The Ring of Time

I found this while learning again about Wovoka ("Old Man Jack"), by accident.

This is a FORGOTTEN REALMS novel, the first part of it, written about 20 years ago (c. 1995-1996), by hand.

Anyway, for the record, here goes...



Birth is never easy, the new life is only brought into this world through much effort and pain. Perhaps none knew this as well as a certain lady of Easting, Atreya by name. She was the wife of Bronwyn, the seventh son of Anwa. Their life was a simple one, goverened by the rythym of the seasons and the coming of the harvest. Bronwyn sowed her field and in due course her time did come. In attendance was the midwife Nataeja, a woman of many years and much wisdom, skilled in herb-lore and possessing fey knowledge. Never had she delivered stillborn and never had she seen such as came to pass on the night of AtreyaÕs labour. From dusk to dawn, Atreya pushed and moaned, and when she was done seven children had come to this world and she had left it. The lives of the first six are of no consequence. As for the seventh, Farwyn by name, his is a story that deserves to be told.




The last light of day died beyond the Sunset Mountains. In the gathering dusk, six riders picked their way through the rubble strewn floor of Skull Gorge. No bird sang, not a rider spoke. All was silence but for the endless song of the River Reaching. Along the northern side of the river, they came upon a cleft in the gorge wall. The first rider, a tall man in a cote of ring mail, stopped and dismounted. Handing his reins to the second, he approached the edge of the cleft. Spear in hand, he came to the outer cleft wall whereupon strange runes were inscribed. Slowly, he brought the blade of the black spear to rest upon the angular inscriptions. Upon contact, the head of the spear emanated a soft blue glow.
ÒAtienne, the other sideÓ, said the first, whereupon the sixth dismounted and let her reins fall from delicate hands. An elf of unearthly beauty, she approached the outer wall of the cleft and stood directly across from the first. From the folds of her robe she produced a small piece of clay and flattened it upon the runes, so that in all respects it was perfectly smooth. Weaving her hands in symmetric patterns, she intoned words of power whose very nature seemed to be that of something which existed outside the sphere of mortal consciousness. When she came to silence, no rune graced the cleft wall where she stood. Slowly, she turned to the first and nodded.
In steps that bespoke of trepidation, the first walked into the cleft. Two score paces at itÕs mouth, it gradually narrowed so that at itÕs terminus, seven rods away, itÕs width was no more than the height of two men. Atienne glanced at the remainder of the gathering who were mounted and made a sign, whereupon they set their feet to the earth and gathered their reins. These they quickly tied to a rope that was tethered to the saddle of AtienneÕs mount, whose reins held the beast immobile so long as they touched the earth.
The second, a man of beard and hair long and brown, walked past the horses and into the cleft. He wore silk robes of shimmering grey over simpler, and warmer, clothing. Upon these was embroidered the symbol of a hand with index finger upraised and surrounded by an aura of red, denoting itÕs wearer as one of the chosen of Azuth.
The first turned to him and said, ÒBring us light, Panetheus.Ó
Within an instant, the priest had procured a rod, the length of one foot and encased in tightly bound leather. Deftly he undid the binding thongs and slid the rod out of itÕs case. As he did this, light whose pureness rivalled that of the noon sun flooded the cleft and dispelled the growing dark. In doing so, it revealed a door cut from the living stone at the far end of the cleft. As one, the company advanced in the hopes of gaining a position of greater discernment. The portal was raised near a foot off the ground and itÕs protusion from the cleft wall was very slight. In itÕs center, a semicircle of seven stars ringed the likeness of a young woman perfect of face and form. Panetheus drew closer, examining the door intently.
After a momentÕs reflection, he placed a catÕs eye of rainbow obsidian within the open mouth of the lady. In the light, all the colours of the spectrum could be found within the black stone. As soon as the gem was in place, the ladyÕs mouth closed, slowly crushing it into a fine dust from which emanated innumerable threads of multicoloured light. With the closing of the mouth came the opening of the door. Without a sound, the portal raised until the obsidian was naught but lightless dust.
Beyond the open portal, a hallway three paces wide with ceiling high and vaulted stretched past the limit of the dweomered light. Panetheus entered, stooping as the door had raised little more than four feet. Behind him came the fifth, an old woman wearing soft blue dress and cloak. Bracers clasped her wrists, and a black headband of braided cloth kept her long white hair in place.
Turning to her, Panetheus said ÒNasalia, what do you feel?Ó The aged woman closed her eyes, crows feet in eminence, and after the passage of a few moments opened them again.
ÒCuriosity and malevolence ... and the bearing of one who has lived ... forever.Ó
Nasalia walked ahead, seemingly unaware of her surroundings. One by one, the remainder of the company stooped low, entered, and followed.

*** *** ***
As the light beyond the portal diminished, a young woman picked her way among the rocks littering the cleft floor. The way was troublesome partly since her body was nowhere to be seen, existing beyond her own sight. Looking at herself, she saw nothing. Her wait was done, the time had come. Exactly as foretold.

*** *** ***

At the end of the passage, stone steps descended thirty paces to a great iron door, flanked by wooden statues which stood against the walls which were at right angles to the portal. Nasalia peered at the statues. The left was that of a man, lion-headed, while the right was that of a woman, eagle-headed ; both were completely naked. They stood straight with one arm extended, as if reaching for one another. Beyond the pair stood the door of iron, not a latch or keyhole to be seen. Cautiously, the third and the fourth edged their way down the stairs, slowly and with their backs to the walls. The man on the right was bald, with deep set brown eyes, tanned skin and a simple ring of gold in his ear. He wore padded armor, a backpack and a belt which bore a large pouch and a shortsword in a scabbard bound by a serpent of gold. Opposite him was a small woman whose flowing locks fell to her shoulders, around which they seemed to dance. A suit of full plate forged in harmony with her form, a large kite shield and a morning star made her look formidable despite her size. In unison, they descended the steps until they came to the wooden pair flanking the portal. Each of them put their arms around a statue and proceeded to move it from the wall where it stood, towards the center of the passage, until the tips of the fingers of the wooden hands were just touching. Under the arch of the joined statues passed Nasalia, who came to the door and stopped.
She closed her eyes, and after what seemed like eternity, Nasalia turned to address the party. ÒAs we know, with the unison of the guardians comes the opening of the way. There is no danger immediately beyond the door. Remember, once we cross the portal, there is no turning back the way we came.Ó
ÒWhat lies beyond?Ó, asked the small woman.
ÒAs I said, little danger ... for the moment. Other than that, I donÕt know. Even my awareness has itÕs limits.Ó Nasalia paused, and almost as an afterthought she added : ÒIf Andruin knew, he surely would have told us. Follow me.Ó
With that, she stepped into the iron portal (which was still closed) and seemed to merge into it and disappear. One by one, through the arch of the wooden pair, the company followed and stepped through the door as if it were air.
On the other side, a verdant garden stretched as far as the eye could see. Above, a sky of blue nothingness extended into infinity. After a moment, the company realized that something was very wrong. The garden was organized into squares of twenty paces, each hemmed in by a hedge not more than a foot high. Each square had concentric rings of flowers emanating from itÕs center. The spaces between them not a foot apart, they reached to the very edge of the hedge-square. Each ring was of a different type and colour of flower, with a circle of white lotuses at the center and a ring of black snapdragons at the outermost circumference.
As far as the eye could see, each hedge square was identical as well as everything that was within it. This semblance was without exception, for within each square stood the company of six. They stood in a corner of a hedge-square, close together, and directly across from them they could see themselves standing in a corner of a hedge square, close together and with their backs turned, exactly twenty paces away. The company looked at the corners of other garden squares and they could see themselves, looking at the corners of other garden squares.
ÒHello!Ó said the first, and at the same instant he heard innumerable shouts of ÒHello!Ó each twenty yards apart and perfectly identical. Nothing was the difference between the companies, in perfect synchronization each word and action occured infinitely, as far as the ear could hear, as far as the eye could see.

**** **** ****

The young woman stood a hairÕs breadth away from the man in ring mail, not moving a muscle in the hopes of passing unnoticed.
Suddenly, Nasalia spoke : ÒWeÕre being watched.Ó
ÒOf course weÕre being watchedÓ, replied the first, who then looked over his shoulder, only to see himself doing the same twenty yards away.
ÒWhat do we do?Ó asked Atienne, more than a little pertubed.
Panetheus paused for a moment, then spoke. ÒSomething cannot exist without itÕs opposite ; so therefore since there was a way in, there must be a way out.Ó
ÒWhatÕs the opposite of nothing?Ó, pondered Atienne.
ÒNothing doesnÕt exist, therefore it doesnÕt have an opposite.Ó
ÒNeither does the portal we came through ; as far as I can see it doesnÕt exist either.Ó
ÒUh-oh.Ó, interjected the bald man.
Said Nasalia ; ÒMost of what is lies beyond what men call sight. Perhaps that which we seek is invisible.Ó
The young woman became more than a little unnerved at this last comment, for as the old lady spoke she turned to face her and seemed to look her in the eye. Sweat formed Ôpon her brow, her breath was stifled.
At length, Nasalia spoke again : ÒFear is in the air.Ó
ÒIÕve got a really bad feeling about this.Ó, said the bald man, eyes downcast.
ÒWorry not. At my birth it was foretold that I would die in battle.Ó, said the first.
Upon hearing this, the young womanÕs heart lightened. She had faith in prophecy.
ÒThen it must be that we will end up losing our minds in this place, after which we will set upon each other Ôtill the earth is steeped in our blood and our corpses lie among the flowers. We could walk the rest of our lives, and we would be no more than twenty paces from where we started... This is it ; the end, that is.Ó, lamented the bald man. His words reflected the young womanÕs fears about her fate, which began to eclipse those of discovery by the company.
ÒFour Gates without a key, extending into infinity. I come to thee, I come to free.Ó The voice came from nowhere and everywhere at the same time.
Realization dawned upon the collective countenance of the company.
ÒAndruin.Ó, bespoke Nasalia, eyes of wonder searching the air.
None in the garden saw the speaker, save the young woman. To her eyes his form embodied pale translucense, his movement being naught in the three dimensions. Gradually, this image faded to the young woman as it coalesced ; until all present in the garden could see the formation of a man in white.
ÒAndruin watches the watcher, who watches you being watched. Andruin sees what he sees, and he sees you being seen. I will not accept a stalemate. Follow me, beyond this world, your way lies through the second circle.Ó, said the man with beard and robes of white, whereupon he put together index finger and thumb of both hands, each inside the other, forming two interlocking rings.
With the joining of his flesh, he disappeared and in his place was a ring of azure luminescence, five feet in diameter and hovering above the ground at a height of four feet.
ÒAndruin?Ó, asked Panetheus, whose question remained unanswered.
To the company the man in white was beyond their sight ; to the young woman he was visible for the space of a few heartbeats, after which he had faded from the spectrum of her extraordinary perception.
ÒHe has saved us, Andruin has saved us!Ó, exclaimed Atienne who danced with joy.
ÒFrom one death, only to lead us to another.Ó, remarked the bald man whereupon Atienne ceased her dandle, looking disturbed.
ÒIf that is so, at least he will have saved us from your pessimistic drivel.Ó, countered Nasalia.
ÒDonÕt mock me, woman. Though I lack your extraordinary senses, I posess something you donÕt : common sense. Has it not occured to you why Andruin does not accompany us?Ó
ÒHe is old.Ó, said Nasalia.
ÒSo are you. And that hasnÕt stopped you from coming along. Age equates with power for one who is learned in the Art. His age has nothing to do with it. IÕll tell you why Andruin isnÕt here with us. We are in a place of death. He has sent us to die in his stead after which ... Ò
ÒEnough!Ó said Panetheus. ÒThe gate that has been opened may not last long. It is time we were on our way.Ó
Panetheus stepped into the glowing ring and as his body was contained by itÕs circumference, he disappeared. As the rest of the entered, the small woman spoke to the bald man. ÒAs with generals, it is the way of wizards to act indirectly. How many generals would risk themselves for the life of a mercenary on the field of battle? Be thankful he came.Ó
The bald man frowned. No words could quell the dread that grew within his heart. As he was the last to leave, he didnÕt notice a black snapdragon as it was bent to the earth, seeminly of itÕs own accord.

Swirling mists enshrouded the company beyond the gate. It seemed as if they were in two places at once, for they could see the endless garden as if they viewed it through a dark gossamer veil. The mist permeated their bodies so that there seemed to be no difference between themselves and their surroundings. Upon closer examination, they could see what seemed to be a wall bordering the hedge-square from whence they had came. Only with great difficulty could they make out the outline of the azure ring, it being without manifestation in the realm of mist. Blue light diffused through the incessant movement of the omnipresent mist, taking their gaze from the world they had left. ItÕs source was beyond the insubstantial wall that lay ahead of them. Past the wall, all that met their eyes was the chaotic uniformity of the mist and an azure ring of no difference to the one in the garden. It was only when Panetheus passed through the edge of the circle that the company could see a world other than that in which they presently existed.
The priest stood within a vaulted chamber, the corners of which were columns carved in the likenesses of angels, their wings folded behind their backs. Archways were centered on the walls behind him and to his sides, darkness beyond. Ahead, Panetheus saw an immense mirror whose lacework frame of golden leaves sparkled in the magical light. When he stared into the looking-glass he saw a six-foot egg of intense indigo luminescence, where his body should have been. As he drew closer he could discern the subtle interplay of other colours of varying shades of light and dark within the enlarging ellipsoid. When he stopped, the image in the mirror ceased itÕs growth. Panetheus resumed his advance until he touched the mirror and the egg within it. Suddenly, another ellipsoid appeared within the confines of the golden lacework. Turning about, Panetheus came to face Nasalia who stood at a distance of seven paces. Her attention was held by the mirror before her, in which were the images of two man-sized eggs, the one of indigo partially obscuring the view of the sapphire ellipsoid behind it. Within moments, Nasalia was surrounded by the rest of the company as they had made their re-entry into the material world. The sapphire egg was ringed by four others of identical size, each appearing as a different hue ; deep orange, amber, scarlet and violet. These grew as the party approached. When Nasalia came to the mirror, she proceeded to touch it. No matter where her hand was upon itÕs surface, it was in contact with sapphire radiance. With concentration she could see many other colours existing within the sapphire egg, distinct yet co-terminus.
ÒWhat are they?Ó, queried the small woman.
ÒUs.Ó, replied Nasalia.
ÒThen how come thereÕs seven?Ó, asked the bald man.
As one, the company spun about, only to see nothing behind them. When Nasalia glanced back at the mirror she saw the seventh egg, itÕs golden luminosity slowly receding.
Atienne extended her arm, hand balled into a fist, toward the archway across form the mirror. Thereupon she pronounced words which seemed to resonate at a frequency beyond the spectrum of natural hearing. When she opened her fist, phosphorous fell from her hands into nothingness ; itÕs disappearance was synchronous with the appearance of a reddish-blue ring of flame whose circumference reached the chamberÕs walls, thereby forbidding the possibility of mundane egress.
ÒShow yourself!Ó, demanded Nasalia.
Silence. The golden egg within the mirror had ceased to move.
Sweat formed Ôpon the brow of the young woman as the old ladyÕs eyes seemed to see what couldnÕt possibly be seen. Stop looking at me! thought the one whose body existed beyond light. ÒDonÕt tell me what to do.Ó, said a voice within her mind.
Aware that her presence was known, the young woman was paralyzed by fear.
ÒThere is nowhere you can run!Ó, bespoke Nasalia. ÒReveal yourself and have it done.Ó
Within the mirror, the golden egg was motionless ; Nasalia watching all the while.
Thus spoke Nasalia : ÒKeep your eyes with the mirror, know thy light and follow itÕs movement Ôtill it touches the egg of gold.Ó, whereupon the members of the company moved so as to form a ring around the source of golden light, in accord with their knowledge of the mirror.
ÒThis chance your last, make our eyes know thy form.Ó, warned Nasalia.
Fear eclipsed wisdom, and the young woman began an incantation in the hopes of attaining a state of greater concealment ; one that would evade the reflection in the looking-glass.
Upon hearing the pronouncement of words arcane, the company knew the weaving of a spell had begun. Not wanting to chance the outcome, the first took a final view of the mirror and moved.
His aim was true, though his mark beyond sight. The black spear tore through flesh, unseen but felt.Within the mirror, it was seen that the golden egg lay Ôpon the ground. The first prepared for the final strike into the apparency of nothingness.
ÒStay thy hand!Ó, cried the voice of the maiden, itÕs origin beyond sight.. The desperation of the utterance touched the hearts of the company, and in doing so stilled their movement.
ÒPlease, donÕt kill me.Ó, begged a voice beyond sight.
ÒShow thyself. My word is the consideration of your plea.Ó, bespoke Nasalia.
Though her speech uncertain promise, it carried the tone of mercy and for this the young woman acceeded to a state of visibility. The coalesion of her image focusing the attention of the company, her form, perfect and being that of a young woman, became apparent to all within the chamber. She lay Ôpon the floor, holding her side and stemming the gore. Auburn hair touched her shoulders and fell across her face. Eyes of blue, unique and beautiful, bespoke of fear and pain as they regarded the company.
ÒI am Chrysylla.Ó
ÒYou are dying.Ó, noted Panethus, who moved to tend her grevious wound.
The first interposed himself between the priest and the maiden, and spoke : ÒWhere is your sense? We donÕt even know who she is or why sheÕs here, though I deem it isnÕt for the purpose of aiding us.Ó
ÒWhere is your compassion? SheÕs just a girl, not more than ... Ò
ÒJust a girl? SheÕs a witch, or worse! Girls donÕt walk around invisibly and speak in the tongue of magic.Ó
Nasalia, who had been studying the golden egg intently, interrupted : ÒShe holds no evil in her heart. This I know. What eludes me is the reason of her presence. Perhaps you would care to enlighten us, lady Chrysylla.Ó
Tears of pain fell upon the maidenÕs beautiful face, and her speech was weak despite the effort her reply demanded. ÒI meant no harm, though I felt that my presence would be unwelcome so I concealed myself accordingly. As to why IÕm here, it is a matter of shared interests. I have an interest in adventure and a friend who has an interest in ... Ò Suddenly Chrysylla coughed violently, spilled blood upon her embroidered robe and the floor. When she moved to wipe her mouth, the pain of her wound overwhelmed her and the world faded to darkness.
Pushing past the first, Panetheus knelt by her side and drew a slender knife. This he brought to her wound, whereupon he proceeded to cut away the bloodstained cloth. Peeling back the robe, he eased his fingers into her until they could no longer be seen. As he felt the torn flesh and ruptured organs, Panetheus began to intone words of holy knowledge and divine essence. Slowly he withdrew his hand from her inner body and all he had touched became whole again.
Chrysylla opened her eyes to see a bearded face smiling over her.
ÒYou live.Ó, said Panetheus, who took her bloodied hand in his and kissed it.
ÒNo pain ... Ò
ÒNo wound.Ó, replied the priest, easing her to a sitting position.
ÒNow, fair child, you owe us an explication of your presence.Ó, said Nasalia.
ÒWhat?Ó
ÒWe would like to know why youÕre here.Ó, said the bald man.
She began to speak but the interjectiuon of the priest stilled her voice. ÒWhat was your friend interested in?Ó
ÒWho you are, where you are and why youÕre here.Ó
ÒAnd does this friend of yours have a name, perchance?Ó
ÒNataeja, a wisewoman of Easting.Ó
ÒWhy would a country witch have an interest in ourselves and what we do? We are far from Easting and to us it is a place of little import. Tell us, girl.Ó, said the bald man.
ÒShe is more than a Ôcountry witchÕ, as you call her. Nataeja is a great seer, one who possesses power beyond that of the women who keep the old knowledge. She sees the future as if it were the past. When I saw her last, she spoke of a vision of six riders opening a door in a river gorge. She said this would come to pass on the night of MirtulÕs new moon, their arrival being at the time of the setting sun.Ó
ÒHow do you know we are the six you seek?Ó, asked the bald man.
ÒNataeja said there would be a man for every woman, a woman for every man. Two in metal, one bald, one bearded, one old and one of faerie blood. Everything she said came true, as it always does.Ó
ÒWhat else does she know?Ó
ÒVery little. She sent me in the hopes of gaining the knowledge of the significance of her vision.Ó
ÒYou speak much of your friend, though youÕve said very little of yourself. I take it you are one skilled in the Art?Ó
Chrysylla replied, eyes downcast. Ò Most would beg to differ, kind sir. Indeed, I possess magical knowledge although ... IÕm not a mage.Ó
ÒAhh ... then you must be a practitioner who specializes in one of the eight Greater Disciplines.Ó, observed Panetheus. After a few moments had passed, it became apparent that no reply was forhcoming, so the priest spoke again. ÒSo, your devotion belongs to one of the Lesser Disciplines. Let me guess, would it be ... Ò
ÒI am not a student of any school, greater or lesser.Ó
ÒThen you are one who possesses the knowledge of elemental mastery?Ó
ÒNay.Ó
The priestÕs eyes narrowed. ÒIt is that born of the Arrival.Ó
ÒNot so, it is a magical tradition thousands of years old.Ó
Suddenly, Nasalia interrupted. ÒWe are not alone. Someone or something is watching us.Ó
At that moment, the wall of flames disappeared into nothingness.
When the old woman looked down upon her hands, she saw that they were trembling, her breath was stifled and tears had come to her eyes. ÒKeep silence.Ó, said Nasalia, her voice choked with fear.
Seconds passed as days, nothing moved and therefore nothing was heard.
Panetheus put a finger to her lips, reminding the company of what Nasalia said, and motioned to the archway across from the mirror. He knew that if his guess as to the nature of the watcher was right, even the casual utterance of the name of one of the company could be used as a deadly weapon against them. They moved, Panetheus taking the rear and motioning for Chrysylla to remain behind him, the sound of their armour deafening in the silence and their light blinding in the darkness.
The floor of the passage they traversed was blanketed in a thin layer of dust, disturbed for the first time in centuries. After moving twice the radius of the light they came to a chamber, dimly lit from their position at the top of the few stone steps that led down to it.
Across the sill of entry, a thin line of earth stretched from wall to wall. On the other side of the chamber, in the dimness beyond the circumference of light, stone steps led up to an archway identical to the one the company stood outside of. Upon the center of the floor was what appeared to be a circle, eight paces in diameter, itÕs confines being near half the area between the walls.
As the company passed the arch and came down into the chamber, none noticed the rune on a step that the first trod upon, itÕs existence being beyond sight. Neither did any perceive a hairÕs breadth line of fire that originated from a point on the floor directly opposite from the hidden glyph, for it too was invisible. It moved slowly, inexorably, toward the other side and the company who stood there.
Within the chamber, it became apparent that what had seemed to be a single circle was actually two, spaced not more than an inch apart. Between the inner circle and the ring surrounding it, innumerable runes were inscribed all the way around the double circumference. The company entered and began to spread out, when the bald man looked up to the ceiling, whereupon he stopped. A layer of dust floated motionless in midair, twenty feet above, itÕs area being identical to that of the floor.
He touched the elbow of Panetheus and motioned for him to look up. Soon the rest of the company had echoed the priestÕs action. Panetheus returned his gaze to the floor, he saw it bare of the trace of any dust. As he pondered the reason for this his attention came to the circles. They seemed to be painted upon the floor, their hue being that of a dark brown. He crouched at the edge of the outer ring and tried to read the runes.
Suddenly, Nasalia spoke : ÒThe one who watches us is aware of our thought.Ó
ÒThen our silence is irrelevant.Ó replied Panetheus, his voice tinged with despair.
Returning his attention to the runes, it became apparent that with the exception of three, all were beyond his knowledge. The first he pointed to touched the inner circle. ÒThis is the rune for timelessness.Ó, he said. Then he indicated a second symbol in contact with the inner ring, as was the first. ÒThis one means water.Ó The last of the known runes touched both the rings. ÒAnd this rune means Ônegation of confinementÕ. The two dots to the right of the stem are still widely used in magical notation. They mean Ôon the condition ofÕ or simply, if ... Ò
Suddenly the priestÕs face was ripped open, sending innumerable droplets of blood through the air, splattering upon the floor and staining it a deep crimson. Within the inner circle, which had seemed empty but a moment before, a huge blue serpent was coiled. It had a dozen legs ending in talons, one of which was bloodied. Two large horns curved back over itÕs head, which turned to regard a bald man as he drew a shortsword from the coils of a golden serpent.
The sound of two feminine voices chanting in disconcordant unison permeated time, which seemed to have come to a virtual standstill. Rearing itÕs head, the horned serpentÕs eyes met those of the bald man as it opened itÕs jaws. Within the space of an instant his mindÕs eye saw countless images; among them his home in Scornubel, a chest of plundered gold, the face of a long forgotten lover. A crackling sound pierced the air and his body was wreathed in electricity. The sword fell from blackened, lifeless fingers and the images were consumed by darkness.
As the sound of the twin incantations intensified, the coils of the serpent unwound as it moved to meet the advance of the first. The small woman circled the beast in the hopes of attacking unnoticed while the first kept itÕs attention. Nasalia backed to the edge of the chamber, knowing that her fate was in the hands of the rest of the company. Now that the serpent had mostly uncoiled, itÕs forty foot length was revealed. It lunged, in the manner of a striking cobra, size belying speed. ItÕs upper neck met the head of a quickset spear whereupon it recoiled, nearly pulling the weapon from the grasp of the first. Suddenly, a sharp pain pierced one of the legs of the beast. In response, it turned itÕs head to gaze upon a small woman, huge coils encircling her diminuative form.
Where there had been two voices now there were none, their incantations acheiving completion in synchronicity. As traces of cast niter left the elfÕs fingers to join the air, a tiny turtleÕs shell that Chrysylla held became nothingness. A protective aura without visible manifestation formed around the young woman as the blood of the beastÕs open wound burst into flames. The dim mind of the serpent associated the burning pain with the one it held within itÕs coils, unable to fathom the possibility of anything but a straight line between attacker and target. A maw of prodigious proportions opened, and when it had closed, the upper half of the small woman was within it. The sound of snapping bone broke silence as coils loosened their hold on a pair of limp legs. Oblivious to everything but the burning pain and the task of swallowing the dead woman, the beast paid no heed to the man behind it. Summoning all his strength, the first thrust his spear into the beast. Piercing the neck of the serpent, the weapon would have emerged on the other side had it not been for the small woman partway down itÕs throat. Buried in the flesh of two beings, retrieval of the spear became an impossibility. The throes of the beast tore tore the weapon from the hands of the man, knocking him to the ground as the blood of itÕs second and most grevious wound caught fire. Overcome by the pain of the twin wounds of burning blood, their flame consuming flesh and life, the beast fell upon itÕs side and landed near the priest. Suddenly, all was darkness save for the light of flames that danced upon the writhing serpent.
No one moved, unable to believe that the brief nightmare had come to itÕs end. A low moan came from behind the beast. Chrysylla approached, circumventing the burning serpent. Finding the source of the voice, she stared in horror at what was left of the face of Panetheus. Kneeling, Chrysylla cradled his bloodied head in her arms, wishing she could do for him what he had done for her. Suddenly, the serpentÕs tail moved as it tried to raise itÕs head. Without hesitation, Chrysylla dragged the body of Panetheus away from the beast, only to find that when she had reached what seemed to be a safe distance, the greater darkness was equally, if not more, disturbing. The fires of the burning serpent began to smoke and a foetid stench soon permeated the room.
ÒLet us begone.Ó, said the first. ÒThe air is foul and grows worse with the moment.Ó
ÒWhat of Panetheus?Ó, asked Chrysylla.
ÒWhat of him?Ó, replied the first, pulling a torch from the bald manÕs backpack.
ÒHe still lives, though I reckon he doesnÕt know it.Ó
Lighting one of the torches, the first spoke. ÒThis will have to do as the priestÕs light stick lies buried Ôneath the weight of the serpent. Atienne, you take the pack.Ó
ÒI said, he still lives.Ó
ÒThen we will return for him, if we should prove to be as fortunate as he.Ó, replied the first, not looking at Chrysylla as he spoke. Averting his doleful gaze from the burning haft of the spear, he proceeded in uncerimoniously taking the bald manÕs bely and sword.
ÒWe canÕt just leave him here.Ó
ÒHe wonÕt be any safer where weÕre headed. Besides, his weight would slow us down. By slowing us down, he would place us in greater danger. His life depends on ours : the last thing heÕd want to be would be a burden that endangers us.Ó
ÒThen someone should stay with him.Ó
ÒYou owe him your life, not I.Ó The first turned and left, followed by Atienne and Nasalia. He walked up the few stone steps leading into the unknown, and disappeared into the darkness. After Atienne had followed him beyond ChrysyllaÕs sight, Nasalia paused at the top of the steps and turned to face the maiden.
ÒCome. Help us and in so doing you will help him. If we perish so too will any chance of your survival, not to mention his.Ó said Nasalia, holding out her hand.
Chrysylla left Panetheus and took NasaliaÕs hand, although she knew in her heart it wasnÕt right. As they left, the last fires of the serpent sputtered and died, leaving the chamber in darkness. None noticed the thin line of earth that stretched from wall to wall under the arch.
As each crossed the portal, they immediately became aware of the thunderous sound of moving water. This was quite strange since what they heard only became apparent as soon as they left the chamber, wherein silence was absolute save for the audible movement of the company. The air was damp, in sharp contrast to the dry atsmophere of the place they had left. Within the flickering radius of the torchlight, a natural tunnel could be seen leading nearly straight into darkness; an abrupt end to that carved by sentient hand.
In cautious steps the company proceeded, so that after the passage of a double rod a fine mist became readily apparent. Still. nothing but darkness lay ahead. With each step the mist and the sound of moving water intensified, dominating the vision and hearing of the company. When the flanking radius of torchlight began to expand, they knew they had come to yet another chamber.
Like the tunnel, it was in a natural state, a cavern transcending the simplicities of human geometry. Having reached itÕs center, they became aware of the source of the sound and the mist : a magnificent waterfall twenty feet high.
As they approached it, the flame of the torch began to die. At the waterfallÕs base a small raised pool had formed, the waters of which spilled into a circular chasm. This created another cascade, which fell into darkness. A small ledge surrounded chasm and pool, leaving not more than a foot around nothingness and water.
ÒIt seems as if we have come to a dead end.Ó, said the first.
ÒPerhaps there is something behind the waterfall.Ó, replied Nasalia, peering through the dimness of the mist.
ÒThe way around the ledge seems treacherous, at best. We shall return to the room of the mirror. Follow me.Ó
When the first turned around, he found himself facing the image of a huge skull, seemingly formed from the mist. The distance at which it hovered above the ground, five feet, was equal to itÕs width. Instinctively, the first drew his blade, despite the fact that the image seemed to lack substantiality. The fear Nasalia had felt earlier seemed trifling to what she felt now, as if the skull was the manifestation of her terror. None had the chance to move as heat and light coalesced in the form of a horizontal column of flame. Emanating from the giant skull, the two foot diameter line of fire engulfed the first and continued on a scorching path that extended until it made contact with the dousing water of the falls. In a vain attempt to quell the flames, he rolled upon the uneven floor of the cavern. This brought the fiery column low and caused it to move in such a way that it covered a greater area, thereby placing the rest of the company in greater danger.
ÒRun!Ó, yelled Atienne.
Chrysylla looked about in the hope of finding some way through which she might escape - the giant skull blocked the only apparent exit.
Glancing back at the maiden, the elf said ÒAlong the ledge, seek cover behind the waterfall. GO!Ó
Taking the hand of Nasalia, Chrysylla led the old woman, who was virtually paralyzed by fear, to the edge of the chasm.
Behind them, they heard an elven voice speaking magical words, seemingly placing them throughout the air as if in an attempt to form some sort of a barrier.
Reluctantly, Chrysylla took her first step onto the ledge. With their backs to the wall, the women moved in measured steps, with the knowledge that one slip would be fatal.
Burning alive, the first tried to raise himself from the ground. Overcome by the pain, he collapsed and with the cessation of his movement the column of flames stilled. The motionless line of fire beside her, Atienne finished her incantation. A wall of iron came into being, separating the giant skull from the remainder of the company and extinguishing the column of flames. Atienne moved toward the still form of the first.
Chrysylla and Nasalia paused upon the ledge, not daring to look down. Just when they thought that they were safe - the image of the skull emerged through the iron wall as if it were air. Kneeling at the side of the first, Atienne glanced back at her two remaining companions.
ÒFlee!Ó The elf brought herself to stand and face the giant skull, and began to cast a final spell.
Nasalia and Chrysylla had almost reached the pool, having passed most of the chasm - when the stone began to crumble under their feet. Nasalia lost her balance, and teetered dangerously on the brink of the precipice. Chrysylla let go of her hand, although she felt it wasnÕt right, and watched the old woman fall screaming into thge darkness.

