[u][i]Othean wilds east of Amaryth, two days earlier[/i][/u]

"So what do you see, O Wise Shaman?"
Shaman Maerur Samai did not have an immediate answer to that. After meditating for a while, he was almost sure that sitting still for hours on end did things to the mind. [i]Wait, no. That's not how a Seer should act, Samai. The Great Spirits do not send nonsense messages. We must try to interpret it.[/i] "I saw strange things. Troubling things, Gezhar son of Gezai."
"What were they, O Shaman?" Gezhar was used to this. Maybe a tribal war, a pack of wolves, but nothing beyond that. Still, he could see a glint of unusual worry in the old man's eyes.
"I saw an army. An army digging holes." The man's grating voice was soft, yet it reverberated throughout the small hut. "But not with shovels and picks, Gezhar. They were using... the Relics. They melted and burned. They hewed the foundation of the earth away using unnatural methods."
"This must be serious, O Shaman. Whatever their goal is, they must be desperate if they have Evokers among their ranks."
"I do not know." The shaman looked up from beneath his grey wolf-cloak, pale wizened eyes burning with a subtle fire. "Oh, and by the way, Gezhar. I assume you still remember Borgrund."
"Small Bear?" Gezhar nodded, his eyes looking like they were seeing a thousand lifetimes. "We were very fond friends... He lives in the big village Amaryth, right?"
"Aye." The shaman nodded slowly, partly because age was getting on, and partly because he was deep in thought. "Go. Take your spear, shield and the finest horse and make for the east, where your brother dwells." The shaman nodded him off. "Make haste."
"And what should I say to him when I arrive, O Shaman?"
"Hmm." Samai hadn't thought of that. "Ask him what has transpired in the villages of stone, and if it has any relevance to us."
"That is all? No important message, O Shaman?"
"[i]Make haste[/i]." Samai now sounded more urgent, more anxious. "Do not dither, Gezhar."
"At once, O Wise Shaman." Gezhar nodded politely, and stepped out of the small oaken hut into the blazing sun.

[u][i]Amaryth, present day[/i][/u]

This wasn't good. Bor had been one of the first to leave the Theatre - bad idea. He immediately had to contend with a throng of commoners trying to make their way back to their homes. Morris had assured him that he would meet him on the other side of the lake. That wasn't necessarily bad news - it would lighten the load of the boat he was planning to escape in. However, Morris had taken the Mystra - he could only hope the spirits were merciful with him. He had made for the docks to the north of the city, which was a fair distance away from the Theatre but could be reached in a good long run. He barged and shoved past panicking sailors and wealthy traders trying to make for their ships. He finally reached his destination: a war canoe emblazoned in the curling colors of green, red and brown. He had made it himself and for himself, though it looked like it could use a few more people to make it more useful. So before casting off, Bor looked around for a few more minutes if anyone needed a bit of hope. "Hey! If you don't want to die get in!"