Each of these letters is rolled up and tied with a strip of grey cloth torn from an ash-stained cloak which was already ragged before Xylund started ripping it to bits. They're tucked into a corner of his pack where they won't be crushed too badly if his lifeless body happens to fall on them.
Davynn,
If you're reading this, I've gone to Grennan Heaven. Unfortunately, even though we're famous for our mighty deeds, I don't think I've done quite enough yet to be preserved for eternity in gem form. But don't be sad, Grennan Heaven sounds Okay, and that's better than most places. Snoffunfx will keep me company.
I want you to have the Sword of NoOoOoOo. Maybe it'll keep you out of trouble. Just in case it doesn't, stick with Kern. He'll look out for you, and he's basically a Sword of NoOoOoOo in human form anyway.
Also, the Argent Order should have that dragon helm somewhere. You can have that too, if you can track it down. If they try to charge you for it, don't pay! Take them to court! Nysali said it would be free.
Speaking of Nysali, once you and the others have liberated her from the bonds of despondency, there's gonna be a risk of her being rebound by them when she finds out I'm dead. You'll have to step up here, Davynn. I bequeath to you my role as her paramour, her guiding light in the surrounding darkness. It's up to you to lift her spirits, and to perform any tasks in the carnal department that are required of you to achieve that goal. I believe in you.
I know that I'm leaving big empty shoes to fill so if it'll help you rise to the challenge, and if you ever get tired of being Of Whitfeld, you can take my last name. You don't have to. But I wouldn't mind.
Don't make this weird!
You should really consider ditching Ryldis, for so many reasons. I'd suggest that you consider switching over to Grennanism, so that you could join me in Grennan Heaven, but I don't think it'd be your speed. Too grey. So this is probably it. See you never.
Take care, Davynn Shrillsteel.
See? It sounds badass!
Xylund
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Kern,
End of the road. I expect you to keep your word.
I want you to have that magic bracelet you helped shove up my butt, that I keep forgetting I have. Whenever you pluck a bead from it, please think of my butt.
Also, if my body isn't already burned to ash or eaten, I'd like to be cremated while wearing my night owl goggles. I wanna be able to see what's what in the afterlife.
To be honest, I'm not 100% confident that I'm gonna make it into Grennan Heaven. My understanding of what's expected of a paladin of Grennan is, ah... sketchy. But I figured if he had any complaints, he'd let me know eventually. Maybe that day has come. Bah, not too worried. There's probably not much difference between Grennan Heaven and Grennan Hell. Both varying degrees of Adequate.
Shit, maybe I won't even make it into Grennan Hell.
I know you'll disagree when I say this, but this is for the best. I don't want to get into it too deep but I've never really been any good to anyone. I've tried, and I've failed. Repeatedly. So eventually I stopped even trying.
Travelling with you and Davynn kinda snapped me out of that. We've seen some cool shit, right? Good times. Things started to seem a bit less dire. Then Beamo the Grey torched Corrin and Annie and I was reminded of the way things are. Oh well, that's what drugs are for!
All in all, things have been good. When I first met you guys, I never thought I'd feel genuine pleasure at anything again. I wouldn't say that our travels have filled me with hope, because I'm not... you. But maybe something hope-adjacent.
Still, there are some constants that can't be outrun. Some fundamental currants that are baked into who you are. And I'm tired of pretending otherwise. I'm just goddamn tired.
This was the best possible way for me to go out. So it's all good. If you want to wish me well, imagine me as a sort of wisp of unthinking nothingness wafting in oblivion.
A wisp of unthinking nothingness with a sweet, sweet ass.
Don't ever forget my butt!
It's been a trip. Good luck with your family stuff.
Xylund
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Lili,
I'm sorry I threw your fucking cat into the acid, okay? OKAY?! When things settled down I had every intention of buying you a new cat, a real one, and naming her Real Cat so that no-one would ever mistake her for a soulless homunculus. You would've been bowled over by my unexpected sensitivity. It would've melted your goddamn heart.
But now I'm dead so you're just gonna have to believe me when I say I'm sorry and fucking DROP IT!
I'm not Kern, I can't be all, “oh, I hurt your feelings, I feel so baaad,” because... I mean, let's get real. If I understand things correctly - and there's a VERY high chance that I don't - the cat is fine. It was decorporealized in a rather unpleasant way but it'll bounce back, right? No permanent damage... aside from the psychological scars of being eaten alive by acid....
