PBEM Orlantia

The Story So Far
Chapter 007

PBEM Orlantia: A Wild Manor.

The butler was middle aged, or was he? He seemed a bit - AH! - he was not human. He was a halfelf. His thick brown hair covered his ears so it was not immediately apparent, but there was no mistaking one with elvish blood in his veins once they got a better look at him.

"Indeed, my master welcomes travelers . . . Friendly travelers," he added. "Please. Step this way. Your mule will be tended, so do not worry about him or the gear it carries," he said, pulling a black, leather braided cord sharply a few times that hung just inside the door. It made no noise, however.

They stamped their boots clean of mud and snow and wiped them on the mat within the anteroom. The butler then opened a door to a small room immediately to the right and entered. Following him, they discovered hooks and racks for coats and shoes and boots, and all manner of outerwear one would no longer need to wear indoors.

"Your things will be safe here. Please leave your footwear behind. My master is rather particular about that. There are a few dozen pairs of black slippers on this rack. You should be able to find something to fit. If not, there are fresh wool socks you may wear instead," he instructed them. Looking down, all could see even the butler wore black slippers. Silk? Yes, and with soft leather soles.

"If you feel comfortable leaving your weapons behind, please do so. They will be safe here. But if not, my master instructs you may each keep one weapon, but only if you feel naked without it. He always felt naked without a blade at his side, he tells me, and he wishes no guest to feel uncomfortable. Please wait here. I shall announce your presence and return presently."

The butler lit a second lamp and placed it on a table for the guests, then slipped out the other door to the north, which no doubt led into the mansion proper.

No one could be sure if they were safe there, but they all had to admit, they had never been treated so well or welcomed so openly by a complete stranger before. If nothing else, most hosts would be cautious when half a dozen armed strangers appeared uninvited at their doorstep. Apparently Sir Eric Ornatep was unconcerned. When exhibiting such lack of concern, one of two things was generally true. They were a fool, or they had good cause not to worry.

Murmuring amongst themselves, they dropped what gear they had, shed their shoes and outer garments, and donned slippers, all before the butler returned.

The north door opened after a few minutes and the halfelven butler reappeared.

"My name is Gareth. It will be my pleasure to attend to your needs this evening. If there is anything you wish, please let me know by summoning me with one of the red silken cords you will find in each room," he told them while taking the opportunity to blow out the second lamp. "Now if you are ready, please follow me."

The party followed him through the north door and into a hallway that led past several open side doors. Unfortunately, all the rooms were pitch black, and the light of Gareth's lamp was far enough ahead so only darkening shadows could be seen as they went past each room.

At the end of the hallway was a large door. The seams of which seemed to glow brightly in the darkened hallway. It did not have a lock or handle, but easily gave way to Gareth's gentle shove. Once through, he held it open since it apparently wanted to want to swing back on its own. And sure enough, after they had all come in, Gareth released the door and it slowly swung back into position.

Oddly enough, few of them paid attention to such matters since the rest of the room overwhelmed them. It was, for a start, quite warm - almost balmy, and exceedingly bright, its illumination rivaling that of sunlight. Vines clung to the walls and potted plants grew in every nook and corner. If they weren't standing on a clean, wooden floor, one might get the impression they were standing in a jungle. Well . . . maybe not a jungle. It was too well groomed for that - too orderly, now that they looked at it. But not a single square foot of wall or ceiling was free of foliage.

In the center of the room, there was a sunken pool filled with clear water. Beneath the water's surface was an arrangements of oddly shaped stones decoratively placed upon the immersed sand. It was quite . . . scenic.

Gareth walked on into the 'jungle.' A good 50 feet further in there was another room where the jungle thinned out and then gradually turned into a normal dwelling with wallpaper, paintings, and candle sconces adorning the walls. The candles were not burning. Ahead, there appeared to be a large sitting room, also well illuminated, but this time one could see the light's source. Continual Light spells must have been cast on well-rounded river stones and fixed to the ceiling. There was probably one every 50 feet, beginning back in the 'jungle' room.

At this end of the great hall, the large fireplace roared and one could hear it almost before they saw it. Some 20 feet away from that, an old man sat in a plush, over stuffed red velvet chair, reading a book. Beside him sat a snifter of brandy on a small stand.

"Sir Eric, may I present your guests?" Gareth bowed before the elderly gentleman.

"Thank you Gareth. Would you see to supper now? It's ok if it's late. Make enough for everybody, will you?"

"Very good, Sir Eric," Gareth bowed again, and then exited the west door.

"Welcome," Eric began. "Welcome to my humble home," he smiled as he easily stood up.

Men that age usually used the arm supports to at least help them up, but Eric stood effortlessly, quickly, and without the old man's groan. He was not wearing a sword, but one lay propped up beside his chair, its scabbard made of pure, white ivory.

"So, my fine guests, my road weary travelers. What brings you to Goldenbow? What brings you so far to cross the path of Eric Ornatep?"

- JimGM.

PBEM Orlantia: Too Good to be True?

The butler departed down a darkened hallway with one lamp, leaving them in the cloakroom. The warmth of the manor was a welcome relief from the chill outside. Afyanna didn't know if it was just overly warm in the house, or if she was colder than she realized.

*I hope it's the house,* she thought, *Otherwise the upcoming cold snap the servant of Uller warned us of will be brutal.*

Per the butler's instructions, she hung her cloak on a hook and set her pack on the floor below it. Afyanna arched her back and rocked from side-to-side without conscious thought, stretching out her tired muscles from carrying the pack all day. She couldn't help the deep moans that escaped her lips as she did so.

"It feels SO good to put that down!" she exclaimed after the loud exercise was over.

She then doffed her boots and set them under her hanging cloak next to her pack. Afy picked over the neatly arranged slippers until she found a pair that fit.

*Oooooh these feel nice,* she thought as she slid her feet into the soft slippers.

The butler's final request, however, did not set pleasantly with the holy warrior. Leave her weapon? Afyanna stood silently considering her next move.

*Decorum dictates that I do as the master of the house suggests,* Afyanna thought. *But . . .*

She looked around at the lavish manor. The floor of the entrance area was beautifully tiled, and the halls were spacious enough to move about freely - even if armored. The butler had welcomed them with 'open arms' even without consulting his master first. Their every need was to be taken care of, he assured them.

