Pig Iron Unexpectedly Forged Into Steel

Tythanis Tendertomb thrummed his doumbek steadily as we entered The Nevermore. Rusted iron doors lined the walls of this ruined cellblock and partially burnt wooden support timbers held the ceiling precariously in place. Rivulets of water dripped down the wall, creating a shallow pool and filling an oubliette hole in the middle of the chamber. We could only imagine the grisly punishments administered in this horrible place as we experienced an eerie, debilitating haunting by its final inhabitant, Professor Hean Feramin, the so-called Splatterman.

But the day began solemly as brother Gregor made arrangements for the funeral and visited the jewel merchant parents of the deceased to deliver the sad news and bring closure to them. During the previous night, our dwarven companion previously known as Urgilash announced that he is to be known by a new name, "pig iron unexpectedly forged into steel", and this phrase is pronounced, "Zarkendraal." Indeed–he is a dwarf of unexpected actions, and keeps us guessing often. The presence of Tythanis, however, seems to be one that we can count on, for he is a delightful companion socially, and in battle seemed to provide the luck Zarkendraal needed. Together these two seem to balance one another, as balance is the way of things–the way of Pharasma.

And of companions, I cannot speak more favorably than about Gregor whose great wisdom I have come to know as my cornerstone of decisions. He explained to me privately that he noticed my discomfort at Cynthea's death, perhaps intuiting my deep grief and sorrow over the loss of my own daughter. He advanced our friendship greatly, by offering an ear to my woes at such future point when I am ready to disclose the source of my pain.

That morning I set out to free Gibs, and found him slumped in the squalor of his internment. Gibs does not seem to be guilty of splattering blood letters upon the town's memorial statue. I was reticent to challenge the authenticity of his confines in front of the head jailor and thus freed Gibs, returning him comfortably home, with only a stern warning of distrust. Gibs must now fight against any threat of possession by spirits again, lest he find himself relaxing six feet under the Restlands. I told him I know the quality Gregor's shovelwork all too well, and I won't be as discerning next time Gibs raises force against us. When a priest of Pharasma becomes close friend with a gravedigger, our enemies should be wary what lay in store for them!

And Harrowstone awaited us. We returned to slice through googantuan extoplasmic creatures. The likes of their sticky, shifting shapes I've learned through academic study, but it was a treat to finally see them up close. Dear journal, I'm including some hand-drawn sketches of what I witnessed to further the study of their form and substance, for although drawn from the Ether, they appear substantively like thick tangles of grotesque slimy linen. And what skeletons reanimated in the subsequent room were of no consequence to us.

Our day concluded with Tythanis' thrumming doumbek, and the Splatterman's mental assault upon us, whose psychic conflagration seemed to burn away the very wisdom from our minds. Thus, having splattered the Splatterman, we no longer fear his blood-splattering timeline, and proceed with cleansing Harrowstone, and the town, of its undead manifestations.

On a much lighter note, I recall from years ago my master Angelo's loathing of Doumbeks. He would, at every turn, insult Doumbek players as having no rhythm, intelligence, nor sense of musical taste. For example, one sunny Oathday, during a lecture on Thassilonian algebraic mathematics at the University of Caliphas, through his tall lecture hall window came the incessant thrumming of a Doumbek (back then it was spelled Dumbek). Then, after a rather long pregnant pause, he turned to his students and asked three questions, answering them himself after each one:

• "What do you call 500 dumbeks at the bottom of the Inner Sea?"
• "A good start!"
• "What is the difference between an onion and a dumbek?
• "Nobody cries if you chop up a dumbek."
• "Why is a dead kobold in the road more tragic than a dead dumbek player?"
• "The kobold was on its way to a paying musical tributum."

Still smiling at his own wit, he then slowly shut the tall lead glass framed window and laughed uproariously. The students wanted to hear more. So, at the risk of his own reputation as a serious scholar, he caved to their request:

• "You're in a room with the Splatterman, The Lopper, and a dumbek player and your quiver has only two sheaf arrows left. What do you do?"
• "Shoot the dumbek player twice just to make sure."

