Toegisil's Legacy : History and Culture of the Secret Island's Natives

Long before I'd embarked on the massive endeavor of charting a course through history for a people who'd long eschewed the written word, I'd heard the tales of one Kechil Hunter. Man among men, he stood over a hundred ilms tall, and wielded an axe larger than a horse. He features in one tale in particular, of slaying a giant boar named Jhin terrorizing the farmers of our island. After a week of fighting non-stop, he succeeds, and in his honor, our people wish to make him a jerkin from the skin of Jhin the boar. However, since Kechir was so large, they could only make a harness, which Kechir accepted as it soon became apparent that the slaying of Jhin pleased Earth and Fire - They temporarily transferred themselves to the harness as it turned yellow before our ancestors' very eyes.

Of course, this tale is exaggeration beyond words. Who would believe a midlander being 100 ilms tall? That would wield an axe larger than a horse and fight for a week straight without rest? It is a tale crafted to remember that all can honor the elements in their own way. Kechir did not work the land, nor tend the flames, nor cultivate the sea. Kechir was a hunter, and in the end, the elements blessed him like they would bless us when service is performed.

Still, on a stroke of luck I encountered one of the minstrels peddling books as I was on my way to the city in order to find a steel joint to repair our pasture's fence door. He'd offer me a copy of a Roegadyn scholar who'd studied our people in ages past, and curious to see what I could find in this stranger's eyes upon us, I offered him shelter and good food for the book and a tale or two. Such is the way minstrels are treated in this land.

The book revealed to me much more than I thought possible. Long before we domesticated animals, farms were solely about the noble discipline of botany, and a cadre of hunters would provide meat for the community by organizing expeditions in the forest and around the uninhabited parts of the island to hunt down savage beasts. Unlike what I hear from other lands, they used melee weapons exclusively, the knowledge of the bow unknown at the time. Typically constructed as heavier, sharper versions of botany tools, the weapons took the form of a reinforced, weighted logging axe, to herb-collecting axes, to a combination of a hoe and a pitchfork, soon refined into a more deadly instrument resembling a halberd. The idea of a sword was actually alien to our people. Though we knew how to use knives and had fabricated them, the techniques to synthesize swords were never discovered.

Still, among this hunter population, a peculiar name appears - Kechire Hunter. That the legend actually existed came as a shock, much more so when I learned that the minstrels had told the story wrong. Kechire is a woman's name. She and her group of hunters concentrated on chasing off boars who'd attack the farms for an easy source of food, instead making them a good source of meat and leathers.

The incident with Jhin has roots in a particular moment that the scholar witnessed. He'd described Kechire as a woman of incredible strength, equal to his Sea Wolf mates, who'd wielded an excessively large axe, one that would never be seen on a pirate ship as it would be too unwieldy at sea, and who's grace in movement, even with such an instrument, was awe-inspiring. He'd caught her in the middle of attacking a boar of considerable size and peculiar yellow pelt. Immediately, he felt he need to chronicle the assault in his own terms, which due to my own combat ignorance, I will not repeat here in fear of misusing them. She fell the mighty beast with a graceful step and a blow worthy of an executioner, cutting the boar at the neck as it charged past her.

As the rest of her band of hunters gathered to help her cut the boar apart, she made sure to keep the pelt and use it as a trophy, and according to the scholar, the pelt had a strange reaction to the alumen, turning the yellow boarskin into a much darker hue of yellow. Where the mystical moments of this story stem from was that the boarskin was ready for synthesizing on a day of a solar eclipse, and that she did so immediately after it was ready. The eclipse was seen as a bad omen, unlike what the story claims. After a consultation with the Officiates and a cleansing ceremony where she offered the harness to Earth, they came up with a compromise - Earth would accept her offering if she were to never show her face while hunting. She started wearing a mask while performing her duties, and so did the hunters of their band. Soon, the mask and harness were seen as an iconic element of Toegisil's hunters. Until the practice of hunting fell out of use from domestication of the island's edible animals.

That the minstrels would honor Kechire's offering by obscuring her true identity in their tales, going as far as to censor her name and womanhood, can be seen as many things. I prefer to think of this as an act of respect towards the life of one of the greatest hunters the island has produced, albeit at the expense of the truth in such a way that it denatured the entire tale. This is one of the many contradictions that compose this island's history and culture as you have undoubtedly seen by reading this tome. Still, the truth is now revealed, and as I understand, Earth has long forgiven Kechire's descendents.

Yes, this story is there entirely to explain Kell's WAR glamour. However, he dressed like that WITHOUT EVEN KNOWING ABOUT THE TALE. To him, it was a coincidence, and more importantly, I do not mention Kechire's lower part of her outfit because it was likely a LOT more decent than what Kell is wearing.

