PBEM Orlantia

The Story So Far
Chapter 020

PBEM Orlantia: Adamant Refusal.

Horton listened intently to Cosher's plans, knitting his brow and trying desperately to cut through that thick accent of his, but he seemed to follow it. The look of horror on his face at some of Cosher's suggestions showed he understood the sea dwarf well enough.

Shaking his head, Horton finally said, "I don't think so, Mr. umm . . . Mr. McLean. If someone wanted us to flee, they did a mighty poor job by not allowing us safe escape. More than a few have tried, but when gathering up the stock, well . . . we found them - well . . . most of them. They didn't make it very far," he said, sadly.

"And not to dismiss your suggestions out of hand, but there's no way my people will willingly put themselves in harm's way to test your theory. We've seen that thing go after large numbers, right enough, and it killed more than a few. If it didn't delight so in pulverizing a victim once it had killed him, it would have chased down and killed many more besides before they could reach the safety of the caves. I don't know where you get your information, but it seems wrong to me. That beastie, as you call it, is more than willing to attack a crowd. It already has. Maybe as a last resort, we might be so desperate as to try what you suggest, but I'm not there yet. Not yet!" he added for punctuation.

"And I still can't believe the man in purple would do this. If I say so myself, I'm a pretty good judge of character, and he didn't seem the type. I admit, I could be wrong about that, but then he was a cold-blooded man from the start and an excellent actor to conceal such murderous intent the whole time. I just find it hard to believe."

"Did you say, 'drow'?" Andrew asked him.

"Yeh, we heard tell o' drow activity in these parts, but et may have bin long ago," Cosher replied.

Andrew looked more worried than normal at that. This wasn't really an unusual reaction, however. Most people felt uncomfortable at the mention of the drow.

"Do yer know anything o' the drow?" Cosh asked him.

Andrew just shook his head at first, but then added, "Just the old stories of our ancestors. The drow were said to steal babies, for what nefarious purpose was anyone's guess. Slaves? Breeding stock? Sacrifices," he shuddered. "My dad used to say that was why the elves moved away so long ago. They gave up the land to escape the drow and keep their children safe. The humans and the halfelves weren't so willing to go, though. Besides, they only stole pure blood elven babies, so I guess they could feel safer staying than the elves could. But that was hundreds of years ago. The last pure blooded elf to live here was an old priest, but he vanished, oh . . . I figure dad said around 650 A.E., so around, pretty near 80 years ago," Andrew told them.

"I remember him," Horton said, confirming his own venerable age. "A hermit, yes, a priest too, though he never performed services or made sacrifices that I recall. Name was Anlashok, I believe. He was retired, I think, and refused to go with the rest of the elves, though he never had any children, himself, that I knew about. He used to say his work wasn't done yet, but nobody ever knew what work he spoke of. He would just smile when asked. Silly old bugger, if you ask me. But he didn't die. Oh no, he just left one day. I saw him pack up and go. I guess he finished his work. His cabin's gone, though. Burned down near 30 years back." Horton apparently finished reminiscing and returned to the present.

"And what does all this have to do with the nightmare?" he wondered out loud.

- JimGM.

PBEM Orlantia:

Sefarlain's mind swam with new information as Horton spoke. All this detail opened up new leads and ideas to follow but didn't seem to close any old ones. The list of possibilities was beginning to look endless.

"Sir, if I'm honest," the elf began, "none of us here is really sure how all this ties together, if it does at all. We are as much in the dark as you in many respects as to why this is all happening. I don't know why, but I'm sure this man in purple is a clue as to why these attacks have begun."

"Can you tell us a little more about Wrath? I'm interested in why anyone would be so concerned with your grape quality. Have there been any problems economically or otherwise over the past few years? Any threats hanging over Joad? Anyone you can think of that would have anything to gain by your absence? The sheriff in Hooktar mentioned some political changes possible, but I don't know if that affects you or not."

"Also, can you tell us anything more about this statue of the woman in the village? We don't know of her story. Maybe this might give us some ideas."

"And can anyone tell me more about this man in purple? Why would he be interested in the moon? Tyrulf, do you think this could be related to a spell or incantation of any sort? Mystir, any ideas? What is this 'poem' he was reciting? And where is this hill he was on? If it is nearby, maybe we can have a look while it's still the day. Until we know more about what is going on, I think we should hold off confronting this beast. There may be more than one way to get rid of this foul creature."

- Justin (Sefarlain)

PBEM Orlantia: Times Past.

Horton sighed before replying, and with a long, thoughtful look, he began to answer more of the questions put to him.

"Wrath's grapes? All I can tell you is that our vineyards seem specially blessed with the perfect soil. Experts say our grapes are sweeter than most other places. Even transplanted vines to this region produce a better, sweeter crop than their parent stock did elsewhere. And as you probably know, the sweeter the grape, the more potent the wine, the more sugar in the juice, the more alcohol fermentation will make. Our wines can be sweet or dry, depending on how long we allow the fermentation process to go on. Our blending of various grape juices has a greater range of possibilities, and our blending of various wines allows us to control our product with great skill. If there were a secret to the land that one might carry away, it would be quite valuable. But more than a few druids have been here over the centuries, and nothing they have found, or at least reported, has shown anything unnatural - just unusual. Our soil is 'unusually' better. You know, because IT IS," he emphasized the last. "It's not our fault some people just can't seem to accept that as a final answer," he said with annoyance.

"Wrath?" Horton went on after calming down a bit while pondering the old land's name. "That's an old religious designation, a parish within the church of Corellon Larethian. The priests used it in times gone by. Wrath, Purplish, and Valentee were the three sister parishes that surrounded Horseshoe Lake. When our elven ancestors left, the priests went with them. The three temples, I understand, were destroyed by later drow attacks. But that was long before even my time. First the temple in Purplish, then the one in Valentee, and finally Wrath's temple, though that one, we're told, did not go easily, for a Holy Warrior of Corellon Larethian defended it. The statue is of her. It is said she achieved a great victory over the drow and stopped their evil champion, and though the temple was lost in the battle, without the drow's champion, they shrank from the land. Our ancestors, many felt certain, would then return, but they never did. We can only assume they found a new place they liked as well and thus saw no point in making the journey back."