And with that, he ended the lesson early, still chuckling as he exited the lecture hall.

Wait Brother, It Will Change.

As I watched Gregor the Wise untwine the child's lifeless body from the thatches of the giant stirge's nest, I was reminded of the death of my own child, Maitreya, and the life I once knew...

But today began with a return to the town's stone memorial statue whereupon was written in blood, another letter in Vesorianna's name–a sign that Gibs may be innocent of making the markings.

Tarl was suffering an interdict of his powers, and sought out atonement in the Tower of Prophesy under the more powerful hand of Brother Grimbarrow. I have come to rely upon Gregor a great deal and Gregor reminded me of our shared distrust for Father Grimbarrow, and we are now watching Tarl very closely for any indication that he may be compromised. After spending a full day with that old codger, I wouldn't be surprised if the paladin's feet rot out from beneath him. Gregor and I still hold that Grimbarrow has something to do with Harrowstone, if not the professor's death. Time will tell. Thus I waited the evening for Tarl's safe return to the manor.

That eve I indulged in some toothsome rabbit stew cooked by Kendra's house servants, during which I conversed with Urgilash to gain a better understanding of our quasi-dwarven companion. The dwarf believes he is "he who walks above ground without honor" and acts mostly as if he has a deathwish.
Sure enough, the following day Urgilash met his doom whilst falling from atop Harrowstone's decrepit balcony down to an impaling death amidst heavy beams of shattered wood. He returned to us divinely healed and bespoke in staccato stretches of seemingly incoherent statements about a Boxite mineral and of the dwarven god, Torag. He appears to have been relieved of his deathwish, and no longer considers living as a human dishonorable. This event reminded me of an old saying in Ustalav, "Wait brother, it will change." as testament to just how much can change in one day. Urgilash's death was, perhaps, the best possible outcome for all of us.

I had to laugh when the adventurer, previously known as Urgilash, finally entered the room for which he gave his life:

 "What?!", he said, "There is nothing in this room!"

  Gregor replied, "Sure there is. One would suggest–salvation."

                                                                *     *     *
Today I also had my own atoning to do–I visited the shut-in, Gibs, only to find that in my drunken stupor I poisoned his body with negative energy. I must remind myself, dear journal, not to drink heavily before administering curatives. To avoid the eye of inquisitor Bolivar, I quickly sought the aid of brother Librei who arrived to Gibs' cell at my behest to grant him divine restoration. I will return tomorrow to release Gibs, since his imprisonment has removed his name from the list of suspects presumed to be possessed by the spirit of the Harrowstone prisoner known as The Splatterman.

In the morning, Mel, our resident bard, disappeared, along with the flute belonging to the Piper of Illmarsh. Gregor, Tarl and I agreed that a message should be sent posthaste to the town of Illmarsh:

"People of Illmarsh, apprehend and arrest the bard named Mel on sight, for he may be possessed by the devil. Seize from him his flute, which may carry the evil of the spirit of the Piper of Illmarsh. Be warned, he traveled from Ravengrow this past night."

Fortunately, amidst all this chaos we've kept Kendra's mind at peace. Gregor explained to her that her "dream" was only her longing for her father, manifesting itself in the subconscious symbols of her dreaming mind. But we all know the truth–and the truth that we battled Professor Lorrimor's ghost is stranger than fiction.

But the most relieving part of our day, that part which affirms we are making good progress against the dwelling malignancy within the old prison, was our discovery of the skeletal body of Father Charlatan, slumped against his prison wall, wrapped in numerous emblazoned chains.

Tarl could sense the impostor priest's spirit still lurking within the cell. We attempted to free the hunchbacked friar's spirit by first removing his bones from the chain shackles, and then removing his remains from the cell. Tarl and I prayed for his soul and I consecrated the area then blasted out a channel of positive energy which we believe released the haunt from the area.

