💾 Archived View for vath.click › elitemarks › heavensward.gmi captured on 2024-02-05 at 09:40:32. Gemini links have been rewritten to link to archived content
⬅️ Previous capture (2023-01-29)
-=-=-=-=-=-=-
I was born and raised here in the western highlands, so I know firsthand how much the place has changed. As the climate has got colder and colder, creatures that were never native to Coerthas have come down from the mountains to find food.
The mylodons are one such species. Time was they made their home up in the far reaches of Abalathia’s Spine, but ever since their hunting grounds were lost to the Calamity, they’ve found their way down here. They’re fierce carnivores, who see steel-clad knights as nothing more than a packed lunch.
Alecti’s the worst of the lot — a mad myladon who’s been laying waste to the local forces. At the last count, more than a dozen noble lives have been lost to that monster.
Have you ever come across an archaeornis? At first sight you might think they were birds, what with the feathers and all, but they’re actually a primitive species of scalekin, closer to raptors than they are to chocobos.
The only thing they definitely share with birds is their brains — that combination of mental weakness and physical strength makes them perfect thralls for the dragons, who use them to launch constant attacks on the Ishgardian forces.
The knights are particularly wary of the one they call Kreutzet. He’s got such strength in those thighs of his, even the thickest snowdrift’s not enough to slow him down. He races hither and thither across the snowfields, tearing apart any outpost unlucky enough to stand in his way.
For thousands of years, these giant carnivorous beasts dwelled in dark caves high atop the peaks in northern Abalathia’s Spine, far removed from the tribes of men located in the warmer southern climes. When the Calamity, however, sent temperatures in the Coerthas western highlands plummeting, scores of frost-breathing yeti migrated into the region in search of new homes... and new prey.
Though hunters’ tales refer to these massive creatures as “snowmen,” yeti lack most of the faculties one might associate with man, such as language, cognitive reasoning, and the ability to construct and wield tools.
There was once a dragonslayer who was out hunting his prey on the frozen lake of Ashpool, when he made a surprising discovery. An enormous animal was frozen solid underneath the ice.
Thinking that he could use the deceased creature’s meat to lure the dragons into a trap, he lit a bonfire over the lake to melt its body free. A most ill-advised plan indeed...
You see, the beast wasn’t quite as dead as the knight first thought. Freed from its icy prison, it began to breath once more, and lashed out at all around it with elemental fury. When the dragonslayer set out to hunt for dragons, I doubt he expected to meet his end at the point of a tusk.
No doubt you’ve heard of the behemoths, those monstrous beasts that have been a bane on Coerthas ever since the Calamity. Adventurers like you have faced them in battle countless times, and have been meeting with more and more success of late.
However, there is one among their number that has always made good its escape, even when gravely wounded by the swords and spells of myriad adventurers. Due to its giant size and superior strength, it has become known as the king of behemoths.
They say that this kaiser behemoth, whose body is crisscrossed with the scars of a thousand battles, seeks any opportunity to avenge itself on the adventurers who defeated its brothers. If you value your life, I’d avoid doing anything to arouse its ire.
Time was the Gnath kept ’emselves to ’emselves, too wary o’ the dragons to ever stray far from their own lands. Past few moons, though, the overgrown ladybugs look like they’ve finally grown a bit o’ backbone.
They used to only use them muskets o’ theirs to ’unt fer food, but o’ late they’ve been turnin’ ’em on anyone unlucky enough to stray into what they reckon to be “Gnath territory.”
Judgin’ from the number o’ chocobo ’unters comin’ back to Tailfeather with a back full o’ buckshot, it seems that includes any place in the range o’ their boomsticks. Someone’s got to get rid o’ that sniper o’ theirs before it’s too late.
Ye’ll ’ave seen them bandersnatches prowlin’ about off to the north, right? Well, there’s one o’ their number that’s been causin’ the chocobo ’unters such a ball ache they’ve put a bounty on its ’ead.
Instead of ’untin’ fer chocobos like a good little bandersnatch, this Thextera’s been takin’ ’is meals from the trade caravans plyin’ the trail ’twixt Tailfeather an’ Ishgard.
Those caravans bring in the supplies the ’unters need to survive, an’ carry back the chocobos they catch to be sold at market. The beast’s been ’elpin’ ’imself to a bit o’ both, an’ the drivers beside. If the caravans are Tailfeather’s lifeblood, then Thextera’s the knife in its neck.
Might not look it at first glance, but that Sohm al’s an active volcano. I’ve ’eard tell there’s a vast cave in the foothills that goes right into hte belly o’ the mountain, a place filled with fire an’ brimstone like somethin’ out o’ the seventh ’ell.
