Born Ka'ruil Na-sar Aryvandaar, he was nearly four thousand years old, and it appeared, quite mad. Not mad in a drooling and unable to dress himself way, but mad as in driven by a spark of insane passion that excluded all other ideas. He was amiable enough, talking with us through the wards, and did not appear to hide or dissemble information. He seemed to accept his capture as only the most minor of setbacks, and a transient inconvenience. After a year of interrogation, we had all that we could learn from him, and our worst fears were realised. If we slew him, it was almost certain he would ascend, becoming much as the other Ancestors were, with great power. But, with the ritual knowledge he had learned from his extensive journeying, he would begin to alter and reshape the world with that power, affecting the flow and balance of things, and wreak untold havoc. If we could not slay him, then we must keep him - in this prison - forever.

We learnt of his early life from talking with him. Of the time spent researching the great aging effect that had troubled the Elves, way before the sundering. We learnt of his time working with Lyandr before he became impatient and demanding, secretive and withdrawn. We learnt of his journey deep underground, first with his father Annael, and later with himself as the leader of the expedition, questing and searching for lore and information on how to combat the problem. We listened to his tales as he described finding the Deeperdark and the many odd, exotic and dangerous creatures there, of finding new civilisations and creatures, travellers from other worlds and planes.

We listened with wonder of his tales of finding a source of massive power, far below what we could even dream of, below the Deepdark. Of finding an Avatar of the Great Dragon, of being filled with Purpose and reminded of the role that the old ones were meant to play. The stories woven of the Elves, Fey, Ologs and Dwarves, guardians of the Egg. Of the fall and loss of purpose, of a being yet to be. Of a deep and pressing need to serve, and to carry out this most ancient demand.

This had been in the year Thirteen Hundred and Three by the old calendar, but when Ka'ruil had returned to the surface, he found that the people were changing and not in a way that would support his plan. With every generation the desire to fulfil their purpose grew weaker, and with every passing year more turned to the worship of the Ancestors rather than the wielding of enchantments, and they grew ever more distracted by their own lives and affairs rather than that of the Great Dragon.

After two hundred years of trying to change the system from within, Ka'ruil despaired, and gathering a number of the people who supported his view of the world, lead them deep underground, questing to find again that great source of power with which to carry out what he saw as his duty.

Turning their backs on the following of dead Elves, they renounced the powers of Incantation, embraced the powers of magic and quested deep into the darkness below. Word eventually reached him of the powers of Dark Incantation, the twisting of faith to the purposes of Satuun, and he vowed not to attack until his preparations were complete.

We had come to his attention when we first fled to the Underdark, and he had gradually learnt of the Sundering and the great rift that had arisen between the elder races. With the death of so many of the first born, his resolve had hardened, and he increased his efforts. Subjugating the varied races and beings, he amassed power, creating an empire far below us, dedicated to his task. Entire peoples were bought under his control, such as the Korath, great rituals summoned forth pure power from the elemental planes to serve him as his army. Creatures of dark power were summoned and bound to his will, and even when many of his compatriots fell to the ravages of time, he used the knowledge he had gained to bind them beyond death and raise them as his unliving lords.

For centuries he had watched us, and waited for the time to be ripe. Apparently we were at the brink of some revolution, some turning point in our history, some great event that would bind us together and turn us into a greater threat - so he had sent forth his spies and infiltrators, and for decades had been working to turn House against House and to gather information for the coming war.

He never knew how he had failed, and we were careful not to tell him, lest in some way the information would prove useful to him. Though he had cost the lives of thousands of our people, and caused decades of torment for us, I could see that the Council and many of the elders felt for him and understood his pain, and pitied him - though that did not lessen their resolve to keep him restrained.

As one of the first born, and apparently having undergone the gazing ritual, he would be effectively immortal. As long as no external force affected him, he would remain there - forever. How we wished that the other elder-gazed had not left us, so that they might look after their wayward brother! We searched for them, but they were not to be found, anywhere within our lands, and we suspected that they had left to explore the world together.

We knew that we could not kill him, for if he ascended to the Ancestral plane, he would take his war there, prosecuting his attack with no limitations.

We cannot slay our enemy - if he dies, worshipped as he is by his followers, then he will ascend to the Planes of the Ancestors, and continue his war upon them there.

With a gulp, Banlaethor outlined his plan, detailing the magical formula that would summon a being to another place, how to defeat magical anchors and wards, how to attune it to a specific person. It soon became clear that a link, a material likeness in some way to the target was required.

"So. This link. Blood - the blood of a son, or daughter. Or…. grandson. Would that be sufficient? asked Lualyrr.

Banlaethor nodded, mutely.

"And. I take it from your expression, and your demeanour - that a certain quantity is required, and that this is a rather large, and fatal amount to be donated?"

Again he nodded. Understanding dawned on the other members of the Council, and they looked at the scholar with new-found respect.

"And if we found a way to deal with him. A way to render him powerless, but without death. A way in which we would still need to perform this ritual. Would you still offer your services?"

Another gulp. A deep breath. He raised his head and looked at Lualyrr, square in the eye. "Yes, Honoured Councillor."