PBEM Orlantia

The Story So Far
Chapter 006

PBEM Orlantia: Preparations.

The shuffling of feet while they all looked at one another was all that broke the silence that filled the sage's quarters after his last question. Apparently, at least for now, they had asked all the questions of the sage for which they were willing to pay.

"Very well," Nick said. "Then I think it best you pursue your quests, hopefully now better armed with the knowledge you'll need to succeed in your endeavors. If you ever need more information, perhaps you'll look me up again sometime. I know I can always use the business," he smiled.

Skylar grabbed a tray and began collecting glasses, empty or not. Fess sat on his end of the couch and smiled silently to himself, picking up the book he had brought with him he said he had not quite been able to read, and had since tucked away in the nook of the cushion. Nick shook Afyanna's hand and a few others as they all rose and made their way to the door.

"Thanks, yes, thank you too, thanks, good luck," and similar exchanges flew back and forth. Then the reminder it was indeed still winter stood before them. They all found themselves outside in the plaza square overlooking the tower works that was awash in the brilliant white glare from the sun kissed snow that covered much of the scenery and reflected off the white marble structure.

It was cold out, yes, but warmer than it had been in days, and getting warmer all the time.

The noon sun had sunk 3 hours deeper toward the horizon since they had entered, so there were still several hours of good light left before night's shadows would creep forth.

"I guess I'll meet you all back at the Copper Keg later tonight," Afyanna said. "I've a few things to check out on my own first. And then maybe I can gather a few provisions for the trail. It looks like we'll be walking and camping for near a week, and in weather not exactly all that balmy, so I'll need some heavier blankets and the like. We'll take all day tomorrow to finish getting ready, but on the following day, I'm going to Wrath. I thank each of you that will accompany me."

The others nodded their heads in agreement to meet back at the Keg later, and probably to also indicate they had things to buy as well. They scattered into the city, some of them alone.

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Afyanna wanted to go to the nearest temple, and Nick had indicated the closest was for the god Uller, a god of hunting, archery, and of all things, winter itself. The other temples she discounted since she felt Nick had been right, and besides, they were quite a ways away. But this one, the temple of Uller, might have greater insight into what lay within the winter's depths.

Soon, she found herself outside His 'temple,' though it was clear to her when she saw it that it had once been more of a natural rock grotto that had since been roofed over. She would not have considered it much more than a shrine, herself, but it was being tended, she saw, by a young man in a leather cap and forest green robes.

As she approached him, Afy was assailed by a hint of burnt flesh, like over cooked meat. Around the young man's neck hung a silvery chain at the end of which was the figure of a great hound done in some black, glassy material - obsidian, perhaps.

Looking up from his cleaning of the stone altar before him, the young priest saw Afyanna enter the enclosure.

"Hello," was all he said, apparently waiting for the halfelf to make known her desires of Uller's servants.

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Sefarlain returned to Lake Street and began his search for a cobbler. It did not take long before he found what he desired. Entering the small corner shop, the ringing door chime announced his presence in the dim work area. Along both side walls were open crates filled with shoes and boots, not very well displayed. The only ones well displayed were in the front window, but they seemed well made and of good quality workmanship.

There was a wooden bench and a couple stools in the front there, but 90% of the rest of the shop was filled with equipment that Sef wasn't sure about. It seemed hard to believe all that was used in making footwear, but he was no cobbler, so what did he know?

An old man, hair white with age, small hammer in one hand and a black boot in the other, looked up and spoke out of the side of his mouth, the other occupied with tiny nails.

"Repair or new?"

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Valin wasn't sure what he wanted to do, aside from keeping his date with Felina later that evening. In the meantime, he thought he'd better go back to his temple in the castle and make sure his own gear was in order.

As the head of his so-called congregation, all the resources of the small chapel were at his disposal, and he knew there were provisions and mundane equipment and most anything he might need in the lower levels, but he never really gave it a good going over before since the need was small. Now, however, the time seemed ideal, so with lantern in hand he ventured into the darkness that was part of the castle's extensive dungeons.

Valin was surprised, even delighted, to find snow shoes, heavy boots - and they fit, too - 4 thick winter blankets, field cooking gear, oilskin back packs, flint and steel, 50 feet of silk rope - actual braided silk rope! - and other odds and ends all stored there. It was all well used and not exactly clean or free of stains, but it didn't smell and wasn't full of holes or anything. It had seen use, sure, but was properly maintained, though quite dusty. He could take whatever he needed for his own use, though he was expected to care for it and return it later, naturally, like any temple property.

A large iron tripod was there, with two chains that hung down from the apex. One was rather clean, though blackened from fire and attached to a medium metal cooking pot. The other was thick with burnt, black, what? Tar? Grease? Animal fat, maybe? At the end of that was a copper metal disk. Valin wasn't sure what that was for.

The priest also found three canvas tents. Two were small double man sized tents - about 10 pounds each - but one was huge and weighed 60 pounds all by itself. He doubted he could easily lift it by himself. It was not just heavy, but big and bulky, improperly rolled up like a large rug. If he would repack it, he figured he might get it down to a more manageable shape, but 60 pounds of canvas and poles and cords and pegs? He wasn't even sure he could set it up.

*Why is this here?* he wondered in vain. *It looks like it would hold a dozen people,* he mused as he gazed at the pavilion-sized shelter.

Carefully, he decided what he needed to take.

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Mystir wasn't sure what he'd need, but he knew he could probably find it on Lake Street somewhere, if he could afford it. Cosher still walked with him, probably wondering the same thing.

"What do you suppose we'll need to buy?" he asked the sea dwarf, almost wishing the dwarf had greater experience than he did in 'roughing' it. Truth be told, he had never camped in weather so cold before.