Anyway, comments, wtfs, deep hatred that I'm shitposting in the IC section go here.

Bear and Roc : The Tribes of the Wilds

Few on this island know that our people were not as united as we now are. Even the minstrels, who are often tasked with spreading the myths and legends that compose our history would have a hard time recalling that there once were two tribes living in the forest and near the cliffs of the island. Even now it is difficult to believe - Both of these tribes united in a futile attempt to fight off pirates that had been smuggling their own as part of slave trade. As sickening as this end is, that it was aided and abated by the very council I now stand on has made me turn my stomach more than once on this research. Perhaps I will be at peace once their story has been told, but chances are it will not be this easy.

Originally, the people of Toegisil were one - united in their quest for survival. This is where the few elements of recorded history diverge. The official history I was able to access in the archives tell a tale of a lone individual from other lands showcasing his power, teaching the rudiments of his bare-fighting art then leaving on a boat. Many were infected by this promise of power and left known civilization to train in the deepwoods and on the cliffs where the beasts even our hunters dared not touch dwell.

As you may have noticed a theme throughout this book, this history is full of holes which I will attempt to rectify. This is from early scriptures that I'd found in a coffer well hidden in a cliff's cave. Though crude writing, they offer a different and, I am tempted to say, truer perspective of what caused this removal of society. It seemed that as the port developed, many had the same fear I now have with our Garlean occupants, that our roots would be lost to a more powerful invader. Even back then we were not a warlike people - any invader would easily overpower our forces so we were as neutral as possible. We established ourselves as a resupply port for any who would stop and were generally left alone. After all, the sailors who would use us as a resupply port would not want to see us destroyed by those who sought an easy population to farm for slave trade. Keep this in mind as it will be important later in this story.

The part about the lone combatant washing up on our shores was true. He was unlike anything we'd ever seen - a Hyur, like us, but as tall and wide as a buffalo. His name is now lost to us, but we know he was a bare-handed combatant with unmatched strength. To learn of our ways, he joined our hunters on hunts and defended them from beasts they would otherwise run from. As a reward for nursing him back to health and showing him our secrets, he taught the secrets of bare-handed fighting to those who had the courage to endure his teachings, and left to lands unknown.

However, those who had the courage to endure his teachings were also a faction who opposed the establishment of the port. With limited to no influence on the council or as Officiates, they would find no ear to listen to their pleas, and soon decided to leave. If the people would not listen, they would become the unwilling protectors of the people by honing their newfound skills against the wild beasts of this island.

This was the start of the Bear and Roc tribes, named so after the animals they wished to test themselves against. The Roc tribe established themselves alongside the cliffs, while the Bear tribe went to the deepwoods, where hunters would never dare approach. From this time, we had limited contact with the tribes. They would often come to us for trade, and they would be treated the same as outsiders. They offered us roc wings and feathers, bear paws and the meat they themselves would not use, and we would trade them some crafted necessities they would need for their own camps.

Before describing the tragic tale of their destruction, I should spend time describing what made them special compared to what we hear of the Monks of Ala Mhigo and the warriors of Doma. The Roc tribe developed a fighting style that sought to mimic the grace and agility of their chosen hunting animal. They would ascend to the sky and grasp others with their powerful legs, to bring their enemies down to the ground. To be considered a master of this ability, they would need to hunt down the biggest roc found, alone and naked. If they succeeded, they would be rewarded with a leather circlet with the best looking feather from the roc they had killed. Their rituals called upon Wind and Lighting to give them grace and speed, though the specifics are lost to time. The crude writings I discovered detail that conflicts within the tribe would be settled with one on one duels where the techniques used would be quite different, as a midlander opponent did not fly and more so, had limbs to grab. It was not uncommon to see the loser of the duel die from the injuries or be relegated to an educational role, passing down his techniques to the children of the tribe, for the betterment of all.

The Bear tribe worked in similar fashion, except favoring strength above all. They were not agile by any means, and would seek to mimic their own chosen animals by using powerful grappling maneuvers. The writings I found are less detailed on this tribe as they are on the Roc tribe, but they do mention that much like the Roc tribe, mastery was attained by killing a bear bare-handed, alone and naked.

What is more interesting about the Bear tribe is that by perusing trade records from this era, I found that they often traded for linseed oil. What they would need linseed oil is beyond my understanding until another bit of research revealed their dueling practices. Unlike the Roc tribe, the Bear tribe used duels to establish hierarchy within the tribe and were often used as a means to learn more about their own bare-fisted art. They would perform a ritual where they oiled themselves up, offering themselves to Earth and Fire. The actual duel would take place in a pre-established circle surrounded by rocks, and the way to win would be to grasp the opponent's subligar for three moments, or throw their body outside of the circle. Surprisingly enough, the dueling circle has been fairly well preserved by the elements, and I have seen it with my own eyes.

