Mel Elden's page

Yeah, Mel was a level 5 Expert, and it took me ages to figure out what PC class to switch to that wouldn't feel totally weird.

The Phantom Thief UnRogue path worked out great for the character, but wow it has some mechanical downsides in combat. Mel never had a whole lot to contribute in terms of damage output. The Healer's Hands feat plus the Heal skill unlock was kind of her saving grace mechanically. And I took it primarily for RP reasons, since Mel couldn't bring herself to accept magical healing from Perrin.

Thanks very much to both of you!

If you go back and look at the very first post of the campaign, you may note some similarities. I was aiming for symmetry to book end the campaign.

Brookside GM posted the recruitment thread for this campaign on December 9th, 2017. Today, seven years, eight months and two weeks and 6,709 posts later, we have finished.

GM, I just want to thank you again for this tremendous experience. I have played a lot of Pathfinder, but I think this is the deepest and most satisfying campaign I've ever participated in. It had its ups and downs, but I wouldn't change even a moment of it. From the bottom of my heart, thank you for all of the time and effort and thought you put into making this such a wonderful world and campaign.

The sun rises on the quiet community of Brookside, melting away the night's mists. The nearby river babbles peacefully, greeting the dawn along with a chorus of songbirds. The residents of Brookside look rested, as they begin emerging from their homes. Ready to face a new dawn, and let the griefs and trials of the past months begin to slide into the past -- not forgotten, but their sharp edges blunted by inexorable time. For now, at least, the world is at peace.

At the edge of town, three friends (and one small fox) walk through the steadily thinning mist. Their many trials have come to a close, leaving them with heart ache -- but also wiser and stronger than before. Ready to scatter in pursuit of new paths, or to find their ways back onto old ones.

But here, now, on this bright morning in the green fields and shaded glens surrounding Brookside, they will share one last road together on the way to the adventure that will be the rest of their lives.

"Brookside is a wonderful village," Mel says. "I'm sure Margie and Sheila will love it. I considered settling here myself. And maybe I'll come back some day. But for now ..."

She pauses, gazing out the window. "Well, first things first. I think you two should come back to Helm with me. Right before we left to come here I got word that the Bishopric had agreed to buy The Siren -- I think they're planning to refit it as a naval vessel. Anyway, by this time the paperwork will be done, and you're both due a share of the proceeds. And also Fyrtor and Túrion, though I may just deposit that in a bank here and send them notes with the credentials to claim it at their leisure. That's bound to be a good chunk of change to help each of us on our way."

"As for me ... I have to update my journals, and then go see my parents in Avinoax. They have no idea what all happened and I'm sure they're worried to distraction."

She pauses, nibbling on some buttered toast. "I think I'm going to buy a sailboat. Something small I can run by myself, so I can take the long way to Avinoax, down around the southeast coast. So much has happened. I could do with some time by myself, to think everything over. Just me, the sky, the waves, and Ostara." She looks down at the floor, where a red-orange fox watches each bite of the morning meal attentively. "Well, and Rally I suppose."

"After that? Well. We'll see what happens. But ... I've always been interested in the Blackthorn Wars. Especially the first one. It happened so long ago that all we've really got are fragments of stories, half-remembered legends, and a wild profusion of apocrypha. I might go find Brolin, see if I can get an interview with Legacy. I bet he knows things for certain that the rest of the world has forgotten. Now that I can hear memories, sometimes, maybe Legacy would be willing to talk to me directly." She shrugs. "At the very least, I imagine Brolin can give me some pointers on listening to the memories of the past. Once I've gotten better at that, maybe I'll just go find ruins from those old days and sit in them and listen to whatever they have to tell me."

She takes a bite of scrambled eggs. Chews slowly. Swallows. "I can still be a scholar," she blurts out. "I guess that's what I'm saying. Even if I can't go home to the Concordat, I can still be a scholar. Just on a different path than I thought I was on. And some day I'll settle somewhere. That's certain. But for now, I don't know where I'll end up, or when. And I'm all right with that. I'm a seed on the wind, but some day I'll come to my landing."

"And I owe that to you," she goes on, looking back and forth between both of them. "I am so grateful to you and to everyone who's stood by my side over these past months. I grew up reading stories of adventure, but I never really dreamed I'd live one. And if it hadn't been for you two, and all the others who helped us along the way ... well. I would just be dead. You've given me the chance to go find that new path, and together we did a lot of good along the way. Thank you. From the bottom of my heart."

She reaches out, smiling, and clasps their hands.

"I'm still thinking," she says. "I have some ideas, but ..." Her voice trails off.

"How about you, Hal?" she asks, turning to the wizard. "The Reaps are, well, not gone, but it sounds like their old leadership got ... removed. I don't think anyone is going to be coming after you now. The few who are left will be too busy rebuilding to worry about pursuing grudges from years ago, if they're even old enough to remember you. Are you ready to go find Sheila and Margie?"

Mel nods. "That's good, Kazador. I would like nothing more than to see your home restored. And I believe you're correct. The secrecy that Kazad Gravr wrapped itself in may have felt like a strength. But in the end, secrecy proved itself a weakness. They had no allies to call on for aid when they needed it."

