Tales From Eorzea (NA)

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It was well past midnight when Arden finally sat down on the cool sand in frustration. “Damn this sandy hell!” He flung a fistful of sand at the same group of cacti he had passed three times before. His chocobo plopped down in agreement. He regretted traveling in the dark.

Not even an entire day had passed and he was already going in circles. The upcoming battle will have already started before he could even find the allied encampment. He laid on his back and looked up as if to find an answer among the stars. However, his gaze found only clouds, emblazoned blood-red by the Red Hound, Dalamud.

“KWEH!”
Arden's heart nearly burst out of his chest as the chocobo scrambled to stand up on quivering legs.

“What in Rhalger's name has gotten into you?” Arden was up on his feet, his axe now in his hands.
The chocobo continued its shrieks of terror, its panicked eyes fixed on the entrance of the nearby canyon.

“KWEH!”
“What? Damn you! What?” Arden followed his steed's frantic gaze, but only saw darkness between the two rock walls. The chocobo finally gained its balance and sprinted with lighting speed in the opposite direction of the canyon.
“W-wait! You bloody overgrown chicken! Come back here!” Arden reached out his hand in a futile attempt to grab the cowardly steed, but it was too late. In less than a minute the chocobo was already shrinking in the distance. Arden could not believe what had just happened. Was the descent of Dalamud now affecting the minds of chocobos like some of the crazed wildlife?

He turned his head back towards the canyon and was surprised to see the flickering glow of a fire gleaming off the walls of the canyon entrance. He cautiously approached the large recess in the wall that held the source of the light. As he looked over the corner he was astonished to see a young midlander sitting next to a campfire. Hope was beginning to kindle in Arden.
“Hello there. Do you mind if I join you?” Arden approached the fire, the man giving no response. Arden sat down across from him. The man made no sign that he was aware of Arden's presence. He simply stared into the fire.
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Arden grew uneasy. No warmth was coming from the flames beside him. Was this a hallucination? Was that accursed moon playing tricks on his mind now? Arden gazed into the fire as his mind raced to sort out these puzzling thoughts.

“Welcome traveller.”
A chill went down Arden's spine. Those words were not spoken by the voice of a young midlander. In its stead was a voice so dark that if one had not payed close enough attention, he would have thought the most unholy of curses had been uttered into his ear. He dare not look away from the flames.

The campfire, once bright and lively only minutes before, had diminished to a few smoldering remains in a mound of white ash. Arden fixed his eyes on the last glowing ember fading from dull-orange to grey.

Arden's uneasiness had developed into an unfamiliar feeling. Before entering battles of insurmountable odds, the warrior would put away such a petty emotion as fear, always emerging victorious afterward. But this was darker than fear. It was soul-wrenching terror. Evil was at work here.

In complete darkness, the dreadful confrontation was finally at hand. He was sure of it now. He didn't need to look. His hand trembling, Arden slowly inched it toward the francisca attached to his belt.
Just another battle, he assured himself. His fingers grasped the familiar leather grip.
Arden bolted up on his feet. Bellowing one last battle-cry, the warrior raised his weapon to strike. His roar ended with a soft gasping whimper as two terrible black pits for eyes bore into his soul.
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The sky's hue above the canyon walls was slowly shifting from a dark purple to a soft azure. Dawn was coming. After a few spasms, the Roegadyn gathered himself and left the remains of the campfire, following the dark.
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(Fair warning: this story isn't for the faint of heart.)


A scholar came to the city-state of Gridania one day, weary of his years of travel and discovery that took him across Hydaelyn. He was seeking a place to settle down and compile his research.

He purchased a certain house on the outskirts of Lily Hills that the surrounding residents didn't dare go anywhere near. Rumors hung over the property like a stifling fog; stories of an abusive father and a mute daughter who could do very little to seek help. The scholar paid these whisperings no heed, however. The previous occupants haven't been seen nor heard from in decades, and any reason to steer clear had disappeared with them.

After a long day of moving his books and other belongings, the scholar decided upon a well deserved rest. The silence engulfed the sounds of mild activity as he settled into his chair, book in hand.

As the silence fell, however, he noticed a strange and very faint scratching noise. At first he thought it might be pests, but the scratches weren't in quick succession as you'd expect of a rodent; they were slow and deliberate, as if something hard were being dragged against the wood somewhere beneath the floorboards.

Skrrrrrrrrrrrcht...Skrrrrrrrrrrrcht...

As he searched the base of the house for perhaps a crawl space to investigate, he discovered that the foundations seemed to imply that the house had a basement, but there was no discernible entrance to it either within the house or outside of it. Obviously, the man who sold him the house didn't mention anything about a basement, but he couldn't think of any other explanation. The scratching continued every time the house fell silent; one long, drawn out scratch after the other.

Skrrrrrrrrrrrcht...Skrrrrrrrrrrrcht...

The scholar searched everywhere he could think of, but couldn't find so much as a hidden trap door. Finally, after some time and careful consideration he decided there was nothing for it: He would have to make an entrance himself. Gathering whatever tools he could find, he started tearing up floorboards one by one— the old wood and rusted nails creaking in protest— until there was a hole big enough for him to peer into, lantern in hand.

Skrrrrrrrrrrrcht...Skrrrrrrrrrrrcht...

In the far corner he could see the emaciated figure of a hyuran woman hunched over on her hands and knees, her thin white hair nearly brushing the ground, scratching letters into the wood with the bloody stump of a bony finger. The skin of her sallow face pulled tight against her skull, making her pale and clouded eyes appear as round as saucers as she turned her head unsteadily to gaze up at the source of the light. Her lips cracked apart as a soft hissing sound began to leave her mouth as she desperately tried to scream for help.

Her blood splattered etchings covered every square ilm of the floor, the words begging and pleading over and over: "Father, please...Please let me out."

