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A warm, summer wind blew across the plain. The dry grasses undulated in the breeze, rustling as they brushed against one another. At a low spot in the rolling hills a grove of silvery willows crowded around a slough. The ground amongst the willows was muddy and filled with animal tracks. Mixed in with the hoofprints of deer and the deeply imprinted tracks of the plains cats were footprints of the people too.

Naked children ran through the mud at the waters edge, squealing in delight as they chased each other. Some of the older children cut small sticks from the willow trees, loosening the bark and making whistles. With his tongue lolling out of his mouth, a giant wolf slept in the shade of the willows. The wolf’s ears suddenly pricked up and his great yellow eyes opened to slits. Tail beating against the ground with excited swishes, the wolf rose up on his haunches. After stretching ludicrously he bounded out from under the willows, to the returning group of people.

Reaching a hand out to scratch the wolf under the jowls, Elavandrial was given the wolf’s report of the morning – the pups are filthy, deer passed by to the north, something far more interesting smelling than deer further to the northeast and the dryads had given permission for several trees to be harvested. Grinning with the good news – wood was hard to come by on the plains – Elavandrial showed his straight white teeth. Contrasting with his deeply tanned skin, his teeth and eyes seemed to shine with their brightness.

Striding forward to take Elavandrial’s hand, Sh’leanea looked towards the willows, “We must speak to the dryads, to find out what trees they have marked for us.” Running a hand through the fur of another wolf that had come forward to join her, she sighed as she caught sight of the filthy children. Amusement - from the huge black wolf that had originally run to Elavandrial. Sh’leanea arched a tawny eyebrow, “And mori’draug perhaps you would like to bathe them?”

Suddenly, in a flurry of barking and flying turf a pack of wolf pups raced forward, from where the people had come. Heading straight for the water the pups were soon as muddy as the children, both wrestling and falling in the freshly churned mire. Chuffing in disappointment, the silver she-wolf trotted towards the slough followed by the amused snort from Elavandrial.

The people were camped on a hill overlooking the grove and its circular slough. They had only set up a pair of their tents for sleeping in. Painted with fantastic designs, the tents sheltered the people for the majority of the year until they moved off of the plains and into the sheltered woods for the wintered.

The people were the roch’orthor or horse masters of their family. They guided the family’s horses across the plains throughout the long summers. The majority of the family lived in the city far to the east, deep in the woods of Oiotaur. The family who bided in the city were fantastic crafters and smiths, scribes and orators, priests and warriors and mages. The people on the plain were those not content to stay in town, whose nomadic blood sang strongly in their veins.

The people grazed the horses – the prized, beautiful beasts of the family – across the rolling plains from the first snowmelt until the cold winds started to blow. Roaming from place to place throughout the vast prairie the people lived in great round tents. The tents were constructed of animal hide, strung together over wooden poles that formed a cone or dome shape. Most of the tents were painted with intricate designs, each individual to their maker. The people themselves were slim and lithe. Most wore leather pants and soft tunics embroidered about the hem. On the plain the people encountered little but wild animals, it was mostly vacant of settlement.

Several wooden poles, used for tribages and the set up of tents, had been washed away during a flash flood earlier in the season. As it was the middle of summer the people had little need of the tents, and were fine without the extra poles, however they knew that while the sun shone hot upon their backs it would soon enough rescind its warm embrace. So they had come to the willow grove, and asked the dryads who lived there for permission harvest some of the trees, to replace the poles they had lost. Dryads were notoriously finicky creatures so it was a risky venture. But they had just been rewarded what they needed and things were good.

With the people were a tribe of taur’amandil – druids. It was most likely due to their presence that the people had been so easily received by the dryads. The druids were visiting the family during the winter, and were most interested in how the people lived their nomadic lives in the rest of the year, and had so been invited along on a migration. Among the druids were a pair of humans, Mennar and Pentil, a centaur, !xlind, and three elves, Tama’nesil, Lenellior, and Naltia.

The druids had been travelling with the people for over four moons now and had been pretty much integrated into the band. Pentil was grinding charcoal and Lenellior was helping skin several rabbits that had been caught for supper. The band was small in size, about twenty adult elves, four small children, two of middling years and a babe. Naltia was walking with !xlind, surveying the horses ranged out in the hills below.

Clad in the leather pants common to the people, and a shimmering orange silk tunic, embroidered about the edge with red poppies – a gift from Elavandrial – Naltia shaded her eyes with the flat of her hand. “I think there is a lion, maybe two, to the northeast,” Naltia pointed as the horses stampeded and wheeled towards the south.