*Quite a difference from the road. This is just what we need right now.* Her expression changed to worry. *Exactly what we need right now, in fact.* Her eyes darted around the visible areas of the home as she considered that.

Sir Ornatep himself always felt naked without his sword handy, or so the servant had said. *I have no doubt it is true, but it is also the kind of thing said to reassure guests to put their weapons away.* Afyanna moved closer to the others as they awaited the butler's return.

Speaking sotto voce in case there were unseen listeners about, she said, "Call me paranoid, but this seems a bit too good to be true. I suggest we keep a weapon as 'allowed.'" She looked to each one of them in turn to make sure they heard her.

Even with the warning, Afyanna could not shake her discontent with what was considered proper to do. She could offend the knight by not accepting his word that nothing untoward would happen to them and that they could leave their weapons. Or perhaps he would recognize through her actions that he too would be unwilling to walk into an unknown situation without a weapon at his side. Then again, there was the slim chance that her unease was warranted.

*Better to err on the side of caution,* she reassured herself.

The butler returned soon and introduced himself before leading them to meet their host. As they passed darkened room after darkened room, Afyanna's unease grew in spite of herself.

*Such a beautiful home to leave darkened. At least what we can see of it.*

If the entrance of the home had been beautiful, then the 'jungle room' defied adequate description. Afyanna's breath caught when Gareth pushed open the door for them, and her mouth remained agape all the way through the room. She couldn't help but admit, "I don't think I've ever been to a place in the wild that compared to this." As they exited the room, she did take note of the lighted ceiling and again wondered about the earlier darkness.

Gareth deposited them in a sitting room and presented them to the knight, who welcomed them.

"Sir Ornatep," Afyanna said formally. "It is wonderful to make your acquaintance," she added, with a short small bow. "As I'm sure Gareth informed you, I am Afyanna d'Enthril, Holy Warrior of Corellon Larethian." As she had done earlier, she formally introduced each of them to the elder man.

"Alas we have not come so far as we may appear," Afyanna said with a small laugh. "We have journeyed but a day, but we have not yet become acclimated to travel by foot." She looked to her friends and smiled. "In due course I'm sure we will become well accustomed to trekking about and will not look half so weary after only a day!"

The knight added his laugh to theirs. No doubt in his many adventures he had walked miles upon miles and was well aware of the tolls it took on untrained parties.

When the chuckling diminished she continued. "We are on a quest for the Protector of the Elves and are just passing through the area. A local lamplighter directed us to you when we learned the inn was full for the evening."

Sir Eric nodded as if it was not an unusual thing. Whether that be the full inn, or the directing of travelers to his home, Afyanna could not be sure.

"If I may ask, Sir, would you have a spare loft in one of your barns where we may sleep tonight?"

She would not dare be so bold as to ask about the manor house. In fact, if offered she would politely refuse of course. In the end though, decorum would also dictate she take what was offered.

- Rick (Afyanna)

PBEM Orlantia: Looking At The Party Spokesmen.

Sir Eric Ornatep listened while Afyanna introduced herself along with her traveling companions, all the while smiling ever so slightly, as if he were amused at something. Occasionally, however, he did try to wipe the smile off his face, but he never quite succeeded. Perhaps he didn't really want to.

"That was lovely, Miss d'Enthril," he said. "Afyanna," he changed his mind. "May I call you Afyanna?" Afy nodded since Eric began to pace his sitting room now and really didn't seem the sort who'd take 'no' for an answer anyway.

"You are a credit to your etiquette and protocol instructors back in the Alderami Isles," he surprised her. "Yet that's hardly but a single day's travel. Did your group hail from Tarren or Taneth? Wait, let me guess. Tarren, yes? You'd be used to marching by now if you had come from Taneth."

Afyanna didn't know what to make of the man. He seemed to know things he shouldn't know. Private things. Maybe he could read her mind.

"I hope your sea voyage was a pleasant one, but I suspect not. The icy seas are never calm in winter, and shipboard living is ferociously cold and sullen - usually. But no, and yes, to answer your questions. Oh . . . pardon me. I should explain myself more fully. I mean 'No,' Gareth did not relay your names to me. Only that you were travelers sent up from the hamlet. He's been instructed not to tell me things so I may play my little game. And 'Yes,' I do have a heated barn with plenty of straw in the lofts. Of course, I'm not sure why you'd prefer that to a nice bed in one of my guest rooms," he chuckled.

Oddly, this put Afy a little more at ease, for a 'game' might not be too sinister, and the offer of a bed seemed wonderful. But she wasn't ready to let down her guard.

"Tis little wonder you are on a quest, to travel so in such weather. And you're in a hurry. And something . . . important is happening, yes? Or about to happen, perhaps? And Corellon wants you to handle it. Bet he was pretty damn short on details, too. Gods!" he exclaimed, almost in open disgust of the divine.

"Oh, please forgive me. I apologize, but I've been in your position more than a few times and rarely have I appreciated less than direct and full information from those who supposedly know so much more than we."

Eric ventured over to a table along the wall where there sat several decanters of wine.

"I may only offer you wine now, for you and your companions. Red or white. I have several here, though I drink only the white at night. But if you so desire, I do brew a fine stout that might be served with your meal, if any of you'd rather have that. With supper, I prefer wine, myself," he said, and as if to prove it, he poured himself a glass of white wine. "I'm really not sure what Gareth is preparing, but I'm just a crude lout who always drinks white wine with my evening meals, no matter the fare. And it's fun to watch Gareth roll his eyes in the bargain," he laughed.

"Really, Sir Eric, you are too generous. We couldn't possibly accept," Afyanna said. Cosher grimaced at her words, probably wondering why they couldn't accept.

"Nonsense. To refuse would be impolite - perhaps even insulting. I insist you stay the night and break bread with me." He seemed adamant, and Afyanna wondered why he cared. Perhaps in answer to her thoughts, he spoke again.

"I may not relish all the gods do, or how they go about doing it, but to not aid you in whatever small manner I might almost would suggest to some that I didn't care. And if you should fail . . . ," he paused, and then, for the first time since meeting Sir Eric, a serious countenance came over him, as if he were recalling some past personal failure or failures of his own that had wounded him deeply. He sighed. "If you should fail, I might be partly to blame had I not done what little I could. A meal and a bed are about all I can do, these days. Surely you will not deny me this, will you?"

