-- 11/6/6067 --

     The three travellers reached the first landmark indicated on the
Seer's map little more than a couple hours after starting upstream the next
morning.  On the west bank of the Zetamyn River, a mound of stones half
concealed in vines and creepers surrounded the base of what had once been a
magnificent stone tower that had guarded the Zetamyn when it had been a
major waterway for the southern lands.  Now the ruins were little more than
a minor curiosity to passing adventurers on their way farther upriver in
search of great riches, for whatever treasures were housed in these ruins
were buried under the tons of rubble, and few fortune-seekers were willing
to put out that much effort to recover some riches when there were other
riches just awaiting to be discovered.
     But to these particular travellers, the ruins of the tower were
significant, for it would point them in the direction of the shrine housing
the Tome of Malakai.  Landing their canoe, the three hid it under some of
the plentiful bushes lining the bank of the river.  Following the marks on
the map, they struck out westward from the ruins of the tower.  As they
walked through this wilderness teeming with the raucous noises of unseen
animals, it felt as if there were something watching them at all times,
waiting for the moment they dropped their guard to pounce.  The dense
clouds of buzzing insects and the occasional shaking of a branch high
overhead were the visible traces of life.
     As they made their way inland, there was a slight rustling in the
undergrowth and one of the natives stepped out into their path.  The man
appeared similar to the few other natives they had seen, though rather
older.  He appeared to be nearing middle-age, and had an ill-kept beard and
a sizable bulge around the middle.  He wore the typical war dress of the
locals: boiled leather armor with strips of lacquered wood stitched to the
front, and carried a simple wooden shield and a long, flint-tipped spear.
     When the trio showed some alarm -- already nervous from the locale --
and started to reach for their weapons, the native spoke, saying,
"Greetings, travellers, I am Z'lart.  I mean you no harm."  He spoke with
the heavy slur of the native accent, making his words difficult to be
easily understood.
     "Hail, Z'lart," replied Arahna, appraising the local with a practiced
eye, noting that even though he was past his prime, he held his spear with
the familiar ease of one long acquainted with its use.
     "Out huntin' treasure, eh?" inquired the furry-faced hunter, giving
them an equally appraising look.
     "We seek an ancient shrine said to lie in this area," stated Hawn
flatly.  He did not trust this native.  After what he had heard of how the
natives jealously guarded their scared places, Hawn had expected to be
attacked by the natives.  This open confrontation was disconcerting.  Was
it some manner of trap?
     "You will stay away from our shrines!" Z'lart suddenly said very
heatedly.  "None may enter the hallowed places and live.  If you do not
turn back, you will be destroyed like all of the rest.  The gods will it to
be so."
     "The rest?  Then others have visited this place before?" put in Gael.
Had others been sent by the Seer to recover the Tome?  Had someone already
retrieved it?  She did not like that idea.  It would mean that not only
would their voyage have been for naught, but also that they would be unable
to pay the Seer for the information they needed.
     "How many other travelers have been to this shrine and returned?"
demanded Hawn.
     "Stay away from our holy grounds.  You have been warned!  Stay away!"
Z'lart disappeared back into the undergrowth, making hardly more noise than
when he had first appeared.
     Hawn muttered something under his breath about "blasted primitives,"
turning his eyes to searching the surrounding foliage for a trace of any
other natives.
     "Do not expect any help from the natives," Arahna warned him.  "To
them, those who come here are invading their homeland, attempting to steal
that which is rightly their's.  They seldom appear for any other reason
than to warn you away from some place."
     "Have you always heeded those warnings?" asked Gael.  From what she
had discovered in their short time in these lands, she knew that almost
everything in these jungles were sacred to the natives.  As such, she
figured that the natives must spend all of their time warning northerners
away from their sacred places.
     "Of course," returned Arahna.  "I have no wish to anger them.  I came
here to learn about them, not to fight them.  But should we proceed, I
believe that fighting them is precisely what we will end up doing."
