Company Of Six

It's plain to see I am in good company for the paladin, Antony Toral Gregorio II has joined my group, and has to a strong degree endeared me to his righteous cause to vanquish the abominable denizens of Harrowstone Prison.

Rinleeze has agreed to stay on at the mansion, protecting the late Professor's daughter with his life. The rest will return to Harrowstone after some healing and sleep.

We are a company of six men:

• Brother Phiroz Iraln of Caliphas (a black friar of Pharasma);
• I am, after all, a man like other men but gifted with a love of science, scholarship, and devotion to the goddess of death, the mother of souls.
• Mstislav (a warlock with a pet dragon named Tecsok (Tea-chalk));
• Somewhat reclusive, but altogether competent, Mstislav is an enigma, but one that I would always want beside me in battle, and frankly not a bad conversationalist, especially under the influence of fine spirits.
• Gregor (a man from the most noble of professions, a grave digger);
• Gregor's logic is admirable, and on more than one occasion has proven himself wise in the way of choices that matter. I shall keep his advisement under advisement.
• Antony Toral Gregorio II (a determined paladin of Luminares);
• I can only assume from my scholarly reading in the old religion that he means "clarissima mundi lumina", the world's clearest light. Thus I must inquire whether he is a follower of a moon goddess. Either way, his righteousness is nearly infectious, and it is inspiring to be in the company of such a stalwart defender of faith.
• Mel (an inspiring if not quiet bard)
• I have moments when I forget Mel is there, but then suddenly feel inspired by his... er, what exactly does he do?
• Urgilash (a deathwish barbarian);
• I've met his kind before. He presents as strong, protective and helpful, but in a pinch when confronted with death--he chooses death. And frankly, my goddess wouldn't advise me to meddle in his quest to join her. I shall, instead, be supportive of his noble mission, but as we Black Friar's often say, "not this year, not yet".

Our direction has been to clear Harrowstone of evil. Most recently a ghastly fight with an animated furnace has left us beaten, burnt, and depleted of resources. I shall update my journal again tomorrow, once we have learned more of this macabre institution.

Pharasma

Pharasama: "Ah, Phiroz, you have arrived right on time. Take thee more care henceforth that you worship the goddess of the grave, but not seek out the grave itself. Your time will come, but not this year, not yet."

With a great gasp of air, as though he had just surfaced after having been submerged for a time underwater, Phiroz breathed again. Mstislav rushed over to administer a healing spell, and in that instant, the ghostly scythe construct clanked to the stone bulwark floor under a poof of rust.

"To say that I am happy to be back is misleading," said Phiroz. "Thank you Mstislav, your quick wit I shall endeavor to repay some day. In fact, thank you all–for no priest is an island, and I should not have survived at all without each one of you."

As though his senses were sluggish in returning, Phiroz felt a sudden rush of fatigue. He stood up unusually straight now, and unbeknownst to him his own wry smile expressed the pride of narrowly escaping death. He turned to the group, pausing frozen for one small moment with a transient blank expression upon his face. And in that flicker of time, he forgot his encounter with Pharasma.

"May I suggest some respite and drink?" he suddenly said with his usual intonation and pace. "I feel compelled to celebrate with some life-affirming activities. Let us away from this maleficent ruin, as Gregor suggests. I do not know what sudden surge of boldness came over me a few moments ago–I was drawn toward that headman's scythe as if it had my very name upon it."

And thus, this was brother Phiroz's first forgotten encounter with Pharasma.

It. Was. Inevitable.

The Headman's Scythe
The west balcony was haunted no doubt long before the fire. And today I stepped upon it and side by side Shale and I fought a most magnificent creature. It may have been my marveling in amazement that distracted me from taking more cautious steps. The being was resonating with the power of undeath--a fact I learned simply too late in this battle. For of all the executions that must have transpired in this keep, of all the blood that had been spilled so long ago, I stood and marveled there for a moment too long at this residual spiritual vengeance that swiftly manifested before us.

