-- 10/20/6067 -- The descending sun cast lengthening shadows behind the inland hills of the island of Baharri. Ahead, the footpath ascended the side of a medium- sized hill to reach the base of a squat tower perched atop the rocky mound. Pointing up at the tower, the dwarf, Oron Darg, said, "Therein resides the Seer of Baharri, bestowing his wisdom and knowledge upon those willing to pay his price." "Let us approach, then. Too much time has already been wasted already. The drow must be reckoned with, and time is something we have little of," orated Hawn. In the two days it had taken them to reach the tower, he had grown more impatient, dwelling upon what might be occurring to the elven peoples of his homeland. Climbing the steep path to the base of the tower, they paused as Oron rapped on the door with the hilt of his dagger. The door opened silently after a slight pause. There was no sign of who -- if anyone -- had opened the door. Inside was an oval-shaped room about ten feet deep and fifteen wide, empty except for a small table, upon which sat a glowing crystal orb, and around which were placed several straight-backed, uncomfortable-looking chairs. As they filed into the chamber, a door on the far side of the room opened, admitting a figure dressed in a loose-fitting robe which concealed all of its features. The figure took a seat and motioned for the five seekers of wisdom to do so as well. "Tell me," came a well articulated, but quiet voice from the depths of the hood, "what is it you seek from me?" Hawn could not be sure if the voice was that of a man or not. "Are you the Seer?" inquired Hawn. A hushed sound of humor. "You were expecting that I might be another?" "I only sought to be certain." "Ah, certainty. Even I cannot bestow that. Is there not something else you desire?" "I would know why the drow strive to restart the Kinslayer Wars, how they plan to do so, and whatever else your powers might tell me of them." "The drow are but a single facet of a greater plan," the Seer informed them plainly. "What plan is that?" Gael recalled how the one drow, Coreth, had told her that she had been specifically chosen to be sacrificed to the drow demon queen. To Coreth, it had seemed that Gael should have been greatly honored by being selected for so grand a fate. She, obviously, had not felt the same about it. "All who seek my knowledge must first pay my price," the Seer reminded the company of travellers. "How much do you want?" asked Graynyr. He had had minor dealings with mages and seers in the past, and knew that they invariably asked for some ridiculously large some of money. "Money is of no value to me, half-blood," stated the Seer with a dismissive wave of a loose sleeve. "What you seek to learn is of great worth, and for that you must recover for me two artifacts: the Tome of Malakai and the Casket of Kartheus." "What foolishness is this?" demanded Hawn angrily. "You would send us off on a fool's quest to recover some irrelavent artifacts?" "It is the price I ask," stated the Seer straightforwardly, ignoring Hawn's anger. "If you are so powerful, then why don't you recover these things yourself?" suggested Graynyr. He was no more interested in wasting his time on a pointless venture than was Hawn. "Why should I recover them, when others will do so for me?" The condescending sarcasm was more than evident in the voice of the robed figure. "You say that as if you expect us to go an recover those things," observed Gael, not caring for what that portended. "But of course you will. You have no choice if you desire my guidance in this matter. "Then I will find another to give me the information I need," snarled Hawn, wheeling about and heading for the door. "This is no other," whispered the Seer, a faint hint of mocking laughter evident in his words. "The Seer is right," said Evrin, taking hold of Hawn's arm. "And even if there is another, where would we find him? We have no choice, and you know it." Turning back to face the Seer, Hawn stated flatly, "Alright then, I will play your game. How do we go about recovering these objects?" "The Tome lies in a lost shrine to the south of the city of Zetaris. The Casket is in the palace of the dead mage, Omar Dalb." "And where are the these places to be found?" demanded Hawn, having never heard of either of these places. "I will provide you with maps and other such items and knowledge as will be necessary for you to locate and enter the resting places of these artifacts." "But how can you expect us to do this? These quests will surely take weeks at least, if not months, to complete. The drow are a menace to be contended with now!" Why must I suffer this fool? Hawn thought to himself. Rather would he have slain this intolerable fool and used his own methods to find a way into the underworld and simply set about slaying every living drow, or at least every one of their leaders. Then they would no longer be a threat to anyone. "The drow will always be a threat," commented the Seer as if reading Hawn's thoughts. "Like all evil, they cannot be utterly destroyed. They are not to be found only beneath the surface of the world. They watch your every move, Hawn Ambrosius, and like a game of chess, they will counter your every move, for you are playing their game, and playing it blind. Without my help, you will have no chance of challenging the might of the drow empire." Gritting his teeth, realizing that this robed bastard was reading this mind, Hawn reached for his sword, intent on wiping the sneer that no doubt would be found on the Seer's unseen face. Gripping his wrist to stay his hand, Graynyr said, "No, not yet." "Not ever," the Seer mocked them. "Do not think of attacking me. You would never stand against my power, grey elf." "Then cease your tauntings or I will gladly prove you wrong," warned Hawn. Ignoring the faint, dry laughter of the Seer, Hawn pressed on. "Tell me one thing: How are we expected to