4 years.

4 years now since I last saw the light of the sun, or smelled a sea breeze waft in from the bay of Sambar. 4 years since my ill fated voyage, 4 years since the sea swallowed me, and I died.

4 years since I woke up here. 4 years of enslavement under the Eye Tyrants.

4 years planning my escape.

In retrospect, it was quite elementary to accomplish, and well worth the many contusions and abrasions sufferred along the way. The natural tendency for objects to move towards the earth in fact did most of the work, although I suspect my instructors would marvel at the manner in which I made use of that force.

4 years. If I had been a better student, I might have done it in 4 months.

Morality, Ethics. I skipped more of those classes than any other, and yet one tenet above all others stayed with me throughout the entirety of my captivity; "Aim above morality. Be not simply good, be good for something".

Strange what comes to you out of the aether. Stranger still how the meaning of those words are driven home in the face of utter, abject ... evil.

My life to this point has been ... wasted in pursuit of self gratification and slovenliness, selfishness and waste. I was given everything throughout my life, and I have given nothing in return. I scoffed at the many advances my classmates had conceived in agriculture, irrigation, public works.

Gond has seen fit to give me a second chance. My life ended when I was swallowed by the sea, and he has given it back to me here, in Sanctuary.

I am ill prepared for the duties I am taking upon myself. My education is piecemeal, but I have the intelligence, as well as a concept of what CAN be done with proper methodology and scientific inquisitiveness. With prayer, and much trial and error, I will reinvent many of the tools and artifacts that my peers before me were blessed with.

This journal, the first such book I have ever voluntarily penned will be my record of the journey of revelation I am going to undertake. Much of what will be documented here will be nonsense to a future reader. I simply do not know the proper names for many of the terms and fields I am going to delve into. I pray only that the principles behind the nonsensical terms will be solid, and equally relevant at some day in the future when a reader realises that the term I have used is the equivalent of another in mainstream science.

Through science I will make a difference. Through my journey, I will better the lives of those around me. Through invention, I will show everyone the light of the sun, and allow them to breath the salt air as I did.

4 years. I learnt a lesson in those 4 years that I never learnt in all my years before that, and I thank the Wonderbringer for the blessing of revelation he has given me.

I would have given 40.

First order of business.

As with any good escapes, a plan is the first priority, and any plan requires intelligence and hard data upon which you can base it's execution.

To that end, the question in particular I need answered is depth. How deep below the surface is sanctuary? I know the direction I need to go.

Up.

Although in truth, if the ramblings of that man who claimed to be a "spelljammer Pilot" are true, and if Toril is a globe, and if our depth is great enough, it may be faster to go down...

But then again, we were both pretty drunk when he said that...

I know that the surface exists up there somewhere for certain. It would be a shame to waste years perfecting a clockwork digging machine, only to have it fall off of the bottom of the firmament because of the ramblings of a drunk at a house party in Sambar all those years ago.

Up it is then. But how far?

On this, I believe I may have several theories on how our depth can be measured.

In my day, I had the priveledge of attending several keggers at the abandoned mine on the outskirts of Sambar. I once noted in my alcohol ladened torpor that the further down in the mines that I went, the most prone my ears were elicit a popping sound, and the fouler that the air would become.

It is my belief that one or both of these factors may be measurable, given the proper tools.

With regards to the ear popping. I have several theories on why this may be occurring. Firstly, that there are hundreds and hundreds of moles and voles in the earth above us, and that the sounds of their labours is travelling through the rock in a fashion that, while too low to hear, is being registered by the aperture of our ears in the form of this "popping". Another thought is that the very air we breath is laden with much dust from the stones above and below, and that they beat a cadence upon the drums of our ears, eventually causing the popping sound we feel and hear when the vibrations build to a crescendo.

My final theory is the most preposterous of all. That the weight of the hundreds and hundreds of pounds of stone that lie above us are in fact pushing down on the air, forcing it into smaller and smaller spaces until a cave's worth of air in the underdark, would fill 5, perhaps 10 caves on the surface, and by some blessing of the creator, our ears are registering the change in pressure.

"Preposterous!". I can almost imagine Professor Crookshank saying it himself.