Afyanna had to admit, it made some sense. And she had declined once, as etiquette often dictated. But then Eric had insisted. A second refusal after the host insisted would be rude.

"Then, in Corellon's name, and on behalf of my companions, we accept your hospitality," Afyanna told him. That, at least, made Cosher smile, thoughts of a stout from an unknown home brewery filling his head, and hopefully, later his belly.

"Excellent," Eric's smile returned. "You can tell me all about your quest. Who knows? Maybe there is something useful I can yet do to help. And your silent companions, well . . . , it'll be fun to try to place them by their accents, too. So I hope each of you has a tale to tell that might brighten the twilight years that remain me as I sit in Goldenbow, waiting. Waiting," he repeated in almost silent whisper, shaking his snow-white crown.

- JimGM.

PBEM Orlantia: From Manor to Man

*Silk?* Mystir let out a light sigh as he slid the slippers onto his feet. *I should have known better than to buy new boots the day before heading out. At least my magic mount spared my feet for most of the trip.*

The young halfelf only shrugged when Afyanna glanced over at him. *A single weapon?* he thought to himself. He placed his quarterstaff against the wall, waiting a moment to make sure it didn't begin to slide down. Then he removed two daggers from his belt, laying them at the base of the staff. He paused a moment, stood and returned to the others - keeping with him his sling and bullets. Not from desire to keep a weapon handy; Mystir didn't want to dig out his bullets.

The wizard smiled as he entered the 'jungle' room. And the Continual Light stones were a nice touch. *Yes, they must be Continual Light,* he figured. But what caught the most attention was the pool in its center. Mystir couldn't be rude and stop, so he fixated on the pool as they walked by and tried to take in its details.

-----

*Game?* he thought, quickly bringing up the image of the pool in his mind. *I wonder how this game is played.* He recalled the details of the sunken pool, the light sand at its bottom, and the decorated stones scattered about. Mystir racked his mind, trying to determine if the pool or its stones seemed significant in any way.

-----

Mystir nearly laughed, and a slight smile came over his face. *Accents, he's coming up with this information from accents.* He closed his eyes and shook his head, breathed deeply and regained his composure.

- Kevin (Mystir)

PBEM Orlantia: Playing the Game

The butler, Gareth, gave them brief instructions as to what was expected, and then departed. After the butler left, Valin quickly removed his backpack and boots, taking the dagger from the back of his belt and placing it with the rest of his gear. He then paused and glanced uncomfortably between the dagger, concealed under cloth on the left side of his belt, and the white caduceus rod hanging on his right.

*How could I possibly choose which to take with me?*

The indecision was clearly visible on Valin's face, should any of his companions have looked to notice as he raised his hand toward his chin in thought, brushing past the silver fox pin at his neck.

*Ah, how foolish of me,* he thought, and reached down to remove the white caduceus rod, laying it across his backpack.

After that, Valin listen for a while since Afyanna was doing most of the talking to Eric for them. When the knight's game became apparent, Valin considered it.

*Place me?* Valin wondered to himself. *Could he truly place me?* The thought was both intriguing and frightening. This time, as happened more often than not, his curiosity got the better of him.

"Sir Eric," Valin bowed slightly as he addressed their host, "while I do not feel it is my right to detail the quest, that honor falling to the Lady Afyanna, I would be very interested in seeing if you could place my point of origin." He grinned at the knight as he issued the challenge.

- Frank (Valin)

PBEM Orlantia: Perhaps Another Source

After the butler had left, Tyrulf thought about leaving his weapon. Looking around he saw that everyone seemed to be keeping one at his or her side. Laying down his mace and crossbow and putting down his pack, he put on the slippers that were provided. After a few minutes, the butler returned to lead the party to Sir Eric.

*This mansion is huge,* thought Tyrulf as they passed many darkened rooms. His breath was taken away when they entered the room with the pool. Tyrulf noticed that the rest of the group stood silently looking around. *At least I am not the only one impressed with all of this.*

When they entered the last room and were introduced to Sir Eric, Tyrulf looked at the man. He looked old for one of his kind, but moved with the grace and strength of one of only a few years. Afyanna introduced herself and then the rest of the group. Sir Eric offered the group warm beds to sleep in which Afyanna refused. Tyrulf looked at her strangely.

*I hope she knows what she is doing. *

Sir Eric almost seemed to know much more than he should.

*Word travels fast around here.*

Tyrulf shifted around a bit and took a better look around the room.

*Perhaps he has magical means.*

This thought worried Tyrulf a bit. If he employed such magic, maybe his true intentions were concealed. But after he explained about the accents, Tyrulf was relieved.

*Afyanna seems to trust him. 'Sir' is not an easily earned title.*

As Sir Eric spoke, Tyrulf became more at ease, and the others started introducing themselves. When no one else spoke up for a minute, he introduced himself as well.

"Good Evening sir, my name is Tyrulf Malgrim Tellsomro. I have just recently met up with the Lady Afyanna and deemed it necessary to join her. I wish to thank you for your generosity. A warm bed and dinner is welcome after a day of traveling."

After saying that, Tyrulf paused to let Sir Eric try and decipher his accent. Tyrulf had never really thought about his accent before.

*Perhaps my accent is influenced by my unknown past.*

This last thought made him pause.

*It seems that this man is well traveled; he may have knowledge of my past.*

Looking at the lady Afyanna, he decided to ask her if it would be wise to speak of this with Sir Eric. She seems to have some sort of connection with him.

- MJA (Tyrulf)

PBEM Orlantia: Laying Down Arms

The day's trek had been a welcome chance to stretch his legs, but the thought of a good night's rest at the Manor was welcome all the same. As the rest of the party began to lay their weapons to one side, Sef hesitated slightly and then began to lay his bow alongside his pack. Sefarlain had reservations about this request, but by the look of the manor house, they were dealing with a powerful knight of the realm. If he had any argument with the group, they were poorly placed to protect themselves in any case. A few bows and daggers were unlikely to make too much difference.

With only Alonwë by his side, Sefarlain followed the others into the room and met Sir Eric. He was surprised and impressed by the decoration of the manor, and similarly impressed by the knight. He had many questions of his own, but let the others speak first to explain their quest. His time would come later.

- Justin (Sefarlain)

PBEM Orlantia: Til Supper's End.

Sir Eric Ornatep was delighted his guests enjoyed his little 'game.' One by one, they spoke and Eric cocked his head and thought, but continued to listen to them speak, apparently having some difficulty with a few of them.

