Eighth Letter to Nysali
Your Grace,
The others are trying to solve a life-or-death puzzle. We're trapped in glass cages and are running out of air and each cage has a mythological beast associated with it. My beast is a centaur and Davynn's is a pegasus so the beasts seem associated with the specific person inside each cage. And so, logically... no, that's all I've got.
Puzzles aren't really my jam. Riddles, I mean. Figuring out mechanisms and such, yes, that's where I shine like a crazy diamond, because there's no human element gumming up the works. To solve a riddle you have to kinda think like the riddler, put yourself in their shoes. It's too much like empathy, which isn't very useful in my line of work.
You know how I so hate to be presumptuous (teehee), but you could take a lesson from me. Still not clear on what triggered this meltdown but if I have this right, your grief over the deaths of Annie and Corrin gave this evil dream-eater you had imprisoned a sliver of an opening, enough to slide into your brain and start fucking shit up. It was a bummer, for sure, but... they were just two people, you know? People are dying by the thousands every second of every day. A constant, global waterfall of corpses pouring into the abyss. You can't let it get to you. That's life.
What we need, you and me, once I rescue you, is a holiday. Fuck Greyloch. Lorholt! The sanitation is subpar but I'll make us breathing apparatuses apparati apparatoises masks and leather suits so that our skin isn't exposed to any free-floating contagions, and we'll find a little hovel to call our own and we'll just study things that make sense, gears and doodads and gizmos. We'll take things apart and put them back together and if anyone knocks on our door we'll tell them to fuck off, sicko and we'll only go outside in our plague suits to pick up take-out and to sniff disapprovingly at the chaotic lifestyles of all those who don't live according to clean, mechanistic principles. No more of this communing with dead queens and keeping the lid on evil dream-eaters and, you know, caring about shit. We will find a box to call home and we will poke some (rigorously filtered) air holes in it and then we will shut the lid on that box and never go out again. Except for take-out.
How's that sound? I will answer for you, since you are currently mind-melded to a tower of geshal stone or whatever. Perfect. It sounds perfect.
My ambitions were too grand before. This is the answer. I see it now.
Yes, it means going east, which is closer to Valwall rather than further away, but Lorholt is as far as we go. There's nothing in Valwall. Don't even ask. Valwall is a shithole. No point in going there. Fuck Valwall.
I wrote letters to the others. Thought I'd given up, thought I was ready to die, so I wrote them all individual notes to say goodbye. But you know what? Turns out, I hadn't given up. NOW I've given up. I am goddamn coming apart. Don't think I even have it in me to die well. Feeling, like... feelings. ME! I tried to hug Kern! Just need to find some hole to crawl into where I can catch my breath, stop my brain from jangling, get my shit in order. Wash off the smell.
Gotta kill this bastard Tem. I don't go back to that day. It's at the bottom of the Blackest Chasm, where I keep all the other days there's no point in revisiting. Lot of coffins down there, but that one's got the most chains wrapped around it. And he just fucking... he slipped in there, like he must have done to you, and he just, like magic... popped it open. Gonna smite that smug smile right to the other side of his face.
Then, a holiday. Maybe even an early retirement. You in?
Rhetorical question. Of course you are. If this whole debacle hasn't taught you the futility, no, the FATALITY of caring, I don't even know what to say. You're an intelligent woman. You must get it by now.
Just gotta escape this cage first. Hope the others with all their vaunted empathy are making some progress on this puzzle.
Oh shit. Irony!
Disregard that last part. Come to Lorholt, where the air tastes like ass but at least no-one pretends it doesn't.
Xylund
PS. It's starting to feel weird, calling myself that. Just another sign that I'm wearing out. You and me, we gotta get out of here.
Xylund's Journal Ordered oldest to newest
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Ninth Letter to Nysali
16/9/2019
-
A Meditation on Diverse Natural Processes
14 Sep 2020 04:42:15
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Meditations on a Grapple Gun
2017 8 29
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Perfect Diamond Geniusness
2017 9 4
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Katt is a Secret Owl: Arguments For and Against
2017 9 27
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A Reluctant Resolution
2017 10 26
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First Letter to Nysali
2017 12 23
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Second Letter to Nysali
2018 1 1
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Third Letter to Nysali
2018 1 19
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Fourth Letter to Nysali
2018 2 4
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Fifth Letter to Nysali
2018 3 7
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Jury Rigging the Engine of Destiny
2018 4 17
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Sixth Letter to Nysali
2018 5 3
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Seventh Letter to Nysali
2018 6 14
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Letter to Davynn
2018 6 25
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The Bloodwell Chronicles
2018 9 30
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Preparing for the Morrow
2019 1 6
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Eighth Letter to Nysali
2019 2 17
16/9/2019
14 Sep 2020 04:42:15
2017 8 29
2017 9 4
2017 9 27
2017 10 26
2017 12 23
2018 1 1
2018 1 19
2018 2 4
2018 3 7
2018 4 17
2018 5 3
2018 6 14
2018 6 25
2018 9 30
2019 1 6
2019 2 17
The major events and journals in Xylund's history, from the beginning to today.
Ninth Letter to Nysali
Your Grace, This will probably the most circuitous break-up letter you'll ever receive. I'll try to lay the pieces out for you, make them fit together. Schematize it all. But this time... this time I'm not sure there IS a hidden order behind it all....
08:59 am - 16.09.2019A Meditation on Diverse Natural Processes
Let me seize this fleeting dip between waves to offer myself some words of encouragement. This is good. I'm happy. It's natural. Yes, this is for the best. The old mechanism wasn't working anymore, that much is obvious. In Greyloch, with all the sch...
04:42 pm - 14.09.2020The list of amazing people following the adventures of Xylund.
Social
Birthplace
Greyloch
Family Ties
Doesn't talk about his family.
Religious Views
The gods are real, obviously, but they're mostly bastards. Grennan's the least worst of the bunch, probably? At least he knows what's what.
Social Aptitude
Some people find his bluntness and absurdist sense of humour disarming, while others don't. Not a smooth talker. Tends to become drenched with flop sweat in situations which require any kind of discretion or pretense.