Very well then, I will deal with my theories one at a time. Firstly, the moles and their subsoundik vibrationatory scratchings. Perhaps with time, I can measure the sounds that a digging mole makes, and perhaps ascertain how this sound travels through stone. With the aid of a ... gigantic ear horn perhaps I can then determine how many moles exist in the rock above us, and over time and with many documented observations, I can come up with an estimate of our depth.

Yes, that is what I will do. I will invent a gigantic ear horn, and capture some moles.

I hope someone in sanctuary knows what a mole looks like, or how to capture one.

Constructed primarily out of Copper or a copper based alloy, the Subterraneophone will be best positioned near an upwards facing wall, and where the earth above that wall are thought to contain veins of copper or similar ores.

Measuring approximately 50 feet in height, my estimates place it's total weight at nearly 4 tons if constructed of pure beaten copper. The sheer size of the device will necessitate that many of the larger pieces be manufactured on their own, and assembled afterwards, unless of course a casting mould of sufficient size can be found or constructed.

The costs of creating such a large scale horn will be high, even if only for the costs of mining the copper, refining it, and then beating it into sheets for fabrication. I may need to solicit stockholders...

A proposal I have worked together as a possible solution to the problem presented to me by the TigerEye Mercenary - Zerelde Geirdriful.

Composed largely of Oiled Wood or the like, Sinew from a large beast, and native metals, the Manticore is capable of releasing up to 12 "Flechooters" at a single time into a mob of attackers. As with any missle weapon, the types of ammunition may be tailored to the individual circumstances, as well as the environs.

Weighing approximately 180 pounds, the device will fold up into a more compact form at the joints, allowing easy transport by two men. The estimated cost is 500 coins each at first, with prices reduced as fabrication is perfected and materials are obtained. Approximate time to build a single unit is 40 man-hours.

The Proposal has been sent via post to Miss Geirdriful.

The C.R.O.W.B.A.R (to Coerce Reticent doors Open Without Bagging A Rogue)

Something I have whipped up, perhaps as a means of getting past the many "stuck" doors. It is my opinion that the usefulness of this tool is so great that the authorities may well try to sanction me from mass producing it, though it be merely a re-invented prybar.

Constructed of ... some kind of strengthened steel, or perhaps an alloy of fabled Mithril, this device is designed to allow maximum strength to be exerted on ... well... just about anything really, in much the same fashion as a lever and a falcralum.

I'll try to cobble together two of these, one for personal use, and one for the ritual of unmaking. We'll see what sort of use I can get from it.

I am unsure of the wisdom of supplying Weapons of war to the Tigereye Mercenaries after today, Zerelde having struck a bargain with a goblin cheiftan on the far side of the dark lake whereby Sanctuary gains 30% of all profits from the slaves that the Goblins sell. In fact, should the deal not be vehemently denied by the town council when I inform them, I may well find myself leaving for "greener pastures" as it were.

I'll not have anything to do with Slavers, or those who'll abide them. I will meditate and pray on the conundrum tonight.

Met a good man - Eredian. We saved each others lives countless times today. Promised him I'd make him a leg brace or cane that the guard wouldnt take from him as a weapon.

Maybe I'll pray on that first.

As I settle into my new role within the Seekers, it has become a real day to day effort for me to not fall prey to the ... intrigue I guess. Pay them too much mind, and soon I'll be jumping at every shadow that the play of light reveals to me.

This is not to say that there are not things I must be mindful of. There most definatly are. The balance of powers within Sanctuary for one. There is an assayers measure that exists between the Watch, the Tigereye Mercenaries, and the Spellguard. Each one would strive for more than its share of influence I believe, given the chance. Driven by goals that seem to be important to them, it is my opinion that they would neglect the purpose for which they were founded.

Case in point, the Tigereye Mercenaries. Since my arrival, they have strived for more and more "power" in terms of Weapons of war, each one requesting a design more terrible.... more horrible than the last.

At some point, I paused to wonder if they would have the will to not turn these weapons on us all, if it would lead them to success in one of their own mandates.

I will not cast aside my design for the Manticore, believing that it can in fact be useful for the Defence of Sanctuary, but I will carry an idea to the town council whereby neither the watch nor the mercenaries will be able to field a unit of these devices without the help of the other, either by separating the training among them, or the hardware comprising the Manticore itself.

On to other business:

The Spellguard have theirs, the Tigereyes have contracted Runt to make some for them, it seemed necessary that I design one as well. The Spellguard have a monopoly on recovered Gnomish Animatrons, one which others seem hesitant to allow to go unchallenged.

