-- 9/19/6067 --

     Hawn Ambrosius clutched the drow pendants tightly in his fist, feeling
their cold hardness to be a match for the cold hardness of his own anger.
He gazed out at the setting of the sun over the tops of the trees.  From
his vantage point high atop a balcony on one of the tall, graceful spires
of House Shea, Hawn looked out over the Silvendin Forest, wondering what
atrocities the drow would commit under cover of the coming darkness.
     He cursed his fellow elves and their sluggard ways, his anger at them
a match for his disbelief of what they had done this day.  Hawn could not
accept what decisions he had heard them make.  How could they be such
fools?	Did they think that millennia of complacency would carry them
through this?  It would destroy them, if nothing else.
     He had warned his fellow elves, and they had refused to believe the
truth of his claim of the return of the dark elves until they were shown
the House pendants of the drow, irrefutable proof of ancient horrors and
feuds returned once again.  As Hawn had held up the six drow pendants, the
meeting hall had grown eerily silent.
     None had wanted to believe the words of the wounded and fevered Hawn,
who had stumbled upon the gate of House Shea with the break of dawn, raving
about the return of the dark elves.  But the early dawn sky had been
illuminated by great fires where the magnificence of House Ambrosius had
once stood.  However, there had been no one present who had wanted to
accept that the drow had finally returned to make good on their age-old
promise of revenge upon their cousins of light.
     All of the members of House Shea had wanted to believe Hawn's claim to
be nothing more than fever induced delusions.  But when the healers had
finished with the young grey elf, he had harangued a hastily convened
council of the elders of House Shea, demanding that their best warriors be
sent in pursuit of the cursed elves responsible for the complete
destruction of his House.
     The venerable elves seated on the council of elders had offered Hawn
their condolences, trying to console him with the knowledge that all the
elves of House Shea felt this great loss.
     "There is no time for mourning!" Hawn had declared.  "Those
responsible for this massacre must be hunted down.  We must seek them out
and destroy them ere more Houses fall the way of House Ambrosius!"
     "Rashness would be a grave mistake against the cunning of the drow,"
responded one counselor.  "Their ways are well remembered by us.  Several
generations may have passed since they were banished from the light, but
the ways of the drow are not so easily forgotten.  We must seek out what
may be learned of the activities of the drow.  We must discover their plans
and convene a council of war."  Pain had shown in the elf's eyes, eyes
which in their youth had been a bright gold.  But intervening centuries had
turned them a pale yellow, and the thought of elves at war with elves would
not return the brightness to those ancient orbs.
     "Damn your councils!" raged Hawn, the anguish of his loss and his
first-hand experience of the drow taking its hold of his tongue.  "We have
no time for such things.  The drow are afoot.  Everyone here knows what
they crave from us.  If we give them more time, it will only suit their
purposes.  If they are not stopped now, there is no telling how many more
may die this night."
     "There is no great danger.  Our rangers and woodsmen are alerted and
will keep their watch for the drow."
     "Guards were of no use in saving my House!"  Hawn's disbelief at the
reticence of these elves to act caused bile to rise in his throat.
Although elves cherished life and were disgusted by the thought of taking
the life of a fellow sentient being, they could still do so when there was
need.  Could not these elves realize that there was such a need to kill?
     "You were not aware that the drow would strike," pointed out another
elder.
     "Precisely!" hissed Hawn.	"That is precisely how the drow strike!
They are assassins.  They will strike where and when they are least
expected.  They are a cancer which must be excised and exterminated, as
they should have been at the end of the Kinslayer Wars."
     "That is not the true elven way, that is the way of the drow.  We will
not commit such abominations without great need."
     "Without need?!?" Hawn shouted in the face of the elder.  "Two hundred
grey elves lay dead and you would say that there is no great need?!?"
     "We understand your grief...," started an elder, attempted to get Hawn
to be reasonable.
     "You understand nothing," interrupted Hawn.  "My entire family is
dead.  None remain.  I am the last of House Ambrosius.	And the killing has
not ended, it has only begun.  Do you not recall how many of our brethren
were slain and massacred during the Kinslayer Wars?  How many more must die
before you act?  How many more Houses must be annihilated?  How many more
elves will be slaughtered in their sleep before you act?"
     "We will act.  But not out of rashness.  Not blindly.  We will act
with intelligence and intent, not the blind lashing out of one lost in
darkness."