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Tyrulf still pretty much had everything he needed from before, and he had all day tomorrow if he thought of something else we wanted. So, for now, he went back to the Keg to get cleaned up and to ponder the information he had learned about his tattoo.

- JimGM.

PBEM Orlantia: An Audience with the Queen.

Valin gathered the items that he believed would aid him. Choosing the snow shoes, the heavy boots, one oilskin backpack, one thick winter blanket, the field cooking gear, the flint and steel, the 50 feet of silk rope, and one double man sized tent, he sat down on the floor and began to dust, clean, and repack the items for the journey ahead. As he cleaned the gear, his thoughts drifted to the adventure ahead and he shivered with excitement.

As soon as he finished cleaning and packing the gear, Valin realized that he hadn't told the others he would be accompanying them on the quest. *I suppose I know why,* he sighed to himself. *I haven't requested leave from the queen to do so . . . yet.*

Knowing that he needed to confront the queen soon, Valin hefted the backpack, laden with gear, up from the dungeon depths to his quarters. He took in a few deep breaths as he unloaded his burden beside his bed and then removed his new suit from the canvas bag that Felina had so delicately packed.

After cleaning himself up and changing into his suit, Valin set out to find Queen Bethany. He soon found the queen resting in one of the more comfortable rooms of the palace.

As he approached, he bowed respectfully and addressed her with as much charm as he could muster.

"Good afternoon, your majesty. I was wondering if I might speak with you a moment of a matter of importance that has come to my attention."

"Good afternoon, Valin," she replied. "What matter of importance have you brought to Our person?"

Valin thought for a moment of how to address this to the queen, and then thought the best way would be to explain everything. He began with meeting Tyrulf and Mystir and explained all that transpired at the Copper Keg through the strange meeting and details of Afyanna's quest with the sage and his uncle.

When he finished the story, he concluded with, "The words of the sage's uncle, your majesty, when he spoke of our 'chance' meeting being more than coincidence, sounded as if they were the words of Hermes himself directing me to help this holy warrior in her quest. And so, your majesty, I have come to ask Your leave to embark on this quest with them as I may be gone more than a scepter."

With that, Valin waited patiently as the queen considered her reply.

- Frank (Valin)

PBEM Orlantia: The Royal Decision.

Valin had thought getting by all those guards would have been the difficult part, but having passed the guards with ease and now standing before the queen awaiting her decision, it seemed he had guessed incorrectly.

"I'm not sure that's wise, or at least, not convenient to Our pleasure," Queen Bethany said after a moment's thought. "We would be without divine guidance should We need it. And if Hermes did 'arrange' this, why should he not summon one of His Holy Warriors instead?"

Valin didn't really have a reply to that at first, but thinking quickly, he contrived one.

"Our Lord's interest may only be perfunctory and in deference to Corellon Larethian's needs. That is, who knows what favors the gods may exchange with one another? I did not mean to suggest this was perhaps a holy quest of Our Lord's, but only that He may be served, as may all of good spirit, as may the kingdom of Tarren itself, should this evil be ferreted out to hinder our aims no more."

He held his breath for her response, but he was genuinely pleased with what he had said. What's more, it could very well be an accurate depiction of what was really happening heavenward. And did not all evil need to be challenged?

"Hmm, very well. If you feel Our Lord 'and' Kingdom may be served, I guess We may endure the displeasure of the inconvenience of the absence of Our priest and Our ceremony - this one time," she added, making it clear she did not wish this to become a habit.

Valin knew it might become a habit, in fact, if he enjoyed fieldwork. He might even request detached field duty, but a replacement would have to be found first. Regardless, such considerations could wait. For now, he had his leave to possibly take longer than 20 days.

"Your decision is much appreciated, your Majesty. Thank you."

Looking at her new priest, the queen was probably wondering if she'd regret her decision, but she didn't say anything other than, "You have Our leave to depart. Good luck, and fair well, in His name."

Valin was halfway down the hall before he remembered to breathe again.

- JimGM.

PBEM Orlantia:

Cosher stood on the corner of Lake Street and Willow, absently patting his money pouch in anticipation of parting company with the odd gold or silver piece.

*It's no often Ah like handing these wee coins over unless there's a big jug o' ale being handed back to meself. Mind you, the last time Ah checked, me wee flask of Bal-Linaghmore's finest malt whisky was running a bit low. Ah could do with finding someone around here who stocks some o' the finer brands o' the world's whiskies.*

He glanced up at his new companion. The tall halfelf by the name of Mystir had said very little up to now - in fact, the two had exchanged very little words all day. Apart from Tyrulf, the other dwarf in the party, he'd hardly had a chance to really speak to anyone besides Sef and Afyanna. Now, whilst the rest were busying themselves for the remainder of the afternoon, Cosher found himself on Lake Street with a shopping list and a halfelf wizard who was a camping virgin!

Cosher produced his list - nothing more than a scrap with a few camping items scrawled on it - and handed it over to Mystir.

"Now me young wizard pal," began Cosher, jovially patting Mystir on the back, "Ah've only had a couple o' attempts at this campin' lark meself, but Ah've got a fair idea what we need for the next couple o' weeks. Now, Ah've got meself a bedroll an' a heavy blanket, but Ah reckon we could each do with a couple o' those winter blankets, a good warm tent, and o' course plenty o' provisions."

At this Cosher winked, and Mystir suspected that the sea dwarf had a mind to stock up on something a bit more potent than traveling rations!

"Right," said Cosher starting off down the street. "We've no got long here tae get all this stuff in! Lets snap to it before all the stores close."

Cosher stopped and turned back to Mystir. "Besides, that old rat catcher back there recommended a cozy little tavern just off Lake Street. That'll give you an' me a chance to learn a bit more about each other. Of course, the drink's got nothin' tae do with it - Ah don't want you lot gettin' the wrong impression about Willie-John McLean!"

