It's a dark evening, raindrops are falling lightly, and the torches and lanterns are the only source of light. You, and several others, wait at the entrance to the Restlands, wherein lies the waiting grave of the good Professor. Kendra, his daughter, stands with you all, watching as the wagon carrying her fathers corpse approaches slowly in the distance.
Tears or rain, you cannot tell which, line her face, a face with too many lines of grief for one so young. Turning to look at each of you, she gathers her breath, gathering strength, "Thank you for being here, I know it would mean much to Father, to have old friends here. Please feel free to introduce yourselves, and if any of you do not wish to take a place as pall-bearer please make it known. I am Kendra, daughter of Professor Lorrimor, to help break the ice, if you'll excuse me. Kimberly, would you like to join me? After holding her hand out for Kimberly to take for a moment she turns away, blinking quickly and takes a few steps towards the entrance of the Restlands, giving herself some measure of privacy and you all a chance to meet.
Nodding at Kendra's words, the dwarf leans on the lengthened handle of his pick and turns his gaze to everyone gathered at the graveyard entrance in turn. Seeing no one speaking up, he clear his throat. "It is sad news that has brought us together. This meeting is bittersweet; your father spoke of you frequently in his letters, child. I feel as if I have known you all your life; it is good to finally meet you."
The dwarf removes a pair of dark lenses from his face, revealing clouded green eyes that turn upward into the rain. "I am Kimgald Angreilssen, from the city of Highhelm in the Five Kings Mountains. When I found my world shrouded in darkness and silence, it was Professor Petros Lorrimor who helped me rediscover who, and where, I was. We have known one another for nearly two decades." Kimgald settles his lenses back on his face and turns expectantly to those gathered around him. "Today, I mourn a friend."
The journey from Vigil had been a strange one. Pyotr had never walked openly on the road before. Never since the day the band of Lastwall knights had deposited him on the doorstep of the Iomedan Temple.
Pyotr was not sorry to be leaving the place. The priests had never abused him, never neglected him. But, they had never welcomed him either. He was the subject of suspicion when anything unusual happened, and the object of scorn when anything disastrous occurred. He was not truly a prisoner, not truly a guest, never a friend.
Still, they had fed him, and educated him. He was healthy and strong.
He clutched the missive that had put him on the road to this place. That paper, announcing that this Professor Lorrimor had expressly desired his presence, might be the one thing that prevented a violent rebuff as he entered the town. He remembered this Lorrimor. Pyotr had saved his life. That had been the last day of Pyotr's old life.
This Kendra, daughter of Professor Lorrimor, was mourning. Pyotr felt a welling of sympathy for her.
Greetings, Kendra, daughter of Professor Lorrimor. And you, Kimgald Angreilssen, from the city of Highhelm in the Five Kings Mountains. I am Pyotr, often called Pyotr the Unwelcome. You have my condolences.
This is a cheery place, Anna thought as she hugged her cloak closer to her and suppressed a shiver. She looked about at the other soggy figures about her, feeling a bit out of place. She hadn't known the professor long, and she always suspected he had known she really wasn't the good and devoted student she had pretended to be. Maybe he had seen more in her than she was willing to see in herself. Or, maybe she had just conned him that well. But with him dead now, she'll never know.
Hi, Kendra. I'm Anna. I was one of his students not too long ago. I'm real sorry this happened.
She tries for a sympathetic smile for Kendra, then steps away, nodding a greeting to the rest of the assembled mourners.
She acknowledges your greetings with grace but has to constantly dab at her eyes. Happening to see Kimgald remove his glasses she stifles a small gasp, "Kimgald, if you'd prefer to not be a pallbearer, of course I understand."
The wagon has drawn quite close by this time, and a small crowd has gathered. Nearer to the entrance stand several well dressed men, possibly officials by their bearing, a man some of you might recognize as a local tavern keeper, a middle-aged man and his adolescent son, and a wizened older man. Kendra looks to the man with elfish features questioningly, and then leans down towards Kimberly, "Would you like to say hello?"
Having noticed movement from the corner of his eye, Kimgald turns to better see Kendra. "I am sorry, child, did you say something? Would you please repeat yourself?"
After allowing Kendra additional time to speak the dwarf nods thoughtfully. "Perhaps it would be best if another accepted that burden. If there is a need, though, I shall do my best to serve." Kimgald then turns back to the others, taking a few steps back to better view everyone gathered at the graveyard entrance.
