A journal of Durgin Doomed-Oath

[Vlaid]

A battered and worn journal, writ in the bold and thick writing of a dwarf. A symbol on the cover, worn and faded, barely still visible. The pages are filled with disjointed writings. There is no apparent ordering or chronological sequence, a page at random seems picked to write something either of days long past, or something more recent.

[Vlaid]

THE DREAM COMES AGAIN. I WORK A FURNACE, MY HANDS ARE COVERED IN CLAY. IT LAYS AROUND ME IN VARRYING STATE OF USE. SMALL CRUDE FIGURES OF MULTITUDE OF DESIGN LAY ABOUT A TABLE. THERE IS A A GRADIANT IN QUALITY, OF EFFORT. FINALLY I SEEM PLEASED AND FIRE A BATCH OF CLAY FIGURES, TIRELESSLY, THE FLAMES ROARING, SINGING MY BEARD, BURNING IN MY LUNGS. BUT THE WORK IS DONE AND I PULL THEM FORTH. 'FLAWLESS', I BREATHE THE WORD. BUT THERE IS SOMETHING STRANGE ABOUT THEM. I GO TO TOUCH ONE OF THE FIGURES AND IT DISSOLVES AWAY, AWAY ON THE WIND - ASH. IT FLOATS AND CRUMBLES. A BREEZE BLOWS THROUGH, THE REST BEGIN TO CRUMBLE AND CARRY ABOUT THE AIR. MY WORK IS NAUGHT BUT ASH.

MY HANDS CRAFT LIES.
MY LIPS FORGE DESPAIR.
I KNOW WHERE THIS QUEST LEADS. HOW MANY WILL SACRIFICE THEMSELVES FOR MY VANITY? CAN THEY FATHOM HOW MUCH FOLLOWING ME MAY COST THEM?