-- 12/26/6067 -- Dwarkin stared out into the night, his elven eyes searching for any trace of heat from his friends, but finding nothing more than the occasional glow of a small forest animal. He considered calling upon his druidical powers to send one of those animals to watch over the ruins and alert him as to when his companions would appear, or if worst came to pass, when the demon would emerge. But he decided not to waste any of his powers, which had already been significantly drained in the course of their pursuit of Vastor. If any demon should appear, he would rather have what little of his powers remained ready to combat it. Besides, it was already past midnight, and the dimensional portal should have opened by now. Thus, his friends should have already ended their confrontation of the demon, whatever its outcome. The druid returned to the small encampment he and his fellows had made by the roadside. It was here that they had decided to rest and await their companions. Torina and Kasendra were busy trying to question Vastor, while Evrin was also keeping watch for anything which might appear from the night. As Dwarkin stepped back into the light of their small fire, Torina stepped over to him, shaking her head. "It does not go very well," she said, appraising the druid as to their interrogation of the renegade. "He knows little about the demons, but what he does know he is reluctant to reveal. His attempts at deception are feeble, thanks to the affect the cursed hat is having on his intelligence." "Does he know anything about the coming demonic invasion?" That was what the druid wanted to know. "I don't know, but Kasendra thinks not. All we have gotten from him is the date of the invasion, and the fact that the tome was to play a part in preparing some forces before the invasion. Beyond that, I have no idea what he knows." "Do you think he knows anything more than that?" Dwarkin still held some hope, but expected only disappointment in that respect. "Maybe. But if he does, I don't think we will get it from him." Torina was herself disappointed as well. She had hoped that Vastor would know a great deal about the demons' plans, and with the cursed hat on his head the renegade from the Brotherhood would have his wits dimmed sufficiently for him to give away all of that information. "Try your best. If that is not good enough, do not worry. I'm sure that there are other ways for us to learn about the demons." Actually, Dwarkin was not sure, but it was his habit to keep others in good spirits whenever possible. Perhaps Torina knew this, perhaps not. In any case, she smiled to the older elf and returned to where Kasendra was still trying to get additional information from their captive. The druid wandered over to where Evrin was keeping his own vigil. At the druid's inquiring glance, the warrior frowned and made a negative gesture. "I've seen no sign of anyone. It will be dawn in a few hours. Assuming the demon appeared at midnight," and assuming the others vanquished it, he thought to himself, "they could be along at any time." Perceiving the thoughts behind the warrior's eyes, Dwarkin gripped his shoulder reassuringly. As he did so, Evrin tensed, cocking his head to one side. The druid started to ask him what was the matter, but Evrin held up one hand for silence. Soon, Dwarkin could also hear it. Out there, hidden in the night, beyond the range of his heat-sensitive eyes, there were several people moving hurriedly, their feet crunching into the newly fallen snow. The thing was, they were coming from the opposite direction from the ruins. Dwarkin went to the others, indicating for them to cover the fire and be silent. On this night, he knew not what to expect, and as such, he was not about to take any unnecessary chances. They crouched behind the sparse cover between themselves and the road, waiting to see who was travelling in such a hurry on this night. Soon, the light from lanterns could be discerned from between the trees lining the road. After that, it was not long before the companions could see several humans moving along at a fast pace. In the lead, they saw Tuvron Hy'z, from the Brotherhood of the Golden Twilight. Recognizing that these were the people who had charged he and his companions with capturing Vastor, the druid stepped from his cover and onto the roadway. The humans halted their forced march, some warily fingering weapons, others preparing to use their exceptional martial arts skills. However, realizing who this elf was, Tuvron held up a hand to still his fellows, and called out a greeting to the druid. Dwarkin returned the greeting and informed Tuvron as to the success of their venture. The humans joined the Dwarkin at the small campfire, which was fed more wood to warm the travellers. After Tuvron had been apprised of the details of their defeating Vastor, and receiving possession of the arcane tome, he asked after the condition of ruins Vastor had lived in, as well as the condition of anything contained therein. "The ruins have been sealed off," called a voice from the trees. Everyone turned to face this direction as Tibulus and the