The inexplicable happenings assailing Eorzea of late seem to know no cease; as one incident begins to fade into the dark reaches of memory, another emerges to take its place.

Recent moons have seen the nation in the grip of apprehension at the changes exhibited by Dalamud. Those who have an interest in astrology will know Dalamud to be the celestial body that orbits the moon in perpetual dance. For others the name will recall childhood tales of the loyal hound of the moon goddess Menphina, who would put to flight in a flurry of torn flesh and gushing blood those who meant his mistress harm.

Whatever it is Dalamud conjures up in your mind, lately it has taken on such an angry red hue, even those ordinarily indifferent to the affairs of the heavens have been hard-pressed to ignore the change. Verily, a growing number of citizens are seeing this as an evil portent. With a sanguinary eye seeming to glare down at all creation, you can scarce begrudge folk their sense of foreboding.

For some, it would seem this so-called “curse of Dalamud” has already become grim reality. During my investigation, I came upon rumors of a small company of Ul'dahn goldsmiths whose entire shipment of earrings was stolen—earrings themed upon the twin moons withal. My curiosity roused, I sought a meeting with the leader, one Master Joldewin, who related with unrestrained misery the misfortune that befell him and his two apprentices.

The earrings had been commissioned by the Adventurers' Guild, he began, and were meant as gifts of gratitude to be presented to adventurers for their part in vanquishing the Bombards of the summer past. The earring's design, which Joldewin proudly explained is of his own devising, comprises a single lustrous pearl to which a smaller crimson gemstone, wrought of meteorite found during the Bombard outbreak, is joined in a tasteful homage to the Keeper of the Twin Moons.

The goldsmiths toiled many a sleepless night that they might fulfill the order by the stipulated deadline. Here, and ever so briefly, an expression of joy formed on the veteran goldsmith's face as he recounted the day the fruits of their labor were borne away by delivery caravans. Alas, the earrings never arrived at their intended destinations. En route to each city-state, the caravans were beset by—and I quote—“packs of overgrown white rodents,” who made off with every last earring.

As I sat dumbstruck, struggling to visualize a pack of rats bearing away ornate earrings—four to a crate, perhaps—Joldewin's voice shrilled in anger as he revealed to me the loathsome individual he suspects to be mastermind behind the theft: the Lord of the Rats. Aye, you read true—that thief of legend said to hold dominion over all rodentkind, whose imaginary exploits have served to fascinate and frighten many a youngling at bedtime.

Most folk, upon hearing Joldewin's story, would doubtless be inclined to think that he and his crew, despairing of meeting the deadline, fabricated an excuse out of their desperation to save face. I would be lying if I said the selfsame suspicion had not crossed my mind. Yet stranger things have happened, and I, for one, will not rush to pass judgment. Should your travels bring you within earshot of lamenting goldsmiths, dear readers, mayhap you could lend an ear to their side of the story, that you might discern for yourself the truth of the matter.

And here I take my leave of you. Till next time, may the Twelve watch over you.