My father is slain. His house is broken. His sword is shattered, and his axe has been rent apart. But his blood lives on.
The restless shade of a terrible demon of an age long since dust.
Half hour off the Harrow Road you find it, Fool's Grave. Amid an overgrown garden sits a single tombstone. Carved neatly into the weathered slab is the word "Fool," with a symbol underneath matching the signet ring you found.