Mel pulls out the mithral gloves she has worn for the past few months, admiring anew the exquisite craftsmanship of the supple mail. "If you like, I would be happy to return these to you now. Delving a new holding will no doubt be dangerous work -- always the risk of a slip with a tool, an improper shoring in a tunnel, or disturbing some unfriendly creature. Perhaps they can help save a digger's life or limb."

I think I'd rather do the epilogue posts as a conversation amongst the PCs, where we each talk about our future plans, rather than a private reflection before bed. Maybe fast forward to the morning?

"I don't think burning the building will be necessary," Mel says. "Let's clean up what we can. Vors mentioned he was going to bring in a priest to consecrate the graveyard. I'll suggest that they do the same with the house. Please clean up what you can, and remove that trap."

"As for theses," she taps the three flasks of cursed water, "I'm pretty sure I know why Perrin had it -- it's a component in a healing spell. One with downsides. He would use that one. It's exactly Perrin, to a tee." Mel heaves a sigh. "Anyway. This stuff is not inherently harmful to anyone but celestial beings. I think we can just pour it out and let it evaporate." She does so, pouring the three bottles into a broad, shallow pan from the alchemical supplies, clearly designed for evaporation.

She wrinkles her nose at the incense. "I don't think this is inherently malign in and of itself, even though it can be used for fell purposes. Still, rather than burn it I'll bury it in the woods somewhere and let nature reclaim it."

"These gloves, though, are truly dangerous. These we burn." She builds a fire in the grate and burns the gloves, monitoring them carefully to ensure they're reduced to fine ash while Hal finishes up his efforts.

It takes a few hours to finish, carefully checking everywhere in the small structure. But in the end, Mel pronounces herself satisfied that the structure is as clear of Haagenti's influence as they can make it.

It's late afternoon, pressing on towards evening when they emerge once more. After a quick dinner with the Falchens, night settles in, and the three retire to their various beds.

Yes. It was during the lead-up to Mel's initial confrontation with Perrin over his worship of Haagenti. I asked him for a description in gameplay, and he responded thus:

Okay, you wanted a description of Perrin's alchemical lab? Let's see...

His lab, office, and home are all contained within a small three-room building on the edge of the town, albeit one made from stone rather than the usual wood. The front room contains only a simple chair, a desk with scattered papers on it, and a raised cot for patients. Beyond that is a closed door leading to Perrin's bedroom, and a slightly open door leading to his lab.

The lab itself is a clean but cramped room, its small dimensions giving the objects inside a cluttered appearance. The room is well-lit, though, by a broad window set high in the far wall. There doesn't seem to be much in the way of finished alchemical products, with the racks and shelves flanking the doorway devoted more to raw ingredients obtained from Brookside and the surrounding forests, as well as basic equipment like beakers and scales. To one side lies a small fireplace with some sort of grate over it, upon which rests a pot of some gently bubbling liquid. Next to it lies a crucible with an attached funnel, coated in residue from what appears to be molten gold. On the wall above the grate are carved several strange symbols and runes that you can't decipher (unless you happen to speak Abyssal) but seem vaguely unsettling nonetheless.

The remainder of the space is dominated by a narrow L-shaped table beneath the window, with a tall wooden stool in front of it. The table is filled with miscellaneous reagants, and among them you recognize several of the items we scavenged from the orc camp: the shaman's holly and mistletoe, a handful of gold coins, and even a hunk of salted meat. You also see the Perrin has laid out the materials you requested: a bottle of grain alcohol, a small tin of verdigris, and a bowl of freshly-tapped pine resin - some of which has been placed in a device to more rapidly distill it into turpentine.

Anything else in particular you wanted to know?

That's very helpful, thanks.

Is there a visible unholy symbol of Haagenti anywhere in the room?

Yeah, let's say there's one somewhere on his desk. Note, though, that Haagenti's unholy symbol is a philosopher's stone, so to a casual observer it would probably just look like an ordinary rock. Also, Perrin definitely held up his symbol to channel energy yesterday right after Mel joined the group, so it's up to you whether she noticed or not. Seeing it again could jog her memory.

If you're asking if Mel should get a Knowledge (religion) check to realize that Perrin's worshiping a demon lord, I'd say definitely yes. Going by the chart I'd say probably around DC 20 since he's relatively obscure, but you'd know if you have some reason to recognize the signs. If nothing else, one of those symbols on the wall is Haagenti's demonic rune, so if Mel's familiar with that it could tip her off.

Okay, good to know.

Mel has a +11 in Knowledge (religion), and I rolled a Knowledge (Religion) check to see what she knew about Haagenti almost a month ago. It came up 22, which you can verify with the GM if you like -- we had a PM discussion about it. Here's what he had to say:

Brookside GM, Feb 10th wrote:

Quote:

Yes he uses the holy symbol when channeling, which I don't believe Mel has seen yet. Given that knowledge check she knows he [Haagenti] is an evil god of alchemy and change. He loves subtlety and is often helpful to some who bargain with him for a long time before he exploits them.

So this'll be interesting.

Fun!

"Of course." Mel ushers Kazador out to give the mage space to work.

Mel stands back to watch, arms crossed in front of her, face set in an unaccustomed expression -- cold, relentless wrath.

Chips fly under Kazador's skillful blows, and in a matter of minutes the runes are effaced, leaving a patch of freshly exposed stone, brighter than the surrounding areas.

