The Tomb of Stone: A Concise Summary of the History of Dunwarren, followed by Speculation

Founding The first residents of Dunwarren were most likely svirfneblin gem-hunters, exploring the caves of the Dark Lake region in search for the precious rubies they adore. The rubies, desired not only for their beauty but also as ingredients in the potent hallucinogenic elixir known as Gogondy, were doubtless found in great abundance in what was later to be known as Dunwarren. It is probable that the mined gems were of unsurpassed quality in their color, as it is well known that exposure to the energies of the negative plane tend to produce a dark reddish tint. And as this document will demonstrate, the energies of the negative plane can be found within these caves in great abundance.

Over time, the gem-miners began to form a settlement of their own, made families, built up their town and established what we know now as Dunwarren. And as their town flourished, the gnomes of Dunwarren buried their dead.

Early History

Dunwarren likely began as a fairly typical svirfneblin settlement, with gnomish miners and artisans living in close harmony with the stone that surrounded them. But over the course of generations, residing within the grim and perplexingly unique caves of Dunwarren began to produce a most unusual effect upon the race. Although always tinkerers, in Dunwarren the mechanistic urges of gnome-kind were elevated to the point that the entire settlement became fanatic about the devising of ever more complicated machines and technological marvels.

Where once the gnomes relied upon earth elementals in their natural form to aid them with protecting their homes, they soon began to forcefully imprison the spirits of said elementals and use them to power complex and terrible machines, known as animatrons. These animatrons in turn were used to assist in the construction of an enormous Machine, that rapidly grew to overtake the simple mines and homes of the gnomes and become the city of Dunwarren itself. For a time the entire society was likely united beyond the mysterious plans for great Machine, but with the passage of generations the gnomes grew disunited. And with the fracturing of the society, conflict grew, and many gnomes died, and were entombed.

The Conflict of Dunwarren

Some mysteries of the past must remain inscrutable to any scholar, but what is known is that the society of Dunwarren split into rival factions: one faction dedicated to the building and maintenance of the Machine, and another dedicated to its destruction. The contemporary mind can only begin to image the terrible battles that must have unfolded: giant animatrons crashing against swarms of infected gnomes and mole-maddened followers. For the rebels against the Machine must surely have turned in desperation to lycanthropy and Urdlen worship as a way to compete against the metal monstrosities that served the Machine. Much of the mysteries of this ancient battles are shrouded in the mists of time, but we do know that the rebels managed to mostly topple the machine-builders, and the society of Dunwarren fell into ruin, with only a few isolated survivors living in pockets of ruins, hunted by Chosen.

The End of Old Dunwarren

Any contemporary adventurer has heard the shrill call of, "Appetite! Appetite" screamed by the dangerous "Chosen" gnome-lycanthropes. Speculation is rife as to what this appetite may actually be, whether an avatar of Urdlen or something even more sinister. Yet whatever it is, it can not grant spells. It seems indifferent to all that transpires in the tomb of stone that is Dunwarren. It is most likely that this "appetite" is a symbol, a way for the gnomes of old Dunwarren to conceptualize the primal fear that had struck their society. More than likely, no sentient monster is within the pit, it is a pit, given life by the shrieking terror of a thousand gnomish voices.

Sanctuary

Drawn by some force, escaped surfacer slaves have been miraculously making their way to the ruins of Dunwarren for one hundred fifty years. In all this time, the so-called Sanctuary has not suffered obliteration nor discovered a way to return to the surface. As moths are drawn to a flame, living lives have been drawn to this tomb that is Dunwarren. How so many have been able to find this secret city is a mystery rarely contemplated by the mortals who reside within the confines of this broken ruin.

The Tomb of Stone - A Theory

Dunwarren is a tomb like none other. An entire civilization and society of gnomes have expired within our walls. The gigantic lizards of the wild caves have, for time immemorial, been drawn to make their way to very near outside our gates in order to die. Surfacer-mortals have been drawn here unerringly for generations, and the dead rarely rest easily. Life is drawn to the tomb of Dunwarren, and once drawn it rarely leaves.

