A Earthen Brown Leather Tome with Dwarven Runes and an Open-Palm Hand

[CrimsonMedicine]

Tammuz 15th, IY 7789

I did some boardwork. I did it to keep my mind from my task, my duties. To Formoria I went with others. Jamileh, Rynn, Aurelio, Kastante, and a new face, Keiji. It was a good distraction from the pain. We laughed, we joked, and I hope that I was able to make new friends. New allies, at least in part.

Formoria, I had wished to study all my time, yet I had none to spare. Quickly we moved, slicing through the tombs to fight the undead. I could only think of those I lost, my thoughts always on them. Then it drifted to curses, to dark magic too. A name was told to me when I tried to describe the one who bestowed knowledge to Shum. 

Uru, the Chronicler.

Who are they? Would they speak again? To me? Would they teach me too? Am I worthy?

---

More comfort. In the form of old but treasured friends, before I was much of anything. A student, freshly arrived. Theo, our Warrior. Reina, our Archmage. Nessia, our Sneakthief. Myself, our Priest. Together, we four adventurers would go and explore the lands and places. How I miss those simple times.

Reina spoke to me, shared words with me. Words I will carry with me. Etched upon my heart and in this diary of mine.

"You always tend to see the light of it all. It's something I look up to you for. Despite it all, you still live, you still continue. You don't give up where many would have. Your spirit is strong, Korin, it's admirable. Look to your friends, for they are there for you, and you have many. You are not alone." - Reina Fowler.

Her words came at a wonderful time. When I thought I was lost. Yet again, though, healing found me.

Then Nessia led a dig, one dedicated to my slain Brother; Tharrik. It was beautiful and I wept at her kind words uttered about him. Always curious was he, never missing a single dig. Always seeking evidence, always putting in the time, always wanting to learn. That was him. I won't forget how he would just know when a scroll was abnormal. Or how he knew to number them, or even that spells had numbers. He really was 'a dwarf that travelled with kindness and curiosity in his heart'.

---

I have since finished chiselling my kin's death to stone. Their names etched in the rock. Now I am to take them to the South, to this impromptu place where the Dwarves are remembered. Why did the Flamebringer choose that place? Was it the Sootbeards' death that brought it about? Now it has grown into something else, a site of the dwarven dead who've given themselves to the Well.

I finished at the right time, as soon as another prospect of the Rathgan emerged. A wise, gruff, and strong man. Gromnir arrived on the caravan today. Seeking the Rathgan. We spoke, sharing tales, origins, and formations of who we are as a group. I gave him the speech I said yesterday, and the offer. That in time, should he remain in the Well, he may find his home here.

We will see. I will be watching them both now with eager eyes.

---

Then, a call to the Tower. I am overjoyed with how much trust the Tower has in me, as I in them. I remember the early days. When Greydon would look at me with curiosity and suspicion. Black Tassel. That is what I was, still am, a scholar of the Esoteric, the strange, the unknown. How far I've come from those days of past. How far we all have come. Those that survived.

It is all Hashem. He has entrusted me to aid him, and I will not let him down. He saved me, he protected me. Giving me materials to survive the 'Fireball Palace'. Now I will save him. I will help him should he need it. My dearest companion.

For knowledge is to be gained when we work together, but now my stomach is full of warm tea, and I am eager to rest.

Wisdom, light my way.

[CrimsonMedicine]

Tammuz 17th, IY 7789

A reporter came by the Hall today; Elongarth. She wanted to know about the three heroes, mainly Rhuk Nor. I spoke of him as much as I could, about the caring man I saw hiding behind the mask of the Fourth Legion. How he prayed and cared so deeply for those he stood beside. Izdihar al-Basri. How he mourned her loss when she fell.

I could see the man underneath that mask. I knew how much he wished to put the Scythe down, how tired he was, but he kept going. For everyone else. A hero.

---

Some time was spent with Nadiri Antonio looking for Cobblin... Cobbler? I'll be honest. It was a nice distraction from things. Though, it was a bit stressful tending the wounds of newer folk. I forget how fragile we are sometimes. Then I went on a dig, one dedicated to Narwen. The Flamebringer wrote about her a few times, how she was caring and compassionate. I thought it wise, then, to bring food dedicated to him, as a gift to honor her. A circle of sorts. I spoke of her, her kindness, her desire to help others, how she would buy wands from me to save lives, how she would trust in me to count out her coins, and in turn, I learned of the Ayyabassim.

