PBEM Orlantia

The Story So Far
Chapter 005

PBEM Orlantia: Telling The Tale.

Afyanna rose from her seat by the fire when the younger sage entered.

"Welcome to my home," Nick Shereef began, but then stopped when he noticed the boy stifling a laugh. "I must apologize for no one being here to greet you, but I had assured young Skylar there only a . . . well . . . let's say I expressed my belief at the low order of probability anybody would be showing up today in this cold and so felt free for both of us to be . . . elsewhere. Bygones."

"Why think nothing of it!" Afyanna replied with a respectful nod. "Your uncle has been kind enough to entertain us while we awaited your return," she said, smiling at the elder sage. "He has been most delightful."

The sage looked around the room, now brimming with possible customers. Well according to his uncle they were customers.

"Perhaps we should have considered the weather before we decided to seek you out," Afyanna said. "It was most inconsiderate of us to expect you to be open for business on a day like today. May we instead seek an appointment?"

"No, no," Nick replied. "Please, sit down. Make yourselves comfortable." The sage looked to the others near the walls. "Please, come closer to the fire and warm yourselves."

As Nick took his proper place in his household, Afyanna shifted her scabbard so that she might resume sitting. Once she was comfortably situated, Nick began. "Now then, what's this about a vision? What vision? And what body? And more importantly, what do you wish of me, exactly?"

Afyanna paused and looked to Cosher seated in the chair next to hers, who merely shrugged as if to give her the floor. The holy warrior then looked to the others in the room. They too seemed to expect her to speak.

Finally, she returned her attention to the younger sage. "Well sir, I do believe each of us have different reasons for being here before you. As we all just met this morning, I cannot speak for the rest of the party here, only myself." Afyanna paused once more as Nick looked to the faces of the people before him. Where once was a band of adventurers on a quest for who knows what, now his room was filled with six individuals, each seeking their own information. A quick interruption had turned into a long afternoon of work.

"Actually, you spoke of a 'low order of probability' that anyone would even come to you this day," Afyanna continued. "I think after you hear our tales, you will find that through fortune good and bad, we were lead right to your door."

The younger sage nodded politely. "This should prove most intriguing, I'm sure. Please, do continue!"

"Sir, my quest began over a month ago in the small town of Liothele - on the Alderami Islands." Afyanna added the last bit when she noted his brows creasing as he mentally searched for the town. "I was awakened from my sleep by a voice in my mind," Afyanna began.

The young holy warrior then recounted the tale of her vision in the night. She told him of the warning of a terrible wrath, and the suffering of the innocents, and all the rest of what it had said. She then explained how the vision had foretold of the Exador's arrival and her subsequent meeting of Cosher and journey away from her homelands. Afyanna then skipped to the arrival of the Exador in Tarren and their meeting up with Sefarlain on the dock. Then the realization that a tree had fallen on their intended destination and they had instead gone to The Copper Keg, where they met up with the other fellows in the group. It was through them that Afyanna, Cosher, and Sefarlain found themselves before Nick Shereef today.

Afyanna then looked to the sage. "So, my questions to you, Sir, are but few." The sage blinked a couple of times, realizing that now was when he was to make his living. "Do you know of a place called 'Wrath' or is it meant as in vengeance? Does the phrase 'The crimson stain of blood is poor substitute for the rosé ambrosia of Wrath' mean anything to you? Have you any idea what is meant about a calamity befalling the innocent?"

Afyanna glanced over to Sefarlain and Cosher. "These gentlemen seek answers as well, and I have vowed to aid them where I can. However Corellon has directed me to seek out answers to the vision He gave me, and in His name I ask you for any aid that you can provide."

- Rick (Afyanna)

PBEM Orlantia: The Price Of Knowledge.

Nick Shereef listened intently as Afyanna relayed her story and spoke of the events leading up to the present. The sage seemed intrigued while she spoke, and one could almost see gnomish-like gears working behind his eyes as he concentrated. When she had finished, he thought for a moment before finally speaking.

"First, let me assure you a sage's door is always open, no matter the weather. It was not rude to come today - not at all. I just didn't expect it since most of my work deals with matters of lesser . . . priority," he said. "Your vision, on the other hand, seems quite important if the hand of a god can so clearly be discerned."

Nick stood up and began to pace back and forth before the fire, but he went on. "Normally I wouldn't expect a deity to do that, unless, perhaps, they had a vested interest in the matter, and that's what puzzles me most. What is it? I mean, I don't expect you to know since you came to me, but you should look out for it. I can almost guarantee you it's there, somewhere, however small. As for the meaning of that phrase, I'm not sure yet. I'll have to look into the matter. Perhaps . . ."

It was then that Nick, and others, noticed Fess was almost, what? Smiling? Yes. He seemed slightly amused at something.

"Uncle . . . ?" Nick prompted the old man.

"Oh deary dear, yes, my, oh my yes. Nicky, perhaps we should confer on the matter. Corellon, you say, oh dear yes."

"SKYLAR!" barked Nick. The kitchen door opened in response to his summons.

"Yeah dad . . . I mean, yes sir?" he said after a second's reflection.

"Please entertain our guests while Fess and I concur. If you will excuse us," Nick offered apologetically to the others. Obviously, they, or more specifically, Fess, knew something. Odds were they needed to confer privately in order to secure their fee, but one never knew.

The two elder sages departed into the darkened room and closed the door behind them.

"Ah, so, I gather you folk are new to Tarren," said young Skylar, filling the void with small talk. "I've never been anywhere else, mind you, but I like the city. Still . . . ," he went on. "I'd love to see more of the places I've read about. Oh bother. I should offer you some refreshments."

Skylar went on about a few choices, but clearly he was pushing some red nectar he probably wanted himself. No one sure what it was, they agreed to it and soon Skylar returned from the kitchen with a pitcher of reddish liquid and a tray of empty glasses. He poured a few out and suggested they 'help themselves.'

