Baern Ironhead

So, we’re preparin’ tae travel north through the Hool in order tae deliver the flag o’ the seventh Sea Prince tae the King o’ the Kells. Right, I didnae quite tell you about the Seventh Sea Prince. So, rumor is he’s dead. Some lorelei was huntin’ ‘im an’ tryin’ tae kill ‘im whenever he was close tae a body o’ water. So, we prepare. The artificer gets a leather plague doctor thing made, y’know, tae stuff it with herbs an’ burn ‘em an’ stuff tae not smell the Hool. This is also where I get my half-kag, which was my trusty companion for quite a long time. Anyway, on our way through the Hool, we saw signs o’ a single carriage tha’ had gone off the Road. (Wagon, carriage, whatever). We sent Rain tae sneak in an’ investigate. He waves us in, an’ tha’s when we first meet Kelsie [Kelsie? Kelsey?] the leparine. She was tryin’ tae open a box with a crowbar, an’ had a blade, an’ was claimin’ she an’ ‘er folks ‘ad been attacked by brigands. I didnae trust ‘er, an’ me an’ the Alchemist went tae check on her parents while Rain stayed behind tae help her open the box. She was very insistent tha’ he couldnae have what was in the box. Meanwhile, we got tae her “parents,” who were both humans an’ not sekjen. They had been knocked out, but deliberately. As in not attempted murder. Whoever did it even patched ‘em up just enough afterwards tae make sure they didnae die. The Alchemist healed ‘em up. Rain apparently must ‘ave gotten the box open an’ Kelsey scarpered as soon ‘as she ‘ad what was in it. Turns out Kelsie can look like a Grimm, an’ was one o’ the brigands who attacked ‘em. The couple also told us the brigands ‘ad red bandanas on their arms. Right, so, when we go back, we see tha’ Kelsey ‘ad left a book behind, all tied up with a ribbon an’ little pink bow, with a bookmark tha’ said “Kandahl’s Keep,” an’ a note at the bottom o’ tha’ tha’ said “Come and visit my guild, sometime. -Kelsey” So, the book she left Rain was titled “Farming in the Swarthier Planes,” and was written by some guy named Guernsey. Turns out was in ‘is ‘andwritin’, so it was an original copy (probably), which is important, since ya need on’ a’ those tae get intae Kandahl’s Keep. Although, we didnae realize the importance o’ tha’ quite yet. I stowed the book under ma beard fer safe keepin’. Right, so it turns out tha’ the couple had been at the front o’ some kinda caravan, an’ their wagon didnae need horses. We took a closer look at the things in the wagon, an’ foun’ lots o’ boxes tha’ were labeled as goin’ tae Kandahl’s Keep. They were all full o’ books tha’ looked like they might have a slim chance o’ a small possibility, just maybe if you were very lucky an’ everything was goin’ yer way an’ nothin’ bad happened, be original copies. So, we realized tha’ if we were tae deliver these tae Kandahl’s Keep... I’m just ginnae call it “the Library” from now on. It’s quicker. Anyway, we realized tha’ since we were ginnae pass through the Library anyway, we should jus’ bring these along, too, an’ get some extra coin along the way. The only issue was, since the wagon ‘ad already been attacked before, it would probably get attacked again, so... Yeh. Right, so, this wagon ‘ad four broken wheels, an’ it was sinkin’ intae the Hool. Me, Rain, an’ the Alchemist tried tae pull it out, but they gave up an’ were thinkin’ about tryin’ tae take some o’ the boxes outta the cart tae make it lighter. But I wasnae ginnae give up tha’ easily. I persevered, an’ with my sheer masculinity and physique tha’ makes me the envy o’ males an’ an object o’ desire tae the ladies, I pulled tha’ wagon outta the Hool. So, after tha’... I jus’ wannae mention tha’ at tha’ point we were absolutely ginnae steal this wagon an’ go on our merry way with its cargo tae the Library. So, since all four wheels on this wagon were fecked, we ‘ad a bit of a discussion an’ decided tae go get some new wheels an’ fix up the cart. So, me an’ Rain stayed by the cart while the Alchemist went back tae town an’ got the help o’ a fella Rain worked with before when ‘e was preparin’ for the Hool tae buy an’ haul the four wheels the thirty minutes back tae the wagon. Then, usin’ my experience from minin’ an’ minin’ carts an’ the like, I was able tae fix the new wheels on with nae issues. This take a bit o’ time, an’ now it’s midday. So, the cart had just been fixed, an’ it was right then tha’ tha’ couple tha’d been beaten up by a wee li’l bunny lass came out an’ ontae the road an’ saw us. Now, I kinnae fault them for thinkin’ we were about tae steal their wagon an’ all their belongings on account o’ the fact tha’ we were totally goin’ tae steal their wagon an’ all their belongings. At the time, tha’ is. So, they come out ontae the road, an’ the guy looks like he’s gonna say somethin’ an’ the lass is pullin’ him tae go tae town an’ not talk tae the three dangerous-lookin’ enjoined. I mean, who kin blame ‘er? You’ve got me, who needs nae explanation; a