"Indeed," Arngeirr intones, "That is truly my motivation for coming.  My father's work may lay undone.  If he is dead, I, as his son, have chosen to complete it for him.  My father came here so that his son would not know an un-gentleman for a father.  This is the one and only way I can ever repay for everything he has done to me."<br/><br/><i>And truly</i>he thinks to himself,<i>I pray Woden has not cast him into the frozen Hels.  I pray he is at dear mother's side.</i><br/><br/>At this point, Arngeirr strides on alone.  He is deaf to the world, and cannot hear the comments of Korsarro and Vernasus, so obsessed is he with finding the shame of Anvindr.  He walks purposefully down rows of shelves lined with books, trinkets, baubles, and other artifacts.  They are all neat and organized, laid out in an orderly fashion.<br/><br/>"If I were my father," he asks himself, "Where would I hide such an awful weapon?"<br/><br/>He ponders for a moment; his father would not have made a scene about it. Anvindr would rather the box fall in obscurity, no-one knowing what it did and never questioning its contents.  Casting his eyes across the vaults, he sees a chamber further down that seemed to contain disorganized and unidentifiable relics.  The huge man quickly marches to it, searching frantically through piles of rubbish, broken suits of armor, and discarded blade, until-<br/><br/>There!  Surely that must be it!  A wooden box the size of his chest, black and yellow like the carapace of a bee.  He lifts it gently from the high shelf - his father must have purposely placed it out of reach of other men - and brings it down to a table with reverence.  A small lock sits on the front of the box, a shard of amber from an ancient tree.  Arngeirr reaches into his waistband and pulls out a small, round item; a disc of the same amber with an insect preserved inside.  At first it looks like a huge humblebee, but under scrutiny it is revealed not to be a bee at all.  It is a hornet, a massive species nearly three inches long, hailing from the far east.  The land his father had campaigned in as a warrior of days gone by.<br/><br/>Arngeirr holds the disc of amber holding the giant hornet to the fragment set into the box.  A loud<i>click</i>sounds from within the box, and the container opens with a wash of dust and stale air.  Arngeirr brushes aside the rancid fumes and looks inside to see it is filled with red velvet, supple to the touch.  Resting in the box are two large bands of silk, like sashes, wound up tight.  One black, one gold.<br/><br/>Arngeirr leans back, the dim light in the chamber reflecting across the sashes.  He turns his head, squints his eyes, anything to- yes!  He sees the patterns, the every shifting mass of hornets that coats each sash.  This is it, he realizes.  Months of travelling have lead him to his point.  His entire body is numb as he stares upon the contents of the box with bated breath.  There are no words to describe the feeling welling up within his huge breast.<br/><br/>Ten years.  Ten years Anvindr spent and did not find this place.  Arngeirr only knew to search from the fragmented stories he heard of a huge man who must have been his father who disappeared last year before ever reaching the Great Falls.  This was his father's legacy.  The Shame of Anvindr.<br/><br/>Arngeirr closes the box and lock it in silence.  He tucks the preserved hornet back into his waistband, and turns to exit the reliquary.  "Brother Zato," he says solemnly, "I have found my father's relic."  His voice is low, almost sorrowful.  "Thank you, friend.  You are surely a huge gentleman.  Perhaps now my father and I can know peace."