     "This is not a matter for argument," noted Hawn, not in the mood for a
debate.  "We must recover the Tome, so we must continue.  If they wish to
fight us, that is their decision."
     "I was only trying to point out what motivates the natives to act as
they do," declared Arahna.
     "If such is your feelings, you are free to go your own way," Hawn
pointed out to the woman.  "You are not bound to complete this task.  We
are the ones charged to recover the Tome."
     Arahna paused a moment to rethink her position.  True, what Hawn and
Gael were going to do was wrong and violated the laws of the native peoples
of this land, but it was not only for a good cause, it was also in the
quest of knowledge as well.  For this reason, she still desired to
accompany them to the shrine and learn what secrets were contained therein.
     She said as much to Hawn, who acknowledged her with a grunt and
continued onwards, following the directions on the map.  She could not
understand why this elf behaved so strangely, although from a few of the
hints Gael had dropped, Arahna understood that Hawn had his own problems,
something about some of his family having been murdered by the dark elves,
which was why Hawn sought vengeance against his dark kindred.

     Z'lart crouched in the bushes, watching the northerners.  He had at
first thought the northerners would turn back after he had confronted them,
considering how they had spent several long moments in conversation.  But
they had persisted, travelling on into the forest.  He had followed them to
an ancient shrine, which had resisted the ravages of time far better than
many of the other countless places Z'lart had seen in his lifetime.
     Indeed, this particular shrine had some aura of dark power about it.
Because of that, his fellow tribesmen would never have gone near it even if
the shamen not declared it a taboo to do so.  In fact, Z'lart would rather
have been glad to see some of the northerners rape this shrine in hopes
that they would eradicate whatever dark powers lurked within.
     But to do so would have gone against the dictates of the shamen, and
for that Z'lart would have not only lost his position as sub-chieftain of
the tribe, but it would have also meant that he would be sacrificed to the
dark gods to appease them for the affront these strangers were about to
commit.  Z'lart was not about to give up everything for that.  Let the
northerners give up their lives, his was too important to him.
     So now Z'lart watched the northerners approach the shrine.  He knew
they would go into it, just as had all of the rest.  Rather would he have
just sent his warriors against the northerners and gotten this over with.
But that too was against the decrees of the shamen.  Custom required that
the strangers be given every chance to turn back, although he had never
heard of any doing so.
     Besides, they sometimes never returned from some of the shrines, and
for which the shamen claimed that the guardians of the shrines had
sacrificed the invaders for their desecration of holy ground.  But all too
often the northerners would eventually emerge from the buildings, and
Z'lart and his fellow tribesmen would have to hunt them down and bring them
back, that the shamen could replace the stolen treasures and sacrifice the
strangers to appease the wrath of the ancient ones.
     So Z'lart crouched in the bushes, watching the northerners, waiting
for them to go into the shrine, that he might begin his vigil and await to
see if any of them returned.  This annoyed Z'lart, for he had never known
of anyone to return from this particular shrine.  For that, the vigil would
stretch on endlessly, for to leave too soon would anger the shamen, and
Z'lart was not so great a fool as to do that.

     Hawn and his two companions might have passed by the shrine, had it
not been for the numerous disembodied skulls mounted on poles of varying
height, undoubtedly a warning from the natives that strangers must stay
away from this place.
     The shrine itself was mostly concealed beneath a thick growth of plant
life, and was shaded beneath several tall trees.  In appearance it was
almost indistinguishable from a small hillock.  Circling half way around
the mound of undergrowth, they found a partially concealed opening of
carven stone, proving that this was not just another hillock.
     From what was visible of the stone work, it was evident that under all
of the vines and creepers, the shrine had several large pillars lining the
front of the building.  All of the visible stone, though worn by time and
weather, was covered in articulated bas-relief carvings of skeletons, and
there was a grinning death's head engraved over the doorway.
     Gael unconsciously took hold of her sea-shell pendant, commenting,
"I sense the presence of something dark and malevolent in there.  Something
from the netherworld.  The aura of demons."  Arahna nodded, indicating she
too felt it, though not as strongly as the priestess, although the reek of
death wafting from the portal was more than evident to her nose.
