Her hands deftly worked the wax along the supple curves of her bow, the sixth one she had tended to since awakening from a fitful night's slumber. She heard the first stirrings of the creatures as they greeted the new day, but she paid them little heed. She paused momentarily to douse the candles as the dawn's rays slid through her workroom window. She picked up the seventh bow, the one tipped in silver, and continued her ministrations. Events of the past few days were uppermost in her mind. It had long been this way for Kaatya; the quiet solace of the repetitive strokes served to chase the spider webs from her head and she could better contemplate matters at hand.
The Emperor's health was failing, the healers unable to reverse his decline; the cure beyond even the ken of her elven family. The young Heir was becoming despondent, worry was etched on the face of each Guardian. And a man of great travelling had again stepped forward, relating vague tales of folklore and rumor.
Kaatya thought back to yestereve and could again hear Omi's steady voice telling her of the encounter, and repeating the words of Alexander Halen after he learned that the evil wizard had been slain but no sign had been found of the crew of the Wind Chaser.
"The crew turned into almost an undead entity .... still living, still breathing, but incapable of thought .... consumed by lust for riches and gold. They are great rogues of the land, seeking one treasure after another."
"Folklore has it that the crew would return to Montor in search of revenge on the wizard who transformed them into vile beings. It has been many years since this happened; their powers could be great, feeding upon adventurers and lost travelers. Search the town again for clues pertaining to the crew."
"Though I have heard a rumor that the crew, considering their fate decided, left for another realm. One they could rule, one named The Second Age. They would build a city of dead, the base of their operations where they would feed on the powerless and the weary. It is said that there are two well secluded entries to this land; one lies between the great inn of Britain and its main bank, the other through a tight passage formed by a crack in a mountain range."
"Release the crew from their curse and maybe your Emperor's will lift as well. No healers will slow the illness which plagues him. Time is your enemy."