PBEM Orlantia

The Story So Far
Chapter 010

PBEM Orlantia: The Excited Morning.

There was a murmuring in the morning streets of Fecklar; like a wave in the ocean, it rolled along touching everyone in its path.

"What's that? Huh? Who's that you say? Where?"

Snippets of conversations and excited utterances caused one, two, then a few more, then even more locals to stride in one direction. When the wave of news hit, most even changed their direction, wherever they had been headed, and then headed to a growing commotion up the street.

Curious as to what was the cause of all this, the party moved up the street, turning the corner, following the crowd. Just ahead there was a growing swarm of people, all excitedly buzzing about something.

A few locals pulled Bebe and Jahar along, not physically, but by their own curiosity. What was going on?

Mystir and Sefarlain seemed to lead their own group from another direction, and as they got closer they could finally hear some of the news flying back and forth. Soon, all sorts of people were mixed in with the dozens of other locals.

"Did you hear? Someone said the Lovejoys were killed."

"Killed? Missing you, you mean?"

"No. Killed, I heard."

"What? Who said? Where? Lovejoys? You mean the old woodsman and his wife?"

"Yeah, that's what I hear. Davies said so."

"Davies? He never leaves town. How'd he hear? Who told 'em the woodsman was killed?"

"Dunno," said the man.

A large, plump woman with a commanding air about her turned and spoke to the pair.

"Some woman came into town and told Mr. Davies. Oh, poor Harriet," she said very sadly.

"Do you think the same thing happened to them what happened to the others?"

"I dunno. No one else turned up dead before. They were just missing. Davies said the girl came in with their goat and chickens and told him the Lovejoys had been murdered. She took a thick staff and went after the killers or something. That's what Mr. Davies said she said she was gonna do."

"What girl? Who was she?"

"Dunno," the fat woman answered. "Mr. Davies doesn't know her."

"Lovejoy's got a small place about two hours' walk south of town, yeah?" asked another fellow. The fat woman nodded.

"Let's go a see for ourselves," a big man said. Only a few happily agreed this was a good idea, and you could feel the wave of cold fear shoot through the rest of the crowd at the suggestion, most of them shrinking away, almost wishing they hadn't been there.

"Well, I'm a goin', anyway," the big man said. "Itta take the sheriff days to come back here and look, so I'm a goin' now. But first I'm a gettin' my sword."

The fact the big man even owned a sword told something about the man. Most commoners simply didn't own any weapons beyond a dagger, maybe a staff, and of course farming implements - which could be deadly if you knew what you were doing. But a sword? He was probably a retired soldier or guard or something.

"Anyone's a comin' with me, meet back here in a ten minutes," he said. As expected, the crowd dispersed, the fear that hung in the cold, crisp, morning air carried the lingering scent of anxiety that suggested hardly anyone would be coming back.

Not really having anywhere else to retreat, only eight people remained after the locals left, and thus Jahar, Mystir, Sefarlain, Cosher, Tyrulf, Valin, Afyanna, and Bebe, all stood in front of Mr. Davies general store, looking at each other.

- JimGM.

PBEM Orlantia: The Nose Knows.

Jahar stood in front of the store, the silence getting the better of him. He turned and looked at Bebe and thought of her traveling companion. Normally he wasn't the sort to go traipsing off into someone else's affairs, but it seemed like a good idea.

"You know, maybe Brambles might be able to notice something," Jahar said. He looked cautiously at the group of other travelers. There were too many weapons on them for him to let his guard down. He could feel the dagger there and if need be, it could be in his hand like lightning.

The elven woman wore armor under the blue cloak. One of the dwarves was carrying enough weapons to equip a barracks of marines, and the one in the black cloak had the look of a wizard. Two against six were poor odds. Better to escape than fight.

"Where did you get that done?" Jahar asked, as he noticed the artwork adorning one of the two dwarves.

- Jared (Jahar)

PBEM Orlantia:

Bebe was excited. After months of the same dreary routine, some sort of mystery had popped up.

Unfortunately, all the big farm hands in the area must have been out on the street, and they were too agitated to worry about Bebe.

*These dumb humans think I'm just a man-child,* Bebe thought. *A gnome just gets no respect.*

After a flurry of activity, a big, capable looking man decided to get his sword and investigate. Some murderers are pretty vicious, and it might take more than one person to bring them to justice.

*It's not like we have anything else pressing to do. It may be interesting,* she thought.

"Your right, Jahar. Brambles may be able to track the culprit, or at least find a clue," Bebe said offhand as she thought about the evil that was wrought. With no sheriff about, maybe they better get a posse together.

When she finally looked up, all the peasants were gone and what was left was a covey of well-armed individuals. *Ahh,* thought Bebe, *This must be the posse.*

As Jahar struck up a conversation with one of the dwarves, Bebe decided to talk to the one who was obviously a Holy Warrior of Corellon Larethian, and asked the woman, "Is this where we sign up?"

*No sense missing the fun,* was the thought in the back of her mind.

- Shelly (Bebe)

PBEM Orlantia: Getting Ready.

Tyrulf listened to the large man talk about going to investigate the murdered people. When he said something about getting his sword, it made Tyrulf pause in thought.

*That's unusual. I wouldn't have thought anyone would have a sword around here,* he mused. Looking up he noticed that most of the crowd had dispersed and there were only two people other than his group still standing there.

Looking at them, Tyrulf thought they were an odd pair. The man had no visible weapons, but Tyrulf suspected that looks were deceiving in that case, as he stood there with a confidence of one capable of fighting, and the other was a gnome who was wearing a fine looking set of leather armor and a fur cape. The only thing that even remotely looked like a weapon was a walking stick that seemed a little thick.