A disheveled elf wearing what looks like old military field dress stands in the damp off to one side observing the guests and morners. He has a backpack slung across one shoulder, a long sword on his hip, and an unstrung curved bow on the other shoulder. He looks quite out of place. Hmm, I seem to be under-dressed again. Always happens. Could have worn dress whites. Need to pay more attention to what I wear. Should make a note. He almost startles as Kendra addresses the gathered, and listens politely as a few others make their introductions.
He takes a step back instinctively when he sees the large half orc. I wounder how 'he' knew the professor. The old man got around more than I thought.
Anna. Do I know her? I have seen her at the university I think. Should pay more attention to other students. Get to know a few of them. I should make a note. He is frisking himself thinking notebook, notebook, where is that notebook when Kendra addresses him. He startles again.
Ah. Yes. My dear Kendra, I am Tolvan, a recent student of your father's. I wish I could say I knew him better than I do, but I can tell you that he was one of my favorites at the university, that I learned a great deal from him, and that I shall remember him fondly. And I believe he liked me as well if the note I received is any indication. He will take her hand briefly and add. Please let me know if there is anything I can do to ease your grief. Ånd of course I can serve as a pall-bearer if I am needed. I am strong for a wizard and quite up to the task.
Kendra dips her head in acknowledgement of Tolvin's kind words, but seems too choked up to respond, only managing to mouth an inaudible 'thank you'. Turning her face towards Kimgald she takes a deep steadying breath, "I don't want to impose, and I'll leave the choice to you. I'm sure Father would understand."
Dwarf, elf, orc. The professor sure got around, Anna notes as she takes in the assembled mourners.
She looks around at the gloomy gathering, and feels an urge to crack wise. The notion dies quickly; a sudden pang of empathy hits Anna as she hears the grief in Miss Kendra's voice.
She moves to her and offers her a hug. He sure had lots of friends. Of all kinds. That's got to mean something, she says softly.
Kendra accepts the hug, a little stiff at first but slowly returns the hug with quiet dignity. She hears what Anna says, but doesn't respond immediately, instead glancing back at the nearing carriage, and says almost inaudibly, clearly not intending anyone to hear, "If only friends were all he had."
Anna's eyes widen at Kendra's comment. She swallows slowly and steps away from her, eyes following her glance to the carriage.
Her hands gather her cloak back around her tightly, and surreptitiously loads her crossbow underneath the fabric.
Standing near Kendra when Anna hugs her the elf's already large ears perk up.
The trim woman turns her puffy eyes Tolvans direction, surprised she was heard, "Oh, never mind me. After this business is behind us I hope you'll all join me at my Fathers... at my home and we can speak further." With that she turns back, raindrops striking her pretty face.
Having missed Kendra's whispers, Kimgald nonetheless smiles warmly at the woman's statement to Tolvan. "Of course. It would be an honor to speak with you further, once we have said our farewells. I am sure we all have memories to share."
Kimberly stands beside Kendra and takes her hand holding her stuffed bear with the other She looks up at Kendra
Did all these people know your daddy? she takes time to look over each of the others. her eyes stop at the dwarf for some reason
She lifts her bear to her head as if listening to something the bear is telling her. she smiles then looks back at the dwarf.
she makes a motion with her hand (the same one with the teddy)across her heart and smiles at the dwarf again
anyone with common knowledge of religion will recognize that she has made the symbol of Pharasma.
If any attempt to touch Kimberly she will shy away moving to hide behind Kendra.
Kimgald smiles at Kimberly. Though he remains silent he repeats the motion in turn, and follows this by by tracing a second symbol in the air before him.
Kendra nods down at the young girl, not trusting herself to speak, a weak smile attempting to show itself before falling away. She squeezes Kimberly's hand reassuringly, but who the reassurance is for, is less clear.
About this time the carriage pulls up near the entrance of the Restlands, and a couple men jump to the back, untying a long wooden box. Kendra stands tall for a moment, as if gathering strength, motions for you all to follow her, and then proceeds at a solemn walk toward the coffin, Kimberly in tow. Arriving alongside the carriage he puts her hand on the coffin, bowing her head in silence. She motions for you to take your places, Pyotr and Anna at the front, Tolvin at the back. She puts out her hand, palm up in a gesture of offering to Kimgald, indicating he is welcome to the final position.