What happened to these tribes, however, is a cruel fate. The very people they sought to protect sold them out to slavers who sought an easy source of slaves. By telling the slavers of where the tribes were located, they would save themselves from the burden of slavery, and at the same time, get themselves rid of those who had brazenly defied the council. A pathetic, sad maneuver to be sure, but one that functioned. The tribes were not easily captured - they slaughtered slavers to be sure, but once the fight was taken to their ships, their lack of experience fighting on the sea was their downfall.

Thus ends the legacy of the Bear and Roc tribes, as well as their art. I have found some crude writings describing their fighting arts in more detail, but these have been sent to an individual I trust so that he may try and restore them. As this is a history book and not a fighting manual, they are more important to him than I.

Officiates : Mediators to the Elements

I have spent the last chapter detailing the relationship to the Elements that the Secret Island's inhabitants share - How we take their bounty and serve them as best we can. However, sometimes conflict arises between these two forces and there needs must be mediation in order to avoid possible retaliation from the Elements, or for our people to stop their servitude. It is out of this necessity that the position of officiate was created in our community. They do not speak for the Elements nor do they speak for us, but rather mediate common ground and resolve disputes. While I'd never put much stock into their ramblings, their position serves as to reassure those of us that feel they have slighted the forces that grant them sustenance that they are never beyond redemption, and helps alleviate potential problems from obsessing too much about perceived slights against the Elements.

Since the position is only needed temporarily, rare are those that can afford to officiate permanently. Officiates cannot accept payment for their services from either party. While the blessings of the elements is good to have, rewards of money, food other tangible goods are far more interesting to us people tied to the material world. As such, their judgment could be clouded when faced with deciding on what fair compromise and reparation would be. In history, there has been two members of our community that have been officiating for so long that they were supported by both the Elements and the people as full-time officiates. Though their history is interesting, as the conflicts they mediated have gone on to become legend among the people, these people will be covered elsewhere in this book.

Officiates on-duty are easily identified by the accoutrements they wear. The robe will be of a creamy white mixed with black highlights - the more common snow white being associated with Water and Ice, thereby admitting a bias towards these two parties in mediation as well as other concerns which will come later, should never be used for fabrication of an officiate robe. Though some have disputed the practice of placing ornaments on the robe, thinking it a bias towards either Earth or towards the Midlander side of the conflict due to the price and craftsmanship, the robe should be adorned carefully as to respect both parties in the conflict. It would not stand to have an officiate poorly dressed - it would be seen as a dismissal of the situation's gravity.

Ideally, an officiate should seek purification from the Elements prior to officiating, but sometimes this practice falls short due to time. Purification of the Element involved in the negotiation is of the utmost importance and is generally performed in front of the other party as to show the least amount of bias possible. There are many ways to purify oneself from Element influence, and so long as they are accepted by both parties, the method is not important.

Common methods of purification are not so different than what I am told is found in Eorzean resorts, only with a much different goal in mind. Most of the purification rituals involve Water in some way - Fire involve pouring water over hot coals in an enclosed area and Ice involves getting cold water poured over the head. While originally the purification trials were more punitive, it was soon found that the officiates who performed rituals that were loving gave more reasonable judgments, and thus the practice now serves to clear their mind of resentment and accept mediation for both parties.

Most officiates come from a background where they have learned lots in their life, allowing them to more accurately mete out reparation attempts and properly counsel both parties. As an example, a man who has neglected his duty to Earth would have a hard time figuring out how to make amends, though one who has extracted bounty from the land would have a much easier time advising them in making reparations and following up on these. The moments where less tangible mediation is needed are where an officiate can make or break his career as these are at the mercy of the Elements - Though they are negotiators first, they are not people who channel the strength of the Elements or directly talk to them. They can, through signs and portents, interpret the Elements' desire but beyond that they cannot directly communicate with them. An officiate who would figure that out would become the greatest of his kind.

Officiates are an extremely important part of Toegisil's culture, and feature in many of its legends in a support or antagonist fashion, depending on what is the lesson that the story wishes to impart on the listener.

Origins - A Message From Beyond Time

Digging through the archives in-between council reunions and taking care of the farm, I soon found that there are limits to a carefully curated archive that sought to erase certain events from our history, such as the carefully orchestrated slave-trade of the Bear and Roc tribes which the port of Toegisil profited from immensely, allowing the town to improve tremendously their facilities for treating ships.

More limiting, however, was that the archive dated only until the council itself started forming which completely occults the Time of Legends, inspiration for the minstrels' stories. While many dismiss them as fictional events, any astute reader of this book would immediately scoff at such nonsense. Are they exaggerated? Of course - the minstrels needs must include a small measure of the fantastic to captivate the audience's interest. However, behind every story lies a morsel of truth, from crumbs to leftovers of a large meal.