But do ethereal spirits even have psychology? Given that they're not bound to a physical form or possessed of biological humours? Who are we to presume that their minds are circumscribed by the same limitations as ours? How dare we project our inadequacies on the boundless cosmos!
DAMN YOUR HUBRIS, LILI!
Just kidding. If I had more time I'd draw for you how I pictured Real Cat. But I don't.
I think you mean well. You're just prickly sometimes, and you hold grudges, like me. It's probably a waste of time. There's no point in keeping score if no-one upstairs is. And even if they are, who are they to keep score? Aloof bastards!
(Grennan excluded, obviously.)
It's a way of protecting yourself, being in control. I get that. But your solitary tower's gonna crack some day, no matter what spells you weave to uphold it. Best to embrace it and ride the falling rubble.
You can trust this crew of goofs, is what I'm saying.
Listen or don't. It's no Real Cat but it's all I've got.
I bequeath to you that spell coin of Twilight's Something. And my book of schema. Don't know if you'll be able to use it but you'll probably find it interesting, at least.
Okay. Sorry about the fucking cat already. Great goat-buggering Grennan! LET IT GO!
Xylund
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Lana,
I really wish I'd gotten to know you better. You seem cool, and I feel like there's this whole tortured story between you and your sister that I'm kinda - in spite of myself - curious about. But if I ask too many prying questions, people feel like they have license to ask the same kinds of questions in return, and we can't have people taking liberties of that sort, now can we.
I want you to have my Hat of Vermin, but ONLY on the condition that all of the rats it summons are accounted for. None should be allowed to roam free to spread the plague. If you summon a rat that's Your Rat now, and if it spreads the plague that's Your Plague. It is a heavy responsibility, this title of Rat Mistress that I bestow upon you, and I expect you to wear it with the gravitas it deserves.
Furthermore, you can have my Notebook of Doodling, so that you can use it to keep an accurate Rat Tally.
Watch out for Davynn. He seems to listen to you. I know his enthusiasm can be contagious but if you could act as a sort of brake on some of his wilder ideas - like, oh, I dunno, beating the shit out of unconscious people or threatening to cut the throats of random gnomes - I'd appreciate it, because I won't be around to do that anymore.
Also, I don't know what the future holds for Gayle, maybe he'll go back to serving Daralei like a dork, but if he decides to honour my memory by travelling with you guys, please keep an eye on him. Also, he should have some good material compiled about our travels so if the mood were to strike you, I wouldn't HATE it if you wrote a tragicomic opera commemorating my thrilling exploits. “The Legend of Limpy” ... nah, I'll leave the title up to you.
Farewell, Rat Mistress.
Xylund
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Mushroom dude,
I gave away the last of my bloodmoss but if you go through my stuff you'll find a couple packets of silvertea. They're yours. Enjoy.
You don't seem like the sort who's seen many cities. People are gonna recoil from you, and call you a noxious pile of walking garbage, and that's even before they find out about the undead thing. Don't listen to them. What you do is goddamn amazing. Those who are capable of great things are always gonna be misunderstood by the commoners. Just remember: you are Royalty of the Mind!
Later.
Xylund
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Gayle,
I left you to last, because this one's the hardest, and now the sun's coming up.
Where to even begin.
I know I'm not an easy person, and I know it seems as though I delight in tormenting you.
But a lot of that torture is accidental! Let's say... 70 percent.
Okay, fine, so I kinda “bought” you from the Church of Daralei. But you know, the most beautiful flowers need fertilizer to grow, and you know what fertilizer is? It's poop, Gayle.
Our friendship is the beautiful flower in that analogy, is what I'm saying, Gayle.
I'm attaching a piece of my Limpy cloak to this note so that you can dry your eyes because I imagine there are some waterworks going on right now. Don't feel embarrassed. You're only human.
Blow your nose. There you go.
Don't let your brothers give you shit. Don't even let ME give you shit. My counsel at this crossroads in your life would be for you to continue travelling with Kern and the others. Expanding your horizons and learning new things and growing as a person. But ultimately, it's up to you. If you'd rather hang out with the dead and dying, that's totally your call. You do you, Gayle.
You do you, even if what you choose to do is dumb.
Just so you know that our connection is Deep and True, I'm gonna tell you something only a couple other people know (and neither of them are Kern): I'm gonna tell you my real name.
It's [redacted].
If you tell anyone else, so help me Gayle, I will haunt you like a motherfucker so don't even test me.
Take it sleazy.
Xylundius Shillsteelium IX