Once you four are in place, she kneels to be at eye-level with Kimberly, "Will you walk behind them now, like we talked about?" and watches as the girl gets into position behind the coffin. Kendra stands and takes her place at the front of the procession, as is her responsibility as the closest living relative of the good Professor. Head held high, she leads you along the gravel path into the Restlands, her pace slow and somber. The others who came to see the Professor buried fall into line about fifteen feet behind Kimberly, walking slowly and eying the coffin and the strangers who have come to their town to bury one of their own.
Kimberly falls in as she was instructed and follows Kendra she looks back toward the dwarf
Kimberly mimics the symbol the dwarf made after she holds the bear to her ear then mouths (but does not say) the name Magrim.
Then she smiles like it is a game.
The elf looks Inquisitively at the dwarf, preparing to try to hoist the entire back end of the coffin, but hoping he does not have to. Do I have the head or the feet? There is likely protocol for such things. Is he walking to the grave, feet first, or is he being lead head first. I must look it up later. I should write a note to remind me. Where did I put that notepad?
Perhaps they have been forewarned...?
Nobody seemed alarmed by his presence. These were not all simple rural townsfolk. That much was obvious. But, Pyotr was unaccustomed to being disregarded. In an odd way, it was the most wonderful feeling he had known for years.
Even the child was unafraid. Shy, but not terrified. She met his gaze with curiosity, though she stayed behind Kendra.
The innocent do not know prejudice. The young do not understand hatred. That is well.
Pyotr resisted the urge to smile. There was no denying the appearance of menace when he bared his teeth.
The Professor must have been an extraordinary individual, to have amassed such a collection of friends and colleagues. I shall regret not having come to know him. I must remember to always be grateful for the new life he granted me...
Anna hoists her corner as best she can to give the professor a level ride. A dwarf and a human female don't quite match up size-wise with a half-orc and an elf. Thankfully, the half-orc considerately keeps their end at a height she can manage. She wrinkles her nose at the scent of burial spices and lacquered wood.
I should have stayed at the inn, she thinks bitterly. Her thoughts wander back to Pitax, and she wonders what kind of burial her friends received. She shakes her head involuntarily. Darn rain, getting in my eyes.
The words of a fool. What is old cannot be new. Only one with a head buried in stone would speak such rubbish.
The group proceeds forward slowly, the slow pace not hampered in the least by the dwarf holding one corner. The burden is not heavy, the Professor never having been a man of excess. The damp and dreary day showing no signs of clearing up, especially not for the dead. The gravel crunches under your feet, steps falling into unison as the slow rhythm of Professor Lorrimors last walk continues steadily on. The path curves up and to the right, carving a meandering path through the field of headstones and grave markers. There is no noise or speaking, as if the Restlands itself keeps still in reverence or possibly in menace.
Reaching the top of the path you make the turn slowly to the right, onto a path called The Eversleep, a fitting name. However, out of place amongst the headstones and quiet is a group of a dozen surly looking locals. Their clothing is drab and worn, working mens clothing. As soon as you're spotted they move swiftly onto the path, blocking your way. They move to about twenty feet ahead and then stop, the tallest of the men stepping forward. "That’s far enough. We been talking, and we don’t want Lorrimor buried in the Restlands. You can take him upriver and bury him there if you want, but he ain’t goin’ in the ground here!"
Kendra is swift to respond, her sadness swiftly transforming into anger. "What are you talking about Gibs?" she cries. "I arranged it with Father Grimburrow. He’s waiting for us! The grave’s already been..."
Gibs interrupts her, "You don’t get it, woman. We won’t have a necromancer buried in the same place as our kin. I suggest you move out while you still can. Folks are pretty upset about this right now."
Kendra face screws up in anger, and things are quickly headed to a boil.
Kimgald shifts the weight of the casket to better support the Professor now that their forward momentum has ceased. Leaning slightly to the right to look past the half-orc leading the precession, the dwarf takes note of Gibs' reply to Kendra. Realizing what must be the man's concern he speaks up.
"Certainly, a necromancer is a monster most foul. He awakens the dead to do his bidding. When it is his turn to pass on, he embraces unlife in order to continue his evil deeds. To cheat death." The dwarf pauses for a moment before continuing. "Professor Lorrimor's body rests peacefully upon our shoulders now, and his spirit seek solace at Pharasma's feet. If he were a necromancer, the Lady of Graves would not tolerate his presence; If the Professor was the evil you fear his spirit would walk the countryside. Instead he awaits eternity in the Boneyard. Petros Lorrimor is no necromancer. Let us pass, so that we may show him the respect all gods-fearing men deserve."
