Grave Records

[Burt_Reynoldz_Mustache]

*Bound in cherry leather, one tattered album with the cover title "Grave Records"*


((This book can be found on the possession of Dimetree Darkholme and is merely a cluttered collection of journal entries, documentation and short stories meant for all to view, enjoy reading and mock))

[Burt_Reynoldz_Mustache]

*Opening Page*

Marpenoth 24th, 1374
To Whom it May Concern,
My name is Dimetree and I am glad you've found this book. A Midsummer gift to me by my late mother, Lady Vanessa Darkholme, I leave to you both the records and thoughts of my daily life. As fruitless as my writings may be, still my quill hungers to scribble them. Perhaps it is because when we recall the past, it is the simplest things not the great occasions that in retrospect, give off the greatest glow of joy. I wish not to forget such, and hope somewhere you are perhaps reading this dusty old journal on a rainy day with ginger-spice tea next to a warm fire. You are my friend reader, and though we shall never meet in this life; I extend my best wishes to you and your loved ones.
Sincerely,
Dimetree Darkholme

[Burt_Reynoldz_Mustache]

*Second Page, stained with an amber ring from a cup or goblet*

Uktar 7th, 1374
Today marks a special occasion within my life. For the last year, I've volunteered myself to the guarding of an aged Mausoleum just outside the modest town of Rivermoot. Along with my dearest friend and ally Aaron Ra, we've protected the area from the necromatic pollution that inhabits the very walls of the crypt. The burial chambers have been like a second home to I, as morbid as it may seem and I've grown accustomed to the great many fabrications that the haunted walls sometimes ruse the mind into thinking. However, it was on this day that I received my first visitor. Father Puck, A jolly priest of Lathander came to the Mausoleum in regards to some disturbing news. It seems that some activity has awoken in a meadow just a few miles travel from Rivermoot. The Wendover Hollows he called them, is a valley with a history far beyond any records he could find.

The antiquated ruins have been a concern for the Morning Lord's Church as reports of shambling dead walking the hillsides have come in frequently from the area within the last few weeks. Father Puck invited me out for a professional opinion which he felt was needed from a worshiper of Kelemvor. I was flattered by his praise for a professional opinion and for the first time felt needed. Though never described as unsociable, my communicative apprehensiveness sometimes has made me seem distant and some what aloof. Father Puck however, felt quite differently towards me. Perhaps it was his natural shine of friendliness that made me feel like he and I were already on the path to being very good friends and I dearly wished to help him. I informed Father Puck that I would need some time to ask for leave from my duties from Ra our organizer. Father Puck kindly accepted my answer and informed me he would wait at the local inn for a few days in hopes I could accompany him.

Later, when speaking with Aaron I was shocked to find that Ra also wished for me to look into the matters. Requesting my research in the area, Ra apprised that I should research the matters with a certain level of privacy and bring back the unshared information with he. Afterwards, with a slight hint of depreciation; Ra informed me that my guard duties were no longer needed and I was to be a "Tragedy Knight" of the field, resolving outside issues concerning Kelemvor on a case to case basis. It was with great zeal that I honored his requests, knowing that I Dimetree Darkholme was to investigate my first of hopefully many Death Guardian tasks. Today I am no longer a student, guard dog or side-hand but, a free soul doing the biddings of our great god Kelemvor.

[Burt_Reynoldz_Mustache]

*third page, dusted with charcoal shavings*

Uktar 8th, 1374
An ash sketch of the remains Father Puck and I found outside of the Hollows. No signs of unlife, however it is under my conjecture that at one time this unfortunate vessel was animated.

[Burt_Reynoldz_Mustache]

*fourth page*
Uktar 19th, 1374
It is with great angst that I write today. After a week long journey with Father Puck, I've discovered that our issues with unlife stretch beyond what had been previously conjected. It seems that our hollows are in fact a haven for an Undead Family of Vampires. What seems more foreboding to our investigation is the fact that the regional military seems to have sanctioned the preservation of these creatures lair with a special ordinance that Father Puck and myself can find no documented affirmations for. Another alarming issue is the fact that no one seems to wish to cooperate with us. The Church of Lathander's High Priest declined to give us any facts or statements, and began to act quite suspicious during our brief conversation with him.

The only favorable component to all of this mess is that a fellow researcher in Silverymoon has also suspected something erroneous with the entire affair. A wheat golden haired woman with a gentle smile and congenial temperament by the name of Dawn. When I discovered she too felt the adverse nature of the entire investigation, I decided to make it known I as well had crossed the same path. Unfortunately however, do to my lack of charm; my introduction to both her and her burly dwarven friend went unsuccessfully. I feel I may have only caused more distrust with our meeting.