     "Then you are already lost, for if we do not act now, there will never
be another chance.  The drow will not allow you the comfort of planning
your every move.  This is not a chess match where you may contemplate each
possible move at your leisure.	It is war.  Each time you pause to think,
the enemy moves and more lives are lost."
     Another elder attempted to be the voice of reason.  "Your judgement is
impaired by the severity of your loss.	We realize..."
     Hawn wheeled on the venerable elf, the last iota of his patience gone.
"You will not grasp the reality of this until the drow have slain your
loved ones and you have seen them dead in pools of their own blood.  Only
then will you realize that the opportunity to act is past.  Only then can
you understand anything about what I see.  The drow have had millennia to
make their plans.  Now they are carrying out those plans, and we must do
everything in our power to stop them, or all of the light elves will be as
my family is."
     The elders traded looks, knowing full well the truth of Hawn's words.
But they also knew that they could not move rashly, or they would be
playing into the hands of the drow.  "You must try to..."
     But Hawn had had enough of the elders.  They refused to acknowledge
his words, and for that he would waste no more time upon these ancients, so
engraved in their ways.  He stormed from the meeting hall with the
intensity of the turmoil and emotion brewing in his wounded heart.
     Now, Hawn watched as the last rays of daylight faded from sight.
Where would the drow strike next?  Who would be their next victim?  Which
House would end with the same fate of House Ambrosius?

			      -- 9/20/6067 --

     Dwarkin Shea felt the presence of another in the sacred grove of alder
trees.	He looked up from his examination of some roots to see Hawn
standing several paces away, his eyes reflecting the pain and anger filling
his breast.  Dwarkin grieved for the losses his friend had suffered the
night before, more so than others, for Hawn was not the only close
acquaintance Dwarkin had had in the Ambrosius family.
     Before Dwarkin was able to give any form of greeting, Hawn stated
flatly, "I have given up on attempting to convince any of the elders of the
true danger at hand.  They refuse to do anything about the drow."
     "They are only being cautious.  They know the danger presented to all
elvenkind by the return of the dark elves.  Besides, there have been no
further signs of drow activity.  None were seen last night as you were
predicting."
     "Then what of those rangers who have disappeared?  They were supposed
to have checked in at dawn, but there has been no sign of them.  What do
you think has happened to them?"
     "They are probably simply following more leads.  After all, they might
have found some drow."
     "In which case, they are likely dead."  Hawn shook his head.  Was
there no one who realized the danger of the drow?
     "I do not believe them to be dead.  The drow do not know these woods,
so our woodsmen would have the advantage over any drow they met."
     "Optimism is a fatal mindset when applied to the drow.  I can no
longer embrace such ideas."
     "Perhaps in time you will come to terms with the loss of your House."
Dwarkin knew not what else to say to his friend.
     Hawn bit back to bitter response which came to the tip of his tongue.
He had no wish to alienate one of his few remaining friends in this world.
"I did not come here to discuss these matters."
     "Then why did you come to see me?"  He could tell that Hawn had
something in mind, and he did not like the way it made him feel.
     "Since none of the Houses are about to do anything against the drow,
I myself must go to find those responsible for this and make them pay the
price for what they have done."  The cool ease with which Hawn declared
this made clear that he saw no other course of action and was not about to
be dissuaded from following though with this plan.
     But that was not going to prevent Dwarkin from trying.  "You cannot go
against the drow alone, you would not stand a chance against them.  You
would only be throwing your life away.	You know nothing of them, where
they are to be found, what powers they might have."
     "Then come with me," prompted Hawn, fire glowing in his eyes.  "No one
else will help me stop the drow.  You are the last.  Come with me!
Together, we can surely do something to prevent them from ever again
slaying another elf!  We are not without power, you and I."
     Dwarkin saw no reason to throw his life away uselessly.  But nor was
he about to let his friend do so either.  Dwarkin knew that nothing could
divert Hawn from this path, it showed clearly in his eyes.  However, if
Dwarkin were to go with Hawn, then at least there would be a voice of
reason to temper Hawn's actions.
     Gazing deep into his friend's amber eyes, Dwarkin said, "I will come
with you."