*She could crack a skull with that, I'll wager.*

The man said something about Brambles that Tyrulf couldn't really make out and then turned to Cosher and asked him about his tattoos. The woman asked Afyanna about 'signing up, ' before Cosher had a chance to answer the question about tattoos.

Afyanna looked down at her and started to reply while Tyrulf look over the items and supplies that were on the mule, trying to make sure that everything was fastened tightly in anticipation of moving out.

*Best make sure this stuff is secure. I would surely be surprised if Afyanna doesn't want to investigate this. It sounds as if it could be related.*

After the equipment was secured, he checked his weapons as he listened to Afyanna talk with this woman.

- MJA (Tyrulf)

PBEM Orlantia: Waiting for a Guide.

When the big man left to retrieve his sword, Afyanna's thoughts swirled about in her head like mists on a lake.

*Two murders! And along the very path Corellon set for us to Wrath.*

The holy warrior pondered the possibilities. Were the killings related to the disappearances? Was everyone who disappeared actually killed, but their bodies removed? Who was this woman who discovered the bodies? Was she involved at all?

"We should go with this man to investigate," Afyanna told the party. The others seemed to be nodding in agreement, as if they had already reached the same conclusion.

"I wonder if these two were killed in the same manner as that poor soul you found, Sefarlain," she wondered aloud.

Their course apparently agreed on, in principle at least, the party made ready to accompany their would-be guide when he returned. Tyrulf turned to the mule and made certain their gear was stowed properly. Afyanna, like each of them, mentally ran through her possessions - sometimes lightly tapping areas of her gear to ensure she had each item.

Slowly she became aware that not everyone had dispersed when the man had hinted of action instead of mere words. Two strangers approached them, a gnome woman and a human man.

The human went to Cosher. The gnome however, made her way right to Afyanna. When she asked if the party was doing the sign-ups for the investigation, the halfelf was a little taken aback.

*These two, or at least the gnome, must not be from here,* Afyanna surmised. The townsfolk all knew that Afyanna and the rest of the party were outsiders. Like all towns, the locals commonly fell into one of two categories - though each had its extremes. Some were overly nice, while others were overly curt to strangers.

"I'm afraid I can't be of any help there," said the halfelf to the gnome. "We only just heard the news of the killings and are waiting around for that man to return. I think he's going to lead us all." Afyanna said as she looked around to the widening clearing around them. "Well, 'us' to where it happened. I suppose, though, if you want to go as well, that's not for us to decide."

- Rick (Afyanna)

PBEM Orlantia: Pleased tae meet ye!

*Another sailor, eh?* thought Cosher. *And interested in me tatts? Ah think Ah could like this yin!*

"Pleased tae meet ye," Cosher beamed up at the newcomer. "An' since ye seem tae have such good taste in body art, Ah'll tell ye aboot one or two o' them. Ah'd say a wee bit more, but there seems tae be other things going on here which may be a wee bit more pressing! But since ye asked . . ."

The young dwarf had just been about to pull on his winter coat in preparation for setting off, but he was more than happy to keep it off for a few minutes more. He gave a quick glance to Tyrulf and the rest - just to make sure they weren't too impatient to leave - before turning back to the newcomer.

Cosher's arms were bear to the tops, covered in bushy blond hair and adorned with countless tattoos. He held his left arm up to the stranger and pointed at an intricately detailed pattern of a beautiful yet mighty coastal rock formation - just above the rocks a typical tattoo 'banner' sported the Fiadharainn words 'Lo Seifh-araic'.

"This," began Cosher, becoming somewhat misty-eyed as he spoke, "this is The Severick, the legendary rock formation that is said tae sit somewhere off the coast o' Bal-Linaghmore, me hometown and the origin of this here tattoo. Now, tae the people o' Dunadh-Drihn, especially the sailors, lo Seifh-araic is the heart and soul of the community. Our strength an' solidarity are built upon its strong foundations, so tae speak. Every house has this symbol carved over the threshold, an' every sailor has it carved into his skin. When times are tough, an' defense seems tae be the only option available, then ye might see young Cosher uttering a prayer tae lo Seifh-araic. Believe you me, the strength of these rocks will see us through!"

Cosher straightened, visibly proud of the story he had just relayed. He held the tattoo up to his mouth and kissed it.

"A lo Seifh-araic, adh malaidh o feigh-la!" he spoke softly in his native Fiadharainn.

- Johnny (Cosher)

PBEM Orlantia: Greetings to a Fellow Islander.

Bebe was surprised to hear the accent of the halfelven holy warrior. It was obvious that she was from the Alderami Isles, but Bebe wasn't expecting to meet someone from the Isles this far afield, much less a halfelf. She was practically raised in a halfelven community of pearl divers on the Isle of Ariel. It seemed like a goat's age since she heard that accent. Homesickness welled in her belly as she choked back a tear.

*No need to get all sentimental in front of perfect strangers,* Bebe thought.

Bebe glanced around at the motley crew that had assembled in the town center, and then cast a measuring eye upon the holy warrior. She seemed the one who stood out in the group, and when the villager left to get his sword, the rest of the group glanced at her, as if expecting her to do or say something. It was Bebe's opinion that this warrior would soon take the lead from the villager to direct the company as she saw fit in this matter. Anyway, you can always expect some overzealous, law-abiding warrior to show up when an injustice such as this needed investigated. After all, they were the ones who took oaths to uphold the truths of the world.

