Garland was a mountain of a man, standing six foot three inches with a muscular build his dark brown eyes wandered around the setting. He reached up brushing back a few errant long black hairs  over his face as he approached the coffin, letting out a barely audible sigh. He was dressed in a full suit of scale mail adorned with symbols of Pharasma along its pauldrons and painted black and he wore a long black and purple hooded cloak with Pharasma's symbol on his back.

Garland felt an overwhelming sense of sadness overtake him as he saw his old friends coffin and he had to stop himself from breaking down though anyone probably would have noticed a single tear running down his cheek. "I will miss you Petros." he thought before approaching the weeping woman and stood tall despite feeling like he had just been kicked in the gut. He spoke calmly and clearly offering his hand in meeting, friendship, and consalance "My lady, I am Garland Van Burke, Petros was my best friend. I am so sorry for your...for all of our loss. Should there be anything I can do to help please let me know."
This message was lightly edited by the player at 00:41, Wed 09 Jan 2019.

Murkau stood apart from all others, even his own kind. He had known Petros for decades, watched the Professor age and his daughter grow to be a fine lass in her own right. He hurt, for he had lost a good friend, and that made some of the stoic dwarf's old habits resurface. He glared, hard-eyed and furious, as each newcomer joined the small crowd, daring a single person to let slip even a smirk. Despite his plainly obvious hostility, Murkau kept himself in a neutral stance having had dressed in his best clothes. A silk shirt brocade in black with muted silver threaded into the pattern of swirls, dark grey cotton trousers that ended in cuffs over top the wide soft leather boots. His belt had only a simple sturdy buckle, but held more than just his pants. A finely crafted waraxe, holstered into a simple steel ring, sat just behind the dwarf's right hip, easily within reach. His beard, streaked through with grey amidst the course black hairs, was styled into short mutton chops and oiled to keep it contained. Although the weather matched the atmosphere and general sentiment of those within the procession, Murkau had refused to change or to even wear a cloak. In the back of his head he realized that he needed to cool down, and let the misty rain fall upon his brow and beard, slowly wearing down the fury that had built within his short frame. In his left hand, Murkau carefully held an umbrella for Petros' daughter, keeping her as dry as the wind would allow.

There was a brief round of introductions. The nobles, Lords Galdana and Maran, were patrons of the professor's research. Abraun the scholar, a colleague. The dwarves, Flian, Murdstone, and Boyle, were excavators that had run many of the professor's digs in the past. They made friendly overtures towards Murkau but, rebuffed, contented themselves in quiet conversation with Sir Godalming, reminiscing about the professor. The elderly priest was Father Grimburrow, Garland's brother in the church of Pharasma, if considerably his senior.

The pretty young woman with eyes red rimmed with crying would be known to any friend of the professor, by reputation if not by personal acquaintance. Indeed, he doted on and adored her so that any stranger who held ten minutes conference with the professor would often be regaled with tales of Kendra Lorrimor, the professor's daughter.

Kendra was a tall and austere young woman, although her austerity was marred somewhat by the mask of recent crying. There was sadness and intelligence in her features, slender and clever and well formed. She was younger than one would expect for the child of a man the professor's age, she was of an age with Shara, perhaps a year or two younger.

She placed a grateful hand on Garland's shoulder for his kind words as she moved to the head of the funeral procession. She presented a deep bow to the assembled mourners.

"Thank you all for coming." She said, the hitch of emotion audible in her voice.

"I know that the journey has been long for many of you. My father was a man with an eye for talent and a firm belief in the best in people. He brought out the best in many, and filled the lives of everyone who knew him with knowledge and wisdom. He saw knowledge as a transformative force, and he was always willing to teach and help people better themselves.

Are there any here, friends of my father in life, willing to carry him on one final journey?" She asked, calling for any who would be willing to act as pallbearers in the procession.

Keldros was very sad inside but trying hard to keep his face a mask of stoic calm. He wasn't a huge fan of Ustalav for the most part, and one of the few bright spots and reasons to visit the country was gone now. He was here for only reasons. One, to support Kendra, the professor's daughter. Two, because he had been specifically asked to be. Well, and thirdly, because he wanted to pay his respects.

He didn't really introduce himself unless spoken to directly and only then to say, "Keldros Halfmoon." He stood near to Kendra, not so close as to invade her personal space or grieving, but close enough should she want or need support.

He stepped forward without hesitation but also without eagerness when the question was asked. "I would be honored to carry my friend one more time."

