PBEM Orlantia

The Story So Far
Chapter 008

PBEM Orlantia: A friendly contest afore bed!

Cosher had to admit it. Although the knight's stout was certainly of excellent quality, and the generosity he had so far shown to this group of strangers turning up on his doorstep was unquestionable, his manner was beginning to grate on the sea dwarf!

In Cosher's eyes he was certainly arrogant. Furthermore, he was very quick to tell anyone who happened to listen all about his 'marvelous' possessions and achievements. Couple this with the fact that he clearly thought himself far superior to the dwarf and his companions, and Cosher was beginning to feel annoyed.

Once or twice during the whole 'magic sword incident,' Cosher's hand had twitched at the hilt of Sliobhann, bursting to jump up, stout in one hand, Sliobhann in the other, and accept the knight's offer of a duel. He obviously hadn't done so, fully aware - no matter how much stout he had drunk - that he wouldn't stand much of a chance against this old veteran. To be sure Cosher could hold his own in a bar brawl in some sailor's tavern, but to stand toe-to-toe with a trained and experienced swordsman was another matter altogether.

Cosher's brow furrowed, considering his options, as he reached for the red cord at the knight's request. Now was his window of opportunity - if he was going to do anything, he'd have to do it now!

Cosher hesitated as he reached for the cord, and turned to the knight. The young dwarf cleared his throat.

"Begging yer pardon sir," Cosher began, nervously, "but ye were talking about contests just earlier. Physical ones at that. Now, Ah know that it's late an' we were all about tae make off fer our beds, but Ah've just had a wee thought."

The dwarf quickly glanced around at his companions, trying to gauge any immediate reactions any might have to his sudden words.

*Ah hope they all go along wit this!* he thought to himself. *They probably all just want tae go tae their beds. But Ah've started now, an' besides, Ah just want tae give this auld fella a bit o' a lesson.*

"As Ah was saying," he continued, "much as Ah'd love tae accept yer challenge o' a duel, Ah don't think Ah would be able tae compete at yer level. Mind ye, Ah have got a solution. My solution is a physical contest - as ye requested - although one that a young sea dwarf bard like meself might have a slight chance of rising tae yer level. Ah'm talking o' course about an arm wrestle. Aye, Ah know it's no quite as civilized as a gentleman's duel, but nevertheless, since the auld days men have been partaking in this simple contest o' strength as a test o' their manhood! An' besides, there's less scope fer either of us tae get injured in the process!!"

"So, what d'ye say Eric? Would ye accept the challenge o' a young dwarf like meself? Just a quick contest afore we all go off tae bed?"

Cosher beamed one of his more charming smiles. He folded his arms before his chest in a pose designed to show off his not inconsiderable biceps.

*Ah just hope this auld fella isnae stronger than he looks or Ah could be in trouble here! Oh well, ye gotta live a little Cosher me boy!*

- Johnny (Cosher)

PBEM Orlantia: A Declined Challenge.

Sir Eric - a man nearing his 70's - smiled and laughed softly at Cosher's challenge. Again he rose, and again he strapped on his sword. But instead of approaching his challenger, he retreated toward Sefarlain and the fireplace once more.

In the interim, Mystir had moved closer to the hearth to have a closer look of his own.

*Sea dwarves are generally weaker in brawn than their cousins,* Eric thought for moment, *but there's no way I could win a match of brute strength these days. And he looks pretty strong. No, it must be a test of skill or not at all,* he quickly concluded before he finally turned to Cosher and answered him.

"Sheer strength has never been the cornerstone of my skills, and with advancing age comes fading strength on top of that. I seriously doubt I could best you in such a mismatched competition, nor would either of us learn anything from such an effort that I can see," he explained. Still, he had to formerly decline.

"I humbly concede to youth's superior strength, and stipulate your foregone victory in such a contest. I must, therefore, respectfully decline your kind invitation."

With that, he pulled the red cord that was nearest the fireplace and summoned his servant himself.

Eric wasn't sure if Cosher missed the point of his own challenge or not, or exactly what spurred the sea dwarf to suggest such an obvious mismatch. For his own part, he felt confident both he and any youthful competitor might learn something valuable in the exchange he suggested - youth the opportunity to see prowess at arms and attainable goals, and age to see if he still 'had it.' It had been a reasonable time since his last challenge, and Eric was no longer certain, despite his daily workouts, if he could manage all of his 'duties' to the king.

The dwarf did not seem happy with Eric's refusal, even though Eric admitted he'd lose. Alas, it could not be helped.

"You rang, milord?" Gareth asked as he entered the room. Gareth really didn't expect an answer, but silently awaited orders.

"Since the morning will come soon enough, I think it best you all retire now and get what rest you can before the morrow's journey. If any more questions occur to you, you can ask them of me at breakfast. I'm sure Gareth will fix something hearty to set you well on your way."

"This way please," Gareth said to the guests. He turned east and led the party through one of the doors in the eastern wall. Past the entrance a magnificent double staircase greeted them. It rose on both sides of the room to a balcony-like view looking down on the room's marble white floor. Under the southern rise, an arch led into a room so vast it might run a full one third of the mansion's length. But they were not going there. Gareth led them up the northern rise where a long hall awaited them. Along the hall there were many doors - dozens, in fact.

The hall was not very brightly lit, its illumination coming from two large oil lamps on side tables in the hall.

"These are the guest quarters, ladies and gentlemen. At the far ends of the hall you will find the facilities. There are no other guests right now, so you may choose any of these rooms you wish for each of you. The ones toward the ends are doubles, but the central ones are singles. If you wish to light your room's lamp, please use these wicks," he said, showing them long, wax wicks lying upon each of the tables where a lamp rested.

"If you need anything, each room has its own pull cord. Beyond this hall and these rooms, please refrain from wondering around the mansion at night unescorted. If you need to leave, please summon a servant and I, or one of the others, will attend to your needs. Thank you."

The instructions were clear enough and no one seemed to have anything to ask of him, so Gareth turned to leave while the group began to explore the rooms.