- Johnny (Cosher)

PBEM Orlantia:

Mystir glanced up at the late day sun while the sound of crunching snow and the halfelf's staff striking stone echoed through the street. As the visual manifestation of dwarf's words diffused into the air, Mystir spoke to the man for the first time.

"Well mister McLean."

*That is what he said his name was, I think.*

"I need a few of those items as well."

*Yes,* he thought to himself, *a nice winter blanket will definitely be needed.*

A light wind sent chilled air under his cloak and up his thin frame. Mystir tugged on his cloak and reconsidered, *Maybe two,* he added to himself. *Yes, two, and a bedroll.*

He then pointed down the snow-covered street.

"I believe there is a general store down that way. We should be able to get most of the supplies there." He paused for a moment. "We can stop by a tavern. I could use some warm tea. I need to stop by some stables as well. I'm out of horse hair," he explained his reasoning.

Mystir rounded the corner and stopped. "Ah yes, there it is." He walked over and opened the door he recognized as the Keg's, allowing the dwarf to enter first.

- Kevin (Mystir)

PBEM Orlantia:

Afyanna bowed her head in a gesture of respect before she spoke.

"Good afternoon," she said, her breath misting in the chilly air. "The recent weather is truly a fine example of Uller's grandeur."

"Truly," was all that he said.

"Might I have a word with you, or if you are too busy, perhaps another?"

As she passed a donation box, Afyanna reached into her coin purse and withdrew a silver piece and let it drop into the slot. She heard it hit the bottom without hitting any other coins. Afyanna knew she had purchases yet to make, but she had also worked in a temple before and knew the value of donations. The harsher the climate, the more donations would be needed. The early snows and continued cold of this year would make it one of the harder ones of recent memory. Besides, with her upcoming journey, the blessing of a God of Winter would be most welcome.

"I seek news of recent events. More so news of anything unusual of late."

The priest just looked at her, waiting for her to continue.

"I am about to leave on a quest for The Creator of the Elves, and there is a small chance that a discovery an associate of mine made might be related. A small chance to be sure, but I would be doing a disservice to Corellon Larethian if I failed to investigate."

"What is this discovery?" he asked.

Afyanna took a deep breath before she spoke. "He discovered an unfortunate soul who lay dead in the snow. The way he described the scene, it was unlike anything he had seen before." Afyanna continued to describe all that Sefarlain had told her and the others concerning the corpse, the surroundings, and the sense he got of it being unnatural.

The priest's brows furrowed as he listened to Afyanna's tale. His expression, though, could easily be from hearing it the first time, or from recognition. She could not be sure.

"Have you heard of anything like this before? Or have others gone missing?"

- Rick (Afyanna)

PBEM Orlantia: Winter's Insult.

Uller's servant quietly wondered what the halfelf was expecting from him. He had received no supernatural information lately, and had heard nothing about unusual recent events further west that fit her horror-filled descriptions. Whatever it might be, it hadn't concerned Uller enough to give hint or notice or portent to him.

"It sounds horrific, whatever it is. But I'm sorry - indeed, very sorry I could not give you any aid or comfort for your quest. This winter has indeed brought most normal activities to a standstill. And it's not over yet."

"Not over?" Afy asked, wondering what he meant. It was getting warmer all the time, after all.

"Indeed, it is not over. Though hard to predict for most, He knows, and so do I. This warm spell may suggest spring is nigh, and it will fool many into coming out of their winter's bed, but they will be throttled one more time, indeed, at least one more time. He has said it. Sorry, indeed, but I cannot be more precise. It may be tomorrow, or it may be weeks from now before the foretold cold snap returns, but it WILL come once more, and before the High Holy Day is once again upon us."

"Do you think we should delay our trip?"

"Sadly, I cannot say, for your quest sounds urgent. If it were otherwise, indeed, I would advise you delay your quest until after the beginning of the year. Can you not wait a mere 40 more days?"

Afyanna seriously didn't think it could wait. 21 days on a ship already, two more days to get ready, and still she didn't know what horror the people of Wrath were enduring.

'A calamity has befallen the innocent. They are paying with their blood, child. How long must they pay? How long can they endure? Go, my child,' she recalled part of her vision that had suggested urgency. At each turn, the vision became clearer in its meaning, at least concerning where and when, if not yet what or why. They had to go as soon as possible.

In fact, she now began to wonder at the wisdom of waiting the whole day tomorrow, but finally she reassured herself that day of rest was necessary. She was physically weary from the sea journey, and a single day's repast in a soft bed and with a few hot meals and the warm embrace of indoor living would do wonders, making it possible for her to travel that much further and faster the day after. But no more time than that could she afford to dawdle.

"I thank you for your kindness and your information," she told Uller's servant.

Leave it to a god of winter to know when its ire was spent. She blessed the day she decided to come to this temple, but then bade the cleric well as she departed.

A few hours later, now laden with a blanket and a few new items she had acquired from a small shop she found along the way before Lake Street, Afy spied the door of her temporary home, the Copper Keg.

- JimGM.

PBEM Orlantia: The Cobbler

"Repair or new?" the old man questioned, the nails in his mouth remaining steadfastly in place. The skill with which John Dalgleish achieved this was a good indication of his proficiency and skill, acquired through years of hard work.

*Not that the townspeople knew a good boot when it kicked them in the face!* he had thought in occasionally less charitable moments. Still, the winter had done wonders for his trade. Five repairs a day on average this past scepter! And maybe some more today, too! If the truth were told, he was quite sorry to see the thaw.

"I was hoping you could help me with a little inquiry, sir," said the elf. "I can pay but a little for your trouble, I'm afraid. The boots that I wear are the only clue to a terrible tale."

