The Fool’s Gold was full. People of all races were bustling in and out of the tiny halfling sized door, eager to buy and sell their wares. The smell of ale was strong in the low ceiling structure, for tonight was also the Eve of St. Taggloft, which celebrated the halfling hero Taggloft Dusmire who led the warriors of Rivervale into a victory against the goblin army which threatened their walls centuries ago. There was drinking and singing, auctioning, and even a duel between two travelling tall folk to complete the evening.

In a far corner of the room, surrounded by dozens of wide-eyed halflings, a human man sat, staff in one hand, and an overflowing mug in the other. He was well known by the children of Bristlebane, and they always gathered near when he was passing through Rivervale to hear his stories of lands far away. Tonight, however, there was another tale which needed to be told.

Sparhow and Geno, halfling druid and rogue, both bleeding and covered with sweat and dirt, pushed themselves past the mass of tiny bodies surrounding the storyteller. The singing and merriment died down when the haggard druid addressed the human.

'Wanderer! You have been far outside these walls. Tell me, who is the One who travels amongst the creatures of the Great Mother, yet brings with him death!' The crowd exchanged puzzled glances, some nervously gulped their ale.

The storyteller was forced to cut short a tale of near death in the depths of ancient crypts beneath the desert sands. 'My small friend, you too serve the Great Mother. Is it not accepted by those of your faith that death is merely a part of life?'

'These are our teachings, Sage, but we also teach that in order to maintain the Balance, we must aid the good, that they may keep the evil in check. The one I speak of slays the innocent, and does so in the name of the Great Mother. He fights under the sign of four interlocked bear claws.'

It was now the storyteller’s turn to nervously gulp down his ale.

'This half man, half elf has entered our forests, joining with the goblins in slaying our kind. My companion and I barely escaped with our lives, others were not so lucky, including my brother, Orthan.'

After several moments of silence, the Storyteller spoke, 'Sit, little ones, I am sorry for your loss. If this man you speak of is truly outside these city walls, then I have little time to reveal his identity while your wounds are cleansed. The Hunters will be coming, and I must be at their side, possibly for the last time.'

After motioning to a barmaid, several halfling women with pottery washbasins and cloths wound their way through the confused crowd and curtsied before the blood-caked pair. The Storyteller washed down the last of his ale as Sparhow and his companion were ushered into small wooden chairs, and their outer layers of armor removed. All noticed a dazed look come across the face of the tall robed man, as if he were searching his memory for details of a life he lived long ago, and all was quiet save for several far off voices outside shouting, 'Looking for group to slay evil woodsman!'

'There is a place, far from here, where the fate of man is decided by elves; elves who, at one time, were a good people, before the Evil led them down the path of conquest. It was these good elves who birthed the Sevvac-Tahn, Cyan O’Duinn………'

'Guurak! The elves stand there, mocking us! Why they not run!' The goblin spurred his massive war dog through the darkened forest, closer to his leader while he spoke the gutteral goblin tongue, 'There two of them, five of us! They on foot, we mounted! We kill quickly before they get smart and flee!'

The largest of the goblins, Guurak, shifted uneasily in his saddle. His mount could smell the elven blood less than a hundred yards in front of him, and it made him twitch with anticipation, but the goblin war dogs, as ferocious as they were, knew better than to disobey their masters. Dinner would come soon enough.

'Guurak! We no wait…..'

'Silence!' The larger goblin snapped at his lieutenant, 'Me know their kind. Them Druuad, tree elves; have devil powers. We go around.'

'Around?! Them think we scared! Must not let elf think goblin scared!'

'We are scared! Me seen one Druuad slay whole goblin war party! Me order you, send scouts around.'

The lieutenant looked through the trees with his keen night vision. The two elves still stood out in the open, and apparently unarmed. He turned his attention to the other 3 mounted goblins, one in particular, the only other goblin in the party who spoke some of the words of man. 'Kaldik! Elf, two. Me, you kill. Leader no want. Me kill leader, me leader, you lieuten-tant.' The other goblin nodded in acknowledgement and spurred his mount forward.

'What you tell him?!' Guurak demanded.

The pair of goblins brushed past their leader as they readied their spears. The lieutenant turned to Guurak, 'there no room for cowards in this tribe. I deal with you soon.' The goblin pair set their sights on the defenseless elves ahead. They spurred their mounts forward with fury as they began to scream goblin war cries. The war dogs began their own cries of barking and shrieking, enough to strike fear into the hearts of most woodland creatures. The goblins’ spears were raised, and they both stood high in their saddles. The elves didn't move. The war dogs began to froth at the mouth as their riders pushed them forward through the darkness. They closed fifty yards in the blink of an eye, and yet the pair of elves stood, motionless, swords in their sheaths. 'Easy kill,' the lieutenant goblin thought to himself as they began to close the last few yards. At this distance they could begin to make out the expressions on the faces of the elves; both had looks of disinterest. This unnerved the recruit goblin a bit, but seemed to infuriate the lieutenant further. The goblins drew back their spears, 'wear that face to your grave, elf!' the lieutenant leaned back to channel all of his strength and hatred into one devastating blow from his spear.

Then there was a ‘yelp’, followed by another. Both goblins were thrown violently to the leaf covered ground, their spears flying harmlessly into the trees. The goblins slid fifteen yards to the feet of their prey, on either side of them a handful of leaves fell silently from two nearby trees, and their war dogs lay face down on the ground several feet away, each with an arrow protruding from its forehead.

The last thing the remaining goblins saw before they scattered was the glint of moonlight off two finely crafted scimitars; their own cries of terror drowning out the death wails of their two companions.

'Damn! I got some on the hilt.'

'Hehe! I didn’t realize this was a formal kill, Greywood. I would have dressed better!'

'Funny, Cyan. You know goblin blood doesn’t wash out of the leather. Guess I’ll have to have it rewrapped.'

Cyan finished wiping and resheathing his blade, and approached the closest war dog carcass. The other druid began searching through the filthy pouches of the dead goblins.

'Hey Palanthas! This arrow’s not going to be reusable. The shaft broke off in his skull.'

A figure could be seen dropping stealthily from a nearby tree. Another was doing the same several yards further away. One of the figures approached Cyan and the dead canine, and studied the broken arrow tip protruding from its skull. 'Damn. I was hoping to have a full quiver when we reach the ruins. Guess that’s one Du-urgha who gets to die by my steel!'

'Hehe, look at it this way Palanthas, at least the dark elf will get to see your face before he dies!'

The ranger crouched near the carcass and snapped off the end of the broken arrow and placed it in his pack so that none could identify which wood elf clan had passed through this way. He then joined Demitriian, the other mysterious figure, who had already begun to cover their tracks they had made thus far through the wooded area.

Cyan watched his old friends, Palanthas and Demitriian as they worked to erase their passing, and marveled at the thoroughness of the woodsmen. The pair were covered in heavy scraps of animal skins sewn together in such a way that it cleverly broke up their outline, making them virtually undetectable in the forest during the day, and the skins were layered on so thick that even at night they radiated so little heat they were difficult to see with infravision. Beneath the layers of camouflage the rangers resembled the two elven druids in features, yet in addition to the elven blood which ran through their veins was human blood, and ‘human’ was not a name to be born proudly in this part of Norrath.

Those unfortunate enough to be born of both a human father and mother on this continent were born slaves, the elves being the dominant race. Most elves treated their humans well, some even called them friends, but all agreed that the humans were inferior, and the good elves were merely doing the poor creatures a favor by giving them a place in their society. Even the solitary wood elves thought themselves better than the humans, and most of the hard labor to be done in the clans was done by human hands. The best anyone of human blood could hope for would be to become a ‘Sentara-Primari’, assigned to protect, and obligated to die for if necessary, one druidic elf in the clan. This esteemed position was only granted to those humans who were at least half elven. Palanthas had been assigned to Cyan, and Demitriian to Greywood, and through the years the two druids had become very close with their Sentara-Primari, or ‘Sentinels’ in the human tongue.