As for Father Puck, he has agreed to speak with Dawn and her friend Ironbeard and insure my trust-worthiness.In the meantime however, Father Puck wishes to gather a group of his associates and organize an expedition into the ruins. Though I find his haste deplorable, perhaps we can discover some answers with our trip to the dark acropolis while additionally slaying the foul taint of unlife. I only fear that we may draw unwanted attention with our bold raid into the depths of this safehold. If this becomes my last entry into this book, know that my life in the service of Kelemvor was not wasted and I only regret not being able to do more.
Sincerely,
Dimetree Darkholme

[Burt_Reynoldz_Mustache]

*fifth page seems to be ripped out, sixth page below*
Uktar 25th, 1374
Today casts a black shadow on all those who keep hope close to their hearts. Though I have been accepting of death my entire life, I can not beguile my conscience from the grief of a loss as overwhelming as that of Father Puck. May Kelemvor guide his soul to his eternal sun that I know he deserves with Lathander.

It was but two mornings past when we group of heroes made our way into the depths of the damnable nest of the Wendover Vampires. Battling our way through the fields of bone and rotted flesh, we found our way to the barred door of our unwanted company. Unable to breach the complicated set of locks and traps within the door, we were forced to smash the wooden planks which held us at bay. From there we reached a series of maze like tunnels plagued with horrors I've only seen through study books. After many drawn out battles we finally reached a great tunnel where two abhorrent night-walkers stood guard. Their eyes sizzled with loathsome hate and their hungry fangs bridged over their sinful lips. The pair charged our group of warriors and the final battle of Father Puck commenced. Their blades glowed with ruby as they clashed into our shields. Though we struck true, our weapons' affliction seemed to effortlessly vanish before our eyes. We were outpowered and outmatched and so Father Puck took it upon himself to hold the front as we retreated. I had never been and vow to never be again such a coward. Never looking back until I reached the safety of the sun, I gathered with the others just outside the doors waiting for Father Puck to walk out, but he never did. After moments of bickering and dispute we once more plunged into the cursed halls to find Father Puck, lying in his own crimson life. He had dragged himself to the borders where great Lathander's sun shined into the crypt, greeting his father's warmth as he returned to him.

The body was gathered, prepared and given its last rites. We made sure to properly clear his vessel of any possible corruption which may have stained his flesh before burying him. The service was quiet and all watched stunned as we put him into the soil that day. I returned to the Mausoleum where I write now, in a loss for physical words. Our efforts have been shattered but, I vow under the grace of Kelemvor that I shall never stop my search. A search for the answers to the defamation that allows those murderous beasts to burrow inside these blessed lands. Until that day though, I watch carefully and listen for the answers I've will long be looking for.

[Burt_Reynoldz_Mustache]

*seventh page, black dust of charcoal sprinkles off the parchment as page is turned*

[Mick]

Really enjoying these!

[Darradarljod]

As am I... Keep up the great writing and artwork!

[Burt_Reynoldz_Mustache]

*eighth page*
Hammer 30th, 1375
Today marks Midwinter or as the villagers call it, “Deadwinter Day”. Though it has been some time since I’ve last written, in the spirit of the holiday I’ve renewed my commitment to return to this journal. Times have been as arduous as the frigid airs that travel through the winter hillside. Since my last entry children have conceded innocents, battles have been fought, and mothers have buried sons and daughters. Inspired again though, I write after a personal experience rekindled my gratitude for this inscrutable life.

You see, within the last few months I’ve plunged into my personal obligations for Kelemvor and the cost has taxed both my body and mind. I’ve witnessed affairs that none of my mentors ever warned me of. I’ve watched farmers transpose from man to ravenous ghoul and malevolent spirits occupy elderly women’s bodies. I’ve seen family members store loved ones in cellars because their bodies rose from the grave and Lich’s manipulate entire organizations into destroying one another. Such experiences have rendered a void of great despair within the center of my soul and the only element which keeps me astir is blind faith alone. However, it was on this day of Midwinter when I witnessed something particularly philanthropic.