"Thank you, Kazador," Mel says as he finishes. She sweeps the chips up. None of them bear any recognizable symbols any longer. "I'll toss these in the river, downstream of here," she says. "Let the water clean away any lingering taint."

"Hal? Finding anything we need to worry about?"

The description of Perrin's house in today's post I copy-pasted from a private message Avoron sent me back in 2018, only very lightly edited. Like, I omitted the description of the turpentine he was brewing for Mel back when he sent that, since it's obviously long gone.

I guess it's up to the GM if we find anything in the house as we search it.

"Nothing like that. Come on. It's not far. We're going to Perrin's house."

Mel leads them to a small three-room building on the edge of the town, albeit one made from stone rather than the usual wood. Like most of the houses in Brookside, its door has a latch, but no lock. Mel opens it and lets them in.

The front room contains only a simple chair, a desk with scattered papers on it, and a raised cot for patients. Beyond that is a closed door leading to Perrin's bedroom, and a slightly open door leading to his lab.

The lab itself is a clean but cramped room, its small dimensions giving the objects inside a cluttered appearance. The room is well-lit, though, by a broad window set high in the far wall. There doesn't seem to be much in the way of finished alchemical products, with the racks and shelves flanking the doorway devoted more to raw ingredients obtained from Brookside and the surrounding forests, as well as basic equipment like beakers and scales. To one side lies a small fireplace with some sort of grate over it, currently cold and empty. Next to it lies a crucible with an attached funnel, coated in residue from what appears to be molten gold. On the wall above the grate are carved several strange symbols and runes that seem vaguely unsettling.

The remainder of the space is dominated by a narrow L-shaped table beneath the window, with a tall wooden stool in front of it. The table is filled with miscellaneous reagants: some dry, wilted holly and mistletoe, a handful of gold coins, and a dessicated hunk of salted meat.

"It feels like forever since I came here," Mel says. "This is where I first identified Perrin's ... patron." She nods towards the runes on the wall. "Those are in Abyssal. I don't know exactly what they say. I couldn't read them -- not even with the aid of magic. And frankly, I'm glad. But that one on the end -- that's his name." From the way she spits the word "his", it's clear she means Haagenti.

She turns back to them. "I want to make sure that no one stumbles across anything here that could point them down the same path Perrin took. Hal, I'm hoping you can help me search for any lingering magics there might be, so we can destroy them. And Kazador ... those runes on the wall have to go. I'd love to smash them myself, but I just don't have the tools. Whereas you have a hammer that's the next best thing to a holy weapon. Could you? I spoke with Vors about it earlier, and he approves."

"Ugh. Yes. Well, that was a mistake, I guess. But not one I plan to repeat. And the headache is mostly gone at this point."

"Actually, I need a hand with something. Could I borrow you both for a few minutes?"

Mel knocks on the doorframe of the house where Hal and Kazador have been staying. "Kazador? Hal? Could I have a word, please?"

In the morning, Mel wakes up with the worst headache she has ever had. She dresses slowly and joins the Falchen family for breakfast.

"Sweet goddess," Mel says, rubbing her bleary eyes. "I am never drinking that much ever again."

Reinala sniffs, running a sympathetic eye over the elf. She pushes a cup across the table. "Water," she advises practically. "Lots of it. And some solid food in your belly. Ye'll be right as rain in, oh, two or three hours. Or four, perhaps." She follows the water up with a stack of pancakes with butter and honey.

Mel groans, but tucks in meekly.

It's afternoon before she really feels like herself again. Once the headache clears, she asks for a word with Vors, in private. "I said I'd tell you everything that was mine to tell," she says.

They walk off, heading upstream along the brook until they find a private place in the woods. There they sit on the sunny banks, and Mel tells him everything.

It takes the better part of two hours, picking up from when they left Brookside. She omits no detail -- with the exception of those she promised not to reveal. In particular, she does not reveal Kazad Gravr's location, or what exactly the Concordat sought there, as she swore oaths to Kazador not to share that information. That the clanhold and the treasures it held are both gone matters not at all -- an oath is an oath.

Nor does she reveal anything that might bring trouble to the door of Isabella or the Circle of Friends, far off though they might be. And she silently omits any reference to King Stephens' abilities, saying only that he examined the evidence of Beaumont's activities and found the Duke guilty.

And, though it breaks her heart, she tells him, voice low, of the bargains Perrin struck to gain the powers that he wielded.

"Do ye mean to tell me we laid a devil worshiper to rest in our cemetery?" Vors splutters.

"Demon," Mel corrects him, automatically. "Vors, you knew Perrin his entire life. He was so, so driven to help people. And so hopelessly naive. He never believed that anyone but him would ever pay the price for his bargains. And maybe he was right. I said yesterday that his was a story of a kindness so pure that no shadow could ever dim it. And I believe that. Not even that vile thing he consorted with was ever able to change him. Manipulate him, perhaps. But change him? Never. He remained true to his own self to his very last breath. And he spent those last breaths helping us prevent the very scheme he had been instrumental in setting up. He turned his back on Haagenti, and the demon claimed his life for it. Not, I pray, his soul." Her hand goes automatically to her throat, reaching for her absent holy symbol. She lets it drop again, uncomforted. "He was good man, for all his terrible flaws. I can see no harm in letting him rest here, in the village he loved."