Greywood finished searching the fallen goblins and approached Cyan. 'A few copper, and their spears, nothing more.'

'We should leave the spears. It will be awhile before we reach any place we can sell them, and they will only slow us down.'

'You’re right. How much farther to the ruins, anyway? I feel like we’ve been travelling for weeks.'

Cyan glanced over at the pair of rangers who were now finished with their task and returning to the group. 'Palanthas says it’s not more than half a day beyond the hills. We should make it by daybreak.'

'Good. I grow tired of slaying dim-witted goblins. I welcome the challenge of battle with the Du-urgha.'

'Be careful my friend. Do not forget it was the dark elves who almost took our lives several years ago at Khalin Pass.' As Demitriian and Palanthas approached, Cyan turned to them, 'Are we ready?'

Palanthas nodded, 'Aye, my lord.'

'Let us be off then. The morning approaches quickly.'

The rangers pulled their thick hoods back over their heads. Demitriian turned to Greywood and winked, 'Maybe next time you two can duck behind a tree so that Palanthas and I can save some of our arrows for the Du-urgha!'

Greywood grumbled. Cyan chuckled beneath his breath. The rangers walked on ahead, and disappeared in the darkness.

The sun rose faster than anticipated, and a light rain began to fall, soaking the two druids as they emerged into a small clearing bustling with activity. They had arrived at the ruins, well into the morning, and were greeted by the sounds of hammering and the grinding wheels of ox-drawn carts, laden with large loads of rock and earth. Elven workers surrounded the aged structure at various points, and tents had been erected as temporary command posts.

The ruins themselves seemed to be that of an ancient temple of some sort, standing a full eighty feet high on the northern end, and yet crumbling almost to ground level on the opposite. The ceiling now only covered a third of the structure, yet the workers tirelessly marched in and out what were once grand entry doors.

Eager to get out of the rain Greywood spotted the largest tent, and assuming they would find someone in charge there, the pair quickly splashed across the muddy terrain. After shaking the water from their cloaks, the druids scanned the occupants for their leader. There were a dozen or so high elves in the tent, most appeared to be ranking officers in light armor. Then Cyan nudged his companion, 'Over there.' He motioned to an elderly high elf dressed in expensive cloth, boots, and cloak, who stood behind a table surrounded by three armored elves holding maps. The group seemed to be arguing over map accuracy's and digging points when the druids approached. The unarmored elf held up a hand, and his officers quieted and turned towards the newcomers.

Cyan and Greywood held their sword fist to their chest, palm in, as was the customary greeting in high elven society. 'Hail High Brethren. I am Cyan O’Duinn of the Clan White Eagle, and this is Greywood. We have been sent by the Arch Druuad of the White Eagle, Shir-khan, to find one Porthano, emissary of Duke Latharan of Shea-alan.'

The nobleman replied, 'I am Porthano.'

The wood elves bowed.

'I have spoken with your master, Shir-khan. He speaks highly of both of you, and I will send him my personal thanks for his sending your aid in this delicate matter of the Duke.'

Greywood addressed the nobleman next, 'We do not travel alone my lord. Allow me to introduce our companions, Demitriian and Palanthas.' The two rangers seemed to materialize out of the grass in the tent, sending gasps and immediate concern throughout the crowd. Porthano was forced to close his gaping mouth as the pair removed their hoods and bowed.

'Err…ahhh….ahem. Pleasure.'

Palanthas eyed the high elf with suspicion. His constant attention to detail enabled him to perceive something disturbing about the duke’s emissary, but he could not place exactly what it was. He dismissed the thought for more important matters, and bowed simultaneously with Demitriian.

The nobleman motioned to a wet human standing outside the tent. 'Bring these gentlemen some warm cider, and something to dry themselves with.' The human servant disappeared, only to return shortly with the requested items. The bickering officers had migrated to another table, and after the servant was dismissed the woodelves were alone with Porthano. 'You have traveled far and are weary. Would you like to sleep before I debrief you?'

Simultaneously, Greywood blurted, 'Aye!' while Cyan choked a 'No' through his exhausted lips. Porthano gazed from Cyan to Greywood, who mumbled a weak, 'ahh…no, my lord.'

'Good!' Porthano reached behind him to the table of officers and snatched one of the maps they were currently pondering. 'As your master may have told you, the temple was discovered over a month ago. Our scholars tell us it dates back before the Talmatha!'

Cyan’s brows raised. 'Wow. Over three thousand years.'

'Three thousand four hundred to be more precise. To the time when the elves still followed Saint Shalis. You see….' He pointed out the tent to the front of the massive remains of the temple. 'Above the entryway you can still make out part of a griffin carving, the symbol of the mythical paladin, Shalis.

Demitriian’s eyes returned to the table. 'But it looks like there’s nothing left.' His gaze fell upon the map, which lay before him, a labyrinth of tunnels from the look of it. 'Or is there?'

The nobleman smiled at him. 'Oh there’s plenty left, my woodland friend. So far we have excavated and discovered over six miles of tunnels under the temple ruins. Several artifacts have been removed from the debris, and we have made many exciting discoveries.'

Greywood sighed with exhaustion. 'Sounds great. But I know we have not traveled for days through hostile goblin lands just to help you dig. Shir-khan spoke of dark elves. What of their involvement?'

'Ah, yes. The dark elves. Three weeks ago we breached a wall on the fourth tier….ummmmm…..here,' he pointed to a spot on the map, ' into a tunnel which plunged into to depths of the earth, and a scouting party was sent ahead. The following day, their bodies were discovered, hacked by swords. They had wound their way to a tunnel, which was covered in runes, from floor to ceiling and stretching as far as one could see; scriptures of some sort. We stopped work that day for a formal ceremony, and then sent our linguists down the following day with a company of soldiers. It was not long before they met the assailants, du-urgha, three of them. We lost two more soldiers, and a third was wounded with a deadly poison. We took one of theirs down in the fray, but the others fled down the passage. The poisoned soldier died hours later.' Palanthas and Demitriian exchanged concerned glances as the nobleman continued. 'Our experts have identified the poison as the venom from a spider unique to several forests, including the forest your clan calls ‘home’. Our healers are powerless against it. I turned to the druids in hopes of finding a defense against this menace, for I am sure we have not seen the last of the du-urgha. Shir-khan assured me you would be able to help.'

Cyan addressed Greywood in their tribal tongue, 'Coral Spider?'

'Not know. Maybe Ridge Spider. Deadly venom, even to Druuad. Hope for Coral, we dead if Ridge.'

Cyan reverted back to proper elven. 'Only if you get hit my slow friend! Hehe!'

Palanthas and Demitriian chuckled while Porthano looked on puzzled.

'We can help you high brother. Assemble a war party to back us up, six or seven, and we will descend after a decent rest. The Du-urgha get to live for a few more hours!'

Later that evening the party entered the ruins. Seven high elven fighters followed the two druids through the maze of tunnels, and behind them were ten linguists and ten scribes. The warriors whispered comments about how foolishly the plant lovers casually walked the passages. They were oblivious to the fact that the entire entourage was really being led by two very skilled and stealthy rangers far ahead of them. As they walked, Cyan noticed that there were lit torches affixed to the walls at various intervals. He was about to comment on it when he rounded a corner and was met by three humans with picks, hacking away at a crumbled section of wall. 'Ah. Oh course,' he thought to himself, 'human diggers.'