The drink was cherry flavored and sweet, though not too strong. And it was cold, well below room temperature. It was most likely derived from the juice of mashed up cherries and diluted with water and sweetened, though there was a hint of alcohol present. Having practically grown up in a tavern, Mystir knew a shot of alcohol was sometimes added as a preservative and he suspected the drink itself had not undergone any fermentation process. But it was very weak, as alcoholic drinks went. Besides, it was good, if one liked cherries.

By the time everybody who wanted some had a glass in hand, Fess and Nick returned from the darkened chamber and took their seats once more. Skylar poured the pair some drinks and then they got down to business.

"We think we can help you, or at least assure you," the younger sage began. "Unfortunately for us, it's not the sort of thing that required much research, but it's still information that normally only comes about through diligent years study or lucky happenstance. Or both," he added, looking at Fess. "In any event, we estimated the value of this information at 20 gold pieces, but due to the perhaps humanitarian and religious nature of the request, we have agreed to let it go for half that."

Afyanna wondered about the price and considered it for a moment. Could she afford it? Could she afford not to have it? The few coins Arterim had given her totaled exactly that, but they were nearly all she had, and there were other expenses. Carefully she considered the matter.

- JimGM.

PBEM Orlantia: Empty Money Purse

Tyrulf stared at his battle-axe while trying desperately to look casual. *20 GP,* he mentally groaned.

Running over his current financial situation he realized he had almost 36 GP to his name. Tyrulf then took a quick look around the room to see if the rest of the people seemed worried about the price. Afyanna herself seemed a little taken aback by the price, even though it was half of what they would normally ask.

*I have to find out if this man could help me find my roots.* He could even sell the crossbow that Cassdler had given him. Maybe his mace could bring some money in towards paying for his answer. *I wonder if I would get arrested for sleeping under a bridge or in an alley.* Tyrulf shook his head slightly. *Now I'm just being silly. I will get what ever information with what I have now and look for a job to fill my empty purse.*

Tyrulf looked around again but this time to see if anyone looked like they seemed eager to ask their own question first.

*Perhaps if I wait until the end they will have already made some money and will charge me a little less. Then I won't have to sleep on the street after tomorrow.* Tyrulf then resumed looking at his axe, seeming to be preoccupied with it while listening to what the others had to say.

- MJA (Tyrulf)

PBEM Orlantia: Helping Hand

Cosher cradled the red drink in his hands. Although he stared at the glass intently, he dared not drink from it.

To those who knew him well this would appear out of character for the usually hard-drinking sea dwarf. Too many times in the past though, the young sailor had fallen foul to the mixing of alcoholic drinks, and whilst this day was still young he had already mixed together an assortment of beverages. True, one could line him up a dozen tankards of strong ale and Cosher could hold his own with the best of them, but chasing a large cider down with ale and then a whisky and he was as unsteady on his feet as an elf after one goblet of wine! He was simply concerned that this drink, with its sweet, sickly smell could send him over the edge. No, he would have to pass on this one.

As Cosher inwardly debated his drinking habits, Nick and his uncle reentered the room. Certain he wasn't going to touch his drink, Cosher set it on the floor next to where he sat and turned his attention to the younger of the two sages, who was now explaining the situation to Afyanna, and exactly what it might cost.

Cosher could see Afyanna pause at this announcement to consider the price implications. It occurred to Cosher that he wasn't sure how much money the halfelven-lady might have, and that she might struggle to afford the price - ten gold pieces was a considerable sum in anyone's eyes!

Immediately Cosher's thoughts went to his last conversation with Captain Fenmore on leaving his service back on the docks, and his payment of the equivalent of fifty gold. He began to feel slightly guilty that to him, ten gold pieces was easily affordable - for now. Besides, not only had he really taken to Afyanna in the short time he had known her, and as a consequence would like to help her out, but in addition, the answer to the riddle and possibly further adventures could now be at stake if the lady refused to pay.

Cosher made up his mind. He cleared his throat rather obviously to attract Afyanna's attention, and gestured in her direction.

"Milady, if ye have no objections," he began, "Ah would be honored if ye'd let me help settle yer fee. Ye see, Ah know how much this means to yerself, since Ah've been traveling with ye all this time now. Ah would like te see yer mind put at rest over this matter."

"And besides," he grinned, "Ah am a wee bit curious meself as to what this 'Wrath' really is!"

- Johnny (Cosher)

PBEM Orlantia:

*20 gold pieces!*

Afyanna sat stunned on the chair, staring blankly at the younger sage and his uncle.

*. . . but due to the perhaps humanitarian and religious nature of the request, we have agreed to let it go for half that,* he had said, the words replaying in her mind.

*Even 10 . . .*

Since leaving the cavalry, Afyanna had not maintained any sort of regular job. She had helped in the Double Moon Temple, studying her newly received skills with the priests. The temple did provide a rudimentary stipend for her work there, but it was only enough to purchase that which she could not catch or grow herself. Granted, she could have probably done more for herself, but it becomes easier over time to buy what you need than make your own. Buying costs money, and Afyanna hadn't been generating much in the way of money lately. The boon from the cargo transfer had been the most she had seen in several months, combined even. And the sages would accept all of it and call it a bargain.

Cosher must have seen her discomfort for he cleared his throat to break the awkward silence, then he offered to help pay the debt.

Afyanna blinked a couple times as the words shook her from her thoughts. "No, Cosher," she began slowly, "I thank you - truly I do, but I feel that I must be the one to shoulder the cost of this. But never fear," she smiled to the sea dwarf, "I have a feeling your aid will be critical once we know what it is we are to do."

Her mind quickly turned back to the situation at hand. *20 GP down to 10. That certainly is a large discount.* She pondered the two men before her. *Are these two really taking into consideration the 'religious nature,' or is the information truly worth 10 GP and they just wanted to imply a discount?* She let out an exasperated breath. *But they did say 10 so that's the price.* Afyanna had never been a haggler. She paid the price offered. If someone would take less - then why would they say they wanted more? She knew very well that prices included profit. It's how one made a living. Haggling over a price never made much sense to her. However, this did present a problem this time.

