[J] Moments of Zen: #1

Herein are penned the memoirs of one Hyzenthlay Crystari. If you are a gracious soul that has found this work, then I would implore you to return it to the realm of the First and entrust it to Moren for its addition to the Cabinet of Curiosities shelves. If you are not a gracious soul, then pray, I hope you find some use for this tome aside from kindling or privy necessities.

♫ ♦ ♫

Life, since my arrival on Eorzea, has been fraught with new experiences, new things to learn, new people to discover. Yet, as always in my life, it comes with it’s hazards. My thirst for exploration’s ever been prone to getting me into no end of trouble. What begins as a harmless foray into an ancient Ronkan ruin becomes a journey of a million malms, taking me far away from home, far away from all the people I love.

My life here, thusfar, has been one of secrets. A kindly hrothgar who encountered me, lost and alone, took in my story and believed it, but he warned me that others might not. It seems far-fetched, doesn’t it, to touch a relic in some ruin on a distant star, only to blink and find yourself upon another? I hardly believe it myself and I lived the tale! I’ve been wary since then, trusting few, speaking even less. I listen, I learn, and I hope that I do a passable job of passing as just a wandering scholar. So long as no one asks me too many questions. The hrothgar told me to say I’m from a place called Dalmasca, a place distant and known for its mystery. Aside from that, I make no mention of anything else, saying that this is my first time experiencing this, that or the other, which is more or less the truth save for my origins. Oh, how I could use the counsel of the Exarch or even Moren.

I’m not even sure I’ll ever see them again. There seems to be no direct route back to the First that I have yet learned of. No way for me to return home. While I’ve made my peace with that, it can still be difficult at times. Difficult… and lonely.

Or at least it was. I was exploring a ruin in the deserts of Thanalan, taking a rubbing of some ancient script there that the little dwarves in the Ossuary have told me is Belah’dian in origin. So intent was I in obtaining this that I didn’t notice the voidsent implings that snuck up on me. One managed to claw me on the arm, while the other pulled at my hair, I think trying to make me fall off of the fallen pillar I was on top of. I’m no warrior; I have no sword to swing to stay their malicious hands. Nor am I a mage, able to point my wand at them and punish them with the power of the elements. I’m just a librarian. Though they were not large creatures, I had no real way to fight them, no real way to outrun their swift wings. I cried out for help, having little hope that anyone would be in the middle of the desert to hear me

And yet… there was. He was a blur of motion and grace, power and precision. His fists dealt single blows to each imp in turn, dispelling them back to the Void whence they came. He asked after me, how I fared, in my stupefaction of my rescue, I’m surprised I made coherent reply. It was then I noticed the blindfold bound around his eyes. He couldn’t see… but then how did he…? I couldn’t even ask the question in that moment, he sniffed at me like a hound, then told me he would tend to my wounds. He made a poultice from some bitter-smelling gel that he then spread upon some sweet-smelling leaves; these he layered upon the scratches given me by the imps. They’d be better by morning, he said.

There was a strange intensity to everything he did, everything he said, as if no energy was wasted. Everything had intent, purpose, *power* behind it… Like the winter wolf walking the wood. There was a part of me that knew I should be afraid of him, but as he tenderly tended to my wounds, whatever fear there was dissipated. His name, he said, was Keltas, son of Rhoans, child of Rehw-gilda. It was as if the name encompassed everything he is and everything he had the potential to be.

We spoke for a time and I found him at times both mysterious and alluring. I felt… drawn to him, inexorably, like the moth to the flame. It was the first time I’d felt something like that since arriving in Eorzea and I found myself reticent to give it up. Eventually, the time came for us to part ways, but even he himself seemed reluctant to leave. He insisted on escorting me back to my lodgings in Camp Drybone and so he did, leaving me on the threshold of the township before he vanished into the desert night.

Or so I thought…