Echoes of Mourning

Kolgarths Diary 20 Ollarune 998 YK

20 Ollarune 998 YK

The search for my family continues, and the latest trail I have followed
has led me back into the company of a number of adventurers I have
previously met, and had not expected to see again. In this endeavor, I
have answered the call of one Bren ir’Gadden, who I believe has some
information on the whereabouts and status of my father, brother and
clan. While my trust in this man only lasts as long as I can keep him
in my sights, even the faintest of trails deserves to be followed, and
my training as a blacksmith under the tutelage of my father has taught
me nothing if not patience. As I arrived, I realized that he was not
alone. Scattered around the room were three people I was familiar with,
but had hoped I would not see again. While I had come to respect their
prowess in battle, the adventurers in question did not rank among those
I would wish to share a tankard of ale with. It was a fell gathering,
and seeing those familiar faces around the room brought me back to our
first meeting, and the day of the cataclysm that destroyed my town and

It was years ago, and I had ventured to the tower of Cyre to investigate
a new mysterious dragonmark for my clan. Little did I know when I
arrived that others had been dispatched as a rescue mission, here to
save none other than Bren ir’Gadden himself. While my quest differed
greatly than that of these other adventurers, the presence of vile
undead abominations resulted in a temporary alliance of sorts. In this
case, luck was on their side, as while they are formidable fighters,
they were quite outmatched by the forces arrayed against them.

The smallest of the three, the Artificer known as Satoris, wasn’t a bad
sort, and even after all these years, I still feel the shadow of a
thrill at the thought of his elemental imbuing of my war maul. It made
for a very satisfying day of combat as the forces of fire and frost
flowed forth from my weapon. While I typically disdain the method of
ranged combat, preferring to revel in the defeat of my foes from within
reach of my maul, I could not help but be impressed the first time I met
them. Quick and agile, Satoris was able to dash around the outskirts of
the battle, and his crossbow proved to be quite effective, striking the
foul beasts where they were most vulnerable. While his tactics were
unorthodox, the results he was able to put forth proved them quite
useful in a battle.

The same could not be said of the members of the Silver Flame sent to
the tower. Gabriel, the invoker mendicant, and Dominaro Walsh, the
avenging paladin, could not have come from further ends of the spectrum
for two people so cut from the same cloth. Both have been
obviously…“touched” by their god, and their religious fervor carried
them recklessly through battle. Witnessing them fight, I gave thanks
that my father was able to temper my barbarian ways, as the carelessness
of their assault and their confidence that divine intervention would
carry them through the battle nearly caused their undoing. As soon as
the enemy was spotted, Gabriel rushed in with nothing more than his robe
as protection. In the first moments of the battle he was nearly struck
down by the lesser minions of the undead horde. However, even I must
admit that his response to that assault was impressive, calling upon
righteous fury to smite numerous of the smaller beasts. His companion,
Dominaro, took the opposite response. Content to sit back and allow his
ally to take the brunt of the assault through the beginning of combat,
when he did make his move, he lumber forward, encumbered by his heavy
plate mail. I could see the value, as assault after enemy assault slid
harmlessly off his defenses, but the plate obviously hindered his
movement, as he failed to strike a single enemy until late into combat.
To be fair, when he hit, he dealt a crippling blow, but he never would
have been able to connect had I not broken the ribs of the creature and
slowed it’s movements. In the spirit of friendly competition, I
bantered with them, but I fear that their religion allows no room for
humor or compassion in the souls of those that it has consumed.

As for me, I acquitted myself well, vanquishing the larger, more
dangerous of the creatures. Despite taking significant wounds, I was
able to keep my wits about me, and I did not fall into the rage that so
often consumes my brethren during battle. I won’t say I did not feel
the longing to let go, as I would be lying to myself, but the time was
not right for me to give into the call, and I was able to cling to the
discipline of my craft. We managed to save the old man, but the dragon
mark turned out to be a rune of prophecy. While investigating, it
whispered to me that my path was tied to those of this disparate group
of adventurers. Up until this point, I had disdained that warning, but
now, seeing them again in the presence of Bren, I realized that this
gathering was no coincidence, and that fate had caught me in its’ grip
once again. An ill omen, being connected with this group of miscreants.
The last time we were all together, we witnessed the mourning occur, as
my entire homeland was swallowed up by the foul necromantic energies,
and the search for word of my family, which has driven me these four
long years, began. While I am wary of what the future brings with this
group of companions, I can’t help but feel I have finally crossed the
trail that may lead to the culmination of my search.


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