Three nimble steps brought Chrysylla to the stabler ledge surrounding the pool. AtienneÕs back remained to the waterfall, which drowned out the sound of her voice. Her hands moved so slowly it seemed as if she was oblivious to the urgency of the situation. When Chrysylla looked back for the final time, it seemed as if the skullÕs jaw was barely moving, as if in the attempt to make some subtle utterance.
Chrysylla disappeared into the moving wall of water. On the other side, she stood in a dim alcove with the falls to her back. Along the cavern wall, four feet away, there seemed to be an opening into which the surrounding mist moved and coalesced ; forming an opaque fog of subtle luminosity. The enchantment of itÕs beauty made her momentarily forget where she had come from. Suddenly, she remembered what lay beyond the waterfall and in so doing decided that indecision would be most unwise. ChrysyllaÕs hand penetrated the fog in the center of the wall, finding emptiness and thereby indicating the apparent presence of an obscured passage. She walked ahead in the manner of one whose eyes are closed, not knowing what lay beyond. At the instant the fog swallowed her body, she found herself in an alcove facing the back of a waterfall.
Chrysylla turned to face a wall behind her, one without the fog-filled opening she had stepped through. She then came to the waterfallÕs corner, at the place where the obscurement of her vision was the least, and looked out upon a landscape that she immediately recognized. EldathÕs Pool, near the mouth of Skull Gorge, many miles away.

**** **** **** ****

Quesnef toyed with a golden earring, eyeing it momentarily before returning to the task of polishing itÕs slightly blackened surface. Holding it up to the ambient light of the surrounding candles, itÕs glitter fully satisfied him. The task completed, he set it down upon the table before him, bare except for a few candles and a crystal ball that rested within an open skull of gold.
Quesnef spoke to himself, as he often did. ÒMy old friend ... there is none capable of such impertinence as you. I can think of no one more deserving of the gift of death ... although how can one die if he does not live? Nevertheless, our ladyÕs wish remains inviolate though Ôtis your wont to spurn the spirit and follow the letter. My love for her, your saving grace ...Ó

II

Farwyn watched the sun set far off to the west. He followed a young woman as she made her way along the course of a river that led toward a sea below the sinking orb of light. When she walked into the river and disappeared, Farwyn joined her : solitude painful since their meeting.
Now he was alone, although it seemed as if he was in the company of others. Seven candles, one in the center ; six surrounding it. A wind blows, one by one each of the ring goes out. Only the center remains, it being light surrounded by darkness. Taking the last lit candle, Farwyn comes to a door and unlocks it with his key.
Now he is in darkness, existing as a line of the purest white. All around, near and far, are other lines ; each extending from an unseen point of origin, their straight paths unvariably curving into a new way when coming near another. No two are alike, their difference ranging from subtle to extreme and manifesting in all the spectrumÕs colours and shdes of light & dark. The movement of the lines is perpetual, except for the six which have come to an abrupt end in nothingness. ItÕs path emerging from among the ended six, a golden line of light heads toward Farwyn. His eyes opened, the sun had risen and so would he.

**** **** **** ****

Malakesh opened the book. Once again he began a quest for the only thing of this world that mattered to him : knowledge. Long ago, in the time just before the fall of Myth Drannor, he had been an adventurer of skill, luck and commensurate success. Expedition after foray after sojourn, the more he slew, the more he gained. In time, he became a man of much wealth, in the possession of uncounted thousands of gold lions and a pair of every known gem and jewel. Like most adventurers, Malakesh soon lost sight of goldÕs glitter in the light of magic. He began to covet items of wondrous artifice and supernatural power. These things soon held more value to him than life, as their aquisition often involved the death of one who had given his trust away too easily. Many years passed and despite the changes they had wrought, his lust for magic remained the same. No longer did he set out in search of enchanted items, for he had learned to manipulate those who shared his desire, and in doing so what he wanted came to him. As time passed, he realized that the greatest magical treasures were often those that existed only in the mind, their seeds oft sown in ancient book and tome, their flower transcending materiality.
He read Ôthe Ring of TimeÕ, a copy of the original by Alunther the Elder, seeking the key to the magical secret that would reunite him with the one he loved. So far, the tome had been most vexatious ; raising two questions for every one it answered. Malakesh came upon a passage that was of great interest to him :
When one wishes to move, he has the choice of moving north, south, east, west, up or down. Note the options are three pairs of opposites. Each of these pairs is referred to as a dimension, corresponding to the properties of length, height & width in which all matter manifests. They are without existence, yet they permeate all that exists. All movement occurs simultaneously along these three dimensions. He who thinks he is walking south across a flat plain is actually moving slightly to the east or west and slightly up or down as he travels along his apparently southward path. The evidence for this is to be found in the chapter entitled Òthe Theory of Omnipresent Circularity.Ó ; as the druids of the Moonshaes are wont to say - Òthere are no straight lines in nature.Ó All movement can be measured if it can be perceived. Therefore the three properties of a dimension are that it can be measured, it is without actual existence and it is omnipresent. What else shares these three properties? Time.
And so therefore we are aware of the existence of a fourth dimension. The relationship between past and future corresponds to that between n&s, e&w, u&d. Movement occurs simultaneously in four, rather than three, dimensions. A point to the north cannot exist without a point to the south, just as a point in the future cannot exist without a point in the past. Movement between two points is movement in a dimension. As any mage knows, not all movement between two points occurs in an unbroken line from where one starts and where one ends. The evidence for this is to be found in the existence of gates. Natural movement exists only on two conditions :
1. a distance must actually be traversed between two points in each of the four dimensions. 2., with the distance in the fourth being from a point in the past to a point in the future. If a gate can allow the exitence of movement without the first condition, then why canÕt a gate allow movement without the existence of the second?

Light fell upon the page he was reading, and Malakesh looked up from the book. In the sky outside his window, the clouds had parted to reveal the late afternoon sun. Below, the trees of a forest valley grew among the remains of a ruined city. A crumbling wall surrounded the ridge of the vale, marking the border of that which Malakesh believed to be the first mythal.

**** **** **** ****

Nataeja stepped outside her hut and into the small herb garden which surrounded it. From a hill on the outskirts of Easting, she could see the TraderÕs Road as it made itÕs way west toward Iriaebor. The afternoon sun shone upon the town, illuminating the cobbled road below. ÒSoon, soon she will return.Ó

**** **** **** ****

ÒWhat is the essence of good?Ó, asked Brennan, a young lad of seventeen winters and much speculation.
ÒLove.Ó, replied Balestar whimsically, making her eyes dance in such a way that they didnÕt meet those of another - especially a boy.
ÒWhat think you, friend Duaga?Ó dubitated Brennan, pausing to take a sip of bock.
ÒFreedom, balance and knowledge...Ó, answered the newcomer to the group, appearing as the youngest except for the unusual light in his eye.
ÒAwareness and happiness!Ó, came the obstreperous interjection of Britaria, a long haired youth known to take long trips in the woods.
ÒBeer, beer and beer!Ó, shouted Chruce, with the zeal unique to the magic combination of youth and alchohol.
A chorus of laughter followed ; itÕs harmony in a way sweeter than that of the finest bardsÕ, thought Druaga, even though he felt as though he were not a part of it. His heart longed for that which his companions had shared, something he had long lost. Growing tired about being reminded about growing tired, he took his leave of the gathering upon the resolution of the rituals of parting.
He left the taproom of the inn, knowing that he had deceived his companions all through the night, without ever lying to them : For this he felt no remorse, knowing that everything was an illusion, of sorts. He walked out onto the road, or at least what appeared to be a road, and turned to his left, finding his way with practiced ease, even in the dark of MirtulÕs new moon. Not really noticing the flanking buildings or the road that branched off to his left that he passed, he finally came to a familiar path that brambled off to his right. Passing a sign that said - ÒTresspassers could die a quick and certain death or they could be invited in for stew. Thank you for thinking better of disturbing my privacy.Ó - he came to a tower and proceeded to his left whereupon he came to a pool a few paces away. Taking a seat in the grass near itÕs quiet waters, he proceeded to pull a meerschaum pipe from the folds of his robes, getting his fingers terribly tangled in his long white beard as he did. He spoke a single word and at the end of itÕs sound smoke drifted lazily from from the pipeÕs bowl.ÕAnd so the time is upon meÕ, he thought. ÔA communion awaits...Õ

Returning to the ramshackle stone tower, he approached itÕs door - which swung inward without his touching it. Before him was a room of hemispherical shape, cluttered with innumerable tomes and parchments that congregated in the vicinity of a table, chair and brazier ten feet to his left. Near the table a staircase wound itÕs spiral ascension into darkness. A couple of paces and he had gone through a door to his right, which opened into a kitchen smaller in size yet identical in shape to the room he had come from. In the corner to his left, a small man slept in a small cot, buried under blankets that were softly illuminated by the embers of a dying fire nearby. Passing a table, he came to a door in the middle of the roomÕs semi - circular wall and opened it.
He softly hummed in monotone and a soft illumination increased in intensity with the duration of the sound, until his surroundings were brightly lit. The small rectangular room he saw was mostly bare, itÕs only prominent feature being a stairway that led down into darkness. Descending the steps, he hummed as before, bringing the magical light that lit the way. He came down to a cellar, passed near a case of sparkling evermead, thought the better of it, and made his way through several small passages and chambers until he came upon a door, a simple chair beside it, upon which leaned an oaken staff - itÕs head carved in the form of a hand with index finger upraised.
Taking a seat, he produced a small vial of holy water. Upon the pronouncement of words arcane accompanied by subtle gesticulation, the drop that he had placed upon his tongue disappeared (along with the alefog that clouded his mind.) Feeling refreshed, he rose and opened the portal. Beyond was an empty room whose walls and floor were covered in thousands of runes, glyphs, and symbols ; forming geometric patterns which became apparent only upon concentration. Coming to the far wall, he proceeded to touch it with the staff, after which he brought the oak into contact with the ceiling not far away, bringing into being a thin line of azure light between the two points. He repeated this action many times in different locations throughout the room, forming many visible angles in the air. Taking care not to touch any of the azure lines, he sat down in the center of the floor, laying the staff across his lap. When he closed his eyes, he could see the room as if they were still open. Slowly, the stone that surrounded him faded from view, revealing the infinite extension of the lines of azure luminescence beyond wall, floor, and ceiling ; their subtle light meeting in a creation of an angular nexus surrounded by limitless darkness.
In a moment it was done, itÕs beginning an end, seeming as one. The god Azuth had gave him all the knowledge he sought of the woman, and more. She was born in the City of Shadows, a worshiper of Isis, and like her goddess not above the use of base trickery in the attainment of power. After the union of the god and the woman, they shared eternity, a thousand years in the eyes of men. Then came BaneÕs foul treachery, his theft of the Tablets angering the Universal Lord.
The pantheon was struck down, their spirit becoming flesh, their divine essence lost. Apart from the guardian of the Rainbow Bridge, none were spared ; the High One himself knowing mortality. His loss, her gain ; his sentence, her freedom. Without form, the womanÕs spirit came to exist outside of space ; aware of the world yet unable to touch it. Four months passed, the Tablets were returned and the High One regained divinity. Yet Azuth decided that the woman should keep her freedom and will, and so left her alone. (Ten years gone, she watches and waits to this very day.)
The last the god said : seven love her and I am one.

The old man found himself sitting in the center of the room of runes, an oaken staff across his lap, the azure lines without existence. He rose and left the chamber, closing the portal behind him.

**** **** **** ****

Nataeja opened the door to see an old man with fist upraised about to knock.
ÒCome in Rulthaven, come in.Ó
He entered the tiny windowless cottage, innumerable herb batches and roots hanging from itÕs low thatched ceiling. The pair took a seat on the earthen floor, close together and facing the other. Nataeja looked at him, smiling, saying nothing.
ÒAh... I... didnÕt mean to appear uninvited... itÕs just that I really wanted to see you.Ó, meekly ventured Rulthaven.
ÒAll right, what do you want to know?Ó, asked Nataeja, knowing the real reason for his visit.
ÒWell... thereÕs the matter of the herb Niffenentia Aureolis, er... wakeweed.Ó
ÒHmmm... since you know itÕs name, whatever it is that you called it, IÕd take it that you are aware of itÕs power.Ó, said Nataeja, curling a lock of wispy white hair about her finger.
ÒIndeed I... seem to be lacking a sample in my collection.Ó
ÒSo you came to see wakeweed, not me. A hundred and twenty one winters and IÕve come to realize that when someone comes a callinÕ they want something, invariably never the company of an old crone such as I.Ó
Rulthaven was about to say something when Nataeja interrupted him. ÒNothing need be said.Ó Eyes downcast, she rose and proceeded in taking a small bundle from itÕs hiding place in the middle of four larger ones hanging from the roof, not far away. This she tossed to the sage, who moved his hands to catch it, only to have the herb land in his lap. At once, he began to scrutinize it intensely, with the aid of a monocle he had withdrawn from his robes.Holding the tiny blossoms of the flowering plant between his fingers, Rulthaven spoke : ÒHow much would you part with this for?Ó
ÒYou know I have no use for the rich manÕs gold ; things in their natural state are free, in more ways than one. LetÕs say that I was to give you that little bundle. What guarantee would I have that it would not find itÕs way into the hands of one of your less reputable clients, namely the Zhentarim?Ó
ÒYou have my word as a sage.Ó
ÒHmmm... words are not binding, though honor is, a virtue that is often found wanting amongst those who deal with the Black Network. Are you not aware that the knowledge you give them has undoubtedly been the cause of many a good manÕs death?Ó
ÒWhat men do with what they know is none of my concern. It is my concern that they do, in fact, know. The restriction of knowledge is a sin greater than any other, even the taking of life.Ó
ÒIf you ever come to love, you might see differently... IÕll give you the herb, though not the secret of itÕs preparation, in return for naught but your assurance that it will never leave your posession.Ó
ÒMost gracious is your kindness. I am in your debt.Ó, said Rulthaven as he quickly pocketed the bundle and rose to leave.
When he came to the open door of the hut, Nataeja following behind him, he paused and turned. ÒI was wondering... have you had word of young Farwyn? The last I saw of him was in the Year of the Maidens, he being not far past his fourteenth winter, should my memory serve me right, as it always does.Ó, he added with tone of unabashed pride.
ÒAs far as I know, Farwyn has... mmm.... passed on to the other world.Ó, replied Nataeja, not wanting to lie.
ÒIÕm sorry.Ó, said Rulthaven, thinking it the proper thing to say. After a momentÕs pause, he continued : ÒI have to go... again, my thanks and my word that the herb shall not leave my hands.Ó And with that Rulthaven turned and left, walking into the light of the late afternoon sun.
Nataeja closed the portal, barring it with a heavy rod of iron. When she turned, Nataeja saw a curtain of wooden beads part across the room. A young man, emaciated and almost unkempt, entered the room. He had a long tangle of hair, parted in the middle and tucked behind the ears, framing a slightly bearded face in which shone the unearthly light held within his eyes.
ÒGood morning, Farwyn.Ó