Upon my return from a lonely Midwinter dinner at the Rivermoot tavern, I came across the path of a beggar. His gaunt body shivered in the snows as he waited at the cedar bridge for a good natured merchant or seaman to spare a coin. I prepared my excuse as to why I could not cast such a gracious gesture in his direction, when a pudgy man in neglected furs took lead ahead of me. Disheartened from my already trying week, I felt a demonstration on how cruel life can be would be just the spectacle to make me feel less abused by circumstance. To my shock however, the plump stranger I deemed for greedy cast three gold coins into the hands of the vagrant. Shocked, I scurried past the vagabond and caught up to the charitable soul. I made my introduction and implored to the portly man as to why he gave that beggar coin. Was the begging nomad an old acquaintance? Brimming with disgust, the hefty man eyed me with his thin gray eyebrows. He inspected my obsidian cloak along with my quality tunic and growled.

“A rich man without charity is a rogue; and perhaps it would be no difficult matter to prove that he is also a fool.”

Though his words wounded me, they were just what I needed to properly alleviate myself of any self pity. After emptying my coin purse into the beggar’s hands, I returned here to the Mausoleum for insight. After much pondering, the lesson finally bequeathed its wisdom me.

Did universal charity prevail, Toril would be a heaven, and the hells but, a fable.

Once, I thought the only fact I knew of man-kind was that there was nothing kind about man. I regret that I ever saw such in that light and vow for redemption. For a good deed is never lost. He who sows courtesy, reaps friendship; he who plants kindness, gathers love; pleasure bestowed on a grateful mind was never sterile, but generally gratitude begets reward.

[Burt_Reynoldz_Mustache]

*ninth page*
Alturiak 3rd, 1375
Vessel is that of Nephos Vorn
Age:28-36
Height: 7 Steps Long
Skin: Milky White
Hair:None
Details:Given to the church by Garlus Ironbeard for Last Rites & Proper Clensing
Cause of Death: Suicide by Piercing
Burial Date: To be determined

While stripping the corpse, a great number of arcane items were found. One item (Shelf 12 of storage) seems to be a component for Necromancy. A round skull with rune carvings along the temple. It is undetermined if Nephos Vorn was a dedicated Arcanist who indulged in the Necromatic Arts or a devout to Velsharoon.

[Wynna]

These are fantastic. Your charcoals are amazing. Well done.

[danielmn]

I didn't want to post since it was unbroken, but since Wynna went first, I'll also say that I am enjoying these as well. Little Annie has such talent!

[Burt_Reynoldz_Mustache]

*tenth page*
Elient 5th, 1375

Silverymoon, a chimerical ambition brought to life by the dedication of truly enlightened dwarves, elves and humans. The magnitude of its beauty stretches farther then any one word could ever describe. The combination of its baroque elven décor, stalwart dwarven architecture, and ambitious human design has made the great city a place far beyond its time. I’ve never observed a city which provided so many options outside basic survival provisions. Theatres, Jewelers, Inns and Churches line the streets, offering an uplifting atmosphere for any man who questions the elevation of this region’s commonwealth. Perhaps this element of thought was what helped persuade my judgment during this fine summer eve. For the first time, I looked at one of my consorts in a new light.

This Silver-haired Religious Zealot is known throughout the area for her imprudence in judging the delicate borders of immorality and has been punished by both law officials and religious authorities on numerous occasions for her lack of discretion when enforcing divine justice. Such report usually exasperated my mind but, today was an anomalous day. We dined at a local Inn and spoke our minds.

Originally, the meeting was to be nothing more then two souls comparing values and ideas; however it seems that sometimes life can bequeath bewilderment at the most unusual times. For during our conversation I found that she was no simple effigy of her church but, a concerned soul who would give her life on the alter of goodness and sanctity. She had goals, values and simple interests. We talked for hours and when night anchored itself to the Silverymoon sky, we went our separate ways. Walking the bricked streets of Silverymoon; everything seemed to be a bit more luminescent. The night jasmine flowers were all the brighter and the air all the more sweet. I know not what path our endeavors will take us, however I do know that for this night I can nay think of ghosts and specters. Only the haunting of our dinner fills my mind.

[Burt_Reynoldz_Mustache]

*eleventh page*

Marpenoth 21st, 1375

Vessel is that of Coravia
Age:145 (informed previous)
Height: 7 and three quarters steps tall
Skin: Moon Gray
Hair: Ash Black, long
Details: Left at church while Kelemvor disciples attended other duties
Burial Date: Marpenoth 25th, 1375

Coravia was once a close friend. Numerous trinkets and infiltration equipment found hidden on various parts of Coravia. Symbol of Erevan Ilesere found in satchel of Coravia. All items will be stored in Shelf 3 of storage until burial.