-- 10/7/6067 --

     Gael strode down the length of the wharf.	Moving past a group of
sailors clustered next to a stack of crates, ignoring their lecherous
looks, she saw a small group of elves.	Aside from Hawn and Dwarkin, she
saw two other elves she did not recognize.  One had bright, golden hair and
was engrossed in conversation with Dwarkin, while the other stood off a
ways from the other three.  He had blond hair, and his height caught her
attention, for he stood well over five and a half feet tall, a towering
height indeed for one of a race whose average height was naught more than
an even five feet.
     Noting her arrival, Dwarkin greeted the young priestess of Poseidon,
but inquired as to the reason for being here.
     "I would come with you on this voyage to learn of the drow," she
responded.  "My temple is eager to discover more about the dark elves.
     "Then you have still not learned why you were abducted by the drow?"
When she indicated the negative, Dwarkin went on with, "We are only
travelling to seek the wisdom of the Seer of Baharri."  He referred to the
famed seer who resided on the isle of Baharri, somewhere outside of the
capital city of Dorelli.  "What we learn from him we can send to you in a
message, for afterwards we will be travelling into the underrealm to
confront the drow and discover what we may.  It will be dangerous..."
     As Dwarkin let his warning linger, Gael hefted the light trident in
her left hand.	"This is not just a symbol of my god.  It is also a weapon,
and as such I have been trained in its use.  I can defend myself."
     "I will not try to dissuade you from this task."  Dwarkin well knew
the wisdom of having a priestess with them on this journey, for already her
powers had been of assistance to them.
     "I have been charged in this by my temple, and will not waver in it.
There are greater things at stake than personal safety.  If the drow are a
threat to my temple, then the reasons for it must be known."
     Dwarkin nodded, understanding the duties the gods placed upon their
selected servants.  He motioned to the golden-haired elf, saying, "Then may
I introduce Evrin of House Moonaria."  Indicating the tall elf, he added,
"And this is Graynyr."
     Although Gael had an inch or two on Dwarkin and Hawn, and was a good
six inches taller than Evrin, Graynyr was taller than her by almost as
much.  The two elves greeted her cordially, although she noticed that Evrin
did cast a distasteful look at Graynyr.  As they conversed briefly, she
could see that in return Graynyr held little more than contempt for Evrin
and Hawn.  The two seemed of entirely different origins: Evrin being a
warrior who had spent his life serving the honor of his House, while
Graynyr was a loner, a traveller who had lived long years ranging the wilds
of the world and exploring the unknown.
     When Gael commented upon Graynyr being tall for an elf, Hawn
shouldered his way past them towards the ship, pausing only to snarl, "That
is because he is not an elf!"
     As the others moved towards the ship, with a pained look Graynyr
simply stated, "My father was human."
     Gael's surprise was evident in her face.  Although she had heard vague
tales of a human and an elf having a child, she had never met the child of
such a union, and had not actually believed such was possible.	"Is that
why they treated you thus?"
     Graynyr's teeth gritted in the early-morning silence.  "All elves are
as he is.  They refuse to accept that I am half human.	And humans loath me
because I am half elf.	Only Dwarkin is one of the few who accept me for
what I am."
     "Is that why you have spent so much of your life in the wilderness?
You mentioned that you prefer to stay in the wild."
     "I am condemned by both of my parent's races.  I can never settle
anywhere and be in peace.  Only in the wild is there no prejudice.  There,
only survival matters."
     "But..." Gael began to prompt, but Graynyr hefted his pack and moved
along down the wharf towards the ship, obviously not wanting to discuss
this matter any further.  She stared after the half-elf, wondering what was
the tie between he and Hawn.  There was something more about them than they
cared to mention, something that caused them both great pain.

			      -- 10/15/6067 --

     Hawn could feel the timbers of the ship groaning beneath his feet as
it cut through each swell of frigid water.  A fine, briny mist sprayed up
over the railing where he stood gazing at the passing shoreline off to
starboard, stinging his eyes and perhaps accounting for their redness,
perhaps not.  The wind whipped his cloak about his legs and his long silver
hair about his face.  Whenever Hawn turned to look over the far railing,
huge, black clouds could be seen forming in the distance out over the sea.