     "Auras are inconsequential," muttered Hawn.  "If there is a demon in
there, it will make itself known, or it won't.  But a simple aura is not
about to stop me at this point."  Without waiting for any response from his
companions, Hawn strode into the opening, making his way down the passage
that led into the darkened interior of the shrine.  He studied the interior
of the shrine -- which looked to be the main chamber -- with his elven
eyes that sensed heat as well as light.  But there was naught in the shrine
that moved or gave off heat.
     Gael and Arahna objected when Hawn disappeared into the murky darkness
of the shrine, for they did not have the heat-sensitive eyes of elvenkind.
Annoyed by the limitations of his companions, Hawn emerged from the shrine
long enough to take in his hand the red gold medallion around Arahna's
neck, the symbol of the Order of the Scarlet Moon.  Weaving some simple
magics, Hawn caused the medallion to glow, at first dimly, but then with
growing brilliance, red illumination spreading out to show the interior of
the shrine.  Although Hawn chose that color as it would have the least
affect upon eyes adjusted to darkness, Arahna felt it most appropriate,
befitting her red clothes and her allegiance with the Scarlet Moon.
     Before this revealing illumination, the interior of the shrine showed
itself to be an ancient and dirty ruin.  Dirt and dust coated the surfaces
therein, whilst cobwebs drifted from all of the elevated surfaces that
arachnids are so drawn to.  The walls of the shrine were also covered with
engravings of skeletons, some appearing as if they were dancing or capering
about, whilst others seemed to be killing or rending the flesh of still-
living people.
     The main chamber of the shrine was dominated by the statue of some
large, goat-like beast.  The creature was some fifteen feet tall and mostly
humanoid.  Its head was goat-like in appearance, as were its legs, and a
pair of curled rams' horns sat atop its head, while its body was obscenely
obese.  Large bat-like wings were unfurled from its back, seeming to spread
out over a good portion of the chamber.
     "Orcus," muttered Gael under her breath.  Then louder, she elucidated
for her companions, "That is Orcus, the demon lord of the undead."
     "How could anyone venerate demons?" Hawn considered aloud with obvious
distaste.  The demons had done nothing but work evil upon the world.  How
could anyone openly condone such things?  That thought angered Hawn
immeasurably, especially since it was the demon queen Lolth who had been
responsible for making the drow into what they now were.
     "Before the Demon Wars, the demons were often worshipped by the
inhabitants of the southern lands," observed Arahna.  "That is why these
lands were so thoroughly destroyed during those wars."
     "For that, well did they deserve their fate," pronounced Hawn.  "Such
vile beings should never be venerated."
     "We seem to not be the first ones to enter this shrine," commented
Gael, motioning towards several humanoid figures scattered around the floor
in front of the idol, obviously the source of the reek of decaying flesh
which pervaded the shrine.
     Hawn shifted the grip on his sword, wondering what could have slain
them.  Whatever it was might very well still be around.  He started across
the room to investigate the bodies and try to get a better idea of what
manner of guardian might be protecting this place of evil.
     However, he did not make it across the room, because a section of the
floor disappeared out from under his feet, sending the elf plunging through
a hole in the floor.  Just as suddenly as the section of the floor had
dropped out from beneath the elf, it rose back into place.  Had they not
witnessed the event, the two women would never have suspected what could
have happened to the elf.
     The two women cautiously approached the section of the floor that Hawn
had been standing on.  Gael called out his name, but there was no response.
She gently prodded the floor with the haft of her trident, but it seemed
just as solid as the rest of the floor.
     Readying her sword, Arahna warned Gael to stand back before stepping
onto the trap door.  Gael watched in horror as the floor dropped out from
under Arahna before she could do anything.
     With Arahna's disappearance, the chamber was plunged into darkness as
the only light source disappeared with her.  Not willing to be left alone
in the darkness, Gael clutched her trident nervously and started forwards
cautiously, a prayer on her lips.