**** **** **** ****
ÒA most wondrous vision ; of shining gold, jewels and things of elf-craft - scattered in the abundance of autumnÕs fallen leaves. And thatÕs not all, books... hundreds of them, layered in the dust of ages ; untouched for centuries.Ó, recounted Moramyr, a diviner and one of the ordained of Azuth.
ÒNaught but a dream, for as you said yourself no spell was cast. One cannot see without the effort it takes to open oneÕs eyes.Ó, replied Imath the Understander, a transmuter and the brethen of Moramyr.
ÒNay, Ôtis more. The same dream, once each night for the last six nights? It is a vision, of unknown origin, not having been brought into being through the working of mine own magic, as far as IÕm aware. Of course, there is the possibility that we lead a dual existence, our life (and the attendant spectrum of experiences) being divided intop two hemispheres by the wall of sleep, each being barely aware of the other. Though I canÕt say which half is dream and which is reality, I do know that our nightly death and diurnal rebirth forms the twin border between the two. A wall restricts movement and perception, although it does not make them an impossibility.Ó
ÒWe are closer to the High One than the unaware, there being none above him.Ó, said Imath the Understander, reciting one of the proverbs of his faith.
Moramyr paused for a moment, then nodded. Ò Indeed. Remember that, for the discussion of itÕs implications at this present moment would result in an unwanted digression from the topic at hand, the vision. Harkening back to the theory of dual existence, it is a possibility that the use of magic is not beyond the capabilities of our dream half. Therefore, maybe I did use a divination, only on the other side, my vision being the awareness of the effect of said casting, the effect being an extension of my awareness.Ó
ÒThat is a possibility, albeit not an obvious one. It is possible that your vision is the awareness of what another is aware of.Ó
ÒIf you are implying divine revelation, I would have to say that it is most improbable, for if it was, then why would Azuth or one of his archons choose to remain hidden? There is little to suggest that the dreams are of celestial origin, while there is evidence for my theory. Here...Ó, Moramyr pulled a small leather bound book from the bag that lay between his feet beneath the table, and gave it to Imath.
ÒItÕs a dream journalÓ, elucidated Moramyr.
Imath raised an eyebrow.
ÒEvery morning, in the first five minutes of my wakefulness, I lie still and attempt to recall all that transpired in my dream. Then I make an entry in the journal, writing all that I remember. ÔTis not an uncommon practice amongst diviners. The bookmarks indicate the pages whereupon the instances in which I have cast spells in my dreams are recorded... they would be 11, 31 and 61.Ó
Imath glanced at the marked pages and then posed a question : Ò On which page do the entries of the six identical dreams begin?Ó
Ò77. The entry marked the 1st of Mirtul.Ó
Looking at the pages without reading them, Imath noted : ÒYou say that it is the same dream every night. If that is so then why is there disparity between the lengths of the entries?Ó Moving ahead a few pages, he added : ÒEach is progressively longer than the last.Ó
Moramyr quietly interjected : ÒAh... but if you take the time to read them, you will note that they each begin in exaxtly the same way, in the (library). Every dream consists of all I saw in the one preceding it, with the addition of new locales. It seems as if they represent a journey, with further progress being made each night from the point where it began.Ó The diviner sat in silence while his friend took the time to read the entries.
Indeed, each began in a library filled with tomes. From there, Moramyr would proceed down a spiral stair and out of a door. Then, he would be standing outside a tower atop a small knoll that afforded a splendid view of the valley that surrounded it. Hidden at first, the presence of ruined buildings among the trees below became slowly apparent. An ancient wall ringed the edge of the valley. Imath stopped, not bothering to read what lay ahead. ÒYou have seen Myth Rhynn, the City of the Valley... your dream is the revelation of Azuth.Ó

ÒSurely, you must be mistaken.Ó, said Moramyr as his heart quickened and a strange sensation spread within, secretly hoping that he was the one who was wrong.
Imath ignored his friend, trying to fathom why the High One would reveal such knowledge to an acolyte. The existence of Myth Rhynn was a closely guarded secret, that which only those of the circle of the First were aware of.
Moramyr started to speak, but Imath raised a hand to silence him. The Understander returned to the writing. MoramyrÕs journey led him past many ruined buildings as he made his way upwards, to the wall surrounding the valley. The diviner crossed the gate and walked into the forest beyond. One thing was particularly interesting ; during his journey through the woods, Moramyr was always walking towards a perpetually setting sun, whose dying light filtered through the omnipresent foliage above. At last the trees started to thin, giving the traveller a clear view of the fiery horizon. The journal and the journey ended, on the outskirts of a town : Mosstone.
Imath looked up into the eyes of his younger companion, saying nothing. If only he knew, thought the Understander.
ÒImath?Ó
ÒHave you spoken to anyone about this dream?Ó
ÒYou are the only one who knows.Ó
ÒGood. You must keep it that way. It is vital that you never tell anyone, and I mean anyone, of your dream. Understood?Ó
ÒYes. But why is it that what I have dreamt must be kept a secret from the minds of men?Ó
ÒThis will be revealed to you, in time, if it is the will of Azuth.Ó Imath paused for a moment, then continued. ÒWe must go.Ó
ÒWhere?Ó, asked Moramyr, more than a little curious.
ÒOn a mission, a divine mission.Ó, replied Imath as he rose from the table.
ÒCould I have my book back?Ó
ÒThe journal is now the property of the church. It is safest in my keeping, and therefore I shall keep it.Ó
Moramyr started to protest, but thought the better of it. He had always placed his trust in Imath, trust that had not once been betrayed. Moramyr knew his companion had reasons, very good ones, for keeping silence. He only hoped that he would learn what they were.
The pair left their booth and emerged in the midst of the incessant din of a taproom. Their pale skin contrasted with the dusky complexions of many of those around them. Across the room, a bearded man in turban and caftan sat near a hookah, staring into nothing. Tucked in a corner, a group of men, unmistakably merchants, haggled furiously over somethingÕs price, their vociferous exclamations lost in the aural tumult of the tavern, the sleeves of their indigo robes dancing in imploring gesture. Having made their way through what little space existed between the crowded tables, the pair came to the establishmentÕs exit. A thin man whose sash held an unsheathed scimitar stood at itÕs side, bowing solemnly with palms together as the priests left. Out the tavern, into the darkness, into the streets of Mosstone.

Two men walked into the light of the rising sun. They wore the robes of Azuth, their long hair and beards gently stirred by the wind of the morning. Surrounding them were trees, the spaces between which became thinner as the sunÕs golden orb rose in the sky. Coming to a small stream, they found a sandy spot along itÕs banks, whereupon the elder of the two spoke. ÒWe shall rest here.Ó
Easing the heavy pack from his back, the younger sat down upon the sndy bank, finding comfort between the thirsty roots of a tree. Their journey had been begun in the fog of mystery, time and the coming of the new dayÕs sun doing little to part the mist. They would make their way on foot as a horse would be of little help in the tangled inner reaches of the forest. The younger had questioned the wisdom of walking into the heart of a fey wood by themselves. In response, he was told that if they were to die, it would be the will of Azuth. If their power intended that they would enter the City of the Valley, then nothing in the world could make it otherwise. They had placed their lives and fate in the hands of the god.
The elder left the shady bough to stand on that part of the bed that existed in light. Planting his oaken staff deep within the sandy bank, he stood back so that he could see itÕs shadow without the interference of his own. Placing a lodestone upon a smooth rock, he aligned himself so that he was in accord with itÕs facing. The staffÕs end was carved into a hand whose upraised index finger pointed toward the heavens, the relationship between itÕs shadow and point of origin examined intently by the priest. ÒEight hours of light remain.Ó, stated Imath the Understander.
MoramyrÕs heart sank. That meant eight more hours of walking, something that he wasnÕt looking forward to. It seemed that the farther they went, the harder it was. The strength of their minds came at the expense of that of their bodies, long years of study with itÕs attendant lack of physical activity resulting in physiques that were ill-suited to the rigors of the journey that lay ahead. ImathÕs devotion was the discipline of Alteration, magic which manifested as a tangible change of the physical reality in which the practitioner existed. Through dweomered means he enacted a fortification of his endurance, his age and weakness no longer limiting factors ; resulting in the inhibition of fatigue. Being a diviner, Moramyr had no such recourse, the effect of his magic existing as the creation of knowledge within the mind of the practitioner. Imath had chosen to withold bestowal of such enchantment upon Moramyr ; reasoning that such an action was not essential to due to his companionÕs relative youth, thereby being a needless expenditure of his power. And so, MoramyrÕs journey was to be a long one.
Worse than the fatigue was the not knowing. The apprehension of the mystery created by ImathÕs silence on the matter of the city seemed to burn the energy of the mind as walking did to that of the body. Maybe reason would shed light upon the unknown. ÒImuth, I respect your decision to uphold your silence on the nature of the city and itÕs significance. In doing so, you are being faithful to our church. However, I ask, what is more important, the church or the principles upon which it is founded? Reason is one of the foundations of our faith, for it enables us to understand the inner workings of magic. Everything has a reason for existing, and your vow is no exception. Essentially, your silence is a cause that you employ in the hopes of creating a certain effect ; namely the secrecy of this Myth Rhynn and itÕs nature. My conclusion is that the city of the valley is a place sacred to Azuth, a place that for some reason must be kept unknown to the uninitiated, itÕs existence and essence being knowledge that only those who are of the Circle of the First are aware of. I know the city is real, although I am ignorant of the details of itÕs significance. Tell me, is it the will of Azuth that the recipient of his divine revelation be kept ignorant of the knowledge of his faith? This would seem most illogical, a diametric contradiction of the principles of the High One.Ó
Imath gave weight to those words, and at length he spoke. ÒMoramyr, you speak with the voice of reason. That the High One chose to reveal the location of the city to you is not a surprise,... upon contemplation, I must admit. Azuth is not bound by a vow as I am. His revelation does not change the divine law of the church, nor does it mean that our canon is false, for it is only the Circle of the First who are bound to secrecy. Reason is truth. Every truth is a lie, and within that lie is the seed of a higher truth. There is always a higher reason, one that mortals are unaware of. There was a reason for his revelation and there is a reason for my vow of secrecy.Ó
And with that, Moramyr knew that the mystery of the nature of the City of the Valley would be revealed only through time and the will of the High One. The friends sat in the silence that is harmony, in the knowledge that only a priest can know.

**** **** **** ****

After the passage of two rides and over three hundred miles, Chrysylla had finally come to Iriaebor, the City of a Thousand Spires. The first six days of her journey were spent walking along the banks of the River Reaching, following it downstream in itÕs southwesterly course. This was a time of hardship, for Chryslla had no food (as her supply cache was many days upriver, and deep within the forbidding shadow of Skull Gorge ; a place she had no intention of revisiting. Fresh water was in abundance as was the dew laden tall grass in which she woke up and went to sleep for the first six days of her journey. During this time, the weather was especially dark, mirroring her mood. Chryslla felt responsible for those she let go and behind, Nasalia and Panetheus. The fact that her actions had probably saved her life did little to ease her guilt laden heart. She felt as if she was the cause of her friendsÕ deaths.
The first sign of civilization was the village (?) of HillÕs Edge, of late known for the presence of a Cyricist temple known as the Fist of the Future ; whose dire influence infested the town in a subtle yet ominous way. Tales of a mass murderer that left little to the imagination did little to comfort the mind of one permeated with paranoia, such as young Chrysylla, and possessing the (knowledge / understanding) of the probable nature of the killings ; so that only when the buildings of HillÕs Edge had faded into the northern horizon did she feel safe again.
Four days later she came to the village of Corm Orp, a community of many halflings and, according to folk lore, the home of the wisest woman in the world. Soon Chrysylla was fearing not for the safety of her life, but for that of the few coins she carried in her meager purse. The feeling of being watched that took seed in HillÕs Edge seemed to sprout in the presence of the rustic halfling village. And so, Chrysylla left the village of Corm Orp and made her way south along the Dusk Road.
Along the way she saw many people, who didnÕt see her as she was quite invisible. The use of the dweomer, which let her exist outside the sphere of visual perception, was the usual manner in which the maiden kept out of sight and out of trouble. This particular spell had saved ChrysyllaÕs life on more than one occasion, such as the time when she woke up in the middle of a passing party of most unsavoury looking men who were undoubtably bandits. However, it was of little use when one wanted to buy a room and a hot meal at the inn of some hamlet, town or city ; as most innkeepers would not take kindly to the demands of an unseen patron. Many times had Chrysylla thought of leaving her bill unpaid and slipping out unseen, but the use of magic to steal or harm from others was not in accord with her conscience and wishes.
After four days travel, darkness descended and so did Chrysylla, down the North Hill, the knoll that overlooked the twilight town of Hluthvar. Above, the rosy light of the west faded upon the face of the Grey Watcher, Darkhold nestled in itÕs stony brow.
The sights and sounds of evening greeted the maiden as she passed many people on their way to a warm hearth and hearty meal, be it at home or tavern. After pausing to end her spell of invisibility in a nearby alley (which was first checked for anyone lurking amongst the noisome crates and other less organized garbage), Chrysylla entered the Sign of the Gay Goblin, an inn whose abnormally short and twisted proprieter was rumoured to be half-goblin himself. Merry Cringe the Crunge always steadfastly denied this when put to the question of his ancestry, his claims to the contrary without proof and seldom believed. When Chrysylla entered he was talking to a party of adventurers (which was most definitely what they were, for who else would have the bad taste to eat their dinner in a full suit of armour?) ; he had apparently captured their attention, imagination and undoubtedly more than a little gold (itÕs glitter apparently being most conducive to the fruitful recollection of some long forgotten tale). The Crunge always had a seemingly endless wealth of knowledge concerning the Sunset Mountains to the east, of which he would readily part with for a part, in return for wealth of a more substantial kind. His uncanny knowledge of lost dwarf holds and old goblin holes did little in aiding his contrary contrations regarding the circumstances of his birth, despite claims that he was himself part of a party of adventurers that spent much time in the shadows of the eastern peaks. Though much of what was passed on was naught but fanciful hearsay, whose dubious veracity was always made clear to those who listened, when the diminuative innkeeper said ÔI knowÕ his words were truth. Of this Chrysylla was well aware, going out in the wake of one of his tales on several occasions.
Unheeded by the small man, she entered the taproom, blending in amongst the incessant noise and movement. Being busy and therefore mostly full, only a few tables remained unoccupied. All of the ones along the roomÕs perimeter had been taken by people who, for the most part and by appearance, had little in common with those of mercantile bent (as the small circle town of Hluthvar didnÕt lie upon a major trade route or relie uppn itÕs attendant traders; barter was the common way of exchange, so that the corn or carrot sealed a bargain as often as the coin).
Chrysylla found a seat with her back to the wall and ordered a pitcher of pale wine along with a ploughmanÕs, passing on the offer of CringeÕs Mystery Stew. The serving wench duly went to fetch the maidenÕs fare, upon the hungry patronÕs mandatory pre-payment. (In business, prudence, not trust, is foremost.)
After the passage of a little time unaware, Cringe himself brought Chrysylla her meal and wine. ÒHow fare you, fair Chrysylla, flower of flowers?Ó
ÒNot with thy stew,Ó replied the maiden, picking up on his subtle pun.
ÒSo, any news?Ó, ventured Chrysylla.
ÒSo, any gold?Ó, CringeÕs blithe retort.
ÒHmm...Ó, said the maiden, smiling and slightly winded.
ÒWell then, no tales but something that entails...Ó ; the Crunge pulled something, an envelope with seal of blue wax, from within his greasy apron and read the writing upon itÕs outside aloud. ÒTo the most fair lady Chrysylla, who lives through the grace of the High One...Ó Stunned by the unconsciously perceived implications of what was said and read, she accepted the missive and rose.
ÒI donÕt mean to be rude, but I must see to this alone.Ó
ÒWhat of your meal, surely thou art slim, in want of a little meat upon thy bonesÓ, said the slim Crunge.
ÒIt is paid and leftÓ, replied Chryslla, everything inconsequential in the light of the missive.
ÒWell then, take the plate and pitcher and should anyone ask, itÕs paid for, a golden lion changes hands as it walks the lands.Ó, offered the Crunge in his enamoured generosity.
With thank you, the maiden left to walk upon darkened streets, their circumferences diminishing as each was passed on the way to the townÕs central open market. At the edge of the quiet buildinged ring, Chrysylla stood in the west of the circle. Centered to her left, the temple of Helm, across from her right the townÕs most famous inn, the Watchful Eye. The power of the watcher and the guardian was ascendant here, Darkhold in the east giving presence purpose. Under the sign of the Watchful Eye, an eye resting upon the topmost level of a stepped pyramid, passed Chrysylla.
She opened the door, knowing the purpose and symbolism of that above (in the light of DarkholdÕs gloomy presence. The atsmophere of the taproom was slightly subdued, lacking the raucous cheerfulness of the Gay Goblin. After a short while, the aural suggestion of awareness and responsibility became apparent within itÕs subtle embodiment. The undeniable feeling of being watched permeated ChrysyllaÕs being, unconscious ominosity spawning in the stagnant pool of paranoia. This was most odd, as she had always felt the gaze of the Watchful Eye to be a protective one. Thee innkeep, Alamander, held grave conversation with a warrior in plate mail. They continued talking, and Chrysylla approached, not noticing that they had noticed her. When she came within earshot, they stopped talking and turned to look upon the maiden.
ÒWell met, Chrysylla.Ó, said Alamander in a resigned tone that spoke of curteous neutrality and sorrow.
ÒWell met, Alamander.Ó, replied Chrysylla, noticing that something troubled the innkeep.
ÒThis here is Viutavar, an esteemed member of the town guard.Ó, pointed out Alamander in his baritone voice.
The guardsman took the maidenÕs hand and kissed it as he bent his knee slightly in a bow. This show of outdated chivalry, oft regarded as more of a playful icebreaker than a measure of respect (especially outside the purview of nobility), failed to cheer the innkeep, and this Chrysylla noted, for such an action usually brought a smile of subtle change of bearing in all but the most impassive of people. Something in AlamanderÕs eyes reflected troubled concern, itÕs source unknown. Even in ViutavarÕs eyes could be seen the reflection of AlamanderÕs reflection.
ÒWhat ails thee?Ó, asked Chrysylla, out of almost as much concern as curiosity.
ÒMaurandyr is sick again.Ó, came the innkeepÕs reply.
ÒThis bodes ill... indeed. How long has it been since it began?Ó, wondered Chrysylla.
ÒA year, a year and a half. ItÕs been getting worse.Ó, replied Alamander.
ÒThey say that Maurandyr is in HelmÕs disfavour, though he still commands the use of divine magic, as evidenced by his participation in the healing of the wounded three tendays past, after a skirmish with the DarkholdÕs border patrol, two score of the Black NetworkÕs light cavalry. The high priest had reattached a severed arm through the power of his power, something that IÕve never seen done before, a feat beyond most of the most pious of clerics, IÕll reckon. If it wernÕt for his intervention, his unfailing aid, in the aftermath of battle, HluthvarÕs militia would have been decimated long ago. Nay, our god favours him.Ó
ÒDoes Helm favour or use him? There is the possibility that he has fallen from grace, that his fainting and mania are the manifestation of divine punishment. The withdrawal of clerical magic is not the only form that such retribution takes. HelmÕs sphere of control or influence, as you like it, is gaurdians and protectors. Stripping the high priest of his magical power in this time and place would be most illogical, contrary to everything the god stands for. Helm is all that stands between Darkhold and Hluthvar, in a sense. The magnitude of his responsibilities prevent him from keeping a more watchful eye upon the town and itÕs land, as one can guess by the tales of his role in the Godswar. The extension of his power through the power of his mortal servants is essential in this time and place, for through is his purpose upheld. Should the priests or their power disappear, so too would the divine protection that saves Hluthvar from destruction. IÕve heard tell that a company of DarkholdÕs troops would be enough to take the town.Ó
ÒYour reasoning is sound, yet I think MaurandyrÕs plight is one borne of mortalle imperfectione. I mean to say that he is succumbing to the fear of DarkholdÕs shadow.Ó
ÒHas it been worse, I mean, the Dark NetworkÕs influence and presence?Ó, asked Chrysylla.
ÒActually, things seem to have been getting better since the revolution in Iriaebor a year and a half ago.Ó, replied Alamander.
ÒThat is good news. Let us hope that Maurandyr will get better, too.Ó, said Chrysylla.
ÒAnyway, I donÕt mean to bring you down with such dark news. I take it you be interested in the services of this fine establishment.Ó, ventured Alamander, stating obvious fact.
ÒJust a room.Ó, said Chrysylla, reaching into her purse for the coins that would buy her shelter for the night.
ÒThe dragon, the boar or the star?Ó
ÒThe dragonÓ, replied Chrysylla as the innkeep took a key (affixed to a flat piece of wood, about palmÕs size, and crudely carved into the likeness of a dragon) and handed it to the maiden.
ÒÕTis the second door on thy left.Ó, reminded Alamander.
After saying her thanks and accepting an oil lamp, Chrysylla went up the stairs and through the door of her room, which bore a large carving identical to that of the key.
Locking and bolting her door, she made her way to the roomÕs mahogany table and drew the curtains of the wall that it touched. Taking a seat in the plush chair before her, she withdrew the letter from an inner pocket of her robes and unfolded it.
The opened missive :
Dear Chrysylla,
Thank you for your concern as to my safety within the room of the circle. Through the use of a casting of succor I was able to return to a nearby shrine, and healing magic has restored the integrity of my countenance. When you read this, I will be far away, though it is my hope that our paths will soon cross again. With this letter is a cross. If you wear it, I will be able to find you no matter where you are. I would have met you myself, but I am involved in a matter of the utmost urgency and importance that concerns my church. It is in this that I seek your aid.
Andruin, the old white man who opened the way out of the garden, is suspected of committing a crime against the church of Azuth. For reasons that I cannot reveal, the nature of his offence can not be readily disclosed to the uninitiated. If you find him, endeavour to burn this letter in a way that will not attract his attention to the act. In doing so, the fulfillment of a sympathetic dweomer will manifest as the consumption of the missiveÕs double in flame. If you are wearing the cross, I will be aware of your location and the fact that you have found the suspect. Once the letter is burnt, do all that is in your power to remain in his presence. I will travel as fast I can, though my arrival may not be without delay. Again, I feel that it is imperative that I impress upon your consciousness the need for you to posess a constant awareness of AndruinÕs location, if you should be so lucky as to meet him. Should he prove to be elusive, resort to your dweomer of invisibility; and in doing so have no fear for I will be more than able to find you should you wear the cross. You are indebted to Azuth. Find this Andruin, and you shall owe the High One and his church nothing. In doing so, you shall be freed of the possibility of Azuth collecting his due in the form of your enforced servitude in the afterlife, rightfully gained.
Panetheus
Chrysylla put down the letter and wieghed itÕs implications. She knew that oneÕs actions in the material world had a bearing on the nature of oneÕs existence in the afterlife, (but she had never heard of an instance where a power interfered with the free will of a mortal.) The words Òenforced servitudeÓ lingered in her mind, raising questions. How long could this conjected tenure last, and what form would it take? (It seemed unlikely that her spirit would be bound eternally in recompense for the rescue of her physical body. Could the consequence of the relative eyeblink remain inviolate for infinite time? The missiveÕs last sentence made her aware of the incomprehensability of eternal life in the light of mortal existence.
The sound of a flute ended ChrysyllaÕs perception of her contemplations. It seemed distant, yet close ; the level of a whisper yet prominent in the silence. She stilled her thought to become aware of the motion of the sound. ItÕs melody was unearthly yet earthy at the same time ; reflecting natureÕs essence yet invoking wondrous unreality in a tonal progression outside the sphere of her past experience. After a momentÕs concentration, it became apparent that the source lay somewhere between her feet and the mahogany table. Fear gripped her as surely did her slender fingers about the tallow candle (?) before her. Slowly, she pushed the chair back and looked under the table. When she saw nothing but a mousehole, rather big, ChysllaÕs tranquil water was momentarily restored. However, the piping had stopped in what she realized to have been perfect synchronicity with the movement of her chair. The possibility of coincidence was nowhere in her ferbile mind. With much trepidation she got down on her hands and knees and examined the hole. The candle and itÕs attendant light penetrated the aperture into the darkness beyond, breaching cobwebs that the small flame subsequently consumed. Without hesitation, Chrysylla withdrew the candle in fear of the spiderÕs nest providing a bridge from fire to dry wood and whatever lay between.
She sat for a long while, pondering what she had heard.
ÒCome out!Ó, whispered Chrysylla, for it was fairly obvious to her apprehensive imagination that a fairie lived in the wall.
Hushed expectancy marked the passage of a few minutes, after which Chrysylla realized the implications of the cobwebs within the mousehole. ÔHad I a spell to become a mouse!Õ thought the maiden. ÔThen I could find out what lives behind the web.Õ
After waiting a while, Chrysylla whispered into the hole : ÒCome out I say! I am a mighty sorceress and if you disobey IÕll weave a fell hex and turn you into a toad.Ó
If there was indeed a fairie in the wall, it was not the least bit impressed by the maidenÕs threat. When Chrysylla knew that no fairie was readily forthcoming, she tried and lied again. ÒNay, a toadÕs too good for you... perhaps I shall summon an imp from the evil place where the sun donÕt shine. Then I could send the thing through your hole to hunt you down ; and when it found you and your little wings, they would undoubtably be removed in a most painful fashion.Ó
Then a small sphere of soft luminesence emerged from beyond the web, itÕs light only slightly less prominent within that of the candle, itÕs passage through the silky strands changing nothing. The ball of silvery radiance moved to a point in front of ChrysyllaÕs face and hovered motionless for a second, after which a tiny voice originated from itÕs center. ÒI am the fairie lord. Who are to come to my home and threaten me? What gives you the right to do this?Ó
Chrysylla was struck by the realization of the truth in his words, feeling smaller than the little sphere in the light of his righteous speech. ÒUmm... I...Ó, this wasnÕt what she had expected. It would have been easy to reply with harsh words of haughty hue, but she had not the heart for this.
ÒYou should be ashamed of yourself. What purpose do you hope to achieve by intimidating peaceful folk such as I? DonÕt you know what comes around goes around? A hex on me, a hex on you.Ó
ÒUhh... I thought you were a bad fairie.Ó
ÒAnd what if I wasnÕt and you sent your imp after me to tear off my wings?Ó
ÒWell, youÕd be a good fairie without wings.Ó
ÒThe gall!Ó
ÒJust a jest, Mr. Fairie Lord. No harm meant. I apologize for my cruel words. ItÕs just that I could think of no other way to bring you out into the open. And now that I see you, IÕm not so sure that IÕm so impressed. I canÕt fathom why a fairie lord would endeavour to live in a hole, and I always thought that fairies were little people with wings.Ó
ÒAnd had this been my home, do you think for a moment that I would be so careless as to let a visitor such as you know where it is by the sound of my flute?Ó
Though ChrysyllaÕs mind was sharp, she had a knack for missing the obvious. ÒWell, I do say, thatÕs right!Ó
ÒIt is all very good and well, it is. Your bantering and blustering was all for naught. My page at home, my flute had to serve. And so Ôtis you have been summoned, into an august and royal presence, not to mention forgiving too, and being worthy of shown curteousy and respect.Ó
This very well impressed Chrysylla, and she made a lame attempt at bow and curtsy Ôneath the table.
ÒTo you I bring a message, from an old man, who of old was quite the fairie friend. He saved many of our folk on three occasions, and if it werenÕt for him naught would be left of our kingdom. We are eternally in his debt. It is one of the duties of the kings to help him when he comes to our kingdom seeking aid, for without him there would be no kingdom. He doesnÕt call often, though when he does, a king, according to tradition, always takes it upon himself to personally come to the aid of the old man. Our friend wants you to come and see him in the dreamland of our folk, where he awaits your arrival in the mushroomÕs eye.Ó
ÒWhat is his name.Ó
ÒA secret.Ó
ÒI do say, thatÕs a silly name. Now, what would this Mr. Secret want from me, pray tell?Ó
ÒItÕs a secret and his nameÕs not a secret, itÕs a secret!Ó
Chrysylla had become quite enchanted with the prospect of a journeying to the fairie kingdomÕs dreamland to meet this old man whom the diminuative sphere referred to so guardingly. ÒWell then, take me there.Ó, asked the maiden eagerly. ÒI would quite like to meet this Mr. Secrect!Ó Chrysylla didnÕt consciously not her uncanny and uncharacteristic lack of trepidation in the face of the unknown.
ÒVery well then, we leave when Selune rests in her fourth house, and we shall have finished your journeys before she arrives in her fifth.Ó
ÒBy that time, IÕll be fast asleep.Ó, repiled Chrysylla, stifling a yawn.
ÒI know.Ó, replied the silver sphere of light, whereupon he retreated into the mousehole to a place very much beyond the maidenÕs sight.