"Sage Shereef," Afyanna began, looking him in the eye. "I am most grateful to you for offering your learned council to me for half of what it's worth. However, I fear that I have not yet earned enough to afford even that." From the corner of her eye she saw Cosher look from the sage to her. *Yes Cosher,* she thought to herself, bemused at what he must be thinking, *I just turned down your offer and yet I don't have enough myself.* Nick and his uncle Fess seemed a little caught off guard as well.

"I do not of course know how quickly we must act before Corellon deems me a failure," she continued, "but I see that I must earn a few more gold before I can complete His task." Afyanna paused a moment before continuing. "Do you know of anyone who could use a sword-arm for a short time? Or maybe . . . , maybe you have some task that needs completing?" She looked back and forth between them. "I'm certain men such as yourselves are always thinking about the next thing you need for your research. Maybe you need something brought to you - or maybe you need to be escorted someplace?" As she spoke, Afyanna recalled Nick Shereef's earlier words. "In fact, you said yourself that you were puzzled by Corellon's hand in this quest. Perhaps you yourself wish to accompany us to see your own questions answered? I'm sure the company and protection of myself, Cosher, and Sefarlain here are worth a few gold's value in information."

*But what of these other three?* she wondered.

- Rick (Afyanna)

PBEM Orlantia: The Other Side.

Nick Shereef frowned for a moment when Afyanna refused his price. He briefly wonder if she couldn't afford it, or just didn't think his information would be worth it. She might be lying, in fact, but as a representative of Corellon, he decided such a tactic would border on blasphemy, so she probably spoke the truth. Still. Who knew? Maybe his information wasn't worth it. Even he didn't know how helpful it might be. But he had done all he could.

"I am sorry, but if word gets out we sages are in the habit of letting information go for nothing, then that'll be the end of our profession. Even our deference to your plight that allowed us to mark it down is risky. You never know who will think their cause also 'ought' be worthy and take, umm . . . , deadly exception if we didn't offer them a similar discount. But information for sale is our stock and trade," he said.

"Oh deary me, yes," Fess added to his nephew's concerns. "But perhaps, if you feel the need to shoulder the burden yourself, miss, you can still do that. You can always pay your friend back at your leisure. Besides, if he is going with you, well, that's just 10 GP less he has to lug around with him in the field, oh my, yes. And it's hard to spend out there when not in town anyway."

"Father," Skylar timidly interrupted. He didn't actually say anything after that, but his eyes flicked about and several facial expressions passed between Nick and his son before, in silence, Nick's answer of his shaking head seemed adamant, and the boy's look of disappointment suggested acceptance of his father's decree. What was that all about?

"I also wish we had some good and worthy cause handy that needed doing right now. We are never opposed to exchanging information for services, but we aren't likely to simply invent one to make up for a customer's shortfall. And Fess here, certainly, and myself to a large degree, aren't really up for the rigors of field conditions in this weather. Besides, if Corellon himself needs your service, it sounds dangerous enough to dissuade the wise from even trying it, unless they felt confident in their abilities and fully prepared for the harsh realities that might await. I'm a sage, young lady. Not an adventurer. I'm sorry. No, but if you cannot afford even the 10 GP price, you will have to do without what little we can offer. But I urge you to reconsider your friend's offer. Maybe he only wishes to pay that portion you cannot pay yourself. Together, you DO have the means, apparently, and may go forth without delay. Is that important? I don't know, but I'm sure unable to tell you it isn't important."

With that, Nick Shereef stood up and took a sip of the cherry drink, picked up a poker, and stabbed at the hearth. Sparks flew up and the satisfying warmth seemed to grow as fresh fuel offered itself for sacrifice to the flames.

"I also hope," Nick began again, breaking the brief silence that had filled the room as he tended the hearth, "that the rest of you are not too taken aback by the price of information. It's folly to think something with so little bulk or weight, or something that cannot be carried in one's pocket or purse, could cost so much, but I assure you, it represents years of work and experience, none of which would be possible without our fees. Then where would you be when you really needed a sage? No where, that's where. So if you others have any questions, please ask them and let's see if we cannot reach some common ground."

Then the sage sat back down and pulled at his drink once more and waited for the next move.

- JimGM.

PBEM Orlantia: Bonds

Valin sat in rapt silence watching the exchange between the Afyanna and the sage, Nick Shereef. He couldn't believe that he'd heard properly when Afyanna refused Cosher's help.

*Why would she refuse someone's help for such an important task, if not out of pride?* The question in his mind nearly escaped his lips, but he held it, not wanting to be rude by interrupting the sage's reply.

When the sage finished speaking, Valin stood and addressed Afyanna.

"Milady, sometimes the gods offer help in the strangest ways. It's possible that taking up an offer of help from someone may be exactly what they had in mind. Perhaps even to form a bond between you. A bond of debt is a bond, nonetheless." Valin smiled at the halfelven holy warrior.

"And, as I'm very curious to the answer to your question myself, I'd be more than willing to lend you some of the money to hear the answer now."

- Frank (Valin)

PBEM Orlantia:

"Perhaps you all are right," Afyanna said, looking to party. "Cosher, might I please borrow 2 gold from you?"

Afyanna handed Cosher's 2 and her own 8 GP to the younger sage. "Forgive me; I never meant to imply that your information was not worth the sum. It was just that I didn't have all of it and I wished to earn more."

- Rick (Afyanna)

PBEM Orlantia: The Grapes Of Wrath.

Nick Shereef seemed to thankfully take the 10 GP from the halfelven lady, Afyanna, though in truth he was subtly chastising himself while doing it.

*Fool! I assumed she wanted to earn all 10 GP; not just part of it. Idiot! I might have had something worth 2 GP to do around here. Bygones,* he ended his thought, as he often did when correcting the matter would only make matters worse. It was time to deliver the goods and hope, as he had done so many times before, that his customer would not feel cheated if the information was not all they had hoped for.

"Long ago, it seems, so my uncle says, the lands not too far to the west of here were more heavily populated with elves."