This was the time of year when such storms grew most frequent.
     A cry from the lookout brought Hawn's attention to a vessel
approaching off the port bow, from the direction of the dark clouds, moving
to intersect their course.  The captain was on the quarter deck shouting
orders to the crew as they scrambled about their duties.  Hawn joined the
captain to inquire what was amiss.
     "Stay out of the way, elf!" growled the captain as he examined the
approaching vessel through a field glass.  "That is a pirate ship bearing
down on us.  There's...  By all the gods!  Those are ogres on that ship!
Bring her about and run for the shallows!" he bellowed to the helmsman.
"Our only chance is to hope they have a greater draft."
     As the ship heeled hard over to starboard, the rest of the party
joined Hawn on the quarter deck, where he explained about the rapidly
closing ship.  The five of them watched in horror as the ogre ship
continued to bear down on the galley, despite all of the tactics employed
by the captain.  The command was finally issued to heave-to.  The entire
crew gathered to watch as the pirate vessel drew alongside.  None of the
galley's human crew were so daring or so foolhardy to break out the weapons
against the powerful ogres.  Regular pirates, maybe, but certainly not
against ogres.
     Meanwhile, Gael was clutching her sea-shell pendant, muttering prayers
to Poseidon.  Suddenly she looked up, her eyes wide open when there was a
response and she realized it had come from Poseidon himself.  Motioning to
her companions, she led them over to the opposite side of ship.  Pointing
down to the waters below, she indicated five equine heads bobbing above the
waves.	"Quickly!  I've called upon the aid of Poseidon, and he has granted
us a means of escape.  We must mount the hippocampi and they will take us
to safety."  Though reluctant to ride the sea creatures, the elves were
even more reluctant to face the ogres.	They climbed over the railing and
onto the strange creatures.
     Each hippocampus, despite having the head and forebody of a horse,
possessed the tail of a large porpoise and fins in place of their forelegs.
Gael counselled them that their mounts were safe, even though the
hippocampi were not above playfully dunking their riders at every chance.
After perhaps an hour with no control over there they were going and being
frozen to the bone by the icy water, the five riders were deposited on a
stone quay on a small, rocky isle.  Above them, the storm broke, sending
down torrents of rain.	The hippocampi disappeared back into the waves with
whinnies of delight.
     The noise of the storm was suddenly shattered by a loud peel of
thunder as a fantastic, multi-forked stroke of lightning sundered the sky
directly overhead.  The momentary strobing effect served to illuminate a
small castle of grey stone -- with towers and darkened arrow-slits --
carved from the rock of the island.  By mutual consent, the five started
trudging though the storm towards the keep, hoping it to be occupied that
they might find some cover from the storm.
     Then the three elves noticed that Gael and Graynyr were wondering off
the side of the trail towards where the rocks descended to the pounding
waves below.  They started to shout warnings to the pair, when Dwarkin
pointed out a strange figure of darkness standing at the edge of the rocks,
beckoning them towards the brink.  The figure had a horned, demonic visage,
and leered at the two approaching it.
     Recognizing the danger his companions were in, Hawn quickly strung his
bow with the speed only an elf can manage, letting fly a shaft at the
demonic figure, cursing as the wind carried the arrow wide of its mark.
His second arrow struck the creature in the torso, followed by two more
from Evrin.  The creature collapsed backwards, disappearing over the brink.
     The three elves rushed to their dazed companions, who were shaking
their heads, trying to determine what had come over them.  They demanded of
the pair why they had walked towards the threatening figure.
     "It was no such thing," countered Gael angrily.  "It was Belophor,
High Priest of Poseidon.  How could you dare to shoot him..."
     "That was no High Priest," interrupted Graynyr.  "I know not how, but
it was my mother..."
     "It was nothing of the sort, you adleminded mongrel," growled Hawn.
"That was a demon."
     Graynyr gritted his teeth, reaching for his longsword.  But Dwarkin
restrained him, saying, "Demon or illusion, it does not matter.  That thing
was obviously meant to deceive us towards some ill fate."