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Beyond the great desert and into the shroud
Holds a nightmarish tale for all the crowds
A tale so frightening and astonishing … its true
For me to speak of it would be painful and cruel

It started at The Roost, the Gridania inn
With a crisp cold night, and a whispering wind
A weary adventurer of wealth came to stay
Drifting in slumber from her day of play

But as the night passed and air chilled down
Evil was coming without any bounds
The night got colder, faint light from a fireplace
She pulled up her warm blanket to cover her face

Then there was a sound, like swooshing about
Not a stir in her bed, she was completely passed out
Hour by hour ticked quickly away with her mind asleep
Again a flood of swishes and swooshes started to creep

She finally stirred, “Be quiet,” she said
“I am so tired. I just want to rest in this bed!”
The sound did not stop, it was persistent instead
It became louder and louder to wake up the dead

She leaped out, feeling annoyed and angry
“Fine,” she yelled, “I’ll go back on my journey”
She packed her sack and grabbed her fine weapon
She fetched her chocobo, Chibi, her trusty old friend

Into the Black Shroud, she rode to Emerald Brush
But the swishing and swooshing caught up in the mush
Quickly she snapped back, peeking behind
But nothing was there, there was nothing to find

From the Brush, she headed to Crimson Bark
It was here where all the horror would start
Suddenly she stopped, her body froze still
A spirit flew by and gave her a chill

She looked with her eyes wide as it could be
The spirit looked back with fiery eyes to see
The spirit was a soldier, wearing a thick leather cap
A sword in one hand, and a buckler of scrap

Another flew by, dressed black with a pointy hat
It waved a gold scepter and was ready to attack
Third, and then a fourth, and more swarmed in
She was surrounded by spirits, she counted about seven

She shivered and shook as they circled around
Making the torturing swish and swooshing sound
“What is this? Why are you here?” she cried out loud
“I have done nothing to you or your home of the shroud”

“Leave me alone, you dead spirits from afar”
But they continued to swish and swoosh among the stars
Chibi screeched, in fear and dismay
She knew what may happen; it may be her last day

Suddenly the spirits slowed becoming visible and clear
They drifted on closer, their weapons shiny and glare
All of them chanted, it was the eeriest thing
They were dead moogles with their great moogle king

“This cannot be” she said to herself
“I killed you all last night – I even took all of your wealth”
Finally, the king spoke out with thunderous power
“We have come back, revenge shall be ours!”

They chanted louder with fiery eyes of hate
Their fangs were gritted in the most disgusted state
Each one were hungry, they were savoring in drool
Her soul was their food; to devour her was the rule

Tailturner was first; he grabbed her leg from behind
He tugged on it fiercely, he tugged till she whined
Koop was second; he swung his sword high
He chopped off her arm, a most wonderful cry

Third came Kapa, with a mighty axe spinning
It took off her foot and poor Chibi’s wing
One at a time, till all of them came
Except king moogle and his demented fame

He waited last, patiently till her final hour
With one huge bite, she was completely devour
The moogles chanted and danced, they were a victorious hood
Their souls at peace, they finally returned to the Twelvewood

Keep your hearts steady, for the worse still to come
For I must tell you one more about the adventurous one
Who was this adventurer who died of anguish and dreary
I shall tell you her name, for her name was Yuri

Hahahahaaaaa


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As Marcelo Aegis and Apie Aegis visited their old friend Quenburga in Falcon's Nest, he is excited to share what they had learnt about the Tonberries of legend.

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Their tale began with them lost in Lynxpelt Patch where they stumbled across three amberscale rocks in front of a tree. Marcelo thought they resembled a Tonberry from the ancient books in Arrzaneth Ossuary. When he approached them an Echo occurred. There he saw three Tonberries speaking of their betrayal of fellow Tonberries to the Sylphs. In order for them to take over the experiment and reap the rewards, they knew the Sylphs would have to kill the Tonberries at the Gelmorra Ruins. Before anything else could be spoken, a mysterious flash of light engulfed everything. When the light faded, the Tonberries were transformed into rocks and the Echo stopped.

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Marcelo couldn't believe there was proof Tonberries existed, yet it wasn't conclusive. All he knew was, Sylphs were involved as well as Gelmorra Ruins, of which nothing is known except that it predates Gridanian history. Marcelo prepared for an extensive travel, since Lynxpelt Patch isn't near Gelmorra Ruins, while Apie headed towards Moonspore Grove. Upon reaching Gelmorra Ruins, Marcelo discovered amberscale rocks encircling a pit in the center.

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As Marcelo approached the rocks, another Echo engulfed him. He saw ten Tonberries around the pit chanting. The ruins were intact and the chanting was causing the center to distort and glow. An Imperial Juggernaut appeared in the glow. The Tonberries were unfazed, which made Marcelo believe that they thought it was an Allagan machine. Dozens of Sylphs and Elementals floated above, undetected by the focused Tonberries, casting a spell of their own. The spell was cast and the Imperial Juggernaut exploded, sending it's center flying across the sky and the rest of the machine disintegrated. The explosion sent a bright light in all directions, destroying the pillars. When the light cleared, all ten of the Tonberries were turned into amberscale rocks. The Echo ended and the far off home of the Sylphs was next, Moonspore Grove, where Marcelo planned to rendezvous with Apie. They explored the area, hoping to find a Sylph who would know what happened to the Tonberries. Luckily, they stumbled across a hidden Sylph village south of Goldleaf Dais.