"Dear yes, oh yes, it's true. The elves were well established not more than 200 years ago, but they're mostly all gone now," added Fess with a faraway look of sorrow.

His nephew might have normally given him a dirty look for interrupting, but Fess was the one who had known this information and had just relayed it to him in his bedroom. Nick felt certain he would have dug up the information himself in a day or two, but it was always nice when his elder already knew exactly where to look or what it might be.

Nick continued. "Slowly the elves began to depart those lands, however. We believe, though we cannot prove it at the moment, an incursion of drow from even further west, perhaps from the Dark Wood itself, made their home too dangerous. It could have been countless raids, or maybe their children went missing with unwelcome frequency when spirited away by their dark cousins. We simply do not know."

"Dear yes. I think it was the drow; even got that idea backed up by a point or two, not that that's proof, mind you, but a mighty good indication. Oh my yes," Fess ventured.

"Now I knew elves used to settle that area not so many centuries ago, but were slowly replaced with halfelves, then they, later, with more humans. And I knew the elves were famous for their vineyards there. Something in the soil, we suspect, according to some druidical reports, made the grapes there exceptionally sweet. Their rosé wines were highly sought back in the day, particularly when left to age a few decades or more. And as we know, elves do not mind waiting as humans do. It's not they are especially better at winemaking than humans are, but they are patient enough to properly age their wine, you see? I knew that. I knew all that. But I didn't know this," he said, looking at his uncle.

Then Fess stood up, beaming proudly. "Wrath," he smiled. "The old lands were divided into three parishes for the church of Corellon. Sadly, those three temples are gone now, along with most the elves, but I remember the names of the parishes. Purplish, Valentee, and . . . Wrath."

"Yes . . . ," Nick whispered after his uncle. "Wrath. The largest parish too, I think you said. And some may find it odd, but those humans there still widely worship Corellon Larethian, though there are few, if any elves still living there. But it's a poor place these days. I mean, not much excitement or interest there. And the wine hasn't been up to snuff lately as well, or so I'm told. Not for decades."

"Dear me yes. I had a glass a few months back and it was, dear, oh dear . . ." he never finished the sentence, and, truth be told, neither had he finished that particular glass of wine. Then an exceptionally odd look crossed Fess's face, and he cocked his head to one side.

"You know, not too long ago, oh . . . nothing to do with Wrath or anything . . . a wizard in a tavern asked me about the grapes in this area. Didn't say why he wanted to know, dear me, no. Just one of those conversations you have when a man buys a round for the bar, you know? But he did say he'd stop back some time and inquire further. Never did, of course. That was, what, last summer already. That happens a lot in our business. Oh well," he finished.

Nick's brows furrowed as his uncle gave up new information, but he let it pass. It probably wasn't important anyway.

"Now," said Nick, "we can dig further - maybe come up with more information. But that would cost you another 5 GP for a few half days' research, and it might not pan out. Besides, do you really want to wait? Probably not. I hope, for your lord's sake, that our information will prove helpful. So . . . ," he said, looking at the rest of the party. "How about those other questions?"

- JimGM.

PBEM Orlantia:

*Drow!* Afyanna couldn't suppress the shudder that ran through her. Her childhood had been filled with stories of the drow.

'Don't stay out too late or the drow will get you,' her mother would tell Afyanna and her sister. 'The Drow eat bad little elven children, so behave!' As she grew older, Afyanna put most of the stories out of her mind as just ways to try to keep her in line.

But Nick HAD said, '. . . or maybe their children went missing.'

Afyanna shook off her momentary childhood fright and looked to Sage Shereef. "I thank you very much for this information. Everything you said seems to fit nicely with what my vision told me." She paused a moment, then continued. "From what you have said, my next journey seems clear so I do not think additional research is needed yet."

*Not that I could pay for it if it was,* she lamented to herself.

Afyanna turned to Sefarlain. "You know," she began, chuckling slightly, "my first thought upon hearing about a missing wizard was that perhaps he is the one you discovered on your journey here. But the chances of it being the same person are remote at best. Besides, I think you said it seemed recent?"

Turning back to the two sages she added, "Again, I thank the both of you for your council."

With that, Afyanna got up from the fireside chair to allow the next customer the seat closest to the sage.

- Rick (Afyanna)

PBEM Orlantia: White as Pure Snow.

Mystir took in the sage's words as he spoke while continuing to examine the room about him. However, one word grasped his attention like a vice. *Drow,* he thought. He focused back onto a day a year or so ago. The exact day was not important, but what he saw that day . . .

'It's so,' the apprentice had paused shortly, 'white.'

'Yes, 'tis as white as pure snow.' Hearche, the boy's mentor, continued, ''Tis one of my finer samples, and one of the rarest.'

The wizard had placed the three-inch bundle of hair into the young boy's hand. 'There is so much magic in these creatures. Yes, much magic. The hair is kept from sunlight, or it will eventually be ruined and fall apart, though that might take weeks of continuous exposure for something like drow hair. Many items of drow manufacture are more . . . susceptible to direct sunlight.'

The boy lightly moved the hair about his hand with his fingertips . . .

"White as pure snow," Mystir stopped, realizing he had just muttered to himself during the course of his reminiscence.

He quickly scanned the room to make sure all eyes and ears were still focused on Afyanna as she finished speaking.

*Drow, so nearby, perhaps home can wait. What a prize sample drow hair would make,* he eagerly thought to himself.

- Kevin (Mystir)

PBEM Orlantia: A Chilling Thought

*Drow.*

The word echoed around Sefarlain's mind as the sage continued to talk.

*Did he really mean DROW?*

His experience of them was little, if you counted fireside tales from his childhood. Drow were little more than a memory on Tugath - a distant rumor from millennia ago. Sure, some of the more senior Valantaúr had had dealings with them - or so they claimed. But they were experienced fighters with hundreds of years in the Order. Sefarlain gripped the hilt of Alonwë unconsciously. He wasn't sure what he was about to face, but if that was what was required of him, then so be it.