’Course, it’s a paradise fer cold-blooded scalekin. By all accounts there’s a load o’ the buggers down there in the deep — primitive lizards in thrall to the dragons.
There’s one o’ their kind ye’ve got to be especially wary of — an ancient archaeosaur by the name o’ Pylraster. Some say ’e’s almost as dangerous as the dragons themselves.
It’s a better man than me that can tell one dragonling from the next, but they grow into all different shapes an’ sizes. Take wyverns — they start off like any other dragon, but as they age their wings get bigger an’ bigger, till they’re spendin’ all their time in the air.
They ain’t no match fer their four-legged friends when it comes to brute strength, but what they lack in muscle, they make up fer in mobility. A mob o’ the buggers can easily bring down an airship if they set their minds to it.
Ye’d think that speed would drop off with age, but no such luck. The eldest o’ their number, the Lord o’ the Wyverns, can twist an’ turn like no other, duckin’ an’ divin’ out of the way o’ dragonslayer shells. Small wonder the airship captains want the bastard dead.
’Ave ye ever set yer eyes on a griffin, [Your Name]? They’re ’alf eagle, ’alf lion, an’ all ’unter. Just like a chocobo trapper, they stalk their prey from the shadows — or in their case the clouds — waitin’ fer the perfect time to strike.
The chocobo ’unters o’ Tailfeather’ve got a certain credo about pickin’ when to spring the trap — “’unt the ’unter,” they say. Whatever quarry yer after, ye stand a better chance o’ catchin’ it unawares if it’s busy tryin’ to catch its own prey.
Seems it’s a motto ol’ Senmurv’s taken to ’eart. Whenever a group of ’ungry beasts ’eads out on the ’unt, the king o’ the griffins’ll swoop down from the sky an’ carry off as many as ’is beak’ll ’old.
As wyverns grow, they progress through a number of developmental stages, their bodies becoming more and more streamlined with each change. In their final forms, even their horns drop off, leaving them with a sleek shape perfectly suited for flight.
It is one such elder wyvern that has been marked for death by a certain nobleman. It seems the beast has taken something of a fancy to the fellow’s son — a pretty young thing I wouldn’t mind gobbling up myself. Mayhap not in the same manner as the wyvern, though...
You should be able to spot this monster easily enough — its sleek, shining scales have earned it the name “Scitalis,” after a legendary dragon with similarly lustrous skin.
Not long ago, a party of Temple Knights headed into the foothills of Sohm Al to spy on the dragons’ activities. However, a few days into their mission, they disappeared without a trace. A rescue party was dispatched to find the missing knights, and find them it did.
They discovered their missing comrades standing over the body of a vinegaroon — a fearsome scalekin in thrall to the dragons. But as they approached, the monster suddenly rose to its feet and sprang at the would-be rescuers, slaying several before they could ready themselves.
The Temple Knights were all dead — the Scarecrow had propped up their corpses to lure their rescuers into a trap. After taking its toll on the rescue party, the monster fled up the slopes of Sohm Al, and naught has been seen of it since. We believe it may yet be hiding in the Churning Mists.
Most heretics are drawn to common stock, but there are more then a few nobles among them too. Once such fellow was the husband of a lady Temple Knight — unbeknownst to her, he abused his position to steal the order’s secrets and feed them to the dragons.
For years the nobleman passed sensitive information to the Horde, until the day he grew weary of his double life and supped from the scaly cup, transforming himself into a monstrous scalekin. His plan was simple — to slaughter his family, feign his own death, and join with the dragons.
Thanks to the timely intervention of the order, the former parts of his plan were foiled, but the beast broke their cordon and succeeded in fleeing to Dravania. It was one of the Temple Knights who put the bounty on his head — the very lady who was once his wife.
Do you know the story of Saint Valeroyant? Eight centuries ago, he served as an Azure Dragoon, and won glory by driving away the great wyrm Nidhogg. This very square still bears his name, though his image has seen better days.
He was an unrivaled warrior who dealt death to dragon after dragon, but there was one that always managed to slip his clutches — Agathos, feared across the land as the Black Death.
Naught has been seen of the creature since Valeroyant’s passing, but in recent years, rumors have been spreading of a shadow of Agathos’s size and shape appearing in the clouds above Dravania. Could this be our chance to bring Saint Valeroyant’s legend to a close?
It isn’t only the dragons who have brought heretics into our midst, you know. Five hundred years ago, another heretical sect gained traction among the smallfolk of Ishgard.
