My name is Scanlan Shorthalt.
I have gone by many names in my long and rather esteemed life. The Meat Man, Kingslayer, Francois Bertrand Jean-Luc Australia, Scanny Shortsing, Your Child's Worst Mentor, Ioun's Chosen, Meistah Of Spittin', Saviour Of Whitesone, Vinny Dieselpower,Kevin Gash, and Burt Reynolds, Esquire. But perhaps the names I am most proud of are Father, Husband, and General S.H.I.T. of the Vox Machina tribe.
These will likely be my last musings.
Writing never came easily to be, much to the likely surprise of Emon's Best Selling Lists. My penchant for storytelling was always best suited for the sung word and the silver tongue. Writing, in and of itself, causes a form of reflection I've never been quite comfortable with.
Perhaps that is why I chose to write the stories of Vox Machina. A bright reflection of the best experiences of my life.
It is still difficult for me to look upon that period of my life without much grief. Despite my songful demeanor and handsome exterior, that reflection of myself is not one that I'm necessarily proud of. But the friendship I found within the constant battles of life and death, and the laughter and smiles my antics gave those around me, brought me more joy than anything life had given to me in my sixty-nine years of prior life.
That period of my life gave me everything. My darling daughter, broken as me because of my actions, and her education and eventual rise into a respectable life of her choosing. The closest friend I've ever had in the muscle power of Grog, whom I have missed with every fiber of my being since his eventual disappearance into the Cliffkeep Mountains.
He sought to deal with the Giant Incursion in the land, as I heard. He had a terrible grudge against Giants since our experiences in the Underdark.
There is no greater injustice one can commit against one such as Grog than ending his endless pool of Ale.
I hope he survived it all. I like to think that he headbutted the leader of the Giant's in its massive forehead and became their King, demanding that they attempt to usurp his position of power, and forever failing to do so. But it's been nearly two hundred years since I last saw him, and I know that his time has long since passed.
Heavens forbid the fate of wherever he ended up. Kord himself couldn't stand up to the testicular fortitude of my favorite Goliath's prowess and stupidity.
It's also a strange experience to visit Whitestone. In truth, it's been nearly fifty years since I have done so. Although it has become a thriving Republic, and the de Rolo name still holds strong, it is… more than difficult to visit there and experience the ghosts of the past. It is the spot of my greatest success and my greatest failing, after all… but it is admittedly more because of the loss of my dear friend, Percival, and his betrothed, Vex.
Although my life has been more the wealthy after becoming a 'family man', the greatest curse of that existence has been watching those gifted with a shorter life go before me. Only the good are allowed to die, and my fate to outlive my closest of family members has been a cruelty on my heart I was not entirely prepared for. Watching Percival become a responsible leader was a joy, but watching his children outlive him and grow old in their own right was an experience I was not prepared for. I am ashamed to know that I have not seen most of them since they have grown old, as it is a wound on my heart I cannot quite face.
I will admit, however, that the statues in my name are well-endowed. Perhaps I will visit Whitestone one last time, if only to grace the presence of the cube with my presence one last time.
Those of us that survive try to stay in contact. Keyleth will outlive us all, and in a way, I pity her. She still has not moved on from that love that she lost, and I'm not sure she ever will. My darling Pike has encouraged her to move on, but in my own selfishness, I hope she does not.
I feel responsible for her pain. Not a day goes by that I don't feel the massive sorrow for my miracle, undone. Every once in a while I encounter someone who speaks of our battle and how proud I must be for our hero-like return to the world, and while I often play to this worship, in truth I feel nothing but shame. It's a strange thing, to be thanked incessantly for a task that saw the loss of my closest friend. Of a life I have many regrets from, that is my greatest regret.
Vax was the best of us. Every memory of him is filled with a pang of regret in my soul. When he helped me find Kaylie in the sewers of Westruun, and his words of love toward my false character.
