They did not have to go far. The mood above in the smokey Strongfast betrayed that something was afoot.

Watchmen hung like a pack in their wolf skins. They circled the walls of the chamber above the brig formidably. Weapons and bags covered the ground from their places on shelves. The shelves themselves lay face-first on the uneven dirt floor so as to form a semi-rectangular flat surface on the ground. Someone brought sconces that flickered with enough light to illuminate the gathering. The four beams of daylight that signaled the four gates into the Strongfast darkened, followed by a distant clanking of metal as bolts were drawn across them.

Despite the clouds of rolling golden dust, Aster made out several familiar faces.

Endel and Emereld stood near one another on one side of the make-shift table formed by the timber shelves. Endel's bulk hunched under his pelt as his eyes flickered around the room like a caged beast. Emereld was dwarfed in the presence of the Captain of the Watch, but his shoulders were set under his lengthy beard in a demeanor that promised he would not be intimidated.

Across from them stood another party. These stood taller, more slender, and wore such a intricate patchwork of darkened metal that they seemed to drift in and out of vision in the half-light. Were it not for the long, silver hair of their leader, Aster confessed he may have not noticed them at all.

As they drew closer he saw something else - a large scroll. The curves of mountains, quick fluttering of rivers, and rolling hills were inked unto its cracked parchment face. A vast swath of quick circular marks filled much of the upper left half of the diagram, labelled "Astfall" in curling, calligraphic runes. Not far from the lower edge of the marks sat a small star. Labelled in script he could barely make out the word "Arcath." To the right and left of this mark were other occasional lines and symbols, but few were accompanied by labels. South of this mark, the map was largely bare, save a few lone shapes.

Where the ink melded into the edge of the parchment, four daggers pinned the map to the unpolished surface of the shelves beneath. Three were familiar - simple metal knives with antler handles and sweeping, wide-faced blades. The third was alien to Aster. It was a single metal weapon crafted like a serpent with gaping jaws forming a pointed pommel that melded into a tail hammered flat into a double-edged blade.

The Watchman who carried Aster nodded to Endel whose flickering eyes quickly caught the gesture. He leaned down to Emereld's ear. The older man nodded and raised his hands to quiet the already nearly silent room.

"I need not say why we are here. Say a welcome to our most recent -"

"We appreciate your welcome," a thin voice Aster recognized as Narenhior's whispered. "We would appreciate its absence even more."

Emereld bowed his head. "As you say." His crooked finger swept across the wrinkled parchment before them. "Astfall. The most notorious wood in the North and - more than likely - the very edge of this land. For as long as there have been records of this city there has been Astfall and whatever hideous power that dwells within."

"I do buys into campfire stories. Nor do I takes a wise man's counsel lightly," the moonwalker replied. "What evidence have you for any power beyond pelt-clad wildlife?"

Endel waved a hand. A short figure shuffled forward from behind the two leaders of Arcath, his arms piled with more scrolls both great and small. The texts tumbled from his arms onto the makeshift table, revealing the face of Canth.

The young boy shivered after depositing the books. His eyes managed to catch Aster's before stepping out of sight behind Emereld.

The elderly leader reached out and clutched one of the scrolls. Paper rasped on paper as it unrolled beneath his fingers.

"In the sixth year of Mir Mthesiun, High Master of the Timber Council, I, Naendir Hand of the Council, record the follow account given by Bethreyn, Ranger of the First Company.

"On the second night of our tour in the third month of the year, our lines were drawn in the Grove of Yindereim," Emereld pointed to a circle no great distance into the area marked as forest, "where we were to make camp. On the second watch when the full moon sat high in above the trees we became aware that something stalked our camp. By the light of the night two Rangers left their posts on the north end of camp to pursue the shape after being relieved by two companions. They would never return."

"Easily explained -" Narenhior began, but he was cut off.

"The third watch made up lines, numbering five hunters, and scanned the woods for sixty yards around the camp. Before the moon had kissed the treetops a single man returned. His clothes were stripped from him and his skin shone as white as a corpse. Red blood painted itself across his flesh. His shoulder and arm were torn, flesh and bone, from his chest. Dragging the appendage by a band of sinew he crawled to the camp amid hysterical shrieks.

"Despite our best efforts he could not be calmed. His continued to scream of his own death and that of his comrades but his only words were 'I have killed us.' When he could not be silenced he was put to the sword."

The chamber was silent as death.

"This is one account," an elf standing beside Narenhior insisted finally. "You can hardly expect -"

Emereld had already drawn another scroll. "In the nineteenth year of Mir Dwendeth, High Master of the Timber Council, I, Yius Hand of the Council, record this account given by Remus, Watchmen of the Northern Wall.

"In the twenty-second day of the seventh month when the moon had bowed to the horizon, it came to my attention that something moved at the edge of Astfall. It was not until the disturbance moved into the light that I discerned it as many creatures of whose identity could not be identified. They approached the wall haphazardly in staggering paces such that I eliminated the possibility of them being wolves.

"Upon my command they failed to cease moving, instead unleashing such a myriad of barks and cries that I ordered Rangers to be called for. Bows were brought and arrows notched. Again my command was given. It was ignored. The Rangers took their aim at the foes and fired, finding their marks even by the quarter light of the fading moon.

"Morn brought light by which we explored the carcasses of those slain before our wall. No monster lay among them. Their clothes revealed they were once men of the Third Company which had been sent not three days prior. They bore little semblance to men, instead they were characterized by wounds that clad their entire bodies, bites from what looked like both wolf and man, and slashes imposed by their own since-lost weapons or the claws of ferocious beasts. Each was dead by an archer's arrowpoint."

Again the chamber was a silent.

"Perhaps it was nothing but a single event - a beast or phenomenon now passed," the nameless elf responded carefully.

"These scripts were written seventy years apart," Endel growled.

"And then," Emereld continued, "there is this." His hand reached for one more scroll amid the pile, drawing out a narrow parchment whose corners curled over with age. Its face was nearly brown amid its yellow companions and its fibers crackled at the hand of the governor. "The charter for this city. An unknown age, but its words have remained ageless."

He cleared his voice a third time and began to read. "To whoeverso dwellest amid the four points driven by our columns to mark the edge of thine city - let your border never extend behind their border nor shall you ever surrender a foot within them. Though the wall be built of stone, it be raised in blood and by blood shall its stones be kept.

"To him who ventures beyond it - folly is your action and death your reward. To him who Watches - noble is your action and restlessness your reward. The timbers beyond you shall be called Astfall for Fate's fire has consumed us and its ashes fallen in that place. So too shall be him who ventures into it for by these words may your law be born: he who ventures into the wood forfeits his life. He who watches the gate saves his brothers."

The elderly governor lowered the parchment carefully. His green eyes flashed like a rolling ocean wave to crash upon the moonwalkers. "So tell me, wayfarers, what have you to say?"