“I would gladly fulfill this honor; There are many to accept such an honor, perhaps those who worked with him day to day?”
SCG nods to the elder dwarves to see if they desire to accept the honor as a group or if one of them will be elected to the honor.

He rubs the smooth golden wood of the holy symbol around his neck

The stoic dwarf listens to Kendra's words, slowly losing the hard-edge to his face until she finishes whereby it vanishes altogether. "Such a fool am I, to so easily forget what ye taught Petros." When she asks if any would bear her father to his grave, Murkau quietly steps to the side of the coffin, murmuring to Kendra as he hands over the umbrella, "I will carry yer father one las' time."

Garland stood next to Kendra the whole time in quiet comtemplation with his hands behind her back, standing at ease while they began the procession. He stepped forward setting his right hand on the wooden coffin and spoke softly "I will carry him to his final rest." was all he said before looking over the others. Petros had inspired all of them in some way and he was pleased to see that even with his best friends death his legacy was living on in others.

One of the dwarven excavators respectfully doffed his cap and handed it to one of his compatriots as he moved opposite Garland, and Count Galdana took up the last spot in the rear of the procession.

With six pallbearers a perfect, macabre symmetry formed around the casket. The weight of a pine box and an old man was compounded with the weight of history, camaraderie, and memory so as to be nearly infinite. But with the strength of six like minded backs sharing the sorrowful load such an infinite weight seemed nothing at all.

Kendra thanked each of the mourners for their kind words and lead the procession, Father Grimburrow at her elbow. The small funeral party wound their way through the Restlands, past rows of neat stone markers cataloging lost lives, up towards the small but well tended Lorrimor family plot.

Some distance into the Restlands our heroes became vaguely aware of motion along the rows of graves moving alongside the funeral. Someone, in fact a great many someones, appeared to be shadowing the funeral party alongside parallel pathways. Could they be latecomers seeking to join the funeral?

No.

As Kendra rounded the bend she stopped up short, motioning for the pallbearers and other mourners to halt. Stretched across the pathway ahead was a small mob of dark eyed villagers, clad in working garb and glowering malevolently at the funeral party. There were a dozen or more, and some were even armed with farm implements or clubs. Guttering torches spat and wavered in the drizzling rain.

Their leader, an unshaven old man with craggy features and a stained, threadbare tunic, stepped forward and brandished a torch towards the funeral.

"That's far enough!" He boomed, his voice surprisingly strong for his frail form.

"Yer not burying old Lorrimor 'ere in the Restlands."

Kendra's features shifted from disbelief to anger, pain and sorrow only adding to her distress.

"What are you talking about?! I've arranged everything with Father Grimburrow. The grave's already been..."

"Your don't unnerstand. We don't want that necromancer buried amongst our kin. You can take him out an bury him by the river, ifn you want, but he ain't going into the ground here."

Several of the club wielding toughs brandished their makeshift weapons and hot tears of frustration began to leak from Kendra's eyes. The situation was fast getting out of control.

“Tis dark days indeed when in fear of heart and doubt of mind that men do think of all wizards both goodly and kind as foul necromongers.  No dark wizard came to speak at the temple of Abadar.”

“Hear my plea to not add to our burden of grief.”

Sir Constantine Godalming rolled 18 using 1d20+9.  Diplomacy
This message was last edited by the player at 19:02, Thu 10 Jan 2019.

A hint of anger shot through Garland like lightning through water to hear his old friend's name tarnished with accusations of necromancy. His eyes narrowed as he looked past his other pallbearers his voice carrying truth on the wind. "I am a cleric of Pharasma and even I carry Petros Lorrimor to his final rest. My senoir Father Grmiburrow and I would never consort with a person that distorts the natural order or life and death. Who are you to make such claims when we knew the man as a shining beacon against the night and the mists that haunt Ustalav!?"

Shara, who'd been appreciating the ritual and pageantry of the funereal services up until that point, steps forward to face the crowd.

"Necromancy? What are you talking about? If there's clear evidence of such foulness committed by the dear professor, by all means produce it. But if it's just wild speculation, crazy rumors, or whispers of conspiracy, then it is you who are offending the gods with your disrespect of this solemn ceremony." she states clearly, strange eyes scanning the crowd for a clear ringleader or signs of falsehood.



18:07, Today: Shara rolled 24 using 1d20+10.  Perception.
18:07, Today: Shara rolled 16 using 1d20+9.  Sense Motive.

