Journal of Caiala Sylphsdottir, Date Unknown. [Closed]

[Alaiac]

Time.

 

Time can be an interesting concept. For some, it does naught but mark the passage of minutes, hours, days, etc. For others, every second, every fraction of a second is potential incarnate.

 

I sit on the bank of a stream just outside Gridania for a while, watching the sudden influx of adventurers rushing about, trying to make the best use of their time possible. Me? I am content to experience time itself, to luxuriate in the inevitability of its passage, in its implaccable progress heedless of anything but itself. It is a bit daunting, trying to live in between the seconds during which we are rushing to and fro, always mindful of where we are, where we are going and where we have been. It is a bit of a shame, really, that more of us don't see when we are, and only focus and when we need to be. It is a strange concept, and one which I still struggle to understand.

 

A voice calls my name and I sigh, my reverie broken. Ah, the remainder of the group has arrived. For now, nameless faces that fulfil a role. That is how I think of them for now at least. There will be time for names later, and if there is not time, then the name is the least of our worries. Duty calls and we nameless faces must take heed. For that is how we are defined, at least to the greater populace. We are those who answer the call, place ourselves in harm's way. and sully our bodies and our souls for a bit of coin or a trinket.

 

I sigh again, knowing that despite my feelings on the matter, the rush awaits. It beckons me, enticing me to push just that little bit further, to take ever greater risks, to find those moments between life and death when even time seems to stop and takes notice of our existence. This is why I call myself 'adventurer.' Glory, money, material wealth are all inconseqential to the brief moments in which I am truly living.

 

My name is called again. It is Sword. The tall Elezen indicates a path through the forest and I fall in with the rest of the group. Bandage, Sword, Spear, Staff and myself. We have been asked to clear out some creatures in the Black Shroud that have been plaguing the citizenry. Their superstitions about this nebulous 'woodsin' are amusing, but I keep my comments to myself. While I do not believe in this 'woodsin,' I do believe in angry mobs. I humor them, of course. Their superstitions have not brought harm to myself thus far, and I manage to avoid rousing the mob's anger. Regardless, there is work to be done.

 

Sword steps off and begins to make his way toward our destination. I can do naught but follow, for somewhere on our path ahead the rush awaits me, I am certain of it.