He was still contemplating this when Afyanna spoke to him, rousing him from his thoughts.

"Wizard? Oh, the body . . . ," his voice trailed off as he saw the sage looking at him in horror. "I have traveled from the west this winter," he explained. "It was a long and perilous journey; yet more perilous for others, it seems. I came across a body up on the ridge about half a day west of here. I can't explain the manner of his death, but it was a violent, unnatural end. He appeared mutilated by some energy that had melted the snow around him. I couldn't see a trail though."

The elf continued, describing the appearance and build of the stranger as best he was able. He went on, "He seemed a wealthy man; well-dressed but few possessions on him. I have his boots here," he said, indicating the fine boots.

The entire room looked slightly aghast at the thought of Sefarlain walking around in the dead man's footwear.

Sef addressed the sage again. "Does this sound like the wizard you met? Can you remember the man at all? Which bar did you meet him in? He may hold some of the answers we seek."

The questions burst from his lips in a torrent as his eagerness overtook him.

"I have a little money also, "he added. He looked beseechingly between the sage and his uncle.

- Justin (Sefarlain)

PBEM Orlantia: A Drunken Night.

Sefarlain asked a few questions, but to Nick's displeasure none of them seemed to fall within the purview of his profession and couldn't really be researched or sold.

*There's little money to be had from this one,* he figured, so he nodded, in that way of his, to his uncle, who then gave up what he knew free of charge.

"I don't think so. From what you described, that man you found wasn't dressed like a wizard, or even an adventurer. Dear me, no, poor soul," he seemed sorrowful at the stranger's demise.

"The wizard, though? I can't really recall which tavern I met him in since I was visiting more than a few that night. Umm . . . sorry about that. I do recall when he left, dear yes. He bought one more round for the bar and strode out the door, as if he was in a hurry. Then I heard a shout or something from outside, and soon the thundering of hoof beats as he rode away. I can't say what direction he went. Wait . . . Red. I remember looking at a red dress when he rode off. It was on a painting above the bar. Funny, deary me, no, I can't recall any of my regular watering holes having that hung there. But I was visiting lots of places in the city that night. I have to say, though, I hardly think, dear me no, that the exact tavern would really be all that important, unless you think he frequents the place. I sort of got the impression he was new in town, though, dear me, yes." The older sage looked slightly crestfallen, as if he had let his friends down, somehow.

"I just can't recall exactly where I was. Dear me, after all, oh dear, Tarren is pretty big. Derrick took me all over that night so I really can't even point you in the right direction. Sorry. Oh well, dear me, yes."

- JimGM.

PBEM Orlantia: Tattoo and Roots

Tyrulf looked up from his axe when there was a pause in the conversation. Most of the people in the room were looking at him.

*Well, so much for saving some money,* he lamented.

Straightening out his clothes, Tyrulf started to tell his story once more, thinking, *Well, this is it - probably my only hope for information around here.*

As Tyrulf spoke, he got a far away look and talked with a longing intensity born of desperation.

"Many years ago I awoke on a beach west of the Dominion. I was bruised and battered but mostly unharmed. I could remember nothing except my name, and that I was close to twenty years old. I have only one clue that may be the key to my past - this tattoo." At this point Tyrulf stepped forward and pulled back his shirt and showed the sage the tattoo on his shoulder.

"I have asked several people along my short travels. The only hint that I have come upon so far is from a man in the Dominion mines. He believed that this looks like the work of a master in the Larns Archipelago. He said the colors and style look exactly like what is done there."

Tyrulf stepped over to make sure that the older sage could see as well.

"Whatever you could tell me would be appreciated."

After Tyrulf thought that the sages had seen it well enough, he put his shirt back over his shoulder and then stood back, patiently waiting.

- MJA (Tyrulf)

PBEM Orlantia: Another Five.

The two sages looked at one another, probably trying to guess what, if anything, the other knew about Tyrulf's situation. A moment of silence passed between them while they pondered the dwarf's request.

"And how old are you now, by your estimation?" Nick finally asked.

Tyrulf wondered for a second, but then answered. "If I'm right, I must be going on near 64 years old soon. Why?"

But the sage didn't answer him - instead he looked back to his uncle who was slowly nodding his head.

"Dear yes, that might fit. Started in, what, 680 A.E. or thereabouts? Dear me, yes. But we couldn't . . . ," then his nephew cut him off.

"We could," Nick said sharply, "but it might take considerable research."

Then the younger sage stood up and paced the room by the fire, taking another swig of his red drink, and apparently afterward drawing in a steady stream of air between his lips to mix with the liquid rather than swallowing it outright. It was something wine connoisseurs often did to enhance the flavor of the wine. Though this was not wine, the same principle was involved. Any experienced in such matters might have guessed Nick was a connoisseur of fine wines from that, but there might be other reasons for it.

"Unfortunately, young dwarf, what we can tell you right now without delving into the matter might only frame your quest for you, and it is, I admit, somewhat speculative. It might help you. Then again, it might not. And further research could always turn up details about your situation rather than vague generalities, but from what you say, I think you may not even be aware of those. To tell you what we believe right now might well be worth, say, 5 GP?" his voice rose slightly in pitch to indicate the question.

*5 gold pieces,* Tyrulf mused. Would it be worth it? They did seem to think they knew something, and it had to be more than he knew, or they wouldn't have offered to sell it. But was it worth 5 gold? The dwarf considered the contents of his purse.

- JimGM.

PBEM Orlantia: Money Well Spent

Tyrulf stood there for a moment with his stomach doing strange things.

*This is it.*

He paused for another short time so he didn't appear too anxious, but then Tyrulf smiled to himself.

*5 GP for a direction. How could I not?*

As he was thinking this, Tyrulf reached into his belt pouch and retrieved 5 GP. Handing it over to the sage he murmured, "I would appreciate any information you could tell me." Tyrulf then looked up hopefully while another thought flashed through his mind.

*Perhaps if the information is good, I will give him another 15 GP to do some research.* He stood there looking expectantly, waiting for the information that could change his life.