Before the situation could get truly out of hand Constantine's words of reason, backed by Garland's support, quickly defused the tension. The ringleader still seemed bent on stopping the procession but murmurs of discontent began to sound behind him. It would appear that most of his small mob followed more out of deep seated superstition than an active fear of the professor. With no desire to behave uncivilized, and even less to tangle with a party of highly competent looking mourners, they begrudgingly began to disperse.

And yet the perceptive Shara could sense some deeper fear driving these men than simple superstition. Even the insular Ustalavian natives would hardly waylay the funeral party of a member of the community at the urging of just one voice.

"Ya cowards. Cowards!" The ringleader began shouting and gesticulating wildly. But his sway was already broken. Without realizing what he had done he had begun ranting at his dubious followers, not at the funeral procession.

He whirled on the procession and stalked forwards, index finger pointed like a dagger.

"Look you here, ye little whelp. That misbegotten old..." His rant was cut short with a sharp crack as Kendra smacked him full across the face, trembling with petite fury.

"Gibs Hephenus! You ought to be ashamed of yourself! Raising a scene, spreading lies, stopping my father's... Your wife would be ashamed of you. Go home." She said coldly, regaining some measure of self control as she brushed past him.

Gibs stumbled back in shock. He looked for a moment like he was about to surge forwards but Count Galdana gave him a dark look and a rash of chuckles from the dispersing crowd sent a flush of ashamed anger through his features. He whirled on his heel and stalked off.

Father Grimburrow, wringing his hands in panic as the situation developed, finally regained his composure and cleared his throat loudly, motioning for the group to follow Kendra's stormy wake. The procession to the professor's grave was short and uneventful after the ruckus on the path.

Father Grimburrow gave a short, poignant service and then all the able bodied members of the group helped to lower the coffin. Last words were said over the grave, small tokens were laid atop the casket, and then the funeral party retired a short distance to let the grave diggers begin their work interring the body.

Father Grimburrow laid a consoling hand on Kendra's shoulder and then made his way towards the church on the edge of the Restlands. The dwarves paid their condolences and then made ready to journey on, as did most of the remaining guests. As the funeral came to a close Kendra stepped up to thank the assembled guests and to invite them all to her home for supper and the reading of the will.
This message was last edited by the GM at 18:39, Fri 11 Jan 2019.

Darcon had been shadowing the pallbearers as they carried the casket towards its final resting place. Clad in a pristine white cloak with the hood up to obscure his features, he had been silent as he quietly bid farewell to the Professor, his master's old friend and something of a mentor to Darcon himself.

As he trailed the others, using his quarterstaff of rare white oak as a walking stick, his mind's eye went over pleasant memories of the Professor's visits, the gifts he would bring for a young man still learning the arts arcane, and the amazing stories and lessons he would share. Though Darcon had not had a chance to really speak to Kendra, wanting her to focus on bidding a final farewell to her father, he intended to do so in depth once the funeral had over and the mourning was done.

The rude interruption by the rabble was quite jarring, but the situation was defused almost as soon as it had begun by the morning star wielding warrior cloaked in green and grey, who spoke with a surprising eloquence typically not found among those plying a warrior's trade. Followed immediately by the cleric's strong words, more akin to a challenge, they were enough to break the will of the rabble who had sought to make mischief.

Though they disbanded Darcon's eyes bore daggers towards their backs; he knew their kind, the ones who sought for the slightest of excuses to burn mages at the stake out of sheer ignorance, hatred or jealousy. Inwardly he cheered as Kendra slapped the ringleader and gripped his staff until his knuckles whitened, resisting the urge to smash it into the man's skull.

Later, as the funeral was ending and the body lowered into the grave Darcon bid farewell to the Professor one last time, then turned his gaze towards the other outsiders who had come to the village to attend the funeral. The Professor had made friends with quite a variety of people with a broad spectrum of skills, and that did not surprise Darcon in the slightest. In fact, it could be the solution to a quandary the mage had been facing over the past few months, and he resolved to meet with as many of them as he could and see where things led.

But first things first; Darcon walked over to Kendra and spoke quietly, "I am Darcon my lady, and I count your father as one of my teachers. I must say your bravery in facing this grief and in facing down those illiterate ruffians earlier did not surprise me in the least, you are truly your father's daughter, and if Professor Lorimarr could see you now, his heart would be full of joy. I would be honored to join you at your home for supper, and relive tales of brighter days gone by."

