Sixth Letter to Nysali

Your Grace,
 
There’s a long version and a short version.
 
Short version: I don’t know what qualities Katt looks for in a prospective employee but her hiring policies, particularly where they apply to her messengers, could use a rethink.
 
Long version: Some things were said, perhaps with more fervour than was necessary. But this Stanley guy….
 
Let’s backtrack a bit. I’d just spent the entire boozeless day in a bone-rattling cart with Ulric blathering and bloviating behind me. At this point, every word out of his mouth hits my ears like the blare of a triton’s horn distorted by layers of sea water. My mind has so swaddled itself in protective layers that even if I WANTED to pick a few scraps of sense from his endlessly self-aggrandizing proclamations, I wouldn’t be able to. We forgot to inspect Vochan’s coffin before we left Featherstone, and didn’t remember until we were already an hour out, so he made a great hullabaloo about going back, arguing that we should leave it for now and take a look when we returned, whenever THAT might be. An hour versus some indeterminate period of time that could very easily be forever. And the others were taking his side! Made me wonder if Amra Maran’s experiments with other planes of existence had shunted me into some up-is-down, black-is-white alternate reality. Of course, when we got back it became clear that his reluctance arose from the fact that he’d pilfered all the rings from Vochan’s fingers. Didn’t shut him up though. Not even close. And that’s everything you need to know about Ulric right there.
 
So there’s that. Then there was the aforementioned lack of booze, which was leading to some pretty foul psychological and intestinal difficulties. Hadn’t slept in days and the smell wafting up around my collar was starting to make me gag. Would’ve soaked a rag in alcohol and breathed through that but, like I said, NO ALCOHOL! Guess Lana might have let me use some of hers but the last time I took a swig of her booze she thought it was worth a pair of dimensional shackles.
 
Still, she doesn’t seem so bad. I can be socially awkward too, on freakishly rare occasions. Maybe it was just the stress of meeting new people that made her go for the shackles. She DID restrain Ulric, after all, which shut him up for a solid five seconds. Five seconds of heaven. And she plays dragonchess.
 
But that’s beside the point, for now, which is that I may have overindulged when we finally got to the Ding ‘n’ Sich. Not sure, but didn’t I meet this Makaria at another one of these places…? Who knows, it’s all a blur. But anyway, this fucking guy came up to me and Gayle while we were enjoying our meal, and all I wanted was a few seconds of peace to get properly loaded before washing the stink off me, so I waved him in the direction of the others. Then immediately thought better of it when I remembered who the others are.
 
So yeah. I was a little bit frazzled and rough around the edges, lacking in a few of my usual social graces, when I caught up with Katt’s messenger. But please, before you judge me too harshly, summon this Stanley into your presence and try to have a conversation with him on any topic and if you don’t want to flatten his nose after five minutes… I guess I owe you a beer. Well, you probably don’t drink. The fruit-based beverage of your choice then.
 
I’m not saying that your prophecies AREN’T bullshit, just that I don’t think it’s your fault. Either the Seven Sisters have their own agenda that you’re not privy to, or we’re dealing with someone powerful enough to warp the future you’ve foreseen. Both options are Not Good, so I guess I shouldn’t have been surprised when I heard that you shut down Greyloch. But I was. Didn’t occur to me that you might take our losses so much to heart. I mean, I’m over it. Still don’t feel like smoking Corrin’s flute but other than that, just more bloody water under the bridge. It’s happened before, it’ll happen again. You shouldn’t learn from my example in ALL things (definitely not) but maybe in this ONE thing you should. We’re all just sleepwalking slabs of meat. Corrin and Annie woke up. That’s all that happened.
 
Anyway, if you’ve read the report from that Stanley idiot, just remember that I was not at my best when I said what I did. Didn’t mean to add to your troubles. I’ll make it up to you.
 
Like, your prophecies don’t HAVE to be bullshit, ya know? We can fix that. It might take some creative editing but I’m sure we can tweak the flow of events so that it all fits together somehow. Not outright LYING – I don’t think Gayle would be okay with that – but we DO have a bard now who seems comfortable abiding within a fluid definition of the concept of “truth.” Those Glammies might be out of the question since the Glamoured are a little bit, uh, less receptive to my vision than I was hoping, but the Monkinator could still work. So it’s not ALL lost. And we’re still on track to getting the dragon orb, more or less. Maybe you’ll know how to use it and the story will end with us all flying dragons into battle against some monstrous, world devouring Ulric. Yeah… cuz I’m pretty sure he’s not on our team. I mean, I hate to harp on this, but on that point you should REALLY take a look at the potential bovine fecal quotient of your prophecies.
 
Okay. We’re cool, right?
 
We’re cool.
 
Steadfastly yours,
 
Xylund