Chrysylla awoke in a dream, where her being manifested in the form of a silver sphere identical to the one she followed over the landscape of flesh that she recognized as her body : Everything seemed so big as the sphere of the maiden floated down the mile between bed and floor. Crossing a sea of moonlight, she lost sight of her guide as his hue harmonized with the silver radiance from above. She knew the way without knowing, and so came to the cobwebbed mousehole. She moved through the strands without breaking them and soon caught sight of her guide above. He hovered above a strange stairway that ascended into darkness. As they flew past the steps below, the darkness faded into light above. As the dimness dimmed, a profusion of vines and creepers (whose profusion would have interfered with ascension had it not been for the insubtantiaity of their (?) form.) became evident. Soon the innÕs musty smell was left behind and obscured by the earthen smell of a spring rain. They entered the light and exited amongst the _ roots of a tree that must have been miles tall if the maidenÕs reckoning held true. Absolute solidity had been achieved the moment their feet touched the earth. They walked along the valley created by roots twenty feet high and hundreds of feet long until they came within sight of a hill bathed in the nimbus of morning light. Wordlessly, the maiden took the fairie lordÕs hand and followed him to the crest. She though she heard the pentatonic sing song of voices that joined and revolved in harmony around and within an unchanging drone, though it could have been her fancy. Not halfway up the hill a giant dragonfly, twenty feet long, alighted upon the crest. Strangely, she did not fear itÕs arrival.
Together, they came to the ridge and looked out upon a valley that must have been hundreds of miles wide and whose trees were as tall as mountains.
ÒBehold YÕwen, our kingdom.Ó

Riding the dragonfly, Chrysylla followed the fairie lord through the air ahead and above. Through the spaces between golden boughs, they flew to a place under the rising sun. She lost herself in the wonder of her surroundings and their suggestion a magical ambience untouched by man. The sound of a great river dawned in their ears, growing in intensity as they descended to the boreal floor. Rounding a huge trunk of oak, they came within sight of a cascading river whose huge fall formed a pool around whose near bank rested a leaf. As they touched the earth, three fairies faded from invisibility. They looked upon Chrysylla with mixed pity and joy, for despite her equal beauty their guest had no wings of her own, as did the old man whose coming always became a holiday, a time of much celebration.
With scant grace, Chrysylla dismounted with the help of the attendant fairies, after which she was led to the edge of the pool and the leaf barge that waited there. Chysylla was helped up and after she took her seat in the center, two of the diminuative beings did the same to either side of her as did the king ahead. Behind the (trio?), a fairie stood and pushed off from the shore with itÕs pole made from the twig of an immense bough. As she crossed the stillness that was the pool, Chrysylla saw the reflection of the sky in the waterÕs placid surface. Looking up, the maiden noticed that the fluffy islands of the endless cerulean firmament had never seemed so distinct. Abruptly, the leaf barge landed, bringing ChrysyllaÕs gaze earthbound, after which she disembarked with the rest and walked deeper into the fairie kingdom, leaving poolÕs edge behind.
The four wound their way through the maze of the giant undergrowth, caressed by the cool shadows surrounding them and the intermittent light filtering down from above. After a while, the profusion of light increased as the fairie lord led his guest up a hill whose flanking ridges were great gnarled roots, a hill that ended where the trunk of a giant tree rose from the earth. Nestled in the ascending valley between the roots was a circular grove of white mushrooms. From somewhere in the center came the sound of laughter and starry voices. Leaving the green growth behind, they followed a path through close set stalks which came to a bluish end under the heads many feet above.
Presently, they came upon a ring in the center, in which a circle of fairies surrounded a wingless form in the middle, a white robed man over whose shoulder floated little clouds of a strange smelling smoke. To Chrysylla, everything seemed very unreal and dreamlike, time slowing with a mystical focusing of attention as the one who sat in the middle turned to face her. The maidenÕs gaze met that of an old man, one she had seen before. Andruin.
The air filled with hushed expectancy as the old man regarded the one he had summoned, casually puffing on a pipe carved in the form of a serpentine dragon. His presence awed the maiden, ancient eyes revealing unfathomable knowledge that almost concealed a terrible sadness. In spite of what Chrysylla perceived in the depths beyond the windows of the soul, the old man seemed happy as one who had been roused from the throes of joyous reminisence. He slowly nodded, eyes half-closed, as he continued to eye the maiden. There was something in his gaze that made her dare not speak, something that held her motionless.
At last he spoke ÒWelcome, young one whose name is as Chrysylla.Ó Andruin paused, and after a moment of reflective consideration, continued. ÒNot since the days of fallen Myth Drannor have I looked upon such beauty as that which shines in thine eyes...Ó Again he paused, his eyes holding the look of one who sees into the depths of yore. ÒI once knew...Ó, then he stopped and a mist of sorrow seemed to dampen the strange light of his eyes. For a moment, he looked away, then returned his gaze. ÒWell, as you remember, my name is AndruinÓ, his change of tone suggesting an attempt to dispel some memory. ÒIf you want to ask how I found you, then donÕt for I didnÕt, as it was only through the talent of my illustrious friend that you were located.Ó A simle crossed the face of the king and he bowed his head in gesture of subtle thanks for the wizardÕs praise. ÒLamentably, he wonÕt part with the knowledge of his ways, so thereÕs no use in asking him, either. None have more secrets than wizards, though the fairie folk do seem to come a close second.Ó Appreciative smiles grew upon the faces of more than a few of those gathered in the ring. ÒAnd secrets are nothing new to one such as you, finder and keeper of lore hidden and arcane, incantatrix.Ó His last word focused her attention more than a little, for it was who she was ; a weaver of a secret magic beyond the ken of men. Seeing the look upon her face, he smiled and continued ; Ò Ah, my little one, do not be so surprised. I have lived for many years and there is little that I havenÕt known. When you spoke with the High OneÕs priest, I watched and listened, and the evidence of your way of magic soon waxed upon my mind.Ó The mention of her conversation nearly brought certain memories into the light of consciousness, but they were of another world, one that seemed to have little relevance to her present state of existence, and so they floated near the darkened surface of her lower mind, present yet unknown. Still, Chrysylla didnÕt feel that it was her place to speak, and even if she had, she wouldnÕt have found the words. And so, Andruin continued. ÒI have read of your kind and their ways. Feel not ahamed for thy secrecy, there be wisdom in your manner of prudence. Many is the mage who met their end, and many more are those who have suffered ; all due to the indiscretion of their revelation.Ó Andruin let his last words linger as he narrowed his eyes in careful scrutiny of the maiden.
A pregnant fairie approached, curtsied, and offered Chrysylla the sweet nectar of an unknown flower. The maiden took the buttercup and sipped the (purity) within. ÒIÕll start by answering your friendÕs questions, something that unfortunate circumstances almost prevented you from doing. The six you sought were the Company of Enjuril, named after their leader, who as the rest has gone to the west. They sought the secret of eternal life; for I told them where to find it. You see, I wanted to explore this certain place, though I didnÕt want to do the actual exploring so I needed someone else to explore it for me. I needed a lure that could not be resisted, even by an adventuring company who already on an important mission to a certain ruined city far to the south and west. Mmm... you see, I wasnÕt exactly lying, for the secret of immortality may very well have been found within that darkened place ; and indeed the Company of Enjuril may have found their sought after eternal life, though not in the manner they expected. So there are the answers to the first two questions of your friend, who and why. As for the third, where ; well you could think of that place in Skull Gorge as a kind of... ah... tomb, if you will.Ó Andruin almost said something else, then thought the better of it and asked a question instead.
ÒDo you sometimes get the feeling that you are being watched?Ó
Chrysylla paused, searching for the answer. ÒYes I do, though I canÕt ever seem to remember.Ó (?)
Andruin smiled and nodded knowingly. ÒYou are most perceptive, for the power and nature of the watcher and that through which he watches is beyond your ken. A woman of common mind wouldnÕt have the slightest inkling of the fact that she was the subject of such extraordinary observation. Here you are safe and beyond his sight, though if you are to ever awaken you must leave this place. After your return to your world, go south past Asbravn and to Iriaebor. On the Street of Runes, in the shadow of the High LordÕs tower, you will find a ruined tower.Ó Andruin paused, the thought of his next words bringing a sad smile upon his ancient countenance. ÒThings are not always as they seem, the evidence of this to be found in the false apparency of the towerÕs ruination. This will become most obvious upon your arrival, prior to which I will have contacted the towerÕs occupant and instructed him to enact a watching dweomer attuned to your body, one that will make him aware of your presence in the immediate vicinity of his home : a door beyond your sight will be opened, but only when you see the collapsed arch. Within, one awaits, one who can help. His name is Morhion.Ó The old man paused, then continued. ÒShould you reveal to anyone of his secret existence, MorhionÕs vengeance shall surely answer your indiscretion. Even I would be wary to contend with the likes of one such as him. And, since we are on the topic of secrecy, I most sincerely ask you to keep silence on my being and words. Although I wonÕt threaten you with promises of retribution in the manner of Morhion, I strongly urge your compliance with my request. I... ah... how should I say... happen to be representing the interests of a higher power, one that doesnÕt take kindly to the revelation of itÕs servants.Ó He might have said something more, and if he did Chrysylla never remembered. In fact, when she awoke, Chrysylla recalled nothing of fairies and dreams, their memory being eclipsed by the light of day.

After taking her morning fast,(a few hot crossed buns and marmalade), at the table in her room, Chrysylla noticed something at the edge of her sight as she rose. It was a buttercup, the tiniest of the tiniest of flowers. (Chrysylla had an especial fondness for things that bloomed, though she felt a certain sympathy for the little blossom, one compelling and not out of pity.) She took it and placed it in the silver locket that hung about her neck. Without further ado, Chysylla left the Watchful Eye after saying farewell to Alamander, who was still very worried about the health of Maurandyr.
Outside, she stood in the less than fantastic central marketplace, the calls of peddlers piercing the morning air, here and there. A veiled woman, (who wore a belt of filigreed gold coins that bound dark silken robes that weaved in the wind), walked past Chrysylla, south down the street between the Watchful Eye and the town wagonwainÔs shop. The maiden followed this strange woman around the corner of the inn, down the Way of the Guardian. Such style of dress was unheard of in this part of the world, yet none save Chrysylla took any notice of the veiled lady as she passed. South went the strange woman, as if she intended to walk toward a home thousands of miles away. Soon Chryslla saw that she walked barefoot... in a town! Strange it was when she did nothing to avoid a pile of fresh horsedung on the street, stranger still when she walked through the horse that (nearby!) Now, Chrysylla knew that horses werenÔt made out of air, but when she petted the fillyÔs flank her doubts seemed rather foolish. The veiled lady seemed to have gone around the corner of the building at which the animal stood, tethered to a post. Chrysylla walked around, not through, the horse and the corner nearby. Ahead, a road curved ahead and beyond, out of sight, just as was the veiled lady. ÔWhat have I seen()Ô, thought Chrysylla. ÔIt canÔt have been a traveller through the ether, for if it was, how could have she walked through the horse()!Ô
The surreal effect created by the mystic diffusion of the morning light did little to assure her of the reality of what she had seen. Chrysylla moved through the ways of those (who) were about, coming to an intersection of the curving road she walked and another that led straight to the townÔs center. Nearby, an open window framed the form of a veiled woman within; and an instant later nothing was there. ChrysyllaÔs eyes met those carved on a door beside and belonging to a womanÔs face ; placid and all-knowing in their oaken gaze. Like one in a dream, she approached the portal and saw that a ring of runes surrounded the wooden countenance.
Chrysylla raised her hand to knock, then paused out of a strange kind of trepidation. As she thought to leave, there was a tiny click and the door slowly opened.

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Morhion closed the door behind him, shutting the last portal that led to the world outside. He paced the lengths of the walls slowly, stopping only at the midpoint of each of the roomÔs four walls and then only to briefly touch a small crystal sphere in each of their centers, each responding to his fingertips by bringing forth light from seeming nothingness, light whose intensity increased with contact. Coming full circle, he turned and walked to the center of the room. At his feet lay a mattress, tiny auburn() stains making a pattern that to him was a map. Morhion appraoched, (withdrawing) a silvered knife of iron from itÔs nest Ôtween leather and green wool. This he placed Ôpon the center of the mattress, and in his return to the tree hands opened a spiralled leather bind, freeing the unseen light of his body. To the floor, gently, fell his robes. He moved slowly, his awareness living as speed died. After a few minutes, he was in a sitting position upon the downy heaven. His legs were straight and at the edge of the unseen egg of light. His right hand held the eagleÔs hilt of the blade, his left clenched in the fist of concentration. The bladeÔs warm and razored edge touched the flesh of his arm, scarred & crisscrossed. Without emotion he opened his skin in a place that he knew. Dark blood welled about the edge, tiny streams of crimson winding their way in (growing) gravity. Air and water mixed in their mixtures and the knifeÔs tip, coated in a dark extract, touched the unseen clouds. In ....... the extract had made the journey. Morhion knew what he was doing, he had come this way before. His will was strong, and when his awareness, the six spheres in one, began to leave his physical body, it was in the movement of his choice. Laying down took the rythym of eternity, the loss of control of his physical body was directly proportionate to the loss of control of the movement of his awareness. Had he been a novice, the six perceptions would have lost their harmonious unity in an uncontrolled movement whose reflection would wander in a manifestation of sense. Moving through walls, his awareness entered the outer air of the city of a thousand spires. In the vault of heaven, a double rainbow bridge touched the earth in the unseen unison of north and south. Morhion faced the dying sun, the beauty of the goddess luckily beyond his awareness, or as some would say, light. In the west, storm clouds gathered around around an orange sun as rain fell, her intensity coming in short downpours of ecstasy. MorhionÔs awareness moved in accord with his will, to the southeast and a destination some six hundred miles away.

**** **** **** ****

ÔCome inÔ, said a silky voice of feminine, patient expectancy.
ChrysyllaÔs obeyance brought her within a room of soft light and air of myrhh. Soft light and the presence of six ladies. Each wore next to nothing, two in fur, two in leather, two in lace. Beauty, bared in breast and open leg, subtle of the light of ecstasy and seduction. Upon sight of their guest, the women exchanged glances of surprise, hopeful smiles and lust awakened in more than one bosom.
ÔMy name is Mavorneen,Ô said a lustrous woman in the voice of the Ffolk. She wore a furren blanket and nothing else. There was sadness in her eyes in the azure sky of her (pupils). Silence lingered for the briefest of moments, and then she uncrossed her legs, slouching in her chair, parting them, revealing all. ChrysyllaÔs charmed gaze of opened eyes fell upon the sight. A faint odour mixed with the perfumed air and the maiden blushed and met a knowing stare. ÔWell...I...Ô. (More stares and hungry warmth.)
ÔYou came to have your cards read.Ô, said a sallow woman in an (arid) tone.
ÔYes, I mean, no...Ô
ÔSit with me, childÔ, said the lady, pushing a chair from out from under the table where she sat. The sallow woman sipped the lemoned tea of Mulhorand, holding the warmth within her mouth as she took a breath of strange tobacco from a hookah covered with the carven forms of knowing baboons. Chrysylla hesitated, then took a seat by the lady whose fingers prepared large cards, rose and wood within and without the fairy cross their .... centers. The sallow woman took a final look upon the facing innocence, and within her eyes Chrysylla glimpsed eternity. Another sip and breath moved within curling wisps of smoke. Ab-Neferetu paused, invoked a sacred name and begun again. Eleven times she changed the cards, taking from the top and moving to the center, pausing to take a sip and breath between each time. Again she invoked the name of a god, this time audibly. Out she laid eight cards, five above and three below, each time invoking the name of the heart of god. One by one, she revealed the eight cards, naming each in itÔs . . . . ÔGain.Ô Ôthe Fool.Ô Ôthe Princess of Wands.Ô ÔCompletion.Ô Ôthe Heirophant.Ô Ôthe Power.Ô ÔChange.Ô ÔCruelty.Ô Chrysylla waited in silence, for she was not new to such things. At length, Ab-Neferetu spoke. Ô(The cards have been read from that which is present to the past.)Ô ChrysyllaÔs brow furrowed. ÔYou may stay or leave.Ô
ÔStay.Ô, the maidenÔs reply. Some of the women left, and when they had gone, the screams of rape resounded in the floor above. These were quickly silenced. ChrysyllaÔs alarm was met by the gaze of the sallow woman, who put a finger to her lips. Time passed in silence, and the women felt much and said nothing. Food was brought and ate, Chrysylla partaking as the spoke the sallow woman.
ÔThe past is done, and done again Eternally and without end. Of this we know. As for the future, I cannot say anything with (certainity.) Choice, your choice, shall decide.Ô Ab-neferetu closed her eyes in the pregnancy of silence.
Chrysylla joined her, saying nothing, and at length spoke again the sallow woman. ÔYour time is coming. I offer shelter.Ô
ÔWhat do you ask in return()Ô
(Truthfully), ÔNothing.Ô
Chrysylla was one who was not given to trust, as she had suffered and seen much of the ways of evil. She knew what had transpired upstairs, and of the nature of those she was with. Yet, she hadnÔt the strength to see beyond her own safety. And, so she spoke again with words of halting, guarded speech. ÔAh... your offer... Ôtis fine... yet... I... I... can feel something. ItÔs... Ô
A knowing tone the response : ÔYouÔre scared. You think that youÔre being watched. YouÔre right.Ô
Chrysylla was almost a woman, yet still a maiden, (and thus she knew much of the ways of the pussyfolk.) Yet even this surprised her.
ÔYou are in the House of Heaven. The accursed ones cannot touch you. The choice is yours, not mine.Ô
Chrysylla hesitated, then took a look at the hookah.
ÔSmoke with me.Ô, said the sallow woman.
She, the maiden, felt a pain in her bosom.
ÔWell()Ô, In a knowing voice the sallow woman continued. ÔYou want tea.Ô
Chrysylla nodded.
ÔMavorneen.Ô Then the lady pulled her wolfskins about and left the room.
Soone she returned. ÔThis is the tea of Unther, honeyed and sugared.Ô Mavorneen opened her wolfskin, offering the warmth, revealing her full bosom and rounded, hardened nipples. ÔYou are cold. Come with me, to bed.Ô
Ab-neferetuÔs gaze, observing as the ibis, fell upon MavourneenÔs hand as she touched Chrysylla, giving tea and warmth. The maiden took hand, tea and warmth. Then they went to bed.
Up stairs twent the pair, hand in hand and with warmth growing in every step. The maiden was wet between her legs, and her guide no less so. Mavourneen paused, at an oaken door, caressing nipples that hardened upon soft fingers. Joy came upon her, and she took the juice of her mouth to her lips, ascending to her hardened ... She turned, in heat, and embraced Chrysylla, bringing her lips open and then bringing her mouth to Chrysylla, opening and sealing the maidenÔs breath. The wolfskin dropped to the floor. Mavourneen placed her tongue under Chrysylla, finding that which was above below. Chrysylla felt a strange warmth in her abdomen, something she had never felt before. Then she came. Mavourneen shared her ecstasy, hugging Chrysylla and taking her legs from the floor, hands under thighs.
ÔHold on.Ô
(Lips touching, (below, above).) Down, down, into a bed of furs, and two as one embraced, touching, holding, kissing. Mavourneen ..... in the beauty of ChrysyllaÔs soul, hidden within a sky of blue. Both hands between her legs, (one above and one within), Mavourneen came. Chrysylla awoke, sweat dampening her inner robes. Mavourneen held her, sadness and a completion in her eyes. ÔShh... sleep. Sleep, child, you have a dangerous journey ahead.Ô ChrysyllaÔs pleasure had just begun and sleeping was the last thing she desired. Mavourneen moved away and Chrysylla tried to hold her back, feeling a strange kind of love. But Mavourneen was the stronger, and the separation was done. Tears welled within the maidenÔs eyes, watching the strong and naked body of the lady, approaching the window in the soft light of morning. ÔThere is a man for you. To the south and to the east. Your time will come, in time. Time is time and now is the time to move on.Ô And with these words, Chrysylla had the sleepy draught, only to pass on to her next life.

