looked way from the sunset that was beginning to sink into the distant trees. It was a beautiful sight, I must admit, especially when paired with the stars that were in constant pursuit.

                “This is much more beautiful than on the First,” she said. The words did not feel as though they were directed at me, so much as a thought spoken out loud. I wasn’t allowed to so much as wrinkle my brow before she answered the question she had left hanging. “The First being the star you are from.”

                Up to that point, I had pondered over this for hours. Deliberated and debated with myself just what it was about this place that allowed it to remain unscarred in a way that people in Norvrandt could only dream of. I had a million questions to ask, and all I could do was allow them to coagulate in my throat in a single word.

                “Why?”

                Before I allow you her answer, dear reader, I wish to indulge in my opinion.  The way she spoke, the topic of which I will recount to you in but a moment, I felt as though this was not her first time in doing so. It felt as though she had read off this script multiple times. Yet the way with which she spoke, forces me to believe that it was not a fantastical play she was reciting, but instead a more concerning service announcement. The only subtle hint of emotion I could feel in her voice, when I felt anything at all was pity. In the way that you feel pity when watching something lesser than you struggle in a trap.

                She spoke of a dried river. A river aether, that was meant to flow between stars. The First, or Norvrandt as I know it, had essentially become dammed, and thus what Light had flooded it had never been allowed to leave. I knew that she would tell me of her solution to this issue, and she did not disappoint. Supposedly a large enough movement of aether on the Source would force everything to flow again.

                I waited for her to lavish me with praise, telling me that she had tried with many, but none had been up to the task. To treat me as so chosen hero from afar. And yet she remained as distant as ever. She did little more than pour herself another glass of wine, and resume watching the sky.

                I did the same as I pondered how to respond to what she had said. I was given little time to do so, as my attention was stolen away by the skies themselves opening. Never in my life have I been blessed to see falling stars. And should you have seen a similar phenomenon, perhaps you think blessing is too strong a word. I disagree.

I feel blessed to have seen it, to have been presented with a vision that I shall keep to myself. A bridge too far, you may believe dear reader, and I cannot blame you. What I can reveal is that in that moment, I felt warm. Embraced. Serene. When I recovered from my stupor, my benefactor had departed. I did not miss her.

                I cannot speak to the truth of her words beyond what I feel. It feels arrogant to state that I believe that I am capable of saving Norvrandt from its woes. Yet the possibility refuses to leave my mind. Words from my vision echo about, filling me with a sense of purpose. It is as though I can hear the cries of my country. I can feel her troubles.

                I must think of a solution.

A Bitter Path, Illuminated - 9

Spoilers for Final Fantasy XIV: Shadowbringers lore and locations.

Day 11

                Of all the things I expected to pull me out of my depressed stupor, never would I have imagined it to be my pixie companion. Having travelled such a long distance, I had resigned myself to likely never seeing them again, and yet this morning while drinking a cup of tea outside the inn, I was disrupted by none other than Niamh Áine. While I sat there amazed, Niamh proceeded to berate me for being so hard to find.

                “’Ad to cross so many damned realms just to get a whiff of where you went,” she screamed at me in that high-pitched voice of hers. Even now I wonder if I could recite the entire tirade from memory.

                When finally she finished with her tantrum, she went on another outburst about how difficult it had been, how many places she had looked, just to get the scent of me. I sat there in shock and amazement as she revealed right then and there, what I had already begun to worry. Norvrandt is not, as I had hypothesized, across the ocean from Gridania. This is not some far off distant land that escaped the Flood. This Eorzea is part of an entirely different star. Even writing this I can feel my stomach sink the same way it did when that small pixie spoke as though it were a trivial fact.

                Now that the information has had time to sit with me, I am forced to ponder my benefactor. Who they are, what they are capable of, and how far from how they managed to ferry me? Perhaps the most worrisome query of all, will I ever encounter them again?

Day 12

                Niamh informed the that it was my duty to show her around the town, which she claimed to feel some sense of kinship with. I imagine that the nearby forests and somewhat peaceful inhabitants may have reminded her of the Greatwoods near to Il Mheg, but she refused to let me know if I was correct or not.

                I will admit that wandering the streets did have a more positive feel with it. The power of companionship is not to be trifled with. I had not realized until I was wondering through the market, Niamh flitting about the stalls and commenting to herself, how lonely I had been. With a bit of pixie magic, I am the only one who can see her, for the moment. I cannot even begin to fathom what it is that pixies truly wield, but it is certainly powerful. We passed skilled and novice mages alike, and not one of them saw through her illusion. And due to the horror stories of Il Mheg, I am happy. I doubt it would be pleasant for someone to have ended up on her negative side.

