The Bloodwell Chronicles

Many of these notes appear to have been written under adverse conditions, perhaps on horseback, and thus are largely unreadable. The illegible bits are indicated by ellipses.
 
Day 1
 
Not sure how … Gayle’s notes … haven’t seen him writing for … and this is all good stuff! … goat-loving teenagers. Secret underground society … hidden order beneath the visible … preserved in gem form for eternal posterity … all cuz I bled into the well. And they thought I was mad! But not supposed to talk … it. Gripping stuff though.
 
… pick up the slack. Need something to occupy … Snoffunfx steers himself … can’t talk … Bloodwell Guard but ideas are rushing like a vast rushing … a sideways ocean of ideas … with just the tiniest adjustment … nudge, all the leaves and twigs and angles and planes in the forest around me would fall into … the naked Monkinator! … trick is finding the pressure point … where and when …
 
Egads, I love brocaine!
 
Day 2?
 
… kinda blurring into a mash … hours or days since I last wrote … bit of a comedown … paid attention to Sia, I suppose. Still vertical though! … want another hit but probably … Gayle’s not a fan of … no stopping! Have to protect Amra’s secrets … no time, no time. If I can eat in the saddle, so can … don’t snort at me, Gayle!
 
Day 2.5ish
 
So apparently those weren’t just stroppy teenager noises. Gayle puked all down Snoffunfx’s back and into his tail. Mental note: kids and road trips don’t mix.
 
We found a mining camp where we washed the crusty sick out of Snoffunfx’s tail. I helped because I’m SUCH a WONDERFUL HUMAN BEING! Write that down, Gayle. “XYLUND IS A CHAMP!”
 
Actually, Snoffunfx is the real champ here. Super mellow, never complains, just keeps moving forward without ever looking back. He’s kinda my hero.
 
Shaved my head to adopt the guise of Klazham Shlazharam, mul messenger for the Augmented Eye, to slip through the gates. Bought a raggedy cloak from one of the miners. One whole gold piece! Just need some ashes from the miners’ fire to smear into my skin to fully disappear into the role. But a short nap first. Then one more snort of brocaine and the final push into Lorholt.
 
Day 2.7598547
 
… burns all over my arms … goat-loving miners … radiant mace, blood and brains … dove into the fire … ashes, so victory? … lesson: don’t fuck with a holy man’s horse!
 
… walls and smoke ahead … brocaine to focus … be like Snoffunfx, don’t look back … past is the past … Lorholt ho!
 
Day 3.9234897001715098715908715897568907367, approx.
 
Well, that was a day.
 
Room is spinning. The mother of all brocaine comedowns. Only moments before I pass out. Hope Gayle is getting some of this down when I’m not looking.
 
Trouble at the gates. Had to extemporize. Didn’t go well. Main problem: my plan was fucking absurd. Scolded Gayle for not alerting me to that fact in a timely manner. But not too harshly, since he kinda pulled my ass out of the fire.
 
Met with the Marked. Didn’t learn much, other than that “Uther” is some kind of enlightened sage. No hard feelings at all for us hanging him and robbing him of his voice that one time. Super chill, like Snoffunfx in human form.
 
Had to send Snoffunfx back to Grennan’s horse heaven, sadly, cuz of the whole no-magic thing. He assured me that horse heaven is alright, even if the other horses there are kinda dicks. But the grass is flavourful and grey, at least.
 
Oh, whatserface of the Marked, I wanna say Stella? Uther’s sister. She showed me where the manor from whence the super-important magical doohickey, probably the dragon orb, was stolen. Vochan symbol on the gate! Significant.
 
