PBEM Orlantia

The Story So Far
Chapter 036

PBEM Orlantia: A Plethora Of Cantrips.

Living on the trail was not easy for most - at least not handy. It was often cold and damp, not to mention dirty, or too hot or too humid, or too something, and one's gear soon picked up unfortunate qualities permanently. Mold, mildew, a wretched stink, and the worst - vermin - were one's constant companions on the trail.

As the hour grew late, all had returned to camp - their business in town complete - and found Valin grumbling as he worked on the pavilion, its canvas sheets welcome protection from the cold wind, the wet rain, and the numerous insects that would otherwise feast upon them. The weather was fine just then - a still, warm night - but the insects were out and active.

It wasn't the meager meal they begrudged the insects, but the welts, the itching, and the possible diseases that came after. A fire and a bit of smoke inside the pavilion did wonders to keep them at bay, but Valin still worked at mending small holes and closing gaps in the canvas structure, so what few insects that breached the canvas defenses could soon be killed before they finally slept. He hated waking up in the morning only to discover he had supplied the feast for nature's annoyances.

"I wish we had more magic to fend off these pesky insects," he murmured aloud.

"Indeed, there are countless cantrips designed to trick vermin into leaving us be," Mystir said.

"Oh? You have some handy?" Valin inquired.

"Alas, no. When I say there are countless cantrips, I mean it. In this case, countless means too many to bother having. In order to be effective in duration, such cantrips are often very specialized and will only ward off very specific targets. A lot of spells are like that, so they are too narrow. To be really useful, they have to be generalized so they work on numerous types of creatures, and not just one, but that kind of utility comes at a price - higher sophistication and power, and much lower duration. So a cantrip to ward off all kinds of vermin doesn't really exist. But dozens of cantrips, each designed to ward off one specific kind of bug, do exist. I just don't happen to have any right now. Though after a few weeks of trail living, I can see where they'd be quite nice to have. I probably should work on a few when I next get the chance."

"So a cantrip for just mosquitoes, for example, is possible?" Afy asked, wanting to make sure she followed what the young mage was saying.

"Yes, but there are several varieties of mosquitoes, too, you understand, so unless you know which one you wish to ward off ahead of time, you won't have the right cantrip. Fortunately, if you know where you're going to be and in what type of environment and climate and season, you can generally pick a pretty effective one. Like here, for example, and in most woods on this continent, I'd wager the most common mosquito is ubiquitous enough that the right cantrip would be handy in most areas. Alas, cantrips rarely may target multiple people, so I'd have to have about nine of them to protect us all from these mosquitoes. That many cantrips is beyond my power, I'm afraid."

"That sounds impractical, anyway," Bebe told him. "I can make a salve that would do as well and for all of us, but that would take time, and it would be . . . well . . . kind of smelly. Better than being eaten alive, though. Yet it might attract some monsters, too," she added.

"Indeed, yes, it is impractical to have many kinds of cantrips for this problems, and in such quantifies as to protect us all, but it gets better as a spell caster learns greater control. Which is why there is a general spell, I'm told, called Invisibility To Minor Insects. It's one rung above cantrips, general enough, and dependent on a caster's innate power and experience. The duration isn't much, but it can affect multiple people."

"But to have it and use it, that would mean you'd have less power elsewhere, wouldn't it?" Afy questioned him.

"True. But here's the thing. One could tinker with that spell, narrow its effect to one specific insect type, and probably expand its duration greatly. I dare say if I put my mind to it, for instance, I could come up with a ward against the common mosquito in this area that might last 24 hours per order, and could be divvied up amongst multiple people. By the time it went around the tent," he said, waving his hand at the nine assembled adventurers, "it might still last the night. That would be useful. But it would only work on mosquitoes, and only the kind around here. In the tropics, if we should find ourselves there, it might not work on a different variety of mosquito. Who knows? No one does, until you try. So how often will that cantrip be useful?" he said, swatting one of the little buggers that had gotten into the pavilion.

Sef thought it might be useful enough to consider, anyway, but said nothing.

"This is quite a lot of knowledge for just insects, isn't it?" Alana asked the mage.

"Knowledge is rampant where there is a need for it. Such knowledge could be applied in lots of ways besides simple wards - up to and including massive extermination spells. Imagine the power of a single spell that could kill all mosquitoes for miles around - or all field mice, or some other disease carrying pest, or some killer bees."