Vors inhales deeply through his nose, his lips set in a thin line. "I can't say as I like it. Not one bit, Mel. To think of it. Perrin? Our Doc Alders, consortin' with fell powers? It just ... just ..." he gestures broadly, as if trying to pluck words from the air.

"I know. Believe me, I've wrestled with this for months. He was a living contradiction in terms. And now? Well. He's done all he'll do. Let him rest."

Vors sighs gustily. "All right. All right, Mel. He's dead and all. And it's a crushing burden you've given me, this secret of his, but I'll carry it to my grave. No sense temptin' anyone to follow his path. I doubt many could walk it the way he did."

"Yes. Kelian knows also. Thank you, Vors."

"Aye, aye. Mind you, I'm bringin' in a priest from Astin to consecrate the graveyard at the first opportunity."

"Well, that's only good sense."

"Is there anythin' more? If not, well, I've plenty to be about."

Mel nods. "There is one thing ..." She tells him; and he agrees at once.

After Vors leaves, Mel sits on the bank for a few minutes, watching the sun play on the water. She strokes Rally, curled up in her lap, and listens to birdsong in the branches, a balm for a weary soul.

Then she rises, and walks back to Brookside, Rally trotting at her side.

She has one more task to see done this day.

Okay. It's up. If you want some background music, put on Heart of Nowhere. I had that on loop while I was composing this.

I think the main reason it was so hard to write that is that I'm pretty sure that this is not just a eulogy for Perrin. It's a eulogy for Avoron, Perrin's player. I mean, I don't know for sure. He just dropped out of sight suddenly in late 2018. But ... I can't think what else might account for it. So ... it had to be as good as I could make it.

Please feel free to add things if you wish, at the funeral or the wake afterward. Then I've got one more scene for Mel and Kazador, and then we can do epilogues.

A solemn procession wound from the barn where the viewing had been held towards the burial grounds: Perrin's mother at the front, flanked by Vors and Mel, then the pallbearers with Perrin.

It seemed that in the months since the battle that spring, the town had decided to establish a formal cemetery in the field east of town, along the road towards Astin, where they had buried the fallen after the battle. Long grass now covered the oblong graves of the spring, each one marked with a headstone. "Perrin will need one of those," Mel says suddenly. "I, I didn't think. I can pay for one ..."

"Easy," Vors replied. "Perrin paid for that long before you came to us. Paid for it with tonics and gentle fingers and stitches and poultices. He'll have the best headstone we can manage for him, and no one would dare sully it with coin."

"Good," she said. "That's good ..."

Vors squeezes her shoulder gently. "Bear up. He's almost home."

Mel nodded jerkily.

The procession drew to a halt before an open grave. The pallbearers set him gently down, and the trailing townsfolk gathered in an impromptu half-circle.

"Thank ye all for comin'," Vors said. "Though it's sorry I am for the occasion. Doc Alders has come home for the last time. We gather here to honor him, and bid him farewell. He has been away these past few months. You all know Mel Elden. She's been travelin' with him, and so I have asked her to say some words." He nods to Mel, then steps aside.

Mel takes a deep breath. Before she can step foward, something catches her eye in the grass:

A single snowbell, a spring flower blooming entirely out of season here at the ragged end of summer.

Almost without meaning to, Mel leans down and plucks the flower. She twirls it gently in her fingers a moment, looking at the delicate petals catching the afternoon light.

A sense of peace washes through her, like cool water. Slowly, she reaches up and pulls her scarf off. She shakes out her hair, then tucks it back behind her ears.

A murmur goes through the crowd, many of whom had no idea of her elven heritage. She tucks the flower behind one ear.

"For a long time, I believed that stories make people. That the stories you hear when you are young shape who you will be as you grow older. And Perrin once told me a story. He said it was important. That it had stuck with him. I won't repeat the whole thing here, but it was a story about a clever man who was willing to do anything in pursuit of his goal."

"And I could see how that story had shaped Perrin. When he set out to do something, he was relentless. He was always willing to do anything to achieve what he set out to do. He would take on any task, bear any burden, and pay any price to fulfill his aim."

"In anyone else, a drive like that might have gone very differently. He could have had wealth. He could have gained power. But that was not what Perrin wanted. He only ever had a single goal: helping people. Healing hurts. Soothing troubles. Making the lives of his neighbors and family better in any way he could. Perrin always put the needs of others before his own, and once he set out to help someone, he would stop at nothing to see it done."

"Watching Perrin Alders taught me how wrong I was about stories. So very wrong. Stories don't make people. It's the other way around. People make stories, by living them. Every step, every breath, every choice is another word, another sentence in the story that you live."

Melira surveys them for a moment, reading a variety of emotions in their faces. Vors stood with the stoic grief of a former soldier who has seen too many friends buried. Many wept openly, Joren Golightly, Nancy Yenwood and Bethany Lem among them. Some were still looking at her curiously, especially some of the very young children like Soren Rockhill and Berry Nolton. A dark-faced Alice Dorner seemed to be on the verge of storming away from the funeral of the man who failed to save her father's life, restrained only by her mother's iron grip on her shoulder.