Chrysylla was reborn in the dying light of that day, late in the afternoon. She yawned, (true earth), waking in peace and the forgetfulness that follows sleep and death. Then she noticed, consciously, her surroundings, the recognition birthing the memory of what had happened in the morning. Chrysylla yawned, and felt an awareness of something she had never before known. (True earth), infinite light ; without end and existing eternally in finite omnipresence... The sallow woman opened the door. After eternity within the span of a few moments, unconsciously perceived in itÔs entirety, the higher harmony revealing a span of nine months in the silence of two breaths as one. ÔGood dawning. You are not the onlt sun that is rising, I see...Ô, said Ab-neferetu as she looked out the window at the setting sun. ÔPerhaps youÔd like to join me for a last (pipe) before you go()Ô
Ô(It would be very nice, though I think IÔll pass on the Untherian tea.Ô
ÔCome down, Mavourneen went to the market and bought you things for your journey.Ô
Chrysylla followed, down the steps, listening to (thier) creaky reply to her footsteps of descension. The room remained the same, just as it had been in the past. The hookah awaited, and fine Tashlutan tea was brought to the table.
Mavourneen entered and sat beside Chrysylla, sadness in her eyes. ÔThis is the last time weÔll meet. YouÔre going on a journey, where I donÔt know, but youÔre never coming back.Ô A tear fell from the corner of a painted eye, rolling itÔs way down a blushed cheek.
The sallow woman (remained, impassive) the eyes of one who keeps company with gods in far away places. Chrysylla felt the sadness of Mavourneen and the wisdom of the sallow woman. A new woman came and gave Chrysylla her tea, which never the maiden accepted readily. Mavourneen sat cross-legged in her wolf-skins, at ChrysyllaÔs side (by the maidenÔs chair.) She readied her bag ; food, blankets, and a pouch of tobacco.
Chrysylla asked, ÔWhat of the future, what is it that awaits me())Ô
The sallow woman responded in kind ; ÔWe know of the past. Your decisions that you make will create that which exists in the future. Your choice, not mine... I see youÔd like something before you go. A breath perhaps()Ô ...and the ladies shared their tobacco in their way, the way of silence.

**** **** **** ****

Chrysylla walked south upon the Dusk Road, toward the city of a thousand spires. Outside, in the late morning(,) warmth of nature was well and moving in her ways. To her left rose the Sunset Mountains and to her right miles of open earth stretched about and beyond sleepy little farmhouses. She had her pack and an oaken walking staff that she (had) found the day before. (The light shone through her body, making no shadow and only the sound of soft footsteps upon weedy cobbles.)
Making her way ahead, (her) mind went back to the strange events... the circle town. She remembered most of what had happened within the House of Heaven well, indeed these things had existed prominently in her memory for all of yesterday and the day before. Yet, there was something else, something that she couldnÔt quite remember. Something about a person in the city of a thousand spires. Someone was watching and waiting. There was also the matter of the letter. How would she find Andruin, and what would she do once she found him(). ÔI just wish I had more control of my life.Ô, mused the maiden, meandering on down. ÔIf only I had a horse.Ô, (mused) Chrysylla. The amongst the background of the rosy peaks of the westernmost of the eastern Sunset Mountains, out of the corner of a watchful left eye, Chrysylla saw a moving patch of the purest white. Indistinct among the hazy clouds, it travelled upon great feathered wings, hooves moving upon nothingness. A pegasus!
Resplendant() upon the warming (moving) morning air, high above the ground below, the steed rode the upper currents, descending steadily upon the magic air, ride the wind, ride the wind. Overjoyed she was, this beautiful sight, as the mount of air rode down from the skies. In time . . . waited as the wingd horse alighted upon the earth (from the air.) ÔIÔm invisible!Ô thought Chrysylla as the wingd horse neighed(), and knelt before her. The maiden hesitated, held back by a little trepidation. Again neighed the pegasus, pawing the ground impatiently. She reached a hand, touching the whiten mane, strokin the whiter flank. (Again neighed the pegasus, as if it were waiting for someone. She came closer, and in one moment the two were together, as the wingd horse took (to) the upper air and the south(ern). The joy and the pleasure of the animal between her legs, moving within and upon the air whose wind moved her hair in violent caresses. To the south they went, above farmer and farmland below, lifting earthbound eyes to the apparency of an unridden pegasus gracing the heavens.
Day turned and day came again. On the way, she had dropped her staff, wrapping her arms around the neck of the (pegasus) and falling into a (gate) gentle and blissful sleep. Chrysylla came in her sleep, arriving at a place far removed from the material world. (She was with angels, existing in light that was the harmony between and within them, living and talking. () Many months passed, and she learned much of things that canÔt be learned. Then came a time when one of her friends left the place. For a while, Chrysylla remained, existing in light, well fed by that in which she was, (and at peaceful rest.) Yet she missed her friend, who had left and not come back. She asked about him and they told her of his fate, that he was (bound to Toril), bound to the earth. And so she left, sad to leave the silent home, yet sadder still that she was alone.
Chrysylla awoke as the wingd steed came down to (the) earth. With great effort, the pegasus tried to make the landing as smooth as possible. His flanks were lathered and exhaustion brought him low. The wind whispered through the tall grass as the flanks of the (pussy) pegas(i) heaved. Moving the hair from her eyes, Chrysylla tried to get her bearings. She had been asleep, but for how long() She remembered something about meeting someone in a forgotten glimpse of light, yet that was all. The mystery of her destination faded silently, eclipsed by the dying mount. (breath) She knelt beside, giving comfort to (the) resting animal. Chrysylla put her hands about his neck, and this time he was the one who slept.
Down on the plains below, a river stretched upon a (bubbly / roaring) course to the west. From the lowhill on which she sat, Chrysylla could see for miles around. She had a pipe, the smoke scattering (flying) upon the wind of the west, moving through and above the swaying grass. Above, the sunÔs radiance filtered from beyond the upper sky, filling the world with a warmth that moved upon (an) unseen current.
ÔWhat am I going to do now()), thought Chrysylla, frustration almost manifesting yet soone calmed by the healing smoke. And so she passed the time, waiting for her mount to gain strength, trying to guess where she could be. (She knew it was somewhere south of some mountains, though these were to the north and very far away. For a time she felt as though she and her steed were not alone, felt as if something beyond the mountains was watching her. ÔNowÔ, she thought ÔI have two choices... I can look for this Andruin or I can return as IÔm sÔpposed to, back to Nataeja in Easting.Ô Then she had an afterthought (in this form) : ÔOr I could... ()Ô Chrysylla fingered her silver locket as she mused, feeling the cool within the touch. A distant memory whispered without the form of language, emotions born in some faerie place. Without thinking, she opened the locket, revealing a tiny buttercup within, frail and (slightly wilted). (Andruin. Iriaebor. Morhion! Morhion! Andruin met me and told me to meet Morhion in Iraebor (and said that I should see Morhion in Iriaebor) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

She held her friend, firmly, not letting go of his mane. ÔHere weÔll stay Ôtill you gain back your strength and sort out my crazy head. (She always told herself that she was imagining things, such as being watched out in the middle of nowhere.)

**** **** **** ****

Time....

Morhion awoke in movement, his awareness riding the wind(,) without the current. To the south and west, over the black slate waters of the Chionthar and across the Green Fields. After a hundred and seventy miles, the edge of a light forest came into view. MorhionÔs (awareness / sense-body) entered itÔs outer reaches, moving through trunk and bough alike, unfettered in (her) course. After fifteen miles (time) the (outer) other side had been (b)reached. Between the forestÔs edge and the ridge (unseen) six miles away, a shallow valley, beautiful and untouched, sloped down from the last few birch and cedars at the edge of the rise. MorhionÔs awareness continued moving southwest to the edge of the ridge. From here, twelve miles passed, the only sign of life a golden eagle() (soaring in the sky.) Then he came to a small river (that had as itÔs) origins in the center of the valley and out of sight. It flowed to the south and in itÔs way went Morhion, merging with the flow of the water, not getting cold (n)or wet, not even swimming as he passed the unnoticing fish. Once he passed through a boat of miners, returning to their southern home with the diamonds of the Ridge. None felt the slightest shiver as he passed through their bodies, no water moved as he redescended into the current. After eighteen miles() a fork was passed, and the moving water was travelled for another twenty-four miles at which a bridge was passed unnoticed. Twelve more miles, and the confluence created a stronger current,. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
journey. And so it went for a hundred miles, above and below the waters, until they opened out into the northern bay of Lake Esmel. Around the peninsula and through and above the colder and deeper central lake, passing through tourist and Esmelda alike, unnoticed in his way. Fifty miles had passed (on) the lake, and MorhionÔs sense body travelled four and twenty leauges, along the course of . . . . . . . . all the way to itÔs headwaters (slow ascension over the descending plains). A few miles over open plain, a dozen over grey hills, (seven / under) crossed the Tethir Road. Sixteen leauges across fertile ground, and MorhionÔs sense-body reached the beginning of the end of his journey : the outer reaches of the Forest of Tethir.

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The time had come to travel to the west, to the city of a thousand spires and Morhion the Mage. Chrysylla straddled her steed, (in speed) and took to the upper air. (hours()) later the Tor and itÔs uppermost towers rose above the horizon. The maiden could feel the wonder that only children know as the city approached, standing still. Chrysylla had been to the city before, but never had it ever (been / felt) like this. Storm clouds gathered in the west, behind an orange sun of dying light. Soft rain fell slowly, and a double rainbow rose, unseen, in the east. Flying fast, descending from the upper air, the image of the many spired Tor and itÔs surrounding wall grew in the maidenÔs eyes. A mile from the wall, the winged horsieÕs hooves touched the earth, galloping to a canter and motionlessness. The pegasus bent itÕs knee to the groundm allowing Chrysylla to dismount. She stroked her friendÕs nuzzle, finding a look of sadness in the eye of the animal. () The pegasus lowered itÕs head and walked away.() In her heart, Chrysylla wanted to hold him back, but in her spirit she knew that their time together had passed. Trot to canter to gallop, and the hooves left the earth and took to the air and the (darkened west). Shouldering her pack and mouthing her pipe, Chrysylla approached the city, smoke trailing in curling wisps behind.
Twenty minutes of travel, along the south bank of the Chionthar, and the maiden was on the bridge to the south gate. She crossed (the river) and passed through the (gate) unchallenged. No one guarded the entrances of the city, not since the rebellion of two years before, not since the occupation of the Zhentarim had been put to an end and the rightful ruler of the city, Bron, had been brought back to power (Though the involvement of secret societes in the cityÕs .... had come to an end, Iriabor was still rife with intrigue, manifesting in the conflicts of smaller organizations, notably merchant (costers) and trading companies. Through the gates, and into the dimly lit (city) streets. Chrysylla took the letter from a pocket in her robes, rereading it. She asked the first person she met (a man with dark skin and flat nose, and curly hair, of a race she had never seen before. He wore the strangest, brightest clothing she had ever seen. Around his neck was a tightly bound scarf and in his hands was a yarting of the purest white. His presence woke her, and his breath was a sweet wind of warmth. In her mind she heard a strange voice, in an accent that bespoke of a faraway land. ÒOn the tor, in the west, at the Sign of the Dreaming Dragon.Ó
ÒUmm... excuse me. How do you get to the Street of Runes.?Ó
ÒStraight up ahead. I told you.Ó And with that he was on his way, goinÕ south. Chrysylla pushed her hair back over her head with her hand, the other on her hip, staring ahead into relative nothingness. ÒWhateverrr...Ó
And so she continued, looking for someone normal to talk to. Soone she found a whore, lounging in her scanty blue, inside an arch of radiant light.
ÒUmm... excuse me...ah.. could you find, I mean, could you tell me how to get to...Ó
The lady () looked within and through the maiden with a knowing gaze. Then Chrysylla remembered the conversation of a few moments before and said Òthe Sign of the Dreaming Dragon.Ó
Sadness came to the ladyÕs eyes, the memory of her favorite ...., a thief who () died saving the city from the evil that had corrupted it, down in the darkened depths of the earth.
Chrysylla continued, ÒIÕm looking for a man who lives on the Street of Runes, a mage by the name of...Ó
The ladyÕs eyes opened wide as Chrysylla spoke & two words finished the maidenÕs speech. ÒShut up.Ó The prostitute closed the door behind her, sealing the light and clothing her in darkness. ÒFollow me.Ó
Chrysylla hesitated... ÒWell?...Ó, spoke the lady..............ÓHis name is not to be spoken. Obviously you donÕt know with who(m) youÕre dealing with, for if you did you wouldnÕt be asking for directions to his house, and the last thing youÕd be mentioning is his name. I used to know a friend of his.Ó
Chrysylla was wary(,) and unsure, but she could usually judge a personÕs intent by the tone of their voice, and in the ladyÕs words were found no malevolence. And so Chrysylla accepted the offer and followed the lady of the night through darkened city streets, with crumbling tower and loomin bridge above. They passed a ruined tower, crumbling and (clad in vines) as they went north to... This they walked along, passing the High LordÕs tower on their way to the western edge (of the Tor) and (the dying light of sunset.)
At the end of a street, they came to an inn. Above, a sign swayed in the (wind of the) damp air : the Sign of the Dreaming Dragon. Chrysylla felt a warm feeling radiating from the laughter and light that emanated from the opened doors and windows of the place. Yet the blue (prostitute) remained serious, apparently unaffected by the sounds of happiness inside.

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Morhion entered the forest, his sense-body moving through that which is wild and free. Tasting the flesh of fox and blood of tree, without destuction. Feeling the vibration that is magic(), itÕs intensity intensifying as he approached the center.

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They left the inn. Silence. The one word of Tyveris... The trio travelled to the tower, then made their way along darkened streets of night. Not long after, Chrysylla, Tyveris and Estah arrived at the beginning of the House of Knowledge. The ground had been consecrated and a small shrine had been raised at itÕs center, around which the construction of the church would emanate until completion.
ÒI thought we were going to the abbey?Ó, asked Chrysylla.
ÒWell, we are at the abbey, all that is saced to Oghma is one, in accord with the principle of co-terminosity.Ó, responded the Loremaster, pushing up his spectacles with trembling hand. Chrysylla gave Tyveris a puzzled look.
ÒWe havenÕt time for theology or metaphysics. Follow me to the shrine and safety.Ó Tyveris could still feel the presence of the watcher as he led his companions across the hallowed ground. The Loremaster stopped at the entrance to the small shrine, (entered and made a sign.) Estah and Chrysylla followed, staying put as Tyveris put steel to flint and lit candles which lit incense, filling the (tiny) room with soothing light and odour.
ÒOghma, help us and close the eyes of the one who watches from the darkness that is beyond the light of life.Ó, asked the (Loremaster / Tyveris), in supplication Oghma ( the Binder). However, before he was even finished, the presence was gone.

Estah approached the shrine at the center of the seed of the House of Knowledge. The cold air of SharÕs morning caused the hobbitÕs breath to form little clouds of mist as she walked across the hallowed ground. She entered and found Chrysylla and Tyveris huddled in blankets, the maiden curled in a corner as the Loremaster paced the room in walking meditation. Estah knew enough to leave the priest alone, and so she ignored him as he did her, and she came to ChrysyllaÕs side with offers of warm tea and bread. The maiden ate and drank in silence, later studying her book under smoky breath. Done, Chrysylla spent time in meditation as the Loremaster walked around her in endless circles. Estah sat in the doorway and watched over the beginnings of the hallowed groundÕs foundations, to the streets beyond and the unknowing ones that walked upon them. The first workers arrived, and their (sounds / noise) brought the attention of Chrysylla and Tyveris to the physical world. They left the shrine and walked on down the road, talking amongst themselves, Tyveris and Estah revealing more about their past adventures than Chrysylla, who as usual was rather reserved in the presence of those she was unaccustomed to. To the Sign of the Dreaming Dragon travelled they, and as they approached Tyveris reflected upon his decision of the night before. The Loremaster () came to the defintite conclusion of the young womanÕs beneficience, yet he also knew that something was watching her (through / via) the use of magicks that extend awareness. Tyveris also knew that the watcher was one who existed without living. (It was these two things that made him decide to meet with Morhion himself before bringing the maiden into his presence.) Yet even this posed danger, something Tyveris was trying to keep away from his friend. The watcher had seen him, and now that she was known, he could be seen again. Tyveris perceived his lack of perception, realizing his internal conversation and silencing it with his will. They walked and talked, arriving at the inn, and (walked) through an opened door, framed in the glory of the newly ris(ing) sun. Inside, they shared infusion ........ situation. Tvyveris spoke, serious as death : ÒI wonÕt tell you were lives the mage. You know why. Tell me where I can find you and I might bring my friend into your presence..Ó
Sorrow in her voice, spoke the maiden : ÒI guess IÕd better go. One day I shall return....() to the House of Knowledge.Ó (Chrysylla looked at EstahÕs children, Pog and Nog, then within the healerÕs eyes and the sadness therein.) ÒWhen I donÕt know, though hopefully it will be soon.Ó Chrysylla shouldered her pack and left, never to see Tvyeris and Estah ever again.

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Morhion moved through the forest of the superunknown. (M)oving through wall(s), pass(ed) through the ring of stone, and the valleyÕs edge, gazing upon the ruined buildings entwined with (forestry / poetry), blanketing the valley floor in harmony with the omnipresent mist. Soon he would open the doors, six in one, one in six - creating the gate of perception to be opened in time.

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On the road to Easting, .... crossroads where a group of people were burying the body of a young man. Chrysylla stayed and watched as earth () was poured upon the body as it was laid to rest. No priest was in attendance, though an older woman stood over the body, placing flowers and herbs among the blanketing earth. No one spoke, and Chrysylla shared their silence. The earth was flattened and sealed, tiny seeds () planted close to the night air. Water was poured upon the earth(), which caught fire and sent woodsmoke unto heaven.
Like firelight, magical force emanated from the earth, filling the people of the circle with warmth. After the fire faded into the nothingness of the air, the gathered people walked away in silence. One went west, a couple went east, some went south and most went north. Chrysylla remained for the space of a few minutes, then followed the couple, two dwarves walking hand in hand, as they walked to the east. Farther on down the road, the couple turned around, their long beards catching the light of the stars in hairy nests of moonlight. They watched, without greeting, as Chrysylla approached. Drew closer the maiden, and the two could feel the presence of the perception of evil. The woman drew the axe, bloodstained in dry russet, moving in front of her husband, who () awaited behind in trepidation, () warmed by his wifeÕs protection. Timidly, spoke Chrysylla : ÒWell met, noble folk of the earth. Chrysylla be my name and I donÕt want to hurt you.Ó Now, some say that dwarves can feel the () evil or the lack thereof, in a personÕs voice, not to mention the good(!) Whether this be true or not, the woman was of the kind that started such talk. Confused, yet still aware, spoke the woman. ÒMy name be Dopey, and I wonÕt spill thy blood if ye leave us be. (Darkness) of the (cold)est night watches, this I feel. Know this, child. I donÕt want to, but come ye closer and IÕll end yer life quicker than a stone falls to earth.Ó It hurt Dopey to say this, for she meant no ill to the maiden, yet when it came to the life of her husband, she took no chance. The woman spat in her hands, gripping the handle of the axe tightly, holding itÕs blade against her bosom. (Anyone who knew the first thing about dwarves knew that when the water of their mouth bound hand (to) handle, they were preparing to save life by taking it.) This was almost a mock gesture, for Dopey did this out of fear of having to hurt the maiden. Chrysylla had woken up long ago, yet she was without fear, for she knew a little of dwarves and their nature.
ÒIÕm just gonna have a pipe.Ó, said the maiden as she unshouldered her pack and drew forth the tobacco of Sarradush, filling the bowl with fingers sure and untrembled by fear. Warily, the couple watched as the smoke drifted lazily into the starlit () sky above. Among all the intelligent races, the sharing of tobacco and other smokables was considered a sign of peace.
ÒIf ask I may, whose funeral were we at?Ó
In solemn response, the husband spoke : ÒOf his name I speak not, though I tell you he was of the northern hamlet, a man who died in the noon of his strength, and that by his own hand. He was a seventh son, of his father who himself was a seventh son. The people of his village scorned him, saying that he was insane. Yes, he was given to ranting and rambling, yet he never harmed anyone, for that was not his way. Wasted words of warning, and the ones whose () ignorance and torment caused him pain..Ó, here paused the dwarf, in the breath of wisdom. ÒThe ones who wouldnÕt let him live his life the way he wanted to, the ones who restricted his movements, are the ones he lost faith in. This is why he took his life, methinks, he lost faith in the men of his world, however tiny it may have been.Ó The dwarf looked deep into the touched eyes of the maiden and finished his tale. ÒHis passing (in)to the next world was the damnation of those he shared his life with in this one.Ó The dwarf paused, hearing the echoes of his words in his mind, reflecting upon what he had said.
Dopey felt the concentration of the attention of the watcher, and held her husbandÕs hand in hers, leading him away from the road and (the security of the hills to the north.) The last words that Dopey ever said to Chrysylla were these : ÒYourÕe being watched, and whatever it be, it ainÕt natural. Beware, child, beware.Ó And so ended ChrysyllaÕs first and last meeting with Dopey and her wise (man.)

Chrysylla walked through the night, casting her gaze into the ether from time to time. ÔHow come everyone is so scared and I canÕt feel any danger?Õ Chrysylla paused by the roadside, eating a meal of cold rice and the fine stuffing of Iriaebor. When she was done, she took shelter under her blanket, reading the many castings of her tome, whose words were penned in an ink that (existed) both in the ether and in matter, in harmonious co-terminosity. She pinched her eyebrows, softly pulling them as she looked at the last bit of her gum arabic, resting silently in the palm of her hand. She (smoked) near the last bit of her smokeweed, growing paranoid as the weather changed, sharing tobacco with spirits who offered (a) little comfort. A serpent, black and red, swam upon the earth nearby, offering momentary companionship before she passed away into the (forest) of low lying bushes nearby. Life seemed so real, no waking dreams brought light into her life and she hadnÕt slept the previous night. Above, birds flew to the east, many (moving) through the night air as the first few drops of rain touched the earth. (Something she had never seen before!) An almost supernatural cold filled the air. For a moment, the maiden thought she saw an Amnite amongst the nearby outer copse, a bearded man with a convex kite shield and slim scimitar. Gathering her blanket about her, she rose and moved toward the east, her last bit of gum arabic nothingness.

Chrysylla walked through the night, approaching Easting as the cold peaking. Many worlds away, a seelie sun moved across the vault of heaven, the end of itÕs journey in sight. Chrysylla came upon three bards, at another crossroads, sipping tea and sharing their music. ÒI can feel her.Ó, said one, singing around the melody of his attractive way. (Hmm) Yet they sang of love, and ignored her after a while. (Though she was ignorant of their ignorance, as were they.) They finished their song(), and talked amongst themselves, sharing a strange smelling herb and tea. They began again, playing a soft . . . (song) of subtle enchantment that ended in a harmonic minor progression, reminding the maiden of the minstrels of the lands she knew as Calimshan. Unseen, a sense-body left toward the east. The ending just a beginning, a song ended and began in harmony. Chrysylla heard voices in her head, speaking of the adventures of . . . . three musicians who came from a far away world(), seeking new lands, words, and songs of magick. ÒAll you are is in you.Ó, this one sang, fading away with his friends as the stormÕs rain intensified. The rain approached a crescendo, itÕs intensity intensifying in proportion with the disappearance of the three. Soon all was silence but for the sound of the skyÕs tears upon the earth, and the occaisonal bass of the cloudclash. Chrysylla took shelter under a . . . . . , seeking respite from the growing storm. The tree took her in without complaint, glad for the company. Chrysylla hid in her blanketÕs cave, covering her book as would a mother to her child. With the greatest difficulty, she summoned fire (summerwood) and wisps of smoke began to soothe cupped, wet hands. (Hirt!) The little warmth of the maidenÕs pipe gave her comfort under the boughs of the happy tree. Then Chrysylla saw something she had never seen in her life, coming at intervals of every few minutes or so. Lightning without form, golden (blue) and omnipresent(), alive. Her lightnings lasted until the sky brightened above unseen Easting, light blooming as water faded. She made her way toward the dawn, watched by a raven perched among(s)t the dead boughs of a dead tree.
Soon she came to a sleepy little inn, the bardÕs tale unspoken, emanating from an opened door. The sign of a Prancing Pony hung above the portal, dripping the last tiny drops of the sky. Entered the maiden, a warm taproom where a () maid bent over an oaken floor, cleaning with skill. Four sat around her, lounging in darkened corners that brightened as the people journeyed through time, sitting still. So she walked in, looking around the room, meeting the eyes of the people who were there. The bard put down his lute, getting in the maidenÕs way as he went for some (liquid warmth.) A man whose malificence was unhidden to the maiden went to releive himself out back (also meeting his ÒfriendsÓ, though Chrysylla knew none of this.) A wooden wheel rested upon the table of a studying yeoman. Outside, the storm ended as a balding man with four sticks in his belt played with strange dice, trying to make up his mind about something. Upon her own table, a cat who was fat (a fat-cat) ate a fine cooked meal of rainbow trout, with a couple of mice thrown in for flavour. Patches paused, pointing to an open door from which a steamy mist danced and curled into the taproomÕs air. The bard took a strange thing, called a bottle, and a strange little roll of parchment in the other. ÒMake smoke.Ó, said the man whose skin was the darkest the maiden had ever seen. With two words, the wisps of a sweet-smelling herb to air began to permeate the room, (unseen) cleaning the air of the traces of evil that had remained. He turned to meet the gaze of the maiden, ÒKnow the way to Halfaxe Trail?Ó
ÒNo.Ó, said Chrysylla, shaking her head quickly and softly.
ÒI seemed to have blocked your path.Ó
ChrysyllaÕs brow furrowed.
ÒI mean, your energy path.Ó
The nasty man came back in, returning to his chair as the bard continued. ()
ÒWare child, beware.Ó, looking the bard upon newly seated man, in a hushed voice drawing closer, ÒBandits walk the road. There are those that steal material things and those who steal that which is as energy.Ó
Chrysylla was young, not yet a score winters within her body, yet she was experienced and () understood what the man said. Chrysylla wanted to talk to him, though he ignored her, returning to his chair and finishing the same song that he was playing when she (had) entered. Chrysylla looked upon the woman () as she neared the end of her cleaning, her hands moving in perfect circles.
ÒCome here.Ó, said the man who made his desicions with Tymora. Chrysylla started to come near.
ÒBring me the pitcher upon the bar.Ó, he asked in a musical voice. Her back turned, Chrysylla missed the leaving bard who played as he went. She brung the ewer, placing it upon the table and asking ÒWhatÕs your name?Ó
ÒÓ
ÔThatÕs a strange nameÕ, thought the maiden as she poured the strange orange juice of Thay into a waiting cup.
ÒCome talk to me later. Patches wants you to take a bath.Ó
ÒWhat?Ó, aked the maiden, drawing back a little in perplexion.ÒThe door is open...Ó, said the man, pointing toward the portal of steaming mist.

