Always there comes an hour when one is weary of one's work and devotion to duty.

All that work, all that blood, all those deaths, and for what?

We are encamped north of Grelsh, on the way to Aristeed's domain to inform him of the death of Pasha. It is a loose end to tie up, like the Dawrven axe I carry. I will keep my promise to Rorick Baldurick to return it to Purim for him, and another loose end will be tied. Our party has become tiers-off of loose ends, like the most junior member of  a caravan, charged with tightening the cinches on the pack camels before departure. Perhaps, at least, this little accomplishments may mean something, since our greater one apparently did not.

I wrote last time:

I am hopeful that once this political situation has arighted itself that things will return to something approaching normal. DuChamp will leave to become once more a shadow of gloom rather than an unwelcome guest; the human-only sentiment may be quelled or at least quieted; perhaps I can spend some time at Trades Meet again.

The political situation has not been arighted - after all our work, after all our effort, after all our loss, Nackle Tarrin, instead of using the weaponry of our discoveries to beat back the quiet insurrection fomented by the conspiracy of Releford and Helion and Stryker Malm - as we had thought the plan was all along - has chosen instead to abdicate his authority and quit Grelsh. There was much talk as he came to this decision, but it appeared inevitable from the onset. Whether because of his grief over Pasha's death, or because he was not as much of leader as we had thought, he has chosen to leave, and not to stay.

DuChamp has not been put off; the human-only fervor still holds in Grelsh; I have not seen Trades Meet in so long I have forgotten the color of the canvas on my stall. I am as rootless and adrift - more so even, now that I am without C'hallah - than when I first came to Grelsh, a fugitive from the corruption of Feck. It is as is I had been pushing a huge boulder up a hill, only to have it slip backwards just as I neared the top and roll all the way down to the bottom again.

At least we have destroyed the infernal Nil Engine. That is, I suppose, a victory of sorts.

In any case: we awoke and Caladar was gone, as is the way of the Wild Cousins. We took our small boat to the Blessed Bee, and Cavendish gave us aid in arranging a meeting with Nackle there, as well as attending to the body of Pasha. We had conversation with Nackle and he advised us to leave Grelsh as it would not be safe for us here, even for Montaquim, who was surely in disfavor with his DuChamp masters for his association with us. We agreed to AppleRabbit's desire to inform Aristeed of Pasha's demise, and after nourishment, took the boat back to the river (avoiding Grelsh poroper agin and for the last time) and travelled upstream as far possible. We started making our way (harder now, without Immin) back to the wild country where the mad ranger abides.

Toward evening, while AppleRabbit was out hunting poisons, we were ambushed by an orc war party, complete with shaman. Although Zinna was grievously wounded, we beat them off. Another senseless conflict; one of many, I am sure, before we can truly rest.

For now, some stew and a night's sleep will have to do.