-- 9/23/6067 --

     Their voyage down the subterranean river was uneventful, except for
one point when several humanoid creatures, none more than a foot tall, were
glimpsed on the shore.	However, the diminutive creatures took no action
towards the pair in the boat.  Eventually, the cave opened up to the sky
and the river let out into the Araquay Ocean.  Since the boat would be
unable to survive in the rough waters of the ocean, they decided to abandon
it and walk.
     Once again free and out in the open, near the great waters of her god,
Gael was greatly heartened and eager to return to Arinius.  By her
reckoning, they were just to the north of the small peninsula near Arinius.
It would only be a matter of a few days to return to her city by following
the beach.
     As for himself, Hawn remained silent, not sharing in his new
companion's elation.  He was still brooding over not having remained at the
other end of the collapsed tunnel, on the side where the drow were, that he
might continue his quest to slay every last living drow.  For with that
tunnel now sealed, he would have to find another passage into the
underrealm.  Besides, he knew that the drow would find another passage for
themselves, as they would not give up so easily in their goal of vengeance
on all of the other races of elvenkind.  Perhaps in the city of Arinius he
would be able to find some information on where to proceed.  There were,
after all, said to be a number of wisemen in that great city.  And besides,
through Gael's comments about her life, he had heard her mention that there
were a number of wisemen in her own temple who were exceptionally learned.
Though doubtlessly a highly biased opinion, perchance they might still be
of service to him.
     While travelling south along the bay late that afternoon, an old, run-
down lighthouse could be seen far out on a rocky point.  Low, dark clouds
were blowing in from offshore on a westerly wind, and Gael observed that a
powerful storm would soon break.  She believed Poseidon was greatly
angered, and that this was a symbol of that anger.  Hawn remained silent,
having little use for gods himself.  After all, most of the world's
problems could easily be attributed to deities meddling in the affairs of
mortals.  Such as Lolth, the demon queen of spiders and patron of the dark
elves.	Many elders of elven Houses attributed the rift and civil war
between the light elves and dark elves to her interference in the elven
way.  And it was known that it had been Lolth who had given the drow their
strange powers, as well as turning their flesh pitch black and their hair
bone white as a symbol of their servitude to her.  He shook his head,
wishing that he could only have been left to live his life in peace.
     High winds continued to mount, lashing the shoreline with their
vicious, invisible hands, while crooked spears of lightning shot from cloud
to cloud, heralding the beginning of the heavy rain.
     "Why don't you speak with this almighty Poseidon of yours, and
convince him to let up on the storm?"  Hawn did not bother to try and hide
the sarcasm in his voice as the two of them headed towards the headland and
the lighthouse in hopes of finding some sort of shelter.
     "It is not my place to interfere with the will of Poseidon," riposted
Gael primly.  This was not the first time she had been asked to do such a
thing.	Even if she could, she did not believe that she would have used her
powers to weaken the storm.  Rather, it suited her better to watch the
raging storm.  Storms had always symbolized troubled times and depression,
and as such she took strength from them.  It would not be appropriate to
say that she took joy from them, as she had so seldom felt joy in her life.
Her life had always been a succession of troubles and sadness.	And though
she hated reflecting on her past, she took some solace from these raging
storms, for she felt at one with them.	Perhaps that was one of the reasons
she had joined the Temple of Poseidon.	That she had had no where else to
go, of course, had been the truly significant factor.
     Near the base of the rocky point, the two of them found a shallow
cave, little more than a rocky overhang, but it was more than sufficient to
shelter them from the worst of the wind and the rain.  Although they had
nothing to light a fire with, a night in this cave would to be far more
comfortable than a night spent out in the storm.  They spread some blankets
they had recovered from the outpost in the back of the small cave, bedding
down for the night.
     A shout from Gael brought Hawn away from sleep some hours later.  He
sat up to find a translucent, nebulous form reaching for the young
priestess.  She was grasping her sea-shell pendant and chanting -- no doubt
praying to Poseidon.  Doubting what effect his sword would have on the
spirit creature, even with its enchanted edge, he cast a bolt of magical
energy at the entity.  The resulting flash of energy slowed the being for a
moment.  However, it quickly wrapped its vague arms around Gael.  Its
formless substance began to flow into her body.  Hawn attempted to wrestle
with the spirit, by could find no purchase on its insubstantial essence.
     Soon the entity's form had been absorbed completely into the body of
the young woman, and she launched herself from the nest of blankets,
running off into the storm, babbling something about having to light a
beacon.  Hawn grabbed up his sword and charged off after her, wondering
what manner of deviltry was afoot.
     Even with his elven heat-sensitive vision, Hawn was hard pressed to
keep sight of Gael as she ran up the headland through the pouring rain
towards the decrepit lighthouse.  Hawn chased her for several minutes,
trying to comprehend why she would run out into such a terrible storm.