<Alderian> "A thousand pardons, oh seeker of justice," Bebe intoned. A mischievous smile cracked Bebe's lips as she bowed deeply. "Please forgive a simple gnome this one great faux pas." </Alderian>

<Alderian> "Not to be too forward, but perchance do you hail from one of the Alderami Islands?" Bebe asked. "It has been many scepters since I met one who also hailed from the isles." </Alderian>

"Oh, pardon my familiarity," Bebe said to the holy warrior in the Common Tongue. "Let me introduce myself. I am Bebe Bubby Bubblebuddle of the Buddlenock Bubblebuddles, who hail from the Isle of Ariel, and this is my colorful traveling companion, Jahar Flinn. A well-seasoned seaman of the salty sea." Bebe bowed once again, not as deeply, and stated with a grin, "At your service."

- Shelly (Bebe)

PBEM Orlantia: Bramble's Second Trick.

Was that ten minutes? It didn't seem like it before the big man returned, sliding a short sword gently in and out of its scabbard to make sure it was free and ready.

Buckling the belt around his middle, the big man said, "You all a look like yer from outta town. Were you a doin' somethin' already and jes happened to be here?" he asked, but he immediately shook his head then, waving his hand as if he didn't actually care about any answers. It would probably just delay matters and he didn't honestly care about the whys and what fors. Yet he seemed glad he was not only not going alone, but also going in strength.

"I'm a gonna hear what Davies has to say 'bout these a killin's. Then we can go," he told them.

All that time standing in front of Davies general store waiting, and not one of them thought to get a first hand account from the best eye witness available for themselves. The party looked at each other, slightly embarrassed, as the big man strode past them and into the store. Despite that, they followed him in and crowded around the pickle barrel.

"Mr. Davies," the big man called, and the shop keep's head popped up from behind the counter. "What kin you a tell us 'bout this woman?"

"Well, she was young, and she looked halfelven. She came in yesterday for some sugar for the Lovejoy's. She said she was staying with them and they needed the sugar to bake a cake for Harriet's birthday. She came back this morning and told me the Lovejoy's had been murdered, and that she was going after whoever had done it. She even took a wooden staff," he said, pointing out the remaining ones propped up beside the door. "She dropped off the Lovejoy's animals and told me to sell them in exchange for the staff. Can you believe that, Jorgen?"

"You a gonna do that?" Jorgen, the 'big man,' asked.

"I'll sell them, yeah, but I'm not keeping the profits from a murder. I guess I'll find something worthy to do with the money," he said thoughtfully. *Well, most of it,* he admitted silently to himself.

"And that's all you kin a tell us 'bout this girl?"

"'Fraid so. I never laid eyes on her before yesterday. But you know she was telling the truth. Yesterday was Harriet's birthday, come to think of it."

"I'm obliged to ya, Mr. Davies. I'm a goin' out there now ta see what I can. These folk are a comin' with me."

"Oh? Well, let me give you something for the trip," he offered. Opening the pickle barrel, the smell of spicy vinegar greeted them and they beheld the mound of pickles swimming in the brine.

"It's not much, but take what you want."

Those who wanted pickles snaked a few out of the barrel. Jorgen's big hand grabbed half a dozen before he strode out the door, munching one of them. The others followed.

"Good luck," Mr. Davies called after them.

The party began to head south, following Jorgen, who apparently knew the way to the Lovejoy's cabin.

Bebe didn't know if they would be returning to Fecklar, and going back for Brambles would have taken time - more time than this group probably would have waited.

She had left Brambles north of town, and now they were heading south. But she wasn't worried. Once she reached the outer perimeter of Fecklar, she removed a small vial of potent liquid from her pocket and dribbled out a few drops onto the ground. That would be all she needed, she knew, for she had concocted the brew herself.

Brambles normally waited for her to return once ordered to 'hunt,' and while hunting, it was never long before the she wolf circled any small village where Bebe was staying and knew the whole lay of the land.

For convenience, as well as practice in alchemy, and a bit of fun, Bebe had taught Brambles to track her whenever she came across a particular scent - a blend of Bebe's sweat and distilled anise seed oil. It wouldn't be long before Brambles pick up that odor while circling the village, and then she would faithfully follow Bebe's trail from that point. It was like a game of hide-and-seek to Brambles. Bebe had trained her to find her once the anise oil was detected. Ready or not, here she would come.

The gnomish alchemist replaced the vial and continued to walk south with the party. No one had noticed.

Two hours outside of Fecklar, they all caught the scent of burnt wood, the smell of a recently dead fire. A trail in the snow went up the hill, so they followed it. There, at the top, they found themselves looking down on the remains of a small cabin that had recently been burnt to the ground, two fine wisps of smoke still lingering long after the others had died.

An outhouse stood at the back of the cabin, and a large chicken coop remained on the opposite side, standing apart from the signs of fresh destruction.

- JimGM.

PBEM Orlantia: Brambles' Return.

*Well,* Bebe thought, *just my luck. First, I'm stuck in the Dominion where all the dwarves have personalities as stony as the rock they carve, and now I'm traveling with a quiet crew*

Everyone was relatively silent while they waited for the villager to get his sword. The people left in the town center all seemed deep in their private thoughts as if something troubling was weighing on their minds. Bebe couldn't believe this one murder could weigh so heavy on this well armed crew, but then again maybe it would.

'Patience is one of the grand virtues of being a gnome,' her grandmother would say, but if there was an epitome of patience, Bebe would not be it.

Finally, after bouncing around for what seemed like ages, the villager finally returned with his sword. The group on the street went into the general store and listened intently on what the storekeeper said. By the description of the halfelven lady, Bebe suspected that she probably wasn't involved in the murder herself for a couple of reasons. One, if she was, what would be her motivation? Gold? If gold is what she was after then why didn't she sell the livestock for a reasonable price instead of just taking a staff? Two, if she did kill them, would she advertise it to the local populace who obviously admired the couple? Evil murderers can be pretty dumb sometimes, but not that dumb. And finally three, she obviously didn't have a weapon to commit a murder until after she came back to the store with the livestock.