After Gareth departed, Cosher - finally - made a break for the facilities at the north end. Entering the room, he discovered a warm downdraft. If he had been smoking something, he was sure it would have drawn the smoke directly downwards with a decent speed. Though he found this interesting, he didn't know exactly how it was managed there.

There was a porcelain tub there and a couple of faucets and a few clean towels.

*Running water!* he thought when he saw the faucets. He had seen that before, but it was quite rare. Somewhere there was a cistern on the roof that caught rainwater, and it no doubt had a hand pump connected to a well so it could be filled in drier times. He turned the tap and was astonished to find hot water pouring forth. *Damn!*

Shutting it off, his more immediate needs took precedence. Near a curtain was a northern bush tree. The fact it was growing indoors was a testament to how wealthy Sir Eric was. Most people who used these leaves had them growing in window boxes or outdoors where they gathered them as needed, but Eric's light spells supplied enough illumination for them to grow indoors, and possibly quite removed from exterior walls or the need for southern windows. The smooth river stone the light spell was cast upon was affixed to the ceiling immediately above the bush.

Behind the curtain there was an alcove about 5-feet wide and deep. A wooden seat sat atop the marble throne. A hole in the throne led somewhere far below. Looking down, the stone shaft quickly disappeared into gloomy darkness, so the bottom could not be seen.

Cosher had been used to outhouses or shipboard facilities all his life, but he had seen this once before, and heard of it a few times too. Deep within the recesses of the stone pit below there was probably a pool of water, and within that and below it's surface, a growth of green slime lay at the bottom of the pool. Green slime was a highly dangerous organism. It ate most anything organic it touched, and exuded mostly water, harmless gas, and more green slime in return. Any smell was being drawn downwards and away by the draft.

*Amazing wealth,* he thought again. Taking a few leaves off the bush, he closed the curtain and went about his chore. He had 'borrowed' Sir Eric's stout long enough.

Meanwhile, the others were busy checking out their rooms. Each single was 10 by 20 feet and held a comfortable but simple bed and mattress. There was a blanket - a thick quilt - and a pillow - stuffed with feathers. There was a washstand and pitcher of water - apparently fresh - a mirror above that, towels, and a small table and two chairs. Each table had an unlit oil lamp sitting on it. Once the door was closed, that was the only illumination. To light it, they had to take fire from the somewhat larger lamps in the hall as Gareth had earlier explained to them.

The rooms were warm, but not overly so, and a slow movement of air could be perceived. But the temperature was easy to breathe, and once below the covers, they were quite warm.

One by one, then or sometime later during the night, they all explored the facilities as Cosher had done, but mostly, they all slept comfortably under their quilts.

Each of them pondered the journey ahead, Sir Eric, the mansion, and most anything else that entered their minds, but soon they slept, apparently finally accepting the fact Sir Eric meant them no harm. Still, light sleeping never hurt anything.

- JimGM.

PBEM Orlantia: Night All!

Cosher returned to his chosen room and began to settle in for the night.

"Maybe the auld boy isnae too bad after all," he uttered as he folded his garments at the bottom of the bed. Years of service on the seas had gotten him into the habit of keeping his meager possessions neat and tidy - the average sailor had never been afforded much space whilst in service.

"Ah do think Ah'll give him the benefit o' the doubt," he continued to himself. Now that he was alone, his old habit of talking to himself - a habit born from long stints alone in the crow's nests of ships - was resurfacing. He would have to be careful to keep that one under wraps - he certainly didn't want any of the others to think he as going slightly mad!

Continuing to mutter to himself, Cosher climbed into bed. His curiosity towards this magical house was burning, but the stout had made him sleepy and he felt more inclined to getting a good night's rest than prowling around the knight's mansion. Nevertheless, he laid out Sliobhann on the small table next to the bed, within easy reaching distance.

*Just in case, Cosher-me-boy!*

- Johnny (Cosher)

PBEM Orlantia: A Question For Afyanna

Tyrulf waited for a few minutes until he heard Cosher retire to his room. Putting his axe beside his bed, he left his room and walked over to the room that Afyanna had taken, knocking lightly.

"Who is it?" called Afyanna from the other side of the door.

Tyrulf smiled. *I'd bet 10 GPs that she is standing behind the door with her sword in hand.*

"It's Tyrulf. I would like to speak to you for a moment, if you don't mind."

Afyanna opened the door and looked around. After seeing that Tyrulf was alone and unarmed, she let him in. Tyrulf looked around and saw that the room was furnished the same as his. *They probably are all the same. I wonder if there are more lavish guest quarters?* Shaking his head Tyrulf focused on Afyanna.

"I was wondering what your thoughts about Sir Eric are. He was given this title - does this mean that he is less trustworthy than some one born into it? I am not sure if I should say anything about my past. It seems that someone like him would have many connections and some may be with enemies of my past - dome of the others still seem hesitant - I'm not sure if they trust him," rambled Tyrulf.

Afyanna could tell that he was nervous - it wasn't difficult after all.

- MJA (Tyrulf)

PBEM Orlantia: Conflicts of the Heart

Sir Eric had been very observant in guessing that Valin was from off world, as well as in guessing the origins of the others. And so Valin had decided to remain silent and observant for the rest of the evening to learn more about not only Sir Eric, but also the companions he'd quickly decided to ally himself with.

As the evening progressed, Valin was glad to see that his initial gut reaction had been correct. These people were genuine and truly showed dedication to the quest. Valin mentally chided himself for not participating more in the conversations that arose, and when Sir Eric called for an end to the evening, he regretted his silence even more.

On his way past Sir Eric, Valin looked to his host and quietly said, "Good night, Sir Eric, and thank you for your hospitality."

Sir Eric nodded in acknowledgment, saying simply, 'Good night.'

*What is it with me tonight?* Valin thought as he followed Gareth to the guest quarters. It was then that it finally hit him.

*I miss her already,* he finally acknowledged to himself with a visible nod. *Why did I have to meet someone I like just before leaving?*

Valin sighed and mechanically went through the motions of preparing for bed, berating himself all the while. *What are you, some lovesick puppy? Get over it!*

After a while, he realized the futility of it all. He had feelings for Felina, but they had to wait until after this was done. He had to put that behind him, or at least at the back of his mind, until this adventure had played out. *And,* he thought with a smile, *what a great story I'll have to tell her when this is over.*

Finally feeling comfortable with himself, he settled in to sleep. He vowed to himself to be more cheerful and talkative in the morning.