"That's horrible," Alana gasped. "Lots of animals depend on those for food. If you killed them all, a lot of innocent animals would starve to death," she explained.

"Well, I guess so, but one would only use those spell carefully, and in areas where you really don't want those vermin, or what feeds on them. Killing all the mice for a mile radius, for example, is a fine spell for the middle of town or near granaries or grain mills or silos. And the population would quickly rebuild itself and encroach once more on man's domain, so he'd have to cast it frequently. It's better than poisons that get everywhere and run into the water," he noted. "Besides," he added, "to kill that many in such a large area would take very powerful mages, even when narrowed to one pest."

"Could you, I mean, could a wizard do such a thing to . . . to people?" Afyanna wanted to know.

"Well, no, at least not on that kind of scale. Insects, or the nearly unintelligent, are far more susceptible to such things than, say, even a cat or a dog, or a rabbit or a squirrel. Most big things are a lot harder to kill with magic than an insect. So while some awful spells do exist that might kill people, it would only truly be effective in ranges measured in a few yards, and probably would only affect those without any formal training to resist magical incantations. So they do exist, but if you image entire villages dropping dead from one, I think you have the wrong idea. Even a god might have trouble pulling that one off," he said.

Alana didn't like indiscriminate killing on that scale, even for insects, but deep down she knew Mystir was right, and that used wisely, such a spell would be very beneficial to people. But she also knew, in the wrong hands, it could spell disaster.

"Fine, magic is useful at times - if you're careful. But it can't be used everywhere," she told him.

"Oh, I don't know about that," he smiled. "Cantrips for insects is a wide study, but there are countless cantrips for all sorts of things. Bathing, shaving, cleaning, washing, starting small fires, flavoring food, preserving food, even reversing the effects of spoilage to some extent, sorting things, polishing them, heating them up, cooling them down, changing their color. You name it, it might exist. Trouble is, of course, cantrips are so low powered and temporary that they may only do very minor things. But when it comes right down to it, many of things we miss on the trail might be supplied by cantrips and orisons."

Sef found the discussion fascinating, and was paying close attention to it, but he could tell others were tired and he knew they had a long day's travel ahead of them.

"We can discuss more of this on the trail tomorrow if you wish, but for now I suggest we all get some sleep."

No one wished to argue with the ranger, and they were pretty tired. A few chores and duties later, and soon all were asleep, or trying to get that way.

Morning came and once again they were off. The discussion on magic continued, and for the next two days Mystir lectured them on what was possible or not, what might work or not, and by the time they reached the outskirts of Goldenbow, they had all learned a great deal about cantrips.

As the sun sank low on the horizon, they could see Sun Set Lake from a hill, and the manor of Sir Eric Ornatep. It didn't take them long to make their way to the manor. Afy pounded on the door, and within minutes, the familiar face of Gareth, Sir Eric's butler, greeted them.

"Yes? May I help you?" he said, opening the door. "Ah, you've returned. My master had hoped you would. Please, come in," he invited them.

- JimGM.

PBEM Orlantia: Back At Sir Eric's

The group knew the drill and quickly allowed Bopper to be escorted to the stables where they knew he would be cared for in an appropriate manner. They, themselves, followed the butler, and without being asked, removed their bags, shoes, and most of their weapons in the anteroom before donning the comfortable, black, silk slippers or warm woolen socks that awaited them.

"Please wait here," Gareth instructed them, and then departed through the north door.

"Ah kin nae wait t'see tha old fella," remarked Cosher, "an' sing him a song or two of our adventures." And though he didn't say it, one could see the glint in his eye thinking about a keg of stout that Eric would almost surely offer.

"Just be aware of our promises everyone," noted Sef. "Although I'm sure Sir Eric is trustworthy, he'll understand if we can't tell him everything. I think we should bear the fate of Joad in mind."

*Anyway, I have a few questions of my own,* the ranger thought.

Upon the butler's return, each individual stepped through the door and followed Gareth through to the Great Hall once again, past the jungle-like room, the next room of paintings, and then finally into the sitting room. The power of the preceding jungle illusions still held their capacity to amaze Sef. Touching some leaves, this time, however, he discovered, unlike the fireplaces, the foliage was not illusionary.

