Prologue - Note from the Author

When the master sorceress Niri MacGregor first approached me about writing the story of the Last Bloodborne for her, the first question that came to mind was, “Why?”

For anyone not aware, Niri is widely renowned within the Shadow World for the stories she records in her journals and later compiles into books she sells through her well-respected Thaumaturge business, which she co-owns with her friend Sara Mousahdeen in the caverns beneath Stone Keep.

As we sat at a table that day at the back of a pub on a side street not far from the Alchemist’s Shop in Riverton, the more I thought about it, the less I could fathom why Niri would need the likes of me – a middling author of an obscure newsletter with few prospects and even fewer subscribers.

“Because I do not know the full story of all the other protagonists,” she replied when I suggested as much. “And I do not wish to do the necessary research to find out. Such a task would take more time than I have the patience for.” She took a swig from her half-empty glass of ale and wiped her lips with her sleeve.

I did not wish to seem ungrateful. I was down to my last few coins and could certainly use the work. Any work. “But why me?” I wondered aloud at the risk of seeming impudent. "There are others better than me."

Niri raised one finger for each point as she spoke. “You have a reputation as a man of integrity. You are desperate enough to give it your fullest attention, knowing that a positive result might improve your prospects. And you showed up for our meeting. The first two authors I contacted lacked even that simple courtesy.”

"I see," I said.

It was an honest enough answer. If perhaps a little humbling. I took a big gulp of beer and wondered who those other two authors might have been. The writing community in Riverton was small, assuming she had not searched outside the town, which she might very well have done.

I fell quiet for a while, sipping my beer and not knowing how to reply. When I came out of my thoughts, I noticed Niri was sizing me up. She seemed to come to a decision, for she pulled a thick sheaf of papers from a pack at her hip and thrust it across the table at me. “I have prepared my notes, which you are free to keep and to use as you see fit. I no longer have need of them.”

“Um,” I said hesitantly as I looked at the well-thumbed stack of papers. They were tied by a length of string and seemed quite disorganised.

“The first few pages contain the names and addresses of the people you will need to interview to complete your research. The third is a contract outlining the terms of our arrangement. I am sure you will find everything agreeable. The remainder are the appropriate notes from my journal.”

I looked up as a bell over the pub door jangled. A pleasant-looking young man entered the establishment and glanced around as though looking for someone. Spotting Niri, he smiled and waved, then wended through the tables towards us.

Niri saw him and beamed, “This is my man come for me. We are away to start a new journey.” She dug in her pocket and tossed a few coins on the table. “Send me a draft when you are done. You can leave it at the Alchemist’s Shop here in town. They will get word to me.”

She extended a hand, and we shook. “Best of luck!” she offered and jumped up, rushing into the young man’s arms. They embraced and kissed rather ardently for such a public place. I looked away to give them privacy. The last I saw of them, they were wandering off into the depths of the pub, holding hands and nudging up against one another quite amicably.

The two of them looked well suited, I thought with a tinge of envy as I recalled my own limited history in that regard.

With a wistful sigh, I returned to the stack of papers and quickly scanned the contact sheet. I did not recognise any names, though I did note that some of the addresses were in far-off places. I shook my head silently. The research would be no easy task.

Setting those pages aside, I read through the contract and was pleasantly surprised to find that the terms were indeed agreeable, as Niri had suggested. She had been most generous in her commission and had even included a small upfront stipend for expenses, which I could draw from a local bank. I exhaled in relief, knowing my immediate financial problems had suddenly been resolved.

I took another swig of beer and then made a start at the first few paragraphs of Niri’s notes.

Soon, I was lost in what I found hidden in those pages. Unable to put it down, I read until the pub had closed and I had been forced to relocate to my home in a rented room at the back of a local Blacksmith’s shop. There, I continued reading long into the wee hours that night. As I finished the last page just before dawn and set that single sheet on the stack with all the others, I found my heart beating faster with anticipation as I thought of the story I had just read and the story I already imagined I would write.

Despite the late hour and an utter lack of sleep, I sat at my small desk and pulled out my quill and paper while the story was still fresh in my mind. There was a great deal of research to do, but I was eager to make a start.

Dipping the quill in an inkwell on my desk, I began to write. At the top of the first page, I wrote in my finest script, “Last of the Bloodborne. Chapter 1.”

I looked at the ceiling to gather my thoughts.

After a moment, I put quill to paper and began: “A night with full moon is a friend to many. It can guide the weary traveller home at the end of a journey. It can aid the skilled hunter in the pursuit of his prey…”