     "Then why were you three not affected by it?  Why did you see that
demonic creature instead of what we saw?" demanded Gael.
     "Obviously its deceptions had no affect upon a full-blooded elf,"
muttered Hawn as he shuffled off towards the castle through the raging
storm.
     Graynyr squeezed the hilt of his sword, turning his back on the
troubled elf.  He looked over the edge of the rocks, unable to find any
trace of the creature.
     "I do not like this," Evrin grumbled to the others as he gazed up at
the timeworn castle.  "This must be a place of evil."
     "Whatever else it might be, it is at least shelter from this storm,"
observed Dwarkin, heading off after Hawn.  They continued up the path to
the ominous structure, wary lest any further weird manifestations make
themselves known.
     Reaching the keep, they found an open portcullis.	Inside it was
fairly dry, though the wind howled in the chamber from outside.  Two small
doors were set to either side of the interior of the portcullis, providing
access to the two towers set in the front of the keep.	Large double doors
were set in the wall across from the portcullis.  A large and leering stone
gargoyle crouched on a ledge above the double doors.
     Seeing that there were no guards, the golden-haired Evrin crossed the
gatehouse room, reaching for the bronzed handles of the double doors,
eyeing the scowling dwarven visages carved into the doors with a defiant
look of appreciation.  But as he reached for the door handles, there was a
sudden grinding of stone from above.  The gargoyle sprang to life, jumping
down from its ledge, seemingly now made of flesh and blood.  It landed in
front of the short elf, extending its talons towards him.
     Gael shouted a warning to Evrin as he backpedaled, fumbling for his
sword.	She charged towards the grey-skinned monster, stabbing her blessed
trident into its leg.  The gargoyle roared with inhuman pain as ichor oozed
from its wounded leg, proving it was not made of stone after all.  It
reached its claws for Gael's throat, intending to rend her flesh for having
the temerity to attack it.
     Moving to her defense, Hawn brought his enchanted blade forcefully
down upon the gargoyle's arm, severing it just below the elbow.  Ichor
spurted from severed veins, splattering across the chamber.  The monster
reeled backwards, clasping its bleeding stump.	Graynyr swung at the
gargoyle, his sword bouncing uselessly off of its horny hide.  Hawn
finished the monster off, stabbing his sword deep into its side and giving
it a savage twist.  The gargoyle dropped into a pool of brown ichor.
     They tried not to look at the dead monster: neither the elves for
their racial dislike for killing, nor Gael for her aversion to seeing the
suffering of others.  Hawn quietly cleaned and sheathed his blade,
retrieving his bow and pack from where they had been dropped on the floor.
     Graynyr reached for the handles on the doors and started to pull them
open.  However, as he touched the handles, the dwarven face on one of the
doors came to life, emitting an insane cry and spitting vile curses.  The
face on the other door pursed its lips and began to spout some clear liquid
at him.  Graynyr swirled his cloak around him and twisted out of the path
of the stream of fluid.  He threw his cloak to the floor and watched as it
smoked where the strange liquid had touched it.
     "Acid," observed Dwarkin, as the two faces subsided back into stony
immobility.  "You're lucky it did not come into contact with your skin."
     Graynyr was also fortunate in that since his cloak was saturated with
water, the acid had been diluted and had only burned a few small holes in
his cloak, rather than completely ruining it.  Seeing that there were no
more surprises forthcoming, Dwarkin took the cloak back out into the storm
where he washed the remaining acid off of it in a large puddle.  He then
returned it to Graynyr, who eyed it doubtfully.  Still, it was better than
nothing.
     As Dwarkin was doing this, Hawn stared up at the ceiling, shouting,
"Why must you attack us?  We look only for shelter, and yet you try to slay
us.  Why do you do this?"
     The only response was a deep-throated chuckle which seemed to have no
origin.  Angered, Hawn wrenched open the doors, ready for whatever tricks
might appear next.  However, there were none and the castle remained silent
but for the storm raging outside.  They carefully trod into the chamber
beyond the doors.  It was a large and courtly hall, lined with alcoves.
They saw no one there.	Evrin and Graynyr moved forward, cautiously
checking that the alcoves were unoccupied by any who might lay in ambush.