No doubt they should find this halfelf and question her more thoroughly. The storekeeper probably didn't have the entire story, and a second telling always changes a few details.

As the small group began to depart, Bebe grabbed a good-sized pickle from the barrel and chomped it as she went out the door. She dropped what few coppers she had on the counter. The man seemed kind and was going to donate the livestock money to a charity.

*Maybe a few coppers will come to good use, Ehlonna willing,* Bebe thought.

Bebe finished the pickle on the road out of town. It made a good addition to her breakfast and was very tasty. Not like the pickled turnips back home that granddad would concoct, but to a gnome's taste nonetheless.

On the outskirts of town, Bebe began to lag behind. Jahar and the others were taking a much longer stride than a gnome could take, but Bebe was also worried about Brambles. They left her on the far side of town, and although she had a pretty good range on her hunting run, it was still a good distance away. After whistling a couple times, Bebe finally left a couple strong drops of her patented 'Ode-to-Bebe' perfume that Brambles could pick up when she came across it, or if the wind was right, even sooner.

*I should start carving a small whistle for her so she will be able to pick up the sound at a greater distance. It shouldn't take too long,* she figured.

Lady luck must have been with her that day. Right before the small group reached the cabin, Bramble burst out of the underbrush and pounced on Bebe. The members of the group, except for Jahar, being a little jittery, grabbed for the hilts of their weapons, but luckily, Bebe was far enough behind that no one got hurt.

Bebe and Brambles trundled up to the group, not so close to infringe on anyone's comfort zone, especially Brambles', who liked her space. After a couple of sniffs, snorts, and low growls, Brambles dismissed most of the party, but seemed to take a disliking to the one they called Valin for some unknown wolfish reason.

When they reached the sight of the cabin, Bebe dropped her pack and instructed Brambles to 'guard.'

Jahar seemed to fit right into the group. He began to associate with the one sea dwarf who was also covered in tattoos.

*Sailors and their Tattoos. Sheesh!* Bebe thought.

While the rest of the group began looking over the scene and the graves, Bebe decided to take another angle. She went over to the chicken coop, checked it out, and began crawling around searching for a small animal she could speak with. Maybe a rat or ground squirrel. Some burrowing animal, close by, that saw the murderer. It was a long shot, but who knew? If that didn't work, she could always sic Brambles onto the trail of the halfelf witness and track her down.

- Shelly (Bebe)

PBEM Orlantia: On the Scent.

*Well now, what do we have here?*

To be truthful, Sefarlain had been a little lost in his own thoughts when the crowd had assembled. The news of the murder had confirmed his worst fears - the murder victim he had witnessed was no isolated incident but part of something much larger. What that was, he had no idea - yet.

He had barely registered the fact that there were two extras in their party as they followed the burly man to the cottage, preoccupied as he was with this new development.

*Probably just some interested locals,* he thought to himself as they walked.

In other respects, Sefarlain was a lot less distracted, however. Force of habit made him keenly aware of the territory they were traveling through and the sounds all around as they moved. And something was making him very uneasy.

It was nothing, really. Or almost nothing. A few noises in the undergrowth - the odd branch moving. The others had certainly not registered anything. But he was a ranger, after all. And if anyone should be aware they were being followed, it should be him.

His hand strayed to Alonwë and rested there for some time. Suddenly a lone wolf sprang out from the bushes at the back of the party. And yet something stayed Sefarlain's hand. A lone wolf? Attacking a large party of men? And this hardly looked like wolf country.

His doubts were confirmed almost immediately when the wolf ran up to the trailing gnome some distance back, and greeted her like a long lost friend. These were strange times, indeed!

*Perhaps I should take a little more notice of my traveling companions,* he chastised himself. How could he mistake these two newcomers for locals? The man was marked in a similar fashion to Cosher, and the two clearly had some connection from the conversation in which they were engaged. As for the gnome . . . , well, she was a conundrum. But no need for hasty decisions.

*And wolves are normally good judges of character!*

As they traveled, the wolf ran past the party, assessing each one. Many looked less than impressed with their new traveling companion. The poorly cured remains of Lefty attracted a curious sniff, but Sefarlain left the wolf alone.

*No point in rushing him. He'll have to decide who he trusts for himself,* mused the elf.

The arrival at the cabin pushed such mundane thoughts to the back of everyone's mind. It was clear to all that some dreadful event had taken place there. And where to start? As the group spread out in a daze, Sefarlain tried to take in the scale of the devastation. Only once had he seen such a scene of utter carnage, and at that time he had been only ten years old. He pushed the images in his mind away and concentrated on the scene at hand, looking for any signs of a trail or track to suggest what may have happened.

- Justin (Sefarlain)

PBEM Orlantia: Scene of the Crime.

The halfelven holy warrior spun around at a sudden sound behind her, kicking up snow as she did. A large gray and white wolf had leapt from the underbrush and was charging Bebe who had been lagging behind the party. *Stupid!* She thought, angry with herself for not paying attention to where everyone was and letting them get spread out.

"Wolf!" Afyanna yelled, and broke towards the rear of the party.

She had only gotten a few steps, and her sword part way from its scabbard, before the wolf reached the gnome. In what should have been a moment filled with screams, Bebe seemed to welcome the arrival of the animal, and her human companion didn't seem to pay it much mind at all - after a quick glance toward the initial sound anyway.