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There they met a Sylph Susurrus, to whom Marcelo explained his two Echoes. The Sylph explained that Moonspore Grove was approached by three Tonberries a long time ago, well before Gridania was established. The three spoke of other Tonberries who planned to use ancient magic to bring any assistance from another time to help them become the rulers of the lands and have every Spoken bow to them. The problem was that the spell was unpredictable and they couldn't control from which time period they were summoning. The Sylphs were grateful and inquired why they would betray their own kind. They stated they had their reasons and departed, which made the Sylphs cautious of their intentions. They contacted the Elementals and together decided to attack the Tonberries using a spell normally forbidden in the Twelveswood, but allowed during dire situations. The Sylph explained Tonberries aren't extinct, just elusive, choosing never to be seen by anyone in Hydaelyn. All Tonberries in The Black Shroud during that spell were turned to rock, including a family of three who were escaping to Coerthas. The Elementals felt that was safer than just going after the ten Tonberries. After telling Marcelo and Apie all that is known, the Sylph then offered to show them a piece of the destroyed Juggernaut, which had flown across the entire Twelveswood and crashed nearby. It was upside down and nature had reclaimed it, but it was proof that magic can bend time...

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So now Marcelo and Apie Aegis must bid Quenburga adieu, for the Sylph Susurrus had said something curious, that all Tonberries were turned to rock, even a family of three who were escaping to Coerthas. Marcelo knows of three rocks that supposedly fill your heart with sorrow when touched, just west of Fallgourd lake. Perhaps there might be new campfire stories to share with dear Quenburga on their next visit...until then, farewell...

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In the desert late one night
Troy was in for quite the fright!
He saw a man wrapped in a big white sheet
From his head down to his feet
The man had rotting tooth decay !
Then troy asked him how is his day
Before the man could even speak
Part of his face began to leak,
maggots crawled in and then crawled out
They were crawling out of his snout!
Troy could not believe his eyes
For he thought it was a disguise!
As troy realized it was real!
He could not help but to let out a squeal ,
Gnawing and crunching the human delight,
Troy had been caught by a monster at night.

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The dull orange glow of the campfire cast eerie shadows upon the duskwight's tattooed face as she leaned forward, a mischievous grin forming on her lips, "You want to hear a really frightening tale?"

The others seated around the fire, having already heard a handful of stories that night chortled to themselves at the notion that the mild-mannered woman could somehow spook them. Each head present bobbed approval though, and quiet sounds of agreement came from their lips.

The elezen's curious grin widened a bit as she spoke her words from memory in a slow lilting cadence; soft gestures of her hands accompanying each verse.


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'Tis said in legend that around these parts once lived
A highlander fellow named Caleb with his beautiful wife.
Two little boys and a baby girl they had
In their modest little life.

One day a curious-looking man appeared at their door,
A strange glimmer in his eye, and oddly-dressed.
Tipped his hat to the fellow and bowed down low
And humbly made his request.

"I have traveled for suns without food nor drink
My belly is empty and my feet are aching.
Would you allow me a meal and a place to sleep
And I'll be on my way upon waking?"

The highlander stroked his chin and pondered
Before giving a sigh, looking none too eager,
"Our home is full and we've no more room,
And the crop this year has been meager."

"I've three hungry mouths to feed," he went on.
"Not counting my wife's and my own.
I wish I could help but these times are so tough."
And he slammed the door with a groan.

The stranger closed his eyes and muttered
A few quiet words in some queer foreign accent.
He shook his head and descended the steps
And off on his way he then went.

What happened to Caleb next is widely unknown
Some people still swear that his soul was possessed.
By some devilet trickery or black magic maybe.
But I think something darker coalesced.

Nymeia's shears snipped four threads that night
Much to all the villagers' chagrin.
From the Springripple four corpses were pulled.
The highlander had drowned all his kin.

But the story continues, my dear little dodos,
For you see that Caleb was never found.
It's said he'd roam the forest at night
Looking for those loved ones he'd drowned.

And they say his mind grew madder and wilder
With the coming and going of each season.
And soon bodies began turning up again
With nary a rhyme nor a reason.

Oh, the Wood Wailers conducted their searches.
They'd scoured the forest far and wide.
But that cursed man remained a phantom
And the murders would never subside.

So to this very day, in these very woods,
The mad kinslayer prowls about.
So be wary my friends and rest lightly,
For Caleb might just be... LOOK OUT!


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The duskwight woman leapt to her feet suddenly and shrieked, pointing to where a masked highlander crept up over a nearby log and then lurched forward towards the campfire waving his arms menacingly!

The others that were gathered around the fire reacted, jumping to their feet all at once. Panicked screams echoed through the trees as all but Eva and the highlander scattered off into the woods in all directions.


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"You look silly Gerik, take that thing off, mmmh?"

The highlander removed his mask, smirking at her, "We scared them somethin' good, huh Eva?" He leaned back and let out a deep, bellowing laugh.

"Well, they did say they wanted to be frightened..." She grinned ruefully before joining in her highlander friend's laughter.


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There once was a great warrior protected the peace of the now ancient city. One day, rumors began of the Ixali gathering in force and thus he went to quell them. He crossed over blazing sand following the sound of their primitive drums and whooping calls. When he found the great rally of his enemy, there stood in the middle of them a dark robed figure. It never bristled, even while interrupted in the middle of its chanting. The Ixali priest seemed to look down at the warrior from its intricately carved beak.

The moment was like a huge cosmic pause, just before it exploded into chaos. They did not come in full force as he expected and thus he took the opportunity to speed forth and slay the dark priest. The priest almost seemed to laugh as he was struck down and as if that cackle were a battle horn, the expected wave of Ixali came.
It was a long battle, but the warrior emerged victorious. Something was wrong though, as he came back from his battle sense. He could see his arms were covered in blood and feathers from his ordeal so he moved his hands to wipe them and better inspect for his own wounds. They didn't wipe off.

He thought he had stopped their heathen ritual and instead he had completed it. Though the beasts lay slain across the terrain like a brutal painting, one of them still stood. That one was himself. His nervous laugh came out like a throaty squawk as he continued to examine himself. There would be no praise for him anymore, as no one would let him set foot near the city now! What could he do?