Almost as if reading his mind, Greywood suddenly remarked, 'These torches hurt my eyes! Ruins my infravision!'

'And it will ruin the Du-urgha’s vision as well. Remember, at least we spend some time on the surface; it may work to our advantage.'

The rest of the journey was uneventful. The group arrived at the ‘Hall of Scriptures’ as it was now called, and much to Greywood’s disappointment, it was abandoned. The teams of scribes and linguists spread out and began the task of deciphering the strange carvings. Greywood and Cyan moved on ahead, the elven soldiers several paces behind them. They walked down the rune covered passage until Cyan noticed a deer antler on the path in front of him. Had one of the soldiers seen this, it would have seemed out of place in the dank dungeon, but Cyan knew it was a sign from his Sentinel to ‘stay put and cover. I’ll be right back’, and he quickly scooped it up and put it in his belt and pressed himself against the wall. Greywood instinctively did the same. Seeing this, the soldiers did likewise, some fearfully, and some with eagerness for vengeance for their slain brethren. Many minutes passed, and not one elf made a sound. Finally, Greywood with his eye trained on the wall in front of him caught a glimpse of something moving with his infravision, but just for a second. Shortly afterwards Demitriian was standing in front of him, covered in his camouflage which had been turned inside-out revealing a darker, black and grey covering which blended well with the rock walls.

'My lord, there is a scouting party of du-urgha ahead, three in all. They are in a side chamber. They have heard the scribes enter, and are plotting their attack.'

Greywood’s heart began to race with anticipation. His hand gripped the hilt of his scimitar and the sound of scraping metal could be heard as he slid it from its sheath. On the opposite wall of the passage, Cyan was receiving the same news, and Greywood smiled as heard the sound of metal being unsheathed across from him.

A soldier approached Greywood from behind, a bit surprised to see the heavily clothed elf standing in front of the druid. 'What has happened?'

'Nothing. My friend tells me there are cave lizards ahead, nothing we can’t handle alone.' He did not need to look at Cyan to know that he was scowling at this last statement. 'Stay here. We’ll be right back. If we need you……we’ll come back and get you. Hehe.'

Demitriian smiled and pulled his hood down, and disappeared. Greywood motioned to Cyan to continue. Sword in hand, he did.

The passage continued for thirty or forty more yards before it came to a ‘t’ intersection. There was a red feather on the ground against the wall of the left passage. Cyan picked it up, and he and Greywood proceeded down that passage. After ten more yards they came to a doorway, the wooden door long since rotted from its hinges, its remains lying to the side. Whispering could be heard beyond. Greywood placed his scimitar quietly on the floor and uttered a quick prayer. His skin began to blister and suddenly welts cropped up over the entire surface, hard, and sharp as thorns. Cyan, meanwhile, uttered his own prayer, and by the time he picked his scimitar up, his skin had wrinkled and hardened, darkening and forming knots in various places, not unlike a tree one might find in a typical forest.

Without a word, the pair slipped into the chamber beyond the doorway.

'I will cast on your signal, Bhakaarun,' the dark elf had just finished coating his short sword with the deadly spider venom and was placing the vial back into one of his pouches.

'Two shall be dead by then, you concentrate on the ones who try to flee.'

The three Du-urgha began to move towards the doorway when one heard a whispering voice say, 'Fyre  .' Before he could alert the others, a ball of fire pummeled him in the head, knocking him to the ground. A second dark elf reeled towards the source of the small inferno, but was quickly cut down by two arrows, each striking him in the back of the neck. The third, stunned as he was, instinctively drew two short swords from his belt and prepared to defend himself. He barely parried a scimitar blow which was aimed at his chest and threw his attacker back against the wall.

'Greywood! He’s too quick!'

Greywood, having just completed his firey spell rushed to the aid of his companion. The dark elf, short sword in each hand, was now battling two scimitar wielding druids….. and was pushing them back! Palanthas and Demitriian were reloading their bows, hoping to drop the ferocious Du-urgha before he could land a blow with his poisonous blades. Demitriian drew back, and focused his gaze on the exposed flesh on the neck of his target…..then suddenly, his bowstring snapped!

Palanthas fired, what he thought was a perfect shot into the back of his lord’s attacker, but it stuck harmlessly from the finely crafted du-urgha chainmail. The dark elf easily parried a blow from Greywood, and spun, putting Cyan between him and the arrows which seemed to come from nowhere. Greywood leaped to follow, but found that his feet were suddenly rooted to the floor! He looked behind him, and saw the charred angered face of the dark elf he had blasted earlier. The Du-urgha rushed him, sword flailing, and the druid parried as best he could in his current predicament.

Next to him, Cyan was now battling the double sword wielding dark elf alone. The blows were coming in fast and hard. As he parried one, another was already landing. Cyan parried one blow and quickly thrust forward with all his might, glancing a blow off his opponent’s armor. The Du-urgha swung again, knocking Cyan to the ground, and raised his sword for the finishing blow. Arrows continued to rain down upon the dark elf as he swung, and many had penetrated his armor causing him to lose focus on his victim. The sword came down, and Cyan rolled out of the way as it struck stone. The druid scrambled to his feet, careful of the path of arrows emanating from the shadows in the far corner of the room. The Du-urgha had had enough, and slipped out a doorway to the left of the one the wood elves entered through.

Cyan then turned his attention to Greywood just in time to see his scimitar get knocked from his hand. His friend was helpless, no weapon, and apparently rooted to the floor somehow. Greywood began to chant a spell, but Cyan knew he would not get to finish it. He charged forward as the Du-urgha raised his sword, and suddenly a figure appeared, Demitriian. The ranger hurled his body at the dark elf, knocking him to the ground. Greywood finished his spell, and another burst of fire struck his enemy, engulfing him in yet another mass of flames. Cyan rushed forward to finish the dark elf, but the second blast was more than he could withstand, and he lay dead already. Demitriian pushed the corpse off of him, and stood. He looked at Cyan who was eyeing him with horror. Demitriian followed the druid’s gaze to his own midsection, and he noticed a small crimson stain on his outer armor. Without a word, he grasped the leather garment, and noted that it was sliced, and he became aware of the familiar warmth of blood oozing down his flank.

'Demitriian,' Cyan walked towards the wounded ranger who was now beginning to feel the burning sensation of the poison.

Demitriian collapsed to one knee as Cyan dropped his scimitar and clutched the dying half elf by the arm.

'Bring him to me, Cy!' Greywood shouted.

Demitriian began to sweat profusely as the deadly poison worked its way through his veins, and his head drooped as consciousness escaped him. Palanthas emerged from the darkness and helped support his fallen companion. The pair dragged him to Greywood, who was still secured fast to the floor. The druid clutched Demitriian’s body and whispered, 'Not like this, old friend.' Cyan and Palanthas noted tears welling up in the wood elf’s eyes, which he quickly closed as he began to pray. Greywood prayed for the healing power of his god as he had so many times in the past, only this time, he was not sure if it would be able to stop the deadly du-urgha poison. He could feel the power of his god flow through him as he lay his hands upon the wound in his best friend’s side, and he began to chant loudly. Cyan and his sentinel bowed their heads and began their own prayers. Then slowly…..Demitriian opened his eyes.

'Demetriian!' Greywood clutched his friend close. A wave of relief washed over Cyan’s face as he realized their healing was effective against the poison. 'I thought you were on your way out.'

The ranger took a deep breath and forced the words out of his mouth, 'You owe me a leather shirt.'

The Du-urgha attacks nearly stopped over the next year, over a dozen of them having fallen to the mighty protectors of the Hall of Scriptures. The scribes and linguists worked tirelessly at the translation of the runes, yet no progress at all was made in the first six months. Eventually though, the cryptic code was broken, and the words slowly began to take meaning.