Sefarlain began to regale the old cobbler with the story of the body on the ridge, giving every detail of the gruesome story. The cobbler's jaw fell inch by inch as the tale progressed. Finally the story ended. A lone nail remained in the mouth of the old man; it fell finally from his lips as he stood gaping.

"So have you any idea where these boots were made or who their owner may be?" Sefarlain asked.

- Justin (Sefarlain)

PBEM Orlantia: The Circle of Jason Brixley.

John Dalgleish was old and had heard many strange things over his life, but the tale recounted to him by Sefarlain was horrible. Besides, it struck a nerve close to home. For whoever the victim had been, John knew that he knew him. Those boots were from his shop - he had made them himself. He was just one step away, perhaps, from having been the victim himself - he felt that close to the tragedy.

"Yes, they do look like my work. And yes, if you give them to me, I think I can tell you who that man was. You see . . ." he paused now, taking a moment to wipe away a flood of perspiration on his forehead the horrific tale had put there that physical labor itself had not, "I keep the wooden patterns of each man's sole. I cut them from a thin veneer of wood and then lacquer them against the elements so they hold their true shape. They're over here," he almost whispered, drawing closer and closer to learning who had died and dreading the moment of realization when the identity of the man, a good customer, perhaps a close friend, would be revealed.

He took a key from around his neck and opened a locked chest that itself looked waterproof. Sef could see that inside lay hundreds of parchment thin, wooden patterns. They all looked remarkably similar to him, but he knew from experience each one bore subtle differences.

Indeed, under ideal conditions, Sef could track a specific man through a crowd of footprints by following some barely perceptible identifying mark on their sole. Then he noticed the patterns also had markings on them - notes of some kind, numbers, names and measurements - all beneath the lacquer.

One by one, John matched the boots to the patterns from a certain stack of patterns. Sef guessed all patterns in that stack were roughly the same size. Even his own patterns, if he had some made, would end up in that stack. The boots did fit rather well, after all. Not perfect, but then Sef couldn't recall ever having perfectly fitted boots, so he had lived with the erroneous though natural conclusion that all boots were like that, or even worse. And he had had worse, certainly, but had never had better.

"Oh . . ." gasped the old man, standing there, staring, a pattern in hand that unlike the others he had not immediately discarded. This one matched the sole of the right boot perfectly. The left pattern of the pair was then held to the left boot. "Oh no . . ." whispered John when the fit was also perfect. A saddened look came over his face as he sat back, almost falling back into a chair.

"Not Jason Brixley."

"A friend?" Sef asked.

"Yes, sort of. Well, a character of sorts. He's well known and liked in these parts. A trapper. I even do business with him. Did. . business. . with. . him," John said slowly, as the past tense of the man's life began to take hold in his mind.

"He had no family - not since he was a boy. But he had many friends - many friends. Look, sir, it may not be my place to tell you this, but pray do not tell the townsfolk whose boots you wear. They may think you ghoulish, or perhaps just a common thief. Some may even suspect you murdered Jason for his boots. I understand, of course, that good boots are not to be thrown away. Actually, I think Jason would have wanted you to have them. How do they fit?" John curiously asked the ranger.

"Fine. Best pair I ever had on my feet," Sef admitted, though John looked suspicious.

"Well, let's see," he said. "Step on this." John laid down a long, foot-wide strip of veneer thin wood, some preexisting sole shaped holes on the end revealing its obvious purpose. Sef had been barefoot for a spell now, so he just complied and stepped on the wood.

John worked furiously tracing the outline and making notes of some sort or another, and Sef wondered what had happened to the man's grief, but then it dawned on him that John dealt with it through work. He was just taking his mind off it.

"Finished," he said. "And it's close, but not quite a match to Jason's. Let me adjust those for you. They are Dalgleish boots, no less, and all Dalgleish boots fit perfectly, or not at all," a flat measure of pride filled his voice, though Sef discerned an undertone of sadness that went with it.

A few stitches were taken out, tools inserted, leather stretched and re-stitched, and then some dark liquid was brushed on the inside of each boot on top of the new stitching. John quickly recapped the jar of liquid.

"This stuff is marvelous, but it dries so quickly. An open jar is a spoiled jar," he laughed, though the mirth seemed almost forced out of his lungs. "The stitching itself could do the job, but this is that extra barrier. And where it touches leather, it repels moisture, but its inner skin passes moisture though it, you see, so it breathes."

Sef never knew there was so much to boots.

"Try them on now."

Placing them back on his feet, Sef was no longer comfortably satisfied with their fit. Instead, he was barely aware he was even wearing boots at all! They had fit quite well, but now they fit perfectly. He could tell he was wearing them, but only if he thought about it, since nothing - no ill fitting stitch or slightly tight toe, no strap, no nail, nothing - called attention to the boots. He could quite easily forget he was wearing them, even at night.

As if in answer to his thoughts, John reminded him, "Be sure to let them dry out each night. Properly dried each night, properly cared for, these should last you for a few years. They . . ." John sat back again, a nauseating reminder he had said the same thing not long ago to Jason Brixley. He had been wrong.

"What's your name," John asked, chalk mark in hand and ready to include that vital information on Sef's patterns. "After all, I may have to identify you someday," he giggled nervously, but Sef could tell the man meant no disrespect. He was just overwhelmed that death had come so close to his own doorstep.

Again Sef pondered the short lives of humans. This man was old, very close to his time, and now he seemed to know this with greater certainty each passing day and to fear death more than ever. Human children were not like that. They thought themselves as enduring as elves. Then, for the first time, Sef wondered how he'd feel if his life was so short. At 134, had already lived far longer than most humans ever would, and he was not tired of life. He wondered.

