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A small single-mast sailing ship pulled up to the dock. In the boat, a sailor stood. He lowered the sail then quickly jumped onto the pier to moor his vessel. Surveying his work, the sailor nodded his head with satisfaction; despite the need for physical effort, all was in order.

Typically, the sailor always used magic to moor his ship or adjust the sail but in human lands such practices were not appreciated and could result in injury or worse. Additionally, the seaman did not want to attract attention to himself. He preferred to blend into the background so that he was not seen or even remembered. Using magic in human lands was certainly one way to get noticed. Humans also had the annoying habit of harassing anyone using magic, which was quite inconvenient. The sailor had traveled too far and searched too long to let a few humans that couldn't tolerate some harmless spells bother him now.

Turning toward the entrance, the sailor walked up the pier. As he approached the entrance to the wharf, the seaman saw a small booth and a line of people leading up to it. Guards stood to either side of the line. Not sure what to do, and having no intention of waiting with the others, the sailor continued walking ignoring the queue of people. The sailor took two steps past the end of the line; one of the guards stopped him.

"'Cuse me," the harbor guard said. "Everyone must declare the goods they carry onboard their ships." He pointed to the line of people.

"But I've nothing to declare," said the sailor. "I am not a merchant importing cargo. I've come for the festival."

"What festival?"

"St. Sebastian's week."

"Oh, that," said the guard. The guardsman wasn't particularly impressed with the idea of racial tolerance for elves. Not that he hated elves or dark elves; he just thought it was a waste of time. If the elves wanted tolerance, they could return Andropolis to human control and go back where they came from.

Then a thought crossed the guard's mind and he looked at the sailor closer. He had long dark hair and green eyes; he was elven.

"You ain't one of them dark elves, is ya?" said the guard.

"Me?" said the sailor. He laughed. "Hardly. I'm just a simple elf from Bryford. I heard about your displays on exhibit and I wanted to see them for myself."

The guard considered the elf's story for a moment. "All right, you're free to go."

"Thank you," said the elven sailor, inclining his head. The seaman strolled off the wharf and into town. Laughing to himself, the elf was amazed at the human's gullibility. While part of what he had said was true, it was not the whole truth. He had come from Bryford but that city was not his home; Andropolis was. The elf was only in Bryford to look for signs of the Aglaril when he heard several merchants from Clearbrook describe the items on display to celebrate this week of racial tolerance.

The elf laughed again. Racial tolerance between elves and humans was absurd. Humans were to be slain on sight as punishment for the death of King Argol. However, as the merchants described the display at the Grey Horse Inn, the sailor had stopped laughing. The gem they described was precisely like the gems he sought. Wasting no time he had set sail for Clearbrook that afternoon. And if that jewel at the inn was one of the gems he was searching for, he would have to remove it from the humans' possession no matter what the cost.