"Keep speaking; I'll get it before supper is over," he said.

"Ah hope so, fer if Ah like yer stout as much as Ah hope, by supper's end, me speech may be a wee staggered."

"Ouch!" Eric laughed at Cosher's comment. "There's no mistaken' a lad from the Dunadh-Drihn," he said in an accent that was uncannily similar to Cosher's own.

Most everyone had introduced themselves by then, and those that didn't seemed intent on remaining silent, at least for the nonce. Eric pondered their accents - and other clues.

"Your etiquette instructors did you proud, but they missed a few things. Perhaps it is not my place to say, but I will anyway. So please forgive me if this is something you already know, but are choosing to simply ignore."

*What is he talking about now?* Afyanna wondered, and since he was looking at her, she was well disposed to think she was the topic of whatever was coming.

"You grew up in the Alderami Isles, not far from the Alodarian Empire itself. And they do not really recognize the authority of nobility. There are neither kings nor queens there, aside from the rivers, I mean. And the empire's influence on its immediate neighbors, or some would say, their 'partners' or allies, the Alderami, is that the elves, too, of those isles have long ago abandoned nobility, noble titles and noble ranks. Heraldry is not commonly practiced in that region. I'm not surprised you are making this mistake, or allowing it to happen, but you could give offense."

*Offense?* she thought, as it still wasn't clear what he was going on about.

"Several of your companions have been addressing you as 'The Lady Afyanna,' and you do not correct them. You are not of noble birth, are you, my dear?"

Afyanna shook her head.

"The title 'Lady,' or more properly, 'The Lady' followed by her name, is one of nobility, designating a woman who holds noble rank, or is married to a man who holds noble rank. Just as the title 'Lord' for a man shows him to be noble or married to a noble Lady. I only mention all this since you might inadvertently be giving some people not native the empire or the isles and who still observe the feudal ways, the wrong impression. Some might even become highly agitated if they thought you were deliberately trying to pass yourself off as nobility when you are, in fact, not. Fair warning. I, myself, however, am not offended since I believe it to be an honest mistake. But you all might want to watch that," he warned them.

Afyanna gulped a bit, not having realized most of that beforehand. *Darn, and I kind of liked the way that sounded, too,* she silently lamented to herself.

"Supper is served, Milord," Gareth announced as he strode into the room, almost on cue.

"Ah, good. And what's at center stage on my table tonight?" Eric inquired.

"Roast pork, Milord. But the soup and salads and appetizers are ready now."

"I see. And what color wine goes with pork?" Eric asked, though he knew the answer.

"Red, sir."

"Then I shall have, let me see, ah yes, white wine."

"Very good, sir," Gareth said, openly rolling his eyes at his lord.

"And bring a fresh keg of the stout."

"As you wish, sir," Gareth replied before dutifully retreating.

"Pork," Eric smacked his hands together and rubbed them with some glee. "I love pork. But let's adjourn to the dinning room and see the soup and salad."

"That sounds delightful. I'm famished," Valin returned, and once again Eric cocked his head and looked at him unlike he looked at the others each time they spoke. Valin's accent was apparently confusing him, but supper was not yet over. It hadn't even begun.

Eric strapped on his long sword and it fell to his side in a natural manner, as if it was part of him and he was accustomed to its presence.

Everyone followed him, though Tyrulf indicated he wanted to speak to Afyanna for a moment first, so she hung back while Cosher led the charge to where the stout was reported to lay in wait.

- JimGM.

PBEM Orlantia: A Matter Of Trust

As Sir Eric was intentionally irritating his butler, Tyrulf thought of the last months. He must have showed 50 or 60 people his tattoo and told them the fact that his past was lost to him. Ever since the sage Shereef told him it might be dangerous to tell people, he worried about anyone finding out.

The group started to leave the room and Tyrulf caught Afyanna's eye and motioned for her to stay back. She obliged, walking over and looking down at Tyrulf with a questioning look. Tyrulf hesitated for a moment, waiting for everyone else to leave the room.

"It seems to me that you trust Sir Eric," whispered Tyrulf. "I do not know people of such stature and I was wondering if it would be wise to speak of my tattoo and background." Tyrulf looked up at her, not sure how she would react.

- MJA (Tyrulf)

PBEM Orlantia:

Afyanna considered what Tyrulf said a moment before she replied.

"I can't say as yet that I trust him fully," the young holy warrior began. "Truth be told, I still have reservations about him."

The halfelf paused and glanced ahead to where the others were walking. She and Tyrulf were walking behind the party, trying not to appear as if their lagging was deliberate.

"There is a lot in this manor that makes me uneasy, but that could be only because it was so fortunate that we arrived here that my pessimism is acting up," she said, flashing Tyrulf a smile. "I can't say as I sense that he is being threatening toward us though."

They continued walking a few more paces. Afyanna could tell that she hadn't answered Tyrulf's question to his liking.

"On the one hand, if he is a true knight, as he was referred to in the village, then I would take him at his word. But there is a lot here that seems . . . off . . . to me." She knew that needed further explanation, but how?

"Part of the house is dark, while another part is magically illuminated. His sword was near his chair as he sat, which didn't seem odd to me in the slightest, until he pointedly strapped it on just for dinner - as if he couldn't be more than a few feet from it." She considered what she had just said and added, "but then again, we are armed strangers in his home."

She shrugged her shoulders and offered, "I think I would wait to see how dinner plays out before I committed to anything. I know that's what I plan to do."

- Rick (Afyanna)

PBEM Orlantia: Early Conversations

As the group followed the knight into the dining hall, Sefarlain moved to the front of the party to be seated nearer to Sir Eric. Although no one had said anything directly to the elf, the silence suggested an air of uneasiness about this mysterious gentleman.

*Perhaps this is natural,* thought Sefarlain. *We barely know each other, let alone this old man.*

"Sir Eric," began the ranger, "may I introduce myself also? I am Sefarlain Anluvior of The Valantaur, at your service."

At this point, he bowed low with a gracious sweep of his arm.

"It will be of no surprise to you that we all have many questions to ask, yourself included no doubt. I am intrigued as to your title, being unfamiliar in the ways of Men. May I be so bold as to ask how you obtained such an honorary title? Forgive me if this seems somewhat naive. I am not so well traveled as yourself, being barely a man in the eyes of my people."

