It was cold. Far colder than it had been in recent decades. The elf leaned over the fire, warming his hands. He reached into a pouch and removed a crystal decanter. Holding the decanter up to the fire, the elf smiled as the light sparkled through the liquid. Nothing like Elverquisst to warm one up on a cold winter night. Taking a sip of the liquid eased the tensions on the elf�s face. This was an unusual camp for the wilderness north of Luskan. A single elf, dressed in varying shades of gray clothing was huddled near a campfire in the lee of a large hill. The elf�s travel stained clothes told of a long journey, his long sword glittering in the firelight, sat nearby. The blade was edged with runes of the elder elven tongue, marking it as enchanted. Beneath his tunic rested a soundless shirt of chain mail, crafted of the finest mithril and undetectable by all but the most perceptive. Fastened on a chain at his waist was a small, ornately bound book. This traveling grimoire held the most commonly needed spells for the road. Strangest of all were the three stones that circled in the air around his head, ioun stones of great magical properties. The shield leaning next to him bore the silhouette of a running wolf. The same sigil was emblazoned onto his tunic. His long, golden hair was pulled away from his face by a circlet of leather with a black stone set above his forehead. The golden hair and violet eyes marked him as a High elf, very rare indeed. Seldom do the High elves travel in the north of Faerun, and almost never can one be found alone. A lone High elf, with this mixture of exotic equipment, would have to be a competent warrior/mage. Few of any race felt safe in the wilds around Luskan.

Pulling his cloak tighter against the chill wind, Thranduil Graywolf sat back to await dawn. It would be a long wait, but he knew it would be better not to fight these beasts until dawn. Showing the innate patience of the elves, he waited. The spell book remained closed, he had studied it long before arriving at the entrance to the caves. Besides, most magic would fail in the presence of these creatures. The spells were mainly to deal with the minions of the eye tyrants, known as beholders among humans. There were traces of giant beings going into the caves. Most likely hill giants, but something about the tracks had seemed odd. Graywolf could not say why, but he felt as if something were eluding him about the tracks. But all misgivings aside, the beholders were creatures that needed to be removed, and Graywolf had volunteered to remove them.

Finally, as dawn began to show itself, the elf shook off the cold and began to gather his weapons. This was the right time to strike. The evil beings in the cave would be settling in for the day. Graywolf unsheathed his sword, murmured a few arcane words, and vanished from sight. Silently, he entered the caves, using his elven vision to search for signs of guards. Deep in the passage, he found a group of men around a campfire. The men wore the black uniforms of Zentish soldiers. This was a slight surprise. Graywolf had not expected to find Zhentarim out here. Best to deal with them now, than have them try to block his escape later. Only one was awake, pacing outside the circle of light from the fire. To another human, he would have been hard to spot, but to the elf he stood out like a sore thumb against the cold stone background. Sneaking up behind him, Graywolf quickly covered the man�s mouth and thrust his sword into his back. The guard�s muffled scream went unnoticed and the now visible elf lowered him to the floor. Graywolf gestured at the sleeping guards and spoke the words to a powerful spell. A bluish mist seeped up from the ground and engulfed the men. They all began to cough and most woke up. Much to their horror, they found they could not scream, could not move. Then they began to fall, dying as the poison entered their lungs. After the gas had settled, the elf again faded from sight and moved on.

After an hour of travel down the passage, the elf stopped. Something seemed strange about this section of the passage. Carefully, he studied the walls around him. Finally Graywolf smiled and pushed in a large section of the wall. The secret door slid open, revealing a passage lined with torches. This passage was well made, with smooth walls carved from the black stone, not like the rough cave he had been in. Taking care to move quietly, Graywolf set off down the corridor. Suddenly, as he rounded a corner, Graywolf spotted a group of ogres. Several of them appeared to be shamans. There was no way around them, he had to attack. But he must be careful, all spell users are dangerous. He positioned himself in the shelter of the corner and began casting a spell. The ogres, most of them snoozing, barely noticed that something was amiss. Finally, as the elf completed the spell, he became visible again. The ogres let out a shout of warning, but it was too late. Flames leapt from the elf�s hand and sped to the center of the group. The explosion engulfed the ogres, killing most outright. A couple of the shaman survived the initial blast and began to cast their own spells. Quickly, Graywolf put up a magical shell to protect himself. The spells of the shamen bounced away, useless. With elven grace, Graywolf ran between the two ogres, swinging his broadsword in a wide arc. Both of the ogres collapsed, an astonished look on their faces.