Andrew returned then and took up his old position leaning against the cave wall where he resumed listening to the elder's interrogation.

"And we have . . . 'had' no economic problems before this, and no threat has been hanging over us that we've ever been told about. And our absence would only allow one to steal our land, but that's hardly a covert kind of theft. People would know. And we're not political. We're wine makers. We said all we can say about the man in purple. I don't know what he thought or why he was interested in the moon, and I'm not sure what hill he was on when he spoke to Kiki," he said.

"Darson's Hill, by the well," Andrew spoke up. "That's where Kiki spoke to him. There's nothing special about it, but if you want to see it, I'll show you before nightfall. I won't go out past sunset, though," he made his position clear.

With all the talk and travel, though they had entered Joad early that morning, it was already passing the noon hour. Still, they had half a dozen hours or so before dusk.

"The holy warrior, did she survive the encounter with the drow's champion?" Afyanna asked.

"Some say yes, others say no. It was so long ago. That statue must be over 250 years old," Andrew answered Afy. "But more than a few have said the statue is alive. They say they have seen it move, or her eyes shift and look at them, or have seen her smile at them, but it's just a statue as far as we can tell."

"We even had a wizard examine it once," Horton told them. "Nothing funny was discovered about it. He said it wasn't magic. Most attribute the tales to the fact the locals do more than just 'make' the wine," he mirthlessly laughed.

"But you can probably imagine the tall tales told about the Holy Warrior of Wrath. What seems funniest to me is that, umm . . . well, more strangers and visitors tell these tales than locals. Of course, many probably came to Joad just to see the statue move, and if you come all that way to see it, it would be disappointing not to, now wouldn't it?" Andrew scoffed, showing his cynicism. He clearly felt the whole thing was overblown.

"Regardless, the people of Joad believe greatly in her, and feel she may champion us again in our times of need. But with this thing attacking us, and her not turning up, well, such faith had been all but shattered. That is, until 'you' showed up," Andrew seemed to be accusing Afy of something. "They're already saying you are the reincarnation of the warrior," he said, nodding toward the back of the cave where most of the people were busily eating their mule soup. "Well, are you?" Andrew demanded.

"No," Afy replied. She more felt it was not true than actually knew it. Besides, it was said only spirits might reincarnate, but halfelves had souls - not spirits, like elves - so she doubted it on that front as well. Besides, the statue looked halfelven, and not elven, though admittedly, with her hair arranged thus, it was hard to tell is she were elven, halfelven, or even human.

Whether Andrew was satisfied with her answer or not, he didn't say. He only mumbled," You want to see Darson's Hill, let's go now. Who will go with me?" he asked.

- JimGM.

PBEM Orlantia: Count Me In!

Cosher listened intently to the continuing conversation and found the new revelations particularly interesting. The bard was by no means the brightest member of the group, but even he could discern patterns starting to form in what Horton and Andrew were telling them.

For a start, there was this holy warrior and Andrew's suggestion that Afyanna might be connected to her. Cosher didn't find this too ridiculous - so far, a lot of the quest had revolved around the halfelf, ever since he first bumped in to her a couple of scepters ago. Similarly when Sefarlain showed up at the docks, it seemed as if the two were meant to meet. There was definitely more to Afyanna's presence on this quest than he had previously thought.

*I wonder how the lassie is takin' this news?* the young dwarf pondered. *Sure, it's one thing tae be sent on a holy quest by yer god, but it's another tae be accused o' being the incarnation o' the savior of a people! Now that's pretty serious.*

However, he did agree that Darson's Hill appeared to hold the key to what was going on in Joad, or would at least shed some more light on recent events. He thought it important to investigate it, and as quickly as possible - there was every chance that the nightmare might return, and they had yet to formulate a plan to deal with it.

Maybe a night in the cave with the townsfolk was called for, at least for the time being.

"Well, Ah do believe that Darson's Hill is as good a place as any tae investigate," said Cosher. "But maybe it's no necessary fer us all tae go. Maybe there's a case fer some o' us going up there whilst the others remain behind tae prepare fer welcoming the beastie. What da ye think? Is splittin' up a bad idea?"

- Johnny (Cosher)

PBEM Orlantia: Count Me Out!

As interesting as the drawn out discussion between his companions and the leader of the besieged population was, Febriwyn didn't believe much would be found at a hill simply because the mage sung atop it one night half a year ago.

That was the problem with the short-living races. They always jumped to the first possible answer, forgetting to examine others. He had seen it with the bandits passing through Long Wood so many decades back, before word of the guardians spread. With no clue as to those who would oppose them in the woods, they had always thought the guardians were rival smugglers. Well, they had until one had escaped back home to tell of what had befallen his companions in crime. The corners of Febriwyn's lips lifted at that thought. Of course . . .

Febriwyn's thoughts trailed off as his attention returned to the discussion. They were speaking to one of the unfortunate villagers about going to this hill. That would take real courage.

'Of course, it is the foolish that are most often brave.' Febriwyn remembered his father telling him that. It was almost a century ago. Febriwyn had been small and ungainly then, but much happier. He hadn't understood the reason the - heh, he used to call them smufflers, yet another pleasant thought at the young mind coming to terms with the societal villain - why they would choose to fight when surrounded and obviously outmaneuvered, even when not grossly outnumbered. So young, so very foolish, and yet so . . . corrupted.

The discussion again entered Febriwyn's mind. They were talking about the group's leader being the afterimage of a warrior dead longer than Febriwyn had been alive. Poor people, they truly needed aid. Unfortunately, this was definitely not the young elven scout's area of expertise. No, it would be far better to simply let them go check this hill on their own. Perhaps they'd even find something of interest, although the likelihood was just as good they'd find it anywhere else near Wrath.

The cave floor was hard and gray, torchlight flickering over the smooth surfaces. Tyrulf had said this was dwarven craftsmanship at work.