- MJA (Tyrulf)

PBEM Orlantia: Conflicts Of Old.

"Dear me, yes, oh yes, you could well be part of an unfortunate power struggle between rival dwarven clans from Mundanus," Fess began while Nick pocketed the five gold pieces Tyrulf had just forked over. Fess and Nick would settle up later, he knew, but right now he continued with his story.

"Beginning about 680 A.E., several houses, or dwarven clans, dear me, maybe about a dozen clans all told, attempted to wrest political and economic power on the continent of Mundanus. The dwarves there live in highlands, which are fairly rare for Mundanus, most of the continent being close to sea level and populated not by dwarves, but mostly by men. Well, above the waves, anyway. They do a fair amount of trade with the sea elves, too. My yes, many of the cities' streets are actually canals and channels and waterways rather than dry pavement or brick. I was there once, but that was long ago. Oh dear, where was I? Of course, yes, I remember," he muddled onward, though he paused to fill his glass first.

This time, however, he drew forth a decanter of red wine from one of Nick's desk drawers. His nephew remained silent, so apparently this was not unexpected or inappropriate. One would guess they were a close family.

"Now let me see. Yes, about 680 A.E., and it lasted a long time. I think, perhaps, dear me, 30 years at least, yes, 30 years before they were done. In the end, several of the houses, many say the ones with the more legitimate claims, were destroyed. All family members were killed. Less than half a dozen remaining clans eventually found an uneasy peace after that war, now that the other houses no longer existed to insist upon their superior claims and titles and tributes. It was all about greed - simple greed, really, and pride. Who was the true king of their little hill? Who had the final say on matters of trade?" Fess shook his head disapprovingly before going on.

"Now, let me see, dear me, yes. Mundanus does a fair amount of shipping, of course. Its primary source of welfare comes from the sea and trade upon its waters. And of course much of that goes through the Larns Archipelago. But if I must, dear yes, I should tell you each family had its own coat of arms, don't you know. And when a young dwarven boy, say, around the age of understanding for one of your ilk, they would undergo a family ritual and be marked with the clan's coat of arms. It's possible. Many even said such markings were symbols of their dwarven magic and power. They were not simply ink under skin, but were rumored to be much more." He paused a moment and looked thoughtful at that.

"He he hee, oh dear, though no one who ever said that to me knew what else they were. Rumors are like that. Of course if you, young dwarf, were around 20 years of age - the age of understanding - it might have been keen in your mind and you may have been anxious to be indoctrinated into the family's business. If that is so, it might explain why you recall your age so vividly. But you would have been like a 7-year-old human child at 20, developmentally speaking." Fess pondered again for a moment, then continued.

"Suppose your family had you undergo the ritual in the Archipelago. Suppose further, dear me, yes, suppose further, in or around 685 A.E., when you would have been 20, you were returning home and your clan's ships were attacked and destroyed by rivals. Many encounters upon the sea are unfortunate ones, after all, dear me, yes. If all that is true, your tattoo might reveal your family line. Who can say? It might even have other, perhaps magical powers, none of which outsiders really ever knew since they would have been closely guarded family secrets. Hints and rumors, pieces and bits, dear yes, dear me, yes. Who can say? On the other hand, it might just be a nifty tattoo and have nothing to do with any of that 30-year war." Fess finished speaking and sat down again, then held up his wine glass in front of the fire's light as if examining it for clarity.

"I guess that's as speculative as it gets," Nick offered, now that his uncle had told his tale. "Sadly, we have no insight into any of those families' coat of arms, though we could pursue it some more in research. But if you want my advice, you'd be better off finding a dwarven scholar, preferably one not associated with, or living on Mundanus. You never know what their affiliations might be. And they might not take too kindly if some long thought dead rival family line reared up to make a new claim to holdings and wealth. In fact, you had better learn discretion until you find out more. If you wish, we can look into it further, but that would cost some serious cash. Hundreds, perhaps. Specialized knowledge and all, you understand? That's why I think you'd do well to find a dwarven sage. If you want, I can give you a letter of introduction for another 1 GP explaining your plight and introduce you to one, though the guy I'm thinking of lives in Pedas."

Tyrulf seemed almost mesmerized by this flood of information. Years of asking and nothing. Now, all at once, he gets almost too much to digest. His stomach turned once more when he realized all his past inquiries may have actually been quite dangerous, and he had never known. What if someone out there wanted him dead? And what did it all mean? And was his tattoo magic? It never did anything . . . funny.

Whatever the case, he felt he could hardly do wrong to pay for the letter of introduction.

"I'd like you to look into the matter a bit more, too, just to see what you can find using your own resources. Here's 1 GP for the letter, and here's 5 more GP. Keep looking until you've used that up, ok?"

"Certainly, my friend," Nick said, all smiles. "But it will take some time. Even the letter is not something I'm about to whip off today. I recommend you come back after a week's time or more. By then, I'll have the letter ready, plus we'll be able to tell you anything else we may have stumbled across by then. Agreed?"

Tyrulf nodded. 11 GP total seemed well spent, and now he had much to think about he had never had to think about before. But in the end, he knew, he would need more money. His personal concerns would have to wait until such time as he had a greater economic reach.

"Well then," Nick asked, "is there anything else any of you would like to ask?"

- JimGM.

PBEM Orlantia: A Joint Venture?

The audience sat rapt as the sage and his uncle talked. Many in that room seemed to need answers to long-forgotten secrets, and today those answers were beginning to be revealed - or at least a tantalizing trail that led to who-knew-where emerged.

For Sefarlain at least, his next move seemed clear. The vision that Afyanna had seen suggested that they should travel west to Wrath. But did he really know what he was getting involved with? There was only one way to find out.

As Nick was explaining the details of Tyrulf's tattoo, Sefarlain crept over to where Afyanna was sitting so as to minimize any disturbance to the others. The thick rugs upon the stone floor masked much of the noise, but his bow dragged on one of the tables, making a loud scraping noise. Nick shot him an irritated look as if interrupting his story. The young boy just stifled a small laugh.