Gayle and I infiltrated the place. Held at gunpoint by Not-Auron the Not-Bard, out of his mind on vapor wine. Gave him a toke on my flute-pipe (goodbye, last of the bloodmoss) to send him to dreamland and continued searching the place. Not much to find. No dangerous arcane lore to keep from Ulric. Haste unnecessary, turns out. Information though: Not-Auron is the public face of Faergar Vochan, who is the true creative genius behind the persona of Auron, the famed Bard, as well as the owner of the manor; the place was under the protection of the Falarun until the dragon orb was stolen by kobolds; Faergar left Lorholt in pursuit of it; Not-Auron, being an illiterate dunce, has been freaking out alone in his big draughty mansion ever since.
 
Ffffffffffffffffffff… I should’ve taken his gun to study.
 
Day 5 or 6
 
I slept in.
 
Fun day though, aside from the continued aftereffects of my brocaine bender. Hired a gnome to fix the door I smashed in Vochan Manor (I’ll just board up the window myself, no need to go crazy with the coin). Informed Not-Auron of my repair arrangement only to find that he was SO out of his mind when last we spoke that he didn’t even remember me. Thought I was there in response to an ad he’d given the town criers, looking for someone to chronicle his adventures. Didn’t realize it at first but he TOTALLY stole that idea from me. Is there no end to this dude’s shameless plagiarism?
 
But I feel bad for the guy, all alone, drugged out of his mind, watching his world fall apart around him. Because I am a SAP! Write that down, Gayle. “XYLUND HAS A HEART AS BIG AND MOIST AS THE GODDAMN OCEAN!”
 
So I thought I’d hook him up with Rana, a dwarf acquaintance of Gayle’s who works for the Augmented Eye in a sorta quasi-slavish capacity. Was gonna offer to free her but she seemed cool with the arrangement? I dunno, dwarves are weird. A mul wouldn’t stand for that shit. Just one of the many points of cultural friction which preclude any true understanding between her kind and mine. I AM LIMPITICUS!
 
Anyway, she’s a fan of Auron (not knowing that he’s a FRAUD) and she’s a scholar to boot, so I figured she’d jump at the chance to write his biography. Turned out I was right, but UNFORTUNATELY my own genius outpaced me for I was ALSO right about Gayle having a crush on Rana. I’d been teasing him about it but I didn’t suspect that he ACTUALLY…. I mean, she’s a dwarf. She’s probably, like, fifty years old. Not to mention the beard…. Which, okay, no judgment if he’s into beards but I think he might be getting his wires crossed? Like, maybe it’s not so much the beard as it is the siren song of the, ah, lower bits which usually come packaged with beards that he’s heeding? Or, setting that to one side, how about someone closer to his own age? Someone with some overlapping life experiences? Or is this some kind of weird mother issue…? Ugh, I don’t wanna know. Keep your psychodramas in your pants, Gayle!
 
Long story short, my arrangement worked out beautifully for everyone except Gayle, who is now extremely jealous and pissed at me.
 
Still, lovely evening. We went to a theatre beneath the streets of Lorholt and saw a play called The Song of Silence (by a playwright named Varyan who turned out – surprise! – to also be Faergar) which was very moving as well as being very pertinent. If the play is to be trusted – and it hews close enough to the truth that I think it can be, especially considering its source – the dragon orb was made from the heart of an ancient dragon named Avracrys the Mighty, slain by an elven sorceress who seems a dead ringer for Amra Maran. His mate, Sugo the Voiceless (whose throat was slit by the same sorceress), still haunts the high wastes, vengeful and cunning. I’m guessing she isn’t too fond of anyone who’s had their filthy paws on her beloved’s heart. Something Kern and the others might want to know as they head into kobold country.
 
I paid for the meal after the play because of course I did. Oceanic heart and all. Did they hang around outside the restaurant to thank me for showing them such a lovely time? And for basically fixing their lives by fitting them all together? Of course not. No, instead I had Gayle glaring daggers into my back as we returned to the inn. He stomped up to bed and I thought, “You know what would cheer that boy up? Whores!” So I sent for a couple – a dwarf woman and a human male so that he could maybe sort out his proclivities once and for all – but then realized that could be interpreted as overstepping the bounds of propriety, and might seem a bit crude to him in his fragile emotional state, so I sent them away. Told Gayle about it in the morning but did I get any points for my tact and emotional sensitivity? Of course not!
 