Garland stood at the grave looking down at it as he reached back to his backpack, pulling out the bottle of wine that laid on top. One he had brought all the way from Ulcazar, the same Inn he and Petros had formed their eternal friendship at. "Before you all leave. I met Petros in the county of Ulcazar and he and I put a lost soul to rest. We became fast friends and over the years as we wrote letters he had expressed a desire to return to that Inn and sample its wine once again. On my way here I traveled through Ulcazar to acquire a bottle of the same drink we shared. I can think of no greater sign of his legacy then if the people he knew and loved shared in it with me."

Without waiting for an answer he pulled the cork from the bottle and lifted it back, taking one swig of it as the sweet taste of the wine coated his tongue. Without a word he offered it to the next person, hoping all would partake in a farewell drink to the Professor.

SCG held back much like Garland he had intended for the grave to be filled before he departed.  He spoke to Father Grimburrow and the dwarves in hushed tones...
“I fear those malcontents may desecrate this grave in the dark of night, before I get an opportunity to speak with Mr. Hephenus personally, can any remain here in the case?”

He accepts a drink of the wine offered him and passes it on. He nods to the man, offering his hand.
“Constantine.”



Once SCG is certain the body will be warded for the evening he goes to introduce himself properly;
“Lady Lorrimor, I am Sir Constantine GodAlming.”
He offers a bow and then turning he offers her the crook of his elbow...

As they begin walking he waits for her to speak...
This message was last edited by the player at 21:17, Fri 11 Jan 2019.

When the crowd came to try and stop them, Keldros had stayed silent as speaking up would draw attention to him and might have inflamed things more with his...heritage. So he kept his head down and tensed, ready to set down the Professor should things have turned violent - but thankfully, they did not and the crowd dispersed. His lips twitched at the slap Kendra gave.

He bowed his head respectfully during Father Grimburrow's eulogy. when it was over, he began to turn to Kendra but another person came up to speak with her, so he waited. Then another one of the people that didn't look like they belonged in the town spoke up about the Professor and wine.

He pondered it for a moment, as well as the request from other, and then gave the slightest of shrugs. His voice was soft and unthreatening - and it sounded like it was something he worked at, something he purposefully did to help with de-escalation (often pre-escalation). "Do you intend to stand vigil here every night? If someone truly intends to desecrate the grave, they may not be dissuaded by one night's intervention."

He hesitated then took the wine, taking a small sip of it before passing it on. "I'm not saying you shouldn't stand watch, only pointing out that either nothing will happen, or we might wish to approach it from a different angle - say, talking to people and spreading the truth about the Professor to dissuade that sort of thing."

Kendra drank lightly from the offered bottle, passed around the small knot of new friends like a sacrament to an old one. When all had tasted the rubiate liquor it was laid on the casket, more than half still remaining to see the professor merrily into his next life.

Kendra shared kind words with Darcon, Garland, Sir Constantine, and the others who gathered around to express their condolences. Slightly apart from the group Father Grimburrow seemed to share Constantine and Keldros' concerns.

"I'll have a word with Sheriff Caeler before the night is out." The old priest said quietly, drawing Keldros and Constantine aside. "I'm sure he can spare a deputy to watch over the grave tonight. Hephenus Gibs may be a curmudgeon and a bit full of himself, but I doubt that he has the courage to do more than scowl without a mob of cronies at his back. Besides, I believe you are wanted at the Lorrimor estate this evening."

Kendra, who had overhear their brief conversation, nodded.

"There is a dinner after the funeral, and the reading of my father's will. It would mean a lot to him, to us, if you could attend." She said.

The invitation was general, but of the assembled mourners only our heroes and Count Galdana were able to attend. The others bid their farewells and Father Grimburrow bustled off towards the sherrif's office.

Kendra led the way back through Ravengro to the professor's modest home near the middle of town. The center of the town square was dominated by the Harrowstone memorial, a large statue of Warden Hawkran, who had died in the fire that gutted the prison. His pose was heroic but the stone was old and worn, its plinth covered in creeping moss.

The professor's home was a cozy, rustling, untidy place filled to the brim with books, scrolls, and oddities. Bookshelves lined all of the walls, even in the dining room, and the piles of books and papers on chairs and end tables made the collection of scholarly knowledge look like it was spilling off the walls and into the rooms.

Once she was sure the troublemaker had lost his sway on the crowd, Shara stepped back to allow the more saddened and somber among them to say their piece about the professor. When it was her turn, she simply stepped up to the casket, bowed her head, and smiled, before allowing the next person to speak. She knew that death meant better things and new adventures for the dear professor, but that others preferred mourning of death before celebration of life and a transition to the realms of their fate. She would hold her own vigil for the late professor later, in personal prayer, but for now she was content to sate her curiosity about the odd company the man kept.

