Let Sleeping Dwarves Lie

Forward
Dear journal, this will be my last journal entry for a long time because this chapter in my life, the Haunting of Harrowstone, is ended. By now I have made new friends to converse and commiserate with, and even as I write upon this last journal page, it warms me to know that I will hereafter share my new adventures with real companions, not merely the hempen pages of a lonely book.

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The Final Days

One attribute of a proper druid is the wisdom not to disturb a sleeping animal, or so they often say. My friend Gregor is one such druid (and one such animal), but until now I thought quite harmless; last night he gave me witness to his first transformation into a hunter cat, a majestic leopard-animal with fierce claws and eye teeth that our foes will soon witness as well. There is much more to this grave-digging commoner than meets the eye, he has become a trusted ally and friend.

I stood at the side of Luther's well-crafted coffin for hours, pausing only to check on Agile, my young companion, whom I've advised to stay on as a bookkeeper in Kendra's mansion. After all, a fine library like Professor Lorimor's should not be left to disuse. His books will continue to feed Agile's mind with things I could never offer him. And in return, Agile will attend to Kendra's needs, making my departure from Ravengro easier knowing Kendra has not been left alone.

At some point during that long day, Zarkendraal explained he has returned to his old ways, and his old name of Urgilash. I could see the way he eyed Luthor's coffin jealously, wishing it were he laying in repose instead. As a follower of the Gray Lady, I can only imagine that She feels Urgilash has much to learn yet from this life, and through our travels with him, that he must continue to live and learn his lessons before She will be ready to send him to the Boneyard. In fact, I doubt he will learn these lessons any time soon––for he professes a dwarven righteousness and all-knowingness about matters that could even rival the bold arrogance of a paladin. In fact, he even scoffed at Gregor's profession of moving dirt and snubbed our original internment site for Luthor, stating that any good "clan" would see fit to have stone worked instead to honor such a friend.

This gave me pause.

I took to heart this idea of interning our friend Luthor in stone rather than dirt. I humbly prostrated myself before brother Grimbarrow one last time to beg the full rights of ownership for the false crypt at the corner of The Black Path and The Eversleep within the grounds of the Restlands. When Grimbarrow agreed I suddenly regretted all the bad things I'd said behind that man's crooked back. For some reason that old codger always unnerved me with strong suspicion of malintent. Thus, we'd turned Urgilash's insult against Luther and the party's burial plans into a catalyst for upgrading Luther's internment. It is now a fine, clean crypt with room for others, such as Urgilash, when the time comes!

Although he tried, Father Grimbarrow was not powerful enough to remove Fr. Charlatan's chains from me. Gregor's great wisdom prevailed to interpret the spirit planchette when it had suggested Charlatan's spirit was hiding within Urgilash's symbol of Torag. Planfully, we leveraged Tythanis' sleep spell and Mstislav's sleep hex against Urgilash so we could quietly remove his holy hammer symbol and smelt it down within the walls of the holy church. Thus we found it abundantly wise to let this sleeping pseudo-dwarf lie. The stone name above the archway required alteration, a job one would typically find easy in the hands of a dwarf. Urgalish wrote, "Here lize sum elf". Later, when I had learned of Urgilash's unseemly stonework upon the arch above Luthor's crypt door, I suddenly found myself being equally careless with the recasting of the Torag symbol prior to its return to Urgilash. Apparently neither he (nor I for that matter) are craftsmen. Oh well, I say. For as much as that arrogant dwarf, er... twice former-dwarf, boasts about his clan's dwarven stonework, he possesses neither the skill nor patience for such fineries. I say it is befitting that a limp lopsided hammer remains as an icon of his ironic deficiencies. I understand now, only too well, why he is again called "he who walks the surface without honor."

We left Ravengro behind, and kissed the morning road toward Lepidstadt. En-route, we encountered "The Crooken Kin––Ustalav's Greatest Traveling Cabinet of Curiosities." This amounted to little more than nine covered but gaudily painted wagons belonging to a band of gimped cripples and freaks. There were thirteen performers in all, with exotic if not frightening appearances: Hap Tarvin, the Flea Man; Kaleb Hesse, the Ringmaster; Lidia Gerod, the Bearded Lady; The Pinheads, Lettie and Poppy, Prince Zar, the Human Caterpillar; S'jeer, the Vudrani Princess (with 4 arms); The Swarm of Clowns, Gerik, Josef, and Tam (each with an extra limb); Trollblood, the Giant Man, and The Wolf Child (named for obvious reasons).

We offered to find Aleece, a pinheaded sister who had gone missing. After a swift battle with a phasing spider who mimicked the lost girl's voice, we found her remains and returned them with remorse to the traveling carnival's ringmaster. Even unto death I loved my child, as I still do. And so I now empathize deeply with the grief this traveling troupe must feel at the loss of one of their own.
Even if my own little girl had three arms or three eyes, I would have loved her all the same... ... this is why I lashed out at the inquisitors so many years ago when they said my daughter had been compromised the undead. I would have loved my daughter even if she had become a vampire's thrall. If it were not for the Esoteric Order of the Palantine Eye, I might not have escaped the inquisitors' wrath at my defiance of their judgments... but I could not stand idly by and watch my wife and daughter be put to death before me. If news of what I had done and the lies I told to save my family were ever told, I would surely hang from the gallows in Lepidstadt Square. But I never truly saved my family... and so I travel, forever moving to new locations, familyless in the company of friends and freaks, not unlike the Crooked Kin.

Epilogue
So now ends a chapter thusly of my early scholarly learning, academic ledgerdemain, banisteria, and reverent pretense toward authority. Like Luthor's reposed corpse, and Urgilash's song-and-cackle-induced torpor, my own secrets must also sleep quietly for now. Each time I see a dead child like Aleece in the swamp, or Cynthea of Harrowstone, I increase the desire seek to one day become the Black Abbot of Caliphas and wear the powerful robes of holy office. Only then will I finally punish those who took my family away from me and change the laws of the church. Then and only then will I cease to fear the inquisitors who have cheated the innocent of their lives. Until that day I will miss Matreya and my beloved wife, B'Elanna. Until that day when I see them again, I embrace the adventure that awaits our modest group of friends and freaks upon the open road to Lepidstadt and beyond. For only death will be the rest of these travelers - the end of all our work.

"Mors est quies viatoris - finis est omnis laboris"

–––αєтєяηυм ναℓє,
ρнιяσz ιяαℓη σƒ ¢αℓιρнαѕ