"Sefarlain Anluvior," he finally replied. "Thank you, sir. You have been most kind, and very helpful. What do I owe you?" Sef asked, trying to give John something new to think about.

"Eh?" the elderly cobbler asked, almost as if he had been insulted. Then a moment's reflection. passed "Oh, yes. I repair or adjust all my boots for free for three scepters, and they are . . . well . . . You ARE a new customer. I tell you what. You just buy your next pair of boots from me, maybe even tell your friends about my shop, and we'll call it even. OK?"

"OK," Sef gladly agreed. With boots as good as these, he would have come several hundred miles already anyway. If he had the money, he would have commissioned a new pair right then, but he couldn't afford that.

Gathering his things, Sef thanked John one more time before departing. During that brief moment he had thought to ask where Jason Brixley's camp or cabin had been, but he thought better of it. Going there to rummage around for other valuables might indeed seem very thoughtless and ghoulish. He felt himself lucky John hadn't asked about the body, perhaps assuming Sef had done the 'right' thing.

Unfortunately, the right thing was often different in each man's eyes. Sef had left Jason Brixley's body there in the snow. He had had no choice. Even if he had, giving oneself over to nature was a good and natural way to go, and with many starving animals this winter, Jason Brixley would finally give back what he could to nature for what he had taken those many years as a trapper. The circle was complete.

- JimGM.

PBEM Orlantia: Last Minute Purchases

Afyanna stepped through the doors of the Copper Keg and stopped for a moment to wipe her feet. As she did so, she peered around the familiar room and spied her companions at 'their' table near the back corner. She offered a small smile of recognition when she, too, was spotted, and then made her way over.

"Hello again," she said to those gathered.

"Welcome back," Sefarlain said.

"What do you have there?" asked Mystir, watching the young halfelf plop her packages down on an empty wooden chair.

Afyanna began speaking as she hung her cloak over the chair.

"I went over to the temple of Uller like the sage mentioned. You know, to ask about your corpse." She spoke to Sefarlain, who seemed a little shaken up from the mention of the body he had found. "Anyway, the priest there didn't have anything to offer on it."

The two men exchanged glances that could only mean 'And this is relevant how?'

"But it was a good thing I went though!"

Both turned their attention back to the holy warrior.

"The priest said that this warming trend wouldn't last. In fact we are due for a nasty cold snap any time now. He said it would definitely be before the High Holy Day." She paused to unwrap the papers from around her purchases. "So I stopped by the store and bought what I could in the way of cold weather gear." Afyanna held each article to inspect it better.

*It's always after you get something home that you noticed the flaws.* Thankfully she didn't find any.

Afyanna let out a short breath. "I couldn't get much, but I hope it's enough to get me through whatever is coming before spring truly arrives."

- Rick (Afyanna)

PBEM Orlantia: The Gathering

With the information the old cobbler had given him fresh in his mind, Sefarlain made his way back to the Copper Keg. Although the identity of the man on the ridge hadn't given the elf any further clues about what awaited him in Wrath, Sefarlain at least knew why the trapper had been out in such weather. But as to what caused his horrible demise, he didn't want to dwell on that for too long.

By the time he returned to the inn, the light was already beginning to fail. In the dim light, the Keg looked particularly welcoming as he rounded the corner of the street. Sefarlain entered and climbed the three flights of stairs to his room slowly. He took a little time to look around him as he climbed, noticing the opulent decor for the first time. The first flight of stairs was well proportioned with paintings of the lake and the surrounding area adorning the walls. Their quality was unmistakable, capturing the sunsets for which the area was renowned. A soft flicker from numerous lamps lit the dark landing, from which several corridors ran away into the distance. His feet made barely a whisper on the rugs as he climbed.

*The decoration and furnishings are clearly a reflection of the prosperity of The Keg,* he mused.

By the time the elf reached the top floor, things had become a lot more basic. A single candle balanced on a low table showed the entrance to the dormitory. The door frame barely stood out in the gloom, leading into a long low dormitory. Gentle snores told him the many of the tiny rooms were occupied. He entered his own carefully in the dark, found his bed and slumped onto the mattress.

Sefarlain found himself speculating about what awaited him in Wrath. The sage had provided them with a starting point but little more than that. Their quest seemed to raise more questions than answers. But Sefarlain was prepared to be patient, one of the many assets of an elf. In a life spanning centuries, one could afford to be patient. Besides, he wasn't about to start questioning the ways of the Gods.

He stared around his Spartan surroundings until the candle spluttered and died, but the light from the stars was enough for him to see even without it. In the semidarkness, the dormitory room took on a more comfortable appearance and Sefarlain began to relax. It was certainly a more exclusive home than a cave.

*The candle! The others!* Sefarlain had let time slip by without realizing he was due to meet with the others in The Keg. He grabbed his pack and ran down the stairs to the ground floor, thanking himself not for the first time for his training. At least his pack was ready!

Many of the group were already seated around a low table as Sefarlain ran into the main room. He sat on a low stool next to the others and was just catching his breath when Afyanna entered with a series of packages under her arm.

The news about the weather was not welcome, if not unexpected either.

"I think I may need to get some provisions tonight," said the elf. "Now that I am without Lefty's pelt, I may need some extra warmth. My cloak is thick, but this shirt is too light for such weather. A ranger I may be, but my skin is no thicker than yours!"

He remembered the long winter nights in the cave. At least the rest of his kit had stood up well, but some extra clothing was a must. A few goat-wool shirts would do just the trick.

He left the Keg, following the directions from Afyanna, and returned with his own packages half an hour later.

"Well!" he said, "looks like I'm ready!"

- Justin (Sefarlain)

PBEM Orlantia:

After the ranger left the Copper Keg, Mystir paused for a moment. Taking a quick look at Afyanna's purchases, the halfelf recalled a shopping list of his own.