He respected me, and in response, I accused him of not caring. I left him and my friends and I betrayed their trust and their love, instead lashing out with false bravado and victim mentality. It's a hurt I can never forgive myself for.
Wait, how did my wine get on this page? Sorry. I've been telling Pike to stop letting me drink this clear stuff, it tastes like piss and regret.
I shouldn't focus on the negativity of my life. I'm a happy man, really. Pike has filled my life with such life and light, and it is my greatest joy to bring laughter to her life. It's good to know that my youth's provocative nature was not a turn-off to her, I'm so proud of the person she is, and the light she brings to the world, still, to this day.
Vax often said she was the best of us, and he was right in so many ways. Watching her, two hundred years later, with just as much pride in her devotion to Sarenrae brings me such joy. I couldn't be loyal to my own songs for more than a few months, but the sight of her still giving sermons in the church she built in Vasselhiem gives me a sense of pride I've never quite felt.
More than that, she is a wonderful Mother. Kaylie was, perhaps, a little uncomfortable with the very idea of her for a decade or so, but eventually, she and Pike became the best of friends. As Kaylie's fiery youth calmed, they found companionship in each other, often going on the shopping trips that Grog and I so often did our best to avoid in the past. More than that, Kaylie's life has become one of teaching in her own right, and Pike has become something of a mentor to her, as well, which is what I would consider to be my greatest sense of pride in life.
It took us a hundred years to finally decide to have a child of our own. He is the best of us, and also the worst of me, which scares me. There can only be one Scanlan Shorthalt in the world, and the power of my sheer awesomeness cannot exist in one place, lest the very fabric of the prime material realm be torn asunder. So my goal as a father is to teach him to avoid my pure awesomeness, and instead become something better than that.
He, too, has the spark of adventure in his eyes. He's too young to follow through on it, but I am both fearful for his own path in life mirroring mine, and excited to know that all the best parts of Pike, combined with my handsome face, might actually make a more positive change in the world than I ever did. He chose the path of Saranrae's Paladin himself, and while I'm disappointed that my songs will die with my fabulous self, he reminds me so much of my darling beloved that I know he will make the world a better place.
Of a life filled with regret, my biggest will be not living to see the man my Vax'ildan Reynolds Shorthalt will become.
I've become old, weary, and sick. Indeed, my glorious exterior might still be as irresistible as it was in my youth, but my knees can no longer carry me, and my voice is going, as well. I've been attempting to work on songs that more suite the drone of my wisp, as it were, and I believe I've come up with one.
I'm still here, but yet I'm gone
I don't play lute or sing my songs
They never defined who I am
The man that loves you 'til the end
You're the last person I will love
You're the last face I will recall
And best of all, I'm not gonna miss you
Not gonna miss you
I'm never gonna hold you like I did
Or say I love you to the kids
You're never gonna see it in my eyes
It's not gonna hurt me when you cry
I'm never gonna know what you go through
All the things I say or do
All the hurt and all the pain
One thing selfishly remains
I'm not gonna miss you
I'm not gonna miss you
It's a bit of a downer. Might take a note from Ol' Johnathan Platinum and borrow a song from Bards Of Death to turn into a folk song.
I grow weary of writing. I've never been able to stay in one place for long, and while that no longer pertains to my wanderings, it does to this damn chair. Long ago I snuck a scrying shit in it and while the spell no longer smells of my wonderful waft, the leather sometimes lets out an uncomfortable squishy sound, and I think the full part of the dung finally just gave.
Oh, what's this? A rather large Raven just arrived in my window.
I'd like to shoo him… but perhaps I can win a few of those Feathers for Vax in a game of cards.
Either way, I think I have just the song.
This is Ground Control to Major Vax
You've really made the blade
And the papers want to know whose blood you've spilled!
I hate to be a broken record and play a song twice, but I've lived long enough to not be a one-hit wonder, Gods damnit.
I'm quite tired, so I shall bid thee farewell, journal. May no-one ever read you, and might all remember my girth.
Scanlan Shorthalt.