It was believed that the Scriptures spoke of an ancient religious text, once believed to be but a myth by those who have heard tales of it, and that it was hidden far away on another continent by the knights of old. The writings also spoke of a mysterious prophecy, one which involved the coming of an immortal being to the world of Norrath. This raised many debates among the elves, and called the attention of the nearby dukes. It was shortly after these findings, that Shir-khan and a small entourage of druuad traveled to the ruins to meet with the companions.

They met in a small chamber on the fourth tier, not far from the Hall of Scriptures. The elderly wood elf calmly held a lit pipe in his mouth while he organized his thoughts. The eight druuads and their sentara-primari sat patiently. After several moments he removed the pipe from his lips, 'My sons, I have spent the past month fasting and in prayer. I have asked Tunare for guidance in your current task, and I am afraid the signs she sent are not good.' The wood-elves listened intently while their master continued, 'I believe the Great Mother has told me that these writings on the wall serve as a warning of a great evil which will remain hidden unless disturbed. After realizing this, I undertook an old druidic tradition of ‘Noctolstus Corpa’, or ‘hypnotic composition’. The druuad in the chamber had heard of this ancient art which involved intense meditating while scribing onto a sheet of parchment. Very little is understood by those beneath Chieftain status, but it is well known that the process is extremely taxing on the mortal body, some Chieftains have even died while performing this; all who perform this will age at least ten years. A small percentage of those lucky enough to complete the process wake to find words scrawled on the parchment Because of these dangers, the tradition has nearly died out. The druuad in the chamber listened intently as their master revealed the message he had miraculously been given.

'...and the Lord of Hate did listen as his people called to Him. The High Priest stood upon the mountain, bathed in the blood of the sinners, his disciples kneeling below. In their time of need he pleaded, and unto them was given a vision. Before them stood the Leviathan, each head speaking in unison, 'The Father will resurrect the messiah and give the command to cleanse his people'.' Shir-khan returned the pipe to his lips and out of the corner of his mouth said, 'These are the words I found I had written.'

The woodelves in the chamber were greatly disturbed by this message, and quietly pondered its meaning. Cyan was the first to break the silence, 'Master, what do you believe?'

'I believe this passage is part of the prophecy that the Hall speaks of, a prophecy which we, no doubt, do not want to see come to pass.'

The druids nodded in agreement. One of the younger druuad stood and addressed the elder wood elf, 'And what of this text the linguists say was hidden by a forgotten knighthood?'

'If it has anything to do with this prophecy, my son, then the knights were right in removing it from the hands of us mortals.'

Cyan stood next, 'We must tell Porthano of this at once, so that he may inform the dukes before any harm is done!'

Shir-khan held up a hand, 'Calm yourself, Cyan.' Cyan and the younger druuad sat back in their chairs. 'Our High brethren do not look well upon our ways. We cannot go to them with this divine message as they will quickly dismiss it as heresy. I have spoken with many of the heads of churches and most feel as I do in that the Hall of Scriptures should be disturbed no more. Their opinion bodes well with the dukes. We must hope that they can convince them to stop the excavation.' The Arch-druuad turned his attention specifically to Cyan and his three companions, 'For now, continue with your work. I will be returning home soon, and Tunare willing, so will you.' Shir-khan stood and bid the companions farewell. Shortly thereafter he left for his homeland, and Cyan, Greywood, Demitriian, and Palanthas returned to their posts in the Hall of Scriptures.

The translation of the Scriptures remained a debate among the dukes for a short time later. Many wanted to continue deciphering the Scriptures found in the catacombs beneath the ruined temple, and begin to search for the text which, some believed, revealed the secret of immortality. A small percentage of the elves however, began to fear the excavation project, which was now becoming known throughout the continent, and felt that if this text were purposely hidden long ago, then it was not meant to be disturbed.

A meeting had been planned to discuss the matter, one year after the Hall of Scriptures was discovered. All of the Dukes were invited to attend, as well as the bishops and arch-bishop. Several high sages and historians were in attendance, wood elf chieftains, and numerous nameless others whose opinions were well respected. In addition, were two wood elf druids and two half-elf rangers, their own involvement having contributed greatly to the ongoing success of the excavation project.

Duke Latharan entered the tent and all became suddenly quiet. He walked forward and stood next to Porthano, and addressed the crowd, 'My brothers and sisters, I thank thee for attending such a critical discussion. One year ago we uncovered the remains of a temple, a temple to gods long forgotten. Among the numerous discoveries made, was a hall chronologing the thoughts of a single knight, a high-ranking member in this extinct order, no doubt. We are certain that his writings speak of the Shalithian Codex, which had previously been dismissed as a myth. The linguists are far from translating the Scriptures in their entirety, yet to this point, they believe that the knight fears this Codex, the ‘Book of Life’, which supposedly holds the secret of immortality within its pages.' There was much whispering throughout the crowd after this last statement.

Greywood leaned close to Cyan, 'Maybe he didn’t like living.'

'Shhhh!' was his reply.

'According to the knight, the Codex was taken by ship, far to the northern lands, to a continent called ‘Anto-nicath’ which linguists say means ‘New World’. The next set of passages is undecipherable at this point, but it is believed that the book was destroyed or possibly hidden.' After taking a deep breath and gazing throughout the crowd, the duke continued, 'The message also contains information on what we believe to be a prophecy of sorts. According to this prophecy, the Codex will be used to call upon a messenger of the gods, who will come to its people in their time of need. The rest of the message, should we decide to continue deciphering it, should tell us where the Codex can be found, and who, or what, this ‘Savior’ is. With that said, I will turn the meeting over to Arch-Bishop Leolaand, who has a strong opinion on the matter.'

Duke Latharan took a step backwards and an elderly high elf dressed in ornate robes and hat approached the crowd of listeners. 'Children of Tunare, I come today to plead with you. These elves, though their intentions are good, know not what they are embarking upon! The writings pay testimony to a god which does not exist, and in its absence can only be demonic influences!' The Arch-bishop held his arms towards the heavens as muffled gasps could be heard throughout the crowd. 'I tell you, brothers and sisters, if this knight who had the forethought to record the past for us were truly good as he did claim, listen to his own words, the book was destroyed! Why would one of goodness destroy an item which grants eternal life and calls down the gods from heaven? I will tell you why, brothers and sisters. It is because the book was evil! Immortality in itself is evil. Do you not want to one day stand before Tunare, to be judged by her and be welcomed into her kingdom?' Many of the elves in the crowd exchanged nods, 'And I tell you this, brothers and sisters, a book of evil which claims to call forth the messengers of the gods calls forth only one thing…..demons! If it truly does exist still, then we must take it upon ourselves to continue this good knight’s quest in keeping it hidden from those who would use it for their own gain!' There was much discussion throughout the audience at this point. The Archbishop could see that many of his listeners were blinded by their excitement of this new discovery, and were now considering this new possibility. He silently thanked the Great Mother for giving him the power to reach these very important people.

He was about to turn the discussion back to duke Latharan when a voice called out from the back of the crowd, 'Your grace, we do not yet know if the book is truly evil, and the writings will obviously reveal more. What is the harm in continuing with the translations until its meaning is fully understood?' All eyes turned to the back of the room, to the ranger who asked the question. Cyan’s mouth dropped open as he looked over at Demitriian in surprise.

The Arch-Bishop looked questioningly towards the back as Duke Latharan pushed angrily past him, 'I was not aware that any humans had been invited to this discussion!' Porthano leaned close to the duke and whispered something in his ear. The duke’s expression turned from one of anger to one of reluctant acceptance, and he mumbled something beneath his breath. 'Continue.'

