Now none would call Rhecks rash, it was out of his character. Being rash was not a trait normally found in any Hoxian of any race, but rash was just what the letter Rhecks received was telling him to be. Now the letter didn't out right say that he should start an expedition, but that was exactly on Rhecks' mind; to start an expedition.

He held the letter from Professor Debaust Lelion, a Bastian teaching at Frecks, close to his heart. He ran through what it said again and again, to make sure he didn't misread anything. Usually Rhecks would dismiss anything Lelion said as drunken babble, but what he wrote in the letter could not be dismissed as just babble. It seemed that the professor knew a man in a small village in the outskirts of Hox who's family history could be traced back to the time of the Book. Rhecks was in awe, but he was more in awe of the actual directions that led to the village.

The small man paced back and forth in his small Brunnholdian study. The bookshelves were filled with tomes of history, all having at least one chapter that involved the Book. The fireplace roared as he decidedly became tired and slumped into his imported chair. It was quite the comfortable thing with a beautiful red fabric, it matched perfectly with the walls that surrounded it. The desk in front of him had scores of books plopped open with sentences and paragraphs encircled with red ink; he had been hard at work.

Elihu hobbled across the walkways of the university, every inch of the ground familiar under his old feet. The very world around him was dark. His failing eyesight was one of the many side effects of his lifestyle. And one of the many he couldn't care less about. He navigated his way almost completely by memory.

Despite his body's loss of most functions, his mind was a well oiled trap, holding everything that it took in. This included the numbers to the interning instructors volunteering in his archive. And it certainly included mistakes he found in said archive. Filing a central incisor with a measurement off by three eighths of an inch was unacceptable! If for one second his image as a sour, bitter old man was compromised, who knew what would happen! Gods knew he had to interact with enough of the idiots that made up the university every day.

Finally getting to the house, he downed half of his bottle of hang man. Some would have expected his clothes to have been stained by all the wine he drank, but anyone seeing Elihu would only know him to be a drunk by the cloud of evaporated wine around him. His clothes, as always, were impeccable. Only fools wasted wine by splashing it on their clothes.

Now thoroughly fortified, the old professor took his cane in a gnarled hand and rapped it hard against Rheks Tzarki's door. "Tzarki! Damnit boy, you've got explaining to do! Open this door!" An indention started to form from the crow's beak being hit on the door.

Athrym had considered not appearing. She'd considered just brushing the teacher's aide off and continuing her own life, her own wedding plans...her own search. It didn't seem normal - siding with a faculty member. Had she really changed so much, she actually considered one had brains?

But the draw of the Book, the utter power cracking in ancient pages was too much of a lure for the young galdor, and she found herself wanding the hall of the teacher's quarters...slip of paper in her hand telling her where to go. She should have brought Nauleth, but then again, he might suddenly need to dissapear on her. Speeding her step, she took a flight of stairs, rounding onto the landing and coming to a complete and suprized halt.



Athrym grimaced a little, wincing inside.

"Clock it." She muttered, unwilling to deal with Rhecks and an old windbag. Sighing under her breath, she approached the room, but stayed slightly back from the noisy coot.