-- 11/26/6067 --

     Hawn levered himself up from where he had been sitting with his back
to a tree, staring at the burned out husk that had once been the
magnificent House Ambrosius.  For the past fortnight, an urge to return
here had been growing within him until now, realizing that there was some
magical summons involved, he had returned.
     Now, sitting here, reluctant to enter this tomb of memories, the urge
to enter mounted in magnitude until Hawn could bear it no more.  He strode
into the charred ruins.  Some plants had begun to encroach upon the
remains, reclaiming them to nature.  Winter never touched the land around
an elven House -- the presence of faerie was too great.  And with that
presence of faerie, the plants would continue to grow, engulfing the ruined
mansion in perhaps a decade, if not less.
     But the present was not what occupied the elf's attentions, it was the
past.  Memories of the past welled up unbidden, overlaying ghosts from the
past onto the present.  Passing through a gutted ballroom, the music of
past parties, laughs, faces, dancers, partiers of fay, all flitted through
the devastated chamber.  Too occupied was he to notice the tears streaking
down his cheeks.
     Other rooms and passages he strode through contained similar memories.
He continued onwards, reexperiencing events from the past, his mind lost
somewhere in the past, until finally he neared the source of the summons.
Hawn stood at a polished oaken door unharmed by the fire but for some sooty
smudges -- the entrance to the Chamber of the Elflord.
     At the top of one of the towers which sprouted from House Ambrosius
like a garden of beautifully crafted stone flowers -- the only such tower
still intact -- the Chamber of the Elflord was the place of wisdom
accessible only to the Elflord of House Ambrosius.  Hawn opened the door.
As the last surviving member of House Ambrosius, and the son of the last
Elflord, the title and position of Elflord Ambrosius fell to Hawn.  Such a
rank now held no pleasure for Hawn.
     Beyond the oaken door lay the only room in the House untouched by the
evils of the drow.  The room was simply adorned with a bookshelf on one
wall, a writing desk, a table with a number of well ordered items unknown
to Hawn, and a raised platform with some astronomical equipment on it.
     Shutting the door behind him, Hawn entered the room, his gaze falling
on a chest next to the far wall -- the origin of the summons.  The
summoning for
its center.
     A faint scarlet luminance shown from the ruby, the Lifestone, the
embodiment of the power and wisdom of House Ambrosius.  His father had only
worn the pendant during rare occasions of great ceremony, and had always
been drained and weakened for many days afterwards.  Hawn's eldest brother
had been destined to become the Elflord of House Ambrosius, but that was
not to have occurred for many centuries yet to come.
     But now they were all dead.  The position was Hawn's alone.  And t
its center.
     A faint scarlet luminance shown from the ruby, the Lifestone, the
embodiment of the power and wisdom of House Ambrosius.  His father had only
worn the pendant during rare occasions of great ceremony, and had always
been drained and weakened for many days afterwards.  Hawn's eldest brother
had been destined to become the Elflord of House Ambrosius, but that was
not to have occurred for many centuries yet to come.
     But now they were all dead.  The position was Hawn's alone.  And the
first time the Lifestone was ever worn by any Elflord was during his
ascension to that rank.
     And that time had come.

     Hawn knelt before the throne of the Elflord in the Great Hall.  All of
the preliminary rites had been performed, or at least as well as Hawn could
do them alone.  Now for the final act:  Lifting the pendant with the
Lifestone from its case, Hawn placed it reverently around his neck.  A wash
of red luminance surrounded him, engulfing his senses.
     When his vision cleared, Hawn found himself standing in an unearthly
forest wherein everything was some shade or hue of red.  From the corners
of his eyes, he could just make out movement, yet when he looked towards
the source of any motion, he saw nothing.  Around him he could feel the
presence of many beings... spirits... ghosts... Hawn could not tell.  His
mind told him that they were there, yet he could not see them.  It was like
standing deep in the heart of a faerie grove, yet even that paled when
compared to this.
     "Greetings, my son," spoke a melodic elven voice.
     Hawn whirled on the source of those words, seeing an all too familiar
face.  Hawn silently mouthed the word "Father."
     Smiling fondly, the indistinct elven form said, "I see you have
finally taken the rite of ascension."
     "F-father," stuttered Hawn, "I had thought you dead."
     "But I am, my son, I am," replied the elder elf, accepting his
situation.  "Here, in this place, however, I may speak with you."
     Glancing around at this supernatural forest, Hawn whispered, "Where is
'here'?"
     "This is not a place of the tangible physical world, my son.  Your
mind has been drawn into the Lifestone."  At the look of surprise on his
son's face, Telenor continued, saying, "You will find the Lifestone gives
you much power.  But the cost is great: the more you use it, the greater
will be the drain upon you.  You have seen me weak and exhausted for a
fortnight by the mere effort of wearing it for two hours.  To call upon its
powers is a grievous drain.  So I must warn you not to use it but in the
moments of greatest extreme."