[Korinthus Dûngir's Painting Check Skills are Above Average.]



- A glimpse of the Ayyabassim as I fled the Silverworks.

They came to our aid, despite their past.

They live in shame for the loss of their brother in war. I can relate to them. I know the pain of losing someone. But they lost one, and I lost you after all, and five of our kin. Is my pain greater? I do not know. I try not to think of it in such a way. As if it is a competition of who is more hurt. Only that I know pain, and they know it too.

Is it wrong of me to think of myself during those moments we shared tales of Narwen, when they spoke of pain, of losing Narwen? Jamei had heard that Narwen fell. But, it was I who watched Ulfgrim die. I watched Yorin die. Swallowed up by the hordes of Orc'ah as they stood there, stunned. Their wounded bodies beyond my reach. I watched as they rose up. I watched as they walked toward me with their lifeless eyes. I watched Klaus and Droknar fall instantly. Their souls ripped from bodies via death magic. I watched Pauxillus be impaled upon the spears of Whisperers as he saved us. I heard the cries of Tharrik as unholy blades sliced him apart. I watched. I heard.

But no, I did not. There is no wisdom in comparing one's pain against another's. No gain in weighing suffering and forcing sympathy based on whose wounds seem deeper. We all suffer. We all feel pain.

And so, I continue to seek ways to distract, yes. But as I sit here, writing, I am faced with the finished tombstones, the grave markers of my friends. They stare at me whenever I walk into the Hall. My brothers. My love. I can't keep staring at these. Tomorrow, I will ask for aid. I will ask for help.

I need to place them amongst the sands. I need to keep living. Grief, it seems, can be found in all we do, in happiness, in sadness, in laughter, in tears, we remember. I remember.

Wisdom, light my way.

[CrimsonMedicine]

Tammuz 19th IY 7789

So much can happen over the course of two days. What should I write about, all of it? What should I focus on? I suppose the best place is always the same, the beginning.

The 'Thoughtforms' cling to me now, too as if they are trying to know me. To see me. Having been around them before though, I understand them at least. I know to ignore them. I just worry for when they may show themselves around the uninitiated. Those who don't know them.

Is the Dark trying to take me away too?

Zhaerazel.

---

I fulfilled my promise to Ulfgrim, and placed the gravestones atop the hill to the South of the Well, in the ruined encampment. Where the stones of our other kin reside. A makeshift graveyard of dwarven names.

I did as you asked of me Ulfgrim. You're watching over Durgin and Grenth now. Always.

"So pale is the cactus bird – who sings her song at dawn's light, who laments the passing of night, her melodies seldom heard. Your song alights upon my ears, inviting and inciting me. To rise." - Endora Tofonia, a comforting prayer.

Now that hill is sacred to my people. It carries the weight of stone, the burden of memory, and the etchings now of names of those who died.

[Korinthus Dûngir's Painting Check Skills are Above Average.]



- The stone of Ulfgrim Grimgarson, eternal vigil over kin on the hill of the Southern Encampment of Ephia's Well.

---

I distracted myself with some board work with Gromnir. To the isles of Ait Tujum. I've become somewhat proficient at undoing the workings of the Dark Wyldwalkers at the altar.

It's the little things that make me deem him worthy of being Rathgan. That's often all it is, all it takes to know someone's intentions. Covering me from the rain on Ait Tujum whilst I prayed for blessings, stopping and turning to ensure one was not left behind, giving items to someone who received none whilst their back was turned, thinking of others. It is this kindness that I look for. It is these kin who I wish to have at my side.

Thus, I have had him swear an oath to our stone, and he is now a part of the Rathgan. We grow, we heal, we recover.

---

Grief is a sad thing; it always catches up to us, no matter how far we go to avoid it. Yet in it, we can find community. Many gathered around the works of Kazadun, and the Preparators. A stone, fitting, carved with the names of those who died in Bet Nappahi. Those who gave their lives so that we would succeed.

Kazadun is a good man. Worthy. Honorable.

I spoke of kin, those who stood with me and never made it back, to see Home, or the Well again.

Then, more grief, the funeral of Narwen Alendiel. A caring and kind soul. Many rallied to see her off in the Plaza as well. I shed tears when I spoke of her once more. I think that I have no more tears left to give, and yet I surprise even myself sometimes when another finds its way.

We live on and remember the dead. The Rathgan who have fallen thus far, I continue on in their name. That is all we can do. Remember those that fell as we walked our path, honor them, and carry them forward with us in memory.

Wisdom, light my way.