At this, he smiled and awaited a reply - or dinner at least!

- Justin (Sefarlain)

PBEM Orlantia: A Knight's Tale.

Eric strode into his dinning hall where there stood a magnificent oak table, judging from its legs beneath, for a pure white, lacy, linen tablecloth covered the top of the table and obscured most of it.

In an automatic, perhaps unconscious, fluid and effortless manner that seemed second nature to the man, Eric unstrapped his sword and scabbard and hung it on the chair at the head of the table without even looking at what he was doing. He pulled out the chair for himself and smiled again at his guests.

"Please, seat yourselves. I've never cared much for all that fancy holding of chairs for guests and ladies rubbish. I've spent far too much time on cold stone floors and wet caves, and with company that either fended for themselves or died, to worry about such things now, and I dare say you will too, some day," he told them before sitting down himself.

Course after course came and went, and the conversation remained light and cheerful. Afyanna was seated on Eric's immediate right, while Sefarlain had taken the left side across from the holy warrior. Next came Valin and then Tyrulf on the left, and Mystir and then Cosher on the right. After the six, a further nine empty chairs remained on each side, and one more at the end, a total of 26 seats surrounding the large, ornate table.

Cosher essentially toyed with each course - apparently designed for taste rather than to be filling - leaving most of the already small portions behind and instead imbibing another tankard or two of stout during each offering. The dark brew found warm acceptance in the dwarf's heart. He had conveniently seated himself right next to the keg he had discovered waiting for him on the table, and he seemed content and happy to have another tankard simply by reaching for it.

*Fah betta this than soup an' bread and green leaves,* he thought, though he genuinely did tuck in when the pork finally arrived.

There were several other servants who had appeared to serve the meal, most of them comely lasses in their early twenties. Due to custom, no doubt, they did not dally about the table or partake in the dinner conversation or even make extended eye contact with the guests, but smartly retreated into the kitchens once they had delivered their dishes.

"Ah, so you are curious about my past, yes?" he said to Sef. The elf had earlier asked him about his knighthood, and now the retired warrior seemed ready to answer, now that he had had his fill of roast pork and a few more glasses of white wine.

"Oddly enough, it's not one of my better stories. It mostly involved being in the right place at the right time, and rescuing the daughter of Baron Slate, a noble dwarf of the Dominion. He literally lavished me with wealth, and the king of Tarren granted me a title - a favor between states as I understand it - so I bought this parcel of land and most of Goldenbow is under my charge."

That meant the inhabitants of Goldenbow paid their taxes to Ornatep, and he, in turn, had higher responsibilities to the king of Tarren.

"His daughter? Ah, well . . . she had run off with the wrong sort of fellow, but she thought she loved him. Her father was right and the rascal only wanted her wealth, and had badly used her in trying to apply pressure on the baron's holdings. But that's not why she needed rescuing. The unscrupulous man had too many shady dealing with the wrong sort, and an entire, umm, well . . . let's call them a guild, killed the rascal, kidnapped Slate's daughter, and tried to squeeze the baron for ransom. While in negotiations to pay it, he secretly hired me to rescue his daughter. This is where I was lucky to be around to get the job. And my team went in and did the job. Oh, I don't mean to make it sound so brave and daring. They were small time punks out of their league, and not well connected to any of the larger guilds, so reprisal was not of great concern when we wiped most of them out. Anyway, Baron Slate called in a favor from the king of Tarren, and he rewarded me with a knighthood. Luck, mostly, you see? It's not very interesting, really," he finished his tale.

Sir Eric pulled another lengthy draught from his goblet and then requested his due. "And what about each of your stories? For example, tell me all about this quest of yours, 'Lady' Afyanna," he grinned.

- JimGM.

PBEM Orlantia: Telling the Tale

*Ah,* thought Afyanna, *so his title was conferred upon him politically.* She took another drink from her water and considered what this could mean. Afyanna had always preferred a clear head, and her wine goblet was all but untouched.

*Sir Ornatep is a fighter with a title,* she realized. *He is not a member of a holy order, and therefore not specifically bound to any moral code.* She chased a few runaway peas onto her fork and carefully raised it to her mouth. *That doesn't mean he doesn't follow one though.*

Afyanna was still pondering this new information when their host called her by name. At his question of her quest, she gently laid her knife and fork on the plate and pushed it forward slightly.

The young holy warrior wasn't sure if she especially trusted the elder knight, but she had always been exceptionally poor at avoiding direct questions. Besides, if Corellon Larethian had lead them to this place, then it followed that He had a reason for it. Either this man would aid them in some way - be it large or small - or he was a test that they must overcome. So be it.

She dabbed a napkin at her small mouth and then returned it to her lap before speaking.

"Well Sir, in all truth, there is not much to tell about my quest."

At his disbelieving expression, Afyanna continued.

"It's true! I received a vision from Corellon Larethian urging me to seek aid to protect the innocents of Wrath." At the mention of His name, her hand unconsciously made its way to the Crescent Moon hanging from the chain about her neck. "Almost immediately I fell into the company of these fine men, and we've been making our way toward Wrath to find out what was meant by my vision."

The knight took on a bemused expression and looked as if he were about to say something. Before he could, however, Afyanna continued, and her voice took on a tone that the others hadn't heard before.

"I do not yet know what will be required of me or of any of us, as we have only followed the path that He has laid out. I do not know what it is in Wrath that should prompt Him to send for me, nor do I know why I was chosen. But in His name, and with whatever aid I find, I will seek out this evil that has come to the innocents of Wrath and end it."

Each of the other party members sat frozen while the holy warrior spoke. Only when she had finished did they resume what they were doing, albeit slowly.

Afyanna held Sir Ornatep's gaze with her own for several moments before she realized the room had gone quiet. When she did, she again reached for her water goblet and took a long drink.

- Rick (Afyanna)

PBEM Orlantia: Placement.

The silence hung in the dinning room after Afyanna's short description of her quest. No one else seemed immediately eager to relay their personal stories, nor did they seem willing to elaborate on Afyanna's own, or explain how or why they had so easily 'fallen' in with her. This disappointed Sir Eric somewhat, but he consoled himself since he had almost expected as much - and had been right.