rest made their way into the camp. "I've taken the liberty of sealing and trapping the entrances of those ruins," continued the bard. "I would not suggest attempting to enter. The wards I've put in place are rather dangerous, not to mention any other traps of Vastor's which remain in affect." Tuvron accepted this silently. After all, by right of conquest, the ruins and their contents belonged to these adventurers. He was happy to have not only taken custody of Vastor and the book of magics, but to also seen to it that the book would not fall into the hands of the minions of the underworld. That had been the task required of him, and the elderly human was quite satisfied at having completed it, even if he had not been the one who performed the act itself. -- 12/31/6067 -- The swamp was strangely silent, a winter wasteland. Everything was blanketed in white, covered by a layer of ice and hoarfrost which glittered eerily beneath the light of the full moon, at times almost seeming to glow with inner light. Aside from the occasional tinkle of some bit of ice breaking free from a tree branch or bush, the silence was disturbed only by the sound of thin ice being broken up by Hawn's guide pole as he propelled his boat through the frozen bog. Overhead, the moon could be seen between the icy branches of trees, rising towards its zenith. Midnight was drawing neigh, the eve of a new year. Hawn took a deep breath of the chill air, wondering why it seemed to him as if he were starting a new life. He let the breath out, watching it turn into a frosted mist. He forced from his mind the image of a time decades before, when as a young elf he had pretended such misty breath was actually the breath of a fierce fire-breathing dragon, pretending that had been taken up by his brothers and sisters, siblings who were now infinitely far away. These days he no longer felt quite the same: not as he had after witnessing the fall of House Ambrosius, and certainly not as he had felt before the fall of his family palace. The past few weeks had had an affect upon him which he could not readily identify. At the bidding of the ghost of his father, he had sought out the ancient grey elf known as Ularr Nakuln. Ularr was a hermit, residing alone in a small thatched hut on the slopes of the T'zor Mountains, a small tract of rocky crags to the north of the Silvendin Forest, the forest where many of the elven Houses were located, including the ruins of House Ambrosius. These thoughts of his family still brought pain into Hawn's heart, as he knew they always would. He was glad that Ularr had not mentioned the destruction of House Ambrosius, but the age-old hermit had made numerous subtle attempts to encourage Hawn to accept the fate of his family, and that had bothered Hawn to no end, despite his attempts to ignore the elder's insinuations. Hawn could think of no way to simply just let go of his loss. Every night there still came to him the nightmares of wandering helpless though House Ambrosius and finding everyone he loved viciously murdered. The pain would stay with him for the rest of his life, of that he was certain. Revenge on the drow would be sweet, if only fleeting. Once the drow had been made to pay for their actions, Hawn knew the pain of his loss would still be trapped in his heart. And the pain trapped him as well, for it would not let him go while he remembered, he could never let it go for he would never forget that terrible night. Hawn tried to force such thoughts from his head, even knowing the futility of these efforts, and concentrated on the matters at hand. From Ularr Nakuln, Hawn had learned a great deal, including a number of secrets known only to Elflords, secrets his own father, Telenor, had never taught him, for it was Hawn's elder brother who was to have become Elflord of House Ambrosius when Telenor relinquished the seat. Even though there were many bits of knowledge and wisdom Ularr had given to Hawn, they had been given with such slowness that it had rankled Hawn, who had been impatient to be off and about his business of facing down the invasion of the demons and seeking vengeance against the drow. Although he had gained much knowledge, Hawn had not learned anything about who Ularr Nakuln was. The weird and enigmatic hermit had revealed naught of himself. Hawn felt an immediate sense of power from Ularr, as if he were some great mage. But Hawn never saw Ularr use magic, and Hawn could tell that Ularr was not a druid, despite his rapport with animals, since Hawn was familiar with druids and their powers over nautre from his long-standing friendship with Dwarkin Shea. Another thing which struck Hawn as usual about Ularr was his use of the surname Nakuln, which was not the name of any House Hawn had ever heard of, nor did it even sound like the name of an elven House. And why did the hermit live in the T'zor Mountains like an outcast? And how came he to know so much of being an Elflord if he were not an Elflord nor even of any known elven House. Though Hawn had learned much from the ancient hermit, where Ularr Nakuln himself was concerned, Hawn had only questions. Finally, Hawn