"That story Perrin heard might have influenced him, but it did not determine who he was. Perrin lived his own story. A story of a kindness so pure that no shadow could ever dim it. He loved his people, and he was always willing to do anything, sacrifice anything, to protect and heal. That was the story Perrin lived: he did everything he could to serve his people. Even, in the end, sacrifice his own life to save others."

"I count it a great honor to have known him. And a grievous blow to have lost him." She looks down a moment, her throat working. Then she looks up again, and brings one hand up to trace a spiral in the air. "Pharasma, Grey Lady, Mother of Souls, your son Perrin Alders returns to you today. Guard his steps on the long road that leads to Your seat. When he stands before You, look on him, Grey Lady, and grant him judgement both fair and swift. Thus pray we all."

"Thus pray we all," the villagers echoed back, raising their hands to trace spirals in the air.

Vors nods to the pallbearers as Mel steps back. They step forward and lift the coffin by ropes laid in the long grass, walk the few feet forward, and lower it gently down into the grave.

One by one the villagers pass by, each tossing a flower in atop the coffin. Mel waits and adds the snowbell last. It floats gently down onto the drift of flowers.

And with that, the funeral is done. Mel walks back to the village with Reinala and Perrin's mother -- not feeling the need to watch the gravediggers at work, though Vors stays to the bitter end.

At the wake, Melira gets stone blind drunk for the first time in her life.

I'm really struggling with this one. It's probably the hardest thing I've written in the entire campaign. Bear with me.

So I've got a draft of the funeral. But I didn't want to put it in the same post with the viewing. Also I want to polish it a bit.

After that the short scene with Kazador, then epilogues.

Reinala feeds them a hearty breakfast of eggs, oatmeal sweetened with a dollop of honey and draughts of cool, fresh well-water. Mel hardly tastes the food.

At least appropriate clothing was no problem. Mel tugs on her sleeves, causing her clothing to shift into a black mourning gown -- elegant, but restrained.

She stares at herself in a small mirror hanging from the wall of the Falchen guest room.

"Paska," she snarls at her reflection. "Perrin wouldn't know me."

In a fit of anger, Mel tears off the enchanted sleeves, hurling them into a crumpled pile on the bed. Dozens of things thump onto the bed after it as she upends her haversack: her diaries, a rock from Kazad Gravr, maps of Helm and Bannerhold, three packets of illicit dreamtime tea that she never found a use for, half a bottle of Longshank's Old Bootrot whiskey, a pile of books -- Perrin, peering over the captain's shoulder at her Student ID, mouthing the words "seven books" and looking curiously at Mel as though expecting the books to materialize ... -- and all her clothing.

She fishes out the same, simple outfit that she'd been wearing that day after Cyrus' death, when she was too late to help, topping it off with the same battered cuirass of leather she'd worn through the the fight for Brookside.

She checks the mirror again.

She swaps her scarf for a black one and checks the mirror again.

"That'll do. I guess."

She leaves all her worldly goods scattered across the bed, and slams the door after herself.

------------------------

Vors had found space for the viewing in a barn not far outside the palisade -- now firmly reinforced, Mel noted. It lay a good quarter mile outside the village walls. The door was new -- its wood not yet weathered to the same silver as the surrounding planks. This must be where the karak got his "shield," Mel thinks. All the pointless wrath that had animated her earlier drained away as she approached.

Just now, the doors stood open, and the space within prepared for a viewing. Seating made of hay bales lined the walls and formed small circles through the structure, filled with black-clad villagers. They looked up as Mel entered.

And Perrin was there, at the far end.

They had set up a table and draped it with a black cloth before setting his coffin on it -- a simple affair of pine. Someone had thought to put up flowers. Nothing fancy. Some white daisies, mixed with a handful of yellow roses. The lid was open.

Mel walked through the crowds, nodding to familiar faces: Abigail Dorner; her student Susy Nolton standing with an awkward-looking halfling boy Mel didn't recognize; the ratfolk Whisky and Pats who had fought with her from the tower; and more, so many more. The entire town had turned out to say farewell to the simple, country doctor who had patched them up so well.

And Mel would talk to all of them, of course.

But first ...

He lay with his hands clasped gently across his breast, wrapped in a winding sheet. His skin looked waxy and pale. He hardly looked like Perrin at all.

Mel placed her hands on the edge of the coffin, gazing down into it. "Well, Perrin," she says, barely whispering. "This is it. You've done everything now. All you'll ever do. I'm sorry for ... oh, everything. This is not how I wanted your story to end."

She goes silent a moment, then continues. "I've got some words to say for you later. At the funeral proper. But I don't know if they'll be good enough. So ... take this."

She reaches up and removes her necklace: the holy symbol of Ostara, a snowbell etched in a fragment of the first bow Mel ever made. She tucks it into his hands.

"I hope it helps you. Safe travels, my friend, and may the Gray Lady judge you for the kindness in your heart above all else."

She presses a kiss to his cold forehead, and then turns to join the crowd, sitting and talking with them for the next two hours.

Mel emits a tiny snorting noise at this wildly embellished account, then puts on a face of complete innocence when Karia shoots a glance her way.

Mel nods. "That sounds like Perrin," she says. "Kind to everyone. I'll speak with Vors about the arrangements."