Toegisil, however, hides much more mysteries than what a simple archive censored by men could ever showcase. Perhaps it is lucky that we collectively never endeavored to put these words to paper - I fear they would be cleansed by the Garleans' attempt to integrate us into their nation.

Throughout my studies, I have learned much more about the nature of our people, who had always stressed out peace and eschewed conflict and violence. This has obviously been debunked throughout our real history, including the slave-trade incident I mentioned earlier, but from my knowledge, we'd lived in peace for generations, with only the slaughter of cattle being the pinnacle of violence found on the island. We dove back in our history where our people had to hunt for their meat, where groups of our people would band together as tribes and form two tribes of bare-handed fighters in direct opposition to the council to pursue a part of ourselves we'd ignored for hundreds of years. Yet, as I write these lines, I am unsure on how to proceed with this information. Would our people be better served by knowing of our belligerent past, especially in these times of conquest?

Needless of this quandary, this book is about the overall culture and history of the island's natives, and I will certainly include this knowledge in the following pages.

Though records before the Time of Legends lie beyond the grasp of any regular island native, those who would take the time to walk the unknown paths of the island can find records that are not within the archives of the island's own caretakers. An example of such relics would be the dueling circle of the Bear tribe, left untouched for what could be at least two hundred years, with each starting line as pristine as it had to be when it saw heavy use. The very same with the gold powder used to mark the limits of the circle which, by all means, should have dispersed.

I delved further, locating paths that led me to the extinct Roc tribe's locale, and from there, found more paths that led to areas of the island we've never explored. Areas that were spoken only in hushed tones before, and that we forgot as generations passed. This led me to a cave on the underside of the Roc tribe's cliff, one that they themselves had never found.

From there, I informed the council that I would take an extended leave from official affairs, and began to plan an expedition into the cave. Much like the hunters of old, I had our blacksmith synthesize me a combat-ready hoe pitchfork in secret. I planned on careful rations of dried meat, fruits and nuts as well as water for three days. Perhaps I would not find much of interest inside the cave, but it looked like it would be quite the spelunking trip, and thus I prepared accordingly.

Returning to the cave, I began to explore more. Across my path I saw numerous masks that had been discarded and from the material used, none of it was made out of materials we have access to on the island. They are made of a synthesis of metal and cloth that we simply do not have access to. What is even stranger is that none of them cover the same area of the face. One covers the left side including eye and cheek, another covers the top of the face, another the bottom.

I pressed on, finding more and more masks, as though they had been discarded by those who lived in these caves before we did. At that moment, the idea that they were our ancestors eluded me, I simply thought they were inhabitants of the island that had disappeared. The cave was endless, and the walls had been slathered with carvings and paintings of a language I barely recognized. There was a distinct lack of vowels, in addition to the words themselves being far different than the modern Eorzean language, in addition to the alphabet being barely recognizable.

Further inside, I found less masks, but shreds of discarded robes and other belongings. Each was a treasure trove of new information - I wanted to bring back these artifacts yet I knew I should not disturb them. For all I knew, they were the remnants of a dying people. Still, the fabric was unlike anything I'd ever seen, a blend of animal and plant fabric that seemed extremely sturdy, enough that it survived in this cave all these years.

A day inside, I finally reached the end of the cavern, or should I say... I crossed the entire island underground, on foot. A cove that, from the position of the sun, could only be under the island's mountain. From there, I began searching the area in more detail. In the water lied peculiar debris, carefully worked prior to landing in this cove. What did that mean, I wondered. Searching the water more carefully, I located a rusted rudder, and immediately understood that the debris belonged to a ship.

If this was a ship, there must have been navigation logs. Of course, I did not believe I could read such documents, but it was worth looking for them. My second day was spent entirely looking for such papers. A log, a map... anything. All for naught - all I found was a note, brimming with an energy I'd never experienced before. It penetrated my eyes and left me feeling nauseous. The text rearranged itself in order to make it readable in the letters I had learned - It was a simple love note, wondering if the lovers would remember their love after the end times. Strange be as it may, I do not know any other language than the one you are currently reading.

Allow me this aside to explain that beyond synthesis, our people are not familiar with the workings of Aether. If we access it, it is only accidentally or through very basic rituals that we'd discovered through experimentation. Most of our contact with what makes our very existance is through partial glimpses of its majesty. This piercing memo was the first I'd experienced the power of Aether wielded so masterfully. The only members of our people who have a constant exposure to manipulated aether are those who go off the island. My brother, who is currently adventuring in Eorzea, has mentioned that it may be that our people's aether is constantly in flux, flowing like waves. What would cause that to occur within us and not the rest of the world's populace is, as of now, unknown.