Author Archives: Keishinrei

Drunken Stag wishes to repay your kindness with some useful information.

Drunken Stag: You’d like a chance to make some money, right? Then I know just how I can repay you for your kindness.
Drunken Stag: Swarms of sun midges have been harassing travelers along the road connecting Horizon to here. It’s gotten so bad that the Brass Blades have started paying folks to keep the roads clear.
Drunken Stag: If you find it hard to believe that swarms of tiny midges could be so troublesome, then you’ve never seen a chocobo driven into a frenzy by one. There’ve already been some terrible accidents.
Drunken Stag: Do your part and slay a few swarms. After that, let Fufulupa know. He’ll reward you for your trouble, and maybe even offer you more work.

Fufulupa: Greetings and salutations, adventurer. To what do I owe this─
What, you’ve slain how many swarms of sun midges!?
Fufulupa: You have my sincerest thanks! The Brass Blades have been struggling to keep them in check, so your assistance is greatly appreciated.
Fufulupa: Will you be staying in Horizon long? If so, there is much and more you can do to help here.

Wyrkrhit, a Skylift operator, needs you to recover a cargo load abandoned by a terrified wagon driver and deliver it to its intended recipient.

Wyrkrhit: Glad I am to see ye again, lass. A wagon driver just returned in a great bloody hurry, screamin’ about some monstrosity what sprang out from a millioncorn seedling in his cargo.
Wyrkrhit: Seems the gutless bastard tossed it over the side afore turnin’ tail an’ runnin’ for his life. I need ye to head down the road, recover that seedling, an’ deliver it to Lyulf over at Swiftperch in western La Noscea.
Wyrkrhit: Whatever he pays ye for the cargo is yers to keep. After all, I don’t rightly know what else is lurkin’ inside that plant, an’ ye deserve to be rewarded for yer troubles.
Wyrkrhit: Oh, an’ ye’ll also find an aetheryte in Swiftperch, so the journey should be worth yer while.

Lyulf: Has Nymeia Herself forsaken this desolate land? Though I understood there were risks in gambling my entire fortune on a crop of millioncorn, I at least expected the seedling to be delivered before disaster struck!
Lyulf: Is…is that my millioncorn seedling!? O joyous day! It may seem a paltry beginning, but the yield of this particular variety of crop plant is nothing short of astonishing.
Lyulf: As you have undoubtedly noticed, Swiftperch lacks a certain, shall we say, vital energy? Thus I mean to restore a modicum of hope to its residents by growing a veritable ocean of corn!
Lyulf: You, madam, seem fit to burst with vim and vigor! Might I persuade you to abide a while and help nurture this ailing settlement?

Osha Jaab, a Wood Wailer at the Matron’s Lethe, is looking for a sure-footed adventurer to pluck blue trumpets from the root of the nearby heavenspillar.

Osha Jaab: Ho there, adventurer. You seem light on your feet. Fancy a quick skip along the root of the heavenspillar here? I need someone to pick off a blue trumpet or two.
Osha Jaab: I know what you’re thinking: it’s naught more than a mushroom, so why the commotion? I’ll tell you why. You allow that fungal menace to multiply, and within a moon they’ll be covering the whole damn root and rotting the wood clear through.
Osha Jaab: Just watch your step while you’re up there, though─the diremites on the ground won’t waste any time adding insult to falling injuries.
Osha Jaab: Once you’re done, head up to the top end of the root and report to Theodore. He’ll be glad to hear someone’s taken care of one of his more dreaded chores.

Theodore: Oh, you’ve cleared the root of blue trumpets? Wonderful! To be quite honest, I have this teeny-tiny problem with heights. (sigh) No, this is not my ideal posting, but we all do what we must.
Theodore: Keeping the root passable is an important job, you see. It’s one of the few ways folk can traverse the Central Shroud since the Calamity all but split the area in twain.
Theodore: It is not, perhaps, the easiest pathway to walk, but there are those who believe the will of the Matron Herself caused this tendril of a heavenspillar to remain thus suspended, that it might serve the forest’s people. I’m rather fond of the notion, myself.