                I did have to be somewhat quiet, especially in crowds. The last thing I would want is to seem mad, speaking to myself for no reason. Though I have been told that I tend to ramble when in deep thought. We took a trip into the forest proper, which seemed much livelier than the Greatwood. I attribute this in no small part to the lack of a swamp, which I was told one must travel much further south to see. There is no hurry for such a sight, I should need not specify.

                At one point we did happen across a scholar and their faerie, to which Niamh seemed somewhat surprised by. The Eorzean fairy certainly seems similar, and yet a look between the two made the differences obvious. The faeries seem to lack the mischievousness of the pixies, which I am sure that the Eorzeans do not mind in the slightest.

                By the time we had returned to my room at the inn, I had gathered that Niamh seemed impressed with what we had seen. Not just in the spirit that the people seem to have, but in seeing life go on as normal. I am in complete agreement. In spite of all their strife, the people of Eorzea continue on. Their world has never truly ended, even if it has seen numerous so called ‘calamities’. I wonder if they can even have claimed to have known fear, having lived in the light of the Flood for so long.

                When I consider this for too long, it stirs a dark envy in me, dear reader. To know that my people have suffered and continue to do so with no end in sight. There is no solution to it, there is no remedy but death. Yet in all that time Eorzea has sauntered on in their petty fights for land without a fleeting glimpse of our plight.

                I do not know what to do with these thoughts.

A Bitter Path, Illuminated - 8

Spoilers for Final Fantasy XIV: Shadowbringers lore and locations.

Day 6

                I have spent what is nearing a week wandering the streets and surrounding areas of Limsa Lominsa, and yet I still feel as though I am uncovering things. I have acquired a ticket to sail elsewhere tomorrow, which I felt was necessary, else I may spend the rest of my days here.

                I spent the first day browsing the market, and watching the ships come in and out of the bay. There was something absolutely enthralling to watch such meaningless goods move in and out. I envy these people, mother, for they have never had to fear the Flood. I am forced to fear for the integrity of their history though, as they had never even heard of the event, or of Norvrandt. Nor could I find it on any of the maps that were offered to me.

                The second day I spent perusing the various guilds that operate out of the city. Some work for skills for trade, and haul in fish by the boatful. I ate one for lunch, and I must say, the flavor to it was something I had never experienced. Perhaps because I have never had a creature that was not tainted at least minimally by light? I cannot say. But I believe it to be the case. Every meal I have had has felt full of flavor, to the point where I felt intoxicated with each bite.

                The fighting guilds could not be further from each other. One is nothing more than ax based brutishness, which I could not stand to observe for long. I had to prevent myself from rolling my eyes when the clerk there asked if I was interested in joining. The arcanists guild closer to the port was much more appealing. I spent some time comparing their methods to mine. They are quite comparable, so I presume that they have spun off from the same original schools, and have simply developed apart over the years.

                The outer edge, which the locals referred to as La Noscea, reminds me of the outskirts of Eulmore, but with more life. I felt like I was wandering through a dreamland version of Kholusia. Everything looks so familiar, and yet so different. Imagine if you would, mother, that you have come home and all of the furniture had been moved. That is the feeling I felt upon viewing the various highlands.

                A pair in the bar asked if I had come from the ‘Far East’, with how unfamiliar I was with the area, to which I had to tell them I had not. They mocked me for my pronunciations, but I have made it a point to correct these. The encounter did provide me with another land to see out, once I have finished touring this ‘Eorzea’.

Day 7

                Some hours ago we made landfall in the port of what I was informed on the way there was a desert called ‘Thanalan’. From there I was referred down the road to a station called Horizon, from which I was directed to the capital of the area, Ul’dah. I have settled in at the inn there tonight, after surveying a few stops along the way.

                Once again the landscape reminds me of home. In a different light, it would be a dead ringer for Amh Araeng, right down to the somewhat nomadic people with a focus on their market. On my way to the inn I was accosted by no less than seven people, all with a different ware to sell. I made sure to inquire about what sites I should see over the coming days, and have marked out a route to follow.

Day 9

                The market here left me with a truly uncanny feeling. There was not a single stall manned by a mord, or as I have been informed they are referred to here, a ‘kobold’. I know this only because I attempted to describe one when I was given a confused look. Beyond this, the only difference I could note was that it stood properly inside the walls of a city.

                The main attraction of the past two days has been the city’s arena. I stayed there for some time before leaving for lunch, and found myself drawn to return despite having other things planned. I found myself rather enthralled with the entire ordeal, and screamed along merrily with the crowd. I felt somewhat embarrassed, especially having felt so arrogant with regards to the warriors of Limsa Lominsa.

                I spent the evening in conversation while eating at the inn. What I have determined, while garnering any number of puzzled looks, that Eorzea is at war with some country called Garlemald. This imperialist nation has held thrall over any number of nations over the years and caused no end of duress. I have only ever heard of such in tales, and processing this conflict has consumed my evening.

