Even warforged die—even you, with the soul of a star, have felt your body slowly breaking down beyond repair.
When it’s almost time, you know. It’s just a feeling you have. So you say goodbye to Hima and Odi in their garden resting place, and then you travel the well-trod path to the burial ground of the Taliriktug tribe. It’s as you left it when last you visited your friends, who went before you decades ago, their souls imparted into the light of an unknown Beyond. As you settle yourself down into a comfortable spot between them and rest your back against a tree, you recall a vision from a lifetime ago, where Auril had taunted you with nightmares of yourself sitting sentinel over your friends’ frozen corpses. But now you’ve come to another end, and it is gentle, and it is good. You take the carved wooden elk out of your pocket and cradle it one last time; you lift a hand to touch the iron rose that deft claws once shaped for you; and then, with a sigh like the wind drifting through the trees of the Lonelywood, you power down at last.
***
My friends and I finished up a three year long campaign this week. Our characters all lived happy and fulfilled lives in an Icewind Dale that was freed from Auril’s tyranny. The last one to leave was the warforged druid/wizard Cassia, who chose the grave-markers of her long-dead friends as her final resting place.