*Ah, the Continual Light spells,* he thought. *These plants are actually growing indoors under their light.* Why he had later assumed they had been an illusion, he wasn't sure, except the illusionary fireplaces made him suspect a lot of what he saw there might be similarly constructed. It just happened the jungle foliage was real enough.

What to expect this time from Sir Eric, however, was still a mystery, and Sef was impatient to see the knight. He was not disappointed, for once again the elderly adventurer stood by the fire in the hall. He turned towards the party and his face broke into a broad smile upon seeing their arrival in his home.

"I can see from your eyes that you have succeeded in your aims, my friends," he began. "So, what news?"

- Justin (Sefarlain)

PBEM Orlantia: Soft Steps.

"Ahhh," Mystir sighed in relief. His path worn feet slipped comfortably into the slippers. After relieving his body of all unnecessary equipment, the wizard followed the rest through the familiar home.

"Wow," he said to himself. "It has been less than a scepter, but," the light of the glowing stones caught his attention distracting him for a moment.

". . . but it feels like it has been ages," Afy said, finishing his sentence.

Bebe, Alana, and Wyn had of course, had not been there before. They had met them in Fecklar, or shortly thereafter. It was easy for Mystir to forget they had not all been together from the start - already he was growing used to thinking of them as a single unit.

"Yes," he replied, "yes it does." Apparently he had been a bit louder than he thought.

The crackling of the fire and its dancing lights caught Mystir's attention. It was an illusion, he recalled. Much of its appearance and sound, anyway, if not the actual heat, which came from the Continual Heat source spell cast upon the concrete logs within the illusion. Masterfully done. It radiated just the right amount of heat. Sir Eric's greeting was equally as warm, and the wizard decided to relax for the evening, letting the others do the talking.

- Kevin (Mystir)

PBEM Orlantia: Beer and Pretzels.

Sir Eric looked over the group anew - and really had to - since it now contained at least three more people than it previously had boasted.

"I see you've also brought some new friends to play my game, eh?" he grinned.

"Game?" Bebe asked aloud. She enjoyed games, particularly those with Brambles. But she had told her wolf to go hunting for the night, so she really didn't know where Brambles was at that moment. It was almost certain, though, the she-wolf was staying away from the eyes of people when not with Bebe, as she had been taught.

"Yes, my dear, little gnome. Have they not told you? How curious. My game. I enjoy placing people's origins based on what clues I may glean from them throughout the night. Already I can tell you, too, are from the Alderami Isles. Talk to me some more and I may narrow it down further, but don't tell me where you are from yet. I want to see how closely I can place you. But it must be a curious tale, of course, how you came to be included with my former guests. And you," he said, looking at Wyn, "and you too," he went on, looking at Alana. "I gather you added some heft to your numbers in the midst of your quest?" he asked Afyanna, though it seemed a rhetorical question.

"A few. There was one more besides," she said, bowing her head as she thought of Jahar again almost ashamedly. "I'm afraid he didn't make it."

Eric walked over to Afy and gently placed his hand upon her shoulder. "I am sorry - deeply sorry - to hear this news. I know it is not an easy thing."

Just then Gareth returned with a trolley and a somewhat larger keg of stout than the last time.

"I'm afraid you missed supper, but please," Eric directed them to the keg. "Let us sit and talk and speak of your adventures tonight, for tomorrow I must away on business, so I may not spend as much time with you as I'd like. You're welcome to stay the night. Even a day or two after if you wish. Though I will not be here, I'm sure Gareth can tend to your needs."

"That is most generous, as always, Sir Eric, and we thank you. But we shall only spend the night then. Though the quest is over, there are other matters to attend, and we may as well be on our way if you must also depart."

Gareth then returned with a platter of salted bread sticks - long, thin, rolled bread dough baked and salted. It looked an ideal food to go with stout, and there were plenty of them for all.

"So then, please, tell me of your adventure," Eric invited the group as he sat down in his plush, red, velvet chair.

- JimGM.

PBEM Orlantia: Appraising?

"Where to begin?" murmured Afyanna, after a short pause. The rest of the party had remained silent in deference to Afy's story since the 'quest' - if that is what it had been - had been hers to tell, although each now justifiably felt part of the journey was theirs, as well.

She began from leaving Sir Eric's and retold their adventures in some detail at times. Sir Eric merely nodded at points and gestured for her to continue.

*He'll probably ask her questions later,* thought Sefarlain.