- Frank (Valin)

PBEM Orlantia:

Afyanna had been in the process of giving her room the once-over like she usually did any time she was sleeping in an unfamiliar place. Other than a peephole or two discovered in the bedrooms of some less reputable inns, this examination was usually just to keep her skills sharp. Faced with their discovery, Afyanna had gotten more than a few nights and meals for free - saving her precious gold. And an embarrassed innkeeper could be good for information as well.

Afyanna motioned Tyrulf to one of the chairs by the table, which he hesitantly took. The halfelf quietly closed the door and climbed up on the bed and sat cross-legged on the corner nearest the table.

"Like I mentioned before dinner," she explained, "I do not fully trust him either, though I'm becoming less inclined to believe he means us ill. But trust is earned, and we have only just met."

*Besides,* she thought, *from only that single demonstration with the sword after dinner, I'd wager he'd cut us down quickly, magic or no. If he meant us harm, I doubt I'd be sleeping with a full belly tonight.* No, trust was certainly not an issue.

Afyanna let out a short breath and continued. "But to answer your question, I do not think it is a matter of trustworthiness and titles. The only people I know of who are bound to a strict moral code are clerics, holy warriors, and the like. That does not mean that others do not follow their own codes." She paused a moment, "Titles and nobility have nothing to do with how trustworthy one is, so I would not use that as a basis. I've heard many tales of some of the most distrustful people having titles," she added, chuckling.

"In the end, I guess it all comes down to how do you feel about telling Sir Eric of it? That's not something I feel I can tell you."

- Rick (Afyanna)

PBEM Orlantia: Breaking The Fast.

Tyrulf had wished for more advice from the servant of Corellon, but ultimately, he had to admit, there was just too little information by which to judge the safety of revealing his possible past to the knight. Thanking the holy warrior, he quietly returned to his own room and settled in for the night.

So far, most thought, the quest was going better than had been expected. A hot meal would have been more than could reasonably be hoped for, but they had ended the day with a virtual banquet. And they were not sleeping in some dingy tavern and sharing their respite with numerous fleas and other vermin, but rested upon clean mattresses and under warm quilts. Who could complain?

But was Sir Eric always so generous with strangers? Perhaps it was just he felt kinship with them, essentially being in the same 'profession,' or having shared many similar experiences with them in his past. Or was it more? Might it be something else? They couldn't be sure.

Alas, the day's toll of a 24-mile march and a heavy meal resting within, soon took its natural course as each party member drifted off into a slumber.

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

'KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK!!!' came a loud bashing upon the door. A few seconds passed. 'Knock Knock Knock!!' came a distant, somewhat softer pounding. Another few seconds passed before another 'knock knock knock' came, an even more distant thumping.

Awakened from a deep sleep, it took half a minute to orient themselves. Where were they? What was that? Huh? Who . . . Oh, yeah.

Someone was knocking with three sharp raps on each door in turn, going down the hall. Four repetitions, five? They had been asleep. Yes, probably six total. Some servant was awakening them.

Sefarlain had the clearest perception. His meditation was never so deep as sleep. The elven 'reverie' was one of the advantages elves had over most other races - even over halfelves. They didn't need to sleep so much as they merely needed to meditate deeply, and the time doing that was typically half what a human or dwarf spent in sleeping. Sef had heard some far Western mediation techniques might actually surpass this trait, but he had never seen anyone capable of such a thing.

Sef poked his head out his door when the thumping had ceased. A young man he had not seen before greeted him.

"Sir, dawn is upon us and my master requests you and your companions arise for breakfast. He awaits you all in the dinning hall and expects you within half an hour."

Sefarlain just nodded his understanding, and then the young man left them. Soon, other doors cracked open and only Sef remained to explain what was going on.

*OW, Ow, ow,* a few of them groaned to themselves as muscles unaccustomed to such rigors were moderately stiff and sore, and arising from their beds reminded them they had not been on the trail long. Each passing day's march would soon reacquaint their limbs with their newly appointed duties, and hopefully each day the pain would lessen.

With facilities at either end of the hall, it did not take them all long before they were ready. Unfortunately, the time afforded did not allow anyone to bathe - if they had been thinking to do so - but most had already done so just the other day at the Copper Keg.

Two, then three and soon four, then five of them were milling about the hall, waiting for the others. Finally, the sixth joined them and, a bit surprised at a lack of an escort, wandered down the stairs on their own initiative, into the sitting room where the 'fire' still roared - and finally into the dinning hall where Eric sat at the head of the table. He arose to greet them.

"Good morning. I trust you all slept well. Well, most of you 'slept,'" he grinned, looking at Sef.

*He knows about elves,* thought Sef. *Many might know that, but his familiarity suggests he's traveled with elves himself in the past.* But Sef didn't say anything of it.

"Please, help yourself to the food," Eric prompted them, waving his hand at a wide variety of dishes lined up along the table's edge where six of the chairs were missing, allowing them unfettered access to each choice.

Hot cakes with butter and maple syrup, a thick porridge and bowls to ladle it into, a hill of scrambled eggs within a chafing dish, and strips of bacon awaited them. There appeared to be hot coffee, cold tea, milk, and what looked like apple juice resting in pitchers. Empty goblets and dishes and clean utensils sat stacked up nearby. There was also a bowl of apples and pears at the end.

Further down the table there were other items, but those looked more like dried meats and fish, biscuits, nuts, cheeses, raisins, and loaves of bread - trail provisions. There also sat the familiar keg of stout from the night before. 'Good morning, Cosher,' it seemed to say to the sea dwarf. 'Sleep well?'

Finally, there were a few odds things at the very end of the table that looked like canteens, sheathed daggers, a coil of silk rope, and a few other items.

