Maestor Bartomius
Day 17 of the 80 year of our Father

“Outside of the vibrant city of Starfall, Jamon told me, things were much less colorful then within the city. For a long stretch to the west, treacherous terrain marred with cliffs and hidden chasms. But if one could somehow persevere, over the rickety bridges long ago needing repair, and wade through an ice cold river that could sweep a grown man off his feet, one could glimpse the beauty of the Hollow Hills. Like a glittering emerald in a sandbox, this haven was ringed by dagger-like mountains, making it a haven for many. Up until about 50 years ago the great heroes of our time were being laid to rest in the bright glittering tombs known for their prismatic stalactites. Three main hills rose up in the center, like the fingers of a giant trying to push through the earth. Tourists and Pilgrims alike took journey’s to this spot. But it wasn’t the bright tombs that he wished to lay his beloved, the Hero Darkthorn, it was within the giant tree which only grew within this haven. For hundreds of years this tree has grown, it’s highest branches almost reached the top of those dagger like mountains that kept it hidden. The tree was as thick as ten men side by side, Jamon boasted. I’m not sure if I believe him, his is blind after all. But I suppose one could tell by touch.... 

Never the mind, he took her into that sacred grove, electing to stay the night under what most called the ‘world tree’. When all in his party were asleep, he stole away under the tree. The roots, he claimed, were spread like fingers and easy to slip down below. Below the tree small tunnels had been made by ancient people’s, from the remnants of dusty altars, Jamon could tell they used to worship some pagan god there. He wandered to the depths and found a small alcove in which to lay the maiden. He swore it was the place she would have loved. It was quiet, no one would ever happen upon her remains of worship her like some false idol. Jamon spoke of place he laid the remains, how he laid her with a shinning white shroud. It was spun through with threads of silver, ribbons wove into the ends detailed our father of light’s prayer, something only used to the highest of our order.

From what I can tell, this shroud was to be for Jamon himself, but he would rather of had it laid upon his beloved than use it for himself. I knew there was no sense in arguing with him, for the deed had already been done, but not only did he steal a corpse but lay her to rest under a Maestor’s shroud? I was beginning to think Jamon wasn’t a pious man, but the father does not wish us to judge, so I held fast my tongue.

He knelt in prayer near her shrouded body for hours. He spoke the sermon of the 7 tomes and their lessons, and he gave her the last rights of the highest order. Once more I had issue with his actions, but chose to say nothing. This elven maid had bewitched him so, he only wished for her to be welcomed by our father, as we all wish for ourselves, so again I said nothing. Tears came from his blind eyes then, speaking of parting from his beloved. It pained him, he had knelt there for awhile longer before leaving the place and slipping out from under the tree among the giant roots, he wasn’t seen. He joined the group he was with, feigning the tiredness of an infirm man. He was cared for the entire way back to Starfall, the men carrying him on a litter as he held to the memory of his dear Belamica. When he got back to the town, he paid for lodgings at an Inn. He admitted, shamefully, that he indulged his pain, allowing the loneliness lead him to whores and gambling. I gave him absolution for these things and he welcomed it. His sickness shook his chest, and well all knew his time was coming. 

He was tired now, his story told. It seemed like some weight had been lifted from him, telling this tale. He fell into a deep sleep once he excused himself to do so, and upon the next morning, he would not wake. Whether by poison or by the our Father’s hand, Maestor Jamon was taken up to be with his beloved. A part of me wonders if the man’s soul kept him here until his tale was told, but then I am nothing but a cog in the Father’s wheel, I cannot hope to fathom his divine purpose. May he bless Jamon, and let his soul rest.”