*I'll have to get a little more than just a blanket or two,* he thought to himself. *And I could use some new garments.*

"Another storm you say?" he asked. The wizard didn't wait for a response before continuing. "Yes, some warm clothing will be necessary. We are leaving the day after next, correct?" Again he continued without an answer. "Perhaps I shall get some of my own tomorrow. Yes, tomorrow," he nodded to himself.

The young man paused a moment more, then rose from his chair. "If you will excuse me, I must see to something before I turn in for the evening." He gently nodded to the lady, turned, and headed to the door.

Once outside, Mystir wrapped his thin cloak around his body.

*Yes a nice warm cloak would be nice.* He stepped around the inn towards the stables. A few moments later he approached the gate. *I wonder if anyone is tending to the horses.* The halfelf paused at the gate, trying to discern if anyone was indeed within. *I really don't want to just be wandering about the stables.*

After a moment, Mystir knocked on the weathered wood and called out, "Hello? Anybody in there?"

- Kevin (Mystir)

PBEM Orlantia: Slainte!

Now back in the warmth of the common room at the Copper Keg, Cosher once again enjoyed a steaming mug of the landlord's best ale. He commented to himself on how the quality of the Keg's fare was so much better than that on offer at the seedy little tavern he and Mystir had visited earlier in the day.

Indeed, although that part of their venture down Lake Street had not been so pleasant - he had cursed himself at following the advice of some shifty-looking catcher of vermin on the street - the rest of the trip had passed off with much success. Cosher was more than happy with his purchases, and in fact thought he looked quite dashing in the heavy wool coat he had picked up. And what with a couple of heavy blankets, a tent, and the now obligatory Bal-Linaghmore whisky, he felt more than ready to set out into the frozen wastes and tackle whatever was thrown at him!

Cosher removed his tin whistle and absently started fingering it - a sure sign that he was excited! Or was it nerves? Maybe he wasn't as confident about all this as he would like people to believe. He was after all, a novice in this adventuring game, and had yet to prove himself capable of succeeding in it.

*Do they think that?* Cosher was turning the tin whistle in and out of his fingers. *Do Afyanna an' Sef really think me capable o' helping them? Ah bet they think Cosher McLean is all mooth an' no up tae the job!*

Cosher rubbed the back of his hand across his forehead. *Ah Cosher, you eejit! O' course they don't think that! Why should they? You're just being paranoid agin. In fact, Ah reckon they're probably all nervous, possibly even thinking the same things!*

The young sea dwarf looked across the table to where Sef sat, and offered a reassuring smile to the ranger. With his now familiar cheeky grin, Cosher regained his air of unflappable confidence, and hoisting up his tankard of frothing ale he offered a salute to his new companion.

"Slainte!" said Cosher, quoting the Fiadharainn expression that was uttered before taking a drink with a friend. Sefarlain responded in like with his own drink, repeating one of the few Fiadharainn expressions he had picked up from the dwarf in the short space of time they had been acquainted.

Turning to the rest of the companions at the table, Cosher offered another salute as he raised his tankard once again.

"Slainte, everyone. Ah think you'll find one Willie-John McLean ready and raring to go. Now shall we all raise our glasses one more time, and drink a wee toast to a successful trip? Here's to us all!"

- Johnny (Cosher)

PBEM Orlantia: Contemplation

Tyrulf sat at the Keg mulling over what he had learned about his past.

*All this time I could have been putting myself in danger by showing my tattoo.*

He looked around the bar shaking his head slightly at the thought. The upcoming journey also weighed heavily on his mind. As the night went on, several of his fellow adventurers appeared and sat at the table with him. Sometimes Tyrulf got the feeling that they looked at him strangely.

*Perhaps they fear my past may put them at peril.*

Shaking his head again, he reprimanded himself for being stupid.

*They are just as nervous as I am. I don't think that they have any more experience at this. I can only offer my best effort, as will they.*

After a short time the entire group had finally arrived. Cosher piped up, offering a toast to Sef and then to all the rest of the group. Tyrulf returned in kind. Afterwards Tyrulf thought of what he would have to shop for the following day. After the Lady Afyanna's warning of the cold weather returning, he decided that he should buy clothes that were a little warmer.

*Perhaps I should buy a mule. If I have to carry all my gear, I will surely slow the group down.*

After the group started to disperse, Tyrulf retired to his room.

-MJA (Tyrulf)

PBEM Orlantia: The Road From Breakfast.

"Who's that?" came a strong voice from the stables in response to Mystir's question.

A young man in his early twenties appeared in the entryway, looking to see who had called.

Ten minutes later, Mystir was heading back to the Copper Keg. The stable hand had been most helpful, and obtaining horsehair had been easier than he thought. Grooming brushes were literally filthy with the stuff, so obtaining a sample or two was simplicity itself. And the stable hand only seemed mildly interested at best since Mystir hadn't really wished any professional services, but simply said he needed it for a magic spell. In fact, after he had said that, the stable hand seemed quite reluctant to interfere with Mystir's errand in any way - probably thinking it better not to do anything 'questionable' that might delay a user of magic. Who needed that kind of trouble, after all?

While there, Mystir had seen some fine horses - noble beasts - and even a few mules for sale. He had asked about their prices, but had made it clear he was just 'looking.'

Upon his return the Copper Keg, the young halfelf, horsehair now in hand, discovered Valin and the others had returned. Everyone was there. Most had new items or clothing or equipment they were examining.

When Valin saw Mystir had returned, and repeated what he had been saying. "I was just telling everybody that there are a few items of interests at my chapel that maybe we could 'borrow,' if you guys couldn't get all you needed."

