Eorzean Script Novels & Stories

The pages are old, discoloured, cracked parchment; the ink faded to near-invisible brown. The lighting in the scans is also not great. But it’s all I have. I zoom in on one section, squinting at the looping script. It’s written in a mix of Latin and something even older that is apparently a dialect that pre-dates the Moon Goddess era. I recognise a few Latin words and write them down as I go, hoping I can piece enough together. Light, dawn, balance, creation, the list goes on.

The phone beeped with a text message, “Read that Goofy, it is something I manage to dug out from somewhere. Will tell you more when we meet. Goodnight.” She ran her eyes over the scripture and fixed on a writing which was not English but what she knew as the language of the ancient gods thousands of years ago. She managed to learn the basics of it years ago so she was fairly good to read it. Slowly she read what was written and figured out that it was “The Bracelet of Uraos” and the sapphire gem was called “Eye of Ayelet”.

she called out. We all rushed over. Mother Elara was holding a book so old the leather cover was nearly black. The pages were yellowed and fragile. The text was written in an ancient language I didn't recognise. "Can you read it?" I asked. "Yes," Mother Elara said. "It's Old Wolf Script. From before the tribes separated." She carefully turned the pages. Then stopped on one that had a drawing of a wolf skull with three claw marks. The same symbol that the Shadow Clan had left on the wall.

"Austin is breathing. Barely." I kindled violet light in my palm and the glow revealed walls covered in writing. Not carved. Burned. The letters twisted like smoke frozen mid-rise, and they moved when I looked at them directly, squirming beneath the surface of the stone like worms in wet soil. "Your family," Seraphina breathed, her fingers hovering over a line of text that pulsed silver against the dark. "This is Duskbane script." I stepped closer and the writing responded, brightening where my shadow fell across it. The first line resolved into words I could read without trying, the language settling into my skull like water finding its own level.

Caela appeared in the east wing doorway at the eleventh hour. She had been in the records hall with Maren since morning. She came in now with the specific quality she had when she had finished something and wanted them to know. She said: "Section thirty-one." Nyra said: "You wrote it." She said: "Yes." She said: "In the new writing system." She said: "Yes." She held out the paper. The new writing system was precise and structured — the standard characters with the layered language marks above and below, building a density of meaning that standard writing could not carry. She had been writing in it for two months. Maren could read it now. Nyra was still learning.

This Oryn thought he was unlovable. She raised her hands. She didn't wave. She moved her fingers in a fluid, complex pattern. < Your angle is wrong. You're grinding the bevel too steep. > Oryn froze. The whetstone clattered to the floor. He stared at her hands. Then he stared at her face. His grey eyes were wide, the pupils blown with shock. It wasn't standard ASL. It was Mercenary Sign. A dead language from the trenches of the Euro-Wars. A dialect used only by the unit Oryn had served in. A unit that was entirely dead.

Katie remained skeptical at first but she couldn’t ignore the fact that whatever the voice said made everything fit together… and the unifying theme was because she was supposed to awaken. “So you’re saying this island, Oreis, is mine,” Katie scanned the writings on the cave walls again, “And that I’m the incarnation of Miss… who is the Oracle of Oreis?” Katie’s gaze stopped at the word ‘oracle’ written in Goldthornian script, “But if she’s the oracle of this place, who is she speaking for?” “No. And even I do not know,” the voice admitted. “But you live in servitude to the gods all the same.”

Old magic that made my fur want to stand on end. The obelisk was black stone. Not gray like everything else here. The silver ash would not stick to it. Symbols glowed faint blue along its sides. "Can you read it?" Kael asked. I walked closer. The ancient pack script was worn but readable. My father taught me the old tongue when I was a pup. "It's a prophecy," I said. My throat felt tight. "What kind?" I traced the symbols with one finger. They felt warm under my touch. Alive.

Strange symbols filled them, but the language wasn’t unfamiliar. Kevin leaned closer, holding the torch higher. “Can you read it?” “Some of it,” I murmured, scanning the lines. “It’s written in the old script used by the first moon priestesses.” It look almost like a spell book, some were written in words I can’t even recognize. “What does it say?” Erik asked. I flipped a few pages until one caught my eye—a drawing of a small white plant with silver-tipped leaves. Beneath it were the words Purifying Grass. My eyes widened slightly.

Opened. Light spilled out, soft, golden, not harsh. Inside, scripture. Endless scripture. The walls themselves were inked in flowing lines of Veydrin script, a language so old, so lost, that even those born of Veydrin blood could barely piece fragments of it together. And yet, every symbol now glowed. Whole. Clear. Alive. Symbols spiraled from floor to ceiling, woven through carvings of stars collapsing, worlds folding, light breaking, and then, re-forming.