"Dig in, my guests. Help yourselves. And when you've had your fill, take whatever you can carry for the journey ahead. I have some spare equipment at the end there that has been doing nothing other than gathering dust this last decade, so I hope you will take what you can use with you. There is even a map that might come in handy. I don't really know what you can use, but if you can use any of it, feel free to take it with my compliments."

Eric then led the charge and by example, showed each to take a plate, then silverware and napkin, and move down the line - taking what he desired as he went, until finally, plate almost full, he moved to his chair at the head of the table and sat down. Everybody followed his example and soon was feasting upon a hot breakfast of considerable quality.

"So, did your night's rest bring to mind any more questions?" Eric asked between mouthfuls.

- JimGM.

PBEM Orlantia: A Decision Made

Tyrulf had a restless night. The information that Shereef revealed had scared him more than he thought originally. This man had opened his house to unknown strangers. Tyrulf suspected that there was very little chance of anyone but the most skilled person or persons being able to bring harm to this man in his own house. He also suspected that there was a fair amount of magical protection to be found.

The morning arrived swiftly and Tyrulf knew that there was little time to decide if he would talk to Sir Eric about his past.

The loud knocking at his door drew Tyrulf from his thoughts.

*Well must be time to go.*

Tyrulf picked up the last of his gear. Still unsure about Sir Eric, he had to admit that he was leaning toward asking him.

*I have told countless people up until now. I suppose one more would not do any more damage.*

Walking out the door he found that most of the others were ready to go. Shortly after, the remaining members appeared and everyone made their way downstairs.

Sir Eric greeted the group standing before a table filled with very aromatic food. Tyrulf sat down with the others after loading his plate to the fullest.

*This probably the last chance to get such a meal. No sense letting it go to waste,* he figured.

- MJA (Tyrulf)

PBEM Orlantia: Why?

*I hope I'm not being too obvious,* thought Afyanna, as she added two more strips of bacon to the pair already on her plate. The halfelf did her best not to overdo her plate, but still almost every bit of space was covered with hot cakes, eggs, or bacon.

Although better off than some of the people in Liothele, food was scarcer at home due to the bitterly cold winter this year. The previous night's dinner and this morning's breakfast was more food than she was used to seeing in a good week or more. She took a glass of apple juice and joined her comrades at the table. Looking down the table, Afyanna was relieved to see that her own helping wasn't too out of line with the rest of the party.

They ate in silence for the first few minutes, savoring every bite. It wasn't until the initial hunger was satiated that they begin to talk a little. Eventually their host gave them leave to ask him additional questions. Emboldened by two wonderfully filling meals and a good night's sleep, Afyanna decided to take him up on it.

Afyanna took another drink of juice to clear her throat before speaking.

"Sir Eric?"

The elder knight looked to her from the far end of the table. "Yes? Please do ask away!"

"I hope you will not think me rude, or worse - ungrateful - for all that you have done for us . . . " Afyanna paused to gauge his reaction.

Sir Eric only halted a forkful of eggs heading to his mouth long enough to smile and say, "But?"

Afyanna smiled in return and continued.

"But why have you been so generous to us?"

She could see the others quieting down a little to be sure to catch the answer. Doubtless they too had wondered the same.

"You have provided us with far more than we could have hoped for. Last night's dinner, this delicious breakfast, and you are even offering us supplies." The last was accentuated with a wave of her hand toward the pile of supplies at the other end of the table.

"If I may say, as an adventurer yourself, I imagine in my position you would be wondering the same."

- Rick (Afyanna)

PBEM Orlantia: Relative Wealth And Responsibility.

Sir Eric did not seem surprised by Afyanna's question at all. In fact, it was as if he had been waiting for it. And now it had finally found voice.

"It's a matter of perspective, surely. 'Generous' is a subjective term. A poor man giving you so much is overly generous - a moderately wealthy man, less so if the gifts are the same. A rich man, nay, even a noble, it might not even be measurable in the greater scheme of things," he said, looking somewhat reflective.

"And what have I given you? The beds were here already. So some scant food and mundane supplies - a few tens of gold pieces at best. Well within the normal operational costs of upkeep for a mansion such as this. And what do you offer in exchange? Company, memories, amusement? Perhaps. But far more than that. If I'm right, you are all about to put your lives on the line. And more lives than your own may be in jeopardy right now. Even some of those under my own care could be in danger. To offer less than this wouldn't be honorable, under the circumstances," Eric said, looking thoughtful.

"In fact, I should offer you more," Eric whispered the last such that it was barely audible. But Afyanna and Sefarlain were closest to him, and they both had heard him.

What he meant by that, however, he did not say, nor did he comment further. Instead, he returned his concentrations upon his plate.

- JimGM.

PBEM Orlantia:

The young holy warrior sipped her apple juice and listened intently as their host matter-of-factly dismissed his gifts as mere trifles. At Sir Eric's mention of possibly doing more for them, Afyanna's brows furrowed in wonder. She wasn't sure, but she thought Sir Eric caught her expression before she could mask it.

*Offer more? What could he possibly mean by that?* She forced the thought from her mind and instead returned to the subject at hand.

"I do see the truth of it," she added once he was finished. "But it is still more than others in your place might have done for mere strangers."

She paused at Sir Eric's dismissive expression.

"I know I speak for all of us when I offer our thanks to you for your hospitality, company, and gifts." She looked around the table and was greeted by nods from the rest of the party. "While perhaps of little value to you, they mean a great deal to us."

Sir Eric actually looked somewhat taken aback, if only for an instant.

- Rick (Afyanna)

PBEM Orlantia: True Value.

"On the contrary, my dear Afyanna. They hold a great deal of value for me. It is just not easily measured in coin, this value. Some of it is sentimental, but I won't bore you with that. I'd enjoy the sentiment more, however, if I knew they were being used for what they were intended. But mostly, I highly value what you may do with them, and hold some trepidation for what might befall others should you not have them to use."

Eric poured himself some more coffee while the others pondered what he said.

"But I am no bean counter," he continued. "All the gold in the world is as nothing when you need a sturdy rope to save your life. What value does the gold have then in comparison to a few feet of hemp or a single pint of water? So while I can easily afford these gifts, the simple truth of the matter is that I fear I can less afford not to give them to you for this holy quest. Do you understand?"

