Many a night, when I stare up into the boundless heavens, I will oft catch a glimpse of a world not quite our own... Different, yet eerily similar. Is this the Void, or is it something else? I suppose time will tell...
| Obtaining the Goobbue Horn
| Ne'er till land consumes sun can sea bear moons.|
Heavens spew crimson flame, hells seep black dooms.
I have walked the four corners of Hydaelyn, from the Gardens of Xarakish, to the floating lakes of Voor Sian Siran, but never in my travels have I encountered such a fell prophecy. One need not be an oracle to precise the great ill which casts a shadow across this forsaken realm.
Yet...perhaps there is still hope for Eorzea.
When I arrived in this land, I was beset with peril day and night-forced to endure countless trials which tested my mind, my body, and my faith. And I am not ashamed to admit that I would have faltered, had it not been for the help of a handful of nameless adventurers much like yourself.
Honest men and women who proffered the hand of friendship to a weary soul and led him safe from the darkness. I pondered long over how I could repay the kindness shown me...only to find the answer in the most unlikely of places-the final verse of the selfsame song that had so haunted me since my first days in Eorzea:
Souls from aether far, strangers from strange lands.
Yester with thine eyes, morrow by thine hands.
Had the gods led me to Eorzea for a reason? Might I serve a higher purpose, through which lives might be saved and order restored to the realm? I hoped that it might be so. For what better use may a man's life be put to than to serve as an agent of divine intervention? ...But in what manner was I to play my part?
Seeking an answer, I prayed for twelve days and twelve nights until at least I collapsed of exhaustion. However, it was at this moment that I was blessed with a vision-a single-horned beast leading a flock of chocobos from a burning forest. When I awoke from my reverie, I knew what I must do.
Once, long ago, I was summoned to a wealthy satrapy far to the east to play in the royal court. When my performance was complete, the High Satrap was so moved that he offered me anything I desired in exchange for one more song. I humbly accepted, and for my reward requested knowledge of a secret that had been kept by the satrapy's military for generations-their method of taming goobbies.
Needless to say, the High Satrap was initially reluctant to grand me that which I had requested, but being n honest man, ever conscious of his obligation to set an example before his subjects, he soon relented and acquiesced to my terms. Since that time, I have kept his nation's secret, but now believe that as the sixth sun wanes and seventh moon waxes, it is mete that I should pass it on in hopes that the knowledge may be made to serve us all.
With this horn, may you lead us from despair, and help us in a new age. I put my trust in you, adventurer. Do not let me down.
| Post Patch 1.23
Wandering Minstrel: I never thought to meet a friend in a place such as this. It appears we share a connection, you and I.
Wandering Minstrel: The words make sense to me now. But a single glance at your face was enough to reveal their meaning.
Wandering Minstrel: What words, you ask? The words of Mezaya Thousand Eyes, of course.
Wandering Minstrel: Ne'er till land consumes sun can sea bear moons,Heavens spew crimson flame, hells seep black dooms.
Wandering Minstrel: Stray seeds quicken in ash's grey embrace,Valiant blades forged under the Twelve's good grace.
Wandering Minstrel: The first line is simple─it warns of the end of the Astral and the beginning of the Umbral Era.
Wandering Minstrel: The “crimson flames” falling from heaven speak of the red moon, Dalamud, as I am sure you have deduced.
Wandering Minstrel: Then come the “black dooms,” which represent the continuing woes of Eorzea.
Wandering Minstrel: “Stray seeds” in “ash”? This can only signify the birth of new hope in a desolate world. And who, pray tell, will bring us this hope?
Wandering Minstrel: Why, prodigiously talented, nay blessed souls who bravely venture forth with weapon in hand─or “valiant blades forged under the Twelve's good grace,” if you prefer.
Wandering Minstrel: A rather elegant manner of describing adventurers, would you not agree?
Wandering Minstrel: But if such is true, then you, my friend, do not belong in a dank, dark prison. Fly from this place, and prepare yourself for the calamities which are to come.
Wandering Minstrel: I shall do all that is within my power to aid you. And once the land is reborn, perhaps you and I shall meet again.
Wandering Minstrel: Go now. The shoots of a brave tomorrow shall spring from the seeds you sow this day.
Wandering Minstrel: The vista stretches out before me. Beyond the void, it glimmers─a world not unlike our own...