High above the Twelveswood, the raven circles, evermore seeking out truth hidden amongst the shadows of the trees. In today's edition, field correspondent Oliver Goodfellow examines the social upheaval that has come about on account of the recent changes exhibited by the lesser moon Dalamud.
Consensus Eludes 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.
Revisiting the Past “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
Consensus Eludes 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.
Revisiting the Past “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