Teenagers! They’re impossible.
 
Day(s) 7 and/or 8 and/or 9
 
… helluva drug … sluggish as fuck … phantasmagoria, tied to Snoffunfx, slipping in and … sun and moon skipping … hills and trees streaming … awake or asleep …
 
A day of indeterminate denomination
 
Whitfeld! It occurred to me that Sir Segar might be able to help me shake off this druggy malaise. Also… maybe seduce Davynn’s mom while I’m there? Become his step-dad. Give him a step-brother. Decided against it though.
 
Don’t wanna think about Davynn. Giving him that note was a mistake. Moment of sentimentality. Kid’s still an idealist, after all. Still doomed.
 
And then he wrote back some nonsense about fake notes? What the fuck was that?! Even oceans (and hearts the size thereof) have feelings! That’s what Inelene’s for: to make sure that no-one takes the ocean for granted because THE OCEAN DOESN’T NEED YOUR SHIT, DAVYNN!!
 
Segar did a cleansing thing on me but he charged five gold. Five gold! This is why all the other gods think Ryldis is a dick, guy.
 
Gayle and I had an argument about whether or not paladins are equivalent to priests. Guess which side Gayle took? Shut up, Gayle.
 
Departed Whitfeld, lest I be tempted by the sensual wiles of Davynn’s mom, and stayed the night at The Ding ‘n’ Sich, where I found solace in the arms of another. While thinking of Davynn’s mom.
 
Gayle wanted to hear nothing about my amorous conquest, even after I brought him breakfast in bed. I should track down Gayle’s mom and seduce HER, just to make it official, since I’m already basically his step-dad. Can’t do anything right by this kid. How can I understand if you won’t communicate? LET ME IN, GAYLE!
 
The day after that one, or maybe the day after that (see, this is why I need someone else to do the chronicling)
 
It’s been some amount of time. Some time has passed. We’re in the mountains, in Uthalu’s cave, which we found after no small amount of blundering about. Gayle was on the brink of insulting the dragon by turning his nose up at her home-cooked meat but I salvaged the situation by convincing her he’s a vegetarian. We had some fun at his expense which probably did little to repair my deteriorating relationship with the boy but I’m just putting out the fire you started, Gayle.
 
Told Uthalu about the death of Annie and Corrin because it’s a cold, dark world out there and if I’m going to leave Gayle in her care while I venture deeper into kobold country, she needs to be aware of the dangers we face. She didn’t take it well so Gayle and I performed one of Varyan’s plays to cheer her up. Don’t quit your day job, Gayle, that’s all I’m saying.
 
I seem to be at least a few days behind Kern and the others. No telling what I’m gonna find up there. Gayle isn’t too stoked to be staying behind with the little dragon but it’s a helluva lot better than taking him to meet the big dragon. You’d think a researcher would be more keen to interview a dragon, even a small one like Uthalu, but… not so much, it turns out. I blame teenage hormones. Probably daydreaming about women with beards.
 
So off I go on the morrow, to save or bury my former companions. Trying not to care too much either way. Still feeling a little fragile though. The lingering brocaine? If so, I want a refund, Segar! Although Sia said the Bloodwell could have this effect too.
 
Not sure what comes after I save or bury… well, burying sounds like a lot of work. Cremation will probably do. What comes after I burn them. Gayle isn’t taking to the life of the road as I’d hoped so I should probably get him back to Greyloch. Think I’ll leave these notes tucked under this rock here, for him to find later, so that he can complete the chronicles of my adventures if I don’t make it back. And also so that he knows that even at the end, my highest priority was making sure that he was safe.
 
BET YOU FEEL LIKE SHIT FOR NOT BEING NICER TO ME NOW, DON’T YOU, GAYLE?!
 
Yeah, you’re gonna miss me when I’m gone.