Afyanna slowly nodded, for she did begin to see with greater clarity what Sir Eric meant. If she and her companions even saved one life, how could such a value be easily measured?

Silence filled the room then, each party member apparently had stopped eating for a moment. But finally Eric went back to his plate.

- JimGM.

PBEM Orlantia:

Afyanna's thin halfelven features took on a bemused expression.

"You spoke of memories, Sir Eric. If you do not think it too lengthy, might you tell us of the tale surrounding your sword while our breakfast settles? From just a glimpse last night, it's obviously a truly fine blade."

- Rick (Afyanna)

PBEM Orlantia: Ready To Leave.

When Afy broke the silence again and inquired about his sword, Eric just glanced at it where it casually hung from the head chair.

"I don't think you'll have time for that tale. In some ways, the particulars are rather involved. Who, where, when, you know? In others, with broad strokes, it might suffice to say the fire giants no longer had need of it after we had finished with them," he grinned.

"But it is a rather remarkable weapon, but then so are most magic items. As swords go, there are no special enchantments upon it beyond combat magic of the fourth order."

Afy wondered what he meant by that, but he then furthered explained without being asked.

"Each layered step of additional magical enchantments is exponentially harder to achieve, you see, and therefore each successful step makes the item more and more valuable. This is particularly true since any failure along the way may totally destroy the weapon. At least that's what the wizard told me, and I paid enough to have him look it over, so it better be right."

The holy warrior noticed Mystir was nodding his head, like he fully understood everything Eric was saying.

"Achievement of the fourth order, therefore, makes the weapon of exceptional value, if one deigns to put a price on it. But its true value lies in the good one can do with it. Pray thee all, strive to learn the true value of all you behold, for it is often not easily measured in mere coin."

Looking about, Eric seemed satisfied everyone had cleared his or her plate, and he arose from his chair and strapped on his sword.

"I think it's time you were on your way. Daylight is burning, and you have far to go to reach Fecklar. By foot, even on clear roads it is two days' distance. There is a small hamlet about midway, thankfully. It's not much, but it's better than sleeping in the rough, however poorly it may compare to a knight's mansion. But I dare say you will all accept even far less than that before you retire, and any roof for the night is a good roof, I always say."

The knight strode down to the end of the table where the gear lay.

"Take what you need and feel you can easily carry. Too much is often as bad as too little."

He then pulled a red cord and soon Gareth appeared. Before the butler could speak, Eric issued instructions.

"Have their animal ready to go, and escort my guests to the anteroom. I shall meet them there before they depart."

"Very good, Sir," replied Gareth.

A few quick steps later and Eric disappeared into the kitchens.

- JimGM.

PBEM Orlantia:

After a few minutes of eating, Sir Eric asked if there were any questions. Tyrulf hesitated giving anyone else a chance to speak. The holy warrior spoke up almost immediately, asking the question that was on everyone's mind.

Tyrulf listened to Sir Eric explain his motivation for helping this group and nodded to himself. Sir Eric's explanation tipped the scales in Tyrulf's mind.

*If he isn't safe to ask, then I don't know who is.*

After he was done there was an awkward pause that Afyanna broke with a question about Sir Eric's sword. As he started to explain about his sword, Tyrulf listened closely and nearly choked on the piece of bacon that he was eating.

*Combat magic of the fourth order!*

Tyrulf's head started to reel thinking of the skill in magic that would be necessary to make such an item. Melakra had spoken of such items. Swords that could cleave through metal as if it was water and axes that would allow you to slice a man's arm off at the shoulder with no effort.

*Personally I would rather learn how to make such an item than fight fire giants to get one.*

Tyrulf mused as he listened to Sir Eric. After finished talking about his sword, he then started talking about the group leaving. It's now or never,* thought Tyrulf, but before he could ask, Eric had disappeared.

*Damn! Maybe just before we leave,* he hoped.

- MJA (Tyrulf)

PBEM Orlantia: Preparing to Leave

As the plates were cleared around him, Sefarlain salvaged the final sweet roll from his plate and leaned back in his chair with a satisfied sigh. It had been many Pholars since he had last eaten this well, and by the sounds of things, would be many more before he would again.

Once the table was clear, he rose and moved to the end of the table where Sir Eric's gifts lay neatly arranged. By the look of the equipment, Sir Eric was a well-seasoned traveler and had carefully thought of their needs. Sefarlain ran the coil of rope through his hands, noting how light and strong the silken rope felt.

*This is much better than my old hemp,* he thought before slipping the coils over his shoulder.

The others were gathered around the table, examining other bits and pieces - the canteens in particular receiving special attention. Tyrulf took the silver dagger but the rest of the items were soon allocated in a flurry of hands.

"Perhaps we should bring the rest of the food on the packhorse?" suggested Sefarlain, the recent memory of breakfast still foremost in his mind. Afyanna seemed to concur, and within a few moments the table had been cleared.

Sefarlain gathered his pack and followed the others towards the antechamber, where Sir Eric was expected to see them depart.

- Justin (Sefarlain)

PBEM Orlantia: Daggers of Discontent

The morning passed rather quickly for Valin, waking, eating breakfast, and preparing to leave all seemed to blend themselves together. He'd vaguely caught mention from Sir Eric that they could have any of the items at the end of the table before he'd left them all.

As Valin walked toward the gifts, he watched the others select weapons, canteens, and food goods and wondered why he'd been slow to do so himself.

*No matter . . . Plenty of extras here,* Valin mused to himself with a smile. *And you can never have too many daggers.*

He quickly grabbed two daggers and a canteen for himself, glad that Sefarlain had already determined to pack all of the food away for the journey.

Then, suddenly, he felt guilty again for having been an ungracious guest.

*Nothing to be done about it now, slow wit,* he chided himself. *I'll have to remember to stop here on the return journey and thank him personally.*

With that, he turned to join his companions for the journey ahead.

- Frank (Valin)

PBEM Orlantia: A Final Gift.

After having gathered what they felt was either necessary, or what they could simply carry, the band of six followed Gareth on a return course through the mansion.

