All Saints' Wake: Impudent Impulses
All Saints’ Wake has come and gone, and now one question is on everyone’s lips: did the Adventurers’ Guild manage to trump the riddling imps at their game, or was it the winged fiends who had the last laugh?
Read on to learn how the episode unfolded.
It all began with a band of prison wardens who took leave of their senses and stations both in order to return home before sunset in observance of All Saints’ Wake. In the absence of watchful eyes, a murder of malevolent imps managed to break free of their confinement en masse. Rather than fading quietly into the night, however, the devilish creatures sought to humiliate their former captors, and thus challenged the Adventurers’ Guild to a contest of wits.
The imps would pose riddles, which representatives of the guild must attempt to answer. A correct response would earn the guild pumpkin cookies, of which a specified amount must be amassed by the conclusion of All Saints’ Wake. If the quota were met, the imps would swear to return to their prison cells of their own volition. Elsewise, the Adventurers’ Guild must promise to pursue them no more.
Word of the challenge ruffled the feathers of many in the guild; indeed, most were of the sentiment that swift and brutal force should be employed to recapture the winged fiends. With the imps at large in the city, however, it was judged that open acts of aggression could lead to casualties among civilians. And so it was decided that the issue must be settled in conformance with the prescribed rules.
All Saints’ Wake arrived this year with much nervous biting of knuckles at the Adventurers’ Guild. This reporter was present to witness the counting of cookies before the leve counter. A veritable mountain of the baked treats had been painstakingly gathered through the efforts of altruistic adventurers…but would it be enough?
I am pleased, dear readers, to describe the unrestrained jubilation that broke out as the 999,999th cookie was accounted for. The imps conceded defeat, and—to everyone’s astonishment—very graciously honored their side of the bargain, returning to their cells with neither bitterness nor a demand for a recount. Pats on the back were exchanged all around, and many could be seen heartily munching pumpkin cookies in a gesture of triumph.
Doing my rounds of interviews of those involved in the operation, my eyes once more fell upon the prodigious pile of cookies that fair reached the ceiling. To be able to bake such a vast amount within a matter of days, I could not help but appreciate that the imps must be as resourceful as they are mischievous.
As I mused upon this, I absently bit into a cookie, one from a generous basketful proffered me earlier. It was at that very moment that I noticed what appeared to be traces of gysahl greens—aye, the selfsame leafy plant favored by chocobos—embedded within the half still in my hand, in a fibrous state that could only be described as digested. Here my chewing grew labored. For the sake of propriety, I forced down what was already inside my mouth, but not before breaking out in cold sweat at the implications of the discovery.
We might have bested the imps in the challenge, but I daresay the odious little devils managed to have the last laugh after all.
Oliver Goodfellow