dangerous, sneaky lookin’ goat-man (s’what he seemed like at the time) playin’ with daggers; an’ a strange man in a big coat with vials an’ concoctions who’s wearin’ a leather raven skull mask with smoke comin’ outta it. Right, so I’m pretty sure they were goin’ tae go tae the guards an’ tell ‘em we stole their wagon, which wasn’t quite yet true. So, I just go ahead an’ give a yell askin’ if they’d want tae split it. This surprised ‘em, an’ through my shrewd negotiation tactics (I told ‘em what was goin’ tae happen), we managed tae strike a bargain where we’d split the money halfsies. See, we dragged the wagon outta the Hool before it could sink in an’ bought new wheels an’ fixed it, an’ we’d offer them protection against the obvious brigand problem the had there around the Strand. On their end, they’d drive the wagon... an’ also it was their crap an’ their wagon tae begin with. Really, halfsies is fair since neither o’ us would ‘ave been able tae get there without th’other. Oh, yeah, right. So, about tha’ wagon. It had no horse, an’ no place for a horse... A horseless carriage, except it was a wagon. Apparently it runs on souls or somethin’. Anyway, it turns out tha’ only tha’ guy could ‘ave driven it, since you have tae play a harp or somethin’. The details are a li’l vague. Short version is, he drove it, we rode it. Durin’ the ride there, as we camped for the night, Rain read the Swarthier Plains book. I remember sayin’ somethin’ profound, then. I said, “You know what would make a good book? The story o’ my life... But I dinnae know how it will end.” Well, here’s hopin’ I kin eventually get tae a stoppin’ point, at least. Although, a neverendin’ story sounds pretty good, too. So, we keep goin’ tae the Library, an’ at the last waypoint the road splits. The way tae the Library is completely fecked. There’s carnage an’ wreckage an’ there had tae have been almost a dozen wagons on their side, burnin’, an’ bodies layin’ on the ground. Looks like the minin’ supply caravan got attacked again, an’ we managed tae miss it on account o’ bein’ delayed. We decided no tae stop an’ look through it all, since it was minin’ an’ personal things, not books. Oh, an’ also, I suppose, since the survivors were already tendin’ to eachother. At some point, we decided tae look through the boxes o’ books in our cart an’ see if there was anythin’ interestin’. There was. 1. Thrakurd’s Folio. It was bound in stain glass plates and weighed about four an’ a quarter stones by itself. It was locked with magic, an’ had swirlin’ energy aroun’ the glass lightin’ it up in patterns. There was a small hole in the upper part o’ the lock where it looked like you needed tae drop some kinda liquid. 2. The Fallen Scrolls of Conae. It was a collection o’ vellum scrolls bound flat. The outside surfaces o’ the thing were monstrous slabs o’ uncured hide. The insides o’ the book were cemented taegether with some kinda red wax. An’ tha’ one weighed one an’ three-quarter stones. 3. The Corrupt Folio of Ka Ri. Was made o’ inscribed an’ etched wooden slates contained in a leather case trimmed with leopard fur. 4. Bassamdra Shards. Written in pitch on paper bound in carved wood plates. Was locked by magic an’ had an emblem on the outside o’ it o’ a hand. 5. The Scrolls of Bulleto. Copper plates set in silver pearl written in an extradimensional language which needed someone with arcane research an’ craftin’ knowledge tae open. 6. Kunei’s Parchement. Was actually a book, an it was bound in brass plates. It was sealed by magic so the entire book actually hovered in place where you set it ‘til you picket it up an’ moved it again. 7. Aloe’s Libram of Scrying. Came with a telescope an’ a list of names an’ ‘alf of ‘em were scratched out. 8. Libram of Shiaka. Bound in leather with bronze hinges an’ fittin’s. The couple told us not tae open it. 9. Enchiridion of Blood. Was in a birch box an’ the seams o’ the box were seepin’ droplets o’ blood. Box is soaked. 10. Frother’s Scrolls. Monstrous hide bindin’, but the outside o’ the heavy leather has been hacked an’ brutalized. Another day passed, and we reached the town o’ Burl. We decide tae pass through it. There was an inn there, an’ there were horses out in fron’ of it bearin’ the heraldry o’ a knight o’ the Kells known as Clara Shadowbreaker. We decided tha’ we didnae care abou’ tha’ one bit, an’ kept on goin’. Unfortunately, as we were exitin’ the town, there was a cavalry encampment out there, an’ the Alchemist ended up gettin’ the stink-eye from one o’ the lookouts, an’ he went intae the tent. Now, I offered tae punch the Alchemist in the face so it’s swell up an’ he’d be unrecognizable, but he said no, an’ just decided tae put his mask on. Because... y’know, no investigative types ever tell you tae take a mask off. An’ then I had tae take a piss. So I did. When I came back, it seemed tha’, luckily, our book-sellin’ couple ‘ad all the paperwork in order, an’ we managed