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The nurse looked up from her notes on the desk, did a quick scan. "Yes. Yes you do. One moment please." She left her seat to find the doctor.

"Doctor Moonstone?" She asked when she reached the office. "I have a laceration patient that needs imidiate attention."

Moon set his papers down. "Alright." And he folllowed the nurse out.

When he saw his patient however, he paused, regarding him with a miz of confusuion and wonder. Surely this person wasn't another Vah? They didn't live here in the udnerground, they were back in his homeplane, or his Father's homeplane. But he looked so much like one...

Okay, enough pausing, be professional. "Come with me sir and we'll have you fixed up in a moment. We're a free clinic so you need not worry about expensis." He waved the way into one of the patient rooms.

They had gotten enough moeny from donations to bukld two private survice rooms. No one wants to wach people getting stitched up. Well, most poeple don't. "Have a seat there on the examination table, Mr....?" He left the question of name open.

Moon quickly marked the name down on a sheet of paper that was conviently placed on a clipboard on a table in the room. "Alright Rusty, we'll fill out the rest of this sheet when you've got a little more blood on you.

A quick scan showed him three lacerations that needed stitches, the other bruisnings and scratches and other such rooms could do with a simple poltice. He threaded a thin bone needled with black specialty thread he'd had a seamstress make for him, and took Rusty's arm in one hand. He'd start with this big one on the shoulder.

To keep the kid (he called most of his patients this, if he wasn't sure on their age) from passing out, he'd have to get him to talk. "I'm just going to ask you a few questions, okay Rusty? I don't want you to pass out on me. Where did you come from? Who is your family? What's your favorite colour?"

Gees, he was hoping to get more out of him than that. The whole point was to get the kid talkign so he would pass out. Unfortunatly, they hadn't yet developed an effective anesthetic. He pricked Rusty's skin witht he needle, drawing the thread through.

"That seems to happen to too many people in the underdark. Homelessness is like a plage. Okay Rusty, were did you come from last, why did you decide to come here? What's your favorite food?"

Moonstone frowned, Rusty was balancing precarilsy on the edge of unconciousness. Either from blood loss or shock, or perhaps some infection from the weapons used on him. He would need to rpepare a tetnus shot later.

"I see, I see. Seaweed? That's good, most of the green food around here is seaweed." He grabbed a bag of heavey smelling salts from a side table and thrust it into Rustys hand. "Hold that up to your nose, there you go. Deep rbeaths now, inhale that smell. No no, don't recoil from it, I know it smell aweful but it'll keep you concious."

One cit down, onto one that had cut through the thigh. Well, at least the pants could be cleaned and mended later.

"Keep talking Rusty, Okay? Is this buisness good? Does it keep you fed? Has it ever laned you in trouble?"

Good, good things were not so critical now. "The street kids? What happened with the street kids?" He was about halfway through stitching up Rusty's thigh. And it looked like he was running low on this thread to, he'd have to order more after he was done with this patient.

"Kids you say? I've been hearing more and more about such attacks from the younger populace in the city. i'll have to speak with the Oracle and see if we can start some sort of...I don't know. A law system. People who can enforce it or something."

One last thing to stitch up, then he could deal with the poltice. "Don't worry about it for the moment. I'll take you to Oracle Meilikki's manor, she has a program for people who need to get back on their feet. She's goverment subsidized, you could say."

Three years passed, and not much happened to note, save for a few minor changes in the living and life styles of the four elves.

Meilikki's slaves grew in power, given, that they had little mroe to do than train. Even teh monstrous Warhammer had gained power, though he would be the last to admit it, or use it (Why besmerch the memory of his love?).

Cedric's companions grew in strength too, as in, Zallikite learned new summons to entertain a child, and Talon would often sit in on certain lessions given by a wise man (much to Orko's shugrin).

Thus, the only thing of major note was that a certain prince became old enough to speak in the completeness of any of the other elves. Not having any playmates of his own age, he had taken up more or less continuos studies. Simply, he had not much else to do with his time. Swordplay, magic, archery, "earasing", and other necissary survival skills toped his repetoir of learning. At five years of age, he could write in five languages, and speak one and a half. At four years of age, he was able to learn how to do many of the most basic of parries with his wooden sword. By the age of three, he stopped crying when he was alone (as in, no Meilikki, Aella, or Celeste), though he still had night terrors and stopped eating when they were missing. Being but a fraction of a decade old, Tarathiel was still more or less helpless on his own, but he had grown more in his short life, than most could in a few decades. Why? If he could not cope with his place in the world, and the growing pressures placed upon him, he would be crushed. Thus, he fall upon his natural abilities, his aged spiritual resonance, and a certain desire never to be parted from the ones he loved again.


To the far east of the Purian penisula, by the bay that once was a river that could carry a ship to the farthest reaches of the east, and all the dangers that lay bare in that direct, a certian elvish scout had learned his place, and duty. Thought lossed by his people, his ghost like return after the ball at Jiscal's palace brough some leviety to the earthen people, but he frightened them with his dwarfish manners (gained with much cost). He and two fellows decided that he needed to hon his skills in a place less destined to be crushed, so they travelled east and made home there. After these three years had passed, Fin, Corathian and Lore travelled North, and west to a hidden outpost that hid the main cargo vessels of a certain dwarvish mine. He found an audiance with a special friend, and was warmly recieved. He was told he only had 17 years to prove himself. With that in mind, the elf went south, to the small kingdom of Deep Water, where he currently found a hut to dwell while he made sense of all that was about to pressed upon him.

"Yub Yub," The mighty and powerful ruler of Pointy Stick, the newest addition to the Deep Water scene, cried forth his terrifying battle cry. Those subjects in his presence cowered under his rebuking chant. "Bring me Wawen. Bring Wawen." He called for his trusted advisor, the augurer who turned the tieds of war in their favour. "Me needs him. Me Needs Him. I wants him now." The ruler cried.

A few of the larger peons shifted about uneasily, for he was the biggest, so he was the Jyskal. "All hail the Jyskal." They cried trying to appease their merciless master. "All Hails, All hails."

"Hail?" One of the small ones said, "HALES!" HE cried and rushed out of the small castle, built from the ruin of a ship (claimed to be sunken by the Jyskal) and looked about for the falling ice rocks. Hale could be used to preserve meat better than burining it under rocks. Much to this small one's surprise, adn distain, there was no 'hale'. Only a very strong wind comming from the channel to the south and west of their small pennisular castletown.