*Not really that impressive,* thought Febriwyn.

Very slowly and with great care, elven eyes scanned the floor for any 'trouble' spots that could, without proper attention, cause problems. Having seen that only a small toe-stubbing edge would require attention, and that being off to the side, Febriwyn very slowly moved to the rear of the group, careful to avoid allowing his movements to trouble his engaged companions. The right index finger straightened and briefly touched Febriwyn's lips before the elf bowed, hoping the elder would understand the message and say nothing. Febriwyn straightened and turned very slowly to avoid the rustle of clothing and attempted to part company for a short while. Silently, he slipped out of the cave and took a walk.

- Brandon (Febriwyn)

PBEM Orlantia: Further Investigations

There was a pause as the rest of the party contemplated leaving the security of the cave. Although cramped, it felt safe and protected - not something to be given up lightly. Wary by nature from decades of instruction by the forest, the Valantaúr was not about to rush headlong into an enemy without as much information as possible. How else did anyone think the rangers had kept the forests of the Alderami Islands free for so many years? Certainly not by attacking at the first sign of trouble.

'Fight when you must, and then with all your heart,' he could recall from early lessons with his father. But perhaps the real lesson from that had been lost on the young mind. Only now could he see some of the wisdom his father had been trying to impart. 'Fight when you must, not when you want to,' was possibly the real message, not that the young were ever too willing to listen to their senior's advice. No, it had taken ten years in the Valantaúr for Sefarlain to realize some of the truth in his father's advice, but by then, it was all a little too late.

Sefarlain then began to softly speak, his mind still working furiously over this new information that Horton had given the group.

"There are many unknowns that make our task here more difficult," he began. "Firstly, the question of why this beast is attacking the village. I don't know why, but I just feel somehow it could be related to this man in purple. I don't necessarily mean he meant to release this deliberately, but the fact that there is a temporal association is the closest we have to a reason at the moment. Perhaps he performed some sort of ceremony or spell and accidentally brought this creature forth? Who knows?"

"Without a lot more detail, I can't say what sort of incarnation this could be," noted Mystir. "You see, there are a huge numbers of variables in such rituals, and without educated knowledge . . . well, you know what I mean."

The wizard stopped at this point, aware that his specific knowledge would be lost on most present, even if they could grasp the principles. How could you really understand the effort required to interpret a spell unless specifically trained in those rituals? The mental effort, learning and channeling of those ancient powers were not just involved with mere words, but who else other than a wizard could really know this? Certainly not a young, frightened girl.

Sefarlain began to frown again, an external sign that he was trying to recall something once again.

"Wait, Mystir. Words, the words that young girl used. What were they again?"

"A quarter," interrupted Horton in a slightly bored tone. "She talked about a quarter, dancing lights and a crescent roll. Moon stuff, I suppose. Oh yes, the wind and a smile."

He paused, and then in an opposite image of the ranger, began to frown.

"No, not a smile. A stony smile."

The elven ranger's face lit up at these final words, the frown vanishing as quickly as it had appeared on Horton's face.

"This young girl has given us somewhere to start! Listen, the moon, a quarter, crescent roll. Afyanna, could you show us your symbol, please."

Afyanna nodded, having realized what Sefarlain was talking about almost straight away. She reached into her robes and carefully drew out her medallion that usually lay on her chest. Its silvery form rotated slowly on a long chain, catching the light inside the cave, and she smiled as she beheld it in front of her.

"I think he was talking about my Lord Larethian," explained Sefarlain, indicating the waxing, quarter crescent moon that Afyanna held up. Of course you had to know it was meant to be waxing, for as it spun around it could just have easily been a waning quarter crescent moon as well.

"I don't know why I didn't think of this earlier. There must be something linked to Larethian with what the man was saying. But I think the 'stony smile' gives us our real lead. This is to do with the statue! That's why he was talking about the crescent roll and stony smiles! Your myth may have something in it, Horton!" he said with such exuberance one could almost hear the exclamation point after each sentence.

Horton looked nonplussed at the ranger.

"I hardly think the rantings of a drunk have much to do with this!" he exclaimed. "Quite frankly, this isn't helping my people here, interesting as it may be to you all."

"I understand your worries, sir. Please be patient with us a little longer. Do we know what happened to this man? Can we find him now? At least if we look at the hill, we can see his last known place and get an idea of the land, but if this creature has ever been seen in daylight, we should all go together. Certainly no-one should be out after dark."

"Don't worry on that score," noted Horton. "We'll be back in time."

"The statue is central to this, I'm sure! Maybe we should look at it on the way back from the hill. Afy, you might even get it to move! Does it have an inscription, Horton, or can you think of any old rhymes or folklore songs about it? Maybe there may be some sort of inscription or rhyme at the old temple ruin or this old elf's home?"

"I'd thought about whether or not these attacks are somehow related to the special soil here. Whether or not the elves in this region had some way of improving the soil is a possibility we should consider. The fact that this man in purple was a possible disciple of Dionysus seems to show the soil is involved in this somehow. Was this old elf that left here eighty years ago involved in this process? Maybe he had some sort of protective role? But given what I think the poem may have meant, perhaps this can wait until later."

He paused to catch a breath, and then finished his impromptu speech.

"And finally, what do we do about this beast? Until we have a bit more information on what has happened, maybe we should observe it tonight and tackle it another day. I'd like to see what it does here. Afy, do you think we should check the hill and statue and then find out a little more before we think about what to do with this creature?"

- Justin (Sefarlain)

PBEM Orlantia: Sisterly Contemplation.

"I was thinking along those same lines, Sef," Afyanna said.

"From what we've been told, the townspeople are safe inside the caves at night." Afyanna paced back and forth a few steps. "I don't see how waiting until tomorrow will cause any harm to anyone. I think it would be wise to stay in the caves tonight and listen to what Horton and the others have to say in detail, and then plan for tomorrow night. We have already learned as much in the short time today as probably the rest of our journey here," Afyanna added.

The holy warrior thought a few moments as the others considered the various ideas being offered. Every now and again, her mouth twisted from side to side as the bits of information gathered together in her mind to form patterns.