Mel seeks out Vors Falchen, now serving as a sort of de facto mayor of the village following his heroic performance in what is already being called the Battle of Brookside. She speaks with him quietly, arranging for a simple Pharasmin burial. "Terrible thing," Vors says. "Just terrible. But I'll speak with those as need speakin' to, aye. We men will prepare him this evenin', and come the morrow we'll hold a viewin', with the funeral to follow. And a wake in the afternoon. You've been travellin' with him of late, aye?"

"Yes," Mel says shortly, forebearing to mention how brief their last shared journey was.

"Well then. Take some time this evenin' to find some words to say, if you would. And ye'd best stay with us, tonight. Reinala'd never forgive me if I let you stay elsewhere. We'll find room for your friends, if they like. Or ..." He grimaces. "We still have a couple empty houses. No one took them since the Battle, 'cept those ... newcomers ... who seem to have cleared out. I couldn't put my finger on it, mind, but somehow I never took to them. Anyhow, your friends can bunk up in one of those for the night if they'd like. We've kept 'em in good repair and all."

"Of course I'll stay with you," Mel says gratefully. "After all, I need to tell you and Reinala and your kids all about the brave young man Kelian became."

"I'll confess I was wonderin'," Vors says. "We've had letters from him 'n all, but somehow he never says half as much as we wish, and I get the sense there's a great deal he's not sayin'." He shoots a keen glance at Mel, giving the clear message that he thinks there's plenty she's not saying, either.

"I promise, Vors. I'll tell you everything. Just ... let's see to Perrin first. I fear I won't be much good for anything until he's at rest. After that I'll tell you everything ... " she thinks suddenly of her vow not to reveal King Stephen's occult abilities. "Everything that's mine to tell."

"Aye," Vors says, putting a hand on her shoulder. "Aye, Mel. That'll do. Now, excuse me. I've work to be about." And so saying, he strides off to prepare a final welcome for Perrin, a son of Brookside come home for one last time.

That evening Reinala feeds Mel, Hal and Kazador a wonderful homemade meal. The children -- mostly Karia and Jael, now nearly fourteen years old, and less so the sixteen year old Vargos -- spend the meal asking questions of the curious visitors. Mel is a known quantity, so they focus mostly on Kazador and Hal. Which suits Mel fine.

After dinner Mel retreats to the guest room and spends the evening trying to work out what to say the following day. Trying to find the right words. She fills pages in her journal with words, crosses them out, writes new ones, crosses those out in turn ...

It is late indeed before she says her prayers and crawls into the comfortable bed for a comfortless sleep.

In addition to the actual funeral I have one more short scene I'd like to play out after that's over, for which I will need Kazador, at least briefly.

After that I guess we'll need each need to narrate a final epilogue post for what each of our characters. If you all don't mind, I think I'd like to write Mel's epilogue last.

And then ... that's it.

With Hal's assistance, the group retrieves Perrin's body. Mel cleans him up and carefully removes any sign of affiliation with the Reaps, leaving him dressed in a clean white shirt, a pair of brown trousers and some simple leather shoes. Mel stows his plague doctor mask in her haversack.

They carry him the last little way into Brookside, in a stretcher made of a blanket and two stout tree branches, carried by Mel and Kazador.

In response to queries about Perrin's fate, Mel says: "Perrin was doing what he always did -- looking for ways to help people. I don't want to dwell on the details. But he died doing his best to save people. Doing his best to protect his community. I'm proud to have fought alongside him, and grieved at his fall."

When Perrin's mother presses for more details, Mel tells her privately "The Bishop is hosting talks between Iustia and the Concordat right now. Perrin helped us uncover a plot to assassinate the leaders of all three nations using a magical trap. I believe their deaths would have caused a war, probably unlike anything we've seen since the Second Blackthorn War eight centuries ago. Perrin ... got caught in magical backlash when we dealt with the trap. I tried to heal him, but the injury wasn't to his body. It was to his mind, I think. I'm so sorry. He ... the important thing to remember is that he spent his life in service to others, and he always looked for the best. I wish he had lived. And I grieve alongside you."

She also asks if a Pharasmin ceremony would be acceptable or if she would prefer some other service.

"Yes, of course. If anything, that makes it more important. That Family he dispatched may well be causing problems for Brookside. Let's go."

"We got set loose without any penalty, the peace talks will proceed, and I don't much care about anything else right now," Mel replies.

"Where is he, Hal? We need ... I need to get him back to Brookside. It wouldn't be right to lay him to rest anywhere else. As for the ceremony, well ... I'm not sure if he has any family there in Brookside. If so I'd defer to them. Otherwise, a general Pharasmin ceremony, I think. There are few who would object to that."

Once they reach the inn, Mel pauses only long enough to say a brief wordless prayer to Ostara before tumbling into bed.

The next morning she wakes slowly and lies staring at the ceiling, the unfamiliar warmth of a small, furry body curled up against one hip. "Tänään minun täytyy haudata ystävä," she says softly.

Rally stretches as Mel rises and gets dressed.

"And what am I to do with you?" Mel asks the fox.

Rally sits and curls her tail about her feet, looking up at Mel.

"All right. Come on. Let's go get breakfast," she says, stroking the fox's head once. Rally leaps off the bed and trots after Mel as she goes downstairs.

Mel orders some extra kippers at breakfast for Rally, and eats quietly. I hope Hal finds us soon, she thinks.

