Well! Hello! Again! I was not expecting to have to do this so soon again… But Lopp said, “Jiyoo, if you do not, how will the world know of your incredible discoveries?” I suggested she tag along on my excursions but she said it is a bit too “creepy spooky,” so here we are. She also said I have to wear this because it is more “on brand” for expeditions. I hope I don’t scratch up my legs!

Despite my best efforts, I was not able to convince many scholars of my findings on Goobfoot. This was disappointing, but not entirely unexpected. They rarely take any proof of cryptids without a body, but if it were so easy to get one, would they be cryptids? And further, who would want to harm such magnificent beasts?

Anyway, after the fiasco that was my presentation and public humiliation, my contact in the academy alerted me to rumors of a spectral being in Thanalan. Without hesitation, I rushed off to Camp Drybone to see what all the fuss was about!

When I came to the dusty town in the ground (Ha! That kinda rhymes!), I was met with many silent faces. Perhaps wary of outsiders, or maybe weary from an evil presence, it did not seem so unusual. I spoke to a sergeant at the guard outpost who simply told me to go up to the church.

The walk up the hill was unpleasant. The sun had just set and something foul was in the air. As I walked past the rusty fences that barely contained an increasingly expansive graveyard, another scent joined the one that hung over this night.

Seeing two figures ahead, I made my way to them, hoping they could explain things better. I did not see what they were standing over, nor would I have ever expected such a thing.

The body of a hyur, decapitated, sprawled in front of the two. They introduced themselves as Sister Merigold and Charlette Stormswallow. Sister Merigold told me the man was a groundskeeper. He had not returned from removing weeds that day and so the two of them set out to find him. Just a few fulms away from the chapel doors, almost to sanctuary, but just shy…

Sister Merigold said in all her years tending to the deceased she had never seen a body so violently rendered inert. I asked for permission to take a closer look and, in spite of her reservations, she relented. The cut looked clean at the neck, but there was something off about it. It was fast, but the blade was rough as if coated in millions of minuscule scales. Weirder, still, there was no blood at the scene, nor had the two women been able to find a trace of the victim’s head.

I asked them if they knew anything in the area that could cause this. Sister Merigold shuddered and said a prayer as Charlette expressed her concerns that this was the work of an unnatural spirit conjured up by the Amalj’aa. The Sanstete Chocobeer. Strange name, I know. She told me I should talk to the garrison at Highbridge. I thanked them both, prayed for the poor groundskeeper, and began the long trek to Highbridge.

At Highbridge I was met again with mostly blank stares and undertones of hostility. The guards there seemed uneasy but no one was particularly alert. It was as if exhaustion had been compacted in all of them, weeks of sleepless nights, no doubt. Mutterings of a headless rider, a ghost, a vision. It sounded almost as if no one believed it, and yet they wandered about as though they were too afraid to rest even for a moment.

Finally, I got through to someone, a young, or possibly old (it is hard to tell, okay?!) lalafell was coherent long enough for me to get some information. According to him, no one had been able to sleep because of the horrible sounds of a screeching chocobo and its thunderous clawbeats. Even with all the commotion, though, no one had ever seen one or its rider. It would ring out as though it was in front of their faces, but never a single sighting. Travelling merchants who had returned from Camp Drybone would share the rumors from town of an unholy being taking lives and heads for sport. The entire garrison here was much too worried to sleep for fear it would come for them.

I asked about the ties to the Amalj’aa. The lalafell told me it would be safer with them than here, but could not say if they were connected to the mysterious spirit. I thanked him and left, walking to a nearby Amalj’aa encampment.

I had heard tale of Amalj’aa who were receptive to outsiders, but I knew better than to encroach into beastkin territory, or rather, I knew not to make my presence known when I did. Fortunately, I was able to infiltrate without raising any alarms. I do not know much about these creatures, but if I had to guess, it looked as though they were under the same sleepless curse as the soldiers at Highbridge. Perhaps a small fortune for me, as I was worried I would reveal myself to them on more than one occasion.

On a boulder, I found scrawlings etched in a hurried manner. It was the Amalj’aa language. I took a stone etching of it and when I returned to the academy, later, the linguist there explained that it translated as, roughly, “headless in cave.” Lucky me, it came with an arrow and I ended up following the directions right to the cave in question! I swear, sometimes my job is 90% accidents.

The cave was, surprisingly, perhaps, well lit. Signs that someone - or someTHING - had been performing some kind of upkeep. Cautiously, I delved deeper until the relatively narrow passage widened into a cavern. Once, long ago, it might have been a shrine to one of the twelve or some other lost deity. Now, though, whatever had been there was desecrated in favor of a new shrine. One that had been used recently.

A large thurible and a candle, both lit recently, based on the incense still burning and the shallow pool of wax. And yet, no signs of anyone around! Stranger and stranger, I thought. Looking around, I found some ceremonial implements placed with care in a ready position, surely used in some sort of occult ritual. I did not have long to inspect things, though, as the silence of the cave alerted me to some eerie sounds that put what I was doing on hold.

Not one to die unnecessarily (or ever, really, I mean let’s be real that would stink), I ducked behind a crumbling statue. The noises grew louder and louder, deeper and heavier until they abruptly ended. Then, silence. Not the silence of a cave, no, but something alien, a void of all noises. And then, just as suddenly, metallic clangs on rock. Footsteps.

I could not bear to miss yet another phenomenon! I swiftly maneuvered around the shrine and peered into the room. Before me was a giant man. It was tough to get a great look, but it appeared as though he was headless. He did not notice me, thank the twelve, but instead, he wandered out of the cave, surprisingly well for a man with nothing which to see.

After he left, I swear I heard the ethereal cry of a Chocobo ringing down the cavernous halls. I have no doubt in my mind! This was the legendary Sanstete Chocobeer, the Rider of the Night, the Headless Choboman.

Unfortunately, that is where this tale ends! I never did find out more about the cult, nor did I spot the towering figure after this. Some say he still roams Thanalan, collecting the heads of those with wicked hearts or just anyone out after dark. So be warned, take heed when you travel the sandy plains at night! You might just meet a gruesome end!