A gentle hum filled Elisdrasil’s mind as he plucked the strings of fate, deep within his prophetic meditations. Something was coming, an event that held the potential to change the very course of his destiny. It had been skirting the edges of his visions for some time and he was just now beginning to get the edges of it in focus. Tentatively, gently, he probed the edges of it with his mind’s eye. And then a knock at the door intruded and the vision fled.

Sighing, Elisdrasil opened his eyes and cast an annoyed glance at the door. The knock was repeated again, a quick series of three raps that Elisdrasil knew could only be coming from the Silver Oak’s owner, Othrick. There was a certain animosity behind that knocking which Elisdrasil knew came from the fact that Othrick blamed him for Elissa’s running away. She was back now, but nothing would change the fact that she had run after Elisdrasil in the first place. Grudgingly, Elisdrasil rose from his meditative position and answered the door.

“He’s here,” Othrick said and departed. Elisdrasil frowned at the man, annoyed at his behavior. But far be it from him to scold the old elf. Long lived creatures held long lived grudges. Fortunately, he was expecting this visitor, and Othrick’s simple pronouncement was expected.

“Finally,” Elisdrasil muttered and grabbed his pack. He’d been waiting at the Silver Oak for two weeks, and though the accommodations were nice enough, the atmosphere was beginning to get to him.

The man waiting for Elisdrasil in the bar downstairs was a plain looking human, average in almost every way. Though it was a different face than the one who had met him in the Silver Oak the last time, Elisdrasil knew that it was the same person. He smiled and waved at the man, who returned the gesture. Elissa rushed over with two freshly drawn tankards of ale as Elisdrasil made his way to the table, an eager look on her face.

“Did you find it?” she began enthusiastically. The Keeper smiled patiently at the girl as he took his tankard and made a long draw from it. His eyes flicked from her to Elisdrasil, and the sword mage could see the humor behind them. Elisdrasil, who had been about to ask the same thing, merely shrugged and picked up his own drink.

“I did, young miss,” the Keeper replied, though his words were directed at Elisdrasil. “But there’s a problem. The Crypt of Kulthas was in the area taken by Xem’Xund’s forces during the Corpse War. It appears that a particular general of the Necromancer’s forces took a liking to the ancient tomb and had had it made into his headquarters. Though Sarl Kreig perished, the wards he placed on the place still remain.”

“Wards?” Elissa asked as the Keeper paused to take another drink.

“Patience, Elissa,” Elisdrasil said. “I don’t think our esteemed Keeper would simply leave us in mystery.”

“He’s right,” the Keeper chuckled at the red beginning to color Elissa’s cheeks. “As far as I can tell, there are a number of wards that have been set over the place. But the most troublesome is that the Crypt of Kulthas can only be opened by a creature of the undead.”

Elisdrasil and Elissa frowned and looked at one another.

“How do we get around it?”

“Simple,” the Keeper said, finishing his ale. “I’ve already contacted someone who should fit the bill. He should be here soon.”