Gibs, you are misinformed. I was a student of the professor and can tell you he taught me only conjuration. I have never known him to cast evil spells or perform even a single evil act. Stand down, lest you be guilty of the evil you falsely ascribe to Kendra's father.
At the word "necromancer" from Gibs, Anna barks out a short laugh. She bites back a scathing rebuke as the dwarf calmly corrects the misinformed local. Something in his tone soothed the ire that had risen in her. While she would love to put this arrogant rouser in his place, she couldn't very well do so while holding up one-fourths of a dead guy. Besides, there were a lot of them.
Instead, softening her voice, she adds to what the elven apprentice said, Please, sir, he's a scholar! A good man, and my teacher as well. He knew about undead, but only how to protect yourself, and not with stupid superstition. Old lady Rose back home used to swear that sprinkling wheat kernels across her threshold would keep spirits at bay. The professor knew that had nothing to with undead, and all it caused was the chickens to come 'round and make a mess of things. He was no necromancer!
Won't you let us pass?
This is familiar. Pyotr knew a mob when he saw one.
A necromancer...? Is it possible? It may be. I hardly knew the man. But, he was a friend to the Knights of Lastwall. They make it their particular duty to find and destroy necromancers. I saw no evil in the man, brief as my acquaintance with him was.
Sir, you slander a man who may no longer defend himself. This is a cowardly and vile act, unworthy of this place. You bring no evidence aside from suspicion and superstition. The whole weight of your argument is the weight of numbers, of the men you have brought with you.
Pyotr kept his voice calm. Bloodshed would bring greater dishonor even than accusations. It falls to us to carry his vessel, and his honor, to a place beyond your petty barbs and suspicions. Remain in ignorance if you desire, but depart from this place so that we may carry on.
Gibs steps forward, "You seem to know a lot about it, stranger. Too much if you ask me. Let's clear them all out of here boys!" But before anyone can make a move, each of you -the pallbearers- speak out, laying logic and shame on the shoulders of the crowd of men. They begin to lose the strange wildness in their eyes, the tension in their muscles. As more of you speak they no longer seem able to keep eye contact with you or each other, raised farming tools lowers toward the ground, and the ones on the edges sidling away from their fellows, as if shamed they are with the others.
Kendra, who had been reaching into the folders of her dress at her hips, turned in surprise as each of you came to the defense of her father. And seemed even more amazed at the effect your words have on the angry men.
Gibs, seeing that he has lost the support of the others, turns angry eyes back your direction. "Don't think this changes anything woman, but we'll allow you to bury your father." The dozen men walk past you, with looks ranging from surly, angry, shamed and confused. But they do leave, walking quickly from the Restlands, as if only now realizing what they were about to do.
Kendra looks relieved and full of adrenaline, "Thank you so much! Each of you! That could have turned out so badly." One of the councilors step forward, [b]"I recognized some of those men, all local farmhands or laborers, and all are low of moral character." Kendra waves a hand, "Let us put it behind us, come" You travel a short distance up the path, and Kendra leads you to a waiting priest, several acolytes standing behind.
The coffin is lowered into the grave without incident and the priest, who identifies himself as Father Grimburrow, invites all to step closer. He says a short serman, sending the professor's soul safely on his way, and then invites Kendra to say a few words. She tearfully and briefly recounts a few of her fathers more memorable, courageous and selfless moments, then thanks everyone for coming. She then invites anyone else to say a few words, and steps back a few feet, allowing someone else to have their say.
A victory without bloodshed, without weapons even being drawn. The best victory possible. Kendra had reached for a weapon, or something more sinister, during the confrontation. These others had not. That peaked Pyotr's interest.
Kindred spirits? Perhaps...
The coffin was lowered into the earth. Kendra recounted a few of her father's deeds. Why was I invited here? Certainly, the Professor was grateful that I saved his life. But, this is a time for friends and family.
The Professor was the first man that saw my actions, before he saw my tusks. He was where he was supposed to be. I was not. The Horde changed that. Then, he was where he should not have been. I was where I needed to be. I saved Professor Lorrimor's life that day. He gave me a life in return. Now, I return to find my place.
As an outsider and one not gifted in the arts of the spoken word Tolvan keeps quite and tries to be respectful. He remembers what he can of the professor and smiles occasionally during the service at a fond memory.