Exiting the dinning room and bidding farewell to the scenic tapestries, passing through the sitting room where they had first met Sir Eric, walking along the transition room and into the balmy jungle room and past the 10-foot wide pool, and finally, after Gareth picked up a lamp and lit it, through the darkened corridor that led back to their equipment in the cloakroom.

Along the way, they again passed the darkened rooms they had before, but again could not see too far inside them. Eric had said even he couldn't afford magical lights in every room or corridor, so whatever those rooms were for, they remained in darkness, no window available to illuminate them.

Once they entered the cloakroom, Gareth began to instruct them.

"Please leave the slippers behind, but feel free to take a pair of wool socks, or keep the pair of socks you have on, if you have already donned a pair," the halfelven butler informed them.

Mostly they were already busy looking over their own equipment to pay very close attention to what Gareth was saying. Happily, they found their gear all exactly as they had left it. If anyone had moved it or even examined it while they were away, they couldn't tell.

While they reequipped themselves, Gareth went into the anteroom and pulled the dark leather cord, just as he had done before.

"Your mule will be brought up by the stable hands," he said, while he pushed the outer door open, revealing the dim light of day that had reached the southern entrance. "If you will be so kind as to wait outside for Lord Ornatep, I'm sure he wishes to bid you farewell one more time before you depart."

Gareth seemed an efficient servant, if a bit formal and cold. Perhaps he had his own reasons, or maybe it was just part of the job. They couldn't tell. But after he instructed them to wait, Gareth silently slipped back inside and disappeared once again from their lives.

Pacing about in the morning's cold light while waiting, the mule was soon delivered by a stable boy, a young man in his early twenties. Sir Eric probably had quite a few servants around the place they had not seen - maybe he even employed a fair cross section of all of Goldenbow.

The mule seemed well fed and brushed and looked expertly harnessed and packed with their supplies. The stable boy further helped them properly load it down with even more equipment and stores, and soon they were ready to depart, only waiting for the lord of the manor to reappear. They did not have to wait long.

"Ready to go, I see," came a voice from around an unexpected corner. Sir Eric greeted them from around the manor, walking toward them and adjusting a heavy, shiny white fur cape. It had silvery streaks in it and look uncommonly warm. When he noticed Sefarlain admiring it, he told him about it.

"Yes, it's Winter Wolf fur. Frost and ice and snow will not stick to it, nor build up in its hairs or allow one's breath to freeze on it. It's by far the best thing one can have in the winter, barring actual magic. And it's pretty expensive too, but considering the deadliness of these Winter Wolves, that's not surprising."

Drawing a small jar from his pocket, he held it out for all to see.

"This is fairly expensive, too. Most magic is, of course. I want you to have it," he said, handing it over to Afyanna.

Her looked seemed to suggest she was unworthy, but Eric made his full intentions clear after her expression sank in.

"No, not just you, Afy, but all of you, or any of you who may use it. I only place it in your keeping, servant of Corellon, and hope you will use it wisely. The oily salve is a weapon's treatment oil. Actually, it's quite useless, beyond a certain point, so it can scarcely help one such as myself, once so equipped," he slapped his hand down on his own scabbard, indicating the sword that seemed to always be with him.

"But for non-magical weapons, such a coating will impart a magical aid to almost any weapon. But only for a day, so be warned. Do not use it frivolously or without good indication a fierce battle is imminent. Maybe you should even save it for one you see little hope of winning without such aid - for once used, it is gone."

This seemed to sink in, so he went on.

"This jar contains only two applications. Each dose is enough for any one sword or one axe, or perhaps two daggers, or any three metal missiles, like crossbow bolts or metal tipped arrows. Once applied, the oil will evaporate within 24 hours and the magical order so imparted will leave your weapons as it originally found them. You can't get further aid by applying the oil twice to the same weapon in the same day, so don't try that. And it won't help weapons that are already magical beyond the first order - it's not that powerful. Even if some similar treatments out there exist that are better, I do not have such a gift to bestow upon you. Do you understand all this?"

Most murmured some agreement or nodded their heads.

"Again, I'll tell you, I'm doing all this to help you on your holy quest. I can tell it's important, and to do less would not stand well in my heart. But I can do no more. Twenty years ago, I may have joined you, but not now. My stamina isn't what it used to be," he chuckled lightly.

"So, I wish you well on your quest. Maybe you can stop back here someday and let me know how it all turned out. You'll always be welcome for a night's visit," he smiled.

He turned to leave, but Tyrulf seized upon his last opportunity to asked him what he desperately had been wanting to ask the knight.

"Sir Eric, I have one last request of your knowledge. I apologize for leaving this to the last minute, but I have become wary of late about showing this to anyone."

At that, Tyrulf walked over to Sir Eric, moving his shirt aside to let the knight see his tattoo.

"This tattoo is the only clue to my past, and I was wondering if you know anything about it. So far I have found out that it may represent a clan of dwarves far to the north. I woke up many years ago with no recollection of my past, other than my name, a feeling about my age, and only this tattoo to guide me."

Tyrulf finished and looked at Sir Eric. *Well it's done now.*

"I'm sorry," Eric said at last to Tyrulf after examining the tattoo for a moment, "but it does not ring any particular bells with me. I might have occasion to ask around or consult with some former colleagues of mine, but that could take months, even years. I'll keep it in the back of my mind, however, and should you pass this way again, I'll be happy to let you know if I've learned anything."

Tyrulf was both disappointed and relieved Eric didn't know anything. Oh, it would have nice if he knew something favorable, but he shuddered to imagine what might have happened if Eric, for some reason, was a longtime enemy of his clan. Thankfully, the latter didn't happen, so this made it easier to accept the former.

"If you're wary about showing it to people, may I suggest you hire a competent artist to copy it onto a parchment? Then when you make further inquiries about it, you can always claim it is of no great importance to you or give them some other such story. You can hardly claim that if they see it branded on your hide, now can you?" Eric chuckled.

*Man! Why didn't I think of that?* Tyrulf wondered, but he had to admit, Sir Eric was both more experienced, and probably more intelligent than himself. No matter what one said, they didn't rise to Eric's position by being stupid, or even if they did, they didn't hold such a position long.

