Just when one has gotten used to the incessant flapping and occasional snapping of the dragon galley ensign, the Maelstrom comes up with a new means to vex the populace: intensifying its recruitment drive. Spearheading the effort is a celebration dubbed Foundation Day, which entails posting barkers in the city-state whose obnoxious blaring puts one in mind of apkallus during breeding season. Suffice it to say the din rings like steel grating upon steel inside my poor noggin which, at the time of this article’s writing, is still swimming in ale imbibed the night before. And so today I delve into the Maelstrom’s agenda with a hint of peevishness.


It is scarce a secret that the brass hats of the Maelstrom have taken a fancy to adventurers. So much so, in fact, that it verges upon being an obsession. But why adventurers? What have those free spirits done besides the obvious—that is, adventuring—to warrant our undivided attention? The reason, dear readers, can be ascribed to our nation’s fondness for the sea.

As any Lominsan worth his salt will know, our nation’s head-of-state is chosen from among the myriad pirating bands via a grueling contest called the Trident. Tradition decrees that the triumphant captain assumes the office of Admiral, while his crew becomes the fulcrum of Limsa Lominsa’s standing navy, the Knights of the Barracuda. Not only has this practice given rise to a proud maritime culture; it has also birthed what is arguably the mightiest armada ever to sail the five seas. However, this is not all bountiful plunder and fine weather. In casting our lot with the deep, we never quite found our—shall we say—land legs.

“But don’t we have the Yellowjackets?” I hear some of you say. Yes, it is true that the Yellowjackets are an infantry unit. And yes, they keep the peace within and without the city, and do an admirable job of it besides. However, all-out warfare is quite a different beast, and we must ask ourselves how the armada would fare in protracted conflicts on land. I, for one, do not imagine it to be much prettier a sight than a fish out of water. And here is where adventurers come into the picture.

“What!?” I hear your baffled voice. “But those bloody landlubbers can’t stand on deck for nary a bell without their guts turning inside out!” Mayhap the open sea ill agrees with the stomachs of most adventurers. However, this is precisely what makes them so valuable an asset to Limsa Lominsa. How many of us can boast having slogged it from one end of Eorzea to the other, traversing forest, mountain, and desert, all in the name of some trivial errand? This reporter is of the opinion that, in the course of their gallivanting, adventurers develop an affinity for land warfare that is second to none. In a rare show of insight and humility both, our higher-ups have conceded that naval might alone will not avail us in the conflict to come. And in seeking to caulk the hull that is the Lominsan Armada, their eyes came to a rest upon adventurers.

Perchance there are those weak of stomach who have taken offense at this article. If you happen to be one such delicate flower, then mayhap the Navigator’s Veil, where insults fly ceaselessly and a man’s worth is measured by his brawn, is not for you. If you can take a good-natured jibe on the chin and laugh it off, however, we have a Maelstrom uniform here with your name lovingly embroidered upon it.

A common enemy exists, and only in union can it be overcome. Let us fight, sailors and adventurers side by side, that we might taste the sweet stout of victory and together feel the pounding of hammer on anvil inside our heads the day after!

Yumah Molkot