The Lopper

Luther listened at the door. The surmounting evidence had warranted an official inquiry and yet the inquisitor wasn't ready to pass judgment on Mstislav.

"Bash it in!" he cried with fervor, but the door was unlocked and easily opened, just as promised by our mysterious yet conspicuous companion.

We were mesmerized by his eerie, white, pupilless eyes. He was eye-locked with his pet, or should I say his master, the small dragon companion Tecsok. Once inside Mstislav's room we heard the droning of a foreign tongue which our dumbek-bonging cohort claimed was draconic. Indeed it was! I had only heard similarly parsed words once before, long ago when Master Angelo read from the Book of Days, a recounting of a fallen soldier's tale from his campaign against the great monster, Iythuzach.

I was deeply impressed that Luther's judgment was based on sound evidence that Mstislav was merely exercising his mnemonic spell-witchery for the day, in preparation for our return to Harrowstone. Although the clatter of draconic words was marginally quieter this morning, I was relieved to learn Mstislav had not been compromised by the spirit planchette as Gregor and I had previously suspected. Moreover, I now question my own resolute distain for inquisitors–in this case against Mstislav, Luthor had acutely demonstrated sufficient adherence to enough empirical evidence to exonerate him. This is the first time since the death of my beloved daughter that am I willing to look upon an inquisitor without seething rage. Thus I am most glad, dearest journal, that in the mid-years of my life I have not yet become too soundly set in my ways, and that I still demonstrate the very open mindedness that I claim is an essential component of ecclesiastical empiricism.

Once more inside the prison, we entered a large chamber lined with iron doors. In its center was a hinged metal grating over a dark pit and rope. Zarkandraal took the lead this time to jump down and recover the body of a serial killer known as The Lopper.

Back at the mansion I reviewed Mstislav's research notes on the Lopper. Apparently that block of cells was used to house the most violent murderers in Harrowstone–killers who couldn't be trusted alongside even other prisoners. The grating in the middle of the room was once kept locked with lengths of chain, but today the grating was unlocked. The pit below dropped 30 feet into a deep oubliette–a cell from which its occupant's release was never intended.

According to the prison records, despite the indisputably violent nature of his crimes, a number of bureaucratic complications kept pushing back The Lopper's expected date of execution–unable to proceed with what he felt was a simple judgment, the warden instead had the Lopper dropped into this pit. With both of his legs broken, the Lopper malingered in these depths during the months prior to the great fire of 4661. It was said that he also decapitated the prison guards during his attempted escape.

Our party confronted him! Taral's holy attacks, Zarkendraal's raging prowess, Mstislav's cackling witchcraft, and my own positive energy radiance were no match for the Lopper–and his wraithlike soul swiftly retreated into another room where it confronted the very guards he had decapitated 50 years ago. Engulfed by the sonic thrumming of Tythanis' dumbek, and sundered by Luther's harsh judgments, the incorporeal undead monstrosity finally succumbed to one final slicing blow by Zarkendraal.

As an afterthought, dearest journal, I find it unusual that I've learned more about the character of dead murderers from 50 years ago than I have about some of my own adventuring companions! I believe this is nobody's fault but my own–I shall be mindful to further press each one to explain more about themselves with each passing day. We can hope, dearest journal, that they possess at least some semblance of a story of their own to tell; we shall see if they are more interesting than decaying corpse shells. Dearest journal, I cannot help but * laugh with ye, out loud.* LWYOL!