!xlind gripped the haft of her staff and stomped her forehoof nervously. They were both sweating under the hot sun, and trails of perspiration ran down !xlind’s back and between her bare breasts. “The lions are surely hunting the deer that passed to the north, Naltia,” shaking her head, “They would not attack such a herd. Not with such protection as they have.” Sure enough, as !xlind spoke, a pair or riders rode out from the middle of the herd, towards the northeast, seeking to investigate what was causing the disturbance.

Captiously the riders rode their mounts forward, scanning the grasses for the tawny lions they surely expected to be there. Their caution was not untoward, for, out of the grass before them rose not a pair of feline hunters but a single manticore. Manticores were huge, easily the size of a destrier, with great wings that rose high into the air behind them. The one rider, with his bow drawn loosed four or five arrows into the thick hide of the beast before it struck his horse. The scream of the horses terror reached far, back up the hill, and panicked the already spooked horses.

Naltia and !xlind were already on the way down the hill. !xlind reached the manticore first, as the predator was stalking the second horse whose rider had wisely dismounted and was helping the first rider, pinned under his dead horse. Her long, midnight hair streaming out behind her !xlind broadsided the manticore. Forehooves pummelling the manticore’s side, !xlind distracted the creature as Naltia approached from the other side. Howling in rage the manticore raised a giant paw to swipe at !xlind and suddenly quieted.

Naltia, her staff planted firmly in the soil shuddered and stared at the beast, her mind struggling for control. The manticore had a powerful will and did not like what was happening. Denied his meal, the beast was petulant and angered, but Naltia maintained control - holding it to the spot.

The ground vibrated behind her and soon Tama’nesil was standing beside Naltia. Easing control of the manticore from her, he walked towards the snarling beast, and then past it. As if on a chain the manticore was yanked towards Tama’nesil, who continued walking north. Naltia collapsed to the ground and the riders, both free now, rushed towards her.

The great, silver she-wolf nosed the flap of the tent open and whined. Sh’leanea made to shoo the wolf away but Naltia twisted in her tormented sleep and Sh’leanea turned back to her. Laying naked on the wooden pallet, sweat covered her body and the noise of her teeth grinding was audible. Sh’leanea mopped her brow with a wet cloth whispering soothing sounds to her patient. Slinking forward on its belly one of the wolf pups snuck into the open tent flap. Whimpering, it started to lick Naltia’s fingers and pressed its nose into her palm. Sighing, Sh’leanea grabbed the pup by the scruff of its neck and started to drag it out of the tent. Then she stopped. The furrowed lines across Naltia’s forehead had smoothed, and her breathing seemed to be calmer.

Barking sounded outside, glancing at the pup, who was back at Nalia’s side, Sh’leanea pushed the she-wolf out of the tent and followed her. Tama’nesil was returned. It had been four days since he lead the manticore into the plain, four days that Naltia had lain supine in the tent. The people had done what they could, but she was beyond them. Truly, the other druids had exhausted their knowledge too.

“Taur’amandil, you must come, now,” Sh’leanea’s face was grave. As well as being unable to wake, Naltia was undergoing sometimes disturbing changes, and Sh’leanea did not know what to do. As she lead Tama’nesil towards the tent she explained what she had seen so far. Nodding at her, Tama’nesil ducked and entered the tent.

The wolf pup growled at him, hackles rising. “Ahh little warrior,” Tama’nesil chuckled, “she will do well by you.” The pup quieted, but watched the druid warily. Looking at the slim, elvish lass before him Tama’nesil thought, “Ahhh, so young! And what Sh’leanea describes… that does not seem like taking on a wildshape. I wonder what it could be.” Kneeling on the skins beside the pallet he began to meditate.

Darkness came and Mennar entered the tent, concern etched across his features. “Master?” he queried.

Gasping, like a diver too long underwater, Tama’nesil rocked back on his heels. Groping for the edge of the pallet he barely managed to keep his balance. “Mennar,” he choked out, “I have never seen anything like it. This, what she is becoming – is beyond my knowledge.”

Mennar extended a hand and helped Tama’nesil to his feet. “What did you find?”

“She is still there,” Tama’nesil stopped to cough, “but is not the same as she was. Her thoughts flow from one thing to the next, erratically, and some of the thoughts, are not, are not, as we would think.”

“Like a fevered dream, with hallucinations?” Mennar furrowed his brow.

“No, no, let me try and explain,” Tama’nesil lead the way out of the tent into the cool night air. “You know, when you speak to your companion. Things – things are not conveyed in the same manner which you or I may think them. If they’re hungry, we do not hear, I am hungry, instead it is more like we feel hunger, or imagine the scent of a fresh kill, yes?” Nodding, more to himself than anything, Tama’nesil continued, “Several times I caught traces of such things, but from Naltia’s mind. At first, I though they were her wild form asserting itself… but this is not that case either.”