The cleric of Hermes listed the things he had found as everyone listened. A few agreed some of the equipment might be in order, so everyone decided what they wanted and asked Valin to bring it along tomorrow. Agreeing to do so, he left to get ready for his date with Felina.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The next morning brought another warm and sunny day, and the streets of Tarren were filled with people and animals that were emerging from their winter dens to venture into the sunny embrace of the coming spring.

'Spring's earlier this year,' many would say. 'About as early as winter came, so it even outs,' many others would reply.

It did seem true that winter had hit two scepters earlier than normal, and now with two scepters before the beginning of the year, it only seemed 'just' the gods should return that stolen time with an early spring.

Afyanna mentioned to a few in the Keg, particularly the barkeep Jasper, that she had heard a fierce cold snap was still coming. But she soon gave up telling everyone that when she casually heard their conversations about an early spring. To do otherwise would have been a full-time job and still wouldn't reach the majority of people anyway. Besides, few would have ventured far from their front doors by then anyway.

*Trust in Jasper to spread the word, the leave them to their own devices,* she felt, assuming it was the best she could reasonably do under the circumstances. *Look first to keep your own house in order,* her thoughts followed.

All her would-be traveling companions on her coming quest had been warned about the danger, and all seemed to have geared up for the winter. Her house was in order. And Valin's promise of more gear seemed, well . . . promising. All was in readiness, except for one thing - rest, relaxation, and the badly needed repast in warm quarters, with good food and drink and no day's labor to ruin it. Tomorrow would come soon enough.

And the day did pass, slowly, comfortably, like a small holiday and one long, quiet party where none of them were hosts or servants, but welcomed guests. They lounged around the Copper Keg, took walks, ate, talked, napped, slept, finalized their preparations, and planned to turn in early so in the morning they would be fresh and ready to go.

Valin dropped by about noon with lots of equipment - even more than requested - so they cleaned and packed what they wanted, and he planned to return the rest later.

Before they chose from Valin's equipment, Sefarlain took that opportunity to warn them all against carrying too much junk. Sefarlain's ranger-philosophy clearly shown through.

'Never own - or carry - more than you need. Indeed, never own more than you can carry,' pretty much summed it up.

Horses and wagons were too expensive, they knew, and even pack animals were decided against, though some were still toying with the idea of pooling their money to buy a single mule they could all use for the journey. It might carry 250 pounds or more and still not be overly burdened at all. Food, water, maybe that huge pavilion Valin had, and who knows what else? And if it were lost, it was only 8 GP, and they probably could carry the equipment if they distributed it, or if bad came to worse, abandon it for a time and maybe pick it up later when they returned. In the interim, it would lift a heavy burden from their backs, so it might be worth it.

However, only 8 GP? Only? That was still a lot of money. And many felt Sef might be right, and worried a cold snap could leave the mule in danger of freezing. Ultimately, they decided to play it safe and just carry what they could and rely on their own strength and mobility for now. Anyone who wanted a mule would have to buy it in their own and take their own chances with it.

About mid afternoon, they agreed to break up again for each had their own preparations or final chores to accomplish before the morrow, but all agreed to meet back at the Keg at dawn.

- JimGM

PBEM Orlantia: Before The Long Winding Road

The next day Tyrulf had gone out and done his shopping early. A few extra winter clothes, good boots, some bolts and a mule took up the whole morning. After returning to the Keg, Tyrulf had spent the day thinking about what the sages had said.

He had slept restlessly that night before he had awakened early the day of departure. He had checked his gear and went down for breakfast with his new companions, and during the meal he had spoken up.

"I want to let you all know that I have purchased a mule and anyone who wishes to have it carry something is more than welcome."

- MJA (Tyrulf)

PBEM Orlantia: Morning's Departure

Their last evening at the Keg was quiet, warm, and uneventful. Most were staying there, but others, like Valin, had to return at dawn, so he had gotten up even earlier.

For a small bribe of 2 EP, one of the cooks at the Keg agreed to make breakfast for the party a few hours ahead of the normally scheduled meal so they could get a good start.

The price of breakfast had been included in the cost for yesterday's room - as was normal for this inn's operation. Noontime and evening meals, however, were to be paid for as you took them, along with any drinks at the bar. The 2 EP simply adjusted breakfast time forward for them. Even Valin arrived in time to partake of it, though he coughed up a single EP for the privilege since he had no room at the tavern.

And the meal was good - actually, better than the others. The cook seemed intent on doing her best and perhaps impressing 'important' customers.

The meal consisted of several choices, including a flavorful cinnamon oatmeal - its hot vapor rolling off its surface promising inner warmth when consumed - fried sausages and potato patties, scrambled eggs, and shortcakes with a strawberry like syrup or honey. You could have any two of those main dishes. Side dishes included toasted bread and butter, biscuits, milk, and apple juice, plus dates, raisins, apples, or a slice of yesterday's cherry pie.

Half an hour past dawn, breakfast over, and their rooms released for new customers, and with their belongings in tow, they found themselves outside and walking along Lake Street. If anyone wanted anything else in Tarren, this was their last chance.

- JimGM.

PBEM Orlantia: And So They Went.

Six 'adventurers' walked out of Tarren that morning. They were untried and untested, and worse, they barely knew each other. But they had one common bond - yes, at least one. This 'holy' quest given to Afyanna had become common to them all - for the time being.

What was it? What were they really up against? Not one of them knew. They only headed out of Tarren and followed the northern shore of SunSet Lake, knowing whatever it was, it lay ahead.

The road along the lake was exceptional and well cleared of bandits. Too much commerce traveled that route for the king to allow otherwise. And the king's law decreed bandits caught in the act of robbery on or within 100 yards of one of his 'highways' would suffer death. No flimsy penalty there.

