Journal of W. E. Tupper, Day 153

Day 153
My god, what a day.

The gnome finally spilled all the beans: about the latest unsolved murder with very familiar methodologies, how soon afterward he had spotted a suspicious guy roaming the warehouse district with suspicious implements; and how he'd been 'tracking' him for the past few weeks now, to the point of tipping him off.

But instead of heading out forthwith to this monster's hideout and beating him into a dry pulp, he takes me out into the sewers, sits me down, and says that I am almost ready to join his crusade against 'evil.' Then it got weird. He told me to focus, to remember what I felt from the crate when I opened it years ago; something besides the gut-twisting horror, the panic, and the sickly warmth of almost-dead body parts. So, I sat back, concentrated deeply… and it hits me like a bolt from the blue. I could feel him. I could feel the murderer moving about in the sewers. Cogmer didn't follow me when I ran off; or if he did, he kept out of sight pretty well. Eventually I tracked the gods-blasted fiend to a rats-nest underneath the southern part of the Scoops.

I didn't know him. I always feared that when I met him I would find out it was a friend, or close 'business associate,' or somebody who came to the store often, or even a fellow guardsman. I had never seen him before tonight. Five counts of premed murder, one count of attempted premed murder, who knows how many more before that or since then. He was a menace to the city, beneficial only in absence. And I let him live. I beat the bacon out of him and back onto the pig, mind you, and he did that half again to me; but I let him live. Odds are I'll get yelled at for this.

Dragged him to the nearest temple I could find: the Church of Our Radiant and Awesome Lord, Waylayer of the Unhallowed Dead (where else but the fucking Pelor Dome). And as I was sitting in the pews, waiting for the priests to finish up and for the guards to show up, a farmer sits down next to me. He started talking, maybe to me, maybe to himself. Figured it was some kind of prayer until he stood up, turned to me and handed me something. He said, "I'm staying out of this, but you know you got to keep your hand in." and then he left. It was a medal of St. Cuthbert. Will be sure to make something of this when I can keep my eyes open and think at the same time.

When I got back to my room at the inn, I found yet another note on the door: "You have failed. -4C"
Going to bed, will likely be dead by tomorrow. Spread my ashes someplace quiet and away from trees.