The Archbishop resumed his position in front of the crowd. 'Good sir, from a political standpoint, many resources are being exhausted in the pursuit of this mysterious translation. If it reveals what we think it reveals, then twice the effort will be required to seal it back up. If it is discovered however, that this ‘Shalithian Codex’ is benign in nature, then I do not believe that the dukes will wish to spend more of their precious resources launching an expedition to recover a book dedicated to gods which do not exist.' The Archbishop took a step forward and his gaze penetrated Demitriian as he continued. 'And I will tell you this, from a religious standpoint, if we continue the translating, and the secret of the Scriptures is unlocked, what is to stop those of evil intent from using this knowledge to pursue the Codex on their own? No, my friend, the meaning of those writings is best left unknown to the temptations of us mortals, and the Hall itself is best left buried from the eyes of those who would undertake its translation.' The crowd was silent for several more moments. Cyan and Palanthas looked to the ground to avoid the eyes of the crowd staring in their direction. Demetriian simply shrugged as if the Archbishop had sufficiently answered his question, and Greywood nonchalantly covered his mouth with his hand to hide his snickering.

The Hall of Scriptures was abandoned shortly after the meeting of the dukes. The vote was split nearly fifty-fifty, but eventually it was decided that the Archbishop was right in his foresight, by continuing with the translations the dukes had everything to lose, and probably very little to gain. The linguists and scribes were sent on their way, the command posts were packed up save one, and the long process of burying the catacombs began.

The wood elves returned to their clan, feeling like they had just wasted the past year at the ruins, yet all agreed with the decision that was reached. The four friends went their separate ways for a time, each trying to regain some of the time that was lost in the catacombs. Cyan spent much of his time with Shir-khan, learning the ways of the elder druuad. He was one of twelve druuad who were chosen to succeed the elder wood elf upon his departure from this world, and he was already falling behind the other candidates in training due to his last assignment.

Greywood had taken an apprentice, a young wood elf named Aridias, and had begun the arduous task of preparing him for the rites of his order. He was eager to learn the ways of the druuad, and Greywood found himself constantly frustrated with his student’s impatience. Aridias was however, the son of his warrior brother, Talisar, and he had promised his brother that his son would be ordained as druuad if it killed him. So he spent day and night teaching the boy his prayers, and instilling the values Shir-khan would look for when choosing his druuad.

Palanthas and Demitriian had agreed to use the time to travel to Xandara, a city about a month’s journey away where Palanthas’ human mother worked in the kitchen of an estate. Palanthas had not seen his mother in almost ten years and he welcomed the upcoming visit. He arrived at the city alone however, halfway there Demitriian stating he had business in a neighboring duchy.

Four years passed since the ruins were buried. Palanthas had spent two years with his mother before returning to the clan. Demitriian was gone almost the full four years, apparently having spent the time with the centaur of the Eiluuan Mountains. There was much unrest in the lands surrounding the Clan of the White Eagle; Duke Ildessien had been overthrown by a small band of radicals who had rallied his people in their favor, and the others were on the brink of war trying to decide whether or not to help him regain his position. In addition to this, the clan wars which rarely occurred, had increased, and the Clan of the White Eagle had found itself involved in more than one confrontation as of late.

Greywood was sitting by a nearby stream sipping wine from a flask when Cyan approached. He had sent Aridias away on a quest as part of his training, Cyan however, knew that it was more to get him out of Greywood’s hair for a while. He stood for a moment longer until Greywood broke the silence, 'You have something to tell me, old friend.'

'Yes.'

'Then speak; my patience has been worn thin these past years by a certain pupil who insists on sending me to my grave!'

Cyan smiled a half smile. 'Shir-khan spoke with me last night. He is sending us to Cardiim. The dukes are meeting there, and our presence has been requested.'

Greywood turned around, puzzled. 'By who?'

'Duke Latharan.'

Greywood took another sip from his flask while he pondered this. 'Our people are nomads who happen to be in what he calls ‘his land’. Since when has a duke ever wanted the wood elves involved in their political matters, and more importantly, what makes him think we care to be involved?'

'Indeed, it is troubling my friend. I would dismiss it as well, but Shir-khan wishes us to go.'

Greywood shook his head in disgust. Duke Latharan had been gracious to the wood elves and established a portion of his duchy, which he promised would not be settled by high elves, so that the Clans may continue to exist peacefully among them; whereas previous dukes had been known to actively hunt down the tribesmen in an attempt to rid them of their land. Still though, he disliked the governing structure of his ‘civilized’ brethren, and detested the fact that his master was sending him to take part in their political games. Suddenly though, the realization came to Greywood that Aridias would be returning soon from his quest, and his relaxing visits to the stream would come quickly to a halt. He gathered himself up and tucked his flask into a pouch. 'Well, if the Arch Druuad wishes us to go to Cardiim, then to Cardiim we must go!'

The capital city was a fifteen day journey for most caravans leaving from the forest where the Clan of the White Eagle made its home, but Cyan, Greywood, and their two Sentinels arrived on the tenth day. They spent the remainder of the time in one of the lavish estates owned by the duke, praying, and meditating.

The unrest in the land seemed as though it had somehow missed the capital city of Cardiim. The people were vibrant and friendly, and seemed so full of hope. It was refreshing for the companions, yet they still interacted with them as little as possible, not wanting to involve themselves in the affairs of the city-folk.

When they arrived at the meeting hall, they were met by literally hundreds of elves from all backgrounds; not unlike the meeting the elves witnessed years ago in a tent outside the abandoned ruins, except that this was on a much grander scale. In addition to the sages, historians, and religious figureheads present at the first meeting, though, the elves noticed a group of forty or fifty of elves standing at attention in a far corner of the massive chamber. They were standing in ranks, dressed in identical green and brown leather armor, and displayed a banner which the none of the companions recognized as the ensign flown by any of the dukes.

The human servant who was seating the guests ushered the four into a bench near the front of the crowd. They took their seats quietly, curious now as to the purpose of such a grand meeting. Cyan scanned the seats where many of the bishops were now sitting and noted that Arch Bishop Leolaand was not present, or was perhaps, late.

As several dukes and duchesses were escorted into the chamber, the crowd stood and bowed. The detachment of soldiers in the corner saluted all of them, making it difficult to determine who they served. As the guests returned to their seats, the meeting came to order. Cyan saw that most of the dukes were present, and he also recognized Porthano among them, but he did not see Duke Latharan, who apparently was the one who organized the meeting. His chief emissary stepped forward in his place.

'Hail Brethren! I am Porthano, emissary to Duke Latharan. His Lordship wished me to call you here today to tell you of our progress with the Shalithian Project.'

Cyan almost fell out of his bench in surprise.

Porthano held several parchments over his head for the crowd to see. 'We have found the section referencing the Shalithian Codex, and completed its translation.'

The crowd leaned forward, wide-eyed with anticipation. Cyan could hear his own heart racing in the silence as he shook his head in disbelief.

'The Codex does exist, and it does indeed contain the secret of eternal life!'

The sound of hundreds of cheers and applause roared out of the massive hall. Nobles and dignitaries shook hands and cheered, the bishops smiled and nodded their approval, and Porthano felt like a hero. Besides the four companions seated near the front row, only the strange detachment of guards remained silent.

As the noise died down, the duke’s emissary continued. 'We have set up a task force to undertake the excavation and translation of the remaining scriptures. It will be made up of soldiers, scribes, linguists, and slaves, supported by all the dukes yet united under one sign. It will be incredibly dangerous, given the dark elf involvement and the recent attacks from a group of rebels who wish to take this holy artifact for themselves.'

