A Silver Gilded Leather Tome with the Symbol of the Martyrs

[CrimsonMedicine]

[A page is tucked into the journal with great care.]

[Noxieos Adalsteinn's Talent to Perform is Above Average.]

[A carefully drawn graphite image of a Dwarven man is on a stained piece of paper after numerous days working on such. Warped in places from water damage, or tears, it still manages to hold together well. Great effort and time has been put into the face of the being to capture the likeness of someone.]



'I drew him to remember, to hold onto something before it slipped away. But ink does not warm like his touch, nor does parchment carry his voice. He is not here. Only the memory of him, traced in quiet strokes.'

"A name, a lineage, a crown. They are nothing if the soul beneath them is empty. We are not our blood, nor the weight of our ancestors' deeds. We are what we choose to build with our own hands, Noxieos. I choose us, I love you." - Agdaur Frostbeard.

The first time you said those words to me.

[CrimsonMedicine]

[Death's hungry maw bit down upon the Priest at the battle of the Abulmahhu. A martyr through and through. The last entry in the journal is a loose page of the Priest's dead lover. United now in death again upon the shores of the Edutu.]