Though this design, the "Seekertron Mark 1" is capable of battle via instructions engraved on it's motivator disk, it is a utility clockwork, one which I hope to put into production at some point as a miner. Truly the benefits of a Animatron that had a modularific attachable / detachable toolhand, as well as unceasing vigor and the ability to work ... well... forever without tiring are many.

I envision an external shell of Steel, or an allow of like that can resist heat, both from the environs and from "Friktion" (sp?). The face unit contains a vent from which excess heat from the motion of gear on cog can escape, and into which cooling air can be drawn.

The right hand of the Seekertron is what I call "Modulariffic", a word I have coined to mean that it can be removed and replaced at need with other, similarly designed tools. The benefits of this design I havent really determined yet, but it sure seemed nifty.

I've begun collecting parts for this design already, I hope to have a pornotype test unit up and running within a couple months.

I've worked together the beginnings of several prototypes for my C.R.O.W.B.A.R. model, and expect that I will soon be able to hold the ceremony of unmaking, to fully commit it's invention to the Wonderbringer, and officially begin production of it for commercial sale. I'll soon have to take time away from blessed invention to try to figure out what the ceremony of unmaking entails, as all I recall from my past in Lantan is that it somehow involved busting a prototype in the name of Gond. We'll see.

If sale of the C.R.O.W.B.A.R. is brisk, I may have to contract production of it out to an external smithy, perhaps the Duergar's that man the mines, and supply the Upper Sanctuary Merchant.

I may soon have more work on my plate, but more to the point, I may soon be really making a difference to the town. I've sent letters off to the various members of the town council asking them a single, common question. How can -I- help Sanctuary?

So far, no replies, but I remain optimistic that they will not turn down my selfless offer of help.

On to new business. My last entry detailed the plans for the Seekertron Mark 1, or at least the outer shell of said device. A creation of this complexity will require more than a loose sketch for production to begin. To that end, I detail now the inner workings of the Seekertron Mark 1. The Core and gearing that will make it walk, work, and fight (if needed).

Of particular importance is the fitted re-testicle within which you place the etched animatron core. I have discovered that these wondrously designed disks of metal and glass somehow contain the instructions that make the device act, but have not yet discerned the means by which they are made. For now, I will recover and use the ones I find within the bowels of the machine as best as I can.

The Seekertron will need to be wound only once, upon it's creation. Thereafter, a cunnilingally (if I do say so myself) designed set of gears, weights, and pullies, combined with the hulks own movement, and the natural tendency for matter to move towards the center of Toril (a phenomenom I will someday have to measure and perhaps name), and the Seekertron should never require external powering, save perhaps an occasional re-winding. Not more than once a hundred years I'd expect.

With luck, I shall soon have some burly lads helping around the shop. Perhaps the Seekertron is not so far off as I once expected.

Well, Last night I began praying again. Not just praying for spells I guess, but actually trying to commune with the divine spark of my god. The divine spark of Gond.

So much has happened in my life since the sea swallowed me. 4 years of slavery, escape, sanctuary, and now the seekers. I'm making new friends, and slowly but surely, I am finding my place in the world.

Looking back, I think that my life has led me to this point, that this is the purpose for which my life has been shaping me. Having tasted now both the best, and the worst that life can offer, I'm more aware of how fragile a gift it is.

Freedom.

I am eternally optimistic that I will not remain down here for my entire natural life, but even if I do, knowing that I am trying to make a difference in the lives of others fills me with a sense of satisfaction that I am beginning to find ... intoxicating.

Last night I prayed to Gond for inspiration. I asked him to grant me a small ember of the bonfire of creativity that is his domain. I prayed, as I will every night, that he gift me with a revelation that will make the lives of everyone in Sanctuary better.

One that will perhaps even get us all home.

A small weapon commissioned by Salina of the Watch. The Rothe Cudgel.

Made entirely out of durable and smooth Rothe stomach, and firmed with softened lead pellets, the Rothe should be capable of maintaining it's erectile shape, all the while remaining soft enough to conform to the shape of the target.

The lead beads will tend to migrate to the bulbous tip of the cudgel with use, which should in fact add more to its power on those occasions when multiple thrusts are needed to obtain complete subdual of its foe.

