[Child of the 7th Age]

Heedless of any danger lurking ahead, Lindir raced forward into the ruins of the fortress, with Orëmir following close behind. He passed the tumbled pile of masonry where Lómwë and Endamir had veered off to the far end of the eastern wall in their search for the stone structure that still stood intact. Still, Lindir paid no attention to the other Elves and instead rushed quickly through the scattered stones and rubble that littered the edge of the fortress. Clambering upward onto the remains of an ancient parapet that had plunged to the ground a thousand years before, Lindir turned around and gazed directly at his companion, urging him to hurry forward.

"It's here. I know it is." Lindir spoke with an air of certainty. Half running and half falling in his eagerness to find what he remembered, the Elf slipped down from the ruins onto a grassy embankment that overlooked the Sea. He was struggling to remember the old ways and paths that had once seemed so familiar. They were now on the far side of the island, just outside what had once been the eastern boundary of the castle walls. There were no signs of ghostly inhabitants. They stood at the edge of a sharp cliff. The ground beneath them was treacherous and rocky, precipitously dropping off towards the churning waters that slapped ominously at the base of the cliff.

Lindir beckoned Orëmir forward and pointed to a portion of rock where the drop was not so severe. There was a small ledge no more than twenty feet below on which two Elves could safely stand. They could see, dotted in the hillside at the inner portion of the ledge, a number of small entryways that seemingly led to caves nestled deep inside the bowels of the earth. Still, there did not seem to be any way to get down to that ledge.

Pushing through a pile of tangled brush, Lindir tentatively reached out with his hand and, to his amazement, felt the firm outline of a great wooden basket that was still attached to a massive rope. This was no ancient and rotting thing that had been left out in the weather for a hundred years. The wicker looked new; the craftsmenship was considerable. What ghostly hands could create or maintain such a device? Indeed, what ghost would even want such a thing? The whole machine was cleverly constructed. Two Elves could climb inside the basket and by tugging on a winch descend to the ledge, or bring themselves up to the top again.

"This is where the Diviner lived. She preferred to be by herself outside the castle walls, but in the safety of this cave. For there are endless mazes inside, and she would be in little danger even if all the forces of evil converged upon this ground. Indeed, I believe that this is the only corner of this cursed island that would not be stained with blood."

Lindir's fingers ran instinctively to the hilt of his sword, which he had retrieved earlier from the guard room. He stopped for a moment, then spoke, "Let us go now and see if she is here. I would rather meet her face to face on our terms than run into her unawares on some lonely stairwell. For truly I do not trust her, and it is better to meet an enemy head on. If her lair still lies here, you will be amazed. For, deep inside the cave is a wonderful chamber where she spent long hours at her studies. The Diviner possessed all manner of herbs and potions. She studied the winds and the air and the waters to learn what lay behind these things."

"You speak now as if you knew her..."

Lindir did not answer as they slipped into the basket and cranked it downward, peering out in the direction of the cave....