Dear Master Pele the Elder,
I, Sir Darius Belmont, Warder of St. Cuthbert, write this letter as my holy duty as a paladin and as my loyal duty as a companion. It is with deepest condolences thy must inform you of the tragic passing of your son, the cleric Pele.
He will be remembered as a friend and source for guidance. Following St. Cuthbert can be a challenge for a young man such as myself and Pele always seemed to be able to recall an appropriate scripture for the occasion. There is a silence in our party where his wisdom is missed. He fell during a fierce battle with vile Orcish slavers who were preying upon innocent people across the land. Be sure, that Pele’s death was an honorable one and his fight will be remember as full of explosive glory.
While surely you may wish for a more thorough description of the way in which young Pele hath succumbed, I must ask thee to trust mine judgement that reciting such details would be most unpleasant and bring no peace to your heart. All that truly matters is that he died defending the tenants of his faith and will be remembered as a true martyr of St. Cuthbert.
But if you MUST know, I feel that it is my sacred duty to share the truth. You see Sir, Pele had a bit of a dangerous side to him. Always the first with a lit torch, he loved to ignite many a thing… and enemy. For most brave he was with the tongues of flame. To such a degree that he had entered the before mentioned dungeon draped in half of a dozen magically fused oil flasks, set to explode upon impact. Few of our party dared to even handle such devices for the risk of disaster if fumbled was too great. This consideration was courageously dismissed by Pele, for he did not fear death nor mutilation, he was a true man of Cuthbert! Alas, this fearless nature of Pele is what eventually led to his fiery end.
In the deepest chamber of the dungeon we came onto a most evil altar room. There was a trapped door leading up to the next floor and in order to pass through safely, one of us had to hold a rope disabling the trap device. Pele and I argued back and forth about whom should be the one to stay behind holding back the trap. It is here Sir, mine regret turns to guilt. For had your son stayed behind to hold the trap instead of rushing into battle, he may still grace this earth with the living.
Once upstairs my companions were swiftly surrounded by armored Orcs. Tremendous fighting ensued immediately, and I desperately wished to join along side them. But the trap I was holding would collapse the ceiling upon me if I let go! It was during this dilemma that a troll of enormous size emerged into the room and I could see was headed towards Pele. Mine own safety I disregarded when I released the trap and sprung forth with mine steed to assist in battle…
What a saw next was terrible indeed. Twas only a momentary glimpse, for the floor beneath me began to give way rapidly, you see the trap had sprung. It was Pele. He had an oil flask in his hand and was aiming to cast it towards the troll. Something happened then during his toss; a slip, a minor mistake in the way his arm swung around his armor. In an instant the flask had erupted in his hand, igniting the band of like flasks strung across him. I fell. My horse took the brunt of the crash and we quickly scrambled back up what was left of the the stairway. Pele, was nothing but a smoldering corpse, half of his charred body lay disintegrated. I could do nothing for him other then avenge his death. We slew the Orcs without mercy. Eventually the troll, hacked and beaten to the floor, was under mine knife and I lit the vile thing aflame. It was a suiting revenge, but not an equal sacrifice.
This letter will arrive first, but shortly after a small sum of gold will be delivered from mine own pocket as a way to make sure you will be taken care from now on. Pele would have wished it so. Along with the gold should arrive in good condition the remains of Pele. He received a proper Cuthbert burial, yet I thought it proper to send his gathered ashes along to you.
I travel in the morrow westerly, towards the setting sun. If ever thy fate passes me along your way again, I hope to honor Pele at his place of rest.
With Earnest Sympathy,
Sir Darius Belmont