     "Then I am indeed Elflord Ambrosius?" inquired Hawn, hoping for the
answer he did not receive.
     "Though that title no longer holds worth, yes, you are now Elflord of
our House.  I can only guess at the pain you must feel at being Elflord of
an ravaged and desolate House."
     "Why did not the gods aid us?" Hawn cried out in anguish.  He still
did not understand why this had happened.  Of all the humanoid races of the
world, elves where the closest to the realm of faerie, and as such closest
to their deities.  Surely the elven gods should have intervened in some
way, if only to inform Telenar, then Elflord of House Ambrosius, of what
was about to occur.
     "They could not, and can not still.  They must gather their powers to
battle the evils that seek domination of the world...  Over your world.
Even now, they are unable to focus their powers through their priests as is
their normal way, which is why they have chosen you as their herald and
general.  You are to alert the races of the world and tell them of what is
coming upon the spring.  You have to help muster those who are to battle
the demonic armies which even now gather on the horizon of tomorrow."
     "And how am I to perform this duty if I know not how?"  Hawn felt his
anger rising within him, feeling as if he were naught more than a pawn in a
game beyond his comprehension.
     "You may start with your own kind.  The Lifestone gives you the power
to call the other Elflords.  Tell them what is coming.  They will know you
speak the truth here."
     And truthfully, Hawn did know how to call the other Elflords.  He sent
the summons, the call that would gather every light elf who possessed a
Lifestone.  In moments, other elves began to appear, all of noble stock and
dress.  Grey elves, high elves, valley elves, wood, wild, and sea elves,
all the elven races were represented here -- all, that is, except for the
dark elves.  Legions of elves stood in a clearing that seemed to expand to
suit the space needed for this gathering of faerie kind's most mundane of
races.
     Telenar raised his arms for silence.  The elves grew still at the
sight of this ghost of a well-known and deceased member of their ranks.
Telenar motioned for Hawn to speak.
     "My brethren, listen to me," called out Hawn, his voice carrying to
all in the clearing.  "A time of great evil draws neigh upon our world."
     "We know of the drow menace," returned a wood elf.  "You are of House
Ambrosius, are you not?"
     "I am House Ambrosius," said Hawn painfully.  "The drow alone are not
of what I speak.  I have learned that entire armies of demonkind gather to
march upon the world.  We must prepare to battle this growing evil."
     "That cannot be," protested a valley elf, refusing to believe that the
Demon Wars were to be renewed.
     "He speaks the truth," pointed out another Elflord, for in this place,
lies were not spoken by Elflords.
     "Then he is mistaken," countered the valley elf.
     "There is no mistake," said Hawn.  "I have seen the truth myself,
heard it from a dark elf who dared not lie to me."
     "You listened to the words of a drow?" spoke out another valley elf
incredulously.  "You are certainly not worthy of being an Elflord if you
are so great a fool as that."
     "What I say is the truth," protested Hawn.
     "You may believe what you say, but that does not make it the truth,"
stated a tall, elderly high elf.
     "By the gods, you must believe me!" shouted Hawn, growing angered at
the stoic resistance of these elves in not believing what they did not want
to hear.
     "Do not call upon the gods in this place," counseled Telenar a low,
urgent voice.
     "And why not?  If I am to be their general, then why must I not swear
by them?"
     "Not here, my son.  You know not what you do."
     Suddenly understanding, Hawn raised his hands to the crimson sky,
declaring, "Hear me!  I call upon Frey, lord of the Aetherine, to hear me!
If I am truly your chosen one, prove to these simpering fools what I say is
the truth!"
     A wind instantly sprang up, glowing about the glade.  A whirlwind spun
into being next to Hawn.  When the whirlwind faded, it revealed an elven
form over six feet tall and of powerful build for an elf, adorned in simple
hunter's garb with a great two-handed sword strapped to his back.
     As one, the elves knelt in supplication to this, the incarnate form of
Frey, the chief deity of the Aetherine, the elven gods.
     "You speak rashly, my child."  Frey's voice was both fluid and
resonate, the power of it sending a shudder down the spines of all present.
"But only time will grudgingly bestow the wisdom you are in want of."
     Hawn could make no reply, his mind numbed in awe of this avatar of
Frey, the greatest of the elven deities.
     To the other Elflords, Frey announced, "This elf is my chief servant
in your world, an honor of which I am certain he will prove himself worthy.
He is my general, war leader of the elven armies which must be united by
the spring equinox.  For then, the combined might of the demon lords march
into your world.  Already, we, the gods, seek to thwart this war, for the
evil is so great even we cannot guess as to its outcome.