"Thank you, Sir Eric," Tyrulf said.

"Yes, we truly appreciate your hospitality and generosity, Lord Ornatep," Afyanna told him.

"Aye, it's bin a gran' experience," Cosher happily chimed in.

"May Hermes and the gods bless you," Valin offered.

"Good journey," said another, "Be well," said another, and even "Thanks much," were all simultaneously intoned around the tiny circle.

Then Sir Eric Ornatep, Lord of Goldenbow, marched back into the anteroom and closed the door.

Not long afterwards, they were once again on the road and heading for the small hamlet about midway between Goldenbow and Fecklar.

- JimGM.

PBEM Orlantia: Hay Ride.

The miserable winter of 728 A.E. had left Bebe and Jahar virtually stranded within the Dominion. The summer had been better, but when winter came and others were also confined closer to home, part time jobs became scarce, and sadly, most jobs ideally suited for their skills were either long-term employment or already filled. Subsequently, each had to take odd jobs that didn't pay very well and that frequently evaporated within a pholar or two.

Despite these appalling work conditions - partially derived from just not being dwarves in a society of dwarves - the pair was able to earn enough money to pay for a shared room and to feed themselves, but the room was poor and the facilities left something to be desired. Neither had had a decent bath in pholars.

Minor jobs at mining, cooking, cleaning, herbalism, and even bar tending and as a bouncer came and went. Never had they been able to find work together as a pair. Ultimately, it didn't leave the dirty pair with a favorable impression of the Dominion, or, in the final analysis, good feelings about working for a living under those poor conditions. They could do better. They just needed a break, some opportunity to come along, no matter how small.

And small it was. Tiny, in fact, but they took it since the wealthy lord offered them a brief repast at his manor - albeit in the servants' wing, and he was willing to hire them together as a pair. Besides, it did give them the opportunity to launder their clothing and take a hot bath, and that alone seemed worth it to Bebe.

"It's a job for the goddess Idun," he said. Sir Morgan Drentor, a knight, looked directly at the pair of friends who had agreed to the job, though he had heretofore been vague on the details - something about making a delivery.

"I owe the goddess a favor. Why I owe her is of no great import to you, however," said the wealthy noble human who chose to make his home amid dwarves. "But there is a break in the winter's brutal assault now, and the goddess Idun bids her spring be haven for nature's youth. To accomplish this, I have purchased several old wagons, each with a team of mules. And I've finagled the hay reserves of my neighbors. Hundreds of bales, all told. They need to be loaded on the wagons. You'll have help doing that," he addressed the assembled workers.

More than just Bebe and Jahar had been gathered for this purpose. Quite a few had been turned away, but the pair of friends was amongst those who 'showed promise,' the foreman had said, and could stay.

Bebe looked around the room and counted a dozen people, including herself and Jahar - six teams of two each.

"But then these wagons of hay need to be driven into the countryside, and bales dropped off every few miles. Slash their baling twine and open them up for the wild animals. Then go and drop off another, even deeper in the forest. When the wagon is empty, come back for another load. Next run, go even deeper and do the same. You understand?"

All gathered there nodded their heads and murmured their understanding. It sounded physically hard, but Bebe and Jahar knew they could do it. It just didn't sound exciting. But the pay was suspiciously decent for such an unskilled job. Bebe wasn't about to ask, however, since she was smarter than that. Another driver, though, was another story.

"And yer payin' us each 2 GP per load? That's seems awfully generous," said a small but wiry man with a longsword strapped on his thick belt.

"Indeed, I am. You may have noticed you are not just normal farm hands, but many of you have, I'm told, some skills at defending yourself. Make no mistake. This winter has left many beasts in the wilds quite ravenously hungry. And though you take hay to the gentle herbivores, you put yourselves in the carnivores' path. You may have to defend yourselves."

The crowd murmured and whispered at this, each pair deciding if the risk was worth the wage. Whether it normally was or not, this winter's lack of employment elsewhere must have convinced them all it was worth it at this time.

"Now, I don't want any of you doing anything foolish. These mules are on their last legs and not worth saving, so if attacked, leave them behind. And the wagons are ready to fall apart too. They've all seen rough and abusive treatment in the mines for over ten years. If you can deliver all your hay, in fact, you are instructed as your final action to abandon the wagons and cut the mules free. Yes, yes, it may sound cruel to leave the beasts of burden on their own in the winter, but we expect them to die soon anyway after this job, if not sooner. They'll die within a year anyway. That's how I got them so cheap. But rather than an inconvenient corpse to deal with and dispose, here they may feed a hungry wolf pack instead of the wolves feasting upon traveling merchants."

No one strenuously objected, or if they did, they didn't say anything to indicate they didn't agree with the plan.

"You'll be paid for each run upon your return, except the last run. You'll get your final payment with your last load as you head out. After you drop off the hay, in Idun's name," he said with emphasis, "you can do what you wish or go where you will. Any questions?"

There didn't seem to be any.

Bebe and Jahar were given one wagon and a pair of mules, and after loading it up - a job that itself took hours of hard work - they headed out on their first run.

Each of the six teams had been given a location to concentrate on. Their own assignment was along the southern most shores of Lake Dugar, and then along the Elowin River that eventually emptied into Sunset Lake, though they were expected to run out of hay long before then.

And so they did their job, quietly and efficiently, and without incident, making run after run, each venturing deeper into the snow-covered lands, until finally, on their fifth run, they were told that was it.

"This is your last run. If you want your final 4 GP, you each have to swear in Idun's name you will deliver the hay as promised. Do you swear it?"

Swearing an oath in the name of a goddess was no small thing, but it might not be as bad as some thought. The risk of breaking one's word to a god or goddess, however, often wasn't worth it, so most who took such an oath had every intention of keeping their word. Since, apparently, getting the last gold coins was contingent upon this last minute oath, they both swore to complete their run in Idun's name.

"Here's 4 GP each for your last run and this one, then," the foreman said as he paid them.

