Jugner Forest: a vegetation-rich patch of thickly-rooted trees between the gloomy La Thiene Plateau and the (quite frankly) unpleasant Batallia Downs. Although the bureaucratic Jeunoan government has declared Jugner safe for adventurers, orcs still roam the area. (You get that a lot. One thing or another "still roams the area" more often than not. You'd think we'd get the hang of it by now.) Mostly, Jugner awkwardly sits in a state of barbaric conquest between the gruesome, blood-thirsty orcs and the New Jersian, profit-hungry Goblins.

Not a whole lot Jugner can do about that is there? I mean, what are the trees gonna do? Nothing. Except walk. Some trees can walk. They still give me the heebie-jeebies.

While Jugner hums along to itself about the irony of its situation, spawning a few walking trees here and there to creep me out, there are a few points about it that should be made clear. First of all, you must understand that adventurers are the most important people in the world. Don't give me that look, you know it. So, when something is relevant to adventurers, it becomes important itself. (This philosophy would explain why the cost of a simple Meat Mithkabob nearly quadrupled in price in a short period of time.) One of these things is the orcish camp of Davoi. Don't go in there. Just don't. (You'd notice it by the hanging humanoid skulls on the outside and the sign that says "NO COME HERE NOT ORC". They aren't very good with people-language but one must merit their efforts. Or not.)

And probably THE most important thing in all of Vana'diel resides here, too, as well as at two other completely different yet equally ironic places. That thing is called Ballista. Also more formally known as National Conflict, it was originally a training exercise by the temple knights of San d'Oria, but now this game has become both an overnight sensation and a long-lasting traditional sport. Jugner Forest, in its entire wonderfully confused ecosystem, was chosen as one of the ballista arenas of Vana'diel. Ballista just wouldn't work indoors.

Containing that refreshing knowledge, the story concerning us involves a particularly un-particular day in Jugner Forest, (aside from the fact that the next exciting ballista was scheduled to take place here), following the passenger of an especially large-sized chocobo.

"Goddangit, I hope I'm not late." The galka said in a gruff voice. He, like all galka, was about three times as heavy as a hume, three times as wide, and one and a half times as tall. His hands were the size of small pies. His rough, wild orange hair normally partially covered his face but now was slicked back. He looked powerfully muscular, only the slightest bit chubby. He was wearing an orange doublet with a white sash around his waist and white slacks. On his feet he wore kyahan. At his sides were two dangerously sharp claw weapons. On his chocobo he traveled, over the dirt-patched road, about three times faster than a man could run, when he saw what he was looking for.

"Ahhh…! THAT's what I been lookin' for!" he said to himself, relieved. What he saw was a very small one-story wooden building with two torches in the front of it. The outpost. Surrounding the outpost was a small clearing, and around it were trees at least thirty feet tall. These trees were about ten feet apart. Within a few moments, he was right at the building, when he quickly dismounted his chocobo and shouted a triumphant cry, unsheathing a metal claw from his left side and thrusting it in the air. "YEH! Let's see them San d'oids beat THIS!" he bellowed, and when he sheathed his claw, he heard a voice behind him and jumped three feet into the air. "GGEARAH!"

"Hello, sir, do you wish to participate in conflict? This next match will pit the forces of San d'Oria against the forces of Bastok." the figure behind him asked with an I-don't-have-a-life-other-than-this smile. He was a hume with blonde hair on which he wore a black beret, sporting a checkerboard-patterned orange and black brigandine doublet and an official-looking quarterstaff on his back. He was holding a clipboard and a feather pen. He was the Herald of the upcoming match.

"Ehh… conflict?" and for a moment the galka was afraid he'd come to the wrong place and had dismounted his chocobo for no good reason, and he might have to come across a giant walking tree to get where he belonged, on foot… but a split second after all these thought passed through his mind he realized, "Oh, course, you mean the ballista… yeah I'm here for it" he said loudly. That was his nature, to say things loudly, you see. "I'll be on the Bastokan team, ya know."

"Of course…" said the hume, looking up at him with a slightly more strained smile. The galka was clearly at least two feet taller than him. He appeared to then make scribbling notes on his clipboard and turned away to his post at the side of the building, to wait for more participants. "And what is your name, sir?" looking up again.