"Afyanna," he began.

Afyanna registered his words with a glance; her attention was fixed on the story unfolding.

"I've been thinking about what's been said. Do you think we have enough help for the task that you have been granted? It's just that if drow are involved . . ."

They exchanged a look that confirmed each other's private thoughts and fears, although not a word had been said. Neither needed any more information about the dangers ahead.

"I don't know what Corellon would have us do, but it seems a coincidence that all these people here know of our quest and we may need some help. The dwarf carries the mark of Boccob, for one. We may need that sort of help if Corellon wishes us to do His bidding."

He paused as Afyanna absorbed his words.

"What do you think?"

- Justin (Sefarlain)

PBEM Orlantia: Divine Speculation.

"Dear me, yes," Fess muttered, apparently having overheard Sef's quiet comments. He might be old, but his hearing was obviously quite acute yet.

"I perceive you all as a mixed band of wanders and explorers, or at least, all of you are skilled with 'special' talents, I'd wager. But you are just recently met? You scarcely know each other? Dear me, that's sort of a coincidence, isn't it?" he seemed to be pondering some hidden thoughts out loud.

"What is?" Skylar asked of the elder sage.

"Well, dear, one might say it was an omen, especially when the hand of a god can be seen operating anywhere near by. True, dear me, yes, it's true, it may all be just a coincidence, and the gods . . . well . . . most of them, at any rate, don't tend to force mortal beings down narrow corridors without their consent. As I understand it, that would violate some divine agreement between the gods, so they may never get too directly involved themselves. Most of time, anyway."

Fess kept looking upwards when he mentioned the gods, then immediately bowed his head, as if to pay homage to the powers that be and to show no disrespect for his speculations upon the divine world.

"Just meeting each other may be have been a coincidence, but what if it wasn't, dear me, what if it wasn't?" he asked the room. "Maybe Corellon Larethian intended for you all to meet. Even you, Tyrulf, or you, Mystir, and yes, even you, dear Valin - though you be in service to Hermes - Corellon, through hook or crook, may have led you all into the lady Afyanna's path and thus her quests was revealed unto you, too. I'm sure you can ignore it, or think it naught more than the concerns of most others that cross your daily path, but, dear me, is that all it is? Think of it. All of you, each of you, without exception, thrown together by happenstance, and for what? No purpose? It seems unlikely. If not the hand of Corellon, then maybe some other determined masterful hand has put you together. Oh, dear me, gracious me. But maybe it is just my imagination."

Fess sipped from his red wine again and looked again at the ceiling, this time staring at it, like he was either wondering if the roof needed repair, or something else held his thoughts.

"Gee Fess, that sounds spo . . . spooky," Skylar stuttered.

"Indeed," Nick entered the conversation. "I mean, I agree the Exador was perhaps placed in Afyanna's path, but these other three? Or even Sef? Well, maybe Sef. He, at least, seems well disposed toward Corellon's wishes. But Tyrulf? His tattoo brought him here. Where do you see the hand of Corellon in that? You're not saying He swatted his family's ship lo those many years ago, are you?

"Hmmm? Dear me, no. Goodness sakes, no. To kill like that? The gods would not be so direct, or long term, I'd wager. Even the ruthless and unfeeling ones wouldn't reach out and pummel a ship and throttle the life of scores of individuals like that, normally."

"But couldn't Corellon have led Tyrulf's enemies to his family's ship?"

"Well, yes, I suppose He could have, but would He have? I highly doubt it, dear me, no way would a beatific god do such an egregious thing as that. No, dear nephew, I do not think so. The gods are powerful and they could do much, even within their self imposed restrictions, but I dare say, dear me, yes, I dare say they would not be so heavy handed and obvious as to sink a ship and kill scores of people just so Tyrulf could be here decades later. Even the Exador was likely not placed in harm's way just to rescue it, but was sent to Liothele after it found itself in danger, perhaps, in the hopes we mortals would see a personal problem of the god and decide for ourselves what to do, if anything. Gods rarely force our hand or make our decisions, my dear nephew, for if they did, then They would be responsible for our actions. Not us. So only those who liked or loved or at least respected Corellon would give it any considerations at all. And for what? That would be up to them to decide, for the rewards in the afterlife are dubious at best, dear me, yes, dubious at best."

"OK, I didn't even believe He would sink Tyrulf's ship, but you seemed to suggest Corellon brought Tyrulf here, so how, where, or why do you think that?"

Apparently, one might guess, Fess and Nick often argued like that, debating various merits of a variety of suppositions, since they seemed to effortlessly fall into some pattern of doing just that. Indeed, one might get the idea the others were no longer in the room as the sages went at each other with point and counter point.

"I just dislike . . . dear me, yes, I dislike coincidence. I suspect it wherever it rears up. Here is Afyanna, on her quest in His name. Here is Cosher, who alone came from the Exador with her while many others may have come, but didn't. Is he a fool without skills and armed only with mere idle curiosity, or is he more than that? And then there is Sefarlain. A shopkeeper? No. An artisan? No. A simple entertainer? Dear me, no. But a worshiper of Corellon, strong of arm and with mighty sword, right there. Coincidence? Maybe. And what do they need for their quest?"

Nick looked like he was about to answer, but clearly his uncle was answering his own rhetorical questions.

"They need other skilled men and woman to go with them, to help them, to perhaps fight with them, or die trying, dear me, yes, die trying perhaps. And who is here? Mrs. Jones wondering how to arrange her finances? No. Miss Carlyle seeking council for her romantic life? No. The blacksmith asking about forging techniques using odd metals and alloys? No. A playwright seeking background history for his new story's setting? No. None of the usual is here at all. But who is here? One? No. Two? No. But three, dear me, yes, three. Adventurers all. Coincidence? Maybe. But the gods . . ." again he looked upwards with some reverence, and maybe a touch of fear since his last few words were whispered. Fess did seem to be done speaking for the nonce, however, so Nick began again.