And thus we finally made it to the stirge nest high atop Harrowstone, and slew the bloodsucking beast in flight. Of all the horrible events of this day, it was this final visage of the blood-drained child, Cynthea, being pulled from the nest that gave me a chilling stir, and opened within my mind an old wound that I've kept buried deeper than any grave in the Restlands. Watching Gregor carry the limp, desiccated child-corpse back to town caused a swelling of tears, and a flashback for me of a happier time of life and love and family. But the story of the death of my own child is one I shall tell another time–not this year, not yet.

Tarl vs. Vesorianna

Part I:
To understand the conflict involving our stalwart paladin, Antonio "Tarl" Gregorio II, I am carefully reviewing all my journal notes about the prison, and about the warden's wife, Vesorianna.

This conflict has damaged Tarl's connection with the Empyrial Lord he follows, a powerful angel named Lymnieris. It should be our groups number one endeavor to see that Tarl's proper righteousness is restored, for if we let him fall in disgrace of his demigoddess, then surely we shall all fall with him.

On Harrowstone and the Fire
Harrowstone Prison and its supporting town, Ravengro, were established in 4594 AR by Count Eigen Lorres, ruler of Tamrivena (Tamrivena is the area now known as the county of Canterwall). The count hoped to use the prison to increase his standing in Tamrivena and beyond and to provide a good income by taking major criminals from all over Ustalav. Harrowstone became the home of Ustalav's most infamous prisoners; they were collected twice-yearly from other prisons in every county to either spend the rest of their days there, or to be executed, usually by hanging. The idea was a profitable success for the count and Ravengro town.^[4][5]

In 4661 AR, the summer prison convoy brought five exceptionally wicked prisoners, listed here with their full names as requested by brother Gregor: Hean Feramin, aka the Splatter Man; Ispin Onyxcudgel, the Mosswater Marauder; Vance Saetressle, called the Lopper; Sefick Corvin, or Father Charlatan; and a man only known as the Piper of Illmarsh. These prisoners, led by the Splatter Man, seized control of the prison and killed the prison warden, Lyvar Hawkran. Before his death, the warden managed to thwart the escape of the prisoners but, in the panic that subsequently ensued, the prison was set ablaze killing all the prisoners and many of the guards. Additionally, the warden's wife Vesorianna Hawkran perished in the event. A statue, called the Harrowstone Memorial, stands in Ravengro to commemorate this event.

On Vesorianna Hawkran
Vesorianna Hawkran was the wife of Lyvar Hawkran; her husband was the head warden of Harrowstone prison near Ravengro, in Canterwall county, Ustalav. They both lived together in a house within the prison grounds. Crushed down flat by our collegue, Shale, this domicile is now but fragmentary timber and dust in the front courtyard of Harrowstone prison.

On the day when her husband bravely died in a great fire in 4661 AR, after preventing a mass prisoner escape, Vesorianna came to the prison to look for her husband. Discovering the chaos at the prison, in her fear, she exacerbated the problem and was restrained. Tragically, she then lost her own life in the smoke caused by the fire, as she was held by her restraints. Her death is commemorated on the Harrowstone Memorial in Ravengro.

Upon meeting her spirit, she expressed a deep sorrow for the loss of her husband, and explained to us it was the presence of she and her husband that kept the restless spirits in check, ever since the great riot 50 years ago. Now that the spirit of her husband is gone, she explained she doesn't have the strength to hold them back, and the spirits of the undead grew, especially amongst the five most notoriously evil of them.

Perhaps now that Taral has done his sworn duty to attack Vesorianna, ... just perhaps I can still contact her privately back in the room where we first met her. Now that Tarl has attacked her and believes she has been banished from his sight, perhaps he can seek and achieve atonement while the rest of us, who have not sworn such a demanding oath, surreptitiously keep in touch with Vesorianna.