     "Good," responded Hawn, clasping Dwarkin's shoulder and cracking a
slight grin, showing more cheer than any had seen in him ere now, "then we
must hurry to pack.  We have no time to waste on trivialities."

     Hawn gazed upon the burned out hulk of what had once been his entire
life.  Now there only remained a still-smoking of husk of memories,
friends, and loved-ones which were now nothing more than ash, lost
forever.  Hawn resolved once more to himself that everyone responsible for
this would pay a heavy toll for their actions.
     Dwarkin could do little more than watch on as his friend relived the
horrific experiences of finding his entire life destroyed in a few hours by
a hatred which had flourished unchecked for ages.  And Dwarkin was himself
set aghast by the destruction of House Ambrosius.  He was shocked to
actually find that this was all that remained of someplace he recalled with
such fondness.	For an elf to see another of his kind dead was a painful
experience, for with their life-spans that stretch for centuries, if not
millennia as was often the case with grey elves, they only rarely had to
cope with the death of another of their kind.
     As such, each death of a fellow elf was a truly saddening thing.  And
for Dwarkin to see that more than two hundred of his fellow grey elves were
dead, it was a great loss indeed for elvenkind.  And yet for all he felt,
he could only attempt to imagine what it must be like for Hawn.  Now he was
starting to actually see why Hawn was so desperate to stop any such thing
from ever happening again.  He had thought that he had comprehended how
Hawn had felt before, but he had not.  Hawn was correct; you could never
truly perceive what it was like until you witnessed it firsthand.  Real
thoughts of dread began to creep into Dwarkin's mind as he started to
wonder what it would be like if House Shea were to be destroyed in this
manned.  A shudder ran though his body.
     Hawn noticed his friend's reaction to the scene before them.  "Now you
begin to understand."  And Dwarkin knew Hawn was right -- this was only the
beginning.
     They resumed their journey with renewed intent, both out of an urge to
prevent this from ever reoccurring, and from a desire to be away from this
tragic scene.
     It was not so difficult for them to follow the tracks of the drow.
Having lived their entire lives in the lightless reaches of the underrealm,
the dark elves were quite lacking at woodcraft.  How the drow had ever
managed to sneak up on the guards of House Ambrosius was a mystery only the
drow themselves would be able to answer.
     Owing to the relatively obvious trail, the keen nose of Dwarkin's wolf
companion, Jortn, was of little use to them.  As a druid and sworn
protector of woodlands, Dwarkin had an exceptional rapport with nature and
a strong compassion for all of the creatures that dwelt therein, a
compassion which had led him to freeing the wolf pup from a hunter's trap
and nurturing it back to health.  As the pup had grown into adulthood, he
had become a frequent travelling companion of the druid.
     Eventually, the two grey elves and the wolf followed the tracks until
they came upon a small stream flowing from an opening in a wall of moss-
covered rock beside a creek.  Heavy growths of plants veiled the entrance
to a narrow cave from which the water trickled.  There were signs of clumsy
passage through the plants, obviously by the drow.  Also, there were traces
of others who had been here, traces which were only barely visible to the
skilled eyes of the two elves.	Obviously they had been made by the elven
rangers sent out to track down the drow.  If the rangers had gotten this
far, then what had happened to them?
     When none of the trio noted any hint of danger, they advanced into the
cramped cave opening.  Their elven night-vision allowed the two to journey
down the widening cave passage safely, while the wolf seemed fine with his
own instincts, though evidently uncomfortable in these surroundings.
Although the air was cool and damp, it was not altogether unpleasant,
though still an omen of the cold evil that lurked in the crevasses and
caverns of the world.
     They journeyed in an apprehensive silence, not knowing what lay before
them.  After some hours, they paused for a rest.  A pair of furry noses
emerged from Dwarkin's shoulder pouch, to be followed by a pair of equally
small and furry weasels.  The small duo proceeded to enjoy themselves by
playing tag amongst the rocks on the cave floor.  The wolf plainly was
trying not to nip at them when they would come too close.  Finally, they
dove into the cool stream for a swim before Dwarkin called them back.  He
dried them off and combed their fur, noting that Hawn had not been the
least amused by the druid's frolicsome friends.
     Once they had walked for another hour or so, the elven pair arrived at
a larger cavern through which flowed a far larger subterranean waterway.
The small stream they had been following flowed out of the watercourse.