"Something I find interesting though," she said suddenly. "I think you have the right idea, Sef, about checking the local lore."

"There is more to that than simple agreement, isn't there?" Sef asked.

Afyanna's expression wrinkled up in deep thought and she nodded.

"What are ya thinkin'?" Cosher asked.

The holy warrior scratched at her neck idly as she spoke. "Bear with me, I haven't been able to think it through yet. I need some time to reflect," she said. "Alone," she added. "Horton, Sef, and you too, Cosher. Ask the villagers about local lore and see what you can learn. I have to collect my thoughts," she told them all. "Horton seems to think the nightmare doesn't attack during the day, so we're safe for hours and hours yet." Horton simply nodded. And then Afyanna D'Enthril, Holy Warrior of Corellon Larethian, headed into town to see her sister in arms.

The tale of the Holy Warrior of Wrath had struck a cord deep within Afyanna.

The kin-der made her way through the town and over to the statue. Unlike the sheriff of Hooktar, she could see no likeness of herself. But if the stone bore no resemblance, fate, it seemed, did. In one location, and in two instances, The Protector of the Elves called forth a champion to protect His temple and parish.

Afyanna could picture what Horton had said. Neighboring parishes overrun, and His own under siege. Corellon Larethian chose a champion to turn back the hoard of drow and keep his people free. How she was chosen, and by what path she had taken to arrive when she was most needed, was a mystery. But she had done as she had been bidden to do.

Afyanna's own tale had begun with a vision. The faithless might call it nothing more than a nightmare, but Afy had known at once that she was to be the instrument of His calling. The sad truth was that as with most cases of divine guidance, she wasn't given clear instructions.

Perhaps that is the case with all such divine inspirations. The unworthy are either unwilling or unable to perform the duties that are set before them. Many might shrug off their vision as nothing but a meal that didn't set well during their sleep. A few might understand the importance only to talk themselves into feeling unworthy to the task. Fewer still might take up the charge, only to make wrong turns or over think their importance and make decisions based on their own selfish desires. Only a tiny fraction of those thusly called upon could hear the message, choose the wisest course, and then arrive at the proper location at the proper time to do as was commanded. The Holy Warrior of Wrath had been such a person.

The stone testament to that champion stood before, the latest to carry the mantle of Holy Warrior of Corellon Larethian, looking as relaxed as a statue can be. In fact, it looked more relaxed and natural than any stonework Afyanna had ever seen.

Afyanna removed her glove and ran her hand along the stone. The sky had been clear enough that the day's sun had warmed the dark stone.

"Did you know what to do?" Afyanna quietly asked her forbearer. "Was your path clear from the outset?"

*Or did only you do what seemed like the right thing at each step?* she answered herself.

Afy tugged her necklace, letting the waxing, quarter crescent moon pendent fall over her breastplate. Here, in the parish of Wrath, on the grounds where a temple to Corellon Larethian once stood, Gimarian's reflected light off her holy symbol seemed unusually bright as it cast reflections upon the face of the statue.

Afyanna then withdrew her sword and placed it point-down to the ground and knelt on one knee before the sword and statue.

<Elvish>"In the name of The Protector," she began in soft tones, "I ask thee to grant me the strength to succeed in this as did she."</Elvish>

She continued her prayers for some minutes before finally rising again, and then she headed off to rejoin her comrades.

- Rick (Afyanna)

PBEM Orlantia: A Breath Of Fresh Air.

Horton was now quite tired and his head began to ache as he tried to follow the maelstrom of ideas put forth by the strangers. Some of them seemed true, others did not. More than a few seemed inconsistent with each other. Yet, most of them were taking some vague shape even he began to see. Sadly, he felt they might be piecing together part of Wrath's history, which was fine, as far as it went, but they weren't addressing the real problem of the nightmare.

In any event, he could still clear up a few misconceptions he could see, but he thought he'd wait until the holy warrior's return.

"Andrew and I will make inquiries regarding our local lore, but I fear we may be wasting our time. Our most notable expert in that area was sadly amongst the fallen. Still, we shall seek out what we can," he said, rising to his feet, and then he and Andrew departed for the other caves.

"Et's a shame I dinnae have a chance ta learn more aboot the local folklore," said Cosh. "They're usually quite rich in detail, and quite a good source o' infermation that's normally overlooked."

The party stepped outside the cave and everyone took that opportunity to breathe fresh air. It was amazing what one could get used to, Cosh knew, having lived aboard a ship for many years, but he also knew the smell would be nearly overpowering again once they stepped back inside. Frankly, he thought he might not do it until he had to. The others seemed to be thinking the same thing.

Most of them fiddled with their trail rations, wolfing down whatever was quick and easy.

"I'm going to find Brambles," Bebe told everyone. "I should be back before nightfall," she said, and then departed. If Horton was right, it would be safe around there until dusk, and he had been observing the beast for quite some scepters already.

Afyanna soon returned, seeming a bit more relaxed. Horton and Andrew, as well as one other old man, also returned at the same time.

- JimGM.

PBEM Orlantia: Lunar Thoughts.

"I think I may have something," Afy began, "but let's speak about it here at the cave's entrance." At everyone's acceptance of her suggestion, she began. "Corellon Larethian was a driving force behind the banishment of the drow from the surface world. I find it too much of a coincidence that the history of this area seems to bring drow and The Protector of the Elves into conflict again."

"Furthermore," she continued, "the stranger speaks of crescents and stony smiles. I'm in agreement with you on that too," she said, indicating Sef. "I think it is exactly referring to the waxing quarter crescent moon of Corellon Larethian. The stony smile could indeed be the statue."

The halfelf paused, and again her expression was of deep thought. "I'm also wondering about his use of the word 'quarter.' It brings to mind a few things. Could it mean quarter of the moon? Perhaps quarter of the year? Perhaps indeed there is something to this and it brings together many things. It may very well be that perhaps on a certain day of the year something unusual occurs with the statue or this area when the moons are in phase."