Granted, she might have merely been frightened off by that spirit, but he
considered it far more likely that the spirit had possessed her.  But to
what end?  To that question he had no ready solution.
     A flash of lightning revealed the tower of the ruied lighthouse just
ahead.	Hawn stumbled through the door, pulling it closed behind him.
Looking about, he could see what appeared to be an empty, circular chamber.
His heat-sensitive vision detected only cold stone; another door across the
room and a steep staircase running along the wall and continuing up to the
ceiling, a good sixty feet up.	Warm spots on the floor that had been made
by Gale's feet, though fading quickly in the cool, damp air, led over to
the staircase and upwards.
     Some wind whistled down the stairs as Hawn climbed his way up.  When
he reached the top of the stairs, he was nearly knocked to his knees by a
gust of wind.  Empty windows encircled the room, leaving it open to the
elements.  In the center of the chamber, Gael crouched over a metal
brazier, with a shield on three sides and a cracked focusing crystal on the
fourth.  Hawn moved around behind her and could see that she was attempting
to light a fire in the brazier.
     He grabbed her by the arm and hauled her bodily to her feet.  When he
caught a glimpse of her eyes, he saw that they were the wild eyes of one
who has long since lost any grip on sanity.  Was he travelling with a mad
woman?
     "Release me," shouted Gael in a voice not her own.  "I must light the
signal fire or the ship will run aground."
     Who was speaking?	A mad woman, or a woman possessed by some spirit.
He believed it would be safer to assume the latter.  "Who are you?  And why
have you taken possession of this body?"
     "I am Hadrith, keeper of this lighthouse.  Release me, the signal must
be lit or the ship will founder on the rocks."
     Gazing out over the sea, Hawn countered, "There is no ship out there.
No sane captain would come near a shore in weather such as this."
     "It is there, I tell you.  The signal beacon will guide them safely
into the bay," said Hadrith/Gael, gesturing at the swamp beyond the
lighthouse.  "I must light the beacon before I may finally rest."
     Hawn looked out over the swamp near the lighthouse.  With each of the
sporadic flashes of lightning, he could make out the silt-filled delta of
a river.  There might once have been a bay here, but it had long since been
reduced to a swamp by silt deposits from the river.  Hawn said as much to
the senile spirit possessing Gael's body.
     "The signal beacon must be lit, or the Sea Wolf will go down and the
crew will be lost again."
     "There is no..."  Hawn paused, catching the key word in the sentence.
"'Again?'  What do you mean 'again?'  Has this happened before?"  Trying to
connect the spirit with a ship that he could not see, and which might well
not even exist, Hawn asked, "Are you some ghost, cursed to relive the wreck
of a ship for all eternity?"
     "Once I failed to light the signal fire, and the Sea Wolf went down
with all hands.  If I can light the beacon then they will be saved.  I must
light the signal beacon and save the crew," insisted Hadrith/Gael.
     "But there is no ship out here," the elf pointed out to the unbalanced
spirit.
     "I must light the beacon, or they will be lost!  The signal beacon
must be lit!"  The possessed woman broke away from Hawn, moving back to the
brazier and the wood she had gathered therein.
     "But..." continued Hawn, making to pull Gael back to her feet, only to
turn to face the sea as he caught sight of a flash of light out of the
corner of his eye.  Peering intently out into the darkness, he was certain
that he had seen the light of a ship.  There was a ship out there!  He
continued to gaze out into the storm.  Although he had clearly seen the
light for a moment, it was gone now, concealed in the fury of the night.
     Hawn kneeled down beside the lighthouse keeper and helped with the
fire.  Soon, a small flame leapt into being, slowly bringing the broken
pieces of wood to smoke and then ignite.  Light from the flames was
focused through the crystal on the brazier, sending a beam of light out
into the durky darkness of the storm.  With the fire finally lit,
Hadrith/Gael sat back with a smile of child-like satisfaction, with her
knees under her chin and her arms wrapped around her legs.  Hopefully,
thought Hawn, with the fire lit the Hadrith spirit would depart Gael's
body.
     Hawn moved to an empty window and stared out westwards towards where
he had seen the flashes of light.  Still nothing could be seen of the ship.
He continued his vigil, sparing only occasional glances to his companion to
see if the spirit had yet left her.  After some time, Hawn caught sight of
several figures struggling their way out of the water and up onto the rocks
near the base of the lighthouse.  The ship evidently had gone down and the
survivors were now making their way towards the lighthouse.
     Knowing that they might need help, Hawn descended the stairs and went
back out into the rain.  He moved towards the group, crying out a greeting.