"Jumpin' Hound" the galka replied, in a voice that could start a bar fight. See, traditional galkan names consist of two words, the first being an adjective (or possibly a gerund or participle) and the second being a noun. Commonly that noun was an animal. He eyed the hume suspiciously as he made further notes on his clipboard. "So, eh, I'm the first one here?" Jumping Hound said anxiously.

"The first of many, I assume, sir. Participants still have several hours to request entry." He said with the slightest politeness.

"Several hours! Eh… I s'pose I can catch up on some sleep…" the galka said with a groan. He extremely exaggeratingly and loudly cracked all his knuckles and strolled over to the nearest tree, which was behind the wooden building. He sat down with his back to it, stretched out his legs and put his hands behind his head. The tree shook as his back fell onto it. "'Ey, don't lemme fall asleep through the beginning of the match, will ya? AH-HAHAHA!—ha, ha…" he had a huge laugh. Then he trailed off, closing his eyes and relaxing underneath the morning sun and with the sound of beetles clicking. He was soon sound asleep. (Keep in mind they were 4-foot-long beetles. Praise those adventurers.)

"I'm not paid enough for this…" the herald whispered to himself through his smile, which quickly faded.

A couple of hours later…

"Are you sure that this is the right way?" the elvaan said in an annoyed voice. His kampfbrust armor clanged metallically as he casually walked along the grassy dirt path, where only a few hours before Jumping Lizard's chocobo had galloped on it. His hair was smooth and black, he was tall but not as tall as a galka, and he had long, pointed ears. At his left side was a sheathed sword, and on his right was a stunningly smooth shield. He never used the shield, and he only really ever paid attention to it at royal parties. 'Ah, yes, that saved me from the fearsome Black Dragon once! Excellent performance against some of the most vicious attacks I've seen!' he would say to a bemused temple knight while sipping some fine San d'Orian Tea. Temple knights really know little of the world outside San d'Oria and the surrounding Ronfaure Forest, and in this highly un-dangerous section of the world, monsters rarely were above level 9.

"Pshhhyeah…" breathed his companion walking beside him, an elvaan much like himself, only with untidy orange hair. He wore equipment for noct and carried a sharply curved crossbow and bolt quiver on his back. "Relax, man, it's like… right around here…" he looked around a bit, and stumbled forward on a twig before catching himself. "Somewhere…"

"Hm, yes, well, I do hope you're right." The paladin said, eyeing the ranger disapprovingly. The ranger seemed to notice this and was agitated by it, so he flung his arms up and said in a mocking voice, "Hm, well, yes, I DO hope you stop being stuck-up."

The paladin looked shocked. "How dare you mock me…!"

"It's easy, watch. Hello, I'm a big rich moron!" he said while crossing his eyes. "Hey, watch out…" But he didn't say it in time because the paladin walked straight into a tree. "Well, we're at the outpost I see." And indeed they hadn't noticed until now that they were about 10 feet away from the wooden building.

"OUCH! Why, if I ever…" the paladin backed away while rubbing his head, the ranger was laughing hysterically, and then they both froze as they heard a loud rumbling noise.

"Was that like, a snore?" the ranger goggled. "Sounded like one." He dashed around to the back of the building. "Ha, hey, check this out, I think this guy's our competition."

The paladin ran to join him. "What are you talking about…" And he saw a galka sitting under the shade of the tree, apparently asleep. They both winced as he gave another huge snore.

"Hello, sirs, do you wish to participate in conflict? This match will pit the forces of San d'Oria against the forces of Bastok. " the herald suddenly said from behind them.

"What?" the paladin snapped as he turned around quickly, as he wasn't in a very good mood at the moment. "Ah, yes… my friend and I will be joining the San d'Orian forces."

"Word." The ranger declared.

"And your names are?" questioned the herald.

"I am Sir Chevaultiare d'Eriancias IV, and this is…" answered the paladin, motioning toward the ranger.

"Tony." he said lazily, looking bored.

"Understood." The herald replied as he made some notes. "There are still a few hours left until conflict entry ends." He said when he was done, and turned away back to his post.