The heathens adopted the customs of the Near East, bathing themselves in perfumes brewed from strange flowers and forging idols from rare metals that they used in their bizzare and unholy rites.
Naturally, the Temple Knights were quick to clamp down on the sect’s activities. Its leader, a peasant who styled himself the great guru Gandarewa, fled to the next holiest place he knew — the sacred mountain of Dravania. There he supped on the blood of a dragon, and was forever changed...
The Thaliak River is a shining symbol of the Dravanian hinterlands — the great mother who blesses the land with the gift of water.
But where the gentle and generous mother brings life, the cruel and merciless father — an oversized crustacean who rules over the Thaliak with an iron claw — brings only death.
The great glutton will pounce on anything that moves, and chop up his prey with his tail pincers faster than you can say “ouch.” If you don’t keep an eye on that tail of his, you’ll be feeding the fishes in bite-sized chunks.
Time and again, the residents of Idyllshire have come under attack from a huge, hairy beastkin — imagine if you crossed a Roegadyn with an opo-opo, and had it row a ten-tonze galley for a twelvemoon.
I scoured the Sharlayan annals for a record of such a monster, and finally found it — it’s a gigantopithecus, a fierce beast discovered on the tropical jungles of the Cieldalaes.
It was brought here as a youngling by a Sharlayan scholar, who raised it in a specially constructed glasshouse in some vain attempt to research its ecology. But when the exodus came, the callow whelp didn’t think of taking his pet with him. Now it falls to the Clan to pick up the pieces.
Have you heard of the Illuminati? They’re a secretive fraternity of goblin scholars who are particularly active in this area, engaging in experiments that run the gamut from the unusual to the downright unnatural.
Slipkinx Steeljoints’s studies fall towards the latter end of the spectrum. He’s a notorious scoundrel who thinks nothing of slaughtering innocents to test the effectiveness of his experimental weaponry.
The brute dresses himself in a suit of mechanical armor that is nigh on impenetrable, and sets about passersby with technologically enhanced gusto. Honestly, these scholars are completely incorrigible.
You’ll never guess who put the bounty on Stolas’s head — it was sent by a Sharlayan astrologian, all the way from his homeland across the seas.
He lived here before the exodus, conduction his scholarly experiments. In one such trial, he used his magicks to bind an owl to him as a familiar. The test succeeded, but by some quirk of fate, the owl gained a prodigious intelligence, outstripping even that of its master.
But when the exodus came, the owl revolted. It attacked its master, stole a tome of forbidden knowledge, and escaped into the hinterlands. It seems the tome contains secrets of such cataclysmic power that, for the safety of the realm, this owl cannot be suffered to live.
Another request sent by a Sharlayan scholar from the safety of his homeland. The fellow’s uncovered an ancient prophecy, saying that in the end of days, a deathly knight will rise from the grave and bring death and destruction to Dravania atop an ashen steed.
If the scholar is right, and this “end of days” does indeed refer to the Seventh Umbral Calamity, then this supernatural horseman should already be among us, but I don’t see any death and destruction around here. Well, no more than normal, anyway...
Honestly, I think it’s all a pile of chocobo plop. There was an adventurer passed through here the other day, said she’d seen a headless horseman out in the hinterlands when she was hunting for treasure...but believe you me, you can trust those looters as far as you can throw them!
Mayhap it’s because these floating islands have been cut off from the world for so long, but the Sea of Clouds seems to have more than its fair share of curious creatures — and they don’t come much curiouser than the paissa.
They’re mischievous critters with wild, staring eyes, who seem to be in a constant state of agitation. Still, they’re no match for a Clansman — all apart from their leader, the dreaded Squonk.
I don’t know whether it’s because he’s unusually clever, or especially quick, but he’s succeeded in pulling the Rose Knights’ breeches down on more than one occasion. Whenever aught of import goes missing from the Rosehouse, you can be sure that Squonk isn’t far away.
The Vanu Vanu are a beast tribe native to the Sea of Clouds, and they’re not short of a few decent hunters and fighters.
Sanu Vali’s one of their best and brightest — a Vanu warrior who wields her twin blades to such devastating effect, her compatriots revere her as a force of nature. The Rose Knights who often come into conflict with the birdmen hold her in equal and opposite regard.
The Vanu are wont to put on something of a show before they enter battle, and it’s the graceful majesty of Sanu Vali’s own war dance that has earned her the moniker “of Dancing Wings.” That said, the only “wings” you’ll need to worry about are the steel ones she holds in her claws.