Chrysylla entered the room, watching the few others that were there, some men, some women(), all bathing and all together. Without further ado, she removed her robe, standing naked and drawing the attention of more than one man., taking her blanket of mist.() A few dried rose petals were among that which left her hand to float upon the waiting water. Chrysylla entered the wet warmth, feeling () purest pleasure as her body entered the enchanted liquid. She relaxed in comfort, dreaming dreams of love and happiness. She awoke for a while, magic in measured breath, as her hands explored her body, exploring everywhere and reminding her that she had little things such as toes and scars and little birthmarks in hidden places. Then her mind wandered, and she began to be in harmony with the more spiritual aspects of her being, such as her imagination.
She was close to a man whom she desired, powerful and dark haired - a prodigious smoker of the () herb of Zakhara. Chrysylla thought of the time that they shared together, a time of happiness. Again she was with him, their sahus in harmony.
Suddenly a splash returned her awareness to the physical plane. A man, of dark and long hair, smiled as he looked past the soaked sponge he had thrown in the bath. He walked toward her, naked and smiling.

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Miles away, walked the bard passing his friend the fox, his attentiom turning to battle and the lesser malificence in which one partakes for a greater beneficience. He sat, in magical relaxation, his voice and song woven in spell, composing in improvisation, weaving word and sound, playing with the spirits, killing with word and sound, singing with the tips () of fingers, playing with (heroine.) The man had no heroine, and death came in mysterious ways upon him and his ilk, ways the bard knew nothing of. He chose mercy at the right time, saving a young one along the road.

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Nataeja moved around her home, placing things here and there, cleaning, fixing and washing. Soon her guest would arrive, soon. Nateaja readied the ear of corn, pipeweed and bittersweet infusions. The rituals were made at the proper times and (in) the proper ways, and her home was balanced.

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Chrysylla was in her pleasing bath, feeling nice after her orgasm, but still was ... and a little more. She slipped back into the warm waters of her haven, moving the matted hair.... golden in the misty light. Hands between her thighs and closing tired eyes, she dreamed of a husband who would hold her after she was done. She had heard that the best part of making love was something spiritual and infinite, beyond all definition, spiritual and infinite.

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She moved throughout the omnipresent without, co-terminous with the center of existence, within and without.

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Chrysylla dreamed about steamy things, of the doors and a peace frog who warned about commencement. She met a young man, who told her not to be afraid, as fear destroys and love creates. Chrysylla felt sympathy for this man, strange as he was, messy hair and mysterious speech. He told her a tale of astral journeying and of the different kinds of dreams. And then he left, knowing that their time together had to end so that it could begin. Chrysylla wandered back to her physical body, taking her time and walking amongst blue turtles that slept in the peace that is harmony. Eyes opened in the light, under the smile of ...

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She watched the scribe as he studied history, writing with friends, his work existing without form. As mother protects child, planning was made. Red Magic waned beyond the Priador, and soon the time would come. Chaos came, gathered about the unliving Zulkir, manifesting itÕs intensity in the illusion of order, concentrating chaos around the Zulkir. Spiritual psychic battles were waged, unperceived by the unaware. () Powers of goddess moved, a deity stalked her pray(). (Priest opened for one manÕs instrumentÕs armies.) MulhorandÕs pharoah awoke. Their awareness had suffered far too long, the concentration suffered injury.

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Wosir looked across the misty room, past a happy couple and through the door, to the room of friendship beyond. ÔWhere is Prespos?Õ ... that he hasnÕt arrived at the proper time? . . . he said as he sank back into the .... Easing back into the absolute relaxation and . . . of his bath. The . . . . man paused, thinking of a break as he fingered the four sticks.
ÒThank youÓ, Gennifyr said Genesis.

ChrysllaÕs ... amongst ... the gathered() men ... was the .... men with the ... is omnipresent Milil

She danced, amongst laughing patrons. Had Chrysylla cast her gaze into the ether, the maiden would have seen a strange light amongst the omnipresent mist.
Yet, in her mindÕs eye, she saw a great bronze gate. In this she saw the sculptured visages of demons, leering in bas-relief. Erek raised her from her vision, with offers of shared smoke and bed. The first she accepted, whereas for the second she declined. Days passed, a couple, and then Chrysylla left her friend at the inn. She walked out into the sunÕs dying, soft, light and amongst the last birds who sang in the sheltering boughs of oak and yew. The wind the only sound that accompanied the endless vibration of boot and road. The night was long, and the maiden had far to go. Chrysylla wished she could have travelled with Erek, but he had to make his way west and then south, to a destination amongst the Empires of the Sands.
Quesnef watched as she made her way through the gloom, having nothing better to do in his ancient tomb. He didnÕt see the one he loved as she shadowed the maiden, following ChrysyllaÕs trail in the ether. And so. two watched, a young woman alone in the night, with interest and speculation. Chrysylla felt tired, but her will was strong () and the cold night air did nothing to stop her. The maiden journeyed, Easting her destination. As she walked, she concentrated on her feet, ignoring all else. In time the seconds grew to minutes, and she thought that she had walked along way (,) when in fact she had barely covered the distance of a mile.
Chrysylla felt like a tired prisoner, (and she settled down to rest in the center of a ring of mushrooms. There she thought of things that changed her life forever. Chrysylla waited in the fairy ring, waiting for someone or something that would change the way she felt. The maiden figered her cross. Something wasnÕt right, and until it was she would go no further.


Chrysylla awoke in a warm bed, the light of a new day having long since dispelled the peaceful dark of night. ÒWhat should I do today?Ó, she thought aloud, contemplating the many and varied ways that lay ahead of her.
Propping herself up upon her pillows, she lit her morning pipe and considered her friendÕs offer of a sojourn into the Savage Frontier, a chance to glean the wonders of lost Netheril. She had never been north of Waterdeep, in fact had never set foot within the City of Splendors. Darius had told her marvellous tales of the place, having visited it several times in the course of his travels throughout western Faerun as a member of his fatherÕs merchant company. ÔBut I must see Nataeja and tell her of the outcome of her vision.Õ, the maiden reminded herself. ÔLetÕs hope Darius can chance the wait of a few days.Õ
Later that morning, Chrysylla found herself at a table in the innÕs taproom, sharing tea with her friend Darius.
ÒTell me,Ó ventured the maiden, ÒWhen do you plan to leave to the North? You were a bit ambigous upon that point.Ó
ÒWell...Ó, responded Darius, ÒThereÕs been a little complication, you see. As I told you, my responsibilities to my fatherÕs company for this trading season were to end upon our arrival to Iriaebor... However, late last night, I was met by a rider from the coster, who said that my father had to have word with me, and that it couldnÕt wait.Ó
ÒBut you told me that your father was in Amn, hundreds of leauges to the south and west.Ó
ÒAye, thatÕs the thing. Kalim, one of the head merchants of the company(), told the rider that had spoken to my father yesterday, and, he told the messenger that my father is in Amn, awaiting my arrival. No horse rides twelve score leauges in a night, and...Ó
ÒA dweomer of sending, in all probability. Yet this Kalim said that he spoke to your father personally, never have I heard of a spell that allows anyone other than the practitioner to engage in the actual communication, especially such as that which occurs over a distance of hundreds of miles. Hmm... it seems as in magic, as in life, the more one knows, the more one realizes how little he or she knows.Ó
Darius paused() for a moment, pondering upon (over) what had been said, the continued : ÒYet have I never known my father to have a liking for those who practice the Art, and never have I known him to have dealings with those who work magic. If he hired the services of a mage, which would seem to be the only possible explanation, then the matter must be urgent indeed... I will have to leave for Amn this very night.Ó Again he paused, considering something. ÒChrysylla(), have you ever visited my homeland?Ó
ÒNo, though IÕve heard tales...Ó
ÒTales!Ó laughed Darius. ÒYou have never been in a land that is truly civilized until you have set foot in one of the cities of Amn. The life of a refined woman such as you will never be complete until youÕve had a chance to sample the wonders of the bazaar of Athkatla...Ó
Chrysylla had always loved shopping, and the promise (prospect) of a sojourn into the marketplace of an Amnish city lured Chrysylla as honey to a bear. (The fact that she was nearly penniless didnÕt cross her mind in the least.)
ÒIÕd love to journey / go to Amn() with you, but... Oh!Ó, she pouted, ÒIÕve got to meet my friend Nataeja (), in Easting...() I could leave now / be quick, and return to meet you here in three days.Ó
ÒThree days that I donÕt have.Ó, interrupted Darius.
After a few moments of disappointed silence, ChrysyllaÕs eyes lit up with the promise of a hopeful idea. ÒYouÕll save more time by waiting than by leaving now.Ó (A puzzled look came upon the countenance of Darius as continued the maiden.) ÒIn Easting, there are to be found the finest mounts in all the world. I could return with horses that run faster than a thief from the watch. What say you?Ó
Darius already had a fine mount, yet it was a little old, even having being (ridden) by his father in the days when he had travelled the wide world at the head of his trading coster(). And among dealers of horseflesh, even in farway Amn, the fabled worth of an Easting mount was well known. To compound this, Darius was rather fond of Chrysylla and the prospect of a six hundred mile journey seemed brighter in the light of her company.
ÒWell... alright.Ó, ChrysyllaÕs face beamed with a smile of relieved elation and excited anticipation, as continued Darius. ÒBut how are you going to pay for the horses? An Easting mount commands a high price, even by my standards. A yeomanÕs wage of a full year is barely enough to purchase such a fine animal.Ó
ÒUmm... Ò (Again, the fact that her purse held seven farthings had not crossed her mind.) ÒI have friends in Easting, ones that would certainly do me a favour in such a situation as this...Ó
ÒA horse merchant among them?Ó
ÒWell, no... but my friend Nataeja is the best midwife in an eagleÕs eye, and IÕm sure thereÕs more than one horse merchant who owes the life of his firstborn to her.Ó
ÒShe brings horses into the world?Ó, asked Darius in a hopeful tone.
ÒNo, just people babies, IÕm afraid.Ó
DariusÕs spirit sank a little in response to ChrysyllaÕs reply.
Ò(Chrysylla) I canÕt chance the wait of three days without an Easting mount.() You see, in my experience IÕve always found that money talks and horse dung walks... Or maybe it trots... Well, now that I think of it, IÕve never seen a piece of shit move of itÕs own accord, so()...Ó Darius snapped out of his reverie, remembering the importance of the situation. ÒAnyway, IÕll give you a personalized letter of credit and a bag of lions with which to purchase the mount, and you can take Findle to speed you on your way, and for the merchant to hold, for which I shall make written provisions. YouÕd best be on your way.Ó
ÒYou promise youÕll wait for me?Ó, asked Chrysylla, as the last time that he said he would wait for her, she had returned to find him gone ; and that which he had entrusted in her was naught but a pittance in the eyes of the son of an Amnish merchant.
ÒI promised never to break a promise, and to accomplish this I promised never to make a promise. Yet in doing this I realized that I had broke two promises in one, so I came to the conclusion that promising is completely without promise.Ó
Chrysylla rose, hands on hips, and gave him() a look that said ÔIÕll hang you from the cieling by your balls if youÕre not here by the time I come back.Õ
Darius relented under (beneath) the maidenÕs hardened glare, and without realizing it he said ÒO.K. O.K. I promise.Ó, defensively holding up his palms in the face of ChrysyllaÕs unspoken promise.
ÒThatÕs more like it.Ó, responded the maiden with wagging finger of scorn, as she rose to make preparations for her hasty departure.

()Seven minutes later, Chrysylla was upon FindleÕs back, cantering east upon the Trade Road ; . . . . . later she had rode through the circle of hills that surrounded the small community of Easting. As Chrysylla entered the town proper, she marvelled at the many () that milled about upon the cobbled streets. In her short life, Chrysylla (the maiden) had been to many wondrous places, yet nowhere else had she ever seen so many dwarves in one place at the same time.() On her way through the town, she passed many buildings that held a certain amount of fame (or infamy of a sort) in the talk of Easting folk : the Unicorn, Madame FantasiaÕs House of Ecstasy, the home of Merlim Mulhenessen, with the mystical carving of itÕs (lintel) into the form of entwined serpentine dragons, and a pair of Untherian lions (guarded) whose malachite compositions were said to change if the need arose.
Not much time had passed before the maiden (Chrysylla) Ôs unobstructed gaze regarded the eastern crescent of the ring of hills that surrounded Easting. Upon a hill that overlooked the bustling town, there awaited a certain wisewoman, a wisewoman who waited for the maiden.

ÒCome in.Ó, said the voice of a wizened woman from beyond the closed door of the windowless hut. Chrysylla lowered her hand, which was poised to knock, and gently opened the wooden portal, peering around itÕs corner to gaze into the depths of the relative gloom with(there)in. A pair of a pair of eyes regarded the other, and near lit the dark in their joy. ÒChrysylla!Ó
ÒNataeja!Ó
A crone who seemed as something else in the way of her movement rose to meet the maiden and embraced her in a hug that seemed to be that of a she-bear in relativity to itÕs giverÕs form. Nataeja then held Chrysylla at armÕs length, looking deep within the maidenÕs eyes. She smiled a knowing smile and spoke ; ÒSo you plan to journey to the south . . . On this you must elaborate, but first sit and make yourself at home. IÕve a little feast laid out for you...Ó
And indeed, two plates awaited on two sides of a little fire, steaming little mountains of strange mushrooms (in which hid vegetables Chrysylla had never seen) rested within shallow valleys of rice that were held within earthen vessels that were at once both plate and bowl. The two women shared their meal, which seemed to bear an enchantment that no casting could make, the subtle magic of nature that no man can grasp.
They talked of ChrysyllaÕs planned journey as they ate, and when they were done, the wisewoman offered the maiden some of the fairy mead of Avonna, EastingÕs most renowned breweress. Chrysylla declined, (the last time she had ventured to quaff / partake of a sample of AvonnaÕs creations, she had spent the remainder of the night having to put up with things such as talking squirrels and trees which grew gnarley faces upon their knobby trunks.) instead producing her pipe and tobacco pouch. When Nataeja saw the maiden begin to fill her bowl, she pointedly objected in () suchlike fashion : ÒNo, no, no, no, no! Tobacco? tsk. tsk. Not in my home, only better herbs for such a pretty girl as you. Tobacco! Hmph!Ó
Chrysylla waited a moment in mystery, regarding the wisewoman in wonder as she plucked a little pouch from among the many and varied herbs which hung from the ceiling. This she tossed to the maiden, who deftly caught it in her nimble hand.
ÒWhat is it?Ó, asked Chrysylla.
ÒA little secret. IÕd tell you though I fear that youÕd write it down in one of those silly books you seem so fond of. () Hmm... itÕs smoked among olvenfolk, or elves as you call them. Sunrise, sylvan, moon, all regard it as one of lifeÕs finer pleasures.Ó
Chrysylla eyed the poucheÕs contents suspiciously. ÒWill it make me funny?Ó, meekly asked the maiden as she felt the texture of the dried, yet fairly moist, moss between her fingers.
ÒYour jokes are so bad that Mystra herself couldnÕt make you funny if she tried.Ó, said Nataeja with a chuckle and a grin.
Chrysylla smiled back and gave the wisewoman a sort of pouting look. ÒYou know what I mean. I mean will it make...Ó
ÒYou open your other eyes? Nay, not this, Ôtis a simple pleasure and nothing more.Ó
ÒIt better be .(.).Ó, replied the maiden in mock threat.
Soon wisps of smoke were dancing in the darkened air, and for a moment Chrysylla thought she saw an angel within the coils of that which rose from her bowl, yet she quickly dismissed this as fancy for she (saw / viewed) herself as one who often imagined things on / at the horizons / edges of her perception. the two women talked of what had transpired (at / in) the gorge of he upper Reaching River, the wisewoman more than a little interested in what the maiden had to say. Then they talked some more, of ChrysyllaÕs further adventures and of things that women never spoke / say in the company of men. After a while, the two sat in silence, and from out of nowhere, Nataeja spoke (recited) a poem. It went something like this :

Starry night,
Mystic light,
Open the eyes of the soul

the subtle voice of the goddess,
Unseen life,
Faithful wife,
to magic ways untold.

As Chrysylla listened to the wisewomanÕs voice, she cast her gaze into the ether, letting the swirling mists of insubstantiality mesmerize her in their endless dance. Not ten feet away, in a place of infinite silver light, a young man approached Chrysylla, moving as if it was nothing(?). NataejaÕs awareness remained in the center of the inner and outer perceptions of the two young ones that stood on opposite sides of her, seeing nothing of their vision, gazing upon that (only) which was physical, the garb of the goddess.
The young man approached the maidenÕs body of light, scared of something he didnÕt understand. Chrysylla was aware of him, although she didnÕt know it. He reached out his hand, touching her as she felt a special warmth. In and about the world of matter, time stood motionless within the world of Nataeja, the movement forever in itÕs magic way. The young man sat with and in, within, the body of the maiden; co-terminous and conscious of it, were they, sharing love without even knowing what they knew.

ÒChrysylla? Chrysylla!Ó
ÒWhat? Oh, sorry.Ó, The maidenÕs gaze returned to the prime, for a moment lingering upon the twilight of three worlds : a misty place, a solid place, and a place of endless silver light.
The wisewoman just smiled at her ; until she heard the beaded curtain of a portal part behind her. As ChrysyllaÕs gaze left the wisewoman, she glimpsed within NataejaÕs eyes a look that seemed to say ÔThis should not be!Õ
As the next moment moved through the now gathered three, endless silence and timelessness disappeared in the instant that Chrysylla and Farwyn first looked into the otherÕs eyes.
ÒMy name ... is Farwyn. Well met ... Chrysylla of Gwyneth.(?)Ó
ÒWell met, my nameÕs ChrysyllaÓ They smiled a laugh and laughed a smile.ÓEr... I mean ... uhyou already know my name, I guess.Ó
Nataeja saw the light that was reflected within ChrysyllaÕs eyes, and in an instant (reword, possibly) she knew a terrible sadness, a realization of that which was soon to come, and ending that was a beginning. Slowly, she turned to regard the young man behind her, for the first time seeming so very old in the eyes of Farwyn(?).
(Chrysylla nervously took a pull of (from) her pipe, feeling as awkward as Farwyn as they faced each other, unable to think of something to say.
Finally, after a short while, Chrysylla though of something ÒUmm ... itÕs a nice day out today.Ó
ÒOut where?Ó responded Farwyn, sincerely not knowing what she was talking about.
ÒOutside.Ó
ÒOhh... outside the hut. It is? WhatÕs it like, the weather? I mean...Ó
Chrysylla regarded him for a moment, puzzled more by his tone than by his question.
ÒItÕs uh .... nice. Sunny .. Breezy.Ó
Farwyn looked at her as if she was talking of a magical place, a dreamland which he had never seen. ÒI donÕt get out much.Ó
ÒSo, what do you do?Ó
ÒNot much. I travel a lot. I mean, I uhÓ
ÒYou said you donÕt get out much.Ó
ÒYeah, I mean, I meant to say, I sleep most of the time,Ó said Farwyn with a smile. ÒDream. Stuff like that.Ó
Nataeja interrupted, trying to quickly change the subject. ÒTea anyone?Ó
ÒSure.Ó
ÒOh yes, thank you.Ó
The wisewoman got up, moving her hands through the herb pouches that hung from the ceiling. ÒCamomille, ... Loveleaf ... Ò
ÒAnything, you choose.Ó, replied the maiden.
With a smile and a wisp of a smile Nataeja decided.
ÒLoveleaf.Ó
(For a moment, the gaze of Chrysylla and Farwyn were as one, (and) then they quickly averted their eyes.)
ÒDid you like the poem?Ó, asked Nataeja.
ÒYes, it was...Ó
ÒMade by the Lady of the Leaf, Avanwae. She lives close by, higher up in the hills. A strange lady, ... she spends all of her time sitting under a certain maple tree. Her hair ... changes colour with the seasons. A good poet, a good poet.Ó
ÒI make poetry too.Ó, said Farwyn.
ÒAh, you sit around all day, doing nothing.Ó, said Nataeja with a smile.
ÒMy mother said that doing absolutely nothing was one of the most important things one could do in life.Ó, said Chrysylla, as if to defend Farwyn.
Nataeja nodded in acceedence to the maidenÕs point, a wistful look in her eyes. ÒYour mother was a wise woman, who brought you up well. My own mother was of the Ffolk, and her mother before that and so and on and on, to the beginning of time and the mother of all mothers.Ó
Nataeja carried the water to the fire, spilling little (?!) droplets which fell through the air, their journey ending upon the earthen floor.
Soon they shared their tea, and when they were done, Nataeja told them to sit with her, on either side, against the far wall. Long into the night she wove her tales, wondrous stories of the fairy folk, the lore of Moonshae, that which NataejaÕs mother had told her when she was young. As time passed, reality ceased to be, and before they knew it, Farwyn and Chrysylla were fast asleep in NataejaÕs lap.

Chrysylla awoke, half-asleep, under a warm blanket, sharing a soft pillow . her arm around Farwyn, his around her. After a moment, she realized what she was touching, and her eyes opened as wide as sleepy eyes can. A man!
Now, Chrysylla had done many things in her short life, yet she had never slept with a man (before). And so, a pleasant fear came over her as she lay in her sleepy embrace. She almost sat up, though a special warmth was (about and within the two), a warmth that Chrysylla did not want to let go.
ÔSo this is what itÕs like to be with a man,Ó thought Chrysylla in a formless thought. (ÔItÕs kinda nice. / I) Mmm...
Chrysylla spent time in (her) blissful warmth and peace, taking solace in the rythym of FarwynÕs breath.

