"I shall willingly hand over the post to Tausenadel. He has a grand story to share with us all!"
Tausenadel Geispyrsyn walks up, "Thank ye, lass!"
Tausenadel Geispyrsyn walks up, "Thank ye, lass!"
![[Image: Rn0RsmO.jpg]](http://i.imgur.com/Rn0RsmO.jpg)
"Ahoy, ye lot. S'good to be here 'gain, in front o' all o' ye. Thank ye, Jancis, for settin' this up. It's a right honor to be standin' here, speakin' o' Llymlaen."
"I've prayed to Her all me life. When the seas were smooth as glass but we had cargo spoilin' or when we were hopin' to hide in some mist, only to have the sun come blazin' from behind a cloud, we knew She was teachin' us a lesson. That the Course doesn't always go where ye please it, but that doesn't mean She ain't still at the wheel."
"Ye don't always know where yer goin' to end up. Who ye'll meet on a cloudy day on a hill. How they'll change yer life. How they'll leave ye too soon. Ye don't know how ye'll carry on but the Course doesn't care for yer excuses. Yer on Her schedule. Not yers. Anyroad, I got a story for ye all on that subject. I was thinkin' o' singin' a shanty but most o' the'uns I know are 'bout beddin' lasses so...ahem. Here we go."
♣♦♣♦♣
Many cycles ago, long a'fore Eorzea had come to know such a menagerie as stand a'fore me now, there were great migrations. I'd heard o' the miqo'te tribes comin' ov'r durin' an age when the seas had froze an' ye could stomp yer 'way 'cross from where ev'r ye hailed.
The lad who told me, git named O'larth, was the worst cheat at Liar's Dice I'd ev'r seen, so I took it with a grain o' salt. But he told me o' his clan's origin. Their trail to what became their home. An' how sometimes, ye jus' lose sight o' what's 'round ye when ye've a goal on yer mind.
The lead'r o' the miqo'te tribe gave an ear to a young fath'r who had the daft idea o' crossin' the newly iced sea, to scout out an' see what was on the farth'r side. He wanted to take his family, to hunt undiscov'red beasts and spread the tribe. The lead'r consid'red this an' aft'r a few suns' thought, gave the fath'r leave to gath'r a cart, supplies an' his kin. He would leave in the mornin'.
The ice part is borin', or at least that's what the lad on me ship said. It picks up, days lat'r, as the family arrives on the shores o' Eorzea, Thanalan to be exact. Diggin' his toes into the cold sand, the fath'r led the cart up onto land an' they all rushed eag'rly up the nearest tall hill to have a look 'round. They were not disappointed.
The land 'round them was sandy, aye, but green on the edges. Packs o' critt'rs wand'red to an fro, open for huntin'. As the sun began to set, the fath'r spied a shimm'r in the distance. A lake, reflectin' the sun! He declared that their goal an' they set off in the mornin' with chests puffed full with bravado.
The cart was ill equipped for des'rt travel, so it took a bit long'r to get rollin' than they would o' liked. Progress was slow but their home was only a few days o' travel. Some o' the critt'rs were easy to hunt an' tasty, too. But as the days went on, the tasty'uns were hard'r to find. Only large ants an' oth'r foul beasts roamed the side o' their trail.
'un o' his daught'rs pointed out a glade off the course they were settin', headin' north to what looked like trees. But the fath'r only had ears for that lake. He knew it in his bones he'd find home there. They passed a beach'un day, the wat'r unfrozen an' fish swimmin' 'bout. His son meekly asked to settle here. It had been suns long'r than they'd thought it would have taken. The fath'r pressed on.
In this new land, sickness was fearful and his son took to some strange illness. They placed him in the cart but the fath'r said 'We've traveled too far to stop now. It's jus' a few days more!" A few days passed an' the seemed no clos'r. His son passed layin' in the cart, they buried him in the sand. The fath'r barely stopped to mourn him.
'un o' his daught'rs again appealed to him, askin' to stop in a valley they were trekkin' through. Here he falt'red...until they crested the hill an' he saw his lake a'fore them. His glee was temp'red by the sight o' the ground 'round the lake. Jagged rocks, no soil an' the wat'r itself muddy an' useless. A bog, not a lake. He had passed so many homes, so many futures for what? Turnin' the cart 'round, they made their way back to the beach his departed son had wanted.
Here they settled. The fath'r sent his quickest daught'r back to the tribe, to tell them they were safe. They drew a map, naming the path they'd taken aft'r his son. O'regon's Trail. With this, p'rhaps the tribe could join them. They had found home, but only aft'r learnin' the destination ain't the most import'nt part o' a journey.
Llymlaen may not o' been their God. Hells, they might not o' had names for the Twelve then. But She was still watchin' ov'r them. Still layin' their Course. She showed them places to settle, homes they could o' had but the fath'r kept passin' by, thinkin' he knew what he was doin'. He should o' let Llymlaen take the wheel an' he paid with his son. They learned lat'r the sickness was called dysentery. Not sure why I told ye that.
![[Image: aosfdPm.jpg]](http://i.imgur.com/aosfdPm.jpg)
![[Image: oregon-trail-died-of-dysentery.png]](http://steve-lovelace.com/wordpress/wp-content/uploads/2012/06/oregon-trail-died-of-dysentery.png)
"Anyroad. Thank ye for havin' me. Praise the Course an' may ye all have smooth sailin'."
"Is a true story, Tausen?"
"As true as I can confirm! But that lad was a bastard so...eh!"
![[Image: hpThOka.png]](http://i.imgur.com/hpThOka.png)
