Preface

Right. So, firs' thing's firs': I'm gonna be writin' this thing as if I was sayin' it. If ya don' like it: feck you, I dinnae care, shut up, an' I question your heritage an' parentage.
 
Now, then. Hello there, reader. As you might've guessed, my name is Baern Ironhead. If you hadn't guessed, kindly pass this memoir to someone smarter than you.
 
I am absolutely and definitely without question (an' anyone who says otherwise is indisputably wrong or a liar) the leader of the enjoined in the 8th iteration which held the second dream prism an' restarted the Engines.
 
Now, there are a few things you need tae know before goin' forward--real "secrets o' the fabric o' reality as we know it" stuff.
 
First, I hate tae be the one tae have tae tell you this. Y'see, when a mommy an' a daddy love each other very much, they give each other a "special hug." Although, sometimes the daddy will hug the mommy from r!*%!*!%#%!(@#*%#!%.
 
Anyway, several months later, dependin' on what races the mommy an' the daddy are, the baby claws its way outta the mommy. There's a lotta blood, pain, and plenty o' screamin', an' such. Durin' this, the daddy smokes an' is basically just told tae feck off by doin' meaningless tasks like "boilin' water."
 
After that miracle, the mommy is now the owner of a brand new (NEVER used) baby whatsit. Or sometimes more than one baby whatsit.
 
Right, did you get all that? So, if any o' that was new information, please pass this memoir to someone older than you, an' have 'em start from the beginnin'.
 
Second, we need tae talk about how "magic," which is how the unenlightened refer to it, works. To do tha', I have tae explain
-=Baern's Unified Fart Theory=-
 
Y'see, Nycos is in orbit around Nimbus (that's the great big glowy thing in the sky. If you didn't know that, pass this memoir to someone smarter than you.). Nimbus is the source of all farticles on Nycos. Farticles are the elementary bits of which all farts are made of. Unenlightened folks might call these "magicles," but they're wrong.
 
Anyway, Nimbus showers the surface of Nycos with these farticles, and these empower an' infuse everythin' in the Undersky. Farticles are also the source of power for flatulomancers, which is the definitive term for any kinda non-divine caster.
 
There are several phenomena tae prove that "magic" is actually farts. For one, "magic" is a gas in its pure, unrefined form. This is why potions cannot be made, for instance.
 
Gravelings are universally acknowledges as being an accumulation of this "magic." When they are broken, they sublime, returning to their gassy form.
 
Some may point at refined lymn, claimin' it kinnae possibly be farts due to its mettalic appearance. Well, some may say that, but it's actually refined farts. Let me break it down for you.
 
"Lymn" floats; farts float. "Lymn" is highly flammable; farts are highly flammable.
 
"But Baern," you may say, "There's no way farts can become a silvery metal like that." Tae that I ask "Why not?" Firs' why aren't you applyin' your own logic tae this "lymn" o' yours? Not only that, but look at diamonds an' coal. They're made outta the same stuff, but look different. As you can see, the whole argument is flawed an' meanin'less.
 
So, why farts, though? It's simple. "Magic" is unquestionably a gas. However, Grimm an' Grund can smell it, an' let me tell you, it dinnae smell like roses an' freshly cut grass. It's farts, plain an' simple.
 
Third, these memoirs take place an' were penned in the 8th iteration--a period of great unrest. As you might've guessed, there were 7 iterations before this. If you didn't... you know the drill.
 
Now, everything was mostly okay until the 5th iteration. Tha's when things really began tae turn an' go tits up. Enjoined after enjoined just either stopped helpin', or downright tried tae feck Nycos. Bastards.
 
Right, so a lotta shite has been fecked up with Nycos, but our task was mostly concerned with these fartifacts known as “The Engines.”
 
As I explained earlier in BUFT, Nimbus showers Nycos with farticles. Bein’ infused with such a large amount of farticles creates a kind of protective fart-bubble around Nycos. This fart bubble repulses Outsiders, preventin’ interference by alien entities an’ planes an other MAGICAL things (things actually powered by magic an’ not farts).
 
So, you might be thinkin’ “Oh wow! That must mean that the closer Nycos is to Nimbus, the better off we are!”
 
No.
 
Y’see, there be dragons in Nimbus. They must like farts... like, a lot.
 
So, if Nycos drifts too close to Nimbus, we get invaded by horrifying, fart-infused, toothy monstrosities which spew ignited farts out of their mouths, roasting us alive.
 
So, to recap: if Nycos is too far from Nimbus, the avatars weaken an’ eventually lose their power, we get invaded by Outsiders, and everybody who doesn’t die is enslaved; too close: fart dragons (also anybody who doesn’t die is enslaved).
 
“How do we keep this happy medium” you ask?
 
The Engines.
 
Right, then. On tae a bit about the formattin’ an’ other pertinent information.
 
Some of the stuff in this memoir is shite that’s already happened, an’ some of it is shite that’s happenin’ now. Or it was now when it was then. Writin’ is like time travelin’ like that.
 
I’ll be separatin’ events intae chapters. They’ll be smaller than chapters in most books, probably. If that bothers you, I don’t feckin' care. Also, feck off an’ feck you very much.
 
I’m separatin’ the chapters based on what I remember from when I was enjoined, an’ cuttin’ out the stuff that happened to me-but-not-me...y’know, since I don’t remember. But, more importantly, I’m positive nothing important happened when unenjoined Baern was at the helm. All he does is drink. I mean, I still drink (a lot), but I also do other things.
 
One last thing. I might misspell names an’ places. Luckily, those names are almost certainly of people who are dead... so it probably dinnae matter. I’ll spell what I heard.
Right, now, a bit about me, Baern Ironhead. I used tae be an ordinary Grund miner, an’ I feckin’ hated my job. It was crap, bein’ underground an’ shite. One day, a gas pocket in the mine exploded, an’ everyone around was killed. Except me. My thick skull saved my life, but now there’s still an opal in my brain, an’ an iron plate on my skull. I became prismatic veil, realized everything I was doin’ was meanin’less crap, an’ I went out tae kick arse an' get really, really pissed.