Of course it did have the unfortunate effect of suggesting to the bandits that robbery a goodly distance away from the king's highways was somehow acceptable. Though that wasn't true, the death penalty wasn't so readily applied, and most bandits simply felt fine about setting up their ambushes the proper distance away from any 'highway,' in accordance to the king's 'law.' Most, but not all.

Hamlet after hamlet passed in that first day's journey, and still they had not reached the lake's end. Sometime around late afternoon, the king's highway fell away from the shoreline and continued due west. But they wanted to move south, toward Wrath.

Asking passersby along the way - the merchants and fishermen and shopkeepers of the tiny hamlets that dotted the shore of the great lake - all agreed from what they learned it would be best to follow the trails along the shore, then to follow the Elowin River, after the lake ended, for two more days to the small village of Fecklar.

Fecklar, they had been told, had gained prominence and prospered amongst the tiny hamlets due to its location on the Elowin River. Indeed, Fecklar was not a hamlet, but a village. It was situated just at the closest position one could get to another river, the Toreador, one day's journey to the southwest. This had been important, once upon a time - lo those few centuries back - when ships had to be hoisted out of the Elowin and carted overland on wagons, only to be deposited into the Toreador a day later. It was a considerable savings in time and effort, despite the hardship of the overland trek - perhaps with more than a week shaved off their run. Even centuries ago, apparently, time was money.

Naturally, two villages arose at these adjacent points of overland passage - Fecklar on the Elowin, and Hooktar on the Toreador.

True enough, their agreed upon route was longer than the 110 miles to Wrath as the crow flies, but far shorter in time, given the deep drifts of snow that no doubt still lay resting on the forest's floor. And worse than that might delay their trip in the deep forest, cut off from any immediate signs of civilization. Creatures dark and foul, embolden by the absence of civilization's taming hand, might accost them, and with nary a soul to find them should they become lost or injured.

And so they followed the recommendations of the locals. Why not? They had no reason not to.

"That pair of travelers in the Copper Keg mentioned Fecklar, come to think of it," offered Mystir. "Something about rumors of missing people," he said, recalling what the card playing pair had gone on about when they stamped into the Keg a couple days back.

Just before the dusk of the first day approached, as they had been told would happen, the hamlet of Goldenbow appeared. Goldenbow was the last hamlet on SunSet Lake's northern shore, located right where the Elowin emptied into the waiting lake. It all looked frozen and still that day, however, and nothing much moved on the roads past that point.

There was an inn, but it was full. It looked much like a dump anyway. Following a suggestion of the man lighting the street lamps, they headed to a large farm just up the road.

"Sir Eric Ornatep sometimes enjoys company, and he's all alone these days," the man said, looking at them with a bit of skepticism. "He may seem frail, but don't let that fool you," he warned them. "He was pretty rugged in his younger days." But the man went about his business after that. He was already behind and a bit annoyed at the delay to begin with, so they let him go.

The lamplighter was probably right. The title 'Sir' implied Eric Ornatep had won knighthood. Unlike higher noble titles, there, a knighthood could only be earned and not inherited. That meant Eric was probably an adventurer or a wealthy businessman, more often than not. And given his recent description, the safe money was on adventurer.

The farm was large and its silhouette stood out on the hill, and one's eyes were drawn to a centrally located majestic mansion done in the old style. The approach was eerily silent, but the walkway had turned from snow-covered frozen dirt to clean, snow free cobblestones.

They knocked on the door using the large brass knocker affixed to the mammoth iron banded wood. It opened with a slight creak of hinges that had not been recently oiled, revealing a man in the traditional black uniform of a butler.

"Good evening," he said. "Whom may I say is calling?"

- JimGM

PBEM Orlantia: Looking for Rest

Polite conversation had given way to intermittent comments that had eventually turned into silence. There was only so much one could talk about before the monotony of the march set in.

The trek was marked by rhythms. Once they discovered a pace they could all comfortably keep, the sounds of their walking beat its own tempo. Scabbards clacked against mail, harness rings jingled against their packs, and their feet either crunched or sloshed depending on who tread in what.

Afyanna had been in the military and had marched often, but her transfer to the mounted division and later release from service had dulled her stamina. She was as thankful as the others when they neared the hamlet of Goldenbow for their first night's rest. Afy was no expert, but to her it seemed as if the small band of adventurers had made great headway on their first day.

They first inquired in town about lodging, but found to their dismay that there was no room at the inn. Thinking that perhaps their next option would be to sleep in a barn surrounded by sheep, cows, and their own donkey, they looked further. A local pointed them to the home of Sir Eric Ornatep.

*A knight?* Afyanna thought, more than a little awestruck. *I wonder what he's like.*

With Afyanna's mind still lingering on the knight, they followed the lamplighter's directions out of town. *I wonder if I could ever earn my own name. What could he have done to be granted a knighthood?*

They finally arrived at the farm. *This is no farm!* Afyanna thought, astonished. *This is a mansion with barns.*

"Wow," she said out loud to the others, "anyone else feel unworthy to even knock on that door?" Her joke was met with tired laughter that she herself added to.

Still, she led the band up the walkway to the door. Before she announced their presence with the doorknocker, she took a few moments to shake some of the dust and snow from her cloak. She was in no way presentable, but she did her best.

At her knock, a well-dressed butler appeared and asked their names.

Afyanna felt she was obviously in the presence of people above her station, so she spoke with as much poise and eloquence as she could muster. "I hope you will pardon our untimely intrusion so late in the afternoon," she said. "My name is Afyanna d'Enthril. These are my traveling companions." Afy formally introduced each of them.

"We have been traveling long and have arrived in town looking for a place to stay for the evening." Looking slightly downcast she continued, "Unfortunately the local inn had no vacancies, but a lamplighter directed us to your master as a possible alternative to the inn. Might you know if he takes overnight guests?"

- Rick (Afyanna)