She thought back on her previous night's sojourn. Scepter, the outer moon and the moon of her lord, has been waning, only the thinnest sliver of it had remained. Pholar, by comparison, was nearly full just then and on the other side of the sky's arc. That night, given the orbital speed of the moons, Scepter would have already passed through its new phase and should be showing the opposite limb, the thinnest crescent slice of a waxing Scepter.

Afy recalled what little she had been told about Scepter's phases. In its 20-day period, each day moved it a further 18 degrees along in its phase. It would go from that night's thin sliver of a few percent, to fuller crescent on the morrow, and to the quarter waxing crescent the day after that. In the 18th scepter, the holy day would fall on the 11th day. It was now the 9th day of the 18th scepter. Two more days would bring the monthly holy day of Corellon Larethian upon them. One would be able to clearly see it at night.

Afy's voice took on an ominous tone as another thought formed in her mind. "It may be that someone wants the night for himself so that on a specific night he can perform some ritual to bring forth a new evil. Maybe even the drow themselves."

Eyes widened all around as the halfelf continued. "Whoever this is may be using the nightmare solely to keep the area clear to have freedom for this ritual." Thinking about what Horton had said about allowing an escape route, she added. "It may not be that he needs the whole town to be empty. It may just be that he needs the night."

By now, each of them were digesting and analyzing her ideas. Afyanna had one more idea to bring forth. "I, too, want to see this hill where the stranger spoke to . . . Kiki was it? The temples of Corellon are often built upon hilltops and I would not be surprised if the location of the destroyed temple figures into this. Even if the hill is not the location, I would want to see it."

"But," she added, "I do not think we should do more than plan tonight. We shouldn't rush into combat just because the enemy is here. If the nightmare comes to this place often, then we can get it another night."

- Rick (Afyanna)

PBEM Orlantia: Jontar Gammow.

Horton, having heard more than enough mistakes, took the reigns of the conversation then.

"This isn't a waiting game any longer," he began. "Unless you all have quite a bit of food on you that I don't see, we'll be starving inside a day or two. We had to be that desperate to think about leaving Joad, and we were discussing it this morning when you came upon us. There are a lot of mouths to feed here, maybe more than you seem to appreciate," he sighed, and then he slumped against the cave's entrance and slid to the ground.

Looking up, Horton told them, "I don't think your exploration of Wrath's history is really dealing with our problems, but . . ." he paused and sighed. "But I respect your wishes, and I'll try to help. First off, Jontar here might know a bit about what you seek. Jon, tell them what you can about what you told us."

The old man looked grateful to be of some use. Up to then, he had felt a worthless burden, too old to fight, to gather food, or even to run, and knowing his family would not abandon him made it that much worse.

"Aye, the Holy Warrior of Wrath. My gran used to tell me tales of her when I was a boy. She were the last of a long line of mercenaries the elves hired to fight the drow, though I don't think she came for money like the others. She were truly a heroine, she were, and she beat back many of those dark villains and gave them what for. But gran says the drow got so desperate, they unleashed a terrible evil upon her, and when she fought it . . . well . . . she died. The temple, the warrior, the evil . . . everything, gone. But gran says she took the evil with her. Joree were her name. Sheen, yeah, Joree Sheen, gran said. I asked what the evil was, but even gran didn't know that. She said drow were evil enough. Tis sad, though, even though she died protectin' us, the drow went on with their raidin', and the elves ran out of money for mercenaries, I'm told, and so the elves sadly left the lands of Wrath and them other parishes. But when the elves left, the drow stopped coming too. Twer no more elven babies or children for them to steal. Even so, even so, ten years after the raids stopped, the folk who stayed built a statue in her honor. Gran said that were in 470. I remember since it were two hundred years exactly from when I were born in 670, and now I'm 58."

"And where was the temple?" Afyanna asked.

Jontar frowned. "Never did know that. It were gone long before even my gran's time. Ain't no ruins of it anywhere round here that I ever seen, either. Not up Darson's Hill, nor that old man, Anlashok's, burnt out cabin. There ain't been a proper priest of Corellon Larethian living round here in a very long time. We still believe, though, miss," he said to Afyanna. "Twer called Moonstone Temple, that I can tell you, if that helps any. Gran knew that."

"That's so VERY interesting!" Andrew said sarcastically, growing more and more impatient. At least he seemed to regret it, but instead of saying so, he slipped back into the cave.

"Well, you can't blame him," said Horton. "I know you mean well, but hunger and fear, they do things. You aren't exactly seeing us at our best," Horton apologized.

"What did your gran know about that man, Anlashok?" asked Sef.

"Him? Not much. Nobody knew much of that ol' elf, and that's the way he seemed to like it, gran said. He was long gone before I was born, though."

"And do ya know any songs or poems aboot the lady, Joree?" Cosher asked.

Jontar thought a moment. Yeah, there were one my gran used to sing. I can only remember a bit of it, though."

He sang it badly, and though one could tell he was at least not tone deaf, he obviously lacked talent.

"And so in love was our Joree, She vowed to set her people free, When timber came, the curse of drow, She vowed again to fight them now, Her love was strong, no one did doubt, Her steel true, both bright and stout, But flesh alone, and failed bone, Now Joree's smile remains in stone. On quarter days, of dancing light, A gift from He, for her good fight, A warder now, her soul to keep, May rise from slumber, her long sleep, To see her friends and children of, To gaze upon of those she loved, Til comes a time, if er' it be, Again from love, her soul'll be free."

"I think gran knew a few more verses too, but that were all I can recollect. They might even be, well . . . not quite right, but it's the best I can do."

"Thank you, Jon," Horton offered. "It may be of great help." He saw Jon's question. "No, stay here a while. They may have some questions, though I think you've told all that you know, or at least, all that you know you know," explained Horton. "Do you have any more questions, or did you wish Andrew to take you to Darson's Hill?"

- JimGM.

PBEM Orlantia: Jon's Tale

The words, faint but clear, echoed around the entrance to the cave. It gave the song enough power to reach many of the townsfolk and a few looked up as they heard the singing.