Greywood leaned close to Cyan and whispered, 'I thought the book was evil.'

'It is!' He whispered in return, 'Porthano has somehow convinced the dukes otherwise.'

'This does not look good.' Palanthas nudged Demitriian who stared blankly toward the speaker.

They returned their attention to the front, where Porthano was still speaking. 'I would like to personally thank the one who has volunteered to head this task force, and vowed to speed the recovery of the Book of Life. Demitriian, if you would come forward, your warriors await your command!'

To the ultimate shock and horror of Greywood and his companions, his Sentara-Primari stood. The crowd let out a thunderous applause, and the mysterious soldiers saluted. Demitriian walked to the front of the grand hall and stood next to Porthano who bowed low. The half-elf raised a hand in gratitude, which sent the wild crowd cheering even louder. The soldiers, who Cyan could now see were assembled under an ensign of four interlocked bear claws, held their salute the entire time the crowd cheered.

The rest of the meeting was a blur to the three companions. Demitriian promised the crowd a swift translation of the Scriptures, and stated that he personally would lead the expedition to retrieve the Book of Life. He preached how there would soon be no disease, no sicknesses, and no death in the land of his people, and that the cities would prosper. The last image burned into Greywood’s memory was Demetriian leading the detachment of soldiers from the building.

After the meeting, Greywood, Cyan, and Palanthas stood outside the great hall in silence. None had said a word since Demetriian left their side; there were no words which could describe the turmoil of emotions each felt within himself.

Demetriian approached the small group, accompanied by four elves in officers’ uniforms bearing the crest of the bear. He opened his mouth to speak, but any forthcoming words were crammed back down his throat as Greywood’s gauntleted fist cracked against his jaw. The druid suddenly found himself surrounded by the small entourage of officers, sword tips at his throat. He knew he and his companions could easily overcome the inexperienced warriors, but Cyan quickly interceded to prevent the incident from escalating any further.

Demetriian picked himself up out of the dirt where he stumbled after the crushing blow and wiped at a small pool of blood surrounding his nose and upper lip. 'I had hoped things would have been different, master,' the last word spewed forth with bloody sarcasm.

Greywood shoved the sword tips away from his throat as if they were as minor a nuisance as twigs blowing against his skin in a fair wind. 'You two-faced bastard! I should cut your traitorous throat where you stand!'

The half elf had given up wiping blood off his face and was signaling his officers to back off of the furious druid. 'I am the ‘New Hope’ for the high elves. Kill me, and you’ll never see the light of day again!'

'We trusted you, Demetriian! You were like a brother.' Greywood looked to the ground and shook his head in disbelief.

'And that is why I am choosing to let you all live, now.'

The companions were shocked at Demetriian’s conceitedness.

'One of my duties as assigned by the dukes is to hunt down and execute under charge of treason, anyone who aids the rebellion. I am well aware that once the news of this meeting reaches Shir-khan, he will commit the tribe to opposing the recovery of the Codex. That makes the three of you members of the Sedition, and considered outlaws with a price on your heads.'

Cyan stepped between Greywood and Demetriian, 'Demetriian, you know what evil will be unleashed once the Codex is recovered, Shir-khan has warned us all!' The officers shot a concerned glance between them. 'Why do you pursue this? What do you have to gain by…..' Cyan suddenly had a harsh realization, ' ‘The Father will resurrect the messiah and give the command to cleanse his people.’ You’re not going to give the Codex to the dukes, you want to use it to resurrect the demon!'

Demetriian took a step forward and snapped, 'Leave now! And do not return to this city!'. The officers were visibly unnerved. 'And tell Shir-khan that the Order of the Bear is coming for him and his people, to protect the high-elves from his treasonous ways!'

The officers held their swords out threateningly, and began to nudge the companions towards the city gate.

Palanthas pleaded with his old friend, 'Demetriian, you can never keep the Codex from the Dukes, and even if you could, the demon will kill you as soon as it’s released!' The half-elf’s words were drown out by shouts from the officers ordering the wood-elves out of the city.

Before the gates were closed behind them, Demitriian gave one last warning, 'The next time we meet, be assured, it will be in battle.'

Though he seemed to have calmed himself, Greywood’s rage was evident on his face, 'Watch your back old friend, you have made many enemies this day. One in particular will not rest until you are dead.' Greywood shot one last look of hatred at his old companion, then the three outlaws left Cardiim to tell their master of the recent affairs.

Eenan wound his way through the dark catacombs beneath the ruined temple, clutching loose papers, quills, and ink. Being human, he had a difficult time seeing in the darkened passages, and the torches on the walls were spaced far enough apart that he almost had to feel his way along the wall to continue. The elven guard behind him could see well enough, but he was used to leading humans through the tunnels and so he patiently nudged him along at a slow pace. After what seemed like days, the pair rounded a corner into a well-lit tunnel filled with human scribes and a handful of elven guards and linguists. Eenan stared in amazement at the intricate runes carved into the walls from floor to ceiling, and stretching as far as he could see down the hall. The guard nudged him from behind almost knocking his papers from his arms, and he continued down the hall. As he neared the end of the hall, several elven linguists were collecting pages from the human scribes and organizing them into several stacks.

The guard pointed to a vacant spot in front of the rune covered wall. 'You will work here,' and he helped the young man unload his papers onto the floor. 'As you fill the pages, bring them to one of the linguists,' he pointed to the elves behind them. 'You’ll get breaks periodically, and the work shouldn’t be too difficult. Your belongings have been moved to your new quarters on the third tier of the catacombs. Good luck.' The guard departed, leaving Eenan to get accustomed to his new surroundings.

To his left, another young human sat on the floor scrawling notes as he glanced at the wall in front of him. Behind him, papers could be heard shuffling as well as the sounds of subdued conversation as the linguists prepared the materials to be brought to the rooms where they would sit and tediously decipher the words. To his right and further down the hall beyond where the runes ended, Eenan saw an older human squatting down and apparently scrawling something on the walls. As his eyes adjusted, he noticed pictures covering the walls where the man worked; simple pictures drawn with colored chalk, and it reminded him of the pictures drawn by children. He could see a yellow sun, a green hand, and blue smiling faces among numerous others. He smiled as he looked at the drawings until he noticed the older man was watching him. He quickly averted his gaze and returned to his own work. He heard footsteps approach him from behind, and then a voice.

'One less slave in the tunnels, said the prophet!'

Eenan turned to the old man standing next to him. The man had a glazed look on his face, as if his mind had wandered, and forgot to come back. 'Excuse me?'

'One less slave in the tunnels, said the prophet!'

'I’m sorry sir. I don’t think I understand…'

'Hey! Leave him alone!' One of the linguists had noticed the old man and gave him a slight shove in the direction of his colored pictures. 'Get back to your own spot, lunatic. Some of them have real work to do!' The man returned to his drawings, and the high elf addressed Eenan, 'Let us know if he bothers you. We can have him moved.'

'I don’t think he’ll be a bother, but thank-you. What did he mean by ‘one less slave in the tunnels, said the prophet’?'

'Nothing. Poor guy went crazy shortly after they brought him in here. Couldn’t handle the solitude I guess. Now he doesn’t seem to want to leave; just sits there and colors on the walls. Sometimes we let him deliver papers to keep him useful. He’s harmless though; I wouldn’t worry about him.' The linguist returned to the table where the others were still hard at work.

Eenan gulped. He was happy to have been pulled from his job laboring in the fields, but now he wondered how his own sanity would hold up being kept down in this dismal dungeon. He glanced over at the insane man who was now chasing a cockroach across the tunnel. He shook his head and tried to concentrate on his own work. He missed the fields already.