A drawstring is attached to the base of the unit, so that the sweat of exertion, and any other bodily fluids that may collect on it do not allow it to be drawn from the grasp of its weilder.

Yes, in truth, the Rothe Cudgel will truly render combatants unconscious in the most nonlethal way possible. I anticipate that all the members of the Watch will soon be sporting a Rothe Cudgel at their side, their newest "best friend", in law enforcement.

My daily meditations have yielded to me on this day a revelation. The one aspect of my faith that I have lacked thus far. The ritual of unmaking.

It is something so .. simple really. Something I would have learnt in my first few years of education, had I not been so consumed with my own brilliance, and had less hubris regarding my own infallibility.

I've fallen sorely behind where it regards my obligation to my faith, and to my god. I'm learning that being a preist is about more than asking for spells, and shouting out his name when you charge into fights. Its about living within the dogma that is set before you. Honouring yourself, and your god through the truth that they offer you. About letting your god know who you are, and opening yourself to knowing your god.

Gond is more than just invention. He's about creation, and moreso, about action. He's about self improvement, and the application of our intellect towards improving the world around us, in whatever form that takes.

Anyways, this page is only so long, and I'm not sure when I'll find another book for my journals, so I'd best get to the prayer so I dont forget it.

I call upon you all to bear witness to the glory and the wonderment of creation. Through heart and hands, mind and soul, has man created this item. In Gond's name has it been done, and now, in Gond's name shall it be undone. Bow your heads, and give thanks to the divine spark of creation for this marvel. As we consign it to the flames to honour him, we thank him. We thank him for blessing us with insight, so we may conceive it. We thank him for blessing us with hands, so we may design it. We thank him for blessing us with tools to create it, and now we send it home to him, so that he may judge it's worth.

As our actions have spoken of our wit and craft in making the ____, now let them speak in Gonds name as we unmake it.

Today there will be a few entries, as I have been commissioned of late to create several items for people. I've even been paid for some!

So, my first set of drawings. These are inventions in the field of "leching", a word which means "arrowmaking" as I understand it.

The first, the Grappling Hook arrow was commissioned by Derran, my comrade in the Seekers, and as such, was done completely pro-boner by me. The idea is simple.

The shaft is a typical shaft of wood, laced with lead inlays in the shaft near the feathers for counterbalance. Rather than a typical panhead designed for penetrating the nether regions of a foe though, this arrow has a collapsible 4 donged hook, which is secured in place by screwing and unscrewing the nut at the tip of the shaft. A lightweight cord, perhaps of spiders silk, is attached to a loop at the base of the hook (not shown) for climbing.

The second arrow shown here was an idea I had while walking the dark of the low road. I happened across a Purple Crystal, and discovered that they had curative properties that seemed to be based merely on touch. No magical words, or gestures being required to make the healing power of the crystal come forth. It got me thinking.

The crystals are brittle, so much so that they would shatter if you dropped one. My thought was to take some of the smaller crystals which seem to abound in the wilds, chip them into smaller slices, and fasten them to arrow shafts. The core of the shafts themselves have been hollowed out, so that when the crystal releases its magic and shatters, the shaft does not continue its course in a lethal manner.

Due to the nature of these arrows, the range is greatly decreased. With enough pull on a bow, nearly anything can penetrate and damage a man.

Note - I have heard that crystals exist that glow with a heatless light. If I can find some of these crystals, this sort of arrow may also serve as a practical means within mass warfare of illuminating a battlefield, or even to "mark" a target, so that spellcasters can see it and send spells in it's direction.

Finally, the Liquiscient Spurter. This arrow returns to combat leching. Instead of an Arrowhead, there is a small, screw-on vial, in which you can place any sort of liquid you care to lob into a melee. Be it oil, acid, offensive potions, holy water, etc. You would have to prepare the arrows beforehand by filling the spurter cylinder with whatever it is you are to fling, but the premise is sound.

Production costs for any of these should be relatively low, I should have some pornotypes made soon.

Another - The Holdout Crossbow.

When I was asked to design one of these by Salina, the first thing that came to mind was to design one similar to those that the drow use. She had mentioned that she wanted one that was capable of a single shot, before being cast aside, I think I may have found a means by which you can achieve shots that are at least as fast as a normal crossbow with one, though they wont have the power of the larger ones.

Not a lot to write about this really, its not anything new, just perhaps being a slight improvement on something already out there.