There is no monstrous appetite, no monster, no great foe. What there is a peculiar geographical and magical feature that makes this place so very unique. It is said that the boundaries between the planes are worn thin, here and there. It is likely that here in Dunwarren, perhaps at the very bottom of the appetite-pit, the negative plane (the plane of death) and the material plane (our own plane) find themselves far closer than other places. Whether this unique gateway has always existed within Dunwarren, or is instead a symptom of the catastrophic history of this place, has yet to be discovered. But just as water will flow to fill an empty hole, so will life be drawn to a place of utter death. For generations at the least, life has flowed to Dunwarren to confront death. Just as there is no escape to the surface-lands above, most who perish (even animals and goblin-kin) rarely pass on to whatever after-life awaits but instead become a creature of undeath.

It is here in Dunwarren, the Tomb of Stone, that we confront the final reality of all mortal life.

Aleczumberzeil te Esoterotept

Bed Time Tales for Zombie Children The Lonely Boy

Once upon a time there was a very lonely boy who always knew that he was different from all the other children. Whereas most children played during the day in the hot sun, he much prefered the cool shade of the night. Whereas most children prefered to eat dates and drink fresh goat's milk, this little boy prefered to feast off of old rotting meat. And whereas most people of the village were friendly to children, this little boy only encountered screams of terror and burning torches when he sought to show himself to the village.

As the children grew older, many of them would go to play by the watering hole, far from the ears and eyes of their parents. Sometimes the lonely boy would try to find them to play with them, but they always drove him away with stones and screams. And so this special boy was very lonely, for a long time, and lived alone. But sometimes he would creep close to hear the laughter of the other children, and wish he could be like them.

One day this special boy found another child who did not run away from him, for this other boy was blind and could not see. And like our hero, this blind boy was outcast by the other children of the village, because he was different. So these two little boys played with each other, and found solace in each other's company, and each was glad.

One day the village Chief's youngest daughter, who was very fat, went with the other children to the watering hole to play, after a great rain that soaked the sands. And this youngest daughter entered into the watering hole, and tried to swim out beyond the shore, but was too heavy and began to sink like a stone. And all the other children did not know how to swim, and could not save her.

Yet the blind boy was there, and knew that his friend could help, for his friend did not need to breath. And so he called him, and the special boy who is the hero of this story, entered into the water easily, and found the chieftain's daughter, and dragged her out.

Grateful that his daughter was saved, the wise Chieftain began to realize that this once-lonely boy was no threat to his village. Whereas once he seemed a monster, the people of the village began to realize he could be a friend and protector, and for many years the village prospered in peaceful harmony between the living and the unliving.

A Father's Sacrifice

The mines of Traensyr were a grim place to grow up as a child, yet even that dark place was lightened by the cheerful optimism of my father. He was a patient, strong man who did his best to make his son a man even under the most difficult of circumstances. For years we labored, every day of work punctuated by the breathless promise that there would be a day in which I'd escape from this place, and find a brighter future elsewhere.

When the escape was quietly being planned, he told me little of the details, wishing to protect me. But when the day approached, I knew that I'd have a part to play. My father had managed to fashion a spear tipped with sharpened bone, and believed that with this weapon he could slay several of the goblin guards and make a quick escape to the tunnels beyond. He told me that the bones of the spear had come from the honored remains of my own mother, and that nothing would have pleased her more than to take part in this rebellion.

When the day of the flight came, things did not go to plan. My father was wounded, and could barely pull himself along to freedom. We both knew more guards were sprinting behind us as we stumbled to freedom, and that we'd have little chance against them when they arrived.

It was then that the poisoned bolts whistled through the darkness, and pierced my father's flesh, sending him toppling to the ground.

In moments, the other guards would be there, and although escape was close I knew I'd be brought back in chains.

I picked up the spear made from my mother, and prepared to bravely face my captors, and the doom that awaited.

Yet suddenly I felt a comforting, calming pressure on my shoulder - the weight of my father's hand. I turned in amazement and saw him standing. His face grotesquely swollen from poison, his clothes covered with blood, his face pale -- his eyes lifeless, save for a cold red light. My father groaned terribly, and shambled forward with none of the grace of the living, and set himself upon the amazed guards. Their blades cut deep into his dead flesh, but he would not topple. His groping thrusts were clumsy, yet possessed a power and might far greater than that of any living man.

Stunned by the depth of my father's sacrifice, I turned and fled into the caves, and found the freedom that had been promised me.

These words I say, in honor of my father, whose love for his son was so great that even death could not stop him.