“What do you mean, master?”

Placing his hands in the small of his back and stretching, Tama’nesil grunted, “I do not know. All I know is what it is not. She is not possessed or ill, and it is not her wild form asserting dominance. I fear I cannot explain it, Mennar.” Placing a hand on his stomach he finished, “But I cannot think straight without some sustenance. Let us to supper.”

Leaning back on his elbows, Elavandrial looked up into the starry sky. Lighting his pipe with a match lit from the dung burning fire he inhaled and passed the pipe to Tama’nesil. Nodding his thanks, Tama’nesil took a deep inhalation and passed the pipe back. As the smoke burned through their lungs it made their eyes tear and Tama’nesil brought out his wineskin. Elavandrial gladly took a drink and sighed deeply. “My friend,” he started - his deep, melodic voice making the simple words sound like poetry, “My friend, I think I may have an idea.”

“Hrm?” Tama’nesil turned towards his companion in the darkness.

“Yes, and idea,” Elavandrial puffed on the pipe and raised himself up a bit. “I once met a dark elf, in my youth. He claimed his sister could take the forms of other beings. Yes I know,” he raised a hand to stave off Tama’nesil’s remarks, “I know dark elves and their sorcery. But according to this man – this was not sorcery, it was not a spell. It was just something she could do, you understand?” Sighing, he lay back down. “This man, we did not speak long. He was not welcome in the city, and it was winter, things were bad. You understand how it is, yes?”

Tama’nesil nodded into the night, “Aye, Elavandrial, I do indeed. There is much bad blood between the dark ones and ourselves.” He reached for his wineskin and it was handed back to him.

“Yes, quite,” Elavandrial put an arm behind his head and examined the sky. Pointing to a constellation, “The man though, he said to follow the bear south – were I to ever want to find him.”

Tama’nesil snorted, surprised, then fell back laughing foolishly, “Ahh well we were all young once, weren’t we?”

“This is true, and Naltia, she is still. Why deny her the vagaries of youth?”

“Then you think we should head south?”

“A better idea would be welcome, friend.” Snickering came from Elavandrial, “Now, where’d my pipe go?”

Grinning uncontrollably Tama’nesil said, “Here, have some more wine.” Soon enough the pair passed out under the stars.

!xlind was tying together a bundle of willow poles when she was alerted by excited barking. Squinting she turned in the direction of the bundle and saw a wolf pup racing towards her at full speed. !xlind set the poles down and trotted forward as the pup bounced about her heels. Happiness from it flooded her mind, and it raced back towards the camp, with the energy only excited pups seemed to possess. !xlind galloped to keep up with it, and the two arrived in camp in a haze of dust. In the middle of camp was a bright red wyrmling. The creature looked rather frightened and dazed.

The pup was quite excited too. Hopping under the wyrmling it bounced and wriggled, barking the whole time. !xlind narrowed her eyes, thinking, “What foolery is this?” When suddenly she felt a pricking in the back of her mind. Stepping closer to the wyrmling she held out her arm and the small dragon alighted on it.

“!xlind,” It exclaimed in her mind, “Oh, !xlind help me!”

Eyes widening !xlind exclaimed, “What!?” then in mindspeak, “What? Who, wait, you, Naltia?” Consternation played across the centaur’s face.

“Oh gods, yes, its me! !xlind, I, I am a dragon, somehow, and I don’t know what is going on!” The wyrmling launched itself into the air, wings beating frantically, “I don’t even know how to fly, and I am, please help!” The wrymling’s pleas, along with the pups frantic yips were too much.
!xlind turned, and yelled back down the hill, “Tama’nesil! You’d best come quick!”

Stamping nervously !xlind’s hooves beat a tattoo on the dry ground, sending up plumes of dust. Elavandrial and Tama’nesil came up the hill behind her. Tama’nesil instantly grinned, “Naltia!” he exclaimed, “You look much better!”

“Master! I, I cannot remember a thing, there was that manticore, then, then the next thing I know is I’m – I’m this!”

Tama’nesil shrugged, “I too do not truly understand. Elavandrial has an idea though.”

Leaning on !xlind’s flank Elavandrial smoothed a hand through his long hair. “An idea yes. Although, I am not sure if it will get us anywhere. We travel south to see.”

“South!” Naltia’s thoughts thrummed through their minds, “South, aren’t the mori’quesser to the south?” Snorting a small bust of flame, which seemed to startle her more than anything else, Naltia exclaimed, “Why!?”

“I once knew a man,” Elavandrial started, “who had a sister. His sister, he claimed, was much like you. So we go there. The man should know more.”