They did not reply, so Hawn cautiously approached the lead figure: a
mysterious form hidden from sight by the dark cloak he worn.  "Hail,
stranger," called Hawn again.  "Are you in need of assistance?"  Still
there was not response from the advancing men.	A chill ran down Hawn's
spine and he clutched the hilt of his sword, not at all liking the feel of
this.
     Then he caught sight of their eyes -- dark, glassy, lifeless eyes that
stared up at the beacon light.	He realized with a start that they were
part of the curse that must be encompassing Hadrith.  Recognizing this,
Hawn ran back to the lighthouse just ahead of the other spirits.  He closed
and barred the rotten wooden door, even though it would likely not stand up
against any real attempt at forced entry.  A moment later, they began to
pound on the door.
     Noise from beyond the other door brought Hawn to charge through it.
Through this door lay an empty room with another door and a window.  One of
the figures was crawling through the shattered window.	Hoping the
enchantment on his silvered blade would be enough to harm these shades,
Hawn lunged with his sword and cut deep into the creature's body.  Whether
it was the silver or the magic, Hawn was rewarded by an inhuman scream of
anguish as the creature fell back from the window.
     The other door to this room crashed open and a pair of the creatures
shambled in.  Hawn narrowly avoided the cutlass of the first one.  He
returned the blow and decapitated the apparition.  The semblance to a
living man disappeared, and all that remained was a moldering skeletal
form, which dropped into a slimy heap at Hawn's feet.  The rusty war-axe of
the other spirit-creature bit deep into Hawn's leg.  He tried to ignore the
pain, stabbing the creature in the face before it could recover from its
swing.	The body collapsed into a state similar to that of its companion.
     Crashing at the front door sent Hawn limping back to the large room.
The ancient door had given out and fallen from its hinges.  The four
remaining unliving forms moved up the stairs towards the beacon, ignoring
Hawn.  He moved up behind the last one and ran it through.  The creature
collapsed to the floor and Hawn limped after the rest.	He managed to run
another through from behind, and when it twisted around to face him, he
threw his weight at it, knocking it off the stairs to smash to the floor
twenty feet below where it splattered like a skin full of water, slimy
bones scattering across the litter-strewn floor.  Hawn clutched at the wall
a moment, having lost his balance and nearly followed the creature in its
unhealthy descent.
     Hobbling after the two remaining ones, Hawn heard a hoarse shout of
fear from above.  Upon reaching the beacon chamber, Hawn found a pair of
fleshless skeletons dressed in tattered rags -- revealed for what they
actually were in the light of the fire -- menacing the terrified form of an
ancient man overlaid on the blank features of Gael, who cringed on the far
side of the chamber.  Fearing for the safety of his companion in this
cursed phantasmal performance, Hawn charged the nearest undead thing.  A
downwards chop of his blade split the thing's skull, causing its body to
fall into a pile of bones.  The remaining creature turned to face him.
     Hawn swung his sword, shattering the creature's arm.  Without any
display of pain, the creature lifted Hawn with its remaining arm and threw
the elf across the room, where Hawn cracked his skull on the stone floor.
It turned back to Hadrith/Gael and lifted her from the ground.	Struggling
to remain conscious, Hawn knew that he could not cross the chamber and
reach them in time to save Gael.  Drawing back his arm, Hawn hurled his
sword like a spear.  The magicked blade tumbled in flight, the hilt
striking the back of the creature's skull, sending its grinning death's
head flying out one of the windows.  The last thing Hawn saw before he
passed out was the sight of the skeleton crumbling away into a pile of
bones, just as its companions had.

			      -- 9/24/6067 --

     The touch of a hand to his shoulder brought Hawn awake.  Gael knelt
over him, her green eyes observing him with concern -- eyes that were no
longer those of the crazed lighthouse keeper.
     "What happened last night?" she asked of him.  "The last thing I
remembered was trying to ward off some manner of phantasmal being.  Then I
awoke here," she continued, gesturing around her, "to find you badly hurt
and those piles of bones."
     At the mention of his wounds, Hawn looked down at himself to find his
body whole again, thanks to Gael's prayers.  He turned back to Gael and
asked curiously, "Do you remember nothing of Hadrith or the crew of the Sea
Wolf?"  At her look of bafflement, he continued on to tell of the previous
night's happenings.
     Gael withdrew into herself at the revelation of what had happened
during the course of the night.  To have had a spirit enter her body and
possess her was the ultimate violation of her mind and body.  That she
could not remember it was an exceptional boon in and of itself.  Had she
remembered the experience, she might not have returned to being herself.
As it was, Gael pulled herself together, or at least as well as she could
be expected to, after a few minutes.  Still, Gael choose to disbelieve that
it had happened -- not fully, as it made too much sense, but enough to help
her accept it.	Perchance she would always tell herself that, at least
until time healed this wound.
     They moved on as soon as they were able, that they might put as much
distance between themselves and the lighthouse with the fresh memories it
held for them.