The ruins around Lake Mennar, to our east, have a tale to tell. The lesser races - like those clumsy dwarves - would go after the truth with picks and shovels. <Malynea wrinkles her nose.> We'll be using more elegant methods.
My scrying magic is somewhat rusty, but with the right trinket I should be able to peer through the shrouds of time. The bones of my forefathers have long since rotted away but some of their personal treasures may remain - bring me some.