                I will not say that Norvrandt is without its strife and conflicts beyond the Sin Eaters, but I have always assumed that our resources are so few that we have not even been able to fight over them, at least not on such a scope. I suppose that while they have not experienced the issues brought upon by the Flood here, they still have their issues.

Day 10

                Something compelled me to leave Ul’dah ahead of my expected dates. My next stop was Gridania, a nearby forest. As you may expect by now, it reminded me somewhat of the Rak’tika Greatwood, though so much more…alive, perhaps. There is something so much more serene to it, which I noticed from the airship ride in. There is simply a silence to it that I found immediately calming.

                I wandered the streets of Gridania for a time, but I could not bring myself to make dedicate to any plans for the coming days. I saw the guilds, I learned that there would be a play later in the week, and that there were holiday celebrations in the coming months, but I simply could not bring myself to feel involved. I wish to be drawn into it all as I was before, and to a degree I still am. Every day I see something that I have never seen before, or something that feels familiar and yet strange.

                And every night I return to an inn’s room and try to record my thoughts on the matter. In theory, I am doing something truly fantastical. As far as I can know, I am one of the few to have crossed this barrier, and gone beyond Norvrandt. And yet all I can consider, is what I left behind.

                I sit here at night writing words that I can never truly know if you will see, mother. And with each passing day I have considered that while I am here being amazed, you still reside in Norvrandt. The sky for me may be blue, but for you it is still that wicked white. It feels rather unfair. Unfair feels like a poor word to describe it, but it is all I can produce. Tomorrow I hope to raise my spirits, but tonight I have only thought of home.

A Bitter Path, Illuminated - 7

Spoilers for Final Fantasy XIV: Shadowbringers lore and locations.

Day 1

                I was forced to buy a new tome, which I did with posthaste. Perhaps at some point I shall be able to return it to Norvrandt with the help of my benefactor. If that is the case, perhaps it will find its way to you mother. I hold that hope close to my heart, so that you may know the truth.

                There is a beyond.

                There is a place beyond Norvrandt. Beyond Lakeland, and most certainly beyond Holminster Switch. My benefactor spoke true. I dare not even dwell on what demonic magics it took, but they upheld their bargain. We met on one of the balconies of Eulmore for the ordeal.

                I had assumed there would be fanfare attached to such a feat, but there was none. My benefactor confirmed that I was dedicated to the journey, and told me that whatever I wished to bring had to be on my person. I had already prepared for this, bringing nothing more than a scholarly tome. With little more than a wave of their hand, I was sent on my way. The only indicator they had even done anything was their face running a blood red, so I cannot begin to guess what sort of magic they used.

                At first, it felt as though I were moving through the aether as you do when using an aetheryte. That feeling passed, and yet I had reached nowhere. I had dreaded that I might never reach another place again, but just as quick as the feeling started, I was spat out of the aetherstream or whatever it may have been.

                I laugh thinking about it now, but my first actions in this great beyond were nothing heroic. No, I must unfortunately report that I spent my first minutes here retching as my stomach settled back into itself. It felt as though every inch of my form was trying to reconfigure itself, as though it had been shifted and scattered and slapped back together. Even still I feel a tingle at the edge of my hand, as though it is waking up from sleep.

                When I collected myself, I had believed myself the cove of a rather grassy cave. I could barely see anything save the light of a lantern from afar. I could never in my life have dreamed of being so wrong. I dream this book can reach you at some point in the future, mother, because I must tell you that there is not just a beyond Norvrandt. There is a beyond the Flood.

                It was no cave, for what I mistook as the ceiling, was the sky mother. A dark night sky filled with glittering stars. To call it breathtaking does it no justice. It took more than my breath; I feel as though it took everything from me. My entire body grew limp, I fell backwards. I cannot describe the feeling, but I am certain you would fully understood if you saw it for yourself.

                I felt as though I could never bring myself to leave, and yet when I did I was light as a feather. I was sprinting over the first hill I saw, only to stop when I reached the top. I stared out over a vast ocean, and further down the grassy plain I found myself on was a city, the windows of it looking just like the stars above in the dark. At first I mistook it for Eulmore, as it seemed almost similar in structure, but a second look was enough for me to realize the differences. I sprinted there next, my heart racing at the thought of what could be beyond the ocean, or beyond the mountains, or in the city itself.

I had planned to roam the city the moment I arrived, but fatigue claimed me before I could even consider it. I asked for directions to the market to buy this tome, and went to the nearest inn straight away after. Just the process of doing so revealed to me the foreignness of this place. Everyone is so lively, even in the dead of night. I spotted boats coming on and off the harbor, carrying goods from places I could only imagine.

I shudder with excitement and fear I won’t be able to sleep tonight. I have so much to see that I have failed in any attempts to plan what excursions I can make tomorrow. Even now my thoughts rush so that it is difficult to put them into words. I suppose I shall deal with it as it all comes.