As told by Caldwell Terrington

Notes from welcoming a stranger, before the fires of the Last Stand You are located several miles beneath the surface lands, in the ruins of a svirfneblin city called Dunwarren. The settlement you see all around you is called Sanctuary.

No doubt you consider your presence here rather miraculous, an astonishing twist of fate.

This place is a unique place. It is a place in which the energies of death seep into our own world. And as air or water rush into total emptiness, life seeks to rush into this place. I am afraid you have been drawn here as a moth was drawn to a bright flame.

It is possible you may escape to the surface lands, although few - if any - ever have.

It is also possible for you to make a live in these crabbed ruins, whiling away the time until such a time as you die.

I am afraid Sanctuary offers little more than that. A brief life, before a violent end.

Death is the defining principle of most mortal lives.

Notable Practitioners of the Art

Sepritau te Esoterotept, the Silent, Keeper of the Old Crypt, Caretaker of the Dead. Much do I owe him.

Thomas Alqvin, never a gentler soul have I known.

Po, a mysterious artist, whose books are scattered so.

Khentimentiu, the Embalmer of Adun'ubis, great is his mastery

Virkruk the Deathknell

Tchorakakzt

...

Notes from mine own childhood

It was a crypt long forgotten by any living soul, yet such was the dedication of the one who raised me that he lingered lost past the span of a natural lifespan, tending to the needs of the unmoving, mummified bodies that filled the dusty gloom. Sepritau te Esoterotept would not speak, yet he taught me the letters, and much of his knowledge, and when I was of age sent me into the wider world to make my way...

The Sacred Beasts of Chult, Isom Ushanak

Of the world that I walk there is no creature so sacred as the dinosaur. A beast mightier then any other. There are many dinosaurs and each of them embodies powerful physical virtues that every man must aspire to.

The fiercest of the dinosaurs is the Tyranosaur. it is the king of the jungles of Chult. When he hungers he offers two options to those it comes across. Flee, or be consumed. it embodies great strength.

The most dangerous of the dinosaurs is the Raptor. A creature wily and nimble. It hunts in packs and rips the entrails from warm blooded warriors. It is identified by its terrible claws, each larger then a mans fist. It embodies the traits of speed and stealth.

The largest of the dinosaurs is the Brachiosaurus. It is a massive creature with a long neck that stretches into the heavens. It stamps along in large packs causing the ground to tremor. It embodies the great trait of tremendous size.

The Stegosaurus is not the largest, nor the strongest, yet it is still prodigious. It is armed with a great club! A powerful weapon that it uses to defend itself with. It represents the trait of natural weapons gifted by Ubtao.

The Triceratops is a great three horned dinosaur. It is greater then the mightiest bull and more dangerous then a dozen tigers. It gathers speed and can gore even the greatest of warriors upon its horns. Yet it is reserved and will not attack unless pressed to defend itself. It represents the trait of endless endurance.

The Pteranodon is a flying dinosaur. As large as a roc it is the mightiest thing that flies over the jungles. It represents the trait of freedom.

There are many more dinosaurs, each representing a sacred trait of Ubtao. Fickle language cannot do justice to the glories of Ubtao's chosen. These pages can only prepare one for the majesty of the creatures they will see when we have finally escaped this dark maze.

He kept to his word, and so I kept to mine. Although it was not what he desired, I do hope he has found peace and contentment in his present form and condition. Poor Isom.

Necromancy is the practice of utilizing energies from the plane of negative energy. Spells such as negative energy burst or fear are all powered by this unique form of powerful energy. This form of magic can be used for good or for fill, just as any evocation or enchantment spell.

Necromancy is closely associated with the animation of the dead. Just like a spell of negative energy, animating the dead can be used for good or for ill. Although a cruel necromancer could animate a dead farmer and terrorize a village, a benign necromancer could animate a goblin to defend this village.

Unfortunately, the practice of animating the dead is a great taboo in most surface cultures and roundly condemned by many otherwise benign deities. The reasons for this are complex and varied, but have nothing to do with the actual consequences of animation but everything to do with a deity controling its followers.

In the Underdark, animating the dead could be an extremely useful practice that would greatly improve Sanctuary's defensive capabilities. Even the animated remains of deep lizards and rothe would be an impressive boon to our town. What moral hazard does an animated animal or goblin represent to Sanctuary's moral character as a place of goodness in the Underdark?