"I think we have a lot to try and put in order," began Afyanna, as the song came to an end. "Does anyone have any questions?"

Tyrulf raised his hand at the front of the group.

"Umm, just one. What do you mean by 'When timber came, the curse of drow'?"

Sefarlain raised his hand as well.

"And have you ever seen the statue on a waxing quarter moon? Do they say anything else about her then?"

- Justin (Sefarlain)

PBEM Orlantia: A Little Time.

"So there is perhaps something to that statue after all," Alana said. "Ha, my instincts were right."

She had been a bit subdued after so many of her plans were crushed before she even had had a chance to try them out. They had appeared so perfect when she thought them up.

*The water may still work,* she thought to herself. And that no one had heard anything of Lucian hadn't brightened her mood very much either.

But now some of her enthusiasm returned again.

"I think you are on the right track," she said to Afyanna. "Perhaps the evil the drow unleashed is the same one that is now terrorizing the people. The Gods know it will be hard enough to slay the accursed beast. So the more we find out, the better our chances are of actually succeeding in vanquishing it."

"As long as we are back before dark, I would like to have a look at that hill," she said to Horton. "I only hope we find the answer to all the riddles soon, because I also see that the situation is becoming desperate for the people of Joad."

*It is a good thing they have found these caves in which they have been safe so far,* the druid silently thought. *This buys us at least a little time to come up with something.*

- Wilma (Alana)

PBEM Orlantia: Tour D'Joad.

Jontar looked confused at Tyrulf's question.

"What do you mean, what do 'I' mean by timber? I don't mean nothin' by it, mister. I didn't write the song, you know. Near as I can figure, lots of songs are filled with words people don't always understand why they were put there, and my dad always said poetry were even worse for understanding. He always said it was like them poets didn't want most folk to understand what they were saying. But I'm not much for poetry, so I don't really know. Sorry," he apologized, looking crestfallen. He suddenly felt old and useless again.

"And the statue?" Sef asked.

Jontar just shook his head. "I dunno if I have or I haven't seen it at just one of those times. I don't normally wander the streets at night, anyhow. But I never saw it do nothin', if that's what you mean. No one I know has. They would have said."

"We could ask the other townsfolk," Sef suggested.

"WE'VE!" Andrew spat, but then regained his composure before starting again. "We've already asked them - everyone!" Andrew hissed under his breath. People looked up to discover Andrew had returned and was standing just inside the cave's entrance.

Horton stood up again but kept leaning against the stony rock surface. "I do believe we've exhausted your line of inquires into this matter. Our people do not know any more, and they're weak and tired and too scared to think. Some of them are already sick, too, though it's nothing a good meal and a warm bed wouldn't cure."

"Sick?" said Valin. "Perhaps I should see what I can do," he announced, and then returned inside the cave.

Everyone fell silent then. The town elder was probably right. They had taken discussion of the matter about as far as it would go. Yet they did have a few things to investigate.

"Then maybe it's time to see this hill, and maybe the burnt out cabin," Sef said to Horton. Horton shook his head.

"No, not me. I've been up all night and I'm exhausted, but Andrew will show you."

The young man seemed willing, however grudgingly, to escort them around town.

"OK, let's go to the hill first. It's closest.

Ten minutes later they found themselves on an unremarkable hill overlooking a town well. There was a stone bench atop the hill, and it did provide an excellent view both up and down the road leading past the well. But that was all.

The entire party was there, with the exceptions of Valin, who had remained to tend to the sick, Bebe, who had gone in search of Brambles, and Febriwyn. No one seemed to know where he was. It was not, however, a matter of concern, for each of them could probably take care of themselves. If he didn't show up before nightfall's close approach, then they might have greater cause to worry, but for now they concentrated on the task at hand.

Half and hour later, having examined the hill, looked for tracks, even giving the well a good 'once over,' they regrettably had to conclude they could find nothing worth mentioning.

"Et's a good spot for a wee nip," Cosher offered.

"Every where's a good spot for a wee nip for you, Cosh," Tyrulf chuckled at his new friend.

They all took the opportunity to refilled their waterskins and canteens, and then asked Andrew to take them to Anlashok's burnt out cabin. Fifteen minutes later in a thick stand of trees just outside of town, they arrived at the old, overgrown, remnants of a log cabin. They spent two hours shifting through it, search the surrounding area, and making sure they left no stone unturned. Sadly, what they found was mostly the sort of vermin one would expect to be living under rocks.

"How'd this place burn down?" Afy asked Andrew.

"I don't know. No one does, Horton told me earlier. It was long after Anlashok had left. The cabin was old and leaking and disused by all except little animals. And, well . . . maybe some really young couples," he admitted. "It was probably an accident with a lamp."

"Aye," Cosher said, kicking the twisted and rusted lamp he had found earlier buried in the debris.

Again, coming up short, they were at another dead end.

"OK, the statue," Alana said.

Another quarter hour passed and they made their way back, looking at the many empty houses and buildings and the minor damage that recent neglect wrought upon them. They finally ended up where the scouts had been the night before.

The Holy Warrior of Wrath stood before them, smiling, unmoving, unchanging - lifeless, however lifelike it may have been sculpted. Only the plaque was there for markings, and it did not tell them anything new. It seemed riveted to the stone in a manner that was meant to be permanent. A careful examination by all who wished to look eventually bore no fruit. No secret panels or doors, no trap doors, no moving parts at all. However, it did become clear the statue had, at one time, more stonework around its perimeter in times past.

"What was this?" Afyanna asked Andrew.

He looked at it for a bit and then replied, "There used to be benches and stuff, more of a shrine around it once, but it messed up the square's traffic flow, so it was taken out."

The fact the statue had been part of a shrine was not too surprising, and it was no doubt consecrated to Corellon Larethian, but without a priest to at least occasionally tend to it, shrines often fell into disuse and disrepair.

"Well, the quarter moon is tomorrow," Sef said. "Maybe tomorrow we might see something."

"No, no," Afy corrected him. "The quarter moon isn't tomorrow, but the night after that, on the 11th."