Vengeance. He would hunt down any remaining Ixali and they would not know what hit them. It was a grand plan. The cursed warrior had not traveled far before he encountered a group of wanderers. Before he could hide his gruesome visage, he was attacked. He found he could not defend himself when he realized not only were these people he knew and had fought beside, but also those he had sworn to protect. In that moment of morale conflict, he too was struck down.

Greedy hands roughly looted his dying body before leaving him in his agony on the burning sands. Turning his head to watch their fading forms and draw his last breaths, he saw a darkly robed form walking towards him. For a moment, his blurring vision became clear as that cruel gaze and intricately carved beak peered down at him mockingly from above. It couldn't be! The warrior soothed himself with the thought that it had to be a trick of his dying mind.

The ixali priest's voice faded in his head saying, "Try again?"

The warrior awoke again on the sands whole and normal once more. Proof it was not a dream was the missing items taken from him by his once allies. He was elated to be renewed but crushed with the memory of those who had slain him. With a shake of his head, the warrior reminded himself that he had been an Ixali and should have died. His quest must continue.

Once more, the warrior hunted the ixali. Once more the spilling of their blood changed him until he became one of them; though slow enough for him to now realize what the curse truly was. Once again, the hunter became the hunted and he was left to die out among the rocks and dunes. Once again, the dark figure came to him and asked, "Try again?"

There had to be a way to break the curse! Before the ixali priest could disappear, the warrior lunged forward while drawing his sword. The metal pierced through the dark figure's back and the priest's head turned to look in shock at the newly arisen warrior. What looked back at the warrior was not the intricately carved beak he'd come to know but gurgling bubbles spewing forth from petite pink lips of a white-clad healer.

Looking into the dying girl's eyes, the warrior asked as a cruel grin drew his lips back, "Try again?" and the cycle began anew.

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I had been traveling Eorzea from Shroud to Sea in an effort to seek my fortune. It had been days since my last hot meal, weeks since a proper bed, and nearly a month with only myself for company. It would be two more starving, treacherous days until I reached the high walls of Ul'dah

By the glow of the red moon, nestled in the shadow of a large cliff ahead was a flickering campfire. Hopes to resupply overrode my better judgment. I crept my way to the edge of the light's warm glow.

What I saw was a short fellow - no taller than myself. He wore a thick brown cowl with the hood pulled fast around his head. I watched as he casually tossed a large branch onto the campfire. The fire leapt and danced at the offering.

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My heart froze when I saw a wicked butcher's knife drawn and glinting in the firelight. The figure stared intently ahead, face shrouded by an old wooden mask. In a grim and raspy voice the man called, "Well now - Are you going to stop playing in the sand and make yourself known?" I quickly donned a mask of my own in hopes of keeping some portion of my presence a secret, and warily approached the camp.

My stomach gave a betraying groan as I stepped closer to the fire. The figure nodded in response. “Aye, well most of the good bits are gone, but here.” Reaching into a tattered pack, the stranger produced a faerie apple and proceeded to chop it into quarters with his knife. He handed me half the pieces, and threw the rest into the flames.

“Even fire's got to eat.” He said, patting the top of an old lantern at his side. “We've all got to make sure we get ours in when we can.” I happily chewed the sliced apple, letting the cool juices slake at my thirst and curb my maddening appetite.

“Here, take the pack and what's left of it. No use for me.” The raggedy pack was tossed my way, and upon closer examination I noticed there was fresh blood on the canvas. As I examined the splotch of blood that had pooled on the pack. The man laughed. “Oh. That's not mine.”

I felt fear nipping at the back of my mind again. Something was wrong about this place. The revelation came like a tidal wave. Smoke! I stared down at the fire, but there was no ash or smoke to be seen. A glint of metal in the fire drew my attention. Horror gripped me as I noticed what I'd mistaken for a branch earlier. The branch was wearing a ring! It was a man's arm! The flesh was being torn and gulped by the wisps – dozens of them. The crackling of the fire was really the sound of bones being gnawed by their voracious little mouths.

I staggered back, and my host leveled a piercing gaze at me. The figure tilted it's head, and wielded the glinting knife once more. In its other weathered and greenish hand it produced the lantern that had sat by his side. With deliberate and calculated steps, he approached me. The mask dropped with a resolute thud. As it raised the lantern to its face, I gasped in horror.

Murderous yellow eyes stared back from an impossible face of green skin. The campfire exploded to life in a flurry of movement and the wisps encircled the lantern - casting the figure in a sickly pale glow. A sing-song melody began to emerge from the wisps in tiny childlike voices.

"It comes for you
In dead of night,
to use your soul
for lantern's light.
try to run,
but never win
Tonberry comes
to eat your sin"

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By the twelve I ran until the stars bled into the dawn. I ran to the doors of the Arrzaneth Ossuary. They thought me a madman for my tale, but the grim scene still haunts me. There – at the corner of my eye. He approaches still. Listen! Can you hear the song?

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This is a story not too old of a time after Ul’dah was green but before it was bold.
A tale of 3 brothers traveling the Thanlan wastes seeking their fortune, they began to tarry their pace.
They stopped near a dead ash tree for stories and ale, then the sun begins to set, the heat began to pale.

They went up to the tree to gather wood for their fire
WICKER WACK SNAP. WICKER WACK SNAP.
2 branches down to earth, now stoking the pyre.

The night was merry and the drinks all so plenty. The brothers trade had me their pockets quite hefty.
The night drug on and the fire slowly waned, the first brother left for more ashen pane.
WICKER WACK SNAP. WICKER WACK SNAP.

The brother was gone for some minutes and more, the second brother thought the first brother a chore.
“My brothers a good man but cant handle his drink, hell be a lush forever I think”
The 2nd brother set out and went after, he called out to the silhouette of the tree with great laughter”
“3 ales should not undo a merchant like this, it should be at least 20- plus 6!”
He went up to tree to recover his brother from a reveling nap
WICKER WACK SNAP, WICKER WACK SNAP.