Quickly, Graywolf looked around. That had made far too much noise. He slipped into the shadows, catching his breath. Soon, he sensed something down the corridor. A faint, oppressive presence. The elf realized that the noise had drawn the beasts out of their lair. Quickly he began to prepare himself to face them. He cast powerful enchantments on himself. He started to grow, until he was larger than the ogres he had just faced. His body blurred, until there appeared to be four giant elves standing there. Then, a bluish flame burst up from his feet and engulfed his body. By now, he could see the beholders floating down the hallway. There were two of them, their eyestalks swinging around searching for the cause of the disturbance. He was lucky, he had spotted them first. Overcoming the natural impulse to run away from these gruesome beasts, he ran out into the light. As the beholders turned their full attention on him and howled their anger, he began the dance.

Graywolf�s feet moved quickly. He threw his sword up in the air, spun around to catch it, twirled close to the beholders, then spun away. Fear gripped the elf�s heart. This was terribly dangerous. If just one of the beasts was not ensnared by the dance, then this could be his last moment on Toril. As he watched, the beholder�s eyes took on a distant look. One of them snapped out an image of the offending elf and the image ceased to exist. But, to Graywolf�s delight, neither beholder was using the power of their eyes. All their eyes watched the elven dance, entranced. Then, sure that he held their attention, Graywolf began swinging at the beholders as his dance spun near them. With each slice of the magical sword, a beholder would yowl with pain. They began biting at the elves dancing in front of them. Another image disappeared. Then one of the bites scored true, and Graywolf grimaced in pain. Struggling to maintain his concentration and continue the dance he ignored the pain. Finally, with a well placed slash across the main eye, one of the beasts dropped to the floor dying. Turning his full attention against the only remaining beast, Graywolf completed the dance with a flurry of spins and strikes that made him seem like a blur. The last beholder sank to the ground, dead.

Dropping to the ground in exhaustion, Graywolf let himself rest while scanning the corridor for more enemies. Nothing else attacked him, so he quickly bandaged his wounds and set of down the corridor to find their lair. As he went, the enchantments wore off. He shrank down to normal size, the remaining image vanished and the flames were extinguished. He found the lair and murmured a thanks to Corellon Larethian that he had killed the only two beasts in these caverns. There were bones of many humanoid beings laying around the chamber that the beholders had called home. After shifting through the rubble, he found one skeleton that had a shiny ring on its finger. The bright metal stood out like a sore thumb. Graywolf passed his hand over the ring and it began to glow with a faint blue light. The elf smiled, a magical ring was a good find. He pocketed the ring, wary of putting it on until he could figure out its powers. Quickly, he left the obnoxious smelling lair and returned to his old campsite. Weary, he collapsed in the snow, casting a cantrip to relight the fire. He rested there for the rest of the day. Silently, he thanked the sages who had told him that normal spells would not affect the beholders. The ancient elven sword dance that he had learned in Cormanthor was the only way to prevent the beasts from using the powers of their eyes.

Finally, as darkness settled in, Graywolf gathered his belongings. Throwing snow over the fire, he pulled his hood up over his head and set out to return to Neverwinter. He had much to think about on the journey. Why had Zhentish been so close to Luskan, in the presence of beholders and ogres? He would have to inform Lord Nasher of his discovery. If Zhents and the pirates of Luskan were working together, those might not be the only beholders in the area. Grimly, he smiled. At least I have a weapon to fight the beasts. The dance helped to even out the odds a little when confronting such powerful evil creatures. Whistling an elven song about the beauty of the woods under a starlight sky, Graywolf walked south towards Neverwinter. The elf was so light of foot that he left no marks in the snow, nothing to show his passing.