"Hey Chevy, bet I can hit that beetle from here?" the ranger pointed to a beetle about a hundred feet behind him.

"Don't… call me… Chevy…" the paladin said through clenched teeth.

"Riiiight…" Tony said as he was already taking aim. A moment later, "BAM! Did you see that bugger go down?"

An hour later…

"And, uh, which side will you wish to join, Lah Mhokot?" the Herald asked with a stupid smile.

"Bastok, of courrrse." Replied the mithra. She had a small cat-like grin on her war-painted face, and her orange hair was gracefully tied around her furry triangular ears. She wore a delicately-made black tunic laced with intricate white designs, and black slacks to match. (And there were fifteen of these tunics currently up for auction at the duchy of Jeuno. Takes the mystique out of it, eh?)

After making some clumsy notes, the Herald stuttered, "All right, um, well, it's all SeTTLed", his voice choking on the last word. "The other participants are congregated behind the outpost but you're welcome to stay out here and enjoy the view." He added quickly and hopefully.

"Otherrr parrrticipants? Oooh, I'll go see them!" she said excitedly and skipped away, without a look back, with her tail swinging behind her. When she was out of sight, the Herald sighed dejectedly, and slapped his own face.

"Bah, what was I thinking…" he muttered to himself.

Not too much later…

"San d'Oria, my good man, San d'Oria!" exclaimed the beastmaster, a hume with a rugged beard, wearing scale mail and carrying a frightening axe at his left side. He gave the Herald a hearty pat on the back; the Herald gave a nervous smile while looking down at his notes.

"Alright, Bill… it's all settled. The match will start in about half an hour."

Three seconds later…

Bill bid the Herald goodbye and turned to walk toward the back of the outpost. As he turned the corner, he saw the galka yet still sleeping under the tree, snoring loudly. Chevaultaire looked very pleased to see another face, as he was very bored. Lah Mhokot was wandering around the forest a few dozen yards away, curiously looking at everything she could, as if it were interesting in some way. But the first thing Bill plainly noticed shocked him, as Tony was taking aim with his crossbow at a thread leech that had stumbled into the adventurers' presence.

"Hold still, ya dumb thing…" and just as he was about to pull the trigger, he saw Bill charm the leech as it bounced toward his new master, and Tony swung around wildly as his crossbow went off, launching it with a doink into the tree Jumping Hound was yet still sleeping under, just above his head.

"Eh?" Hound yawned sleepily, before giving a rock-shattering snore.

Tony looked like he was about to throw something. "Now what'd ya go and do that for! You saw me aiming at the thing!" as he motioned angrily at Bill. Bill simply crouched down next to his new pet, the leech, and gave it a treat of some sort in one hand as he pet it consolingly with the other. When he stood up, he released the leech, and it went bouncing with a sickly noise away from the outpost into a ravine where it belonged. Chevaultaire looked impressed; Tony looked stupefied.

Bill shook his head as he said to nobody in particular, "What a waste…"

Tony, through his messy orange hair, had his suspicious eyes focused on Bill. "Look, the bolt wasn't that expensive…"

"Not the bolt, you moron! The beast! The life! A living part of the natural ecosystem of the forest, and you were about to kill it in a snap!" said Bill angrily.

"Dude, it's just a… in a snap? Well, I am pretty awesome…" said Tony as he gazed into the distance.

"Excuse my friend here…" interjected Chevaultaire quickly. "He's just… ah, unappreciative. What is your name, good sir?"

"Bill. Likewise?"

"Sir Chevaultaire d'Eriancias IV, Chevaultaire will do." Tony made a loud coughing noise. "This is… Tony…" Tony gave a sarcastic smile and paced toward the front of the outpost.

"I'm just gonna… check with the Herald guy to see when this match is gonna start." He said as he tried to walk away purposefully.

"Quite…" continued Chevaultaire, "and we don't quite know who this galka is but we can only assume that he is participating as well…"

"ATTENTION!" boomed a voice that sounded like the herald's. Jumping Hound awoke with another "GGEARAH!" as he stood up and did a double take in both directions while unsheathing his claws. Meanwhile, the others listened as the voice said "The entry period for this match is about to end. This match will pit the forces of Bastok against…"

"Yeh yeh, the San d'oids…" predicted Hound, still sleepy.