The third brother knew something was wrong, he stared at the fire he knew not how long
The cold night began to set in, as the fire slowly waned, the fire slowly dimmed.
The brother sat cold and alone as the fire light stopped and the moon light rose.
The old ash tree shadow came on him hither, the creaks of its branches sent him a shiver.
The pressure on his neck was for only a moment but the last sound as he fell was his all too true torment
WICKER WACK SNAP. WICKER WACK SNAP.
3 brothers lay dead in their camp.

So if you travel in Thanlan do not forget of the trees of the past. Before the sand over took the forest at last. Because the dead trees harbor as much magic as the new, and the Ashborn Treant harbors more hatred for its death too.
So the next time you travel add tinder to your pack, because it might not be the branch you bring down but your neck, with a
WICKER WACK SNAP.
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He sat down in the only chair of the small rectangular room.

Small, yet refined. The Quicksand's proprietor had a certain taste that struck well with him. There was that issue with the construction on the front entrance that never seemed anywhere the nearer to completion. However, the guild

workers were mindful not to make any noise in the evenings.

Now was one of those quiet evenings. The room was dimly lit by a candle on the desk in front of him and a dim red glow from the windows behind him. His Journal already lie open.

Today was truley exciting. Whilst helping the Ashcrown Consortium he was forced to play his hand in getting the beastmen to aquit a destructive plan. He was writing this down in his journal. He'd become proud whenever he remembered a

part where he thought he did well. He finished taking notes on the event when a less pleasant memory from earlier that day creeped back into his mind.

After things calmed down he had encountered something. He hesitated when deciding what to write. How to describe it? It was dark, cloaked and faceless. Skeletal wings erupted from its back. As evil as nothing but the darkest of

voidspawn. He remembered a slyph had called it an Ascian, but said no more.

Deciding that he'd rather forget the black abommination, he closed his journal without writing a word of it. At that instant a pounding noise grasped his attention. It sounded like two knocks on his room door. He got up to investigate,

openning the door. He saw no one. The hall was unlit and the only source of light was a red glow where there was a window at the end of the hallway. He began to doubt he heard something as pronounced as a knock at his door. Maybe his

mind was playing tricks. He was about to turn around when he heard it again.

Thump. Thump.

This time it was further away. It was probably hammering down at the front door. Even though they had been respectful about such things in the past might not find reason to forget such courtesies.

Thump. Thump.

He decided it was worth letting someone hear his annoyance. He began the journey down to the front entrance.

Thump. Thump.

He paused midstep. Did it just come from behind him? He was unsure, but continued on. A slight doubt crept into his mind. Was he really hearing anything at all? No, that was a silly idea. It was much more likely that someone was pulling

a prank. He finally noticed how empty the inn was. No lamps were lit, everyone was gone. The pranker definitely chose the perfect night. But, he was still convinced it was a worker at the front.

Thump. Thump.

He spun around. The noise came from right behind him. Like someone had beat on the wall. But no one was there. Now he felt uneasy. He was most definitely going crazy. No, it was the construction, and he'd get them to stop! But why

always two swings of the hammer?

Thump. Thump.

He was almost there. He quickened his pace. Where was everyone? Trying to stop a moon from falling on us? Why weren't they in bed, like proper people.

Thump. Thump.

He arrived at the front door. He could see the inner workings of what they were trying to build. No one was there.

Thump. Thump.

No longer did he believe it was the hammering of carpenters. It was a heartbeat. He didn't bother to check for any other evidence. He knew what it was. It wasn't going to let him escape. This was the heartbeat of the darkest of

voidsent. He sprinted all the way to his room, slammed the door behind him and bolted it shut. The beating was in his head now. Thump, thump. Thump, thump.

He turned around.

There on his desk his journal sat opened. Thump, thump. It was opened to the page he was writing in earlier. Thump, thump. There, something new was written.

'I will not be forgotten' With that. The noise ceased.
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Fifteen years ago, a group of bandits occupied Copperbell Mine after a series of robberies near Ul’dah. Ul’danian force traced the bandits down to the Copperbell Mine. I was one of the guards who joined the pursuit. At the entrance, we saw some small scale of fighting. It looked like the local miners tried to fight off the armed bandits. Of course, all we see were injured and dead miners.

Troops were separated into small groups to perform detail search for the bandits and survivors. My group was assigned to check the tool room at bottom layer. I’ve been to Copperbell Mine, but I never felt this “evil” feeling before that chilled me to the bone. We found no survivors, nor bandits, on the way, only bloods and acidic smell everywhere. Finally, we found tool room, also 2 miners inside. Similar caught by the Voodoo magic, miners just uncontrollably screaming with extremely low pitch as devils’. While failed to claim them down, we heard shouts nearby:

“Over Here!”

They found the trace of bandits. I was asked to take care of miners while the rest reinforcing others. Before they left, one of the senior guards tossed me a weird bottle.
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“My latest invention from Frondale’s Phrontistery….” guard said.
“It can make you stealth! “ Then, he ran with the rest.

As I started getting anxious from noisy miners, I started to hear some rattle sound and felt ground movement immediately after. It felt like hundreds of stuffs tried coming off the ground. Seconds later, I heard some shouting,

“We’re under attack!”
“Watch out!!”

The fighting noise outside was going on, but, shortly, all ended by an extremely high pitch screaming follow by many wail in pain. I felt the strong waves, through wall, shocked every nerve in my body. It was too strong, I fell a few steps back. Then, finally…blacked out…

Still dizzy, I woke up as sitting at the corner and lost track of time. I checked the miners. Looked like one of them was still screaming, but I can only hear humming sound inside my head. As I just about to stand up to check, I heard a clear whisper:

“Use~~potion~~”

It’s so clear like someone spoke next to my ears. Still puzzled, but I poured the potion all over myself. I saw my hands and legs started fading away. Shortly, I felt this THING suddenly teleported up to the doorway and staring at the miners. It was a half-transparent ghost with a pair of boned wings. It’s an Ascian!