Part II:
Tarl vs. Vesorianna
Sadly, we were unable to coax Tarl into leaving Vesorianna's spirit well alone until we admonish the five evil haunts within the prison. At first it seemed Tarl would go along with Gregor's plan to move forward, leaving Vesorianna to hold back the other spirits and await news of our success. Unfortunately, Tarl was left no choice but to seek atonement by attacking her on sight. This, of course, was his only option–having felt the cold severing of the silver chord to his demigoddess' powers. It would not be right for our group to allow Tarl to suffer the loss of paladinhood at the skeletal hand of Harrowstone! Now that Tarl has thrown down the gauntlet we must and will stand behind him in his crusade to destroy Vesorianna and every last undead encountered. This is a tall task, one that borders on the uncomfortable absence of patience, logic, and caution. Thus, our band must throw caution to the wind and fight alongside Tarl now, in an almost frenzied reaction if we are to help brother Tarl restore his deity's faith in him. And perhaps a visit to that old codger, brother Grimbarrow, is in order. Since he is aligned with the Paladins of Lastwall, he may absolve Tarl of his transgression.

Thus our day consisted of:

• Cleaning the spiders from the inner prison chapel
• Discovering bonded prisoner items
• Disregarding the animated hot poker room
• Traveling upstairs
• Witnessing Tarl's lost powers
• Destroying ten skeletons and the Piper of Illmarsh along with his three stirge-minions
• Attacking Vesorianna's apparition until she fled back to her room on level one

I shall resign to omit my usual anecdotes in this journal entry today, for so much of what transpired seems to pale in comparison to the urgency of aiding Tarl in the restoration of his paladinhood. And for the safety of my companions, I shall write nothing disparaging about our new colleague, the inquisitor Luther Bolivar, to avoid altogether the judgment of the inquisition.

The Professor Returns! OR "It's just some zombies."

Mel's silver tongue leapt into action! He gently persuaded the lovely Kendra that the apparition of her father, now clawing at the gate along with three zombified townsfolk, was nothing more than a personal delusion of loam and brain. Mel sprung into action to coax our buxom hostess into returning to her bedchamber with the idea that the manifestation of her beloved father was a supple longing for his return in the form of a vivid dream.

And with that, our resident hexmaster, Mstislav, enchanted the girl with the sands of sleep.

With the attack upon the manor put down we vested ourselves in the task of reburying the four corpses. This required splitting the party, a dangerous notion that suddenly came to me out of the bottom of a whiskey jar. It was, nonetheless, successful. Gregor, Urgilash, and I dodged the town watchmen, ducking down dim, dreary streets only to happen upon a mad minded Griggs who displayed symptoms of possession. In my inebriated state, I fancied the unorthodox solution of funneling a potion of Haunt-Be-Gone down the man's gullet. Only time will tell the effect, or whether he is the fabled Splatter Man.

In the peep of day, Mstislav, Urgalash, Mel, and Taral paid a visit to that old codger, Brother Grimbarrow. Thanks to the tenuous agreement with the Paladins of Lastwall, Taral called upon the head Friar to administer healing to the party, and we all chipped in to purchase a rather nice healing wand. Thus, better prepared to take on the denizens of Harowstone Prison.

And thus it was that upon our return to the haunted penitentiary, and after a battle with animated manacles, that brother Gregor in his wisdom declared we shouldn't waste resources attacking the "bull-sheet" but rather focus on the root malady that underpins the profligacy of evil that threatens the people of Ravengro. On this point–we are all agreed.

As a pinnacle to our morning, we encountered none other than Vesorianna Hawkran, the wife of the former warden. Her spirit explained to us that if we defeat the ghosts of the five most dangerous criminals of Harrowstone, she can help contain them and thus aid in the banishing of all the haunts within. Only this will also free her... and put an end to all the haunting of Harrowstone.