I should start with a little background, in case I forget anything with the happenings.

I sit in my room at the Last Lich Inn in Garic’s City. I came here last week and left Lilac Ford two weeks ago. Mother, Father, Matrul, and Aelisia were delighted to see me, and I them, after all the time I’d spent with Gray Master and Master Shantus. After seeing them I marched for the city. News from here has been rare of late in Lilac Ford, even rarer where my masters stay, and what there was was strange, but I was undaunted.

It has changed much in the six years I’ve been away. The way it has grown is almost unbelievable. Notably, the lord we heard of but never saw is gone and three lords sit in his place. I recognize no one, and most of the structures are new. I don’t know if this inn stood when I was a lad of twelve summers; this section of the city is strange to me. I haven’t been able to judge the age of the building by its appearance.

For all that, the people I’ve met here are friendly. There’s the warrior Aria, who also stays here, and seems to think her martial prowess is naught. Another is the gnome Esgir (he seems to like inventing devices and things). The halfling Weehawk, whom I’ve met only long enough to get his name. Kywyn, an unusually broody man, who comes from somewhere in the North. Another very nervous halfling whom I believe is called Hermy. One I only know as the Captain; we’ve spoken but I didn’t catch his name. The elves Kal and NaShae, who work at the inn. And a man named Arnor--I spoke with him when I first arrived here. A most courteous and kind person. And, sadly, one who is part of this world no more.

A few days after I met him, he got into a street brawl outside. A man died at his hand and he was arrested. I saw none of this myself, but gathered it through talking with the others. They say he was outnumbered. NaShae tried to search the library at the palace for information on the laws. Kal wrote a letter to the lords, begging for leniency. Neither met with any success. I suppose Arnor’s trial was closed to the common man, else NaShae would have spoken on his behalf--as I would have, given a chance.

A large stage was set up in the marketplace square of the city. Today, after many other public tortures, executions, and atrocities, Arnor was brought forth. The man who introduced the event whipped up the crowd into a bloodthirsty frenzy. My stomach turns even now as I think of it. If ever I met that cur face to face, I pray that I could restrain myself. He made Arnor scream out a confession, then ordered him placed on the block. He was quiet, but kept his dignity, although I saw him weep. Just before the axe bit, he bellowed NaShae’s name, broke free, and lept into the front of the crowd. I lost sight of him, but I thought I had heard NaShae’s voice as well. Some time passed. I tried to reach where Arnor was and help him if possible, but the crowd wouldn’t make way. The cur spoke again, saying Arnor was dead. And the crowd reacted like a holiday had been declared.

I should be angry at the people, but I can’t. They are ignorant of the truth, having been lied to by the human fiends who ordered Arnor’s death.

So I’ve returned to the place of my birth, found it strange, been witness to the treacherous death of a good man, and I want desperately to drown my grief and embalm my wrath in drink to be brought forth later, as many of the others are probably doing as I write. I cannot, however. I will only put off the time when I must begin to act to put right the wrongs that have been committed in the name of justice. Planning can begin, but not yet. Now is the time to grieve and drink to Arnor’s memory. I fear for NaShae; she seems to have felt very close to Arnor and I haven’t seen her since this afternoon. There are also other things to think of. I’m unclear on what happened, but it seems something, either being or beast, came into the inn and attacked one of the others, then fled. The inn’s proprietor, Cog, seems to have gone missing, also. Things need to change. I would’ve hated that obscene circus even if Arnor hadn’t died. Whoever is responsible for it has much to answer for.

But all is for tomorrow’s thought. For now, all that can be done is remember Arnor. Tomorrow I will paint a black stripe on the grip of my sword and another mark on the front of my shield, below the wolf, to remind me of the good man whose life I might have saved if I’d acted differently.