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[stealthIV not photoshoped]

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The flaming eyes of the Ascian started to grow. Then, I saw both miners’ flesh started melting away in front of my eyes. They looked like screaming in pain, but I can’t hear any... I held my breath, held my shaking hands and held my mouth. Before I realized, the Ascian was already gone. The miners… only bones l can see…and that bloody acidic smell…


Slowly, I started hearing things around. The first caught my attention was the same rattling sounds outside. I pulled myself together and walked to the door. Shockingly, all I saw…ants…Countless ants… everywhere. They were walking over some pile of… metals and white bones! I recognized these armors. These belonged to our troops! I couldn’t control and gasped. Some of the ants discovered my existence and started to walk toward me. Next thing that caught my attention was cracking sounds behind me. The bones of the miners started to form… stood up…then walked toward me. Soon, I was surrounded by undeads and ants.

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When I woke up, I lied on the bed of Hourglass. Some told me a young Seedseer, Kan-E-Seena, saved me but no others. Horrible deaths of miners created lots negative energy and lured nearby Ascian.

The bandits were killed by the Ascian before we arrived… Our troops didn’t survive long after that either…

The bloods of victims lured the ants, and presence of Ascian converted the dead. The Cooperbell Mine is still occupied by some ants and undeads now. Maybe, I’ll recognize some of… them.

People say if the children are wailing too loud at night… Ascian will show up at their doorway next…
until…
bones left…

Come close my little Lalafellin friend, let us share the warmth of the flame. Now is the time to savor the season. The air is crisp, shadows grow long, harvest crops are aplenty; most prominently pumpkins. A pumpkin's potential is seemingly limitless is it not? They're sauteed into soups and sauces, baked into cakes and pies, and of course crafted into luminous lanterns of all shapes and size. Ah yes, how they delight us with their delectable dishes - enchant us with their grins aglow. However... pumpkin lore isn't always a treat. In fact I have knowledge of a rather tricky tale. Curious? Then allow me to pass to you a pumpkin parable...

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Long ago in ages past, early Lalafellin villages were thriving. The secret to their success was a solid sowing of the land. Those long-laboring Lalafell harvested everything from tomatoes and popotoes to lentils and laurels. Yet procuring pumpkin was proving to be a problem. Rumor was the grandiose gourds only grew deep within a wicked woods - where wicked creatures would reside. Over pumpkin patches in particular lingered odors of rot and ash; the sickening stench of an imp. Few would dare attempt such a perilous act as to pluck a pumpkin from an imp's possession. Those that would, always failed to return with one. Sometimes they failed to return at all...

One would be wise to be wary of such reckless risk. But curiosity could not be contained in a certain young Lalafell. Stories of such splendorous squash stuck in his head. What tastes would they waken? What potions could they concoct? He proceeded to a pumpkin patch without pondering the price.

With daylight long past he found himself peeping at shadowy silhouettes he could not make out precisely and from the patch he snatched what he perceived a perfectly round prize. At that moment the air became as cold as old skeleton bones and bit at his face; branches seemed to be reaching out to pull him up and away into the darkness, or perhaps the darkness itself would drag him down to the depths of the earth to rest forever with the worms. Then suddenly the gloom parted and a full moon illuminated the night. The young Lalafell could see clearly now and before him lay not pumpkins at all, but heads - Lalafell heads protruding from the patch. Above them all danced a heinous imp who began spewing forth a vile cackle. The young Lalafell's gaze then fell to what he had held in his hands; a pudgy round face peered back at him. Recoiling with dread he dropped the head to the dirt and frantically fled without looking back.

Miraculously he managed to make his way home and safe in his bed he sunk deep into slumber. When he awoke he thought it best to surmise that the somber sights he had seen were nothing more than a devilish dream. He had never been happier with what he already had. But on his way to give glory to what grew in his garden he let loose a spleen splitting scream. For in front of his door sat a positively preposterous pile of pumpkins.

Though the truth of their transformation our young friend tried to tell, too pleased with the presents the people were to listen. So from then on pumpkins became planted in tradition.

Now imps are known to be terrible tricksters and some are certain that it was merely an illusion manifested by magick that night. However others claim the incantation was crueler and remain convinced imps of such profane power exist, gleefully turning overly curious Lalafell into pumpkins to this very day.

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Not to worry my little friend, no imps are around to curse curious Lalafell this night.

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Although...

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Sometimes you find other fiends who fascinate such fools...

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You young adventurers.... Fidgeting around camp, hounding me for stories about how the world used to be! Why, I’d wager you’d all still be coddling your dolls if you weren’t so eager for a bit of coin and infamy, scrambling to cozy up to Aldynn and his Flames.

How they used to be?! Well have a seat, and I’ll tell you how different this world was from when you were in your swaddling clothes.

In its heyday, Limsa was busting at the seams with traders. Folks poured in by the droves every day from Ul’dah, and The-Twelve-only-know where to hawk their wares, everyone out to fatten their pockets. I couldn’t have been much older than you when the rumors started flying about the disappearances…

What’s that? You’ve never heard of disappearances in Limsa? *snort!* Use your head, man! Do you really think that the Admiral would suffer that kind of scandalous talk openly?

Now as I was saying, the first rumor I recall was about this loud-mouthed drunkard who used to stomp around town shouting loads of nonsense. Well, one day the shouting just...stopped. Funny thing, I don’t think I noticed right off, but eventually the quiet just settled in. Depending on who you asked, he was either looking for new boots, or maybe a sword, or a bolt of cloth? Whichever it was, folks say he wandered his damn fool self into the Southern Island Wards.

Oh, don’t look so smug. The Wards back then certainly weren’t the same as today. Folks would go in, spend HOURS trying to find the things they needed with no help or direction from anyone there. After all, the longer those oily merchants had you in there, the fatter their pockets became. Why, I’d wager you peach-fuzzed adventurers wouldn’t last five minutes against one of those, silver-tongued merchants who would just as soon cut your throat as your purse! In any case,... no one ever heard from that fella again after that.