Calmed by his speech, Naltia/wyrmling visibly quieted. Hovering above the wolf pup she sighed, “Well anything is better than this. How soon do we go?”

The camp packed up the next morning. The people loaded what they could not carry on to tribages and headed east. Elavandrial, Tama’nesil, Naltia and !xlind started south, with a score of horses to themselves.

The wolf pup who had attached itself to Naltia nipped at the horses heels, impatient. Soon enough they started out. They headed southwest, taking nothing but the horses and supplies they could pack on them. Naltia had assumed her elvish form in her sleep, and was deep in contemplation. Their ride was uneventful. At night they dismounted and set up a cold camp, eating hard biscuits and jerked venison.

The days continued much the same for the next eight. They spoke of philosophy and theorized about Naltia’s transformation. The hills grew steeper as they headed further south. Midmorning one day the stream they had been tracking split in twain, the one heading easterly, the other streamlet coming from the south.

Elavandrial pulled his horse up to the water and dismounted. “We stop here. Over the next hill,” he nodded further south towards the crest of a rise, “we meet the dark ones. Perhaps we get in for free,” he shrugged, “perhaps we trade.” Running a hand along the animal’s flank and down its chest he straightened, wiping a forearm across his dusty forehead.

Craning her neck back, Naltia looked southward. Over the tops of the steepening hills she saw the beginnings of a mountain range. “These dark ones, the live in the mountains?” She swung down from the saddle and joined Elavandrial by the stream side. Watching the water swirl about the small, smooth stones and sand of the banks, she looked up into his tanned face and arched an eyebrow.

“In describes it most accurately,” Elavandrial nodded. He grabbed Naltia’s shoulder and turned her so she was facing away from him. Then he started to unbind her hair, “The dark people, their women rule. They have all had their hair free,” He tied the leather thong around his wrist and took a bone comb out of his saddlepack. Brushing the road grime out of her hair he began, “They live deep in the mountain. We will enter a cavern. We will have to cover the horses eyes, and lead them.”

Naltia winced as Elavandrial pulled on a nasty snarl, “And this man you said you met, how will we find him, Elavandrial? I don’t imagine this is a small village we’re going to.”

“Do not worry. The man will find us,” Elavandrial put the comb away, “Done.”

After remounting, with Naltia and !xlind in the lead the continued to follow the stream south. Soon enough, they encountered a waterfall, falling down a sheer redrock cliff. Taking care on the stones slick from the spray they made their way around a small pool at the base of the falls. Here they paused to unsaddle and brush the horses. After carefully repacking everything and tying bands of cloth across the horses eyes Elavandrial started towards the waterfall.

A voice called, “Hold,” and melting out of the shadows in the lee of a cliff strode a dark elf. Hooded and gloved it said, “You enter the our lands uninvited, why do you come?” in a soft, rasping voice.

Tama’nesil started to answer but it was clear the dark elf was paying him no attention, instead it was looking at Naltia, who said, “I come for an answer, for help. I understand there is one here who may be able to help me,”

“Why should we offer our help to you?” The dark elf stepped closer, and shook its hood back, to get a clearer look at the company, making clear his sex.

“I, I,” Naltia stuttered. Elavandrial put a hand on her arm and held out his other hand to the dark elf. In his hand glinted a ring, crafted of silver with a cabochon sapphire stone in the middle.

“Darthiir, you carry a token?” The dark man looked surprised, “Well. Perhaps you are not as dull as you seem. Follow me,” and the dark elf turned on his heel, leading the part behind th falls.

While slick and somewhat treacherous the cave behind the falls was not a dark or gloomy place. Phosphorescent lichens grew along the edges of the floor near the walls, providing a soft green glow. The cave was tall, the ceiling lost in the blackness, and wide enough for three horses to walk side by side. While the cavern looked natural, here and there were signs of alterations.

The tunnel continued straight and true for a long while. The dark elf trod silently, in his soft leather boots, the only sounds were the hooves on the cave floor and the parties breathing. Every once in a while a breath of air eddied around the group, and as they drew further into tunnel sippets of conversation, the everyday sounds of people, could be heard. The floor began to slope downwards and curve to the left.

Almost seamlessly the cave underwent a transition from a natural cavern, to an architectural wonder. Widening to about ten yards across, the floor perfectly level, the tunnel led straight to an iron portcullis. Standing two in front of the portcullis, and two behind were two heavily armoured guards. “Vel’bol inbal dos sila’ve ilythiiri?” challenged a guard, stepping forward with his arms across his chest.

The dark elf held out his palm, displaying the ring he had taken from Elavandrial, “Usstan sila kivvilen. L’darthirii uriu natha elamshinae.”

“Natha elamshinae? Dal vel’uss, Usstan inbal naut keffal nindol p’los,” snorted the second guard.