"Oh, yeah," said Sef. "Another two nights then. Horton isn't going to like us sitting around and waiting just for this," he announced with considerable certainty.

"What now?" Andrew wanted to know, waiting for them to decide to do something he felt might be more useful.

- JimGM.

PBEM Orlantia: Finishing The Tour

The group stood in the center of the square, looking around at the unoccupied buildings surrounding them. The empty windows simply stared back at them without giving any answers to their dilemma.

Sefarlain felt stuck. The next decisions they made could be critical, both for the village and for the party, and he had hoped to get some further information from the cabin or statue. But these had proven to be blind alleys, offering much but giving nothing. The ranger almost felt cheated. Where should they turn now?

"Afy," he said in a low tone, "I can't find anything of much use here. Maybe the quarter moon may reveal something, but nothing at the moment. I can only think the poem means that the statue holds some sort of key, perhaps, to what we need to do to sort all this out. But until then, I'm not sure where else to go."

He turned to Andrew with a final question.

"Andrew, is there a museum or any written knowledge here about the statue? Anything left at all?"

- Justin (Sefarlain)

PBEM Orlantia: Lost Ancestors.

Andrew shook his head. "We aren't such a large city for that, though we did have a local expert. No doubt she had notes or something."

"Can you can take us to her?" Sef asked, slightly puzzled such an expert was not already put forth.

"No. Horton told you, she died. Another victim, another fire. Any notes she may have had went up in smoke along with her house, even assuming she kept notes. She had a pretty good memory. We just aren't that big on history, most of us. Few people are. Most wouldn't know the first names of their great grandparents if you asked them. Many wouldn't even know all four names of their grandparents. Besides, you guys are seeking information not one or two generations back, but for hundreds of years or more. Well, at least not human generations," he admitted. "But there are no more of your kind here, elf," he said in an accusatory manner, almost like he was now blaming elvenkind for some failing.

Maybe he was, after all, since Joad's elven ancestors had indeed eventually been beaten by the drow and had abandoned them. What's worse, even after several hundred years, some of those elves might still be alive somewhere else on Orlantia. They could probably tell quite a bit, if any of them were just around.

But there was just no way of knowing who, or where to look on all of Orlantia for those elves. Sef wondered about them. Then it occurred to him, it was actually possible the elves that left Wrath several hundred years ago might be some of his own ancestors - maybe even Afyanna's own ancestors, or even Wyn's. Why not? A life span of six or seven centuries was a long time to account for things like children. What if they had relocated to Tugath, for instance?

Well, it wasn't as if he had run into any Anluviors or d'Enthrills, or even any D'leorns. Of course, toss in five generations per century of human lineage and the elven names would likely fade into history. When he considered it, the fact there were any halfelves of significant elven blood at all remaining quite amazed him. Then again, nothing said other outside halfelves might not migrate to a halfelven community, or other elves might not visit the place and sire another generation in their travels. There were countless ways a history might unfold.

Sefarlain shook his head. Such thoughts were leading him nowhere, not unlike the recent tour of Joad.

"I don't suppose you'd want to show us her burnt out house?" Sef asked.

Andrew considered it. It was maybe an hour there and back, on the opposite end of Joad.

"I can pretty much guarantee you that you won't find anything, and it's an hour there and an hour back. It'll be dark in less than three hours, and to be safe we don't stay outside for the last hour of daylight. That nightmare is too unpredictable, and we aren't that certain of its habits. Some nights, we don't see it at all, but we . . . feel its presence, looming, ever looming just outside. No, I'm not going, but I'll give you directions if you wish to waste your last hours of daylight for another dead end trip. And that's not even counting any time to shift through any rubble that's been buried under snow all winter. It's a fool's errand," he assured them.

"So, what do you want then?" he asked, now that they had the skinny.

- JimGM.

PBEM Orlantia: Curiosity.

"I know it has been examined by wizards and such, and I do not want to imply they did not do it right or anything, but I still would like to cast a Detect Magic spell on the statue," Alana said. "It's not likely I am going to need it for anything else this day, and that will at least satisfy my curiosity. And who knows, perhaps I'll even learn something. I do not think examining that cabin will do us any good."

She had also kept an eye open for any suitable stones. Despite Sefarlain's warnings she had not totally given up on the idea of creating a Bola. A few of the more promising ones were now tucked away in the pouch that was intended for Lucian. The cat had not reappeared yet despite the fact that she had softly called his name several times.

- Wilma (Alana)

PBEM Orlantia: A Long Night Ahead.

"I am also at a loss," Afyanna told the elf.

Afy looked left and right around the town. Most of the people had already left for their night homes, and those who had not were finishing their last minute tasks with quickened steps.

"Regardless of how Horton feels about our presence, the fact is that today is already over. No matter what their plans were for the day, tonight we have to wait in the caves with everyone else."

As those on the extended tour of Joad began making their way back to the caves, Afy again turned to speak with Sefarlain.

"What do you think Sef? These people do not have food to last two more days, and yet that is how long before the holy day will be upon us."

Sef merely nodded. No doubt those exact thoughts had already occurred to him.

"On top of that - what do we really know though?" Her question was more rhetorical than anything, and she didn't even pause. "If we wait until then, will we catch whomever is behind all this trying to perform a ritual? Or worse, if we do not kill the nightmare before then and instead just wait, will it be too late to stop one?"

The holy warrior had heard the call and seemed to arrive at the proper place at the proper time. Unfortunately, the only option open to her was one that grated on her nerves more than any other - to wait and watch.

- Rick (Afyanna)

PBEM Orlantia: Detecting Magic.

The disappointing negative results of the Detect Magic spell frustrated Alana, and as the party walked back toward the caves, it continued to bother her. "I thought for sure the statue had to be magic, but I guess not."

No one said anything. The ensuing silence filled the air like an overpowering feeling of despair, adding to the disappointment of finding nothing at the hill or the burnt out cabin. It made Mystir so uncomfortable, he decided to fill the void.

