-- 10/31/6067 --

     Large flakes of snow drifted gently through the air, settling in a
thick layer on the ground.  Though a beautiful sight, for the two cloaked
figures trudging through it the snow and cold were unwelcome inconveniences
in an already difficult venture.  Even though the trees of the light
woodland broke the wind, they still wished this to end.
     There came a shout from the trees, a harsh voice commanding in a crude
dialect of the human language, "Lay down your money and your weapons."
     Almost as one, the two figures cast off their cloaks for freedom of
movement, revealing the slight build and pointy ears of elves.  Each drew
a longsword, and the shorter of the two readied a shield.  Both wore
leather armor with iron rings sewn on.
     A second voice cried out in harsh glee, "Elves!" followed quickly by
the first one which called out, "Zlarth, Vulk, let's have some fun!"
     From behind the trees appeared a trio of ill-kept, swinish humanoids:
orcs.  They swung their weapons back and forth in anticipation of feeling
them bit into tender elf flesh.  The two elves waited as the orcs drew
near.
     "Throw down your weapons and we might let you live," called the
largest orc, anticipating the joys of torturing some helpless elves.
     "Throw down your weapons and we might let you run for your miserable
lives," replied the taller of the pair.
     The orcs moved in, swinging their weapons.  One with an axe nicked the
shorter of the pair of travellers in the forearm, and was promptly slain
for the affront.  The taller of the pair, a half-elf, easily evaded the
clumsy attack of a sword-swinger, slashing that orc then reversing his blow
to hew open the throat of the remaining or.
     Seeing the orcs all dead or incapacitated, Graynyr asked, "How's your
arm, Evrin?"
     "A scratch, nothing more," replied the shorter of the two, inspecting
the rent in his armor.  "But, where did they come from?  Orcs seldom travel
in such small groups.  There must be more of them nearby."
     Graynyr was looking around the ground at the tracks the orcs had made.
"I don't like the looks of this," he commented.  "These orcs came from the
direction we are travelling in.  They must have seen us and waited for us
to draw near."
     "You think they might have found the tower?"  In the past days, Evrin
had come to trust the half-elf's exceptional tracking and path-finding
skills.
     "I would not rule it out.  According to the Seer's map, we can't be
more than a mile from it by now, so we had better proceed with extreme
caution: being surprised by another party of orcs could be deadly."
     Continuing along, they found that the orcs' tracks did lead back to
the tower the Seer of Baharri had instructed them to find.  Wide and squat,
it was little more that a watchtower without a castle.  Surrounding the
tower was a circular ditch with a crude bridge lying across it to an
opening which once might have had a gate.  Standing in the opening was a
pair of orcs.
     "Now what do we do?" Evrin wondered aloud.  "There are bound to be
more orcs inside."
     "Indeed," muttered Graynyr, pulling off his gloves to rummage through
his belt pouch.  "String your bow, you may have need of it."
     "If I shoot the guards, it will alert any other orcs on the first
floor."
     "Ah ha," came Graynyr, pulling a simple gold ring from his pouch.
     "What is that for?"
     "It is the ring worn by that bastard dog of a human, the pet of
Roarshahk.  It was this that made him invisible."
     "How will that help us if I am still visible?"
     "Simple: I will use the dog's tactics and enter the building unseen
and attack any orcs in the room beyond.  When you notice the disturbance,
shoot the guards and come join the fray."  With that, Graynyr popped on the
ring and disappeared from sight before the elf could voice any complaints.
     Though he did not care for the plan, Evrin now had no choice but to go
along with it.  He laid two arrows in the snow next to him and nocked a
third.  When the guards turned to face into the structure, Evrin let fly a
shaft, following it with a second before the first pierced one guard's
back.  He nocked the third arrow and broke from cover, running towards the
tower even as the second guard keeled over.
     However, before he was even halfway to the tower, an arrow plunked
into the ground next to him.  He stopped and looked up to see an archer in
one of the upper windows.  Evrin let fly his own arrow and took off towards
the opening to the tower.  He drew his sword as he crossed the rickety
bridge and passed the two dead guards.
     Inside the tower, Graynyr stood holding his left arm, half a dozen
dead orcs scattered about him.  He looked at Evrin and grinned faintly.
"It worked; half of them were dead before they could react."
     "Are you hurt bad?" inquired Evrin, motioning to Graynyr's bleeding
arm.
     "It'll have to wait.  There may be more orcs upstairs."