Have you ever seen a groundskeeper? No, no, I’m not talking of our botanist friends. These are much more up a Clansman’s alley — ten-fulm titans born from stone and magic. Whether they form naturally like sprites, or are magicked into existence like golems, I know not.
One thing is for certain, though — they feed on the rocks that make up these islands, and add the rubble they produce to their ever-growing forms.
The one the knights call Enkelados appears to have an especially prodigious appetite. If something isn’t done about him soon, we shall all be living on his back before long... or in his gullet.
Where we Eorzeans would employ a chocobo, the Vanu Vanu rely on the Sanuwa — a race of winged scalekin native to the Sea of Clouds. They use them as pack animals, and as mounts for their cavalry.
Wild sanuwa are fiece, independent beasts, less like to take a bit in their teeth then their captors’ gizzards. The sanuwa whisperers of the Vanu Vanu work wonders to tame the creatures against seemingly impossible odds.
Completely impossible, in some cases. The one they call Sisiutl has defied all attempts at domestication, the gentlest whisper driving the black-hearted beast into a furious rage. Not so long ago it broke free from its wranglers, and has begun to take out its ire on the local populace.
The cool air and gentle breezes of the Sea of Clouds attrack a wide variety of cloudkin, from the scaled to the furred to the feathered.
Among the latter, there is one as revered for its breathtaking beauty as it is feared for its insatiable thirst for blood — the fabled Bird of Paradise.
There is nothing that it loves more than a feast of living flesh. The moment it hears the plaintive cries of a wounded animal, it will swoop down from the skies with talons bared, drool dripping from its beak. Something to bear in mind should you wish to hunt for the bird yourself...
This merchant’s got it in her head that there’s an enormous man-made island somewhere in the Sea of Clouds. It was built by the Allagan Empire as a base for their bizarre experiments, and it’s still up there, teeming with the horrors their unholy tamperings gave birth to.
One of the Allagans’ favorite pastimes was to splice bits of different monsters together, creating godforsaken chimeras to set upon their enemies. But it wasn’t just beasts they tampered with — they had their wicked way with the beastmen, too.
This merchant claims to have found a record of one of these experiments — they took a lizardman from the southern shores of Aldenard and crossed it with a vicious scalekin from across the Sea of Ash. The abomination that resulted from this unhappy union they christened “Lycidas.”
Histories tell that in the dying days of the Allagan Empire, uprisings occurred one after the other in every corner of their vast territory.
The imperial army came up with a plan both to suppress these insurrections and stave off revolt from within — they’d build an army of automata that would never disobey their masters’ orders. And where better to station these soldiers than their magical flying fortress?
It’s the captain of these automata, “Omni,” the merchant’s got it in for. No doubt this incorruptible defender of Allag wouldn’t take too kindly to the adventurers she’s trusting to strip this floating island of all it’s worth and sell it to her for a pitance!
As the sun set on the Allgan Empire, they made their last big land grab — they invaded the southern continent of Meracydia, capturing scores of dragons and subjecting them to barbarous procedures that bent the creatures to their will.
Or so the merchant who set the bounty believes. I don’t know whether there’s any truth in her stories, but if the technology to control dragons really does exist, I’d wager there’s a fair few people in this world who’d gladly give every appendage to learn the secret.
It seems this “Campacti” has turned up in her research as one such slave-dragon. No doubt the merchant’s thinking it’ll be easier to pick apart once it’s been put out of its misery.
Yep, you heard that right — we’ve put a bounty on a flower. ’Course, it’s not just any flower. It’s not just any mark, neither. Only the most fearsome bits of shrubbery get given elite mark status.
The stench blossom’s a monstrous man-eating plant that’s long been extinct in Eorzea, but this merchant’s got it on good authority they’re still up there on the Allgan’s floating island. ...If you count the whisperings of a pebble as “good authority.”
Still, if those monstrosities really are up there, and their spores were ever blown down on the wind and took root in Eorzea again... Well, it doesn’t bear thinking about. If there’s any chance she’s right, whoever destoryed that plant would be doing the world a great service.
The southern continent of Meracydia was a land of dragons. The monsters came in all shapes and sizes, each species evolving to fit into its own particular habitat.
Take the coeurl dragon — a beast that made its home in the Meracydian jungles. It started off as a dragon like any other, but over time it lost its wings, being next to useless in the thick bush, and gained the flexible body and muscular limbs of a coeurl.
They were fierce hunters and scavengers, driven into a feeding frenzy the moment they caught scent of beast blood. The merchant who posted the bill reckons one of these beasts, a coeurl dragon by the name of Leucrotta, is up in the clouds right now, living on an abandoned Allagan island.