The two found only a few statues of giant-sized dwarves wielding war axes
and hammers, with wild-eyed, crazed faces.
     Seeing no hospitality -- or hostility -- forthcoming, Dwarkin used his
druidical powers to call upon the forces of nature.  A feeling of warmth
and comfort suffused the waterlogged travellers, body and mind, drying
their sodden garments, and removing from them the weariness of their
strange travels of the day.
     But then they heard labored breathing, and their attention was drawn
to the opposite end of the chamber, where they beheld the sight of a
deformed human bearing a platter of fruits and sweetmeat.  The human
presented a horrible appearance, with hunched back, a bloated, leprous
visage, and only sporadic tufts of hair sprouting from his beard and scalp.
He limped on game, uneven legs, followed by a pitcher of ale that floated
in the air just behind him.
     "My master bids thee welcome.  Eat and be merry," said the deformed
man, setting the plate on the floor and stepping back.	The decanter
floated over to sit itself on the floor next to the plate, as if guided by
an invisible hand.
     Gael started to move forwards, but Graynyr blocked her path with an
outstretched arm.  "I think not," said he.  "Thrice have we been attacked
without provocation.  We seek only shelter from the storm, yet it would
appear another seeks our deaths.  I should think that it is as likely as
not the food and drink are poisoned -- certainly an easier means than
direct assault."
     "A simple mistake," sniveled the human.  "It was only my master's
defenses.  He likes not to be disturbed."
     "And what of your master?" spoke out Hawn.  "Who is he and where is he
hiding?"
     Backing away as if afraid of being struck, the deformed human offered,
"I shall go fetch my master."  With that, he bowed awkwardly and
disappeared from sight.
     Graynyr drew his sword and looked around for a sudden surprise attack.
None was forthcoming.  The others also glanced warily about, not liking the
aspect of someone who could pop in and out of a room at will.
     "Was he an illusion?" pondered Evrin.
     Prodding the platter with the haft of her trident, Gael observed, "The
food is real enough, even if it might be poisoned."
     "Best to leave it alone," opined Hawn.  "No telling..."
     The sound as the low, rasping voice of an elderly woman turned their
attention to a dimly glowing humanoid shape floating overhead.	"Begone
from this place.  There is only danger here for mortals such as yourselves.
Begone while still you have your..."  The voice suddenly turned into a gasp
of excruciating pain as a stroke of lightning shattered the stormy skies
outside the keep.  As the gasp faded from perception, so did the floating
shape.
     "What manner of cursed place it this?" Gael muttered to herself,
nearly overwhelmed by all of these strange happenings.
     "You should be the one to ask," Evrin pointed out, "after all, it is
through the intervention of your god that we came to be here."
     "Then there is a purpose to all of this as well as our being here,"
Graynyr stated.
     "Perhaps," added Dwarkin, "and perhaps not.  The will of the gods is a
strange thing indeed.  It is not the place of mortals to attempt to
understand their ways."
     "And precisely what is that supposed to mean to anyone?" prompted
Graynyr.
     "The plots of the gods are so twisted that few of them know what is
going on.  Being mere mortals, we haven't a prayer of making any sense of
their plans, if you will pardon the pun."
     Evrin continued to look up at the space where the ghostly apparition
had been.  "I should prefer to heed that specter's warning and leave this
cursed place."
     "And where would we go to?" Hawn grumbled.  "There is no other place
of shelter on this isle.  It is too small.  No, I think that we have only
an insane wizard who is playing with us.  Rather would I like to put an end
to his schemes than flee when there is nowhere to flee to."
     "And just how would you propose that we defeat a wizard?" sneered
Graynyr.
     Staring solidly at the half-elf, Hawn replied, "A wizard bleeds as
easily as anyone else."
     "And where are we to find this wizard, if indeed he exists?"
considered Dwarkin.
     "At the top.  No doubt that is where he is to be found.  In the
highest part of this keep, looking down at us and laughing."  Hawn looked
up at the ceiling, defiance and hatred in his eyes.
     "Then let us be away and find this wizard.  I do not care to stand
around and await his next set of tricks," offered Dwarkin, eager for this
to be over, a sentiment shared by the others.