recover these things before more Houses are attacked by the drow?" "If you split your number and have each group go after a different item, it will take you no longer than two fortnights to complete these voyages. The drow will do little in that time, for their attack on House Ambrosius occurred too early for their other plans. Several drow were put to death for that ill-timed act. Therefore, you have the time." "And how do we know that you speak the truth?" "You don't. You will have to trust me. However little you care to, you will have to trust me, Hawn Ambrosius." -- 10/23/6067 -- "I do not like this," Graynyr complained to no one in particular, his gaze wandering around the common room of the Inn of the Three Nymphs. "You heard the Seer, we have no choice but to split up," Evrin grumbled, not liking the idea any more than anyone else. "But it would be safer if we stayed together," Graynyr pointed out, preferring safety in numbers, considering that there was no telling what dangers they would face in recovering the artifacts demanded by the Seer as payment up front for his information. On his own, Graynyr normally avoided dangerous situations whenever possible. However, in these matters they had no choice but to press on and face whatever obstacles would cross their paths. As a group, they would have a much greater chance at facing down dangers, as they had in defending themselves against Roarshahk and his enchanted minions. "We do not have the time. That you also heard from the blasted Seer. We must split up," Hawn stated, still trying to control his anger at having his course of action dictated to him by some condescending seer. "I will travel to recover the Tome, and you three can seek the Casket." "Are you mad?" objected Evrin disbelievingly. "You would surely stand no chance on your own." "I am more than capable of defending myself," said Hawn, staring Evrin down. "And if you are proven wrong, you will be dead and there will be little chance of our being able to get the information from the Seer in time to stop another attack by the dark elves," stated Graynyr. He might not care for the elves, but they at least deserved a chance for survival. The half-elf saw no reason to condemn elvenkind to another senseless civil war, despite their numerous prejudices. "I will go with you," offered Gael, recalling Dwarkin's warning to not allow Hawn to be left on his own. In his depression, there was no telling what foolhardy actions the elf might take, flirting with death. "I do not need your help," said Hawn, more than a hint of anger in his voice. "Two stand a better chance at survival than one," opined Gael. "And we cannot afford to take any more chances in this matter." "Besides, you do not have the final say," stated Graynyr. "All of us are in this as well, so we all have a vote on who goes where. I say that Gael should go with you as well." After all, Graynyr had no wish to spend any more time around Hawn than was necessary. His mother's brother seldom succeeded in naught more than driving him to the edge of anger. "It is agreed then," added Evrin. "Hawn and Gael will seek out the Tome of Malakai, while Graynyr and I the Casket of Kartheus." Evrin also saw the wisdom of keeping Hawn and Graynyr apart, after the way the two of them had been at each other's throats most of the time they had been in Skellig Keep. Shortly thereafter, while Hawn sat brooding, Oron came into the common room of the inn and sat down with them. "I have found a ship sailing for Zetaris on the morrow. She departs on the dawn tide." Oron had already offered to take whoever would seek the Casket to the mainland in his own sloop, after which he would sail back to Skellig Keep to begin his examinations of the building for his much anticipated repairs. Additionally, after having considered Graynyr's generous offer of work and the chance to show himself to still be able to do good dwarven work, Oron had sent word to several other outcast dwarfs in similar positions as he. Besides, Oron realized that until he had proven himself capable of still being able to work, no other dwarfs would have anything to do with him, except perchance those who had also been cast out of dwarven society. -- 10/27/6067 -- Gael came up on the deck of the ship, checking up on Hawn. She found him at his usual place, standing at the bow, staring off into the distance, oblivious to the few sailors on deck at this time of night. The sailors, superstitious as they were, would have nothing to do with the ominous figure who spent most of each day and night at the bow. She had attempted to strike up conversations with him several times, but each attempt had failed and been brushed brusquely aside. There was never anything for her to talk about with the troubled elf, nothing he was willing to speak of. She had tried to show him affection and friendship, but all of her attempts to draw him out of the tower of isolation he had locked himself into had been futile. Hawn refused to speak of his troubles, preferring to stare out into oblivion and brood in moody silence. Having lost all that he had ever loved or cared about, the elf was not about to allow himself to gain anything new, believing it would only inevitably be taken away from him again, and he could not possible stand to lose anything else. -- 10/31/6067 -- Sea gulls swooped and danced in the air about the ship's masts, their cries filling the scarlet sky with screeching declarations of winged freedom. Gael listened to them, her spirit set at peace with the life of the ocean. This voyage had done much to calm her after her experiences at Skellig Keep, though it seemed to have had no such affect on Hawn. Beyond the ship's prow, the mouth of a wide river split the land. Several miles into the mouth of the mammoth river sat the town of Zetaris. With the setting of the sun, the captain had chosen to drop anchor and wait for dawn before taking his ship upriver.