     "You are to obey him, for the Last of House Ambrosius is the champion
of the gods."
     With that, another whirlwind sprang up, whisking away Frey's avatar,
leaving behind only the rustling of a few ghostly leaves.
     Recovering instantly, speaking with an unnatural power, Hawn
proclaimed, "Go now, return to your Houses and ready your warriors, for
come spring, we march to war."
     Obeying explicitly, the Elflords began to vanish, returning to carry
out his word.
     When they were gone, Telenar said, "There is one you must seek out.
His name is Ularr Nakuln.  He can teach you much of what you will need to
know.  He is very old, but his wisdom and experience will serve you well.
Fare thee well, my son."
     Hawn wanted to ask more, but found himself once more in the Great Hall
of House Ambrosius.  Removing the pendant containing the Lifestone, Hawn
was struck by an immense wave of exhaustion, almost passing out, all of his
energy seemingly drained from his body.  Gathering the implements of the
rites, he began to drag himself off to the tower room where he could rest
without fear of being accosted.

                              -- 12/1/6067 --

     The ship creaked achingly around the sailors as they worked to dock
her quickly, eagerly wanting to warm themselves by a fire with some grog
and women.  The rough wintery seas tossed the ship around alarmingly, but
the skies were darkening even further, giving a sure sign that worse
weather would soon strike.
     Gael stood by the wheel with the captain, who hoped the presence of a
priestess of Poseidon would aid them.  Thus far, they had experienced the
worst winter weather ever upon the seas, and the captain would have turned
back had they not been making excellent time as they came down the coast.
     The rough water rocked the ship alarmingly as she was guided up
alongside the wharf by her nervous helmsman.  Despite the weather, the
experienced sailors quickly made the ship fast.  Secure at last, the gang
plank was lowered, allowing the six travellers to disembark, glad to once
again have solid ground under foot.
     A pair of elves made their way up the wharf towards the six of them.
One of the pair was Dwarkin Shea, the other a beautiful wood elf with
flaming red hair.  Arahna, Kasendra, and Tibulus formally introduced
themselves to the druid, for they had not yet met Dwarkin in the flesh, so
to speak, while Dwarkin introduced the wood elf as Torina of House
Parsindius.
     Together, they moved off of the wharf quickly to be away from the
frigid wind blowing in from the Araquay Ocean.  However, the wind that was
channeled down the streets of Arinius was almost as bad.  The group trudged
in the general direction of the temple of Poseidon as Dwarkin explained
that the Yurndale forest was nearly a fortnight's travel away, and that
they would have to leave as soon as possible, despite the fierce winter
storm which was blowing in from offshore.
     When they reached the temple, Gael hurried to the audience chamber of
High Priest Belophor, finding the temple staff in much discontent.  Upon
seeing her enter, the High Priest shooed away his aids and moved to clasp
Gael's hands.
     "Gael," he said warmly, "you've finally returned.  What with this
great weakening in Poseidon's strength, we had thought that you might never
return."
     Baffled by his words, Gael asked what weakening he spoke of, for she
had noticed no wavering in Poseidon's powers.
     "Why, surely you have noticed that few of our prayers to Poseidon are
answered of late?"
     "I have noticed no such thing.  All of my prayers are answered as they
have always been.  My link with Poseidon is stronger now than ever before."
     Showing some irritation, the High Priest scolded her for lying at such
a time as this, and on such grave matters.  If Poseidon were not answering
the prayers of one of his High Priests, why would he answer the prayers of
a simple acolyte?
     "I do not lie," Gael stated, not believing what she heard.  She closed
her eyes and prayed to her god for a way to prove to those present that she
spoke the truth.  Feeling the guiding warmth of her deity, she stepped over
to a pillar, embracing the marble column.  Slowly, her body molded into the
stone pillar and disappeared as if she were stepping into an illusion.
When she stepped from the other side, the priests were in a general hubbub,
wondering how she could call upon Poseidon when they could not.  And such
power!  No mere acolyte should be able to accomplish so great a feat as
this.
     "You see," she declared, "I can still call upon Poseidon, for his
presence is still with me."
     "Then you must be highly favored by Poseidon," surmised Belophor.  "We
have much to do with you then, in order to divine why this is so."
     "Then listen to my story, and I believe you will understand."  She
gave a recount of what had happened since she had departed Arinius,
specifically covering what Hawn had learned from the Seer of Baharri.  When
she had finished recounting how Dwarkin had returned with news of their
having been chosen by Sylvanus and the other gods to help in the battle
against the coming evil, the High Priest said he could not detain her and
risk the wrath of the gods.
     Her mission for the High Priest completed, Belophor charged her to
serve the gods well.