Afyanna stopped and let the weapon slide back into its scabbard. Wolves never seem as big as they really are when they are at a distance. Most would tend to mentally group them with dogs, without really looking at them. But only up close can one see how huge an animal it is.

The wolf left its friend and made its way through the party, approaching Afyanna. She stood still, and rolled her fingers into a loose fist before slowly offering her off-arm for inspection. The wolf's pale eyes looked up at her from about belly level and edged close enough for a couple sniffs of the outstretched arm.

As obvious as it was that the wolf was a companion to the gnome, it was still unnerving to be looking down - and not far down - at an animal large enough to knock you down, even though it was only two feet away. Mass alone would do the job, it wouldn't need speed or surprise. And from two feet, if it decided to, you were dead.

The wolf made a circle of the halfelf, sniffing her and her gear, and then moved on to the other members. When Afyanna finally did move to resume her position in the party, it threw her a glance but didn't pay her much more attention than that.

After inspections were complete, the party continued toward the murder site. The progress was slow, mostly due to no one wanting to make too-sudden moves near a wolf.

The cabin was not much more than a few broken corners of the building and piles of black, burnt debris. All around the building was mud where the fire had melted the snow. Away from the cabin, the snow continued, and even from a distance Afyanna could see that there were tracks in it.

"I suggest we be careful here," Afyanna said to the party. "Let's not disturb the area until we can figure out what happened."

Afyanna moved toward the cabin and withdrew her sword. She made certain to stay in the snowy area where no one else had walked that she could tell. As she left the main path, she let her sword point gently drag in the snow along with her own prints. *Now we'll know which are mine,* she complimented herself.

Without going too near the structure at first, she could already discern that whomever had lived here had died in no fire. Bloody drag marks went from the edge of the woods toward the cabin. *Toward?*

A large pool of drying blood lay near one corner of the building at the end of another set of marks. These were staggered and irregular.

"Looks like this one crawled," Afyanna said aloud to the others, who were fanning out and doing their own investigations. Clear drag marks from the pool then lead back into the cabin proper.

There were footprints all over. "By the looks of these tracks, someone dragged the bodies off toward the cabin."

Without going too near at first, and without crossing the interloper's footprints, Afyanna edged nearer the cabin itself, still dragging her sword point. "Look at this," she said, looking back over her shoulder. She pointed toward a hump in the ground inside what was left of the cabin. The ground had obviously been torn up after the fire had already burned. It was clear that the floor had been dug up, dirt piled nearby, and then the bodies 'presumably' buried again. "Whomever dragged the bodies buried them in there."

Afyanna looked a bit closer at the footprints themselves, but could tell nothing much. "It looks like one person made all these tracks, but I can't say for certain." She looked toward Sefarlain who seemed to be studying them in a bit more detail. "Can you tell anything from them?" she asked the elf.

Sefarlain just waved a hand in her direction, indicating that he was not done looking yet. Afyanna stood up and surveyed the scene as best she could.

"Would seem an odd thing to do to kill someone, then spend a lot of time at the scene burying them," said the holy warrior. "I suggest that if the girl Mr. Davies mentioned was the one who buried them, then she was probably not the one who killed them."

*Probably,* she mentally added to her own thoughts.

A few nods greeted her assumption, for that was all it was. *Seems reasonable though,* Afyanna thought.

- Rick (Afyanna)

PBEM Orlantia: Let's Take a Look Around.

Cosher stood for a moment, watching Afyanna and Sefarlain move around the charred ruins of the cabin, conducting an investigation of sorts. Jahar stood next to him.

"Let's take a look around," Cosher suggested, nudging the human. "Those two look as if they're gettin' on just fine. Maybe we could spread oot around the perimeter, tae see if there's any other evidence aboot. What d'ye say?"

Jahar agreed, and the two set off, having first informed the others of their intentions. On the way to the cabin, although not many words had been exchanged between many in the group - it's not often you set off on a murder hunt after all - Jahar and Cosher had gone as far as swapping names, homelands, and the names of ships they had both served on. However, it was the subject of Jahar's own body artwork - having already begun on the subject of Cosher's, back in town - that the young sea dwarf was most interested.

As the pair skirted 'round the area towards the back of the smoldering cabin, Cosher could see Afyanna and Sefarlain crouched down, studying what seemed from this distance to be tracks in the snow. The young dwarf fished out his little flask of whisky, and having unscrewed the top, he knocked back a healthy swig.

"Ah," he sighed, "Bal-Linaghmore's finest brew. That'll keep the cold oot, nae doubt aboot it, wee man!"

Cosher passed the flask to his companion who didn't hesitate to take the dwarf up on his offer. Of course, Jahar had come across this particular whisky on many occasions in various ports and harbors, and was glad of the little warmth it could provide on a day like today. It wasn't just the cold that chilled your bones.

Replacing the flask, Cosher produced a small knife from his jerkin with a wrist flick that impressed even the human. With considerable dexterity for a dwarf, he executed a deft roll of the small blade over his fingers before presenting it handle-up to Jahar.

"This is a Fiadharainn laibh," Cosher beamed, "and as ye can see, ye're no the only one who likes knives!"

Jahar seemed slightly taken aback by the dwarf's remark, and shifted uneasily at the thought that his own knives perhaps weren't as cleverly concealed as he thought they might be.

"Now don't ye worry me tattooed friend," smirked the dwarf. "Ye've nothing tae fret aboot. Yer own blades are indeed skillfully hidden, an' its only the fact that Ah've spent so much time working with me own that Ah could spot one or two o' them aboot yer person."

"Ah know ye've got one on yer arm there, an' Ah suspect ye may have one in yer boot, but Ah would also guess that there's a few more positioned aboot yer body here an' there. Indeed, Ah think you an' me have got a lot more in common than just a few tattoos!"