"I wouldn't be too sure," Mystir said. "That spell is designed to detect anomalies reaching into or out of the Prime Material Plane. Of course that assumes one is reaching into or out of other 'known' planes of existence. Theoretically, there are many planes we do not know about, and our spells are often designed to detect only what we do know about. Almost anything with multiplanar properties will normally register, and that most often will suffice. Sometimes, though, there's something unknown about an object that simply defies our best analysis. We wizards don't know everything, you know," he admitted.

Though the assumption a druid's Detect Magic spell was identical to the wizard's Detect Magic spell was somewhat erroneous, it was, in practice, he knew, a very good first approximation.

"However, there are masking magic spells. These spells hide the truth from lesser, simple spells like Detect Magic. If someone wanted to bad enough, and they knew enough, they could conceal a magical dweomer with the appropriate kind of magic, masking its own presence as well as the presence of the magic on the object. Or it might alter the appearance of some existing magic to that of a different kind of magic than it really is. There's also an ability to make things look magical where the actual object isn't really magic at all. You know, to sort of fool and mislead someone," he paused, taking a deep breath as they walked along.

"Then there's also periodic magic. Some things might possibly be magic only under certain circumstances. The statue might radiate of magic under the waxing quarter moon, for example, when some special alignment or connection is true, but not at any other time. Also, there might be supernatural forces involved. A person turned to stone via magic would not radiate of magic any more than normal rock. You could not tell they were a person by the Detect Magic spell, though more sophisticated means might do. Cruder methods might also be employed. Of course breaking into a statue might reveal different densities of rock between where bone and flesh would normally be, and that's a clue, but once you start breaking up such a petrified stone statue, you are essentially killing the subject. The primary distinction between a petrified person and a normal statue would be the soul or spirit that might be trapped within, in a form of stasis - not dead, nor alive - and such supernatural forces or entities do not normally register under a Detect Magic."

He kept walking along with them and then pulled out an imperial silver piece. "These imperial coins are also magic, I've been told. All imperial coins are magic. It adds to their durability and hardness, as long as they retain their disc-like shape, for damaging them would result in the magic slowly leaking away. The point is, however, even a Detect Magic spell will not detect the magic on these coins. It is so thin, so spread out, so . . . so . . . " he couldn't think of a word for the opposite of 'dense' just then. "Well, it's not very dense, and the miniscule amount of magic we know that is on it simply doesn't register under a Detect Magic spell. It's too small. Rarified, yes that it," he said proudly, having found the word he sought.

"Still, small is not nothing, and they say an imperially made coin has a durability 10 times greater than one simply stamped out by normal means. That's pretty darn good for magic one can't even detect. Just because we can't see it doesn't mean it's not magic." He put the coin away.

"So, Alana, though your spell did provide some information and wasn't wasted, we have to be skeptical in accepting it as the definitive and final answer. There is always more than meets the eye where magic is concerned. Always," he added.

Mystir stopped talking then, feeling more or less embarrassed he had almost been reciting his own master's lectures verbatim - or a goodly portion of them. What embarrassed him most was the realization of how much he had taken everything on 'faith,' and by accepting the mere word of his mentor, without every having experienced much of it for himself.

A quick mental review of his recent ramblings told him he was passing on information as factual, couching everything he said as 'fact,' when, in fact, he had no such definitive proof or first hand experience, and hadn't tested much of what he said himself. All he could really do was pass it on as a mater of faith - not like a wizard, but like a . . . like a 'priest' of magic. His friends didn't even have 'his' word on it, but only his 'master's' word on it. Since Mystir knew and trusted Hearche Drogath, that was enough for him most of the time, but his new companions didn't know his master at all. Pondering the matter, he felt maybe he should make it clear. Otherwise, he felt like he was being less than honest.

"Ahem, at least that's what my master taught me," he added.

Mystir felt better about that. Now they could take it or leave it on their own judgment and responsibility. He was speaking as a wizard, after all - not a priest, despite his interests in ontological matters as they pertained to phenomenology. And yet, he still suddenly felt like a schoolboy who hadn't done his own homework and was handing in another's as his own. Oh well, there was still time to learn later.

Putting his self doubts aside, he began to work out what he might be able to do later that evening, as the party arrived back at the caves.

Bebe and Brambles, as well as Febriwyn and Valin were waiting for them.

"I've distributed my supply of Goodberries," Bebe told them, "and used some of my magic to aid the townsfolk."

Valin also nodded. "It's quite a problem, really. There are hundreds of people stuffed in these caves, and we can only do so much. It's a minor miracle they've been able to get by this far. They wouldn't have made it at all if they couldn't keep returning to their homes for their winter supplies, and if they hadn't sacrificed their livestock. But those stores are gone now, and the animals too. What little magic I could spare, I have. That weakens 'our' power, but gives us more time," Valin said. "We bought another day by tending to the weakest and sickest. If you rearm tomorrow with spells designed to help the townsfolk, that means less spells for fighting the creature, or for . . . for healing us, afterwards. I, for one, wish to help these people. I might do more good there, and save more lives by doing this. They're starving. At least I know I can do some good there."

Bebe also nodded. "I'm going to use most of my magic tomorrow to make more Goodberries. If we need them, fine, but if not, then I can feed them to the weakest here and buy some more time."

"But I think that should be it," Valin told them. "We can't afford to weaken the party any more by allocating any more of our limited resources to the people, so beyond my aid and Bebe's aid, I suggest all the rest of you do your utmost to prepare for the nightmare. We'll be able to fight, but our magic may be gone by then."

The druid and cleric both returned inside.

Wyn was skinning a few small animals. Three scrawny squirrels by the look of it, and a single rabbit.

"This is all that's still close to town," he told them. "I fear there is little chance of anything bigger. The winter was hard and game is scarce anyway, and with that nightmare terrorizing the countryside, the bigger, more noticeable beasts of the forest are staying as far away from Joad as possible right now. I don't think hunting will buy us much more time. Everything we've done has given us another day," Wyn concluded. "If we don't kill that thing tonight, I fear we'll start losing some of the older, weaker, and sicker of the townsfolk."

It finally began to look like the nightmare could even kill without benefit of physical contact.

- JimGM.