Countless memories I have of my life in Eorzea I would put pen to paper on; nearly three summers’ worth, in fact. However, I feel moved to recount my tale of a foray into Dzemael Darkhold and how I inadvertently caused what should have been an otherwise mundane run to go horribly wrong by my own hand. A curious memory to choose above all else to be sure, but for one reason or another few stories bring a retrospective smile to my face like this one.
I was a fledgling adventurer then. We had entered Dragonbreath Falls in the Darkhold, the place you cannot spell without D-A-N-G-E-R on its sheer cliffs. I had known that the Bone Nixes – almost as if they had been strategically placed there on the cliffside – had a tendency to knock adventurers off with their Labored Leaps. I had no intention of being such an adventurer, until I discovered too late that my toe was caught in the line of attack. To make the situation even more damningly awkward, my back was not facing the wall.
I tumbled down the cliff and hit the bottom faster than I could shout out any sort of profanity. Above me, my party did not seem to notice my fall and were moving on ahead. As one of the two damage dealers in the group, I was absolutely unexpendable. I had to get back to them quickly.
I was only vaguely aware of the beasts along my path, and in my haste I neglected to remember that dungeon monsters worked differently from those in the overworld in that your very existence is so offensive to them that once they’ve begun to chase you, you could run to the ends of Hydaelyn and they will not relent until one of you is dead.
As I ducked into the cavern with my team members at long last in sight, I finally looked over my shoulder and realized that every last beast – along with their mothers – had followed me up. I turned back and attacked the other monsters my party was already fighting with a peculiar calm, as though ignoring the grisly fate quickly approaching us would make it all go away.
It did not.
I recall the last haunting words of our healer, wrought with so much terror that any and all punctuation was bereft in their tone…
”what the”
”where did all the enemies come from”
We were slaughtered as sheep before the wolf… Blessed with the Echo as we were however, death was but a fly to be brushed from our shoulders. The story is not without its happy ending of course, we cleared Dzemael of its ghastly denizens without further tragedy. My embarrassment over the incident long since passed, I look back on it and laugh knowing how far I’ve come since then. Though I likely will never see those people again, I can’t help but wonder if they remember and look back on it with a similar fondness?
(If my tale is worthy of a commendation, I would like the Ahriman Choker, which in its resemblance to the All-seeing eye makes a fitting commemoration of my (mis)adventure through the Darkhold.)