Cosher patted his companion reassuringly on the shoulder as he offered him the throwing knife.

"Here," he said. "Feel the balance o' this laibh here - tell me what ye think. An' then ye can dazzle me wit' yer own blade skills!"

- Johnny (Cosher)

PBEM Orlantia: Echoes of The Past.

"Sefarlain!" hissed Afyanna. "Come and have a look at these."

The halfelf gestured to some blurred footprints in the black mud. The charred floor of the cabin was beginning to disintegrate, but still showed the tracks very clearly.

"I think they're the young woman's tracks; she's walked all around the cabin floor, but I thought you might want to take a look."

Sefarlain crouched low to the ground and followed the line of footprints. They were light shoe or boot-prints, probably a young boy or woman from the depth of print. In places she had run; at other times they slowed to a crawl. The entire floor was covered with them as she had moved across the cabin.

"I think you're right, Afyanna. They don't seem to show any struggle or fight. From what we've been told, it doesn't seem to indicate that she was involved in the murder."

They both stood up and surveyed the scene. The entire cabin had been engulfed, but the surrounding area seemed untouched. The comparisons with the previous incident that Sefarlain had seen were obvious.

"Afyanna, this is too similar to what I have seen before to be a coincidence. Look at the way the fire has stopped at the snow line. Have you ever seen anything like this? The man on the ridge had died in very similar circumstances, but I found no tracks from him, and that was in fresh snow. I don't think we will find too much else to help us in that regard."

He paused as they both looked around the site. His eyes caught sight of the freshly dug earth amid the devastation. He walked over to the grave to inspect it further. Few markings adorned the site, but it had clearly been done with great care and effort - perhaps by the young woman. As he stood looking down at the grave, his mind raced back to a similar scene over one hundred years ago. He could remember it as if it were yesterday.

His father, standing next to him, silent and grim. His aunt crying and holding him. And young Sefarlain staring down at where his mother lay, wondering why. He could make no sense of who would want to do such a thing. And nor could he now, at the woodsman's cottage.

"Maybe we should talk to Mystir. This doesn't look like a normal fire to me. He might have some idea of what could do this - but not why, I am sure. My mother had talked of such power existing in the hands of mighty wizards, but I have never seen it."

Afyanna looked surprised. Why was he talking about his mother? But the idea seemed a good one.

- Justin (Sefarlain)

PBEM Orlantia: With A Different Eye.

Tyrulf walked behind the group with only Bebe behind him. He was used to this since his short legs had some difficulty keeping up with his taller companions.

The events of the past few days rolled around in his head. Afyanna's warning of 'Wolf' broke his reverie and he looked back to where she was looking. Tyrulf's heart jumped as a large wolf pounced on Bebe, but before he could even pull his battle-axe out, both the wolf and gnome were up and Bebe was smiling as she brushed the snow off her cloak. They both walked up to the rest of the group.

Tyrulf did his best keep the mule calm as they both approached. Tyrulf spiked the mule's strap to the ground and moved away from it so that the wolf could check his scent. Bebe and the wolf walked by and it paused long enough to sniff his hand and then continued to do the same to the rest of the group.

*Maybe it is her familiar,* mused Tyrulf.

As the wolf moved around to the other members of the party, the only person that it seemed to have a problem with was Valin. Shortly after the group started walking again, Tyrulf asked if Sef would lead the mule for a short time before he walked over to Bebe.

"Well, I must say that your companion is a little unsettling. What is his name?" asked Tyrulf while keeping some distance from Bebe and her companion in question.

"'HER' name is Brambles," Bebe said, correcting Tyrulf's mistake about her companion's gender. "We have been friends for a long time."

Tyrulf nodded his head. "Nice to meet you Brambles. Is she your familiar by any chance?"

Shaking her head slightly, she replied, "No, she is my traveling companion."

Tyrulf and Bebe conversed most of the way to the cabin. Tyrulf found out that she was a druid and Tyrulf explained that he was a priest of Boccob. It turned out that she had studied some magic and most of the conversation tended to be about the wonders of the arcane arts.

When the group reached the cabin, Bebe put her pack down and said, "Guard," to her wolf companion who promptly stood over it. Bebe then walked toward the chicken coop in deep thought.

Tyrulf saw Mystir who was looking at the cabin from a short distance. *He must be waiting for the tracker to have a good look before he gets too close,* he figured, before walking up to him.

After surveying for a minute, Tyrulf noticed that the fire seemed to completely take the cabin but stopped as if it could go no further. A few minutes later, Afyanna and Sefarlain walked up to them and asked Mystir if he knew anything.

*Perhaps they are right it would make sense that magic was involved. I think looking with a different eye might prove useful.* Tyrulf moved a bit closer to the cabin and concentrated for a second before he started to cast his Detect Magic spell.

- MJA (Tyrulf)

PBEM Orlantia: Magical Fire?

"Hmm," Mystir said as he thought to himself. "You think that the fire may have been caused by magic?" He barely paused before continuing. "Well, I'll be more than happy to take a look at it, but I am no investigator." With that he set out towards the still smoldering home.

*Let me see now,* the young wizard thought to himself. *If this were caused by magic, what would be the signs?*

He thought back to one of the few times he had witnessed magic of such magnitude. Hearche had decided to show his young apprentice one of the mage's less favorable spells, a Fireball. It was another memory that would never fade from Mystir's mind. Once his eyes had adjusted from the slight flash, all that remained of small hill was charred earth.

Once at the building he scanned the area for any signs that the fire was indeed from a magical source, looking for similar signs as he saw after his mentor's demonstration.