was disturbed from his melancholy thoughts by yellowish light of a fire somewhere ahead in the bog. Hawn poled the boat in that direction, reaching a strand of solid ground rising from the frozen swamp. He beached the boat, making certain that the mound was as firm as it appeared. Hawn crossed the snow-covered ground, surrounded on all sides by the thick boles of swamp trees, to where a trio of hag-like women crouched beside a fire, where they were as much illuminated as they were concealed in shadow by the wildly leaping flames. They might have been human, but of that he was uncertain. "Hail, Elflord Ambrosius," the hags called in unison, their voices broken and course. "Long have we awaited your arrival," said the first witch, scratching herself obscenely. "I am here, then," stated Hawn irritably. "Now will you answer my questions?" From Ularr, Hawn had learned about these witches and their powers of divination and soothsaying. But when Hawn had used spells to contact them and ask of them certain questions, they had responded by saying that they would only impart upon him their wisdom in person. For that, Hawn had undertaken this trek, teleporting himself to a village at the edge of the swamp where he bought a boat to search the bog for these uncomely hags, rankling all the while at the time being wasted on the incessant diversions preventing him from his reckoning with the drow. "We but wish to pay our respects to the newest Elflord," cackled the second witch. "It is so seldom that we get a visit from a handsome man." This served only to anger Hawn. "I came here for answers, not petty social calls. I seek knowledge of what the demons are planning for this spring." "Do not anger us, Elflord," screeched the first witch. "We are not to be trifled with." "Nor am I!" Hawn shouted back. "You agreed to answer my questions if I came here in person. Now I am here, so answer my questions!" The three hags grumbled amongst themselves for a time before the first finally announced, "There is a wizard whose name is Kaalatar, who resides in the port city of Tiresk. All you would ask us of the demons' invasion is known to Kaalatar, for he is one of many mages who shall assist in bringing the army of demons through to this world at the vernal equinox." "Go now, tonight," said the third witch, "for Kaalatar is having a feast to celebrate the new year and the spoils it will bring for him, should his work for the demons prove profitable. His defenses will be at their weakest, and your chances of capturing him their greatest." "Nothing more will we say this night," offered the second witch. "More than this you are not yet ready to learn." Hawn's anger flared at this comment. "I will not have information withheld from me. I must know everything, and you will tell me all that you know this night, right now!" "You cannot force us to reveal more than we wish," hissed the first witch defiantly. "When the time is right, we will tell you what you need to know. For now, you know enough." Before Hawn could say anything more, the flames of the fire leapt high in a roaring conflagration, causing both Hawn and the witches to move away from the fire. At first, Hawn thought this was merely some manner of trickery on the part of the witches, who were trying to put him off from discovering any more information. But the dancing flames formed into the likeness of a man, an apparition of crackling heat. At this spectacle, the witches flinched in fear, skittering off into the night. Raising one spectral arm, the apparition spoke in hollow, hateful tones. "Hawn Ambrosius, you have been found guilty of the murder of the sorcerer Roarshahk. The penalty: death, to be carried out immediately." Wondering what foolery this was, Hawn was diverted in his thought to strike down this troublesome being as the sound of fracturing ice filled the air. Whirling around, Hawn found himself facing a creature of ice and snow rising up from the murky, frozen water of the swamp. The thing crashed across the ground towards him, its massive arms upraised to strike him, a beastial howl issuing from the gapping hole that was its mouth. His anger fully roused, Hawn called upon his magic and unleashed a thunderous bolt of lightning, which shattered the night with a defeaning explosion. When the last traces of the spell faded away, there was no sign of the creature, not even its tracks, as if it had been nothing more than an illusion. Spinning around, Hawn found himself completely alone, except for the last traces of the dying fire, which put out a few feeble pops before going out altogether. Hawn vented a roar of rage, slamming his gloved fist into a convenient tree. He considered pursuing the witches, but decided not to waste his time. He had better things to spend his time on. Pulling its case from his pack, Hawn took the cursed knife of Orcus in his hand. Such irony it was that a tool of those he fought against helped him in defeating them. Forcing the knife to obey his will, Hawn called upon its magics and disappeared from sight, leaving only the last few glowing embers of the fire to the solitude of the frozen swamp.