Suddenly the door opened, filling the room with the bright light of an afternoon sun. Chrysylla and Farwyn awoke in a startled start, entangling themselves in a nest of arms, legs and blankets. Nataeja nearly fell over laughing, taking great pleasure in viewing the flushed countenances before her.
ÒYou could knock.Ó, said Chrysylla without realizing what she had said. (It was quite a ridiculous statement considering that Nataeja was indeed the owner of the hut, though, again, Chrysylla had a knack for missing the obvious.)
ÒI doubt the roar of Bahamut (w)ould wake you two.Ó, said the wisewoman with a smile. ÒThe youth of the sun is over and in a few hours it will die.Ó
With ChrysyllaÕs knowledge of the time came the realization of a friend in waiting and many long hours upon the road (ahead of her.)
ÒGods! IÕm late! (2)Ó, exclaimed Chrysylla.
ÒLate for what?Ó, asked Farwyn.
ÒHorses! I mean ... for Darius.Ó
ÒDarius.Ó
ÒMy friend who waits for me at the Sign of the Prancing Pony, west of Easting. I need buy mounts of speed for the long journey we are to undertake.Ó
ÒJourney? Where to?Ó
ÒAthkatla, the capital of Amn. Darius needs to meet his father for an unknown reason of the utmost urgency.Ó
ÒAmn ... whereÕs that?Ó
ÒItÕs near a hundred and fifty leagues to the south and west of Iriaebor.Ó, replied Chrysylla, finding it odd that even one of a small town such as Easting would not have heard of fabled Amn.
ÒNataeja, who be EastingÕs finest dealer in horses?Ó
ÒOoh... so you have your eyes set upon a rich merchant man?Ó, said Nataeja with a smile.
ÒNooo! I mean ... I mean who deals in the finest horses to be found in Easting?Ó, said() the maiden with a playful pout.
ÒThere are many dealers of horses in Easting, all of whom are at least the equal of anyone in the world when it comes to the quality of their mounts (ed.). Each tends to specialize in a particular kind of horse. You expressed the need for haste, and so I recommend that you see Jorgan Mooneye, for he deals in the finest(fastest) racers in Easting. If you leave now, you might still be able to find him before he closes shop for the day... in fact, IÕll take you there myself.Ó, said Nataeja, already donning walking cloak and staff.(?)
The last () that Chrysylla wanted to do, even if she didnÕt fully realize it, was to leave FarwynÕs side. In her heart, the futureÕs southern journey became as a burden instead of () adventure ; from something she had wanted to do to something she had to do. And so it came to be that Chrysylla had a thought, and thus she spoke, grabbing FarwynÕs arm by the sleeve, hope in her eyes ; ÒCome with me to the south.()Ó (Of course and as usual, Chrysylla thought nothing of the cost that a third horse would incur.)
ÒGo with you?Ó Farwyn responded, as if the maiden had asked him to fly () to Selune. In truth, Farwyn had no intention of setting foot outside his hut, yet in his heart, he had no intention of leaving Chrysylla either.
ÒFarwynÕs body is not suited to the hardships of the road. He wonÕt be making the journey with you.Ó said Nataeja, as though she spoke of a law that not even the gods could break.
Farwyn looked from Nataeja to Chrysylla, his countenance suggesting contemplation of a matter of life and death.
ÒI will be making the journey south (to) with you.Ó
Nataeja (sighed a profound sigh), looked upon Farwyn with sadness in her eye, then gazed upon Chrysylla, a hidden joy within the windows (beyond) of her soul.
Òso be it, Ôtwould seem. It is, after all, your life, and it is not my place to tell you what to do with it.Ó
Silence ensued, in which the maiden grew more and more uncomfortable as passed the seconds . . . . . . . .
ÒThe hour grows near late as I.Ó, said Chrysylla, as much to dispel the silence as to remind her friends of the passing time. ÒWe should be on our way.Ó As she rose from the earthen floor, she touched Farwyn upon the shoulder.
ÒQuick. Get your things.Ó
ÒThings?Ó
ÒYou know, your things. Pack, blanket, food...(You know) your things...Ó
ÒI have no things.Ó, said Farwyn, as if owning no material possesions was nothing out of the ordinary.
ÒYou have no posessions, none at all?Ó, asked Chrysylla with a smile of disbelief, as if she had been told that all pigs fly.
ÒNo... not really. I have a pillow, and my clothes... but other than that, no, nothing. IÕve never really had a ÔsenseÕ of ÔmineÕ, especially when it comes to material objects. The way I see it, my pillow is just as much mine as it is yours, as are my clothes, for that matter. I mean, after all, what are they but material objects. (?) They have no life, er... no innate movement, as far as we can perceive. Umm... I donÕt know.Ó
Chrysylla looked deep into FarwynÕs eyes, reflecting upon the reflection therein, and () reflecting upon what he had said.
ÒChildren! We must go!Ó, reminded Nataeja in a voice that brought the attention of the young ones to the here and now.
ÒA moment, dear Nataeja.Ó, said Farwyn as he passed through the beaded curtain into the room beyond. Shortly he returned, with smile and cushion (pillows).
ÒReady?Ó, said Chrysylla and Nataeja at the same time, after which they giggled in the way that only women can giggle, sharing the secret mirth of the goddess.
And so the trio left, Nataeja closing the door behind them, Farwyn setting foot outside his hut for the first time in seven years.

They walked west and north, along the up and down ridge of the circle / ring of hills that surrounded the town of Easting. The first thing that Chrysylla noticed about her new friend was in the (brightness) of the afternoon was that his skin was as pale as that of the palest moon elf.() More profound, however, was the way in which the young man regarded all that was about him. It almost seemed as if Farwyn was some / a visitor from another sphere, the way that he reacted to all that was about him.
Nataeja had to tell Farwyn to stop looking at the sun several times, saying that if he didnÕt stop he would end up a blind man with stubbed toe and broken nose.
Chrysylla thought to ask him something, yet she could not find the words to ask. Nevertheless, she was wondered in his presence, even though Ôtwas weird.

After the passage of . . . . . ., the three meandered down a hill in the exact center of the northern hemiscence of risen ground that surrounded the town of Easting. They walked through the illusion of an endless field of wheat which danced in the wind, parting as they passed, natural yet not real.

Soon they passed through the northern gate of the land of Jorga Mooneye. The unguarded fence (would) seem an open invitation to the unknowing, yet it was common lore amongst the Easting folk that JorgaÕs stock was indeed well guarded, fabled owl and fanciful eye stick kept watch over / ever vigilant in their unseen watch. As the three walked amongst the grazing horses, Nataeja told Chrysylla of the one they sought ; ÒMany things are said of Jorgan the Mooneye, of which fact, and of which fantasy, I know not. It is said that his father before him was of the Tuigan, having arrived in our world in mysterious ways, methinks this to be true.Ó Then Nataeja smiled, a fanciful light in her eye. ÒIt is also said that Jorgan once came upon a tourney, after which he promptly enrolled himself in the Test of the Archer. He arrived upon the field (upon) on a ...... , and said ÔI will shoot my arrows from the back of my horse, whiles it charges west from before the northern target.Õ After all the gathered bowmen had nearly died of laughter, the contest began. As the story goes, Jorgan did as he said, not missing the mark once, indeed, proving to be the winner of the contest (gathered folk).Ó
Just as the wisewoman finished, the three saw a dark haired man approach upon a noble steed, his bearing suggesting such (a) harmony with his mount that he might have been mistaken for a centaur, were it not for his legs and the head of his horse. He approached, and Chrysylla saw a strange sort of bow that had itÕs place in his saddle.
ÒNataeja!Ó, he called out, for he knew the wisewoman, in truth she had delivered his firstborn many winters ago.
ÒWell met, Sir Jorgan.Ó, said Nataeja, though in a certain playful and familiar way, not as if she was addressing a man of high birth.
ÒMeet my two friends, Chrysylla and well ... I canÕt say this oneÕs name, for magical reasons.Ó, she said with a smile that hinted at some harmless secret.
This the horse merchant accepted without question, for he knew better than to question the word of a woman of the goddess.
When Chrysylla heard this, Farwyn caught her gaze before she could make even a questioning look, his eyes seeming to say ÔYouÕll see in time.Õ, his mouth seeming to form an imperceptible ÔShh...Õ
ÒWell met, Chrysylla and anonymous.Ó, he said with a smile, a polite reply to the wisewomanÕs introduction.
ÒSo, how has life been to you these days, Mr. Mooneye?Ó, asked Nataeja with a playful smile and mock ()familiarity.
ÒStrange,Ó replied the horse merchant, ÒStrange days indeed.Ó
ÒHow so?Ó, asked the wisewoman, her curiosity awakened.
ÒWell, it all began near a month ago, upon the fifth night of MirtulÕs new moon (). Little light that night there was, except for that which appeared in the middle of my field. When I rode to see, I saw a sight never have my eyes ever seen, and never shall they see again. All my horses stood() in a perfect circle about one whose head was that of a horse, encircled in a halo of divine light .... an Equinal, there could be no doubt. As he turned to face me, his form faded away into nothingness. (And) then it was over, the / my horses acting as if nothing had ever happened. A night of magic it was, one that I will / shall remember unto the end of my days.Ó
Jorgan paused, his visitors entranced by the tale, but for Farwyn, who while interested, seemed to bear a look that said ÔSo?Õ, as if Equinals were s common as horses.
the Mooneye continued ; ÒIn truth, you are the first ones IÕve toldÓ, continued the Mooneye (), ÒAs for the reason for this, I know not, yet even now I feel I have revealed a secret that mortals were not meant to know ... Anyway, two weeks later, my finest groom, Andris, went missing. I have asked about of the folk of Easting, even a ranger and his betrothed, a Moon Guard of the goddess Selune, yet his whereabouts remains a mystery. Lastly, about a ride ago, I found a horse upon my land, one (that IÕve never seen before), one not among those I own. His hooves were unshod, in fact never have they borne a horseshoe... In the end, three mysteries, one greater and two lesser, none of which I have been able to solve. But, other than this my life has remained the same.Ó
ÒWeird happenings indeed ; but for the loss of your groom, you have been a lucky man in the recent time.Ó, continued / said the wisewoman, still seeming to weigh the words of the merchant. ÒWe have come to buy three racers, for my friends need make a speedy journey (in)to the southern (kingdoms / lands).Ó
ÒI have ... lions and a letter of credit from ...., which I received from my friend Darius, .... I was also wondering if you could care for Findle here,Ó said the maiden as she patted the ... withers. Provisions have been made in the letter for any costs incurred by his care.Ó)
Jorgan read the letter, noting that itÕs sum would cover the cost of more than two horses, and that itÕs value, or part of it, could be translated into discounted goodes should he desire (the wares of the company) in the stead of coin. Normally, he wouldnÕt have accepted a letter of credit from anyone other than one of the company who issued it(), but the letter bore the name of the bearer, and Jorgan could hardly refuse a friend of Nataeja.
ÒThe letter and half your gold,Ó said the horse merchant, Òfor two of my racers and the horse which so mysteriously appeared upon my land not a ride ago.Ó
ÒWe (have) need of fast steeds, of this horse, he be fast and broken?Ó, asked the maiden.
ÒBoth, but he bears no() shoes, for those you might want see the farrier, Donatello.Ó
ÒHmm... the letter and twenty-five lions, I still as() need to buy saddles and some provisions for the journey ahead.Ó
ÒFor my original price, IÕll throw in tack and harness for two () and you can use FindleÕs for the third.
After some minor haggling, the horses were bought (along with their tack and a pair of saddlebags), Chrysylla and Jorgan sealing the bargain with the shake of their hands.

Two hours later, the three stood upon a hill that overlooked the town to the east, and the Trade Road to the west, having shoed Mystery (the name (they had) given to the horse that Jorgan had so mysteriously (aquired), and having bought a small amount of provisions for the journey ahead.
Chrysylla and Farwyn gave Nataeja a hug of farewell, and having mounted their steeds, prepared to make their way on the road beneath the dying sun. As their mounts took their first steps westward, Nataeja spoke to the one she had lived with for the past seven years. ÒFarwyn! I almost forgot, hereÕs a little package for you to take along with on your journey.Ó
He opened the given shoulder pouch, ... many herbs and flowers therein, nestled, nay, hidden, amongst them () a few sprigs of the precious wakeweed.
ÒWhat is it?Ó, asked Chrysylla, leaning forward in her saddle to chanse a look upon the bundleÕs contents.
ÒOh, just some herbs, thatÕs all.Ó
ÒUse them well.Ó, said the wisewoman.
He smiled a smile of profound thanks (&), slung the strap over his shoulder, (the) pouch resting upon his hip.
ÒAs the sun before you, my time in this world nears itÕs end, () and soon I will make my journey into the other world ; I fear that this is the last time my eyes will look upon (...) you two. Farewell, and... take care of Farwyn.Ó, said the wisewoman as she looked ... ÒHe is wise yet not yet wise in the ways of the world. Farewell, and may you find happiness in the journey ahead.Ó
ÒWe will meet again, someday, somewhere.Ó, said Farwyn with a smile of sadness (?) .... the two began their journey, never again to see the wisewoman in the world of the living.

Later that night, Chrysylla and Farwyn sat around a small campfire upon a hill that overlooked the Trade Road from the north.
ÒWhy did Nataeja hide your name from the horse merchant?Ó, asked Chrysylla, ÒYou said youÕd say in time, when we had the time to share.Ó
ÒAh... itÕs a long story, one that begins seven years ago. You see, I have lived in Easting for all my life, being born there to my mother Anwa, who died in childbirth(), and my father Bronwyn. When I was fourteen, I fell() into a long sleep, a coma I think itÕs called, one() that lasted for a long, long time. My father, not knowing what to do, took my body to Nataeja, who said that my soul had left itÕs body, got lost, and was unable to find itÕs way back. When I eventually awoke, I found myself in the hut of Nataeja, who later told me that while I was ÔasleepÕ, my father had passed (on) to the next world. She also told me that I had a special gift, one that I would have to learn how to use, lest I were to find myself in grave trouble.Ó
ÒA gift?Ó
ÒYes, you see, somehow I am able to walk through the place of silvery light, and on (through) to the lands beyond. In my time, I have seen many wondrous things, even many horrid things. I have talked to angels and devils, walked through the strange city of Sigil, even attended (unbeknownst to those gathered), a council of saints that took place at the center of all existence...()Ó Farwyn looked into the eyes of Chrysylla (...), past () the firelightÕs reflection therein, the maiden knowing he spoke the truth, saying nothing.
Ò... why did Nataeja hide your name from the merchant?Ó, asked Chrysylla, still thinking of what Farwyn had just said.
ÒWell, there was nothing to hide,() really... I think she was just trying to avoid a long story.Ó Farwyn chuckled, ÒMagical reasons ...Ó, and () tilted his head with a smile while rolling his eyes, dismissing NataejaÕs .... . ÒYou see, I have not walked among the folk of Easting for seven years, though I have spent that past time there, more or less. After the passing of my father, while I was in the depths of my long sleep, she told the folk of Easting that I had died. Since then she has rose me in secret, teaching her lore, being the mother I had never known. So, in short, that was probably the long story she was trying to avoid.Ó
?
And so away the night they talked in their warmth (s), dying low the embers as Farwyn wove his tales of the spirit worlds.

Chrysylla and Farwyn awoke side by side, surrounded by the dewey grass of the morning (), the little misty vales below them. After breaking their fast, they mounted their steeds, a mare and a stallion, and (proceeded to) carefully pick(ed) their way down to the trade road below. The first half day passed uneventfully under a sky of roaming clouds, and soon they found themselves at the Sign of the Prancing Pony.
The pair entered after having stabled their horses and answering natureÕs call, finding the room empty but for Patches upon an ale - stained table, contentedly() licking his paw() and with a full plate of catnip before him. Chrysylla asked for Darius, and was told that he was up in his room, in fact he hadnÕt been down all day.
And so the pair went up the stairs, seeking the door to the room of Darius. They soon came upon his potal(), from beyond which emanated a steady stream of manly groans and feminine moans.
Chrysylla put her hands on her hips, frown(ed) a profound frown, then proceeded to rudely knock upon the door. In her best (tartish) voice, Chrysylla called upon those within : ÒOh Dariiuss, ooh... dearie Darius, Darius dearie, come out and play with Amorilia.Ó
After this, she took FarwynÕs hand and led him down the stairs in a stealthy run, barely able to contain an () eruption of laughter.

Chrysylla and Farwyn shared a tub in the misty bath room, splashing each other vigorously with the warm water, happily acting like a pair of rambunctous three year olds.
While they were drying themselves, they took turns stealing each otherÕs towels, running about, knocking over the many and varied things around them, (Chrysylla having so much fun that she didnÕt even realize it, chasing (ed) after Farwyn naked into the taproom - to see her friend Darius - his dour expression momentarily relieved upon seeing her!)
The maiden quickly caught up to Farwyn and snatched her towel back, blushing profusely. ÒUhh... hello Darius.Ó, said Chrysylla (the maiden) with an (innocent smile), ÒI pray youÕve had a pleasant day.Ó ÒWe just thought weÕd wash off the dust of the road before we (brought ourselves) into your... ah... immaculate presence.Ó
ÒWell met, Chrysylla.Ó, said Darius, obviously not amused. ÒI see youÕve (had) the fortune to find a new friend.Ó
ÒAh... meet Farwyn, Farwyn of Easting.Ó, said the maiden with a smile. ÒPoor you, you must have been so lonely sitting in your room all day by yourself. Well, youÕve finally got some company!Ó
Darius was still not amused.
ÒWell, how Ôbout we sip some spirits from one of those curious vessels of alchemy that they keep behind the bar?Ó, asked the maiden, hoping to bring some levity upon her friend.
ÒHmm...Ó, said Darius, eyes distant and averted in thought. ÒDid you get the mounts?Ó
ÒAye. I got three, two for you and me, and one for Farwyn.Ó
By his look, Darius (seemed) not to take entirely well to this news. Yet, he was a true friend, one who didnÕt raise his voice in anger to his friends.
ÒYou said nothing of bringing another on this journey.Ó
ÒNeither did I have any intention of bringing one along. I just met Farwyn, the... well, itÕs a long story.Ó
ÒOne IÕd love to hear.Ó, replied Darius. ÒOver the water of happiness, of course.Ó

Something was wrong with the Meisarch. Kalim knew this for fact. The one among the six known as Deepshadow, yet unbeknownst to the others, knew this too, knowing that the Meisarch had not seen his dogs and little boys for more than a month. The others of the Council suspected that something was amiss, yet had not the foresight of either Kalim or (the) Deepshadow, to ponder the implications. ...
The Council was currently debating the control of a gate to the True World, one that had been seized in a raid upon the home of one of the fabled Cowled Wizards. The dweomercrafter in question had been banished from Amn, ()arrested upon the discovery that he had returned to live within the nationÕs borders, and was imprisoned to await summary execution. To no oneÕs suprise, the mage had mysteriously escaped his confinement, making the matter of the security of the gate one of greater than itÕs previously paramount importance. Of course, the Council as a whole reflected nothing upon this, their only thought the profit that could be gained from such a wondrous trade route.
After many hours and much talk, no decision was (had been) reached, as is often the case in politics. They even voted if they should have a vote that day, upon the major issues concerning the gate, but KalimÕs vote of one (compared to the MeisarchÕs vote of six), ended up in deciding that no decisions were to be reached that day.

As the Meisarch made his way through darkened halls, the Council having finished, he felt his face with inquiring fingers, marvelling in the feel of flesh. How strong his body was! How young he felt, despite the graying hairs of his widowÕs peak.
He came to a door, spoken a key of magick, and entered the darkened room beyond. Closing the door, he walked through the darkness, guided by a little light at (in) the center of the room. The Meisarch picked up the jewel, gazing at the illumination within. He put it down, smiling in the darkness.

Three riders made their way upon the Trade Road, making their way through the light of the setting sun.
ÒEver west, ever west,Ó, said Farwyn, talking as much to himself as to his friends. ÒYou can walk all your life, to the North, to the South, to the East, but in the end youÕll see, you were only going west. Ever west, ever west.Ó.

Later that night, the three weary travellers sat in the hollow of a copse, nestled in a little island of hills that rose from the plain, gazing into the depths of a cheery blaze, making plans for the long journey ahead. Travel in the Realms was rarely safe, the threat of beast and bandit (alike) a concern in the mind of even the merchant in the midst of the most well-guarded caravan. The advantage of travelling in a small group was that you were less likely to be seen, the disadvantage was (,) that if you were spotted, the likelihood of a confrontation was all the greater.
This was (on) the minds and in the talk of the three. They knew that once they were within the borders of Amn, their journey would be fairly safe. The journey there, however, could prove to be a completely different matter altogether.
Chrysylla and Darius had already agreed to travel in a dweomered state beyond the spectrum of normal light, yet now they had to consider the logistics of this. There were three horses to think of, not to mention an extra traveller. There was also the matter of the Materia, which Chrysylla did not currently possess. Perhaps the most pressing concern / problem would be the reaction of the horses when / once they could no longer see their own bodies.
After much talk and many pipes, the three had come upon a plan. They would obtain the Gum Arabic in Iriaebor, hopefully from the reknowned alchemist Borellius Magifae, failing that, from the Aurora.
The next matter was that of the energy that it would take Chrysylla to make her magic reality. Her mind could hold only so much in the form of dweomered memory, and she / the maiden would reach near capacity with the six castings she needed, as they had to be renewed with each cycle of the sun.
Of course, this meant that she would have little magic left, something that could prove to be a problem if the three needed other spells.
Perhaps the most pressing matter was that of how the horses would react to not being able to see their own bodies. Chrysylla had an interesting solution for this, however. The maiden had heard tales of how the High Priestesses of the Earthmother could speak to animals. (In fact, this magic was common to all the ((divine practitioners of Faerun which had risen above common mortality.) Well, there just so happened to be a temple to Chauntea within the walls of the City of a Thousand Spires, the Golden Bowl of the Goddess, the existence of which was known to the maiden. Of course, and as usual, Chrysylla thought nothing of the cost. ()
And so, the three finished their plan, their talk / speech moving into the past, into roads of time so long ago, when magic filled the air.
The three stayed up all night, unable to sleep. Farwyn advised his friends to relax and remain perfectly still, for in so doing, they would conserve their energy ; having lost the rythym of unconsciousness, their strength dwindling as that of the old man.