As it stands, necromancy is criminalized and driven into the shadows. The practice of animating unwilling citizens is sadly not unknown. Proper regulation could bring necromancy out of the shadows, and ensure that it is done only by specially licensed, responsible practitioners. Laws could be drawn up that would criminalize animating those unless they have specifically (and charitably) willed their body to such a purpose. I am sure many of Sanctuary's most dutiful and valiant defenders would volunteer their bodies for such a purpose, wisely hoping to defend Sanctuary in death even as they did in living.

There are countless examples of benign undead. Who has not heard the tale of the mother's spirit that returned to save her child, or the stalwart defender whose corpse rose up from the gate-attack to continue his defense? Even the elves are well known to entrust the protection of their most sacred ancestral sites to baelnorns, a form of sentient undead lich.

In Sanctuary, we do not have the luxury to believe the lie that animation is, under all circumstances, a terrible sin. Our town is imperiled by all manner of terrible dangers. Other settlements made up of surfacers survive safely in the Underdark by choosing to wisely live in harmony with peaceful unliving, and we should do the same.

Practically my entire collection, gone.

And beyond all that, the Third Book of Po has been destroyed.

At least another copy is rumored to exist.

I have not felt grief like this in a long time.

Notes on Persuasion A recollection of a conversation with an Ordinant...

Ordinant. Salutations.

Blast it, what do you want now?

Have you given more thought to the possibility that perhaps you are simply terribly mistaken?

I've told you that I've no wish to have anything to do with you. Mistaken about the disgraceful act of animating the dead?

What represents a greater threat, the illithid empires, or undead?

You're lying to yourself and everyone else if you think you're right to do it.

I am not lying. I await a shred of evidence to demonstrate that what I do is wrong. The truth is that the unliving could fight against the illithid in ways that you can not. Would not a small number of unliving creatures, utilized to good end, be better than the sprawling horror of an illithid empire? And if not, then why is it you dedicate yourself to the crusade of battle against the aberration, rather than dedicating yourself to the annhilation of the unliving?

You might be right, but we can fight the Illithid threat without using the undead.

Then why do you not now march off to Ysinode to wipe it off the face of the map? I can offer you the destruction of that place. Every moment we delay and quibble, is another moment in which thousands are living a life of horror as the slave-food for those disgusting aberrants. When instead we could be preoccupying ourselves with producing an undead army to march there and destroy them.

[She sighs softly, her gaze fixed on Aleczumberzeil] I doubt a force of undead can destroy it either and it still doesn't make it right. We'll be dishonoring the dead.

Then let it only be those who wish it!

Who wishes it? It is an act against life itself!

I am sure many would, when they realize their spirit will be with their god. Dedicating and donating one's mortal remains to such a cause is the act of a worthy soul! The flesh of the body, when the spirit leaves it, is doomed to rot and molder anyway, why not allow it to be used to fight against our enemies? Consider this idea. Give it a chance. We will use only undead animals and those who specifically and of their own free will dedicate their body to this purpose. We will raid against the illithid.

I.. your idea might work, but if we do that. What makes us any better than the aberrations we fight? Only our virtues make us better than them.

If you were to die, and your companions were without weapons, would you begrudge them forming a spearblade out of your shin-bone? If it were to save their lives, and to kill many illithids? Would not, indeed, you be honored by such a thing? Or would you insist from the comfort of the heavens above that they not touch your mortal remains, and instead die, and let the illithid's beasts feast upon your flesh?

I would, but its not the same as animating my remains.

The difference is only in matter of degree. And effectiveness. For you in unliving form would far more deadly to the illithid than a simple spear. Is sacrifice not a virtue?

Its not sacrifice, its a twisted act. Even the gods of death frown upon the act.

Sacricing one's remains to this purpose is surely the act of a virtuous soul. You do not hear of ilithid doing this. They are too egotistical and self-obsessed to consider such techniques.

The bottom line is that in the Underdark we do not have the luxury to adhere to these surface-codes.

Think it over, Ordinant.

Think of the sight of a smashed Ysinode, the joyous shouts of the suddenly freed.

There is no living mind that can sustain itself against the onslaught of the Ysinode elder brain.

Only unliving minds have the rigidity of purpose that your Society trains itself so hard to match.

There is must be another way.

Maybe. But I do not think so. Think of what I have spoken of, discuss it with your Order, and come to me if you decide you have come to reason. That is all that I ask. Surely that is not too much to ask?