*They barely know each other,* he thought. *Just recently met, still wet behind the ears, sent forth by a closed-mouth god, and now facing someone like me. They can't help but be uncertain and cautious. Good . . .*

He thought all that while the other half of his brain was pondering more deeply the inflections of the halfelven lady's words. If it weren't for other clues, he'd have almost guessed she had come from Alodar. Her accent showed the signs. So her parents, or at least one of them - probably the favorite parent - must have done so. And the rest of it, far more than family, was brought about by association with indigenous childhood friends.

"And so you were sent out from 'Anadem' on your quest, not really knowing what to expect, eh? And you still are uncertain, yes?"

He could see she was, even without her nodding yes. The fact he had more precisely placed her origins on the isle of Anadem wasn't much of a challenge, but he wondered what effect it might have on her.

"And you came with her on the ship?" he asked Sefarlain. "I suspect that since you also hail from the Isles, though more deeply within her bosom."

But Sefarlain shook his head, though he admitted his origins.

"No, I met her in Tarren while I was traveling on my own and exploring the world. But I am from the Isles, yes Sir Ornatep," he said.

Eric frowned a bit, partially at losing a few points in his own game for guessing incorrectly, but he attempted a recovery.

"Some of you have been addressing me as Sir Ornatep. That's incorrect. It is Sir Eric Ornatep, if you use the full name, or just Sir Eric if you don't. I prefer Sir Eric. Or it is simply Lord Ornatep if only accompanied by my surname. Sir Ornatep is not exactly wrong, however, so much as improper form. 'Sir' is reserved for knights or baronets. Higher up and you get into other titles. As for Lord or Lady, the more general-purpose title for most nobility, that is usually used only in conjunction with one's surname. 'The Lady Afyanna' would really be more properly 'The Lady d'Enthril', if she were nobility. But since she is not, she is properly addressed as 'Miss Afyanna', or 'Mistress Afyanna,' once she is married."

Eric stopped and frowned a bit. He didn't really care about all that stuff - he never did - but if they were thinking about that, they wouldn't be concentrating on his recent mistake, however minor it had been.

"I'm sorry I cannot place you more closely than near Nahecha," he said to Mystir. "But I'd wager you hail from a place within a few days' march of the Dynasty's capital. As for you," he now turned to Tyrulf, "You have heavy influences typical of the Runic Coast, though there is a hint of something else I cannot really place. And finally," he grimaced, looking directly at Valin, "you either are from a continent I've never visited, or more likely, not from Orlantia at all, but hail from a city not too far outside the capital of your home planet."

The man smiled now, for he felt he had gotten it all right, or near enough. He poured himself another goblet of white wine and waited to see how they reacted, but he also prompted them one more time.

"And what stories do the rest of you have?" he challenged them.

- JimGM

PBEM Orlantia:

At the knight's prompt, Cosher set down his glass of stout and prepared to reply.

*Ah've been much too quiet up tae now!* he mused, stifling a small burp. *These good people will get the wrong idea that Willie-John McLean is the shy an' retiring kind. Ah've gotta put 'em right an' show 'em why Ah've been such a successful entertainer these last few years!*

Cosher politely cleared his throat and turned to address Sir Eric.

"Sir Eric," he began, "If Ah may call ye that? Ye now have the pleasure o' speakin' tae Willie-John McLean, known throughout the Imperial seas as Cosher. Ah think Ah speak fer the rest o' me companions here when Ah tell ye that it is indeed a delight tae be welcomed in yer fine abode. And might Ah compliment ye on the quality o' this here stout? It certainly does rank up there with some o' the finest that the Fiadharainn brewers have ever put to cask!"

Whilst etiquette demanded that one was polite to one's host in situations such as this, Cosher also felt it necessary to turn on the charm as much as possible at this point. However, he continued to keep one wary eye on the unfolding situation, more than certain that each of the others were doing the same.

"As Ah was saying," he continued, "Ye certainly do lay a marvelous spread, and o' course yer powers at deduction seem tae be second tae none. As ye no doubt already know, ye guessed correctly that Ah was frae Dunadh-Drihn, and ye've probably also worked out that Ah'm a sailor. Aye, the Exador was me vessel, an' a good ol' girl she was too! Tae be sure, that's how Ah bumped into Afyanna here, when we landed at her port."

At this point Cosher raised his hand in apology to both the knight and the halfelven lady.

"And on that note, Ah really must apologize fer any misunderstanding over Afyanna's title. Ye see, Ah think Ah'm likely responsible fer calling her 'Lady' in the first place! It's an' old Dunadh-Drihn habit Ah'm afraid, calling ladies 'Lady' - it's just the way Ah was brought up, Ah guess."

"So, as the story goes, Afyanna and meself set out fer Tarren with a new cargo, an' eventually took our leave when we reached shore. An' Ah guess the rest just fell intae place from that point on. And well, there's no much more tae know about Willie-John McLean, except that Ah can belt oot a great tune or two on me faithful old tin whistle here, an' if ye care fer it Sir Eric, Ah might just round off this fine evening with a song or two!"

Finished, Cosher settled back into his chair and once more lifted his glass of stout to his lips to savor the fine black liquid. He certainly agreed that it was of the highest quality, to the extent that he began to wonder whether or not it might even be drugged! Dwarf-poison in the form of stout - Cosher shivered at the shear horror and ease of it, and then chuckled to himself.

He cast his eyes around the table, trying his best to remain wary and vigilant, whilst all the time bathing in the warm glow that only six glasses of quality stout can give you!

- Johnny (Cosher)

PBEM Orlantia: A Tentative Start

As the knight proffered his next question, Sefarlain felt in the horns of a dilemma. Could he trust this elderly gentleman, if that indeed was what he was? Afyanna had certainly seemed somewhat hesitant. He gazed down at his plate, piled with succulent roasted pork and trimmings. It steamed gently, filling the elf's nose with its delicious aroma. The ranger had eaten more than his fair share of the offerings, making up for previous leaner times. If this man did wish them harm, then why this hospitality?

*The times ahead may be hard enough without creating enemies from friends,* he mused. He decided to speak out, putting his reservations to one side.

"Sir Eric," he began, "forgive our hesitancy. There is more to our tale than we have said, although not all here know the full details perhaps. I alone was witness to a strange and horrific incident out on the ridge above Tarren."

The elf repeated his story of the strange death of the tracker on the ridge, leaving out only the details of the boots he had left at the door. Some details were best avoided, he considered. The tale was long and no other detail was left out.