A select number of the procession headed to the estate, and here she grew wide-eyed at the man's collection of lore. Most of their relationship had been via correspondence, so this was her first time actually seeing the place in which her learned friend wrote his letters from.

   Murkau kept his face as stone during the encounter, ready to place the Professor on the ground should the need arise. Thankfully it did not, as the more eloquent spoke to the mob, and they shortly dispersed. Though not before Kendra gave Gibs a sharp slap across the face, which brought a grin to the normally dour dwarf's mug. "Ye still got that arm on ya, eh lass? I'm surprised he came within striking distance, there's stories of your fury across half of Avistan!"

   Once the Professor was laid in his grave, Murkau took part in the wine though only a light taste, his order allowed only a small partaking of any drink that might befuddle the senses, before handing the bottle to the next. Afterwards he spoke with his fellow dwarves before they left, apologizing for his rebukes earlier. When others questioned whether or not any of the mob from before might do something sacrilegious, Murkau only briefly thought about it as he figured those raised in Ustalav knew better than to meddle in the affairs of the dead, lest they raise an angry spirit. Therefore he quietly followed the assembled back to Kendra's, excusing himself to change clothes shortly after entering.

When the ceremonies were over Garland made his way to the Lorrimor estate, meeting everyone else there with a gentle and welcoming smile. He did not bother changing as he wanted people to see him as he was, a cleric of Pharasma as well as a healer and scholar still dressed in his priestly adornments and armor. When allowed entrance he looked over the bookshelves, taking note of the large collection as he walked along them. It was clear that he was in his element as he looked over all the reference material, clearly impressed. "Ordo's guide to surgery, Prehistoric Triage, Alchemical herbology and bodily effects...Petros had quite the collection of medical reference material. Its no wonder he was an endless wealth of information about the topic." he said aloud

He wanted to pull a few tomes down and start reading though he tried to be more considerate. He knew if Petros was here he wouldnt have minded though he only knew Kendra from the letters and didnt know the daughter nearly as well. Instead he took a seat on the nearby couch, folding his gloved hands neatly in his lap as he waited patiently for the others to arrive and for the reading of Petros' will.

SCG thanked the man for agreeing to send a deputy for the nights watch.  He still intended to pay a visit to the rabble rouser or at least find out what tongue he had listened to or what ill will he bore; so that amends might be made if they could.

He was glad that the lady accepted his arm for the trip back; once they reached the door he let her go in first; as others proceeded in he let them enter the dwelling ahead of him.  He walked around the house making certain he knew of all the doors and windows, satisfied he too finally entered.  He wondered what was the condition of this town did it have a court and a jail, surely the sheriff had the support of the people.

Seeing the collection of books and melange of assorted curios; he looked for the personal items a music box, collection of hard candies or a pipe.  It dawned on him suddenly...
“I wish had known him better.”
His eyes moisten

Darcon entered the Professor's house carefully, almost as if not wanting to disturb the sanctity of the place. Once inside he found the cozy interior quite welcoming, especially contrasted to the dismal weather outside.

His gaze immediately shot to the bookshelves, and his eyes widened at the lore that was surely gathered there. The cleric of pharasma already beat him to it, and Darcon joined him in inspecting the shelves as they waited for everyone to arrive and the reading of the will to being.

Running his fingers lightly over the spines of the tomes, almost reverently, he inspected the titles with a small smile, wondering if Kendra would allow him to borrow a few of the books for reading. If so, Darcon decided his stay in Ravengro would have to be extended until he had studied some of the collected lore here, and made notes for his own use.

Garland looks back at Constantine as he mentions wishing he knew Petros better and it made him consider the people that were here, all touched by his best friend in some way. "Pharasma teaches us that death is not the end. Everyone will go to the boneyard when we pass on and everyone will stand before the lady of graves and be judged for our works in life, obtaining an afterlife to bless or profane how we lived. Yet even in death Petros, as all of our legacies, live on with those left behind. You, me, Kendra...all of us were touched by him in some way. If you wish to know him better you need only look to those of us who knew him. Through our memories, stories, experiences, and encounters he will live on even after his passing."

Keldros had nodded to Father Grimburrow when he spoke of his 'plan' with talking to the sheriff. "Thank you, Father. I appreciate your vigilance and aid in smoothing our concerns."