The guard was right. The work was not difficult, and the elves treated the humans well. Breaks came often enough, and the work day was split into three rotating shifts, so there was plenty of leisure time, yet still Eenan’s spirits were low. He had not seen the sun in two weeks, and there seemed to be no end to the ancient runes that covered the Hall of Scriptures.

He was tired. His shift had just ended, and Theolan had just relieved him at his spot on the Wall. He often would acquire pieces of chalk from one of the guard barracks near his own sleeping quarters and give them to the old man who usually sat not far from where he worked. Today he had a blue piece that he was sure the old man would get very excited about, but he had not seen his odd companion the entire shift. Once relieved, he walked to where the old man worked, and saw his pile of broken colored chalks. He placed the new piece on top of the pile, disappointed that he would not see his reaction.

As the scribe prepared to turn and leave, he heard a faint sound further down the hall. It sounded like a scream. Eenan peered through the darkness, but could see nothing. He looked back to the small group behind him, but they were absorbed in their work and apparently heard nothing. Fearing for the old man, he moved forward. Once beyond the torchlight he was forced to feel his way along the wall as he continued. He heard no more sounds, and began to think it was his exhausted imagination, until he saw a faint glow ahead. He continued, and came to an intersection. The hallway to the right was covered in darkness. To the left however, a single flickering torch caused the shadows of several humanoid figures to dance on the wall. Eenan edged closer to the corner, and risked a glance around it. Fear shot through the young man’s soul at what he observed. The light was emanating from a torch, clutched in the dead hand of one of the human scribes who worked near him at the wall. Standing around the corpse holding short swords and whispering to each other were six dark elves, and one half elf. The half elf cocked a pointed ear in his direction, then turned towards him. Eenan gasped as he recognized the half elf, and pressed himself against the wall, trembling with fear.

The whispering stopped, and the torch was extinguished, leaving the scribe in the dark, and hopefully, alone. He waited several minutes before attempting to move. He could hear his own heart beat in his chest, and his breathing seemed to echo off the walls. He fought to control his panic, and slowly began to feel his way along the wall back the way he came. He moved as quietly as he could. As much as he wanted to break into a full sprint, he knew that to do so would undoubtedly alert the murderers to his presence, so he forced himself to move slowly and quietly. He moved his hand along the rough rock walls, retracing his steps. He was now many paces from the intersection, and he began to relax a bit….until something in his mind told him to ‘stop!’ The only sound he could hear was his own breathing. He moved his hand along the wall until he felt something on the stone. It felt almost like…..like leather. He pulled his hand back. His breathing had become more rapid now. He could feel a warm current of air on his face causing the hair to stand up on the back of his neck. Eenan held his breath….yet he could still hear the movement of air in and out of lungs.

'Going somewhere….scribe?'

'So are you standing a watch in the Hall?' The guard at the entrance to the Hall of Scriptures addressed the pair of elven guards who had just approached him. He had a puzzled look on his face; the pair seemed to be guards, definitely elven, yet their features seemed more hardened, much like their barbaric elven brethren who are raised in the woods. In addition, the taller of the pair seemed too big for the uniform he was wearing.

The shorter of the two glanced up at his companion. 'No. As I stated before, my friend Greyw….land, Greyland and I have been sent down to retrieve one of the workers. Here’s our orders,' he produced a piece of parchment for the guard to see, 'and you can see it’s signed by Ensign Yurius himself.'

'You mean ‘Ensign Yurion’?' the guard eyed him questioningly.

The taller of the two guards snapped, 'That’s what he said you imbecile! Ensign Yurion! And he instructed us to return quickly, so the longer you hold us here, the more impatient he becomes. Who are you to question official paperwork which bears the seal of your officer!? Shall I tell him that his orders are only obeyed on the surface, and that down here you seem to think that you’re running the show?!'

The guard seemed a bit uncomfortable at this point. 'Err..ah….no sir. That won’t be necessary. Of course you can proceed.' He stepped aside to allow the two past. As they disappeared down the hall the nervous guard yelled after them, 'And hurry! We don’t want to keep Ensign Yurion waiting!'

Further down the hall, Cyan released an audible sigh. 'That was close. We better hurry before he decides to check into our story.'

'Are you kidding me? I practically had him saluting us!' Greywood chuckled, 'Besides, we’ll be long gone by the time he sends a runner to the surface and back.

The two wood elves made their way around a corner, Palanthas not wanting to risk sneaking past the guard at the entrance, waited in the shadows down the hall behind them. They could see the Hall of Scriptures ahead, and the small crowd of humans and elves busily performing their tasks for their new overlord.

As they neared, Cyan’s mind wandered back to a few weeks ago, when Shir-khan called him, Greywood, and Palanthas into his tent. The Arch-Druuad, visibly concerned with the recent events of the land, was full of hope when the trio sat before him. With him were three high elves, obviously members of the Sedition, and a half elf, who appeared to be garbed as a Sentara-Primari. One of the rebels addressed Cyan and his companions. 'You must return to the Temple of Shalis,' he told them, 'to the Hall of Scriptures.' Cyan winced when he heard this, and Greywood shook his head in disbelief. The Sedition has a spy amongst the minions of Demitriian whose identity is unknown, and one who for years has been compiling information and gathering translations from the Scriptures. He now has enough information for us to work with and needs to be extricated.'

'Wonderful,' Greywood mumbled.

The guard continued, 'The four of you are to leave immediately for the ruins, sneak in, find the operative, and return with him as quickly as possible. There is much planning to be done once he arrives.'

Greywood had an eyebrow raised, 'Excuse me….four of us?'

Shir-khan stepped forward, 'Greywood, this is Running Elk,' he motioned towards the half elf next to him who bowed low, 'he will replace Demitriian as your Sentara-Primari, and will accompany you to the ruins.'

Greywood looked the Sentinel up and down, and then approached the Arch-druuad. 'Forgive me master for speaking bluntly, but it took Demitriian and I years of training and working together, before we functioned as one. I must know his every move, and he must know mine. Further more, I have to know him well enough to trust him with my life.'

Cyan mumbled to Palanthas, 'Like you trusted Demitriian?'

If the druid heard him, he ignored the remark and continued, 'Infiltrating the ruins, as heavily guarded as it is with Demitriian’s men, will require nothing less than our most skilled effort and coordination. He will become more of a burden to us than an asset,' then turning towards the half elf, 'No offense.'

Shir-khan seemed to concede this last statement. 'Then you refuse his help?'

'Yes, master. I will have Cyan and Palanthas at my side. One cannot ask for a more able protector.' He rejoined his companions who were elated by the compliment, and Running Elk was dismissed.

Cyan addressed his master next, 'Master, there may be dozens of workers now in the Hall of Scriptures, most of whom are loyal to Demitriian. How are we to find the spy without alerting the others of our presence….especially if we know not what he looks like?'

Shir-khan moved closer to the druid and smiled at his pupil, 'You will make the ‘Sign of One’, and the one you seek will return the gesture.'

Cyan and Greywood exchanged puzzled looks.

Shir-khan continued, 'Demitriian has a strong hold on the people of this land…people of all races. Comparably, there are very few who were not deceived by his lies. The Sedition is attempting to unite those people….elf and human alike. The ‘Sign of One’ symbolizes this coalition.' The wood elf’s fist moved to his chest as he spoke, palm side in, mimicking the high elven greeting, yet the three companions noticed that his index finger was discreetly extended.

'The ‘Sign of One’,' Cyan smiled, and all three mimicked the gesture.

Cyan’s thoughts returned to his task at hand. They had managed to secure two sets of guard uniforms, and had successfully made their way to the hall where the spy was waiting for them. He only hoped finding him would be just as easy.