By the time he concluded his tale, Sef expected the fire would have been lower, but it was not. Come to think of it, it hadn't seemed to diminish at all. He stared at it for a time, quietly thinking about it, and then it hit him. He could see it, he could even hear it now and again, but he could not smell it at all.

*It must be an illusion,* he concluded. *Is Eric some magic user, too?* he wondered.

*And I appear to have let my food go to waste!* he noted somewhat disappointedly when his thoughts finally returned to the now cold fare on his plate.

Sir Eric seemed to ponder Sefarlain's tale for a short time. Sefarlain for one was curious as to what the knight felt the cause of this calamity could be, and he voiced his question just as Sir Eric replied.

- Justin (Sefarlain)

PBEM Orlantia: No Time For Contests.

Sir Eric rubbed his chin where a day's growth of white beard was beginning to show upon his face. He seemed lost in thought for a moment, but then he spoke.

"And you believe this mangled corpse has something to do with the quest in Wrath?" he asked. Sef could only shrug. He didn't know for sure. No one did. This only made Eric's brows furrow all the more deeply.

Eric gazed at Sefarlain for a time, then quickly glanced at the fireplace for a second, and then back to Sef before a knowing smile broke his furrowed countenance. He had seen Sef's perception, Sef guessed, when he had been staring at the fireplace longer than normal.

*This man's perceptive,* Sef cautioned himself, making a mental note not to give anything else away should a similar occurrence arise. But then Eric did not mention it, and Sef was disappointed.

Eric pushed his plate forward and, wiping his mouth, tossed the napkin on his plate and arose from his chair. Again, he automatically reached for his belt and scabbard and strapped his sword in place where it dangled naturally from his waist.

Circling around the table to the west and behind Afyanna, Eric approached the fireplace and spread his hands before it, rubbing them together to embrace the warmth. Then he turned to address them all again, his back now to the flames, its warmth embracing him from the rear.

"Such a peculiar occurrence, and in so close proximity to young Afyanna's quest, would be quite a coincidence were they not remotely related," he announced, looking not at them but from tapestry to tapestry that adorned the walls of the great dinning hall.

The room was large - huge even - perhaps 80 by 60 feet, one might guess. If it had to, it could easily accommodate four such tables and comfortably hold over one hundred guests. But there were no other tables to be seen - just the 60-foot by 5-foot table in the center of the room.

Upon each wall was one or more tapestries, each depicting simple scenic settings of the countryside. The south wall, some 60 feet wide, held a single tapestry, easily the largest, and showed dark purple mountains in the horizon. In fact, taken together, all the tapestries were a panoramic view of the plains and fields surrounding those mountains, wrapped around anyone seated at the table. Even the beautifully rendered sunset in hues of crimson and gold on the west wall was in the west, so they had all been correctly aligned to the cardinal point headings. Eric seemed to be studying it.

Pulling a red cord that dangled from the ceiling, Gareth soon appeared.

"If you have all had your fill," Eric said, "I suggest we adjourn to the sitting room once more. Gareth, please bring the stout there."

"Yes, Milord," he replied.

Sir Eric, and his guests, then ventured back through the eastern horizon shown by three separate tapestries broken by two doors, both of which led into the sitting room.

Mechanically, Eric unbuckled his scabbard and laid it alongside the plush red velvet chair once more before pouring himself a large goblet of white wine and finally taking his seat. The others found comfortable spots around the room to settle down before Gareth finally rolled the keg in on a trolley. Naturally, he rolled it close to Cosher without being asked, then departed.

"Unless any of you have something else to say, I'd best not keep you up all night. A quest is serious business, and you don't want to be tired in the morning once you set out once more. Pity, really . . . ," he seemed disappointed.

Several faces seemed to inquiry at this remark, and Eric smiled at them all in return.

"Oh, it's just that I would like to have tested myself, physically, and not just mentally. I might have challenged one of you to a friendly duel, just to test our mettle, you understand, and to see if I'm finally too old. It would have been fun. But sadly, such bouts could easily injure one of you, even in friendly competition, and I dare say you do not have a week to lay about recuperating. Perhaps another time, if you should pass this way again. But I shall not be blamed for delaying a holy quest," he said adamantly before taking another deep draught of wine.

"Pray thee then, if you have any questions I might answer, where you feel my years of experience might help, ask them now before you retire."

- JimGM

PBEM Orlantia: Disappearances

Mystir followed Sir Eric and the others. Gently taking a seat in one of the many chairs about the room, he adjusted his belt to allow a more comfortable position.

*Contests?* the young wizard shuddered. *I would be torn asunder.*

"I apologize, Sir Eric. I know not of the arts or combat. I fear I would make a poor contestant." The halfelf's voice hardly filled the room. "However," he continued, "there is something that has been on the top of my mind since our arrival."

Mystir paused for a moment, to both ensure he had the man's attention, and to shift his weight in the plush chair.

"Not more than three days ago I ran across a couple travelers that spoke of Fecklar. I didn't really pay to much attention to what they had said. I didn't think it much important at the time. Anyway, since we have arrived I haven't been able to get their words out of my head."

This was the first time any of the others in the haphazard group had heard Mystir speak more than a dozen words at a time. Most appeared shocked. He peered about the room and noticed their faces.

"One of them had mentioned people of this town disappearing. And he didn't make it out to be common accidents or the weather. He specifically mentioned that it was occurring," he paused for a moment, carefully choosing his words, "mere feet from their doors. Like I said, I didn't pay much attention to it at the time. Then Fecklar was some far off town, distant place, distant people, and a distant problem. But now that I am amidst it, the disappearances do concern me."

Mystir paused for a moment longer and shifted his weight once more.

"Ah, yes, my questions." He leaned forward in his seat. "Do you know much about these disappearances? I mean, is this something that I," his eyes quickly moved across the room, "we, should be concerned about? Or is this just some rumor worsened by the overlaying concern of the weather?"

The wizard pursed his lips in contemplation as he sat back in the soft chair. *Yes, that should do it.* He blinked as his face gained its normal composure, looking ahead to the knight.

- Kevin (Mystir)

PBEM Orlantia: One Knight's Advice.

"Do I know of the disappearances? No. Information like that doesn't travel quickly in the dead of such a brutal winter, and assuming these incidents are both true and recent, I could scarcely be expected to have heard much about events so recent in Fecklar here in Goldenbow. Sorry."