Drained, Mel just stands on the darkened street outside the guardhouse for a few moments. "I'm exhausted," Mel says to Kazador. "Let's head back to the inn and get some rest." She carries Rally -- already sound asleep -- in the crook of her arm.

I'm presuming Hal will find us in the morning.

I didn't have any particular destination in mind -- just away. And I suspect Hal might not be to keen on getting grilled by the authorities. You're welcome to come back if you think Hal would be helpful here.

So as for the story Mel just told -- on a literal level, everything she said is true. But at the same time, she's implying that the Plague Doctor revealed his plan in a standard villainous monologue, and that we killed him. If questioned, she'll confirm that he's dead. If pressed on the point, she'll say that none of us got the killing blow in because he was using some dangerous magic that turned on him, all of which is true.

She will not mention the name "Perrin Alders". She wants to keep that name firmly distinct from the Plague Doctor, so that we can take him back to Brookside and bury him quietly with the respect due to his motivations.

Meanwhile the heads of state in there need to know that none of them are responsible for this attack. Let the Plague Doctor take the blame, and the negotiations can continue.

Mel calmly hands over her bow and dagger. "Some months ago we helped the Bishop with some problems with the Hand of the Reaper -- the Reaps, they're called. We've tangled with them a few times since then as well, and have kept an eye on their doings. This morning we confronted their leader, a man known as the Plague Doctor, in the sewers beneath the city. He revealed that he had placed an explosive rune on the wall here, months ago." She frowns. "Why is it that villains always seem to feel the need to brag?"

"I don't know what its original purpose was, but he planned to trigger it today in order to collapse the guardhouse and kill everyone inside. Once we finished dealing with him, we rushed here to stop it. Neither of us are arcanists, really. So Kazador here took care of it the old-fashioned way: he smashed it with his hammer, detonating it prematurely. It hurt quite a bit. But since the building is still standing, it seems like we got here it before it could reach full power."

"It's over now," she concludes. "The Plague Doctor won't be causing any further trouble, and the rune has been dealt with. I'm sorry we couldn't deal with it without disturbing everyone."

Note that Mel is disguised as a human right now -- DC 30 to spot that.

Mel turns to meet the arriving guards, her bow slung across her back, both hands out and empty. "I expect you'd like an explanation for this disturbance," she greets them.

"I plan to stay and explain," Mel says. "I can only imagine the distrust it would sow in the peace talks if something like this happened with no explanation. Each side suspecting the others, each side denying responsibilty ... it would be a mess."

"If you would prefer to go, I think I'll be fine."

"I think Rally can stay, thank you," Mel says.

I may have been thinking of Perrin when I took it back in ... checks notes ... October 11th, 2021, around 9:08 PM Central. Just going off the time stamp on the Discord message I sent you back then about how Blessed makes Mel better at lying to, intimidating or coercing angels with magic. Such a poorly worded feat!

But the completion benefit of constant Protection from Evil is awesome. Particularly since, somehow, Mel never got a Cloak of Resistance.

Also, this means that I have officially completed a Story feat! I've never done that before! I don't know anyone who's done that! Woo!

"No. It never gets easier." She puts a hand on Kazador's shoulder - for comfort, or support, or both.

Absent-mindedly, Mel heals Kazador of the wounds he sustained. But her attention is fixed on Perrin, lying still, so still, in a dingy alleyway. Only Kazador, and perhaps Rally, are close enough to hear Mel speaking quietly, an old poem:

The tears I feel today
I'll wait to shed tomorrow.
Though I'll not sleep this night,
Nor find surcease from sorrow.
My eyes must keep their sight;
I dare not be tear-blinded.
I must be free to speak --
Not choked with grief, clear-minded.
My tongue cannot betray
The anguish that I know.
Yes -- I'll keep my tears till later.
But my grief will never go.

From somewhere not too far away, she can hear footsteps, queries and orders -- no doubt guards coming to investigate.

"Hal," she calls. "Can you take him away, please? If they find him here they'll ... he deserves to be buried in Brookside. But they'll never understand. Just -- away from here, for now, and find me later. I'll stay and answer their questions."

"Kazador ... stay, please. I need a friendly face right now."

Likewise! This takes me back to my earliest days of role play, on the bulletin boards of Prodigy. Nobody had any dice, and I don't know if any of us had ever actually played a TTRPG. We were just writing collaborative stories. It was a lot of fun, even if the narrative did get a little tangled at times. I wish I had an archive of those old stories, but I didn't think to do such a thing at the time, and now those bulletin boards are long, long gone.

So, GM. Would you say that the events of the last few posts would qualify for completing the feat Blessed, Mel's third background feat?

Wow, a final appearance for Rally! I didn't expect that. But it feels good, even if this is her end.

I spent some time reading back the earliest portions of the campaign, just the bits before Mel joined. Cyrus was a good character. It's a pity about that greataxe. But at the same time, I would never have gotten to make Mel if Cyrus had lived; and he just would not have had the same kind of motivations she did to pursue more campaign. Mel, having messed up the Council's plan and put her people at risk, felt a need to go fix the mess and prevent a war between Iustia and the Concordat. Cyrus would have thought that the prospect was a terrible thing, but also he was a citizen of Helm, and if Iustia and the Concordat are busy fighting each other that means they're not invading Helm.