tae get through without incident. Apparently. I wasn’t really there for it. Then we ‘ad a conversation abou’ how I would never wannae be a “chosen one,” on account o’ it soundin’ like it would be a lotta work. ... Well, here we are now. An’ guess what? It’s a lotta work. ... It’s a bunch o’ crap, tha’s what it is. So, we decided tae travel about a half-an-hour more past the town on the Strand so as tae be less suspicious after ridin’ past the cavalry. Not soon afterwards, we hear a voice call out, “Stand and deliver!” from the darkness ahead o’ us. After a bunch of jeerin’ from us, such as “Or what?” an’ “None of us are pregnant, we can’t deliver!” an’ “Sorry, we only do take-out!”, they shot a flurry of arrow shots tha’ hit intae the side o’ the wagon. The person in front o’ us is on a horse, an’ is small of stature with a broad, incredibly stereotypical black highway robber hat. Feather an’ everything. Really, loses points for stereotypin’ but gains points for theatrics. Although, they were too small fer tha’ big ol’ horse, so the stirrups were hangin’ short. There were also six archers up in the trees. So, while I an’ Rain were discussin’ our odds o’ fightin’ (because with this cart tha’ only goes ten miles an hour, we weren’t gonna be runnin’), the Alchemist suggests we just try an’ talk firs’. So... we did. They said they needed the rest o’ the originals, but we could keep the copies. It was at tha’ point tha’ Rain recognized the voice. It was Kelsey, but she was wearing a bandit mask. Rain called out tae her, but she still demanded the originals. An’ then she was sayin’ somethin’ about if we go tae Kandahl’s Keep with the originals, we’ll be dead. When we pressed her for more information, she said tha’ she was gettin’ the books in order tae get in an’ solve the crime abou’ people gettin’ killed when they got intae Kandahl’s Keep with the originals an’ then make millions o’ gold pieces for it. Well... that sounded good tae me. I asked if we could help. Think about it. All of us wanted intae Kandahl’s Keep, an’ they let people in as a group. The couple we were with just want tae sell the copies they ‘ave at the best prices, an’ Kelsey’s gang doesnae care about tha’ because it’s chump change compared tae what they’re after. Kelsey want’s in tae solve the crimes an’ get millions o’ gold. We would like tae do both. Really, there’s no need at all for the banditry theatrics. The cart is great cover, too. They have all the paperwork an’ everythin’. Now, the couple was not particularly intae the idea, seein’ as Kelsey beat the shite outta them. However, I pointed out tha’ if what she’s sayin’ about people gettin’ intae the Library dyin’ is true, then she actually saved their lives. An’ then they shut up. Especially since the amount o’ money they got from the deal didnae change at all. Right... Now, Kandahl’s Keep. I’ll make this incredibly brief, as brief as I can, since I’m sure if you want tae know more, there’s plenty on the Library. ... Probably in a library. So, Kandahl’s Keep was one o’ the only places in the Undersky tae not get all its books wiped in the Reavening. I’m sure you can find out a lot on tha’, but basically just know some shitehead enjoined tried tae feck everything up an’ time went a little bit wonky for a bit as history tried tae erase itself but also didnae try at the same time. In a bit of a literal interpretation of “erasin’ history,” all writin’ was erased, unless it was under some really, REALLY fancy protection. So, yeah. Kandahl’s Keep: the Library. It was a big deal. It had about 70 wizards, from archmages down. I really dinnae care about goin’ intae more detail about the structure o’ the library. I might do it piecemeal if it gets important. (Details at 2:19:06) So, Kelsey explains as we travel tha’ what’s goin’ on in the Library is tha’ someone is stealin’ books. So, Kelsey says tha’ she was a representative for a guild, like she said, an’ she’s a representative o’ the Dogs o’ War (It’s pretty famous. You kin probably look ‘em up.). ... Right, I should probably write that shite here for me too, since I might need tae remember it again, later. The Dogs were (are) a mercenary organization that are more along the lines of covert operatives in tha’ they are hired tae deal with specific problems in a more surgical manner than just linin’ up battle lines and whackin’ the enemy with pointy things. They’ll do a thing an’ then take your money, an’ they’re completely loyal while they’re doin’ the thing an’ takin’ your money. Afterwards, not so much, since they’ll hire out tae anyone. So, they have a good code of honor but no loyalties at all, basically. They are also historically associated with “the great heroes” because in the 4th iteration (When everything was still good and not entirely shite, yet), the great heroes were all Dogs o’ War. So, they have a positive reputation for that association since those enjoined actually saved the world.  