Elavandrial stepped forward, “The favor is that of L’valsharess’ qu’ess. The prince. Dar’lenialain. If he still is prince.”

At this the first guard rushed forward and cuffed Elavandrial across the face, knocking the slim elf to the ground. “Do not speak of the Valshares, srow!”
Elavandrial raised himself up on one knee and probed a wobbly tooth with his tongue. Tama’nesil helped him to his feet. Naltia pulled a cloth from her pack and pressed it to Elavandrial’s forehead, where he was bleeding freely from a cut above his brow.

The dark elf turned to the guards beyond the gate and called out, “Send for someone, at least. This is truly Dar’s token.”

!xlind whispered to Naltia, “I do not like this one bit. I do not think they will let us in. We should go back now,” the skin on her back twitched nervously, as if to get rid of flies.

The guards behind the iron gate moved away from the gate, disappearing into the darkness beyond. The dark elf who had led them this far stood his ground, nose to nose with the heavily armored gate guard. The guard grunted, shifting uncomftolerable in his armor and grudgingly returned to his post by the gate.

No one moved much. The air was filled with tension – the guards kept casting unfriendly glances to the surfacers and the dark elf simply stared straight ahead, at the guards. A low snuffling noise came from the darkness behind the portcullis, followed by the clanking of chains. Eventually the portcullis started to raise and two huge halforcs lumbered forward. Following the orcs were the pair of guards, “We are to take the horses to the stables, then lead the surfacers,” the guard spat the word, “to the city. Dal seems to know this darthirii.”

The halforcs came forward and haltered the horses and began to lead them forward. One made the mistake of getting to close to !xlind. “I am not a horse!” she bellowed, yanking the halter out of the halforcs hands.

The halforc blinked in surprise, then looked up and saw !xlind’s face, full of rage. The halforc visibly paled and stuttered out, “Evagna jabbress. kitrye cretok waele evagna!” The creature shook with fear and ran back to the other horses.

Sighing, !xlind shook her head, “Where are we to now?” and trotted forward, following the party forward.

The tunnel continued uniformly. The floor was smoothed flat, and every ten yards there was a central support column. The walls were unfinished granite, and the ceiling a high arch overhead. Soon enough they came to another iron gate, this one with the portcullis raised. The guards waved them through, and the group continued on.

Suddenly, the tunnel opened into a vast cavern. An underground lake spread out to their right and to the left rose a low wall, stretching as far as the eye could follow it. The wall was made of cut, black stone, and guards patrolled the top of it. There was only one entrance through the wall, and it was through a double-d gate. Two semi-circular towers rose out of the wall there, making anyone who approached have to pass between them. Behind the wall sprawled a city. The sounds of commerce and everyday life echoing from it.

Infront of the gate a party stood to meet them. At its head was a dark elf dressed all in navy. He sat atop a black destrier, his cloak trailing over the animal’s back. The hafts of two swords strapped to his belt were visible, both holding a cabochon sapphire. The dark elf had silvery white hair, brushed back from his forehead and bound and the nape of his neck with a navy thong. He handed the reigns of his great horse to one of the men with him and swung a leg over the animal’s back, dismounting smoothly.

He was very tall for an elf, almost topping six feet. He moved with catlike grace and there was an efficiency to all of his movements. The navy cape, embroidered with silver along the edges, flowed behind him as he strode forward to meet the surfacers. “Elavandrial. I see you have accepted my invitation,” he surveyed the rest of the party, “though I do not recall extending that invitation beyond your person. Still, I would not be a poor host.” He spun on his heel and remounted his destrier. Wheeling the horse about, he called, “the soldiers will see you to your quarters,” and he rode back into the city.
The darkelf who led them this far also turned around and walked back the way they had came. On of the soldiers came forward, in a navy uniform himself, although not nearly the quality of the clothes the prince wore, “You shall follow me.” With that the half dozen soldiers fell into formation, surrounding the party and marching them forward.

Tama’nesil observed, “Why the walls, surely they do not fear invasion from the surface? They could defend well enough through the tunnels that lead to the city,” he chewed on his lower lip, pondering the layout of the city.

As they passed through the gate Naltia noted, “The walls are very thick too, easily ten paces at the base. What causes the need for such defense?”

“Silence,” Barked the soldier leading them, “Do not speak, or engage any you see in conversation, you are going to the ust dalharuk guesting chambers.” It seemed then that the soldiers sped their march, and led the party swiftly though the city. They did not pass through any heavily populated areas of the city, the marched through the back allies, behind smithies and tanneries. Skinny, underfed male elves, and hulking half orcs were the only people out in the city. Within the city itself there were several walled estates. The walls around the estates were high and it was impossible to see what lay behind them. The soldiers walked them past all of these as well, to the rear of the city, and the cavern wall.

