The stars shone between the dark clouds of the summer night, as a cloaked figure drifted silently through the market road of outer Hibarnhvidar. A storm-grey cat padded with lithesome steps at the wanderer's side. The pair passed in front of an imp slumped upon a stack of Navesi's latest news stories, head resting on its paunch, snoring softly. Pulling down his hood, Tirost pushed open the door to the Singing Raven, and passed the late-night patrons of the inn until he stood before the Dwarf at the rough wooden bar.

"Evening to you, Telo'Getha," said the Dwarf in a low grumbling voice, pronouncing the Gamgweth words with ease.

"Evening," replied Tirost. The grey cat leapt onto the bar attracting a glance from the nearby Tog. "Whiskey, please."

Tirost took his drink and passed with the cat into the quiet parlor near the common room. Unclasping a leather sheath containing the haralun sword Anjinson had given him from his belt, he rested it against the round table by the fire. The cat leapt first onto a chair, and then the table, its tail languidly curling from side to side. Tirost sat, and set his leather bag on the table, rummaging through its fleece-lined pockets. He laid an ebonwood grimoire on the table, a quill and ink, and a leather bound book, whose cover bore strange symbols of gold that shown in the firelight.

"The time has nearly come," purred the cat, as Tirost flipped through the pages of the books until he found the notes that included the name "Zauldin."

"Yes," replied the war mage. His finger passed beneath the words he'd written after meeting with Yvela.

"You do not seem confident," purred the cat.

"No," replied Tirost. "But I am hopeful."

"You do not trust Zauldin?" returned the familiar.

"I do."

"He is a necromancer," the cat purred.

"So is Huns," said Tirost. "Whatever they experienced, I cannot doubt it was sincere." He took a sip of his whiskey. "Huns saw a vision - one that's changed his life. Perhaps Zauldin found divine inspiration for the Sanyu Aes in his."

"Yet he knew Sivroch." The cat's tail slowly curled beneath its feet.

"So did Osven, yet he made the ultimate sacrifice. In the end, Sivroch attacked Zauldin - though that fact is troubling. The Mysteriarch can enter minds. If she knows the secrets of Sanyu Aes -"

"Lambs to the slaughter," intoned the cat. Its gold-flecked eyes glimmered in the light of the fire.

Tirost frowned and took another sip of his whiskey. "Yvela spoke of The Lich's tests."

"Perhaps it would be wise to avoid this catastrophe, Tirost."

"Perhaps, but this is a unique opportunity. I put my faith in my friends." A moment of silence passed between the warrior mage and his familiar as a Dwarven matron strode past the parlor. The fire crackled in the hearth. "Jeihrem attacked the Crossing. He trains those who would offer our blood on the altars of his grim idols, those who use our flesh for their gain. He disdains the gods, nature and justice in the pursuit of power."

"And what can you do against such power, human?" asked the cat.

"Perhaps nothing," said Tirost. He swallowed the rest of his whiskey. "We will find out."