*Ah yes, let's see,* he thought. *If it was a Fireball, or something similar, there would be a pattern to the snow. It should be a perfect circle. The ground at the source would not only be charred, but also nearly caramelized. And the force might blow wood and earth away from its center. Or would it? Hearche said the pressure was low,* he recalled. He paused as he looked around. *What else?*

Mystir continued to wander around the building and the edge of the melted snow looking for signs - signs that the fire was in fact magical in nature.

- Kevin (Mystir)

PBEM Orlantia: Canine Considerations

The walk to the cabin had been mostly uneventful. Valin guessed that there would likely be nothing on the trail to the cabin to aid in finding the Lovejoys' killer, but he made sure to carefully study everything along the way to ensure nothing was out of the ordinary. Thus far on this expedition he'd felt no need to speak out or even comment much on what was happening, but he hoped to remedy that soon.

*There hasn't really been much that requires my skills . . . yet. Perhaps this murder investigation will allow me to prove my usefulness.*

Shortly before they reached the cabin, the sudden appearance of a wolf broke Valin from his thoughts and he quickly reached inside his cloak for one of the daggers Sir Eric had given him. The wolf was running straight for the gnomish woman that had accompanied them from town.

*Bebe, that's her name,* he reminded himself. The moment he pulled the dagger loose from its sheath, Valin noticed that the wolf wasn't running full tilt, as if attacking, but was slowing down respectfully. He paused and sheathed his dagger when, it appeared, Bebe and the wolf exchanged a friendly greeting. *Interesting.*

The wolf ran up along the group and seemed disinterested in the others, but snarled as it passed Valin. He took an involuntary step back from the wolf, having no desire to provoke it.

*Why am I the object of a wolf's ire?* he wondered, fearfully, then shook the thought from his mind. *Perhaps he was just hungry as he passed me. Perhaps he smells some food I spilled on myself at breakfast. Yes, that must be it,* he reassured himself, but continued to keep an eye on the wolf.

A few moments later, they arrived at the cabin.

The site was grisly, to say the least. Someone, or something, had gone to extreme measures to murder what sounded like a kind, elderly couple, from what Valin remembered of the talk from the townspeople. What could this couple have done to deserve such a horrific death and complete destruction of their former lives? He tried not to think about it and endeavored to find some clue about the murderer, but couldn't stop thinking about the wolf.

Valin tried to shake it from his mind by looking through the ruins of the cabin, trying to see if perhaps there were loose floorboards that hid some meaning behind the murder. He couldn't concentrate though. His eyes kept lifting and looking at where Bebe had left the wolf to guard the cabin.

*That's simply too close for comfort.* Instead of staying to see if he'd end up as dinner, Valin sought out Bebe to ask her about the wolf. He caught up with her near the chicken coop.

"Excuse me, Bebe," he began as politely as possible, "I was wondering if I might have a word with you a moment . . . about . . . your wolf."

"Brambles," she interjected immediately. "What is it?" She sounded concerned.

"Brambles, yes . . . Nothing is wrong with him -"

"HER," she corrected him.

"- but I don't think he likes me," he continued. "Perhaps I'm just imagining things, but I was wondering if you knew why." He felt like a fool saying it, and even more so for continuing to misconstrue the wolf's gender as he spoke, but at least his fears would ease a bit if he knew.

"I'm not sure," Bebe confessed. "But give it time. Maybe she'll warm up to you. But don't worry. Brambles would never attack a man unless he were attacking me first, or I told her to attack him," she added with a smile.

- Frank (Valin)

PBEM Orlantia: The Source Of Jorgen's Tall Tales.

Bebe was disappointed she could locate no animals. Perhaps the fire or other recent activity had driven them off. They might return later when things calmed down, but for the moment they were mighty scarce.

It had been a long shot anyway. Most animals like that were difficult to converse with, and always couched things in reference to their own short sighted, rather limited interests, which more often than not involved food - finding it or avoiding becoming it. Then she realized that Brambles' primary source of food was snapping up small animals of the very kind she sought. She'd have to keep her she wolf companion close to stop her should one turn up.

"Brambles!" Bebe called. The she wolf bounded over to her in three short hops, happily looking for another game since she had won the last one and was eager for another.

Part of Bebe's game of 'hide and seek' with Brambles involved the wolf breaking cover and getting to her before Bebe could both notice her and count to three seconds. The gnome figured, all things being equal, she might have that much time to react if the attack were real. If Bebe didn't spot her before she began her charge, or Brambles got to Bebe before she reached three, the she wolf won the game and bowled the gnome playfully over. If not, Bebe called out 'FREE!' and Brambles would stay her playful pounce - usually, anyway. If one were keeping score, Bebe was seriously behind, but it made them both happy to play the game no matter who won. Now the wolf anticipated a new challenge.

Bebe began toward the perimeter with Brambles on her heels, thinking to find any tracks that might lead away from the scene. The 'sailor scouts' were doing much the same, Cosher and Jahar carefully gazing at the snow-covered ground that circled the area, always staying within a flask's reach of each other, passing it and, of all things, their daggers back and forth and discussing something too low for her to make out.

Bebe briefly wondered if those two would have more in common than she and Jahar had, but she quickly dismissed the idea as unimportant for the moment and watched Brambles sniff around the perimeter, ready to stop her from eating any animals that might pop up.

Tyrulf sullenly surveyed the others poking about, holding on to the mule's reigns while he marveled at the fact the wolf didn't seem to spook the beast of burden. Wondering why, he finally concluded it had to be a heighten sense of each other's intentions. Most wolves would probably intend to make a quick meal out of the mule, and that would be sensed and spook them, but Brambles apparently had no such intentions - for the moment, at any rate - and she didn't faze the mule at all. Interesting. He was much more like a domesticated dog than a wolf, at least in some regards.