At some point another member of the party would carry on the story when their input was necessary or more 'firsthand' than Afy's own, but for the most part the story came from Afyanna. True to her word to Horton, she avoided directly mentioning the temple or the wine stores, which sadly included the battle with the Timber.

*Nicely done,* noted Sefarlain, but a gleam in Sir Eric's eye hinted that he may have suspected something was amiss.

"Sir Eric, you no doubt have many questions for us and we will do our utmost to satisfy them," added Sefarlain at the end of the tale, "but before you do, may I ask some advice regarding the providence of certain items we have found? I'm afraid we have made certain oaths not to reveal their origins, but please take it on good faith that we rightfully own these items. We have no idea of their worth and hoped you might be able to give us some advice as to where we could establish this. Our funds, as you might guess, are in need of some boosting!"

With that, a few of the silver service items were produced, although most, as it turned out, had been left in the anteroom. Bebe also laid down the two tomes of poetry and waited for Sir Eric's answer.

- Justin (Sefarlain)

PBEM Orlantia: Power Of The Press.

The snow-white haired man looked at the representative silver platter, goblet, and knife they had brought inside the mansion. He did not study them long.

"An older silver service - badly tarnished - but it might be worth something more to a collector. I'd suggest you take it to a larger city and seek out a silver house - where such things are sold. Silver craft items of all kinds flow through these places. They cater mostly to the upper establishment. It might fetch the best price there, but the shop will want 10%, and it might take a few scepters to sell. But if you're in a rush, you might also ask a few well to do families of prominence. Trouble is, like me, they probably already have such a service if they really wanted one, and unless it matches their existing service, it would just be out of place."

It was never easy, was it? Things always took more work or time than one first anticipated.

"You might take a loss for it, though - say 25% to 50%, but get cash right away in any number of places. A pawnshop, for example, is a good place to dump it. I'm sorry I cannot really buy it myself since it would be out of place amongst my silver service. How much more is there?" he asked.

Sef described the full inventory of the service to him.

"Best guess . . . if you flog it in the right place, you'll realize 2,000 gold after a time. If you do it quick, or badly, or if you let them take advantage of you, you could easily get half that right away - no questions asked."

It was about what they had expected, so they didn't discuss it further. Sef, instead, packed it up back in his sack.

"What of these? They're poetry, but they might be worth something," Bebe said, sliding the two tomes of poetry close to the elder knight.

Sir Eric looked at her curiously, as if lost in thought. "Was your mother from Robertt, perhaps?" he asked.

"Umm, no. Why?"

"Father maybe?"

"No again."

The knight frowned. "I keep thinking I detect a trace of that accent in you. Then maybe someone you know very well was from Robertt?"

Bebe smiled, for she knew Quaramil, her mentor, originally hailed from Robertt.

"Perhaps. So you think I'm from there?" Bebe grinned, knowing how far off he was.

"No no no, heavens, no" he told her. "It's in you, sure, I can detect it, but you're from West Berry - maybe East Berry. Or at least you hail from not too far off from Nym, though I'd definitely say from outside its limits."

The gnome sat back in her chair, more than just a little surprised. It was just not possible he had hit so close to home. "Hey, how'd you do that?" she demanded. The knight just smiled and opened up one of the tomes of poetry.

"Mmmmm," he said. "Personal books of poetry might be worth something to someone, but not much to most, I'm afraid."

"What about this one? It's not personal. It's printed, even," she told him, pushing it closer.

"Printed? Well, that's not all that unusual these days," he said, opening it up. After a few moments he just smiled and closed the book again. "This is a copy of The Emerald Soul. It's the most famous book of poetry in the world. You can pick one up for a few gold pieces in most major cities. I have a copy myself, in fact."

"What do you mean, these days?" Bebe asked, a thought occurring to her.

"Well, let's see. The printing press was invented around 645 A.E., and although it's handy and quick, and even cheaper than handwritten transcriptions, there isn't a lot of call for literature amongst the masses beyond specialized craft knowledge - a lot of which are trade secrets, or guild secrets, or cult secrets, or religious secrets many aren't all that anxious to hand over to a printer to begin with. So the masses are content with a few books and scriptures and holy writs. Not much beyond that. They don't have time for a lot of reading, and most of them can't read, anyway. Still, I predict literacy will keep growing, as it suggests in the preface for Sandy's Book Of Letters, another commonly printed book you might find."