"It doesn't prove anything, uncle," Nick pointed out. "But it is . . . a bit weird. I don't normally get several customers all at once who hardly know each other but are well suited for one common task. Never before, in fact. But no god is forcing you all together to go on this quest, I'm sure. If nothing else, the choice is always your own," he said to the interested party of listeners.

"Well, I think it's creepy," Skylar offered again, not content to remain silent. "But I'd go, just to see. Oh dad, could I? Just to see what it's like?"

"Absolutely not. You've missed my uncle's point altogether, young Skylar. They are all, well . . . the sort who could go and survive most hardships that might befall them. They may even help each other to do this, and depend on each other's skills just to survive, let alone succeed in this quest. But you, my son, would be a liability right now. You haven't the training. Not yet, anyway, but maybe one day, if you really want, maybe then."

Young Skylar seemed disappointed, but one could tell Skylar accepted the fact his father was wise and right. Well . . . , probably right.

"Are there any other questions? No? Yes? Maybe?" Nick asked, waiting for someone to respond.

- JimGM.

PBEM Orlantia: Why Not Boccob?

Tyrulf stood there listening to the two sages chatter on.

*I bet these two argue . . . no, debate like this often. I would like to be a fly on the wall, just to hear the strange things that would be talked about in this house.*

Tyrulf remembered the many talks he had had with Melakra and smiled.

*I think that the conversations would be similar. It does seem like too big of a coincidence that a group like this is all here at the same time.*

Tyrulf surveyed the group before him as Nick talked of the gods. Although he really didn't know what each specialized in, he could tell that more than one of the group here could swing a weapon. He also thought that there was more magical talent than just his own meager powers. Nick said that Corellon could have steered this entire group to this spot at this time.

*Perhaps Boccob guided my path instead; perhaps he feels that there is need of my services with this woman and her two companions.*

Tyrulf pondered this as the young man asked his uncle if he could travel along on the adventure.

*Why not Boccob? Maybe he guides me here because the answers to my questions lie in the same direction. Maybe this quest serves him as well.*

After thinking about it, Tyrulf realized that Boccob had set his path in the same direction as at least three of those people. Tyrulf was not about to ignore urging from the God of Magic. When Nick asked if there were any more questions and looked about the room, Tyrulf decided to speak up right then.

"Well, it seems that there is more that brought me here than a load of ore and a tattoo. I begin to think that my being here is no coincidence, as you say," motioning toward Nick as he said that.

"Perhaps Boccob has deemed it necessary that my path should become one with these three crusaders. If you would have me, I would like to travel with you. I am Tyrulf Malgrim Tellsomro, a cleric of the Lord of All Magic, and I will do my best to aid you," he said, bowing as he did and looking at the lady Afyanna who was waiting for a reply.

- MJA (Tyrulf)

PBEM Orlantia:

Afyanna stepped away from the wall where she had been leaning.

"It seems then He has once again set the path before me." She looked to the three who had spoken up. "And He has arranged, or at least allowed for three fine men to aid me in this quest to set right what has befallen His lands to the west."

Afyanna looked to Mystir and Valin. "I would not deign to speak for Him, but I now doubt that coincidence has played as much a role in our all arriving together as I once did. Either, or both of you would be welcome to join us."

"I suspect that we must set out at once for Wrath." She paused a moment. "What say you to leaving the morning after next? It would give us time to gather up any last minute articles, wrap up any business we may have, and prepare ourselves for the journey ahead."

Afyanna turned her attention back to the young sage. "Sage Shereef, would you happen to know of a local temple nearby? I would still like to inquire as to any other strange deaths or sicknesses in the area. That poor man in the snow that Sefarlain found still troubles me."

"Oh," Afyanna chuckled, "one more thing I must ask. How far away is Wrath and . . . how do we get there?" Afyanna flashed a broad smile as the levity of such mundane details washed into her grand quest of her God.

- Rick (Afyanna)

PBEM Orlantia: 110 Miles.

"How far? How far?" Nick said out loud, but he was clearly asking himself the question. "Well, let's see. All incidental knowledge is, of course, already paid for and included in the initial cost, provided you ask today, so that falls under that heading," he mused openly as he reached for a scroll along his desk.

Unfurling the map, he muttered to all, though he looked directly at Afyanna. "Come and have a look, young adventurers."

Adventurers? Was that now their official designation? Had they finally joined those lofty ranks of those whose exploits were most fit for bardic tales? It hardly seemed like it. Not yet. But maybe they were about to step into those very proving grounds.

"Ah yes, though it is not on the map, you can see the area here, in and around Horseshoe Lake. You see it?" Then he measured the distance as the crow flies and compared it to the map's scale.

"Seems to be roughly 110 miles or more to the lake, and those three provinces were all bordering that lake, weren't they, uncle?"

Fess nodded. "I believe so. All three parishes actually touched the same lake. They shared it," the elder sage added.

"And but 70 miles beyond that . . ." Nick's finger traced a direct path, "Dark Wood. It's an infamous place, rife with reports of numerous foul creatures inhabiting it, as well as many secret entrances into the Underdark. The drow are said to sometimes emerge from some of these entrances for various nefarious reasons. Most decent people avoid this forest. Unless you have great need to do otherwise, I suggest you stay clear of them as well. At least for now," the sage added, probably as a comment of what he felt a rookie group was capable of handling.

"Now let me see," he again pondered. "Yes, I can tell you the locations of various temples in Tarren, but so could a decent coachman. Alas, there is no temple of Corellon Larethian here. Besides, if this is a recent occurrence, well . . . " he seemed to think for a moment, "given the brutal winter this year . . . " he seemed to think some more, "I highly doubt any news of recent events has made it from there to here yet. Maybe give it a few scepters and they'll speak of nothing else. But now? I think you'd be trying to draw water from a dry well. Just my opinion, of course."

But then he named a few nearby temples anyway, any of which Afyanna might decide to look into later.

"Were there any more questions?" Nick once again asked. "Other than those concerning Afyanna's quest," he added, probably looking for more fees.

- JimGM.