Sir Eric, however, did not appear to have said his whole piece and seemed to be pondering the new information, poised to continue his thoughts.

"Those events are quite a bit apart in distance from one another," he finally announced after a few moments. "Wrath is considerably removed from both of those places, too. It could well be all three have nothing to do with one another, but it would be a coincidence indeed that something so noteworthy and so deadly was simultaneously occurring in an area that is usually quite sleepy. Couple this with the fact it is apparently happening in the dead of winter when all decent and normal people are shut inside where it's warm, and finally top it off with the fact even a god is sticking his nose into this business, and what do you have?"

The group wasn't sure his question was meant to be rhetorical or not, but Sir Eric paused once more in thought, his white eyebrows deeply furrowed.

"Do you know exactly upon which dates this death," he said to Sefarlain, "or those disappearances," he looked at Mystir, "occurred?" Sef guessed at his, but Mystir's were beyond his knowledge. In fact, he wasn't certain at all, considering they had been reported as rumors in the first place. But Eric continued on.

"If they are connected, and if Wrath is involved, then whoever they are, they are widespread, or they are very fast to cover so large an area so quickly, and it would seem they are not overly concerned about the cold weather. Now let me see . . . ," Eric trailed off once more in thought, this time rising to pace the floor before the fireplace.

Again, he automatically strapped on his sword while doing this. Honestly, it looked like a second nature habit of his and the knight seemed to do it unconsciously each time, never willing to be too far removed from his sword.

While the knight approached Sefarlain and the fireplace, Sefarlain also finally noticed this fire, like the one in the dinning hall, was similarly unnatural. The fire had not diminished since they had left for supper, and it did not give off any smell. Yet Sef had a better opportunity to get within a few feet of this one in an inconspicuous manner. It radiated quite a bit a heat, and it looked and sounded like a burning fire ought to. Yet . . .

"It's an illusion," Eric offered out of the blue. Most had no idea to what he referred, but Sef saw he was looking directly at him again. "Real fireplaces are messy and require a great deal of maintenance. But I love fires, and a mansion this size needs a great deal of warmth. That's real enough. The Continual Heat spells were cast upon the iron fixtures that hold the concrete logs, so the heat is genuine. If I'm careful in their use, they may last a century or two. But the fire is a complex auditory and visual illusion. You have good senses, my boy. That's good. You may need them soon."

Sef was considering asking more about Sir Eric's many and diverse 'talents,' but before he decided to ask or not, Eric supplied further information that nullified the need.

"No, I'm not a wizard. I'm no spell caster at all. But when a nobleman lavishes you with a great deal of money, you can afford a few things. Compared to most field magic and genuine and mobile magic items, these stationary magic items are a trifle. But to a commoner they may be worth more than their whole home - hundreds of gold pieces each, these. The fireplaces, the ceiling lights, and a few other items that make life so much more bearable, they all are extraordinarily expensive compared to a candle or a cord of wood. But in the long run, it actually saves money, if you can afford the initial investment and live long enough. Still, even a generous gift is finite, and I couldn't afford a fireplace in every room, or even a magic light. But the inner sanctum is well fitted. So if you ever have a few thousand gold pieces to plow into your home, I highly recommend it," Eric smiled again, evidently proud of his home.

"But I advise you take care of your necessities first," he said, slapping his hand down to his long sword and drawing it forth in one smooth and fluid motion, almost faster than the eye could follow.

Sef was slightly unnerved by the action, due to his immediate proximity and Eric's rattlesnake-like speed.

There had been a momentary tone, like a small bell when Eric had drawn his sword. The metal blade freeing itself of the scabbard had made a beautiful sound. Sef had heard this phenomenon before, but he also knew only quality blades rang this way, and even then only if they caught the scabbard just right. Yet, he had been told, highly enchanted blades seemed to do this with greater frequency. He hadn't been told why. Maybe nobody knew. Looking at the sword, he had few doubts it was a magic blade that rose quickly to hover before his eyes.

But the manner of Eric's move, while startling, was not threatening. Eric was not pointing the sword at Sef's throat or anything like that, but was instead holding it out to him, offering him a chance to take it - inviting him to take it. Slowly, cautiously, he reached out and did so. When he did, Sef perceived immediately the sword was obviously impressive in balance and weight - seeming to be lighter than a sword should, such that it was easier to direct. But he could tell it would hit harder than any mundane blade. When he moved it, it was as if the blade itself gathered momentum in Sef's chosen direction. And when he changed direction, it was as if the previous momentum magically faded, awaiting orders for a new direction, and once received, gather deadly, armor slashing momentum anew almost from nowhere. And Eric had handed it to him!

"This, my boy, is worth more than my whole mansion, and was not purchased with any generous bestowment from a noble, but was hard won in the field after many years of adventuring. But that's a tale too long to tell this night." Then Eric reached for his blade and Sef allowed its master to reclaim it. Somehow, he knew, even with a sword like that, as beautiful a tool as it was, he was no match for Eric's experience.

*I wouldn't stand a chance against this man,* he thought at first, but later he wasn't sure if this was true, or if Eric's commanding aura just seemed that formidable. But it didn't matter. He wasn't about to try anything anyway. He just couldn't help it when such thoughts passed through his head. They were tactically sound thoughts, after all.

"Here's the thing," Eric said at last. "If these events are related, and I believe they could be, your best course of action might be to follow the Elowin to Fecklar and see for yourself. The road between here and there is good compared to the wilds between. From Fecklar, you can follow the overland routes to Hooktar, down to the Toreador River. That's in the direction of Wrath and probably your easiest route to Wrath this time of year anyway. Thankfully, may Corellon be praised, rather than hunt for a pattern of possibly similar events and trying to locate some central or common feature, I think it would be wise to assume your Lord has already done that for you. However far apart these events may be, Wrath may hold the key. What's in Wrath? I have no idea. Hopefully you will be able to find out something, and quickly. I do not like that people are missing or being killed in such a large triangle, and the fact Goldenbow is within reach of this makes me nervous."

Then Eric unstrapped his sword with one hand, placing it back where it had been before, and finally came to rest in his plush chair once more.

"I have some reading to do, so unless there is something else on your mind, may I suggest you get a good night's sleep? Cosher," he said to the sea dwarf, "You're closest to one of the red cords. Give it a pull to summon Gareth and he will escort you all to your rooms."

- JimGM.