Ninth Letter to Nysali

Your Grace,
 
This will probably be 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.
 
It started when I asked Kern to scry for my sister, Illfin. I don't know what made me do it. I never saw her body, sure, but I figured she crawled off and found some other hole to die in. I mean, I didn't look for her, I wasn't thinking clearly at the time, and afterwards it was easiest to just put it all behind me by assuming the worst. Ever onward, don't look back. I guess I didn't fully consider the consequences of her survival.
 
Because wow, I REALLY let her down. I let them all down, sure, but her most of all. She was alone. I could have done something for her. But instead I was buying a fucking suit of armour (with the money I was supposed to be sending to THEM) and pretending to be something I'm not while she was- Well, who knows what she had to endure between Greyloch and Valwall. I'll let you in on a secret, your Grace: the world is not a very nice place. The safe bet is that she did things and had things done to her of which it is best not to speak in polite company.
 
My sister. My SISTER.
 
So, yeah. Maybe I wanted to destroy myself. Maybe that's why I asked Kern. Because that's what the knowledge did to me.
 
I went into Caeracht with a death wish.
 
And my wish was granted. I died an honourable death, sacrificing myself so that another (Kern) might live. I ascended to Grennan Heaven and taught Snoffunfx how to play dragonchess. Just me and my horse with gently undulating grey in all directions. No-one getting in my face, making me feel shitty for not being what THEY thought I should be. It was everything I'd hoped for.
 
Which is a bit suspicious. I mean, I can understand getting a few details right but I was bang on, and it's not like I'm some oracle. I don't think.... Hmm. No, probably not. And my awareness was sorta split, I could sense something else going on concurrently, which I later found out was Lana meeting with this Tarkin fellow and retrieving me from the afterlife in painting form? It was a whole thing. But anyway, there's some doubt as to whether or not I was actually dead or if the Seven Sisters were just fucking with me.
 
This is probably not news to you but the Seven Sisters have Issues, your Grace.
 
Even so, dead or not, I got exactly what I thought I wanted and it suuuuuuucked. Grennan Heaven was boring as shit! THAT'S what I want? THAT'S my ideal? An eternity of what, being left alone? With my imaginary horse? Who I'm pretty sure was LETTING me win? (Because he's the best horse, yes he is, such a good horse.)
 
It's crazy how fast heaven turned around and became hell. Literally crazy. Like, there's something wrong with me. I mean, duh, of course there is. But seriously - for reals - my mechanism is all busted up.
 
So I can't go back there. But what's the alternative? I talked with Sia about getting my consciousness preserved in gem form (which she was not overly enthusiastic about) and in the process expressed some reservations about my designated afterlife and she was like, “Maybe you have the wrong god?”
 
And I was like, haha, sure, yeah, I have the wrong god, get the fuck outta here with that Sia. But here's the thing:
 
WHAT IF I HAVE THE WRONG GOD?!?
 
And then, not more than a week later (probably... time is a bit slippery down here in the Schmudwell), freakin' Davynn suggested the same thing. Yes, that Davynn! From Whitfeld! POTATO BOY! Is it so obvious that even the tuber can see it? Am I that exposed?
 
I consider myself someone who has better-than-average spatial awareness. I examine things from all angles, I consider the possibilities and play them out to their logical conclusions so that I'm not caught off-guard when things come flying at me. But this... I never saw this coming. And it's big. It's not a small thing. I left a gap in my defences that a beholder could have floated through.
 
Let's step back and take a look at the situation: I am in the middle of what I shall call, for lack of a better term, a spiritual crisis, and my response to said crisis is to bury myself underground to manufacture a helmet whose SOLE PURPOSE (aside from looking cool as fuck) is to put up a permanent wall between me and the world (this sucker even has air filters), to erase my identity, my very SELF from existence so that I NEVER have to look my sister in the eye should our paths happen to cross. I rationalize it by saying I'm honing my skills before I take on the True Work of the Monkinator and/or the Glamaratus but let's be real: I'm building this helm because I'm compelled to. This all reeks to Grennan Heaven of psychology. I'm as bad as the Seven Sisters.
 
I can see all this clear as day... but I'm still gonna finish the damn helm. I mean, come on! Look at this thing!
 

 
However, something has to change. My current methodology seems to be narrowing my awareness to a dangerous degree. It allowed me to be blindsided by a possibility which, I'll be honest, is resonating with me much more than I would have expected if I'd ever even conceived of the possibility in the first place. Great goat-buggering Grennan... what if I have the wrong god?!?
 
The optimal, healthy response to my spiritual crisis would be to face my sister and wring whatever peace I can from the wreckage of my past. I will not waste your time or mine by even pretending to consider that. Not gonna happen.
 
But there are other valid responses. Sub-optimal, maybe, but not worthless. I could embrace the lessons offered by this lapse and adopt corrective measures. Seal the chinks in my armour. Broaden my perspective, see myself as others do. Think outside my own mind. Abandon the narrow parameters of law and logic. Plunge into the irrational.
 
None of which are very Grennan sentiments. But this internal schism isn't really a new one. It's been clear for a while now that my most inspired ideas don't come from a strict adherence to systematic thought. So which is it gonna be? Am I a traditionalist or a revolutionary? If you think about it, this duality kinda mirrors that of Nenemeth and Lyranelle, who are probably the same person, two sides of the same coin, in case you didn't know that, pleasedontkillmewithyourmind
 
But if the two halves could only reconcile... think about it.
 
They have a library here in the Schmudwell and I've been reading up on alternate gods. This Lior guy has an interesting story. I'm not saying I'm gearing up to be a Lioreteer or whatever they call themselves, I'm not cool with his nenmetal-killing policy just for a start... but he gets shit done, you gotta give him that. He has a code of his own and he fucking lives it. He's not about perpetuating the status quo, the broken systems of mankind. He doesn't trudge from one day to the next under a grey cloud. He has passion, yet not at the cost of ORDER. I'm not gonna lie, there's a certain allure to that.
 
Liorifices, I bet that's what they're called, his worshippers.
 
I dunno. It's something to think about anyway.
 
All of this is a roundabout way of saying that I probably won't be breezing through Caeracht any time soon. I asked you to bring my sister under your protective wing, and I believe that you will, which means that there's a solid chance I could run into her there. Even with the helm on, she could recognize me. “Are you running away from your problems, Xylund?” Absolutely! But that doesn't preclude the possibility that I'm also running toward something. I can do both things. There are big changes in the works! Fundamental changes!
 
So I think we should allow ourselves to explore our options by seeing other paladins/nenmetai. I don't think I can be what you want me to be anymore. My devotion to you hasn't wavered and never will (disregarding a few depressive blips along the way) but whatever path I take from here, it might seem a little... erratic to you. Maybe not, we'll see. I just can't carry the burden of your silent worry as I walk it. Sure, I flatter myself that you care enough to worry. But did you take a good look at that cool-ass helm?! How could you NOT fall for me? I mean, seriously.
 
Let's be real here.
 
Ever yours,
 
Commander Xylund Shrillsteel
 
PS. Obviously I'm not going to send this letter any more than I've sent any of the others, in case you were worried.