Chapter 1: The Hool Shebang   We started out in a place called Selk near the very southern tip o’ the Yarlem continent. Selk’s right next tae the Hool: a big, swampy bog that smells like Blin arse. Allegedly. It is also, I’ve been told, some kinda nexusy place. Sonethin’ about confluences of faewyld realms. Tha’ would explain why it smells like it does. Might be near other planes, too. Ask future me. He’ll write a note in the margins. Or not. Future me can be a forgetful arse. Right. Some stuff happened there, but most of it was unimportant. But, I met Rain the tiefling sneaky busybody there. He’s actually pretty important, unlike the rest o’ these schmucks. Y’know, from my experiences, enjoined dinnae seem so special: comin’ an’ goin’ like they do. I think I’ve been introduced to more enjoined than other people at this point. Or at least damned close. But, I digress. So, the other ones there at the time... I honestly dinnae remember their names. There was a Scorned warlock or sorcerer who I’ll call “Edgy;” some kinda bard with aspirations to open up a strip club or something like that I’ll call “Dancer;” there was an artificer I’ll name “the Artificer;” an’ the “BDF,” who was remarkably stupid, even by my standards. So, here we are in Selk. Not a lot a this part is important for the savin’ the world bits, so I’m gonna abridge it. We hear about a /Grimm/ caravan [Baern... the shipment was by Coppertop an’ guarded by the Longshoreman Guild. Grimm were suspected of attackin’ it] goin’ missin’ as it was goin’ through the Hool. We decide tae investigate it tae see if there’s anything tae salvage. Oh, the caravan was carryin’ gravelings, if memory serves. A bunch of borin’ crap happens, an’ Rain ends up with a full pallet o’ poultices. We kinnae take them all, so we kinda just stuff our pockets. Since the Hool smells worse than a giant’s armpit, I picked up wool noseplugs an’ a bandana tae protect me from it. I also grabbed from citronella candles for stoppin’ the biters. I figured the bandana an’ nose plugs would also come in handy by givin’ me some fart resistance whenever we went into combat against any flatulomancers. So, we made it to the edge o’ the Hool, an’ there’s been this bar. Kinnae remember what it was called, now. Dinnae much matter, now, for multiple reasons. Anyway, this bar is run by this egregiously overweight, 500 lb. orange veil male Grimm, an’ this is the dirtiest, dingiest bar I have EVER seen. I was right feckin’ enraged that someone could do this tae such a hallowed hall of hooch. I was yellin’ at the biggun behind the bar. I chucked a gold piece at him so he could hir some help tae clean it up, an the bastard decided I was buyin’ the bar! Listen, the whole thing was a feckin’ shite-show. Edgy, though, was apparently a clean-freak an’ was goin’ eye-twitch levels o’ crazy. He started using prestifartication in order tae basically squeegee this muck off the groun’. Tha’s important. The entire floor o’ this bar was covered in two tae three inches thick o’ this... terrible, nasty, foul goo. It was definitely one o’ the worst things I’ve ever smelled. That makes sense, now, in retrospect. I’ll get tae tha’ much later. Don’ wannae ruin the surprise. So, Edgy is tryin’ tae get rid o’ this stuff with his flatulomancy. Meanwhile, the Artificer finds the body of this barmaid behind the counter, sort of on the way into the back room. Part o’ the roof ‘ad collapsed an cut ‘er in ‘alf just below the waist. Bottom ‘alf ‘ad rotted away. Top ‘alf looked good as new. The Artificer found a ring on ‘er an’ took it. ‘Er body collapsed into foul sludge, but only Dancer vomited. Later, we found out the ring was called a Xelph ring. They make it so you always look like you did when you put on the ring an’ say the command word “Xelph.” They also have a curse which differs from person to person. The Artificer ends up takin’ it. Before the muck was completely cleaned up, I took a brace o’ crossbow bolts an’ dipped all ten of ‘em into the muck. The end up bein’ pretty