The half-elf wasn't sure he was up to eating just yet, but he gave Kendra a small half-bow and indeed did follow her home. He didn't step in first, after Kendra, but he didn't wait to be the last either. He looked around as he slowly walked inside. He had never actually been to the Professor's home before - they had always met on sites and in exotic locales when the Professor needed his help.

The one man lamented not knowing the Professor better and the cleric of Pharasma spoke up with an attempt to use his religious beliefs as a comfort for others. It was partially successful, though not wholly truthful to Keldros. But this wasn't the time to take away from something that might ease the pain of others in the room that were mourning - such as himself, truth be told.

"Well spoken."

Kendra invited our heroes and Count Galdana to sit around the scrubbed wooden table, a tight fit but not particularly uncomfortable. Cozy. She served a hearty but simple dinner, potatoes baked in cheese, smoked ham, tea, and dark wine.

The meal was intimate and remembrances ran deep. The Count was known to Garland by reputation, both residents of Caliphas, and they shared a little banter about the city's politics. Stories of the professor's adventures flitted like ghosts of a friendlier past about the table and Kendra seemed eager to hear anything she could of her father's professional life.

"Thank you for making the journey to Ravengro." She said when everyone was settled and the meal was beginning to wind down, lifting her glass to the table.

"I'm glad that you came, Count Galdana, I know you were a good friend to my father. The six of you," She said, addressing our heroes, "I am especially glad to see. You see, each of you is named in his will. I haven't read it myself, his instructions were for the will to be read in the presence of all beneficiaries after his passing, but I understand that he's left something to each of you.

Finish your supper, the town barrister Mister Hearthmont should be here shortly for the reading."

After the food had been cleared away there came a sharp, clear knock at the door. Kendra bustled over to admit a short, portly gentleman with a bristly beard and immaculately pressed barrister's robes. Kendra introduced him as Councilman Hearthmont, the town's barrister and the head of the town council. Like most of Ravengro's inhabitants he looked sullen and distrustful of outsiders, although he had character to at least act polite and professional.

He bustled his way to the head of the table, retrieved a pair of small spectacles from a case in his waistcoat pocket, and produced the professor's will from a wax-sealed scroll case. He cleared his throat, glanced around to be certain that he was being granted the proper gravitas, and began to read.

“I, Petros Lorrimor, being of sound mind, do hereby commit to this
parchment my last will and testament. Let it be known that, with
the exception of the specific details below, I leave my home and
personal belongings entire to my daughter Kendra. Use them or
sell them as you see fit, my child.

“Yet beyond the bequeathing of my personal effects, this
document must serve other needs. I have arranged for the reading
of this document to be delayed until all principals can be in
attendance, for I have more than mere inheritance to apportion. I
have two final favors to ask.

“To my old friends, I hate to impose upon you all, but there are
few others who are capable of appreciating the true significance of
what it is I have to ask. As some of you know, I have devoted many
of my studies to all manner of evil, that I might know the enemy and
inform those better positioned to stand against it. For knowledge
of one’s enemy is the surest path to victory over its plans.

“And so, over the course of my lifetime, I have seen fit to acquire
a significant collection of valuable but dangerous tomes, any one
of which in the wrong circumstances could have led to an awkward
legal situation. While the majority of these tomes remain safe under
lock and key at the Lepidstadt University, I fear that a few I have
borrowed remain in a trunk in my Ravengro home. While invaluable
for my work in life, in death, I would prefer not to burden my
daughter with the darker side of my profession, or worse still, the
danger of possessing these tomes herself. As such, I am entrusting
my chest of tomes to you, posthumously. I ask that you please deliver
the collection to my colleagues at the University of Lepidstadt, who
will put them to good use for the betterment of the cause.

“Yet before you leave for Lepidstadt, there is the matter of
another favor—please delay your journey one month and spend
that period of time here in Ravengro to ensure that my daughter is
safe and sound. She has no one to count on now that I am gone,
and if you would aid her in setting things in order for whatever she
desires over the course of this month, you would have my eternal
gratitude. From my savings, I have also willed to each of you a sum
of one hundred platinum coins. For safekeeping, I have left these
funds with Embreth Daramid, one of my most trusted friends in
Lepidstadt—she has been instructed to issue this payment upon
the safe delivery of the borrowed tomes no sooner than one month
after the date of the reading of this will.

“I, Petros Lorrimor, hereby sign this will in Ravengro on this
first day of Calistril, in the year 4609.”