"… the forces of San d'Oria." continued the magically-intensified voice.

A stricken Tony staggered over to where the others were again and said, "Well, 'soon', apparently."

In the distance, Lah was coming towards them, having heard the voice and excitedly ran back to the outpost. "Oooh, it's about to starrrt!" she shrieked and purred, bouncing with excitement.

Just then, they all heard a noise that sounded like a dying trumpet was giving out one last comical note before it faded into nothingness. That sound could only mean one thing: someone was warping. Indeed, the Herald looked interested but not entirely surprised at a giant dark sphere forming in the fabric of space and getting smaller and smaller with its typical fading noise, to reveal a sight that strikes horror into the hearts of monsters the world over.

"HOLDY-WOLDY EVERYTHING!" panted the high-voiced tarutaru that had appeared. The two-foot mage had a round head covered in bushy brown hair and wore a tunic that was similar to the one Lah was wearing except significantly smaller. He was panting heavily as if he had just run a sprint race. "Is it… too late to… sign uptaru for the… match?" He finally said while still panting. The five participants had come around the side of the outpost to see what was going on and, one by one, their heads lowered and their eyes fell on the little tarutaru.

"Err... no, you're just in time. Due to an influx of participants, you will be placed of the Bastokan side for this match…" began the Herald.

"No no no! Silly-willy, I'm Windurstian!" yelled the tarutaru, having caught his breath, although his yelling was no louder than his talking.

"Small dude… Windurst isn't even like, in this match." Said Tony.

The tarutaru looked shocked, and then stared at the herald questioningly. The Herald nodded and said, with Jumping Hound mocking every word, "This match will pit the forces of San d'Oria against the forces of Bastok."

"BLASTARU! I've been tricked again!" exclaimed the tarutaru, stamping his feet on the grass in frustration. "Well, I supposey-wosey I can play the game on Bastoktaru…"

"Excellent…" said the Herald, making his typical notes. "Taru, what is your name?"

"Pulo-Wajulo, at your service" he replied as he bowed quickly, and then looked behind his shoulder, seemingly distracted.

The others eyed Pulo suspiciously; he was so self-agitated that he seemed a firework about to go off.

"The match is about to start! Line up!" suddenly shouted the Herald. This took them all by surprise, and they looked up and quickly jumped up and took their positions creating two rows on either side of the Herald, facing one another. This was the scene: on one side stood Chevaultaire, Tony, and Bill; on the other stood Jumping Hound, Lah Mhokot and Pulo-Wajulo. Hound put his hand up and whispered to his teammates, "Don't worry guys, this'll be cake". At the same time, Tony put his hand up and whispered to his teammates, "Don't worry guys, this'll be cake." Out of nowhere, Lah started giggling senselessly. Chevaultaire paid no attention to Tony, and checked his nails while trying to look bored instead. Bill was eyeing up the competition shrewdly, and Pulo was fretting incessantly about how the whole San d'Oria team was made of big people, and started panicking.

"And… oh boy… my favorite part…" moaned the Herald as he pulled out a scarlet handbook. (If you know how ballista is played, feel free to skip to the next paragraph now). "A reading from the ballista rulebook. This match includes three participants and the San d'Orian team and three participants on the Bastokan team. Therefore, the total rooks in this match will be one. Around the map are petras, buried underground. Points are awarded by first quarrying the petras, then defeating then defeating an opposing team member in battle or being near an enemy's defeat. This allows one to acquire 'gate breach', and only once you have acquired gate breach status may you score your quarried petras by throwing them into the rook. The match will last one full day, starting at midnight." For it was very late now, close to midnight. "At the end of the match, the team with the most points awarded will be victorious."

If Jumping Hound was awake, he would have said 'duh'. But in fact, everyone was asleep while standing by the time the Herald was finished speaking. "Ahem…" the Herald coughed as he pulled a blow horn out of his back pocket. He held it high, shut his eyes tight and pulled it. The noise woke everyone up with a start, a "GGEARAH!" was heard, and the Herald said with a satisfied grin, "Go".