Origins - A Message From Beyond Time
Digging through the archives in-between council reunions and taking care of the farm, I soon found that there are limits to a carefully curated archive that sought to erase certain events from our history, such as the carefully orchestrated slave-trade of the Bear and Roc tribes which the port of Toegisil profited from immensely, allowing the town to improve tremendously their facilities for treating ships.
More limiting, however, was that the archive dated only until the council itself started forming which completely occults the Time of Legends, inspiration for the minstrels' stories. While many dismiss them as fictional events, any astute reader of this book would immediately scoff at such nonsense. Are they exaggerated? Of course - the minstrels needs must include a small measure of the fantastic to captivate the audience's interest. However, behind every story lies a morsel of truth, from crumbs to leftovers of a large meal.
Toegisil, however, hides much more mysteries than what a simple archive censored by men could ever showcase. Perhaps it is lucky that we collectively never endeavored to put these words to paper - I fear they would be cleansed by the Garleans' attempt to integrate us into their nation.
Throughout my studies, I have learned much more about the nature of our people, who had always stressed out peace and eschewed conflict and violence. This has obviously been debunked throughout our real history, including the slave-trade incident I mentioned earlier, but from my knowledge, we'd lived in peace for generations, with only the slaughter of cattle being the pinnacle of violence found on the island. We dove back in our history where our people had to hunt for their meat, where groups of our people would band together as tribes and form two tribes of bare-handed fighters in direct opposition to the council to pursue a part of ourselves we'd ignored for hundreds of years. Yet, as I write these lines, I am unsure on how to proceed with this information. Would our people be better served by knowing of our belligerent past, especially in these times of conquest?
Needless of this quandary, this book is about the overall culture and history of the island's natives, and I will certainly include this knowledge in the following pages.
Though records before the Time of Legends lie beyond the grasp of any regular island native, those who would take the time to walk the unknown paths of the island can find records that are not within the archives of the island's own caretakers. An example of such relics would be the dueling circle of the Bear tribe, left untouched for what could be at least two hundred years, with each starting line as pristine as it had to be when it saw heavy use. The very same with the gold powder used to mark the limits of the circle which, by all means, should have dispersed.
I delved further, locating paths that led me to the extinct Roc tribe's locale, and from there, found more paths that led to areas of the island we've never explored. Areas that were spoken only in hushed tones before, and that we forgot as generations passed. This led me to a cave on the underside of the Roc tribe's cliff, one that they themselves had never found.
From there, I informed the council that I would take an extended leave from official affairs, and began to plan an expedition into the cave. Much like the hunters of old, I had our blacksmith synthesize me a combat-ready hoe pitchfork in secret. I planned on careful rations of dried meat, fruits and nuts as well as water for three days. Perhaps I would not find much of interest inside the cave, but it looked like it would be quite the spelunking trip, and thus I prepared accordingly.
Returning to the cave, I began to explore more. Across my path I saw numerous masks that had been discarded and from the material used, none of it was made out of materials we have access to on the island. They are made of a synthesis of metal and cloth that we simply do not have access to. What is even stranger is that none of them cover the same area of the face. One covers the left side including eye and cheek, another covers the top of the face, another the bottom.
I pressed on, finding more and more masks, as though they had been discarded by those who lived in these caves before we did. At that moment, the idea that they were our ancestors eluded me, I simply thought they were inhabitants of the island that had disappeared. The cave was endless, and the walls had been slathered with carvings and paintings of a language I barely recognized. There was a distinct lack of vowels, in addition to the words themselves being far different than the modern Eorzean language, in addition to the alphabet being barely recognizable.
Further inside, I found less masks, but shreds of discarded robes and other belongings. Each was a treasure trove of new information - I wanted to bring back these artifacts yet I knew I should not disturb them. For all I knew, they were the remnants of a dying people. Still, the fabric was unlike anything I'd ever seen, a blend of animal and plant fabric that seemed extremely sturdy, enough that it survived in this cave all these years.
A day inside, I finally reached the end of the cavern, or should I say... I crossed the entire island underground, on foot. A cove that, from the position of the sun, could only be under the island's mountain. From there, I began searching the area in more detail. In the water lied peculiar debris, carefully worked prior to landing in this cove. What did that mean, I wondered. Searching the water more carefully, I located a rusted rudder, and immediately understood that the debris belonged to a ship.
If this was a ship, there must have been navigation logs. Of course, I did not believe I could read such documents, but it was worth looking for them. My second day was spent entirely looking for such papers. A log, a map... anything. All for naught - all I found was a note, brimming with an energy I'd never experienced before. It penetrated my eyes and left me feeling nauseous. The text rearranged itself in order to make it readable in the letters I had learned - It was a simple love note, wondering if the lovers would remember their love after the end times. Strange be as it may, I do not know any other language than the one you are currently reading.
Allow me this aside to explain that beyond synthesis, our people are not familiar with the workings of Aether. If we access it, it is only accidentally or through very basic rituals that we'd discovered through experimentation. Most of our contact with what makes our very existance is through partial glimpses of its majesty. This piercing memo was the first I'd experienced the power of Aether wielded so masterfully. The only members of our people who have a constant exposure to manipulated aether are those who go off the island. My brother, who is currently adventuring in Eorzea, has mentioned that it may be that our people's aether is constantly in flux, flowing like waves. What would cause that to occur within us and not the rest of the world's populace is, as of now, unknown.
OOC Comments:
Had to make an edit due to possible future revelations.