     On the second floor, they found a pair of orcs, one rather burly and
the other dressed in the attire of a shaman -- that is to say, he wore
brightly colored pieces of animal fur and feathers, with a tasteful finger-
bone ornament thrown in here or there.  The shaman was ranting and raving
in the orcish tongue, while the other just looked as if he wished he were
anyplace else.
     The shaman attacked, swinging a heavy thigh-bone club, and the other
reluctantly followed suit with his sword.  Evrin squared off with the
shaman while Graynyr closed in on the wiser orc.  Evrin's duel ended soon
enough, with his sword planted firmly in the shaman's offensive body.  Upon
seeing his, the other orc threw his sword from him, begging for quarter on
his knees.
     Being at least part elf, and seeing no need for more killing than was
necessary, Graynyr pointed towards the stairwell.  His eyes bulging out,
unable to believe his good luck, the orc shot off down the stairs and out
into the snowstorm.  Graynyr paused a moment at one of the arrow slits to
watch the retreating orc.
     "He'll probably just join up with some other orcs and continue to be a
pestilence," grumbled Graynyr, regretting he had not slain the orc.  But he
was not one to kill a cowering, defenseless opponent.
     Evrin remained silent, not knowing what to say.  He agreed with
Graynyr's words, but he was no more a cold-blooded killer than was the
half-elf.  He would rather not have slain any of these orcs, even if they
were orcs, but there had been no other way of getting into the tower --
especially considering the exceptional hatred orcs held for elves.
     On the top level of the tower, an orcish archer lay on the floor with
an arrow buried in one eye, courtesy of Evrin's marksmanship.  This level
of the tower was the one that concerned them.  Sitting in the center of the
single chamber on this level was an unobtrusive stone pedestal, apparently
useful for nothing more than putting something on it.  To that end, the
orcish archer had left what appeared to be his diner piled on the pedestal.
Graynyr scrapped it off of the pedestal with the tip his sword, unwilling
to touch it with his hands, even though they were protected by gloves.
     Examining the worn engravings on the pedestal and comparing them with
those scribbled on their map, Evrin pressed the correct sequence of places
on the pedestal.  There was a faint scent of ozone in the air and several
glowing sigils appeared on the top of the pedestal.  The sigils were all of
different shapes and colors, some glowing brightly, and a couple almost not
even visible.
     He looked at Graynyr, who no more wanted to mess with the sigils than
did he.  Taking a deep breath, Evrin pressed the sigil which most resembled
the circled one on their map.
     The scent of ozone grew thicker in the cold air, and a faint humming
filled the air.  Across the pedestal from them, a small circle of light
appeared, growing in size until it was large enough for a hill giant to
lumber through.  Through the circle of light could be seen another chamber
similar to the one they were standing in.
     Looking at each other, they acknowledged that everything appeared to
be going the way it was supposed to.  Bracing themselves for the unknown,
they stepped through the circle of light and into a thick wall of
oppressive heat.
     Finding themselves still alive and intact, they looked around this new
chamber.  This one appeared to be the same as the one they had just left,
except that the air was far warmer.  As Graynyr began to shed his heavy
winter clothing, Evrin pressed the central glowing sigil on the new
pedestal.  With a noticeable pulse, the dimensional portal, the humming,
and the glowing sigils all disappeared, leaving the two travellers alone in
a new tower.
     Having removed their heaviest clothing, they were in slight shock from
this sudden shift in climate from freezing winter to hot summer.  Graynyr's
nose was already starting to run.  They made their way out of the tower and
into a muggy woodland permeated by the cries of wild animals.
     Though this wilderness-scape they travelled, a land teeming with the
wild vigors of living beauty that winter had stricken away to replace with
its own pristine white and silent beauty back an untold distance away in
their own lands.  They journeyed onwards, pursuing the horizon of the
setting sun as the Seer had so directed, driving on through the towering
boles of oak, ash and walnut until the second descent of the sun found them
at a clear and swiftly moving stream of water cool and refreshing to the
tongue.
     So, further did they attend to the directions of the Seer and follow
the flow in its meandering way downstream as thrice more the setting of the
sun lit the sky in a ruddy crimson glow visible through breaches in the
blanket of foliage overhead.  Thereupon, they happened across a scene
painful to their elven hearts, hearts easily wounded by innocent deaths.
     Aside the stream there sat a most quaint little cottage, simple of
design but well tended by a caring owner to bring out its simple beauty.
