I remember exactly where I was when the rumor of war was confirmed.

Every time a patrol came home, an officer from another patrol would come and speak to us, commending us on our deeds and loyal services, awarding promotions to those who had earned them, and just in general making us feel like an important part of the system.

It was usually some lieutenant or even a celebrated sergeant who would do the honors, so when we walked into headquarters that day to find Tymalt’aste himself standing there, complete with ceremonial red lanterns strung to every stalactite, everyone was shocked.

To our credit, we all lined up nice and neat without hesitation or blunder. Those of us who hadn’t been on the Surface even refrained from staring at the faces of our comrades, outlined in the foreign red light. Tymalt’aste stood on the little raised platform reserved for speakers, his voice echoing above our heads, watching us as carefully as a cave fisher might watch a school of palid trout for weakness. He must have looked at me for only a second or two, but it felt like hours as his narrow, red eyes stared into mine. I remember thinking to myself, that was power.

Then he spoke. There was a lot of political mumbo jumbo that I neither understood then or can recall now. I’m sure it had meaning to some of my comrades, who would nod along or throw up their fists in silent shows of support. Yet his message was obvious. The good name of the Seekers had been waning for eras. It was due our cowardice, he said: our inaction in face of our enemies. We needed strength and courage. We needed a new Blood-Seek, and what better way to call a Blood-Seek but to invade the homeland of our worst enemies, the Surfacer ‘mari in Avaliet?

Now, at that time, I had only seen a couple of the Surfacer ‘mari, and that was at a distance. As with the Yeni, our officers had been reluctant to hunt them down or give them any show of force outside our carefully cultivated territory in Batalik. Our stories of you were numerous, however: tales of betrayals and heresy, unholy ways and the unholy gods that demanded them of you. It would take many hours to relate those to you in full, and perhaps some day I can recall for you the most epic, but for now, only know that there wasn’t an akor’mar in that city who wouldn’t jump at the chance of wetting their blade with your blood.

Myself, I had no idea what I was really getting into as Tymalt’aste detailed the plans for his war. I remember excitement, eagerness. There was no hesitation or second thoughts. Why should there be? We were taught to hate the Surfacers: that they were the root of all the wrongs in the world. Doubt never even came into the equation.

The officers had a hard time keeping control of everyone after the grand announcement. We were bursting with pride and excitement; every tavern was full of Seekers telling stories of just how many Surfacers they would cull and exactly how they would do it. Suddenly, any Seeker with any knowledge of Surfacers, even ones like me who had only seen them once or twice at a distance, became celebrities as we expanded on our chance encounters. Suddenly my sighting of a lone ilph’mar ranger became a great escape from dozens — no, hundreds! — of bloodthirsty Surfacers all screaming for my death, and my single-handedly slaying all of them for the defense of a lovely virgin priestess.

Heh. Yes, indeed.

I don’t know if anyone actually believed the stories batted about at that time; I don’t think anyone heard anyone besides themselves talking. Any misgivings were quashed under the tide of so many akor’mari eager for glory -- and a release from the tension that had been building between our two priesthoods.

Finally the officers realized the only way to keep us in line was to keep us busy. Everyone was placed back into training, whether or not we were already veterans of many battles beforehand. Discipline was pounded into us, over and over, and there was no longer any time to think of future exploits.

We were assigned new positions and ranks, regardless of what we had held before. It was a tactic ordered by the Althrasians, I think, to break up our comradery and foster resentment between us. It was the first of many such ploys, though at the time no one imagined the Althrasians could have reached so deep or that our great Tymalt’aste could be so compromised. I wonder now what his reward had been for the betrayals. Likely nothing pleasant.
At any rate, as I was saying, the reordering of ranks caused more than a few ruffled feathers with the officers, but the assignments came from the Tymalt’aste himself, so who could argue? I was neither lucky nor unlucky; I was placed into the role of scout, which was about on par with what I had held before. While scouts didn't often get to share in the glory -- we weren't warriors, after all -- I was pleased with my position. I would be making first contact with the enemy, even if the enemy never knew I was there. You see, for years I had been living at the feet of the army, only knowing what was directly in front of my face and what the officers saw fit to tell me. Now, I was on top of the chasm and could hear everything echoing back to me. So what if I still had as much control over the rest of the army as I had over a real chasm? Just being able to know so much was invigorating.