Ghostly skeletal arms wielded a rusty scythe, perhaps the same scythe the headsman once used himself. And so it was that I, Phiroz Iraln, became the executioner's newest victim as the blade cut me down in my prime. There was no time to stitch the wound that mortally cut my body and exhumed my soul from its mortal coil. Within a mere blink, my essence belonged no longer to the company of friends of professor Lorrimor, and in that moment all romantic connection ceased between his lovely daughter Kendra and I. It was a most swift and painless death, for suddenly all my woes and concerns spiraled outward into entropy, until their very signature meant nothing to me anymore.

Why Me, Why This Year? Why Now?

It. Was. Inevitable.

I had simply come too close to the haunting of Harrowstone–too close to the macabre and malign. I was not unlike a moth that is quickly burned by the firelight that compels it to entreat more closely. I simply stood to firmly between Ravengro and the evil of the past who's hunger for blood had not been slacked in more than 100 years. It was inevitable that I, a cleric of Pharasma, the goddess of death, should be the next unwilling victim in a long line of persistent meals consumed by the insatiable haunts left behind by the villainous, murderous, members of the Whispering Way. An ancient organization of evil like theirs can hardly be cast asunder by one humble friar from the city of Caliphas.

Indeed, it will take a group of men including my companions Shale, Mstislav and Greggor to forcefully cause the cacophonous tumult that is needed to unveil the obfuscated machinations of that dread cult of necromancers. It will be much like the upturning of an earthen grave to uncover what is buried deep below, as so far this is what our research has felt like. Yes..., it will either be more digging in the dirt to uncover secrets of the past and the upturning of the earth in favor of the living, or, as in my case and the case of Professor Lorrimor, it will be the upturning of earth to dig our own graves. Professor Lorrimor was wise to begun the study of the Whispering Way, and I have oft noted the similarities between the good professor and myself but he could not withstand the dark power of its secrets alone. And similarly now I, like he, lay dead.

The Last Will and Testament of Brother Phiroz Iraln of Caliphas
In the wee hours this morning, whilst I waited for my companions to awaken, I jotted the following into my journal.

I, Phiroz Iraln, do hereby bequeath all my worldly possessions to the church of Pharasma except the following:
To Gypsy - Faithful steed, I give you a new master. You are now the possession of Agile Kearn (the orphan boy from Caliphas who possesses the biggest heart I've ever seen). He will treat you with more respect than an animal deserves.
To Agile - Young boy, you are given the rank of Initiate of the First Spiral, well ahead of its time. Always stay loyal to the church, regardless of the path you choose to walk. You receive my holy symbol, 40 gold pieces, my battle and traveling gear, and my horse, Gypsy.
To Kendra - Beautiful woman. You receive the burden of losing another one close to you. This pain I cannot lift from you, except to inform that I am now with my goddess in death's loving embrace. There is nothing of value I can leave for you except my encouragement to move forward with your life, to quickly find love elsewhere, and anywhere you can, for life is fleeting and brutish in Ustalav.
To Shale - You receive my reading tutorial books. These will help you learn to read–which is a gift you give yourself to illuminate all future days of your life.
To Mstislav - You receive all my books, my writing paper, my inkpen, sealing wax and my black ink. These are many both in Ravengro and in Caliphas, should you ever venture there. You also receive my astrolabe, and my magnifying glass.
To Gregor - You receive my potion of cure light wounds and my sacred ceremonial shovel, it is a masterwork item worthy of a noble gravedigger such as yourself. Please use it for my internment.

*     *     *

Phiroz: "This is just as I imagined it! Here atop an impossibly tall spire, Pharasma’s Boneyard awaits me and all mortals. I am standing in a great line, waiting to be judged and sent to my final reward. Only the unworthy end up in her graveyard, their souls left to rot for all eternity. I do not believe I will be rotting."
Pharasma: "Ah, Phiroz...; You have arrived right on time."