important. We found quite a few other trinkets in the muck, but most importantly, there were a ton [15 of them] dead fairies [They’re sprites, Baern] in the muck, an’ one of ‘em even have a crown. Found out later ‘is name was... I forget. Future Baern, help me out in the margins. [His name was... an’ ‘is crown was bent, like he was hit in the head. Pre-Oberon Nyxian] In addition, we also found several vials of this pink powder called “salt.” It’s a drug that lets you experience every emotion at once, from the highest high tae the lowest low. I’ll take blurple any day. We also found an egg which you can carve or draw a fate an’ assign it to a person an’ it would torture ‘em tae death accordin’ tae what you painted on there. Other things o’ note were a silver coin with one face bein’ a scarab, which I took; a silver mechanical crab that only moves when nobody’s watchin’ it (I traded some other stuff tae get that an’ a full-sized pirate flag with a dragon’s skull an’ crossbones. It turns our it belonged tae the seventh sea prince. We also found a piece of paper. Written on it: “To Captain Xendros, The box needs to go to Iuz in the Kells. Take them from the north. -Wilbur Warren”   Rain also found a ship in a bottle, which is apparently called the Saddle. There were created by the Witheby Estate tae watch over their ships an’ see it they sank or not. Apparently, they’ll pay tae get it back. I also found a Wallace handkerchief here. Edgy found a piece o’ the crystal dream prism. He found out he was a chosen one an’ later fecked off. Pretty sure he’s dead, now. His crystal was blue. I’m pretty sure those were all the important things. [Your Sheriff badge, stupid! I found a gold, 7-pointed star with “Sheriff” on it. I pinned it through my left pec. No shirt.] So, anyway, we talked with a certain important fancy-pants who asked tae remain nameless on account of all the fecked up shite we found in the bar (he came in as we were cleanin’ up) an’ after we ended up cleanin’ up the bar completely (at which point the bartender decided he wanted tae work again, but work for me), we got a ton o’ information on the local goings on from ‘im. At ‘is suggestion, we took all the things we found tae a blue veil priestess in some conch shell lookin’ temple in town, on account o’ the fact that we didnae have a clue what any o’ that crap did at the time. So, ‘er name was Ada Overland. I both like ‘er an’ wanna slap ‘er. I’m sendin’ an emissary from Tarmok tae thank her an’ slap her, one after the other. I’ll explain why, shortly. So, we show her one thing after another, an’ she identifies them for us. She said she’d take care o’ the pixie/sprite thing for us, an’ that they were almost certainly in the Undersky tae do bad, shady shite. She gave us these light blue shawls an’ said they’d protect us from the pixies until the whole fiasco has been managed. Turns out that was one big crock o’ shite an’ a practical joke, since they don’ do a damned thing. On the other hand, when I handed over my scarab, which turned out to be one o’ those coin bugs, to her, she gave me this turquoise talisman that raised not just my on resistance against farts, but also any enjoined around me! So... I think I’ll have my emissary say: “Baron Baern Ironhead, Bearer of Jasper the axe of Valor, Sheriff of Kandahl’s Keep, Mayor of Baerntown Abbey, Chief Consumable of the Kells, aspirant of the Bolling Leage, and guardian of the realms of Nycos thanks you for the turquoise amulet you gifted him long ago. It has probably saved him from at least being minorly inconvenienced on at least one occasion.” And then I want them to hit her in the face with the shawl which has had a bar of soap wrapped up inside it. “He also says, and I quote ‘This is for makin’ a daft fool outta me, you lyin’ shite shoveler.’” ... Anyway, after a lotta exposition an’ other crap, we decide to head north. I also sell the Dancer the deed tae the bar, after renaming it to “The Watering Hool.”

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.