The two wayfarers decided to place themselves at the honor of the master of
this humble abode for whatever he might choose to tender them by way of
courtesy.  However, upon their approach to this cottage, the sight which
greeted them was less than heartening.
     Circling around the cottage to approach it from the front as any
correct guest should, they found much sign of savagery having befallen the
abode: long and gouging claw-marks criss-crossed the door in a pattern of
brutal force, a door ripped clean from its hinges and tossed negligently
upon the front walk.  Caution bettered their curiosity and they drew their
longswords lest the foul fiend responsible for this was still at hand.
     Beyond the broken portal lay a scene of consummate devastation, well
performed by some savage fury.  The interior of the cottage was a sight of
pure chaos, with furnishings smashed and implements strewn haphazardly
throughout the building.  But the worst of all, only partially visible
under the remnants of the overturned bed, a limp and bloody arm could be
perceived.
     They need not have looked to ascertain this person to be dead, for the
quantity of lifeblood splattered about the walls and floor told that the
life had been drained from those mortal remains.  Yet something in them
required absolute certainty in this matter, not to mention that their sense
of respect for the memory of the dead could not permit them to leave the
deceased in such a state.
     Righting the bed proved that life could not remain in the body beneath
it.  Even they who had seen death many times and in many ways were struck
queasy and nauseous by the sight of the small old widow laying there, her
body viciously torn asunder by long claw marks, her flesh shredded,
entrails spilled loosely on the floor, an arm and leg partially eaten, the
look of horrid death a pallid mask frozen on the remains of her face.
     Evrin turned away, forcing his noon meal back down lest it too be
added to the sickening contents of this room.  They retired from the
building to recover their stomachs and their control.  They knew they could
not leave this as it was.  To do nothing was to assure that the spirit of
the elderly human would be trapped in this world by so savage a demise.
     Some hours of work were required to clear all combustible materials a
safe distance from the house and the sky was as dark as the widow's death
when at last they put a torch to the cottage.  It burned rapidly and with
much heat to help carry the woman's spirit up into the sky, lighting the
spirit's way to the afterlife in the realms beyond the sky where dwelled
the gods.
     They watched this gloriously mournful pyre burn long into the night,
burning away both this place and its evil memories of cruel and heartless
death.  When the calls of waking birds heralded the coming dawn, there was
little left of the cottage other than glowing embers and mound of ashes and
charred timber.  They scraped dirt over the pyre ashes -- lest the blaze
start anew and consume more than just a cottage -- and built a small cairn
of stones to mark the death which occurred here.
     They travelled onwards after breaking their fast with a few meager
biscuits, tired and downcast from the previous day's experiences.  They
followed the footpath from the cottage, which joined a small road which at
the end of the day found them at the gates of a large town.

                              -- 11/6/6067 --

     A general air of sobriety permeated the atmosphere of the tavern.
Conversation was hushed where it existed at all.  Numerous patrons merely
stared into their mugs of ale with brooding morbidity.  Few people even
took note of the two travel-worn figures who entered the tavern and sat
near a dust-streaked window, and then only because of the slight build and
fair looks of elvenkind the two newcomers possessed.
     When a serving wench approached to take their order, Graynyr asked her
what she knew of a palace near the town, the palace belonging to an ancient
sorcerer known as Omar Dalb.
     She drew back fearfully, making a sign of the evil eye.  "None speak
that accursed name here," she warned in hushed tones.  "To do so is to
invite a horrible death upon yourself."
     "Can you tell us if there are any roads to his palace?"
     "You are fools to seek out that place.  All who have tried have never
returned."
     "Why do you travel to the sorcerer's stead?" inquired a light-haired
human at the next table.
     "We have been sent to recover an item of powerful magic that is hidden
there," explained Evrin.
     "There is no way to pass the wards which protect the sorcerer's lands.
We have tried time and again," said the human, motioning to include the
stubby halfling woman with him.
     "We have means to penetrate the wards," Evrin assured them.  "We only
need guidance to the home of the sorcerer."
     "Then eagerly will we accompany you," spoke up the halfling.  "This
chance for vengeance cannot be overlooked."
     "A friend of ours was slain by one of the sorcerer's pets that runs
loose in the forest," explained the man.
     Evrin and Graynyr looked at each other, wondering if the same creature
were responsible for the death of the little old widow they had found.
     "We will gladly accept what help you can give us," spoke Graynyr.