They rose with the sun, drinking liberal amounts of the coffee of Saradush before beginning the dayÕs journey. As they rode west, one by one, the three friends started to doze off. They drifted in and out of consciousness, their fatigue preventing them from riding at anything faster than a walking pace. Better some headway than none ; that was their (philosophy) as they plodded on through the humid (spring day.)
Darius thought he was having a dream when his horse changed into a man, a rather rude awakening when he hit the ground with a profound ÒOomph!!Ó
There are few herbs that can awaken one as powerfully as fear, and when Darius saw his mount on the ground, morphing into a man, he was more than well awake.
The white stallion and black mare of Chrysylla and Farwyn, reared and (neighed / whinnyed) at the sight, their riders holding tight and desperately (,) trying to regain control.
The sword of Darius had left itÕs sheath in an instant, and in that very same instant, itÕs cool steel tip was pressed against the throat of a young man, poised to deliver death in less than the blink of an eye.
ÒYour first word of magic shall be last, if I hear it ever.Ó, said Darius (conviction), ÒWho are you?Ó
ÒNo wizard nor weaver of spells. My name is Andris ... please donÕt kill me, I donÕt feel like dying today.Ó
The merchantÕs son peered into the strange newcomerÕs (strangers) eyes, cocking his head with a look that said : ÔWell? You can explain yourself at any time now. (..)Õ
ÒI... I am but a lowly groom, not even a threat to a fly on a horsesÕ ass.Ó (Please donÕt kill me!)
ÒAh... a groom! How could I have been so thick. (!) I do say (,) that perfectly explains everything, especially the fact that you were a horse not but a minute (ago) before.Ó, said Darius (the merchantÕs son), speaking with (a) more than a little levity now that he apparently had the situation under control.
Darius pressed his blade a little harder against the young manÕs throat.
ÒWell, seeing that youÕve seen the truth, (youÕll have no problem believing it.) Once I thought I bore a curse, but I now know I have / possess a gift. You see, IÕm a (c)hangeling. Any living thing that IÕve touched, I can change into.()Ó
ÒWithout the use of magic?Õ, asked Chrysylla, intrigued.
ÒI couldnÕt weave magic if my life depended on it.Ó
The maiden pondered the possibilities as the young man continued ; ÒI used to live in the kingdom of Impiltur, but I was forced to leave due to some unfortunate circumstances.Ó ()
ÒThe changeling wars?Ó, asked the maiden.
ÒYou know?Ó
ÒIÕve heard.Ó, responded Chrysylla.
ÒAnyway,Ó continued Andris, ÒSince then IÕve travelled half the world, on earth and (the) air and water. I ended up in Easting.Ó
ÒWhere you worked as a groom for the horse merchant Jorgan Mooneye.Ó
ÒPlease donÕt tell him. () I mean, he was a good master and all... itÕs just that I find that doing the same job, day in, day out, is... well, boring. I want to live life before I die.Ó
Darius had no thought of killing Andris, yet he didnÕt trust those he didnÕt know, (having done much business and seen many folk in his short life), and he didnÕt want to die at the hands of a treacherous stranger. (Who knows what Andris had touched?)
ÒGive me a reason why I shouldnÕt kill you,Ó said Darius, trying his darndest to look the part.
ÒI could be an invaluable companion, helping you in ways unimagined. Why, I could turn into a cow and you could squeeze my teets for fine milk! I could become a chicken and lay wondrous eggs. I could become... a falcon! - a scout from a vantage point aerial, keeping an eye out for those that would promise death, those that you would never see until itÕwere too late.Ó
ÒOr you could become a horse and carry me upon your sturdy backÓ, said Darius with a smile, good natured and slightly fiendish.
The expression of Andris shewed that he was none too pleased by this suggestion, yet the very reason that he had left Easting was that in doing so, he would find adventure, see the wide world, Ôlive before he died.Õ
(DariusÕs arm was getting mighty tired, so he held his hilt in both hands, accidentally prompting a quick response from Andris.
ÒO.K.! IÕll serve as your mount, just donÕt kill me please! The whole reason that I became a horse was so that I could embark upon a grand adventure, such as that which youÕre on. Please... let me go with you.Ó
ÒWell, I did pay for you. Hmm () seeing (as) how I own you, it would (Ôtwould) seem as if youÕre coming along with us, like it or not, as a horse of course.Ó, said ... (In truth, there was little that Darius (despised) more than the concept of slavery.) the merchantÕs son with a smile.
AndrisÕs heart sank (,) when he heard the words Ôas a horse of courseÕ ; yet he then realized what Darius had said just before that : ÔyouÕre coming along with usÕ (!!)
Both were considerably releived when the merchantÕs son (Darius) lowered his sword. (DariusÕs arms had nearly fallen off by then.)
Chrysylla was still a little leery, the maidenÕs paranoid, er... suspicious nature (,) preventing her from so readily accepting this most strange of strangers.
ÒA word of warning, know that I am a most powerful weaver of magic, one possessing many contingencies, many of witch wood spell doom for one whose will was (treachery against me or my friends.Ó
ÒI swear by the goddess (Milil?) that no harm shall come unto thee, or thy friends, by my will or hand.Ó

Malakesh regarded the woman from within the sanctity of his pentagram, gazing upon unmortal beauty ; beauty that almost hid an evil beyond mortal comprehension. She took seat upon a decaying divan, resting her arms upon opened legs. Malakesh looked upon the naked woman impassively, having long lost the (lust) passion for flesh.
ÒDo you know who I am?Ó, asked the woman, in a voice that belonged to a man.
The question seemed a strange one to Malakesh, for he had talked to this being many times before. ÒLux Fero, () bringer of light.Ó To be sure, he (added) three words that would (tell) the truth : () ÒPower beyond imagination.Ó
The woman smiled a prideful smile, her eyes revealing immortal wisdom. ÒRemember that.Ó
Malakesh sat in silence, knowing that she knew his questions, his desires, his need.
ÒI will tell you a story, a tale of a thousand thousand years. Once, I ruled a kingdom, that in turn ruled eight kingdoms from their very center. Nothing (lasts) forever, not even love, and so it was that my rule ended. Yet, in my loss, I found freedom, and in my freedom, I found life. Life is a wondrous thing, forgotten to you, never known to me. There are worlds where life lives, worlds whose magic is so subtle that most die without ever knowing it. It was on one such world, nearly two thousand years ago, that I took the guise of a holy man. By the time I had played out my role, I held twelve disciples within my light, the ones who would (sow) plant my seeds in the minds of men, my words perpetuated over the course of the centuries, as the seeds flowered, to bear their own seed. The curse of life is that it cannot see beyond itÕs own death, the blindness of mortality.Ó Her () tale finished, having just begun.
ÒRemember that mortals are not the only ones who exist in this world.Ó
Her eyes flashed (flared) in anger, perceiving the doubt within Malakesh, the possible transgression of probability.
ÒYou shall know your love once more. All (that) I ask is that you break your promise to her. You must destroy the Necronom.Ó

Moramyr and Ilmuth approached a gate in the crumbling wall of stone, the portal flanked by two small oaks that had been ancient in the days of Myth Drannor.
Against the trunk of one, (sat an elf / an elf sat), nestled in the gnarley roots, his skin white as the moon, his eyes the violet of a delicate wildflower, his hair the pale gold of the sun that shines down through the clouds.
(she) he (?) turned to regard the two priests, two white butterflies flitting about like playful butterflies(), and was he surrounded by an aura of white? No, it must have been the soft light of the afternoon.
He addressed the two in the sacred tongue of Azuth, speaking as one, who had been initiated in(to) the mysteries of the High One. ÒYou are about to set foot within a sacred place. You go to meet the High One, your destiny. Sweet water and light laughter.Ó, and when his words left the present, (only silence remained), the elf faded away into nothingness.

Three horses crossed the (slate-grey) waters of the Chionthar, the hooves of their mounts going clip-clop clip-clop clip-clop over the (railess (5 span) wooden bridge) that ended at the () gate to the city of a Thousand Spires.
Three tired riders looked up to the tor that rose above the lower city beneath the soft sky of twilight, more than welcoming () itÕs promise of restful night in a cozy inn.
Chrysylla recommended the Wandering Wyvern, well known for many things, among them the fact that there were no (serving wenches) ; it you wanted something to eat, or more likely, something to drink, well, youÕd get it yourself!
The maiden had said nothing of the Sign of the Dreaming Dragon, not telling her friends of Tyveris, Estah, and the mysterious one known as Morhion.
They wearily made their way through the bustling crowds, looking for an empty alley. By the time they left that which they had sought, Andris had morphed back into the form of a young man, leaving him to carry heavy saddle and saddlebags.
Not much time passed before they stood outside their destination, enter the Wandering Wyvern, a place left to your imagination! ()

In the light of the new dayÕs sun, the four made their way toward the Street of Runes, seeking the shop of the reknowned alchemist Borellius Magifae. Chrysylla nervously fingered the worn letter in her pocket, contemplating another attempt to contact the mysterious Morhion. ÔIf I could find the old manÕs friend, then I might find the old man himself! But Tyveris didnÕt bring me into MorhionÕs presence out of fear for his friend. () What is going on?Õ In the end, Chrysylla decided not to get involved, for she somehow felt that in so doing, she would only find herself caught in () webs of intrigue that wizards were wont to weave. Besides, she hadnÕt had that strange feeling of being watched for a long time.

The friends came upon an old building on the Street of Runes, where they saw two staircases, ascending and descending. One led up to a ground level that seemed slightly raised off the ground, the other spiraled down under the upper, leading to a basement level that was beyond a simple and unadorned door of oak.
ÒThis is the place.Ó, said Chrysylla as she descended the semi-spiral (?) to stand before the portal. She tried to open the door, to no success, as it was apparently locked. (She had forgotten two knock, and when she remembered she did so.) Knocked did Chrysylla (,) and after the passage of a moment of suspense...
ÒCome in.Ó, said a disembodied voice that seemed to belong to something small & slightly demonic ; the voice of something definitely not human, perhaps possessing a human origin (s), yet conceived in magick.
The () opened the door, revealing a tiny shop that was cluttered yet organized ; with so many wondrous things that an entire book could be devoted to their enumeration and detail. The smell of magick was in the air.
Three men were talking amongst themselves, discussing (debating) ... ... ... The one behind the counter, an old looking man whose balding head was hidden under a strange hat (,) was Borellius Magifae himself. A youngish looking man, who was referencing from a tome bound in the (skin) of a Behir, absently chewed upon an unlit pipe, strange and longish, decorated with the feather of an unknown bird. This was Prespos. The third was a man whose robes and beard were such that he might as well have () tatooed on his forehead ÔIÕm a wizard!Õ This was ... (There were actually some (nasty) rumours circulating around IriaborÕs (the) magical community that he had successfully researched an enhanced polymorph other spell, using it to turn ants into cows, which he would then sell in the Ôtown marketÕ to provide him with a (ÔsizableÕ) income. This would explain the (presence) of certain cows that seemed to have an affinity for attempting to climb up walls, and which went beserk whenever they passed by a candy merchantÕs stall, proceeding to engorge (themselves upon the unfortunate personÕs wares, much to their profound shock and dismay.)
Their conversation went something like this : ÒYou see... it is my humble opinionÓ, elucidated Prespos, Òthat the belief that some hold that all life is one can be readily explained by what we know as the reality of infinite co-terminosity.Ó
Borellius pondered this for a moment, then continued ÒSo, are you implying, that there is a definite relation, a common denominator if you will, between and within all of the infinite individual manifestations of any being? You, I, anyone - the relation or common denominator being a commonality (of?) their rates of vibratory frequency. (..)
ÒYes, but how can we prove this?Ó asked the pragmatic ...
ÒWhat (would) be the point in so doing? Not all knowledge can be proven, but it is knowledge nonetheless / nevertheless. Think of someone that you met recently, someone that you met when the two of you were alone. You will probably never be able to prove to someone else that the two of you met, that you said such-and-such a thing - but you know that you met, (that you said such-and-such a thing), it is your knowledge, knowledge of what was real, knowledge that will never be proven. The same applies to what we think and feel. Can you ever prove that you truly love someone? Can you even prove that love is real? Who needs proof ... when one knows truth.Ó
Chrysylla and Farwyn had been listening, and for a moment, they looked into their eyes, a moment that lasted a very, very long time, for the rest of their lives, in truth.

ÒHavenÕt I seen you before somewhere?Ó, (said) Prespos, his back still turned to the four.
ÒYes,Ó responded Farwyn. ÒWe passed by each other on a street in Sigil.Ó
Farwyn saw the man he responded to put down his book, before turning to face the four, time seeming to slow as (their was a mystical focusing of perception.)
ÒMy name is Prespos. Meet Borellius, Borellius Magifae, ...Ó
(And thus the gathered seven exchanged introductory pleasantries, ) Likewise, Farwyn introduced himself and his friends.
ÒWhat brings you to Iriaebor?Ó, asked Prespos of Farwyn.
ÒWe are to make our way south, to Athkatla in Amn.Ó
ÒReally? I am planning to soon make my way to the lands just south of there. Someone I know, M... , told me of a ruined city within the Forest of Tethir.Ó
ÒHow do you plan to make the journey to Athkatla?Ó
ÒWell, (...)Ó, said Darius, ÒIn any event a good part of the journey will be by horseback. We might board a ship in BaldurÕs Gate, but weÕll have to see. In fact, weÕre in quite a rush as there is a matter of the utmost urgency that I must attend to in Athkatla. We hope to be on our way (with)in a few hours.Ó
ÒYouÕre riding?Ó, asked Prespos rhetorically, chuckling as if Darius was milking a chicken. Before anyone had a chance to respond, Prespos continued. ÒI could get you there today.Ó
The eyes of the three friends of Chrysylla lit up at the mention of this, but the maiden wasnÕt so thrilled. ÒOh... (thanks but) no thanks. I ...um make it a point to have nothing to do with teleportation magicks,.. you see(,) the thought of ending up a mile above the earth, or a mile within it umm.. somehow doesnÕt appeal to me too strongly.Ó
ÒWho said anything about teleportation magicks?Ó, asked Prespos, deciding to test ChrysyllaÕs powers of conjecture, for he had a strong feeling that this one was a dweomercrafter.
ÒOf course! A relocate Amn spell! Good spell, good spell, but alas it seems as if IÕve lost my copy of it.Ó
(The maidenÕs words brought mirth upon Prespos, () he liked a good sense of humour.)
ÒWaita minute... let me get this straightÓ, siad Chrysylla, a smile of hope (a hopeful smile of disbelief upon her face.) ÒYou know of the location of a gate to Amn?Ó
ÒI know it exists in the fourth and fifth dimensions, time and probability, at points within said dimensions that are relatively close to us. Ah... tell me, possibility is within probability, but is the aspect of possibility infinte?Ó
ÒYes and no. Possibility can not exist without impossibility, just as woman cannot exist without man. But... hey! You didnÕt answer my question(!)Ó
ÒBut you didnÕt answer mine.Ó
ÒYes I did.Ó
ÒYou answered it without answering it. Or, in other words, I asked you what the weather is like and you said three hogs and a chicken. A gate can wait. An answer for an answer, now answer the question that you failed to answer.Ó (Eight eyes went wide indeed at the mention of a gate!)
The maiden mnemonicked for a moment, trying to remember exactly what the question was. ÒIs the aspect of possibilty infinite?Ó, asked the maiden, cocking her while looking into the eyes of Prespos, who responded with a nod and (a) subtle smile.
ÒWell(,) if probability is an actual dimension, then it can be numerically quantified in some way, according to the position espoused by Alunther the Elder. Now, assuming that the aspect of probability in question, possibilty, shares the property of measurability with probability...Ó (who?Ó
ÒExcellent!Ó (said) Prespos, truly impressed with the way in which the maiden answered, delighted that he had found one versed in the little known knowledge of the even littler known Alunther.Ó
ÒBut what of the g...Ó, began Chrysylla.
ÒIn time, after we briefly explore the relation between your answer and time. Is time finite?Ó
The question stunned the maiden.
ÒWell...Ó, she responded, deep in thought. ÒLetÕs see... The answer to that is dependant upon the answer to a certain question, being, can something exist without itÕs (diametric) opposite?Ó
Òah...Ó, said Prepos, ÒMy question answered in a question.Ó
To make things apparent for her friends, the maiden kindly elucidated. ÒBetween any two points exists an infinite number of points. Therefore, since an amount of time can be measured, two points define that amount, or wait,...Ó, said Chrysylla suddenly thinking of something. ÒUmmm...Ó The maiden looked into the eyes of her friends, seeing that they were all thouroughly confused. ÒSunrise to sunset are two points in time. Between any two points exists an infinite number of points, so therefore, the time between toddayÕs sunrise and todayÕs sunset is infinite : eternity.Ó
ÒTherefore,Ó added Farwyn, ÒThe time between birth and death is infinite : eternity. Forever is eternity and eternity is forever, to live for eternity is to be immortal.() You, and I, all of us, are immortal.Ó
ÒYet it seems that we do not consciously percieve our immortality.Ó, added Chrysylla.
ÒConscioussness is an illusionÓ, said Ambraddon, a special light in his eye. ÒWhen we dispel the illusion of consciousness, we find that which is real ... consciousness.Ó
((ÒThen what of the man who says he is conscious of being conscious?Ó
ÒUmm...Ó, interrupted Darius as politely as she could. ÒWe must be on our way.Ó, he continued, somehow getting the feeling that if he didnÕt say something these three would still be talking long after their bones had turned to dust. (Darius had the idea, indeed!) )) ÒPrespos, you spoke of a gate.Ó
ÒThere is no gate (smiled Prespos as he felt more than a little angered disappointment (from those to whom he spoke.)) but... there can be a gateway, if you want.Ó
ÒYes and no. Yes and no.Ó, said Darius, beginning to become more than a little exasperated. ÒIÕm a man(,) but... IÕm a woman. Aaaargh! Can you not speak in such silly paradoxes?... Oh but of course! None of you have yet mastered the spell that will enable you to speak like a normal person.Ó
Even Borellius was amused, and Prespos had the next word. ÒNo, weÕve been working on that one for quite a few years, but... I have mastered the simple spell of Gateway.Ó In truth, the casting of witch Prespos spoke was by no means a simple spell, in truth(), it was one of the greatest magicks mastered by mortal man, the learning of which had been (the mageÕs / his) greatest (penultimate) achievement , one that he might never surpass().
ÒA Gateway spell(?)Ó, asked Chrysylla with her mouth open, not sure if she was imagining things again.
ÒYes, a gateway.Ó, said Prespos matter of factly, feeling more than a little pride.
ÒHow much would it cost us?Ó, asked the merchantÕs son, prepared to pay an amount that would be more than many would see in their lives.
ÒAh... you see(,) there are many things that gold will never buy. In life, some things are free, despite the merchantÕs wisdom.Ó
(ÒOne of those things being your spell of Gateway.Ó (??)
ÒFree for you. It will cost me time to prepare, yet that time being time that I would have spent anyway. If youÕd care to meet me at the Forgotten Inn some time tonight...Ó
ÒOh!Ó, said Chrysylla after a lingering moment, for everyone was a little too stunned to speak. ()
ÒThe Forgotten Inn, of course, yes.Ó
ÒI should be there not too long after sunset.Ó
Suddenly, a goat popped its head Ôround the counterÕs corner, chewing upon something that could only be guessed at.
ÒGonad the goat! The goat Gonad!Ó, exclaimed Prespos. ÒGot to go! Got to go!Ó (gogoat)
And with that, the mage left the shop in a hurry, the subtle hint of a flourish.
ÒÓ said the maiden under her breath, the four friends exchanging glances that said ÔO.K. Prespos isnÕt weird.Õ
Silence lingered, and a certain cumulative unease seemed to permeate the air.
ÒUmm... Mr. Magifae, do you happen to have any gum arabic in stock?Ó, asked Chrysylla (in which way)
ÒGum arabic? Well, as a matter of fact we just got some in today. Just a minute.Ó
The alchemist went into the back room, the countenance of the goat subtly suggesting a realization none too (pleasant).
ÒGonad! GONAD!Ó
Borellius came charging out of the backroom, in hot pursiut of poor Gonad, who was doing his best to find an evasive route under tables bearing countless alembics, beakers, ... and other various and sundry examples of alchemical equipment.
In more than a few (individual / separate) moments, Chrysylla thought that hundreds of lions worth of precious glasswork would be tumbled to shatter upon the floor below, but either Tymora or (puissant) nimbleness was with the alchemist, most probably both as nothing was shattered in the frenetic chase. It actually wasnÕt long before Borellius had wrestled the poor goat to the goat to the ground, doing so with the skill of a Mulmasterian gladiator. The alchemist grasped the goat by horn, then grabbed (itÕs / GonadÕs) beard and gave a mighty tug.
Poor Gonad had two choices, to open his mouth or his beard. After the goatÕs wise desicion, Borellius had managed to extract an unrecognizable wad from the mischievious mouth.
ÒBad Gonad! Bad Gonad!Ó
The goat gave Borellius a look of stupid innocence, (and then) proceeded to chew upon the threadbare hem of the alchemistÕs robe. Borellius (?) played with the wet resinous lump in his fingers, giving the maiden a look that said ÒOh well!Ó
ÒWell, I do have some used Gum Arabic, if yourÕe interested,Ó said the alchemist with an apologetic smile.
ÒUmm... Thanks but no thanks. I think IÕll pass on that. You understand the need...Ó
ÒFor purity of Materia?Ó, asked Borellius in a rhetorical query that completed the maidenÕs thought. Trust me, none knows this more than the alchemist.Ó
ÒYou might want to try AuroraÕs.Ó
ÒThank you , I think I might just do that.Ó
And so it came to pass that the four friends (with???)... the mage and the alchemist.

After moving through time for a while, the four friends found themselves seated in the noisy taproom of the Forgotten Inn, (?) Andris gaz(ed) upon a (small) wooden sculpture of St. (BURP), the patron saint of beer, (that was actually carved (of) ? the ornately sculpted oak bar.)
ÒWhere is Prespos?Ó, asked Andris, after Darius got up to go pay homage to a saint.
ÒWhere? Why nowhere er... now here and everywhere.Ó, said Prespos, who just appeared from out of nowhere, sitting where Darius had sat just moments before.
ÒHow did you do that?Ó
ÒMagic.Ó, said Prespos, feeling incredibly pleased with himself.
(Even Chrysylla was impressed.)
Darius turned around, returned to the table withe a couple of pints of Iriaeborian dark.
ÒWhy Darius!Ó, said Prespos with an impish grin his countenance.
ÒWhere have you been.? I do say, IÕve been waiting here for hours.Ó
(The merchants son was more than a little surprised to see Prespos sitting in his seat. (It took his utmost effort to appear unimpressed) (though) (Darius), though he was more than a little glad to see the Mysterious Prespos.
ÒWhy, IÕm afraid that there are no seats left. Hmm... letÕs see.Ó, said the mage, looking about the taproom for an empty chair amongst the many folk.

Prespos just shrugged, producing his strange pipe (?) emptying the contents of a small pouch onto the table : two small pouches and a small mushroom.
ÒHereÕs a stoolÓ, said Chrysylla.

THE FORGOTTEN INN

ÒThere is only one hell.Ó, said the woman in his baritone voice. ÒAmong mortals it is said that there are nine : Avernus, Dis, Minauros, Phlegethos, Stygia, Malbolge, Maladomini, Caina, Nessus. That is an illusion born of the inferior mathematical system of mankind.Ó
ÒBut what of what you said about the nine alignments : how there was one for each sphere of hell, Nessus controlling neutrality?Ó
ÒBut what of the truth of relativity, the relativity of truth? Law, Chaos, Good, Evil - all are illusion.Ó
ÒBut what of what you said about evil being the center of all life, (?) the center of every individual entity that lives? It was just (naught) a hundred years ago that you said that evil is the seed of individuality?Ó
ÒEvil being the sister of phantasm, of the eight.Ó
ÒThen there is no such thing as a center... you just said that...Ó
ÒWait.Ó

THE FORGOTTEN INN

ÒAn illusion cannot exist without its counterpart reality.Ó
ÒThen what is it that yourÕe saying.Ó
ÒYou tell me,Ó replied the woman, her reply a command beyond perception.

Well, you seem to imply that existence is contradictory in nature...Ó Malakesh took time for thought, for his understanding of what had been said was, even for a genius, difficult to put into words. ÒThe fantasy of the nine, illusion rather, can be perceived, therefore it exists, therefore it is real. An illusion is a type / kind of (reality).
?Reality is illusion, illusion is reality.
Remember the truth of relativity.

IRIAEBOR to ATHKATLA

Chrysylla and Farwyn awoke to the sound of a knock upon their door, an unfortunate ending to a (pleasant) walk through an endless dreamfield of a million wildflowers that danced in the warm breeze that was the harmony of the breath and light of Heaven. ÒCome inÓ, said Chrysylla in a sleepy voice, lifting her head from FarwynÕs tummy (the best pillow she ever had.)
A maid entered the room, bearing a breakfast service that was a masterpiece of silversmithing (the art of silversmithing.) Without a word, she began to lay out a breakfast that would have fed a serf for many months (rides.) Chrysylla was rahter stunned, never having had anyone wait on her (before in her life.) After a few moments of uncomfortable silence, the maiden ventured an ÒUmm... Good morning...Ó
ÒMoring glory unto thee, milady.Ó, the maidenÕs curt reply of unmeeting eye.
After a subtle blessing of the first meal of the day, unperceived by the two, a soft kiss carried from lip to loaf by loving finger. The servant left the room as quickly as she came.
Laid out on silver was a loaf of blackbread, steaming water and a selection of seven herbal teas, milk, poached quail eggs, raspberries in cream, etc. - even the reknowned Regis would be impressed!
Chrysylla picked and chose amongst the many potables, having had to having got in the habit of feeding Farwyn (who had a tendency to ignore Òthe less spiritual aspects of lifeÓ, ÒunimportantÓ things such as basic etiquette and eating food.)
The maiden was about to pour a glass of milk for her man, yet the childish words of Farwyn stopped her.

ÒMilk, milk,
Will not do,
Only a cup of tea,
For me and you.Ó

After having their breakfast, Chrysylla went about the task of combing FarwynÕs hair, which by now was longer than hers!
His done, her turn was now, and soon the light shone upon two heads of neetly combed hair. WIth leaf of mint and tender finger, they did their best to brush the otherÕs teeth and dispel the breath of morn.
Having done what we all have to do, the maiden had her morning pipe with Farwyn, (invoking sprits and clearing her head.) (She then moved in mysterious ways, performing the ritual of concentration.

ÒWhat do you want to do today?Ó, asked Chrysylla, having finished her pipe, sitting on the edge of her bed.
Farwyn took CHrysylla(her) in his arms, laying her down beside him in an affectionate embrace. ÔNothingÕ, he said with a smile (and a) soft kiss.

The friends sat in the living room, playing crazy eights while CHrysylla did her best to understand the rules of the game, to no avail. They finished their game, Darius collecting a fair sum.