I guess the one thing about Cyrus I want to wrap up was the last item in his final inventory: that creased and folded piece of paper. I kept hoping that maybe someday someone would ask about that -- even hinted at it a couple of times in later discussions -- but nobody ever did. So now I'm just going to out with it.

Those were Cyrus' discharge papers, documenting his dishonorable discharge from the Astin guards for conduct unbecoming a guardsman. In the time after he left Astin, he would re-read those every night, marinating himself in misery. It was only after he found his faith that he began to make peace with his past. And only when he found Rally that he was able to finally stop poring over those papers. Even then, he carried them on his person at all times: a constant reminder of his shame ... right up to his very last moment.

I think his father probably found those on him when they prepared him for burial.

And burned them.

Mel rushes to Perrin's aid first, brushing a hand across his chest. Kindly green light plays among the silvery links mithral woven together long ago by the dwarves of Kazad Gravr, then sinks into Perrin, healing his hurts -- at least, those of the body. "Ostara, help him," Mel prays, making no more specific request than that.

And then she turns to the still bundle of fur, lying crumpled in an alley far from the green woods. "I remember you ... Rally, was it? I came too late to help Cyrus. But maybe ..."

Working swiftly but surely, she gently turns the tiny head, and once more works the one magic she has truly mastered: healing. Though perhaps too late.

I leave it to the GM whether Rally can be saved or not. But either way, Mel had to try.

Mel turns -- as ever -- to faith. She presses her hands in prayer, gazing at Perrin, and calls out: "Ostara! This man has walked long in the shadows, seeking good things in dark places and finding less than he hoped. Now he seeks to return from that dark sojourn. Help me, Ostara. Help me light his way home!"

Above Mel's head a blazing halo snaps into place, filling the alley completely with heavenly light, chasing shadow and shade away.

A sense of relief, mixed with trepidation, sweeps through Mel. "Good, yes. Let's go."

"So that's what you wouldn't talk about, all those months ago when Ev had her ... episode," Mel sighs. Completely without thinking of it, she raises a hand to her holy symbol -- the shattered shards of her first bow, etched with Ostara's snowbells.

"Perrin, you told me then that Haagenti was part of your how but never part of your why. That you were on board for opposing him, because what matters to you, what drives and fuels you, is helping people. I know that to be true. I have never doubted it."

"That's what drives me, as well. Community is sacred. These past few months we've worked so hard to forestall a war between Iustia and the Concordat. Now, all of that effort is about to bear fruit. Those leaders are up there to negotiate a lasting peace between the lands. Think of that, Perrin."

She grips her holy symbol tighter.

"Allen Dorner ... he fell in the Defense of Brookside. Poor Alice. I think of her crying at his funeral. And I think about that orc woman I killed, in that first fight. The one with the birth bracelet showing that she left a child behind, somewhere. That's what peace means, Perrin. We can't go back and undo the past. But we can stop that from happening again. Think of all the hundreds and thousands of people who will never raise a weapon in anger, never die on a muddy battlefield that stinks of blood. No more Alice Dorners, weeping for lost fathers. No more orphaned orc children, forever wondering why Mama didn't come home."

A drop of blood slides down her wrist from her fist, clenched white-knuckled around the edges of Ostara's symbol.

"Or at least, a whole lot fewer of them. I'm not fool enough to think we can save every life. But Perrin, we can save an awful lot of them. If we let those peace talks conclude. And who knows? Maybe, with time and space and peace, we can all -- we humans, and elves, and dwarves, and all the other wonderful people who walk this world -- we can all find ways to live with each other. And not just against one another."

"So please: the way that you can help people, here, now, today, is to come with us to the guardhouse and remove that symbol before it can detonate. What was done by mortal hand can be undone the same way."

"Please, Perrin. It's time to find a new how."

Diplomacy: 1d20 + 13 ⇒ (1) + 13 = 14

Absolutely not. No, no, no. Spending my one hero point to reroll.

Damage: 1d6 ⇒ 4

Diplomacy: 1d20 + 13 ⇒ (17) + 13 = 30

That's more like it. It's never been even potentially relevant before, and it may not be now. But just in case, note that Mel suffers a -2 on all Diplomacy checks against evil outsiders.

Mel's heart sinks.

"Oh, Perrin," she says. "I believe that you believe Haagenti is going to blow up the guardhouse. But I think Haagenti has lied to you. You've always wanted to save lives. And that is good, and pure, and noble. And it's why that is the exact lie Haagenti would use to get you to do what he wants."

"Do you really think all the other gods would let Haagenti step in and personally murder everyone in that guardhouse unopposed? I don't. I think if he tried they would move to stop him. Allowing him to proceed would destabilize the entire continent, and probably throw us into a horrific war."

"The gods work through mortal agents, Perrin. Your hands. And mine, these days. This is not the way. Let be. Please."

"In the guardhouse?" Mel asks. "Isn't that where the peace talks are being conducted?"

"Yes, alive and well. What do you mean, lives to save?" Mel replies. "Maybe we can help. But I heard you were running the Reaps in Helm these days? Perrin, what's going on?"

Mel hurries to follow after him. When she gets close enough she calls out: "Perrin."

"It could go real bad even if I am right," Mel says dispiritedly.