A simple piece of paper, inserted into the Ippensher Codex.

The Eulogy of Faybian Vyle

Friends and Fellow-citizens: We assembled upon this well-chosen eminence, made sacred by the piety of the faithful, to perform a solemn duty which the living owe the dead. We who now look upon this open sepulchre, behold the final rest of all that is mortal of Faybian Vyle, who, two weeks past, surrendered his life to the God of his fellows, his body now returning to the earth from whence it came.

Full of years, and after having fought a good fight for liberty, righteousness and truth, he expired in the pursuit of his duty. It is rare, indeed, in this time and place that we have an opportunity of fixing our eyes upon one like the venerable deceased, who was so willing to stand firm in his resolve to perform the difficult tasks, for the betterment of us all.

Faybian was a native of the Sword Coast, and was born over 50 years ago, though his actual age was unknown. Precious little is known of his life before this place, save that capture and enslavement by the Drow was the precursor to his arrival here. None could argue that Faybians life took on new meaning on the day that he first walked through the Sanctuary gates. Even clad in rags, and covered in filth from his escape and the weeks of wandering that found him here, it was plain to me when I first saw him that an inner light was guiding this man, and that there was a purpose to his presence.

Our departed friend was endowed with a clear, thoughtful mind, having been much devoted to debate and oration, and through his great native energy and power of self-control, he bore himself manfully through his older years till the evening’s lengthening shadows closed over the landscape of his life.

Faybian leaves no known family members, save for the two orphaned wards he once rescued from the ruins of Old Dunwarren, now apprenticed to the shrine in which we hold this service - young Micah and Michael. Two young lives that could do much worse than to emulate the life of their saviour.

Mr. Vyle was, in the best sense of the term, a truly religious man. Having walked in faithful obedience to the requirements of conscious duty,and in the practical observance of the most ennobling of life’s duties he was an unwavering as the polar star. He lived and died in the belief of one fatherhood and one immortal destiny for all the sons and daughters of men. On this most charitable faith he leaned his head and breathed out his life serenely there. It is truly a source of great comfort to know that throughout a long and laborious life, he wore upon an unsullied brow the insignia of honest worth, the brightest jewel in the crown of life. Thus time, like the flow of waters on the shores of the dark lake, bears us on year by year, and generation after generation to the ocean of eternity, where ‘there shall be no more death, neither sorrow, nor crying; neither shall there be any more pain, for the former things are passed away.’ How consoling to be assured in heart and mind that the all-sufficient laws which control life, growth and destiny were most wisely fixed, beyond the puny power of mortal man to change.

Farewell, friend, warrior and fellow-seeker of peace. Wheresoever repose the souls of the departed generations of Faerun, there also, in peace and harmony with the laws of eternal truth, shall your spirit abide forevermore.

The Mercy Hall of Ilmater, Commissioned to be built in Lower Sanctuary, Commissioned by Michael, Priest of Ilmater.

Built out of hard granite (blocks of which are constantly being unearthed and removed by the Duergar miners in their efforts at mining iron and mithril - remember to ask for a bulk price on approximately 200 tonnes of it to start with), construction of the Mercy Halls should take several months at least, dependant on the number of skilled workers that are hired. I would place a conservative estimate at 6 months, with a crew of 50 men and pack beasts.

The "ground" level of the temple is composed of mostly worship areas. The inner space should be able to seat approximately 200, with more room for those who would wish to stand in the back. Although not pictured here, I will ask Michael if he wishes the altar area to be raised slightly above the rest of the floor, to facilitate easier viewing by the stooped or prone that will no doubt be brought before the preists for curing. The two statues pictured at the far end of the hall, behind the altar, will be Gonds gift to the Ilmateri church, and subject to a later diagram.

The Upper areas consist of a large library (1), several commode chambers with fountains providing constant, pressured water (2), and private chambers for the priests and laypeople (3).

The lower (below "ground") level is a large common area (3), to be used for the feeding and hosteling of the poor, the sick, or those new to sanctuary. There are separate areas for the "personal business" of females (1), and males (2), and fountains again providing fresh, pressured water into three pools for the sundry uses of whomsoever resides here.

Copies of this diagram will be sent to Michael, and are pending his approval.