Sefarlain and Afyanna were now in the cabin, examining the recently dug grave. It was apparent from the tracks that a lone figure had dragged two bodies there for burial using a now discarded pick and shovel that lay nearby. Whoever had buried the bodies had done it with some care. The fact it had been done at all suggested as much. It could not have been an easy job. And the way it was done suggested no attempt was made to conceal the grave, so that ruled out a murderer trying to hide his victims - unless he was a moron.

Cosher had found where the man had met his end. Not a hard task, considering the bloody trail back toward the cabin. It looked like the man had been smashed to a pulp, and later more scooped up than dragged. Jahar found nothing beyond where the woman had bled out.

Alas, nothing could be discerned regarding who had killed them. There were no tracks of the assailant that they could discover. Just the lone woman's tracks who had taken the bodies and buried them could be seen, the depth of her prints showing when she was burdened with their weight and when she wasn't.

Both Sef and Afy wondered about the fire and how the cabin burned down. The duo called Mystir over to have a wizard's appraisal of the situation, and the mage happily complied, sifting through the remnants of the fire.

The heat had been high, but no more than expected for a normal fire. The snow that had surrounded the cabin had melted naturally from that, and then froze again, naturally, once the fire had died down. But small items within the cabin survived, or weren't as damaged as Mystir would have expected them to be had they been subjected to the intense, searing heat of an actual Fireball spell. Such intensity, though brief, could melt gold and lead to liquid, and even harder metals might show signs of losing their temper with a sudden blast of heat followed by a slow cooling period. He discovered a metal lamp amid the charred ruins, but it's temper seemed fine. It had been lying on its side but had not broken, so it was not the source of the fire. In fact, he couldn't discern the fire's source at all. It was as if someone had torched the cabin, but had taken the torch away. There was no smell of lamp oil or alcohol, either. Yet . . . , yet . . .

"This wall looks like it was smashed in before it was burned," he finally said, pointing out the weirdest thing he had detected. "There is nothing magical about the actual fire or its aftermath that I can detect, however. Sorry," he apologized, for he wished he had been able to discover more.

Suddenly, without warning, a chanting emanated from outside the cabin. A cold wave swept through most of the party members, each knowing they had seconds to react before it might be too late. Hands shot to sword hilts, daggers appeared between nimble fingers, spell components were jostled around and grasped for readiness, holy symbols were clutched, all of them whirling around to face the potential attacker.

Alas, it was only Tyrulf. He was casting a spell of some kind. Normally such intentions were clearly announced before they were initiated, least someone get the wrong idea. Or was it the wrong idea? What did they 'really' know about this dwarf? Most remained at the ready. Mystir, in fact, put distance between himself and Sef and Afy, just in case, but it soon dawned upon him what spell Tyrulf was uttering.

The Detect Magic spell was finally completed - perhaps luckily. Everyone stood there, too late to advise against its use or not, and thought they might as well wait to learn what the dwarf could detect with his spell-enhanced, heighten magical senses.

The dwarf did, in fact, see some magic - a little on Afyanna, something inside her pocket, and there was something about Mystir's backpack that radiated faintly. He stopped looking at his comrades after that and concentrated solely on the scene. Carefully turning, he completed a full circle before the spell finally collapsed. Nothing. He had discovered nothing unexpected.

"There's nothing magical here, and no lingering auras that I can see," he told them. For the first time, he detected slight looks of displeasure, however, if not magic, for most of his comrades. Daggers were replaced, swords half out of their scabbards returned home, Mystir was doing some sort of inventory of his pockets. *Huh?* he wondered, looking around for why.

Jorgen watched with anxiety the entire time the others were searching.

*These here people ain't passers by jes a carrying weapons,* he figured. *Thar . . thar . . . trained. Mighty trained, by the looks o' it,* he thought with trepidation. *Even thar animals does a what they tells 'em.*

His meager short sword wouldn't stand up to a single one of them, he began to make wagers with himself. He felt out of his depth and began regretting his decision to come out there, and it dawned on him with a cold wave of fear, if they wanted to take him out, he wouldn't stand a chance at all, despite all his years in service. They were users of magic, they commanded nature, they were quick to react, and, well, he didn't know exactly what they were. But they were beyond him, and that was more than enough.

"I'm a thinkin' I seed all thar is ta see," he told them all. "I dunno what yer all a gonna do, but I'm a headin' back to town to let the folks know what I seed."

He turned to leave, happy to depart their company, though in later years he'd often regret not thanking them for a source of endless tales around the fire, and the free drinks many would buy him just to hear his speculations on what those wanderers were actually capable of doing.

The party let him go, naturally, for someone should go back to town and report. Their own direction obviously lay elsewhere.

Sefarlain joined Bebe and Brambles on a hill further south, some distance away from the cabin. Others joined them, a few of them making sure the outhouse was still serviceable first.

"The woman came up to this hill, not too many hours ago. There's a cat with her, or following her. No . . ." Sef corrected himself. "They're together. Their footprints overlap in places, so they had to be here at the same time."

"This is unusual," Mystir spoke up. A circle of earth was exposed, the snow gone. No, not gone, but apparently melted, then refrozen as ice on the ground. It was not a patch of slick ice or anything; just wet ground that had frozen. Something hot had briefly been there. And the girl, like them, had stopped to examine it. Her tracks showed the open patch held interest for her as well. Then they trailed off to the southwest, both cat and girl heading in that direction.

- JimGM.