Nigh a year has come and gone since Hatching-tide, that fledging festival of eggs and Archons, was held. The event so captured the imagination of the populace, rumors abound that it is set to become a regular fixture upon the Eorzean calendar. Upon catching wind of these tidings, The Raven, Gridania’s foremost tabloid, wasted no time to whip up a special feature for the benefit of our readers.
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High above the Twelveswood, the raven circles, evermore seeking out truth hidden amongst the shadows of the trees. In today’s edition, field correspondent Oliver Goodfellow examines the rumors that Hatching-tide is set to come rolling back into Eorzea for a second consecutive year.
Our dear readers will recall Hatching-tide, the outlandish new festival born of a dream beheld by a Miqo’te named Jihli Aliapoh. Better known as the Dreamer, this eccentric young woman claims she was visited in her slumber by twelve magnificent Archons who descended from the heavens upon brilliantly colored eggs. Inspired by the vision, Jihli set about doing the Archons’ bidding—that is, to make ready the vessels for their return. As word of her impassioned undertaking spread, the endeavor of one woman grew to become that of all Eorzea, leading to the birth of the Hatching-tide tradition.
Alas, in spite of all the build-up and anticipation, the Twelve Archons failed to appear as prophesied. And as if to rub salt into the wound, not a day after the Hatching Hour had passed, the Dreamer was found unconscious and bereft of all the memories pertaining to her labor of love, an affliction most folk ascribe to acute emotional trauma. So it was that the curtains came tumbling down upon the inaugural Hatching-tide.
While it would seem that the festival was a resounding failure, the prevailing sentiment is rather different. Of those citizens and adventurers who partook of the revelry, the majority recount their egg-hunting experience with great fondness. Even though it failed to deliver upon its declared objective of beckoning the Archons, Hatching-tide brought together the citizens in common cause and lifted morale in the midst of troubled times. And so it comes as no surprise—leastways to this reporter—that the festival returns for the second year running, that folk might enjoy a moment of respite even as the bloody-red Dalamud bears down upon them.
At this juncture, our readers are certain to wonder how the event will be held, with the Dreamer lost to her memories. Racked by the selfsame doubt during my investigation, I broached the subject in an interview with those individuals who played key roles in popularizing the first Hatching-tide. They gave me to understand that Jihli, despite having no recollection whatsoever of her efforts the year past, graciously agreed to reprise her role for the happiness of the people, a most noble gesture. As I made to take my leave of the event organizers, they presented me with a flyer featuring an all-too-familiar face. It would seem that not only decorated eggs will make a reappearance—in the name of faithful recreation, those sooty-black voidsents we all love to hate will also be returning to the fray.