What folly, for any but an elf to speak of obsession. Obsession is for a human what a flame is for a moth, a source of fascination and inspiration that can provide life with purpse. So it is for an elf, in the beginning, but this phase passes, after a century or two, and then the obsession is like a rock in the shoe or a cut in the mouth, a source of misery, a constant distraction. One can do nothing about it, yet one can think of little else, finds oneself worry at it, though it yields little pleasure and some pain to do so, finds oneself seeking it out to ensure it is still there, should ever it be forgotten for a moment.

Thorsius has obsessed all his life, sought signs and symbols and meanings in the seemingly mundane happenings of the world around him. The starling sang for three consecutive mornings, then nothing on the fourth, and on that fourth day his mother fell ill. He found the body of a snake on his doorstep, and the hunting party that left that day returned with six stags. What was the connection?

Through studying these phenomena, and the writings of the great sages of his people as well as the lesser-known shamans and spiritualists of other races, he learned much about the arcane arts, yet he found his obsession no less consuming.

And so he realized what so few humans ever do, which is that to reach the object of one's obsession brings not satisfaction but pain. This was not a viable route; his thirst could not be quenced, so it would have to be quashed.

Thus he turned to the only creatures more experienced with obsession than elves: the undead. Skeletons and zombies might frighten others, but Thorsius reserved his horror for the intelligent undead. A literal eternity to obsess, he could hardly bear the thought! Yet who else could possibly hold the answer he sought, to the question of how he might silence the obsession, once and for all? Who else could have thousands of years of study and research to bring to bear on this question?

In the sub-basement of a dwarven church, of all places, he found a journal chronicling a priest's descent from obsession to madness. More than once, it referenced the grimoire of a lich named Drygvaddix. The poor priest never found the tome, and where he'd heard about it Thorsius could not determine - he simply began reference it one day, as though it had always been on his mind, though he'd never before mentioned it, the elf had combed his earlier works to confirm. But the journal's author seemed convinced that within that grimoire lay an invocation that would banish obsession forever and yank him back from the brink of madness. He never found it, and he died drooling in an asylum.

Thorsius resolved not to meet the same fate. He had a new trail to follow, and several decades of research led him to the conclusion that that grimoire lay buried somewhere in the depths of the legendary dungeon of Rappan Athuk.