Most of the talk was the same: a nobleman disappeared while looking for a hat, or a sell-sword to get his mail fixed. Folks went into the Wards but they never came back.

Around that time I hired this sad-eyed, young Elezen to hawk my linen in the Wards. Oh, don’t look so concerned. The lass always had more steel hidden on her person than in Bodenholf has in his whole damn guild, and the last man tried to rob her found himself three fingers shorter for his trouble!

One day, I went into the Wards to collect my weekly profits. Walked around for awhile, and found the girl huddling in the corner. White as a sheet she was, babbling to herself and making pledges to The Twelve. She chucked my cloth at me and ran off without an apology or a backward glance.

That’s when I noticed the air was cold. Damn cold. Colder than summer in Limsa had any right to be.

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The air reeked foul, like blood and corruption. I felt eyes watching me but I never turned around. Ran myself out of the Wards fast as these short legs would take me. Ran all the way to the ferry docks, I did.. not feelin’ safe until we was out on the water.

HAR! Your eyes are bigger than a Ewe caught a whiff of a jackal upwind!

Anyways, been here in Thanalan ever since. Trade’s been good, despite the sand in everyone’s knickers. Though it’s right odd that trade has been dropping off so much as late. Last time I went to the Ward to collect, not a damn thing had sold. Wonder where all the buyers have run off to? I swear I got a chill in my bones, never mind that it’s summer in the damn desert.

...Now, be a dear and run to the Wards and fetch me some more yarn.

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I harbor tale for you all. My friends, I sit here before you, to convince you of a horror greater than Dalamud.
Once upon a time…
No, wait.
One day…
Ugh, that’s not how I should start it. I’m sorry, let me try this again.
I have a good beginning now! I am sure every sailor and his mother have heard of the legend of the sahagin. These small, vicious foes wouldn’t hesitate to murder any creature, limb from limb, leaving a décor of entrails upon the grass where you once stood.
Yet… no one knows of the threat greater than the sahagin. One could easily tell me, “It’s Leviathan, ye ignorant pissant!”
No.
“They” defined what a true monster was.

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Not long ago, a friend and I were to meet at Bloodshore, where we were to train. As I reached the camp, she told me via linkpearl that she was to be a few minutes late. So, to kill time, I went for a small, tranquil walk.
Wandering, lance on shoulder, I observed the quiet lands that surrounded me. Playful grass flowed to and fro, dancing with the breezes that twirled my hair about.
It would have been the perfect.
The caverns west of Bloodshore were calm. Amongst the wind I heard my breath, conflicting with what normally would have been a field bursting with activity. However, the area suddenly chilled, leaving me to face the worst.
Brandishing my lance, I stepped into defensive position, glancing around with apprehension.
With every step I took, the heavier I breathed; I prayed to the Twelve that it was not something that would leave my awaiting friend with the parting gift of my dismembered body.

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That’s when I noticed it. In a small corner, hidden among a cave nearby, there was a shadow. A deep, monstrous shade, shaped like a behemoth…
I squeaked. There was no reason for it, but it appeared so frightening that I could not help the sound emitting from my throat.
I shifted, gripping tighter onto the pole. Then it happened. In a fast rage, it leaped at me! It just…
WADDLED TO ME AND CASTED PROTECT…
ON ME! OH, THE HORROR!!!!
I widened my eyes. It was… SO ADORABLE!
It was what the legends screamed: a burble!
The fuzzy, adorable beast was just what it was: adorable. It wasn’t going to harm me! And to think I thought it was a behemoth.
“Aww… aren’t you so cute?” I recalled cooing at it, kneeling down to reach out and pet it.
The burble purred, similar to the cats I normally do not get along with. That’s right, miqo’tes. Just hearing the purr calmed my heart…
Then I heard a purr that overlapped the current one. Was it possible in a burble to do such a thing?
No.

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It wasn’t possible.
There was a second purring…
I wondered where it could have derived from…
Behind. That’s right. I turned my head slowly, seeing one. Wrong again. Two, three, four… there they were. Twenty-three of them, all surrounding me. Their cute eyes, furry bodies…
“Goooood burbles…” I squeaked softly before standing tall. Did they all want petting?
One hissed. Then a second, and a third… and before long, an extreme chain of hissing filled the air. STAB THEM!
With a panicked look, I lifted my lance…
and screamed in my mind. Where is my lance!? There was no lance in my grasp. Ah, shite.
It was on the grassy earth, underneath all… that… fluffy fur.
I couldn’t move. I was surrounded. What were they going to do to me!?
Eyes widened, I noticed that they were casting some form of magic. At least let it end me quick! I thought with a small whimper.
Twenty-three barriers then formed around me, oddly enough. It brought a sigh of relief. They were just casting protect! Hahaha! I laughed, knowing that it was just a silly paranoia I had. They were just too cute to be evil.
Why would they even try and hurt me?

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…The hissing began again. Before I realized it, they widened their eyes, opened their mouths and…
My friends, I was never heard from again.