Amassing these books shall be one of my life's greatest works.

I've come so far. The Primer, Books Two, Three, Six, Seven... the secrets of Po awaits me. I need only time, persistence, and the will to fight the most wildly dangerous entities that exist in the underrealm.

Esteemed Councilors,

While pondering the savagery of your decision to declare any who so much as speaks with me or sells me wares or asks for my aid in a matter of research as being criminals of Sanctuary worthy of execution, I stumbled upon three of your citizens in a dark tunnel well outside of Sanctuary. One was a Watch Private, another was a Watch aspirant, and another was a fearless paladin of some unknown deity.

I could, I assure you, have brutally crushed the life out of all three. I did not, and would not have, for acts of wanton murder are not in my nature. I will not hold them responsible for associating with my enemies, for serving my enemies, or for conspiring with my enemies.

I wish to make it extremely clear that I am gravely concerned by your decision to seek the death of those few gentle souls who seek the knowledge I possess, or join me in my research expeditions, or who are willing to listen to my teachings.

Put a bounty on my head if you wish - it is certainly a regrettable and ultimately futile thing for you to do, but so be it - but if it were come to pass that one of my young disciples or casual acquaintances were to be hunted and murdered, I should be extremely upset, and unfortunately it would be a possibility for me to continue down this regrettable criminal path that your ridiculous laws have so firmly placed me upon.

As individuals who adhere strongly to a religious creed, I understand that you will not be swayed by reason or by debate regarding the art I practice. So I will not bother spending the time in crafting a coherrent and persuasive argument as to why Dunwarren should embrace the unliving as potential allies. It is clear to me now that I've no real hope of overcoming this irrational prejudice against the use of negative energy, despite my best efforts.

However, I am hoping that you can appreciate that by targeting my allies, you are inviting retribution upon the heads of your own Watchmen and citizens. I am gentler than you realize, but grief makes monsters out of men, and although I make no threat, my "associates" have in turn many "associates" of their own. Bloodshed will lead to bloodshed, and I am afraid it is your side that is the most vulnerable.

I ask that you stop inventing laws calling for the murder of those who associate with me. It is not just, and it will lead to nothing but sorrow.

Aleczumberzeil te Esoterotept The Scholar

It is interesting to me, that the temptation to resort to criminal acts have only increased as my savagery and criminal nature has been unjustly declared.

I have lost faith in the democratic practices of Sanctuary. Furthermore, a point Yvonne raised in a discussion regarding the ethics of necromancy has been sticking.

She pointed out that due to divine mandate, any settlement with a representative government that embraced the unliving might face divine censure from the gods. This is simply an unfortunate truth, and a reasonable objection to the future I envision for Dunwarren.

The answer to this riddle is clear, of course, and quite logical in its way. But I am unsure if such a thing would be right to pursue.

More later, a Seeker wishes to "debate."

Conventional belief is that the Machine is responsible for the creation of the multitudes of animatrons that populate the ruins. It is speculated that earth elemental spirits are imprisoned and bound into the complicated metallic creations.

It is far more likely that the Machine was built as a response to Dunwarren's great problem: namely, what would the svirfneblin do with the unliving that haunted their settlement? The dead do not rest easily within Dunwarren, this is well known and speculated upon (see Tomb of Stone). One can easily imagine the frightened gnomes struggling to find a solution to this most vexing problem.

The Machine is vastly complex, and no doubt performs many functions. However its primary purpose is very likely that of imprisoning the spirits and souls of the recently dead, and binding these spirits into elaborate machines that can be easily and safely controlled.

Rather than elemental spirits, the animatrons are more likely powered by svirfneblin souls. Although a svirfneblin-spirit wraith or animated zombie represents a major danger to any settlement, an animatron is so complex that it can even offer valuable services to its masters.

A neatly mechanistic solution to the problems of Dunwarren, yet one that surely led the way to consequences of enormous severity that the gnomes must surely have been unaware.

The complete and unlocked book of Po is in my possession, yet even as it answers questions it poses new ones to enflame my scholarly instincts. I have begun to wonder if my project for a new community is an unnecessary distraction from my true work. What concern is it of mine if the people of Sanctuary wish to maintain tired old prejudices, and face disaster and weakness as their poorly defended town slowly crumbles under the weight of immense adversity?