The two approached several linguists huddled around a small table. 'Hail!' Cyan said as he made the ‘Sign of One’.

'Hail, brother.' replied one of the high elves, returning the greeting with a closed fist to his chest.

They moved on. Cyan addressed several more linguists with the ‘Sign of One’, and Greywood did the same…..but to no avail. Cyan was becoming concerned as he and his companion met in the center of the hall. 'No luck.'

'Me either,' Greywood looked over at several elven guards leisurely leaning against a wall. 'You know, we assumed that the one stealing the translations was a linguist. It’s not impossible that he’s actually a guard.'

'Of course!' the druid was already eyeing another set of guards. 'You check them, I’ll talk to these.'

The pair split up briefly, only to return unsuccessful. They were becoming more and more concerned as the minutes passed. Cyan shook his head in disbelief. 'Perhaps he’s not here right now. He may be in his quarters.' He looked up at Greywood who was thoughtfully eyeing the numerous human slaves scribing the runes onto their parchment. They exchanged knowing looks, and a nod, and then they began greeting the men as they worked. Several of the linguists regarded this as odd, but they quickly returned to their own affairs. Cyan and Greywood reached the end of the hall almost simultaneously, neither had found the Sedition’s spy.

'Damn him!' Greywood exclaimed under his breath. 'Didn’t he know we would be coming for him?'

Before Cyan could respond, the pair was interrupted by an old man who pushed in between the two. 'One less slave in the tunnels, said the prophet!'

The wood elves eyed each other suspiciously, and Cyan slowly made the ‘Sign of One’.

The expression on the old man’s face changed from one of bewilderment to one of relief. 'And today is the day!' He placed his fist to his chest, palm side in, with his index finger fully extended, then he bowed low. 'Marrs Mendohlan, at your disposal good sirs.' Then after straightening back up, 'As much as you gentlemen may wish to stay, I beg of you that we may depart immediately. I have not had any ale in years, and I fear my hands may be permanently stained from this blasted chalk!' The druids exchanged astonished looks. Without another word, the old man cast his chalk to the ground, and the group left the ruins, returning to the Clan of the White Eagle where Marrs would divulge all that he had gathered over the years.

Cyan, Greywood, Palanthas, and Marrs prepared to board the large vessel that would take them to the New World. It had been almost three weeks since they returned Marrs from the catacombs, and the information he possessed alarmed the woodelves. He described the process of translating the Scriptures; how the scribes would copy the runes from the walls to parchment, and then pass these parchments to the numerous linguists working for Demitriian. They in turn would organize and divide the parchments to be translated, and each would translate no less than every third page. Demitriian claimed it was for efficiency. Marrs had access to these documents on numerous occasions and knew that it was so that Demetriian alone would be able to read the translations in their entirety. The Dark Overlord would make regular reports to his men as well as the dukes, and Marrs noted that what he reported was not at all what was in the Scriptures. Through his reports, the high elves believed the Shalithian Codex was truly the 'Book of Life', a bible of sorts, which would bring unimaginable rewards. The dukes were eager to obtain this artifact, and supplied Demetriian with anything he wished for in obtaining this goal. The truth was known only to Demetriian, and a harmless, half crazed human who often would carry papers for him from office to office.

Through his espionage, Marrs learned that the Scriptures were indeed written by an ancient knight, belonging to the order of Saint Shalis. He told of a demonlord of incredible power, who had been summoned and released unto the world. This demonlord gave to his wizards the secret of immortality, and they began to Bind the souls of his warriors to the earth. Whenever one was slain in battle, his naked form would instantly be seen clawing its way out of the virgin soil outside the Evil One's temple.

A great battle ensued between the forces of good and evil, and ultimately the armies of the Dark One were overcome. Those whose souls had not been bound, were executed. Those who could not be slain were imprisoned, and eventually exiled. The demonlord was cast into a magical prison, held fast by seven divine seals. The Seals were then cast throughout the world, so that no two could be retrieved quickly. His demise was chronicled by the knighthood in a text they referred to as the Shalithian Codex, to be kept in the event that the demonlord escaped, the knights would know how to once again defeat him. It described explicitly how the Seals were designed and where they were kept; unfortunately though, this information could also be used to break them. The knights however, knew that the information was safe as long as it remained in their hands.

Years later, prophets began speaking of the release of the demonlord. Their prophecy was very specific, though it did not tell when this event would take place. The knighthood chronicled this in the Shalithian Codex, and prepared themselves in case the prophecy came to pass......it did not.

Centuries passed, the lands were rebuilt, and people began to forget the great evil which once threatened their existence. The knighthood began to die out, as a new, more popular religion began to take root. It was the last few existing knights who realized that if someone came for the Shalithian Codex, they no longer had the power to stop them. It was decided that the Codex would be hidden far away, in a land where its people were unaware of the demonlord's existence. The remaining knights left for the New World, to fulfill this final quest.

Only one stayed behind, in the temple of Saint Shalis, to leave the only existing record of the Codex, chiseled on the walls which would one day become his tomb. He was unaware that his actions would become the map for a power driven half elf bent on undoing all that his knighthood had accomplished.

Demitriian had told his followers that he now knew where to find the Book of Life, and it was not long before he organized a search party to accompany him to the continent of Anto-nicath. With the dukes' permission, he and his party left by ship immediately, and had at least a week head start on the woodelf hunters.

Shir-khan, accompanied by many of his clansmen gathered at the docks to bid the Hunters farewell. He wished them a swift journey and safe return, though he knew that the woodelves might never make it back. As the large ship raised its sails, Shir-khan pondered something else the elder human had told him of the Scriptures, 'The prophecy states that the Sevvac-Tahn will raise an army to do battle with the demonlord and his new disciples once he returns.' The Arch-druuad had only heard the title 'Sevvac-Tahn' once before in a religious text he was reading. It was an ancient phrase, which means 'Chosen-One'. He uttered a quick prayer and the companions boarded the wooden vessel.

The storyteller paused as the small door in the Fool's Gold was thrown open. A rough looking wood elf garbed in tattered, but unidentifiable armor peered inside and scanned the crowd. When he saw the elder human seated in the corner he held his fist against his breast, with his index finger extended. 'Hail, old friend!'

The storyteller returned the 'Sign of One'. 'Hail, Cyan!'

'He is here.'

'I know.' The sage began gathering his belongings and stood. The druid returned outside.

One of the halflings near the storyteller spoke up, 'wait! What happened after Demitriian got to the New World?'

'Well, obviously he soon found that the secret of immortality is no secret at all here, as many of the wizards who were banished from the elven lands found these shores. Shortly after arriving here, Demitriian met a wizard by the name of Zephros who, unaware of the half-elf's evil intentions, bound his soul to the earth. He then did likewise for his men. He was soon betrayed, and later followed Cyan O'Duinn in the pursuit of stopping the Evil One.' The old man set down his mug and picked up his staff, 'I'm afraid the rest of the story has yet to be told, my little friends. If you will all excuse me, I must go now.'

Geno, re-armored once again, stepped in front of the old man, 'Marrs, wait. We're coming with you.'

The old man glanced over from him to Sparhow who was nodding in agreement.

'Very well then. We must hurry. The Hunters await!' Marrs made the 'Sign of One' to the two halflings.

Geno bows, then makes the 'Sign of One'.

Sparhow makes the 'Sign of One'.

The three emerge from the Fool's Gold into the center of town. An armored man runs past the group. Others are sitting on the ground. A wizard meditates nearby.

Nethander shouts 'Can anyone give me a SOW for corpse retrieval?'

Kaylan auctions 'selling earring +3 int'

Cyan begins to cast a spell.

Marrs feels the spirit of the wolf enter his body.

Cyan begins to cast............

And the story continues.