Bebe now had 10 GP for her efforts, as did Jahar. When they moved their team out and began to pass the last shops of the Dominion before the great pass, Bebe pulled the team of mules to a stop. The pass lead outside the dwarven kingdoms, which were ringed by the surrounding mountains. After that point they would again be in the wilderness. Bebe had pulled up the team in front of a general store, and then she spoke.

"You know, Jahar, this is our last chance to buy anything, unless we want to come back here. And it's nearly a half a day's travel just to get out to where we last were, and that much again if we come back. But I really don't want to come back. I think maybe further south might offer new opportunities for us."

Jahar looked at her and considered it. It was still pretty cold out, and he had been enduring it without complaint until now since he had no choice. But maybe he could use a few new things, too.

- JimGM.

PBEM Orlantia: Looking ahead.

Bebe was finally getting the hang of handling the poor mules. They were even tempered enough; in fact, Bebe suspected their wilder temperaments were beaten out of them long ago. The team Jahar and she drove had obviously been mistreated for a very long time. They were also half blind from years of mine work. It made them easy to work with, but it also made her very sad.

One thing for sure - Sir Morgan Drentor must have to atone for something. He sure was handing out quite a bit of gold. The hay alone would cost a small fortune after the winter these parts endured. Bebe secretly hoped that Idun would not be happy with the insincerity in the knight's manner and hoped she would make him go through even more atonement. Then again, maybe the Goddess was just as cold and uncaring.

Bebe wasn't quite sure about the Goddess Idun. It seemed she heard the name long ago but was not sure if the name was used in any of her nature instruction in her youth. Does the Goddess have a sphere of control over animals and nature? Bebe couldn't quite recall.

*I guess it could be an annual sacrifice to the Goddess, but somehow I don't think so,* Bebe thought.

Whenever they slowed or had a chance, she would try to take care of the poor animals while Jahar tossed the bails. They made a good team. She took care of the mules, hoping to give them a fighting chance against the predators they were about to face. They might even start to put a little meat back on their bones under her care, but she wouldn't have them that long. Bebe wasn't going to back out of the oath she made to let them loose to feed the wolves. Nature did travel in an unending circle of life and death. Also, she would never want to be on the wrong side of a Goddess. But, no provisions were made against feeding the poor beasts better. Bebe even decided to purchase a small portion of oats, which they ravenously devoured like a child with a fresh piece of sugarcane.

Ever since Jahar and Bebe arrived on the Runic Coast they were having trouble. The dwarves were brutish and rude. They also didn't take kindly to small gnomes who were obviously too happy for them, and it also did not help that she could not speak Dwarvish. It didn't take long for her to spend the gold she earned on the Wavedancer.

By the end of summer, Jahar and Bebe were planning to get out of the Dominion and head for Tarren, but winter struck fast and furious, trapping them. The winter was surprisingly fierce, and many creatures would not make it through. Some days, Bebe was so cold and hungry that she thought she would not make it either.

*What a cruel twist of fate,* Bebe anguished. At first, she had wanted to visit the wonders of the Dominion, but now she couldn't wait to get out.

Her grandmother would often say, 'Watch what you pray for; you might just get it.'

*Boy, I never knew what she meant until now,* she realized.

Bebe stopped the wagon in front of Droc's General Store. A few moments later she walked out of the store with a rough, wool shirt and pants - the color of dirty snow, a heavy wool blanket -to enhance her bedroll, a few days of road rations, as well as some oats for the mules. She then walked across the street and purchased a day-old haggis for Brambles to munch upon.

As Bebe stood next to the feeding animals, she took mental inventory of the items she still had. Her family has given her most of the items she still possessed. Almost all of the items she had since acquired on her journey were either sold or exhausted over the long winter.

There was only one bottle of wine to make it through the winter. The wine was from a temple of Dionysus and was given to her by her friend Ceracludius when she left the Wavedancer. The other two bottles were long since traded for food and lodging. Jahar and Bebe vowed only to drink it once they were well away from the Dominion. They were using it as a beacon of light at the end of a long tunnel. Frankly, it would probably be the only thing she'd want to remember about that place.

Bebe was standing against the wagon - watching Brambles growl ominously over the haggis - when she spotted Jahar approaching from down the street. She could not help but feel jubilation return as the time approached when she would be free of this city.

While waving to Jahar she said, "Come on Brambles - into the wagon or you will be dragging that thing all the way to Tarren."

-Shelly (Bebe)

PBEM Orlantia: Let's Go Shopping!

Eleven gold coins. It had been a very long time since such a large amount of money had crossed Jahar's palms. In fact, the last time he had this much he ended up with his black dragon and red bird, both of which were neatly concealed by the sleeves of his coat. He had learned early on that few merchants and people looking for a little quick labor were likely to trust him if they saw his body art.

They all had their preconceived notions of what a 'sailor' was - all were womanizing, drinking, gambling ruffians to the last man. While he was guilty of most of their notions, the image was lacking. The common folk seldom thought of dedication to teamwork, strong leadership, and sincere hard work.

He spoke the oath to Idun and bit back a grimace. Oaths were for paladins and knights, not for sailors.

"I'll be back in a few, Bebe," he said as he vaulted himself off of the side of the wagon. "I'd like to get a few things before we roll out." He really wanted to go buy about 9 GP worth of ale, but he had agreed to abstain from heavy drinking until they were well out of the Dominion.

He had little trouble in the small sundry store. The wizened old man behind the weathered counter had been more than willing to accept his coin. When he extended his hand and the sleeve of his coat lifted, the old man was given a good look at the dragon's head as he looked for a second, but continued without missing a beat.

Jahar took all of the items he purchased and packed them into his canvas duffle bag. Most of the items would be useful for the long trip ahead. He carefully tucked a plain flask down deep inside of the bag. It contained a decent, and strong local whiskey.

*I'm a sailor, not a saint. Bebe will understand,* he thought as he continued to pack his bag near the store. A few minutes later he tossed it in the back of the wagon, just ahead of the hay bale.

"Ready when you are," Jahar smiled, pulling himself up onto the wagon's buckboard. It swayed as badly as a foundering galley. He felt nearly at home.

- Jared (Jahar)