The wall rose vertically in front of them. It was not of the plain, smooth stone as was the rest of the city, the granite was intricately carved and formed into a facade of a great house. Here there were even more guards. Their escort was challenged and then allowed to pass. They were marched inside an archway, then quickly escorted to the right. The floor they trod on was plain stone no more, their feet trod on smooth black marble, veined with gold. The walls too were glassy black, the hall wide and ornate.

Diminutive servants bowed as they approached a set of wooden double doors, and pulled the doors open. A well appointed salon stood before them. Low couches were spread out, with, cushions and rugs spread about the floor.

The cushions were all done in blue and silver silk, the rugs soft navy wool. !xlind was obviously unconmftolerable and pranced nervously on the marble floor. “I do not like this, not at all, Elavandrial, what have you gotten us in to?”

Shrugging, the elf turned towards her, “I do not know, truly. Through, the prince seems welcoming enough. I do not think we will be harmed.”

The door closed behind them, and they were left alone in the salon. Naltia sat down on a couch and sighed. Running a hand along the smooth wood of her seat she said, “Elavandrial, why is this prince indebted to you? Why are we not turned away?”

Naltia’s companions seated themselves and Elavandrial started to speak, “Dar came to the surface long ago. He wanted to learn. The ruling magistrate did not like the idea of a dark elf in the city. So they tried to assassinate him. As I said we were both young. I helped him escape the city.” Picking up a pillow and smoothing it over his lap he continued, “He asked me to come with him. I was scared. I could not imagine living under the skin of the earth. I took him as far south as I dared, When I returned I was not welcome in the city. So I joined the horse masters,” even in his short, clipped manner of speaking he conveyed a great sorrow. “There is no love lost between our peoples. And no one wanting to get it back.” Elavandrial’s brow furrowed and his eyes darkened. His chest heaved with a sigh and he spoke no more.

Just then, a side door opened and a slim boy entered. He set a platter of food on a low table beside the couches, bowed and left. Following him was another boy, of equal years, he came in bearing two crystal decanters of wine, one pale, one dark. Lastly, another boy entered, bearing crystal goblets. All three came and left silently.

Tama’nesil grinned, “Well, unless they intend to poison us and cart away our bodies – and gods know why they would go to all that trouble when any of the guards could have dispatched us with ease – it looks like we have been afforded some small hospitality at least. Thirsty anyone?” Then he began to fill the goblets with the red wine.

Naltia leaned forward and gratefully accepted a glass of wine, and picked a mushroom off of the tray. Sniffing the mushroom, she determined it was not poisonous and popped it in her mouth, “Chewy, but pretty good. I think they’re pickled,” she then took a generous gulp of wine, “Ahhh, and this, this is beyond fair,” she smiled and sat back on the couch.

Even !xlind grudgingly snacked and drank of the offered repast. Tama’nesil cleaned the gouge above Elavandrial’s eye and, with a critical inspection announced, “You should live, I think,” winking at Elavandrial he sat back down and looked around. The room was lit with blue glass globes. The globes were hung on filigreed iron hooks that were mounted into the marble walls. There was little enough other ornamentation, a few bookshelves – along the wall opposite the door they had come in. The books grabbed his attention, and he walked over to get a closer look at them. Running his finger along the spines, he read many titles – be they written in the dark elf language – of topics he had a great deal of interest in.

Coming across a particular title he exclaimed, “The treatise between nymphs and dryads! I have always wondered….” He trailed off and thumbed through the tomb, engrossed in the book.

Naltia pulled out her journal and began to write, !xlind pretended to sleep and Elavandrial listlessly pulled on the pillow’s fringe, thinking troubled thoughts. They did not have to occupy themselves for long. Dar swept into the room through the double doors and dumped his cloak across the back of one of the couches. Kicking the door shut with a bootheel he snapped his finger and the globes in the room grew instantly brighter.

Elavandrial’s head snapped up and he threw the pillow down, making it skitter across the marble tiles, “Dar’lenialain. You said I would be welcome, if I came,” narrowing his eyes, “It does not appear so.”

The regal looking dark elf’s expression softened, and he smiled softly, “I am sorry, indeed we are hard pressed, and I apologize for the lack of welcome. You must forgive me, Elavandrial. There is much politicking going on, one of the lesser houses recently overcame a greater one, and Ilhar would not have her first born son displaying any weakness.”

Dar bowed before Naltia, “I am Dar’lenialain, milady, and it is an honor to have you in my home,” turning he extended his hand to Elavandrial, “Come, let not my behavior infront of the populace deter you, I am still the same man as you helped those long years ago. I would despair could I not call you friend.”