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Haze found himself alone, separated from his companions. The woods were cold, and growing increasingly dark, as an ominous mist rolled into view. True Haze had spent their travel in its entirety contemplating the tale behind these cursed woods. A Miqo’te in white, a ghostly visage, haunting weary unknowing travelers on their adventures. Haze was not the sort to believe in such things, and so he and his companions set out to disprove such superstitions. While searching the area for signs of his lost friends, Haze could hear a peculiar sound off in the distance. A low and sinister growl, like that of a giant Coeurl. As he was not one to show fear, he pressed himself onward toward the vicinity of the noise. What he would find in the clearing ahead, was not even imaginable to Haze. Lying prostrate on the wet grass, was his second in command, Kazuma. Kazuma was not one to go down so easily, especially without leaving the landscape scarred from fierce battle. Yet there was no evidence of such. As Haze knelt down to examine the body of his friend, there was a deafeningly loud shriek to his immediate right. As he spun to face the sound’s origin, sword drawn and ready, he caught a glimpse of something white, moving away from him at an incredible speed. He began to reassure himself that it was merely his mind playing tricks in the darkness. His attention returned to Kazuma lying still on the ground. He gave the body a careful inspection, but there appeared to be no fatal wounds. A sudden chill ran down Haze’s spine, and the cold seemed to multiply itself. The expression on Kazuma’s face, served only to compound Haze’s uneasiness. It was almost as if Kazuma had died purely from shock, or fear. Haze rose up quickly, pulling his shield staunchly toward his front. “Who’s there?” He shouted. “The perpetrator of such a crime, is a coward to hide in the shadows!” He exclaimed, trying to provoke a response. The woods fell silent, not even the trivial sounds of crickets remained. Haze began surveying the area, slowly twisting in a circle, with sword raised, prepared to strike. His breathing growing louder and heavy, his eyes fell upon the rustling of a distant tree. It stood apart from all the others in its distinct movements. Haze moved forward to investigate. Another unimagined sight befell his eyes. Another of his companions, Kalkin, the most light hearted and humorous of the group. Fighting with all his will to preserve his life, as he dangled helplessly from the large tree. Haze quickly assessed the situation, and found the tattered rope’s had been secured. In a lightning instant, he slashed away the rope’s hold. Kalkin fell to the ground gasping, as he tried to regain his composure. “I really thought I would be hung out to dry here!” Kalkin chuckled, barely able to force the words through his constricted throat. “We need to leave this place Haze. We need to leave NOW!” he exclaimed, in a stern yet fearful voice. “What about Epyk?” Haze questioned. Kalkin hung his head lower, “I do not know what has or will happen to Epyk, but we must leave the darkness of these woods. We can return in the dawn.” Kalkin pleaded. Haze looked at him displeased, his face distorted with terror. “The stories are true.” He added. “Not only that, but the ghost was upon me before I could ready my lance.” Kalkin was indeed no coward, but at this moment, could not even find the courage to stand. Haze nodded solemnly, “We will return as soon as there is light, and find a logical explanation for all these events.” Haze stated. As he turned around toward the start of these dreaded woods, standing right before him, face to face, were what seemed the red eyes of the devil itself, and the floating ghostly body of a young Miqo’te. He quickly turned to command Kalkin to run, but the hefty Roegadyn lay bloodied on the ground behind him. His gaze moving instantly back to the glowing eyes of red. His body began to shudder, as fear in its truest form took hold of him. The deathly visage’s mouth opened, and a blood boiling screech echoed throughout the woods. Haze tried to call out, but he could find no words. As the ghost raised its hands high into the air, Haze closed his eyes, in preparation for what was to come. At that very moment Epyk called out from the distance. The ghost immediately turning toward the sound. Haze shot up from his cowered position, shield pulled to the ready. Reciting the words of his sacred vows as a Paladin, a divine protection fell over the two companions, shattering the ground beneath them. His sword began to glow and emanate from his righteousness, as he plunged forward as hard as he could into the demon’s chest. The ghostly demon twisting in excruciating pain, and it quickly faded from sight. They had lost their companions this night, but had rid the world of a sinister evil. It was not much of a condolence, but it was all that had to comfort them in the coming tides of time.

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I see you guys are telling horror stories by the campfire. Mind if I join you? Actually, I don't care for your answer. I'm going to start anyway. Tonight I'm going to share the story of the campfire by the bubbling brook. It's a very real, sorrowful tale.

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There was once a beautiful Lalafell, fair to look upon and quite pleasing to the eyes. She was a brave adventurer with a heart of gold, always quick to lend a hand to those in need. This kind nature won her many friends. It also won her over many bad friends. Unfortunately, she was very naive and was betrayed.

One friend was very close to her, or so she believed. Through the course of several events she fell in love with him. He was a handsome Lalafell, and very good with words. Quite the bold adventurer, and one who could make anyone feel safe just by being by his side. His embrace was one of angels. But in truth, he wasn't worth believing in. His actions weren't for the good of anyone but himself. He was a treasure hunter, and made the stuff of legends his god. He served treasure rather than his fellow man.

One night he invited the lass to a serene location for a quaint dinner for two. A campfire by a bubbling brook. She hesitated not a heartbeat to accept, so much was her heart set on him.

But it was not out of kindness in any degree. His stone heart was set on naught but a valuable discovery housing much power, not yet in his tightfisted grip. To acquire the object he laced the food with poisoning—a powerful concoction that would permanently put to sleep anyone given the proper dose. Yet his skill was quite lacking.

It wasn't long after the start of the meal the poor girl fell into slumber. He nicked his desired item off of her, lifted her up, and tossed her into the stream. Immediately she awoke. The dosage given was far too lacking. He meant to make it look like the cause of death was simply some accident in which caused her to drown, but since the poison failed he had no choice but to handle the matter himself. He grabbed her by hair by one hand to force her under and with the other countered any manner of resistance.

There was no red stream. The water remained a crystal clear. A lovely location. A campfire by a bubbling brook.

Legend has it that the poor lass, although dead, still exists. It is said she rises from her watery grave, and using the campfire, can warp to any other campfire all across the land. She seeks those who have no room for others in their heart. She seeks those who think only of themselves. She puts them in a calm lull as if the air about them is invisible water, peacefully drowning them, and then she carries them back to her bubbling brook, to bury them in the same watery grave. Of course, it is as I mentioned before. It's a very real and sorrowful tale. It's no legend.

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Welcome to my hell!

Thanks for all the great scary stories! Once the Community Team has finished judging the winners will be announced…as long as the stories didn’t scare us all away. :p