Yvonne pointed out that a republic that sanctioned the unliving may face censure from the gods. Perhaps the moral action would be to simply impose my will over the town of Sanctuary, send forth unliving legions to occupy the streets, overthrow the forces arrayed against me, and take full responsibility for the security of the town with or without the permission of its populace. Yet no sooner do I contemplate such ideas than I remember the solemn, still, and gentle face of Sepritau. I am a scholar, not a warlord.

Still, I will leave this place a little better than I found it. The ruins are spacious, with the unliving of Porenius I would be able to defend a small settlement easily. Certain necessities must be seen to, but surely some enlightened among Sanctuary would seek the benefits of such a place?

It seems every time I begin to work on this old journal, someone new wishes to speak with me - more to come later.

Another ludicrous assault upon myself by the finest of the Watch and Spellguard. This time a Councilor was involved also. Such a waste, such tragedy for this in-fighting to take place. Again promises extracted, again mercy offered despite misgivings. The Councilor was sent to the paradise he would prefer, however, but there was little hope for that one as it was.

Salutations People of Sanctuary,

To my sorrow, many fear me. For those that do, I offer you the solemn assurance that much of my business here in the caves of Dunwarren has been concluded, and that I shall soon leave this place for another. To those that do not, I have a proposition.

Many accuse me of monstrous things. The truth is, I am a far more peaceful and generous man than your leaders. I have only sought to bring the power of unrestricted knowledge, the promise of harmony and cooperation between the living and unliving, and the assurances of a better future to this sad little settlement. Due to my beliefs, and the intolerance of certain rigid religious codes, I have been attacked and assaulted every step of the way. Yet I endure still, with most of those who attacked me simply chastised and gently sent on their way.

The people of Sanctuary, and even those of this place that seek my destruction, are not my enemies, and I have never treated them as such. But I do have enemies, and those I shall not be gentle with. The illithid are a monstrous race. They have enslaved and consumed many of our kind, and I do not doubt for a moment that --

[There appears to be a break in the writing, and there are a few bloodsmears]

-- they are the true enemy of all goodly peoples.

I have been accused of much, but one sin I am truly guilty of. In the past, when I sought the books of Po, I slew an illithid and freed its thralls. Yet, to my sorrow, I allowed these thralls to be retaken into slavery, in exchange for the Primer of Po. I swore then that I would use the power of Po to free them, and I intend on doing just that.

People of Sanctuary, I have under my control an army of the unliving, the servants of Po, and there is nothing that the illithid fear more than the undead.

It is my intention to march to Ysinode with this army, and there break the illithid, and free as many of their thralls as I can, and then lead them to the surface.

I welcome all who wish to join me.

To those who do not, I wish you a weary fare well. I shall remember Sanctuary, and its ignorant people, for many centuries.

Aleczumberzeil te Esoterotept The Scholar

I entered these caves an old and weary scholar, weak and frail. How shall I exit them? Will I exit them at all?

I have begun to realize that there is a pattern to events that I do not yet understand. Hidden forces are at play, and I am unwilling to accept explanations of "destiny." There is a complexity to my own recent history that defies easy understanding.

The Dunwarren Machine, clanking and grinding gears in the darkness, giving bound life to monstrosities of metal.

The shambling multitudes of the restless dead, waging ceaseless battle against the machines, seeking to free the spirits of their brothers through club and rotting paw.

The teeming hordes of Chosen, shrieking, offering sacrifice to a pit, filled with a desperate hope for an awakening that shall never come.

The Watch, shamelessly executing any curious soul, behaving as the drow slavers did.

The Spellguard, practicing necromancy in the depths of their tower, condemning me publicly, always begging for mercy after they are left struggling at my feet. Who knows what secret arrangements they've made with our enemies?

I leave them all. My unliving forces, what few allies that remain, those willing to place their hopes and future in my plans, and sundry shall march to Ysinode, there to enact a plan that may well be a collossal trap.

I am not guided by "destiny" alone. Who is my benefactor, or my enemy? Perhaps I am a puppet dancing to the beat of the Illithid drum. Perhaps it is the shadow that uses me against his enemies. Or some other power, or force.

I am not made for such things. These deeds stretch me thin. A still crypt, the company of a few peaceful unliving, and the time and peace to read until the end of days is what I seek. But I fear this peaceful end shall be denied to me.

A copy of this journal is left with Cyrus to be given to a certain woman.