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[Thrax]

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With a long sigh, Thrax slumped into the chair and stared out the window at the tops of trees in the forest south of the manor---the same forest he and many others had been searching for days since the disappearance of his daughter Tahira. He fought back tears generated by mounting frustration and anger, having had no success, or any clues whatsoever of what had happened to her. It was as if she had simply vanished without a trace.

He did not blame anyone in particular, unless it was his moron Herald who had told Poppy that the child was gone, presumed dead, causing her additional, needless, emotional pain to go along with that of her physical injuries from the fall down the steps. She had been so distraught at seeing Tahira enter the woods that she, despite a fractured collar bone and sprained ankle, had hobbled toward the place she last saw her. She had been forcibly restrained and was carried into the house screaming to be let go. Now, however, she was silent and refused to speak, doubtlessly distressed so much that they kept close watch on her lest she attempt suicide.

And he blamed Durthagg for his feeble attempts at cooking their meals in her stead.

Nothing was improving the Baron's mood, and Ishtar's was not better. He had resumed his old drinking habit---the sake flowing freely into cup after cup---curse Tai for having shown him where to find an inexhaustible supply!

As he leaned his aching head back to rest, he heard a bell that signified the appearance of someone who had no access to the manor, heavily guarded by spells and wards. Remembering that Poppy was incapacitated, he got up and went downstairs to see who it was, hoping it would be a bearer of good news.

He was greatly disappointed.

Standing on the steps beside the herald was clearly one of the wandering priests of Mondain, filthy and smelling foul.

"State your business and be quick," Thrax demanded, impatiently.

The skeletally-thin, balding, young man grinned, thus revealing his assorted yellowing snags---a sight that almost turned Thrax's stomach. He extended a bony hand to show him a small scroll, clearly a map. "The location of your daughter," he explained. "Well... part of it," he added.

Thrax took a quick glance at it, his eyes flashing anger. "You want a ransom for my child?! Did you take her?!"

The man shook his head and retracted his hand, placing the map back into a pocket of his dirty brown robe. "No, but I know where she is and who took her. I saw it all. A drow took her. But pay me well enough and you can have her back safe and sound. I will bring the rest of the map tomorrow, provided that you deal in good faith with me today," he explained.

Again the hideous grin.

It was more than Thrax could take; he lost all self control. "You scoundrel! You and your kind are lower than slime! Prepare yourself! I mean to leave your stinking corpse for the crows, if they can refrain from gagging on it!!" he shouted, drawing his sword.

The resultant fight was unequal and brief. The wily cleric had spells prepared and hit him with a few damaging ones, but despite all, in moments, he lay flat on his back, his eyes slowly glazing over and fixed skyward.

"M'Lord!! Y... you killed him!" the Herald exclaimed.

Sheathing his blood-dripping sword, Thrax cocked his head haughtily. "So I did," he commented coldly, stooping to take the map out of the dead man's pocket. "Search the body for the other piece, then get Durthagg to haul the thing off into the woods," he ordered.