With that the anger went out of Elavandrial’s gaze, and he grasped Dar’s hand, standing upright and clasping the dark elf in a bone-crushing embrace. Pushing back he stood with tears unabashedly streaming down his cheeks, “I too would cal you friend. Ach! How many years has it been? Eight, nine decades?”

“Ten, Elavandrial, and too long those years were,” Dar turned to Tama’nesil and introduced himself, and again to !xlind. “Sit, sit,” he waved back to the couches, “You must tell me why you have come, and brought so many, and I must tell you your situation now as well.”

They were all seated. Even !xlind lay upon a rug, though she tried to make it look as unwelcome as possible. “If I may be so bold,” Naltia began, “we are here mostly for me.”

“Indeed lady?” Dar asked as he poured himself wine, “And why has a creature as beautiful as you come to this dark hole I call home?” With this he grinned, and exposed his sharp, white teeth, “I cannot fathom a reason why.”

Naltia blushed, unused to such blatant flattered, and mumbled her thanks.

Elavandrial sought to explain, “Naltia,” he nodded towards her, “Has started to change. It is similar to what you described your sister went though. We thought you might be able to help, or point us in the right direction.”

Dar’s eyes widened at this and he mused, “I will have to think on this, I do not know where it would be best to ask for this. My sister, is a priestess now. One cannot simply have an audience with her,” at the confused looks from his guests he elaborated, “Ahh, I see I must explain this in more detail.”

“Forget what you know of the way the surface elves’s and their society. Our peoples have long been split, and any similarities between us have long ago dissolved. We are each belonged to a house – except for the poor houseless you saw in the city – each house has a Ilharess, a Matron if you will. There are often battles between the different houses, though these are fought silently. Such a battle has just happened, the ninth house was overtaken by the twelfth. The city is tense, awaiting the repercussions. Hence my short manner outside.”

“Outside these walls al will be unfriendly to you. Out people are untrustworthy of outsiders, and do not welcome new ideas or change. Even should you venture into the main house, you would be dealt with harshly. You are welcome to have free reign of my apartments though.”

“My mother is the matron of this, the first house. My sister, the one you speak of, who is a shifter, is a priestess of Lloth. For an outsider to approach either it would be certain death. I will ask what I can though. However, as a man, my access to much knowledge is limited. Tonight, I shall dine with you. I hope to know more then.”

“Forgive me,” he stood and bowed once more, “it will take some time for me to learn anything of this, perhaps I can find some books on it. Feel free to use my apartments, you may bathe and such. I’m sure the slaves will find suitable accouterments for you for dinner.” With that he was off.

“Slaves?” Naltia arched an eyebrow? As if summoned the three boys came into the room, through the side door, and one said, “If it please you, follow us,” And stood aside, allowing access through the door.

The party followed them through the door into a well appointed hall. The ceiling of the hall was hung with more blue globes, glowing softly. The boys opened several doors along the hall and then stood back, as if asking where the guests would go.

Naltia peered in each room, there was a library, a sleeping chamber appointed with multiple beds, and a spa. “Ahhh, she sighed,” and started towards the spa.

Tama’nesil was already in the library, and !xlind fast asleep as Naltia and Elavandrial explored the accouterments of the spa. There were marble pools of several different temperatures and a steam room. There were massage tables and grooming stations, it was fit for a prince. Sitting down on a low bench beside the hottest pool Naltia started to pull off her boots. A mortified attendant ran over from the door way, “Nau, nau, dos z’klaen ori’gato uns’aa!” and kneeled before her, tugging off her boots.

Elavandrial was already mostly disrobed, and as he shucked his tunic over his head Naltia asked, “Why do they not help you?”

Piling the tunic along with his boots and pants, Elavandrial shrugged, “Most likely because I am a man.” He grinned at Naltia’s obvious discomfort as the slaves undressed her, “Usstan tlun ilta wanre, qualla ori’gato uns’aa,” he spoke to the slaves, waving them away.

“Jabbress?” the slave looked up at her imploringly.

Naltia nodded, “Yes, yes, leave us, I’ll be alright, er… alu Usstan ula.” The slight darkelf retreated back to the doorway, and she finished shinnying out of her pants. Elavandrial picked them up and placed them on the bench and folded her tunic. The slave seemed placated at that, but still watched warily for any sign of inattention.

Naltia and Elavandrial stepped into the steaming tub and reclined on the steps. They both released sighs of satisfaction and then chuckled at each other. Another servant brought forward a basket of sponges and oils and left them on the edge of the pool. Dunking her head underwater, Naltia soaked her hair and when she came up for air, Elavandrial was grinning at her, “I had to convince them I would not allow you to bath yourself. It would be a great dishonor for them,” he whispered. Then louder, “Is this sponge alright, Jabbress?”