"Do you have a copy of that book?" Alana wondered.

"I have many books that I've collected over the years. I suppose you'd like to see my library, eh?" Mystir's head snapped straight up, beaming a broad smile at him.

"Very well, cone along."

They followed Sir Eric through a hall, then through a secret door into another room, and then finally deeper into the mansion where they entered a room that was two floors high. Bookshelves lined the upper and lower walls, and a spiral staircase twisted up toward the second floor, whose balcony-like purchase ringed the entire room and overlooked the library below from a railing. There were even a few ladders attached on coasters that ran the length of each wall so one might climb to reach the books on the highest shelves.

"Thousands of books are here," Eric told them. "But I've read so few of them. I just collected them over the years. Occasionally I find them useful as a reference, but for the most part, I'd wager 95% of everything in them is a waste of my time," he said, shrugging his shoulders almost apologetically.

Then he went over to a shelf and collected first one book, then moved down the wall and collected another.

"Here is The Emerald Soul, and here is Sandy's Book Of Letters." He opened the latter and began to read aloud.

'With the advent of the printing press, for the first time in history the large scale dissemination of knowledge is possible, and a culture's wisdom may be stored more easily and enjoyed by all, passed from one generation to the next, rather than forcing all to learn anew the lessons of history with each passing age. In time, it is this author's hope the vast majority will be able to read and enjoy this great benefit, and with that in mind, I dedicate this work to all those who seek wisdom and knowledge.'

"It's a rather impressive preface for what is mostly a children's picture book," he chuckled, "but it does the job in helping to teach almost anyone how to read the Common Tongue."

Bebe looked inside Eric's copy of The Emerald Soul. On the opening leaves, she read: '17th Edition: Printed 720 A.E. Alodar, Kaleb Presses.' Then Bebe opened the party's copy. There was no mention of any edition or year of printing to be found.

- JimGM

PBEM Orlantia: A Puzzle Of Time.

As the knight continued to talk, Bebe passed the book of poetry to Sef and gave him a quizzical look, showing him the lack of edition number in the front.

"I only know of one reason not to have an edition number in the front of a book," whispered Sefarlain to Bebe, "and that's if it's a first edition. Then they wouldn't know if any more were going to be printed."

"Sir Eric?" the ranger continued, "I think this tome might be a first edition. Do they fetch anything more? I understand some humans like to collect such things, but I'm unsure where it's best to ask about such matters."

- Justin (Sefarlain)

PBEM Orlantia: Secret Provenance.

"First Edition?" the elder knight echoed back. All stood still for a moment and looked at Sir Eric's motionless form. Then he moved - quickly - and was to the tome in startling speed, taking the book from Sef in one fluid motion that amazed the ranger. He wasn't just quick - he was unnaturally quick.

*There's far more than meets the eye about this old gent,"* Sef thought again.

A more thorough examination immediately ensued with Eric looking at one copy, then the next, then back again for a time, until at last he finally spoke.

"Interesting. Yes, interesting . . . if true," he finally added.

"If true?" Bebe inquired.

"Well, there are only two reasons why an edition number wouldn't be printed on this book."

"Two reasons?" Sef asked.

"Yes, that I can imagine, anyway. The first and most obvious one is that it is a first edition."

"A first edition of The Emerald Soul," whispered Bebe.

"And more, when you think about it," Eric added.

"More?" several asked.

"If it's genuine, it's also the very first book ever printed, or one of first run. Any first edition of a book might be valuable, but The Emerald Soul isn't just any book - it's the very first book ever printed. I think there was a few thousand printed the first run. But so few of them have survived over the decades. If I recall correctly, there were only a couple dozen or so remaining first edition copies. Can you imagine that? Only a score or two of the first books ever printed. And this may be one of them," he smiled, a look of wonder showing upon his face as he held the book up and gazed at it.

"So it might be worth something more than a few gold then, right?" Sef asked.

"Oh yes, indeed it might."

"You said two reasons. What's the other?" Alana asked.

"Forgery. Simple forgery. And the reason for forging anything is because of some potentially high value. If you wanted to forge a copy of a valuable first edition, you'd hardly print its edition on it, would you?" the knight explained.

"Can you tell if this is genuine?" Afyanna stepped forward, entering the conversation.

