High up, crowning the grassy summit of a swelling mount whose sides are wooded near the base with the gnarled trees of the primeval forest stands the gutted ruins of a former wizard of the Weirding. For centuries its lofty battlements have frowned down upon the wild and rugged countryside about, serving as a home and stronghold for the proud house whose honored line is older even than the moss-grown castle walls. These ancient turrets, stained by the storms of generations and crumbling under the slow yet mighty pressure of time, formed in a dark time of feudalism one of the most dreaded and formidable fortresses in all Feara Tirith. From its machicolated parapets and mounted battlements Barons, Counts, and even Kings had been defied, yet never had its spacious halls resounded to the footsteps of the invader...until now.

...for this is where Well's borrowed contraption chose to set me down, regardless of the settings I had entered. Looking around the stone walls that had once been so filled with life, I gathered my leather ruck sack, double checked my amunition and other suplies and exited the time machine. Turning, I hit the stud on the remote and the machine appeared to vanish, when in actuality, it had only become intangible and invisible. If I were here, at the fabled site of Feara Tirith, there was only one possible explaination: A copy of the Umberlexicon was in use by some malevolent person. I needed to investigate.

Taking long strides, I set out toward the villiage below me keeping one eye always over my shoulder.

End of Journal entry 1143.

Ward