The Famous Valcourt Whisky and Lie - Cornelius Valcourt

[Dardonas]

In the whisky-making process, you begin with your blend of grains.  They must be processed and agitated before they can have the sugars extracted from them into something called the "mash."  The mash is where all the flavor comes from.  Once the mash has been fermented, it is brought to the distilleries to concentrate the alcohol and remove the excess and unwanted leftovers.  All that remains is matured and aged within an oak cask over several years.

This is how we get the famous Valcourt whisky.

[Dardonas]

I cannot say I expected things to progress as smoothly as they have so far.  All of the meetings, the backrooms, the mincing of words to sound like a man of decorum, it's all as boring as I feared it would be.  It is terribly draining, and I expect I will be drained more.  I see why faces here are often filled with such empty smiles.  The city of lights will endeavor to make me a cynic yet. 

I fear I will turn out like father if I hung up the Valcourt colors and pursued my desires.  Imagine the "Great Cabalist Cornelius" on stage of the Club l'Artiste.  Whisky in hand, a mademoiselle for each arm, and the applause of the crowds like thunder.  Perhaps I shall saw myself in half, or pull my shadow through a hat... The wonder of it, the possibility.  Perhaps if I was a braver man.  Perhaps if I was a better man.

We cannot all be brave, though, and few of us can ever be better. 

A toast to us, father: To having fun, and to having none.

[Dardonas]

A lifetime ago I was sipping whisky and basking in my loathing of politics.  A lifetime ago before curses, before the fear of fading into the ethereal plane, before Hargreaves asked for my help.

That infernal contraption in Bluetspur is forever burned into my mind and the haunt continues to incessantly plague me with his company.  These hands put him to the end.  There was no other way.  There could be only one and it had to be me; I was the right one, I was the uncursed one.  Yet, it does not fix the damage that has been dealt to my mind, to my body.  It does not answer the question that is singed into my brain.  What the other Cornelius Valcourt whispers to me in my sleep...

...What if I am the copy?

[Dardonas]

I understand now there is no copy and no original.  We are two halves, one in the same.  I have come to terms with a simple truth: this is not the real world.  I live in a shadow of existence, an illusion.  The brain creatures of Bluetspur, the squid-people, eyestalked creatures guarding gateways, a one-eyed beast so alien that it has called into question everything I believe.

Then the bombing...  People.  Pieces of people in the rubble.  People I knew.  Faces so bruised and torn apart they could not be recognized.  At first they did not believe me when I warned them of an attack.  I fear they thought I was insane.  Basile Corbeau certainly did not believe me when I told him I killed Hazlik to escape that wretched place.  The bombing could have been avoided; the Gendarmerie could have increased security.  But could haves do not change what has happened.  Lies and illusions I made myself believe.  But the truth of it?  It has pulled back the veil and now I see clearly.

Death, the macabre, the grotesque, the morose pull to stare at the forlorn and alien parts of the world most pretend is hidden has overtaken me and I fear I will never be the same. The things I have seen cannot be unseen. And I have been placed at an impasse: do I join the illusion or do I use it?  I am, after all, an illusionist...

With the Rod of Rastinon, I can fix myself.  I can be whole again.

I can stop the other Cornelius.  And afterwards...

[Dardonas]

I write this from Castle Ravenloft in Barovia, a guest to Count Strahd von Zarovich himself.  There is a very good chance that I will not survive using the Apparatus a second time.  But, the alternative is that I am consumed in the maddened pursuit by my villainous phantom self.  If he does not take me, they may certainly bring me to a sanitarium when I return to my home in Port-a-Lucine and I am not fixed.  Should the worst befall me, understand that this was truly my only option.

Should I die, tell the world I did so for the most entertainment I have had in a long time.  That I died fulfilled, at peace.  Tell Stella that I held for her the greatest admiration for her friendship and choosing to follow her dreams.  Tell Nadia that her friendship was dearest things to me and to follow her passions.  Tell Robine that she was a brilliant friend and colleague and that I wish for her success. 

It is with Hargreaves that I am leaving my last will and testament. 

—C.V.