"Well . . . no, I can't. I'm not an expert. But it's probably a forgery, I can tell you that."

"Why probably?" Bebe's line of inquiry continued.

"Well, for one thing, if it's real, it would have to be 83 years old. And while it might be - it even looks like it could be - a good forger would make it look like that. So unless you have its provenance, right away there's the question of its authenticity. I mean, do you have good reason to believe its been lying around for four score years?" he asked.

Bebe was about to answer him when Afyanna's glare caught her attention. The gnome fell silent, her mouth still open until she realized this and then shut it. Even if they could trust Sir Eric, it occurred to them it might prove difficult convincing others of even a good faith reason to believe the tome to be genuine without an accompanying story to indicate how and where it had been all those years.

"What exactly is a 'provenance'?" Ty asked.

"An item's documented history attesting to its origin and authenticity. Its lineage, if you will, from owner to owner, as it was passed down through the years. Who owned it, and when, and under what circumstances it changed hands. That sort of thing."

"Couldn't you forge a provenance as easily as the book itself?" Ty asked.

"Yes, sort of. It might fool a laymen, even, but experts in the field know all sorts of things about both the items and the provenance, and the people who wrote them, or owned them, etc., etc. There are dozens of details an expert could look for that a layman like myself wouldn't even think to look for. A miss typed word, for example, a flaw in a letter of print, hidden marks or rare signatures, color, texture, manufacturing methods, a lot of little things. Only an expert could tell you. Or an expert forger might learn all there was to know and do a great job at forging all those things, but miss just one detail and it will reveal itself for what it is. And then there's magic, besides. If you've the means, you can always ask the gods if it's genuine. Unfortunately for most people, they don't have that kind of money or power, and the item in question isn't worth the price of such spells."

"Ah, so this book, even if it's genuine, isn't worth the price of a divination spell?" Afy questioned him.

Sir Eric just looked at it in thought once more before finally saying, "Well, this one might be. I won't even guess what it might be worth, though. I'd hate to mislead you or give you bad advice on something like this so far outside my field of expertise."

"Do you know of any such experts we might look up?" Afy asked the knight.

"Not really. Your best bet is to get it safely to a large city - the bigger, the better. If you're going to Alodar, that's where this would command the best price, and where you'd find the most qualified experts to attest to its authenticity. In the meantime, I must caution you. Do not show this book around or even hint that you have it. There are many who would kill for that sort of wealth. Hell . . ." he added, "there are many who would kill just on the off chance it 'might' be worth something, let alone the certainty."

"Then put it away, carefully," Afy told Bebe.

Bebe wrapped it up, noting with mild interest how much more carefully she treated the tome than the first time she tossed it in her pack with a feeling of disappointment.

"Now what?" the gnome asked Afy, her task of securing the tome finished.

- JimGM.

PBEM Orlantia: Conclusions.

*Who would have thought a book could be so valuable?* thought Afyanna as she watched Bebe carefully stow the item in her pack. *It's not magical, nor does it contain particularly valuable information. It's just an ordinary book!*

As she watched the gnome, Afy considered their fortune that Bebe had been the one left at the temple. Afyanna herself had taken a quick look around the rooms, but if she saw the books at all, she immediately dismissed them as unimportant. Bebe, on the other hand - always driven by curiosity - had scooped up the books just 'because' they were there. She had no idea they might be worth anything. Such was the risk of curiosity. It could get you killed, or it could pay off big.

And pay off, it might. Afy had been doing some calculations with her share of the treasure she already had, and it wasn't looking good. She wasn't as adept as some of the others with numbers, so she spent a goodly amount of her watch time scrawling figures in the dirt over and over until she was certain she had them correct. But no matter how she did it, the truth was that she was going to come up short in training costs. And no doubt training would be more expensive than she had estimated. There were always costs and fees most hadn't considered sneaking up to take even more gold. Based on some of the breakfast conversations, she was not alone in worrying about upcoming costs.

The silver service looked to be a huge boon to them, but again, it was becoming apparent that there would again be fees, and 'conversion costs,' and all sorts of other 'services' that all added up to more money being lost. It seemed to her untrained ears that although proceeds from the silver service might help - and help a lot - it might still fall short.

But now, with a simple book, all their worries might be over. Mundane worries, to be sure. Not like last week when their fears consisted of a nightmare stomping them into the earth, just as it had done to poor Jahar. Now their worries were more basic in nature. Can I afford new equipment? Can I afford the pay an instructor or two? Can I afford to not be earning money while I train instead?