Naltia glanced over at the servants who were looking disapprovingly in their direction. Giggling at the absurdity of it, she said, “I suppose it will do,” in her most haughty voice, “Though don’t be stingy with the lavender, I do not want to have to waste the energy punishing you again.” Smirking, she dunked her head again.

Tama’nesil and even !xlind had visited the spa by the time dinner was served. Each was accoutered in the softest silks and linens. Elavandrial wore leggings and a tunic, Tama’nesil a long jacket over flowing pants, !xlind had a thick, felt vest, covered in intricate stitchings. Naltia was given a form fitting silk dress, dark as the blackest night, and girdled with silver and sapphires.

They were all seated at the long dining chamber in Dar’s apartments when he came in. He was not alone, and the man he brought with him was obviously not impressed at his choice of dinner companions. The darkelf in his company spat out, “These! These surface scum are who you want me to help! Bah! Were you not the Ihariss’ first son, I would have you punished most severely for such an altercation! Dragging one of my position, into their,” he narrowed his eyes and glared at each one in turn, “presence! You insult me!” With that the man stalked out the open door leaving the room starting at him.

“Ahhh,” Dar sighed, “He was angry enough to forget these though!” and with a flourish and a smile, he revealed a pair of books and set them on the buffet. A servant pulled out a chair for him and he sat not at the head of the table, but beside Naltia. “Lady,” he looked at her, “You honor me by sitting so at my table, surely though, you would like the head?”

Naltia shook her head, her clean and shining hair rustled against the silk of her dress, “You are too kind, this is fine,” she smiled at him, “You must tell me though, what have you discovered?”

Self-consciously Dar smoothed the front of his tunic against his chest and said, “You are quite to the point, aren’t you?” Several slaves brought out soup and placed it before each diner, and Dar lifted his spoon, tasting it. Then he started to explain what he had learned.

Shifting appeared to be an uncommon natural talent. It was more common amongst those who were attuned to themselves, and so the druids were able to tap into the ability easier than others. There were many documented cases of polymoprhing through magical means, but his was rarer. It could only be undone by the will of the shifter, and not unwound like a spell could.

With training, mostly governing ones mind and meditation, one could control the form one took. And it seemed that by putting years of study into examining a creature one could eventually learn how to assume that shape.

Summing it up over wine at the end of the meal, Dar said, “While it appears there is no one, at least here, who can help you train, you are welcome to those books,” he nodded to the side table, “My sister authored one, and the other is an older text. I hope they will be of help to you.”

Her head swimming with new knowledge Naltia leaning back in her chair, then something stuck in her mind, “You said there is no one here who could help me. Do you know if there is anyone anywhere else?”

“I was hoping you would ask, follow me, please!” Dar got up from the table and lead the way into the library. Pulling out a long, fancifully etched scroll case, he uncapped it and unrolled the article inside onto a table. “This,” he said, flattening out the edges, “is a map of our mountains. Here,” he pointed to a spot on the map, “is where we are. Over here,” pointing to a spot much further south, deeper in the mountains, “is the Maelthra’Vedir or Dragon Mountain.”

“In the one book, the older one, it says that the dragons are the ones who know most about shifting. I think if we could reach the mountain, and get an audience with the dragons, we could learn more of this!” releasing the edge of the map he clapped his hands together and a servant rushed forward carrying a crystal decanter of amber liquor with glasses.

Naltia bent over the map and examined it in detail, “It is far, far to go. Winter draws near, how will we travel there?”

Elavandrial accepted a glass of brandy from Dar nodding, “And I noticed you say we. You plan to come?”

Dar smiled, “I would be quit of this place for a while. The bickering and suspicious nature of the city does ill suit me. I would love if you would have me, my friend.”

Tama’nesil beamed, “Dragons! I have so much to ask such creatures, they live longer than even us it is said, the things they must know!”

Naltia cack her head to the side, “Dar – I would like to know more, but I cannot ask so much of anyone. I, I could travel alone, I cannot ask any of you to come.”

!xlind snorted, “You do not have to ask. I demand to come, I will not pass up such an opportunity.

Elavandrial agreed, “Yes, Naltia. I wish to come. You need not ask.”

Eyes sparking with excitement she looked at Dar, “When do we leave then?”

“My soul is filled with joy,” he swept an arm around Elavandrial’s shoulder’s and punched !xlind lightly in the flank, “I should be able to have things arranged for such a journey two days hence, what say you all?”

They all agreed, and the servants brought out more brandy. They drank a toast to the journey and talked long into the night, planning for the trip ahead.