Yet before Hawn stepped into the larger grotto, Dwarkin pulled him back
against the wall as a low warning growl issued from the wolf.
     Following the direction of Dwarkin's gaze, Hawn made out a small camp
on the other side of the river.  There were several well shielded fires
which he had not caught sight of.  They studied the small encampment for
some time before withdrawing back up the passage to determine an
appropriate course of action.  Approaching the camp openly would be a grave
mistake, as it was a camp of kobolds, a race of short and evil lizard-like
humanoids who, in all probability, were in league with the drow.
     They finally settled on a plan of Hawn's devising, although Dwarkin
cared little for his part in it.  Hawn focused his magic and cast a spell
on Dwarkin.  By the power of the spell, Dwarkin proceeded to climb up the
wall of the cave as if he were a spider.  He continued across the ceiling,
winding his way between stalactites until he reached the other side.
     Meanwhile, Hawn had readied his bow and, seeing the druid had reached
the camp unubserved, began shooting arrows into the camp, dropping each
kobold he drew bead upon.  Dwarkin drew his scimitar and cut into the
nearest kobold, felling several more until he came up against a goblin.
Though he almost slew the goblin as well, Dwarkin instead parried the
green-skinned creature's clumsy assault and slammed his free fist into the
goblin's revolting face.  Stunned, it fell backwards flailing its arms.
Dwarkin quickly glanced around to see if any other humanoids were still up
and about, but they were all dead or dying, so he set about disarming the
stunned goblin, tying it up with a slender cord.
     Dwarkin moved amongst the bodies of the saurian creatures to make
certain that they were all dead, and doing so with sufficient rapidity to
be away from the repulsive creatures as soon as possible.  He did not
relish the idea of slaying kobolds so cold-bloodedly.  However, on several
occasions he had seen the handiwork of their ilk in the form of helpless
victims who had been tortured, mutilated, and murdered.  He loathed having
to kill as much as any other elf, but kobolds were one of a number of
humanoid species who, by their very nature, left little else in the way of
options for others but to kill them.  For otherwise, they would only
continue their cruel craft on other sentient races.  Although so justified,
Dwarkin still took no pleasure in these actions.
     Moving away from the small camp, he walked down to the shore of the
river.	Using one of the kobolds' small boats, he paddled across to where
Hawn waited impatiently.  The small boat was nearly overloaded by the
entire weight of the small party, as it had been constructed on the scale
of creatures little more than half the size of an elf.
     Climbing from the boat, they returned to where the goblin lay.
Pressing the flat of his dagger against the neck of the gray-skinned
creature, Hawn demanded, "Why were you guarding this passage to the
surface?"  The goblin grunted ignorance.  Hawn pressed harder, drawing a
thick stream of fetid green blood, and repeated the question in carefully
articulated goblin.  Terrified, the goblin began babbling in his language
as the dagger pressed deeper until finally the revolting humanoid lapsed
into silence.
     Hawn withdrew the point of his dagger from the goblin.  Cleaning the
blade on the now-dead creature's clothing, Hawn contemplated its ranting.
Though rendered even more cryptic by his lack of mastery over the
creature's language, Hawn had made out several references to some sort of
outpost upriver.  Turning to Dwarkin, who had watched the brief
interrogation in great disgust, Hawn said, "It would seem that there is an
outpost, or something to that respect, upriver."
     "Yes, I heard," replied Dwarkin.  Hawn was partly surprised to learn
his friend spoke the goblin tongue.  It was not a skill one was proud to
boast of.  "This creature held a great deal of fear for that outpost.  It
would therefore be a safe assumption that to proceed on to the outpost
would be a very dangerous task."
     "Which is exactly why I will do so," retorted Hawn fervently.  "You
need not come if you do not wish."  He was not going to force the druid
into doing anything he did not want.  This was Hawn's quest.
     Dwarkin, however, was not going to permit Hawn to continue on alone.
He had no intention of allowing his friend to come to harm due to his
current state of mind.	He knew Hawn well enough to realize his friend was
not about to stop here, and he had yet to find some good reason to prove to
his friend that to cease this venture was the wise course of action.  He
could only continue onwards in to hope that such an opportunity would
present itself.  "I have come this far.  It would seem an untimely moment
to turn back."
     They moved upriver some distance to remove themselves from the
proximity of the carnage before stopping to rest for a few hours.