Kimberly remaind as much put of sight during the confrontation listening to what everyone had to say. after they move on Kimberly says to Kendra
I heard what the little man said about evil. I know your daddy was not evil. are those men evil? One of them has a daughter I tried to play with her one time but he wouldn't let her. Is he evil?
Kimberly asks Kendra more in an attempt to ease her mind rather than really seek answers. It seems apparent she already knows the answers.
later as the professor is laid into the ground Kimberly asks Kendra am I supposed to say something?
Anna frowns and searches for something poignant to say. Coming up empty, and worried about calling too much attention to the non-standard way she became a student, she keeps her mouth shut.
She remains reverent as other words are spoken, and bows her head, though keeping an ear out for signs of anyone else interested in disrupting the ceremony.
Kimgald leans heavily on his pick, his dark opal lenses clutched tightly in his hands. The dwarf's seemingly sightless eyes remain fixated on the Professor's casket, his face emotionless. He begin swaying rhythmically and a tear rolls down Kimgald's cheek as he begins to sing in an ancient dwarven dialect.
Kendra smiles sadly down at Kimberly, "If you want to dear."
Kimberly quietly listens to the song of the dwarf and heard the green man talk.
quitly she stands up all the while seemingly taking in the dwarven song.
even Kendra would be amazed at what she is doing one that never speaks in public is heading up in front of everyone.
when the song finishes Kimberly soon finds she is in front of all those gathered.
for some unknown reason she looks to the green half orc and quietly mouths Thank you yet for what is not really evident.
Kimberly mumbles something as she stands in front of everyone and again makes the sybmbol of the Lady of the Graves over her heart.
Ummmmm Th..Th..Thank y..you? She looks right at Pyotr. The Doctor always told me be strong. she looks extremely nervous and scared she takes a deep breath and continues
the green man is strong I want to be strong too just like the Doctor told me
She pauses again trying not to cry trying to "be strong"
Pharasma... He is worthy. <pause> I miss you
Kimberly cant be strong any more and runs back to Kendra and hugs her.
The simple words of Pyotr, the hauntingly beautiful song from Kimgald, and the innocent expression of the child are too much for those gathered. Everyone from town has tears in their eyes, some are weeping openly and unabashedly, some are more stoic but lines of wet running from eyes to chin, and all are deeply affected by what was shared. Kendra returns Kimberly's embrace, and puts a grateful hand on the arms of both Kimgald and Pyotr.
Father Grimburrow wipes his eyes, embarrassed at his rare display of emotion, "Alright, close it up." Kendra thanks Father Grimburrow and everyone for coming, watching for a bit as the dirt begins to fall on her fathers coffin. The crowd disperses with the exception of one of the well dressed gentleman, and many leave with approving or appreciative glances the PC's way. Kendra motions for you all to join her and begins walking out of the Restlands, still sad, but in a much better state than when you'd first met her. She leads you and the older man, who she introduces as Councilman Vashian Hearthmount, on a short but brisk walk to a modest but well kept home on the southern end of Ravengro, and invites everyone inside for a drink and to hear Professor Lorrimor's last will and testament.
The Councilman, who will act as solicitor, begs off, needing to take care of a few maters, but promises he'll be back in about an hour. Presumably, each of you enter and are seated in a comfortable reception area, drinks of choice in hand. Kendra is mostly quiet and introspective, but is responsive to questions and acts as best she can to be a gracious host.
Kimberly takes a seat in a chair and sits very quietly she holds her teddy tightly seemigly unsure as to how she should behave. when drinks are offered she starts to reach for a glass then looks around and quickly takes her hand away.
she then begins to have what appears to be a conversation with her teddy.
for those that are listening:
I xcuf fel anel cuy fiyr yrels aczsunel
<pause>
Poy yrelz lait yray iy vucyaicelt eljih
<pause>
I tuc'y yricx I lruoht
I know we are not with them anymore
<pause>
But they said that it contained evil
<pause>
I don't think I should
for some unknown reason she looks to the green half orc and quietly mouths Thank you yet for what is not really evident.
Ummmmm Th..Th..Thank y..you? She looks right at Pyotr. The Doctor always told me be strong. she looks extremely nervous and scared she takes a deep breath and continues
the green man is strong I want to be strong too just like the Doctor told me
Odd... She and the Professor must have been very close.
each of you enter and are seated in a comfortable reception area, drinks of choice in hand. Kendra is mostly quiet and introspective, but is responsive to questions and acts as best she can to be a gracious host.
