I am lost. Both in spirit and in body. And you are lost to me.
I write this in the hopes that somewhere, somehow, across the various planes, and even unto death that you will sense me. For nothing is right here and I need your heart and your courage and the thought of you. So I write this to you and for me.
First, the cold facts. We were defeated. I – blind and separated from our friends – experienced the burning realization that even after all these years, impatience and my hot temper are still my undoing. Without sight, and huddled upon the floor, I could hear the mad laughter of our enemy and could feel the final blow he dealt to Caelen.
Already warned that Vordakai preferred corruption and domination over destruction, I know that I expected despair, pain, and self-betrayal. Instead the gods intervened and we found ourselves naked, lost, and alone in this, the First World. Here, the colours are faded and harsh at the same time: the wind biting and balmy, the food luscious and bloated. And while my companions are fine specimens of Innisfree man-flesh, I can assure you that too much of a good thing can be too much of a good thing: “Put some clothes on already!”
Thank Shelyn we found some semblance of civilization. I thought at first that Iola and I would end up in the harem of a rutting Satyr or that we would travel the predatory lands indefinitely. But, for the silver tongue of Quinn, I expect that would have been our fate.
Quinn the wanderer is no more. For with his voice and the song of his blood, he has found Home and the mystery of his birth and his past has been solved. Through magic (and because it is Quinn we are speaking of, through mayhem), Quinn was actually born to mortals trapped in a pocket of stability on the First World and transported to Golarion to protect him from a Fey Queen. The same protections, when his life here was threatened, called him Home, and we with him.
Now I sit under the shadow of a mountain shaped like a woman. The mountain is called Chauntea and She sleeps. But it is the only thing in this world that sleeps. Everything else simply waits. Anticipation slips in and out at every breath and upon my tongue is the clear taste of expectation. The life here is simple and pristine, but it is a life without you. I pray daily to Shelyn – who is not able to hear my request, but still I pray – that we find a way out of here and back to our dear land of Innisfree.