Commission - Alchemy Equipment. Commissioned by: Strife

Basic equipment for mixing of compounds. Both pieces made of a smooth polished stone so as to not spark or cause spark when in use, and to provide maximum grindage.

Designed so that when heated, a compound within will separate into several of its base components, which are trapped in each of the tiered chambers.

For smelting ores into alloys.

All of these pieces together comprise an order for alchemical equipment for Strife and an unnamed associate of his. Interesting that they want it so badly, any fool with an empty bottle can make a potion.

Commission - An Adamantine combination lockpick / dagger. Commissioned by - Liana, Tigereye.

Made from the small ball of Adamantine that Liana has given to me, I doubt that this weapon / tool could be made of any lesser metal. Its combat use requires strength, while it's non-combat one requires finesse. I believe I may have acheived a balance that will allow it to serve both purposes. I got the idea while closely examining a Skeleton Key I'd once found on a Lizardfolk slaver.

Rather than a traditional handle, the Keyblade is worn like a pair of rings, that is over two of the fingers on your weapon hand. It makes the weapon awkward for parrying, a good blow on it would likely break both your fingers, but perhaps as an offhand weapon, or in situations where you rely on your quickness to get you out of the way of an incoming hammerstrike. The edge is sharp, and the Adamantine alloy that the weapon, from Tang to Point, is crafted from should allow it to keep it's edge for a good long time, despite use in either of its areas of implementation.

I've had to take a break from my beloved invention because of all the work required from me to get the Ilmateri temple refitted. Its a gargantuan job, much more than I thought it was going to be, even when I thought that we were building from the ground up. I'm optimistic that it shouldnt take too much longer though, and then I can get to the business of onc*-- *a large dab of ink obscures the last couple words*

Who am I kidding? I cant lie to myself on these pages as I've been trying to in my day to day life.

As has always been the case, it was my idea. I saw the need and the necessity. I conceived the means to make it happen. I planned every detail of the tasks completion, and when the time came, I completed the pornotype. It was masterful. One of those "once in a lifetime" inventions that can make a tinker's career.

Only this wasnt an invention, it was a man's death, and there is no ritual of unmaking that I can possibly perform that will justify my actions to myself or Gond, no way I can wash my hands clean of it's creation.

So I tell myself again and again that there was no other way, that the "greater good" was served, and that things will be better as a result of it.

I once honestly exclaimed to Ivlysar "I'm no murderer, sir". I long for the innocence I have lost to my own actions.

I'm sorry Mandarin.

Derran Wildermann is home -- at the end of a life which started in a bright sunlit land, and which embraced the concepts of freedom and hope throughout. He came to this place when it was raw and young, in the year that the mass influx of freemen began. As a man, he charted the paths of the dark, ever striving to find the path for us all. As a Seeker, he embodied the best in all of us. Along the way, he touched the lives of his fellow citizens as no one ever will again.

We are not here to judge Derran's life, or his fall. We are here to celebrate the strength and spirit of an indomitable man. Born small of stature, but big on courage, Derran would not give way before any foe. With his tenacity and innate resolve, he went on to change the very nature of the Seekers and Sanctuary -- and to change them permanently. When any man dies, there is a mixture of memories. With this man, there is the certain knowledge that he leaves this town better, broader, prouder than he found it.

He was a patriot. To Derran Wildermann patriotism was never out of fashion; it was the essence of his life. Not every citizen shared his view of Sanctuary, but all knew and were touched by his devotion to his view. His faith shaped and formed all his other beliefs. His belief in Sanctuary as a land of equality for all its citizens was evident in the passion with which he strove for freedom for others, regardless of their religion or race.

Now that life has ended, and we are here today to see Derran Wildermann to his final place of rest.

It is appropriate that it be here in the hall that he loved, among his brothers and sisters. We commit his mortal remains to the flames as he had wished, so that his spirit will rise in smoke to the surface, once again to see the fair lands of his birth.

Do not stand at my grave and weep. I am not there, I do not sleep. I am a thousand winds that blow. I am the diamond glints on snow. I am the sunlight on ripened grain. I am the gentle autumn rain. When you awaken in the mornings hush, I am the swift uplifting rush of quiet birds in circled flight, I am the soft stars that shine at night. Do not stand at my grave and cry, I am not there, I did not die.

Eternal rest grant unto him, Gods of Faerun, and let Perpetual Light shine upon him forevermore.