By habit, Pyotr stood as far as possible from every lamp, vase, or decor that appeared breakable or damageable. It often helped if he proactively avoided blame for things that went wrong. He tried to politely decline the offered drinks. Then the acrid, bittersweet smell of Osirion coffee melted away his resolve.
He seized the delicate, patterned china cup with an exuberance that bordered on cavalier. His first cup burned like fire as he gulped. The second he sipped more carefully and felt the first pure joy he'd known since leaving Vigil. Pyotr had very rarely been able to acquire coffee, even in the city. But, it had quickly become his one true vice.
Your generosity does you great credit, Kendra, daughter of Professor Lorrimor. Turning to the dwarf, I have never heard a tribute such as that, Kimgald Angreilssen, of the Five Kings Mountain. Is it a well known dirge among your people?
...........
Later, feeling quite above himself, Pyotr turned back to Kendra. I saw little of this town as I approached the Restlands. What can you tell us about this place? And this Father Grimburrow? The solicitor seems a worthy man. What duties does a councilman fill? Is this Vashian Hearthmount carrying the duties well?
Kimgald settles into a chair in a corner of the room. The dwarf eagerly samples a local cider, made with some type of seasonal berries, and almost misses the half-orc's question. "I'm sorry, friend Pyotr; it was a lovely burial, but if someone was singing I am afraid I did not notice. I lost my hearing several years ago in a very unfortunate incident. I cannot tell the difference between a dwarven dirge, Chellaxian opera, or even the calls of goblins." The dwarf takes another sip of cider and settle back into the chair, a look of contentment on his face as his gaze slowly, but continually, scans the room.
Tolvan stand awkwardly to the side looking like he wants to say something but keeps quiet. I never know what to say at these events. I should have made some notes. Did I? Where IS that notebook?
Later, feeling quite above himself, Pyotr turned back to Kendra. I saw little of this town as I approached the Restlands. What can you tell us about this place? And this Father Grimburrow? The solicitor seems a worthy man. What duties does a councilman fill? Is this Vashian Hearthmount carrying the duties well?
Coming out of a silent reverie Kendra looks up at Pyotr's question. She takes a sip of her mulled wine as she thinks over the large half-orcs words, "I've lived here for fifteen years, to be closer to my father, Ravengro was different then. People used to greet each other in the street, it's never been a big town. I've known that man from the Restlands, Gibs, for years! While he's never particularly liked my father, he's never thrown around accusations like this... My point is things have changed, people are acting suspicious and distrusting without cause, crime has been increasing. I don't know why." She takes another sip as she considers your other questions, "Father Grimburrow is one of those rare individuals who seems to see only ones soul, and I love him greatly. He's been here for a long time and I've turned to him for wisdom and counsel many times when Father was away." Her eyes turn to the ceiling as she considers what she knows of Councilman Hearthmount, "The councilman is an honest and honorable man by all accounts, I don't associate with him that often. I know that my father and he got along well," at this her eyes take in each one of you in the room, "and I've never gone wrong when trusting his judgement of character." She lets that answer sink in for a moment, "The council decides on all types of issues for Ravengro. Economy, justice, community functions, they essentially run the town."
Anna casually checks out the decor, studying the books on shelves, artwork, and other curios and knicknacks that may be on display. Spying a bottle of Chelish burgundy, her eyes light up and she asks if it could be opened.
She'll give Kimgald a sidelong glance at his comment about not being able to hear, as well as claiming not to have sung. An eyebrow will arch at the young girl babbling at her doll, and a smile will form just at the corners at the big orc handling the fine china.
When Kendra begins talking about Ravengro, Anna settles down in a chair and leans forward, listening intently.
I'm sorry, friend Pyotr; it was a lovely burial, but if someone was singing I am afraid I did not notice. I lost my hearing several years ago in a very unfortunate incident. I cannot tell the difference between a dwarven dirge, Chellaxian opera, or even the calls of goblins.
Pyotr studied Kimgald.
Lying? Senile? Insane? Pyotr could not piece together the puzzle that was the dwarf. Blind and deaf? Yet, completely unassisted through the Restlands, walking to this house, finding a chair, hearing my words...
Pyotr knew there were greater things in the world than he had seen in his meager experience. Perhaps the dwarf was some otherworldly being, or empowered by magics beyond the half-orc's ken. But, at the moment, only the more mundane solutions presented themselves.
A charlatan, perhaps... Pyotr unconsciously glanced over to where he had laid his pack of supplies.