"Now what?" asked Bebe again, satisfied that the book was safe again.

Bebe's question roused Afy from her thoughts. *What indeed?* the halfelf thought.

"Sir Eric?" Afyanna said, turning to their host. "We have brought you a small gift." Afy caught Alana's gaze and nodded.

"A gift?" the knight replied. "There is no need for that, I assure you."

"Without your gift to us, we may well not be here today to return the favor." Afyanna received the bottle Alana had retrieved from her pack. "Though ours is not so life-or-death as was yours." She had to chuckle at the comparison.

Afyanna presented one of the bottles of wine to Sir Eric. They had not answered his questions regarding the history of the book, but the expression on Sir Eric's face as he read the vintage left little doubt in Afyanna's mind that his assumptions that the book must be forged had just lessened greatly.

"Ah," he said, reading the label. "And it's white, too," he smiled.

Slightly taken aback, Afy was grateful one of the bottles Horton had selected had been white. The other one had been a rosé. She did not recall until just that moment that Sir Eric only drank white wine, but the memory of the knight's idiosyncrasy came back to her the moment he said it.

Then in answer to her unasked question, the knight set the bottle aside for later - he was not going to open it then, after all. She had wondered if he might, but since it was a present for him, it did make sense that he would save it.

- Rick (Afyanna)

PBEM Orlantia: A Final Gift.

Perhaps it was just a feeling of politeness, but many of the group looked pleased that Sir Eric had received his gift. Indeed, if it were not for the salve he gave them, the Timber may not have been defeated, and as a result, all of Joad may not have been saved. Sefarlain could not help considering how fortunate they had been in meeting Sir Eric. Maybe the ranger could offer him one final small gift.

"We owe you more than we can repay, Sir Eric. As a final thanks, I was wondering if you still wish to test yourself against one of us in the skill of arms?"

The old knight stood up from warming himself against the hearth. When he straightened up, Sef could see he must have been a formidable opponent in his youth, and almost certainly still retained much of his skills into old age. His frame looked powerful and the wrinkled fingers flexed unconsciously next to the sword hanging by his side. The elf could remember handling that finely crafted blade and began to doubt the wisdom of allowing it to be used against him, but it was too late now to pull back.

"I have a feeling your skills will be more than a match for my youthful eagerness," continued the ranger, "but since we have a little more healing power at our disposal now, I would be honored if you would consider me as an opponent."

Sefarlain took a small step back and bowed low to the knight. Would he want to take up this offer as it was intended? With a degree of nervous apprehension, the elf awaited his answer.

- Justin (Sefarlain)

PBEM Orlantia: Reluctant Decline.

"Indeed, that is most kind of you to offer, young ranger," Sir Eric told Sef.

Sef briefly thought it odd a human would call him young when he was probably many decades older than the old man, but then age was a relative thing. The elven ranger knew, deep down, despite his age, in many of the most important ways that he had yet to acquire the maturity and wisdom the old knight had. It took more than a simple span of years, but the right frame of mind and time of life to acquire many of life's lessons. For those, Sef would still have to wait. He thought all this in a few seconds as he followed old familiar thoughts regarding the mystery of humans - as he was often prone to do - and he concluded it was probably appropriate Sir Eric thought of him as young.

"But as I told you," Eric's' words brought back Sef's attention, "I have urgent private business to attend to tomorrow, and however small it may be, there is a risk a more serious injury could delay my business."

Sef looked quizzically at the old man, and as if in response to his thoughts, Eric replied, "I'm really not at liberty to divulge the details of my business. And though I think some of you might be willing to help me in way of thanks, I assure you it is not necessary. This is not a dangerous thing I do - just a necessary one."

Then the knight yawned and stretched, and in a way that reminded Alana of a cat. He stretch the entire length of his body - not just his arms or legs, but everything - and it was as if she could see the focus of his concentration move along the entire length of his body like a wave passing through the water. The man had considerable training, she could tell - some of it, perhaps monastically inclined.

"And, once again, I thank you for your gift of wine," he bowed to the group, "and for your kind offer," he bowed to Sef, "but I must get some rest now. You may stay in the library as long as you like, and retire to the rooms you had before. I'm sure Gareth will feed you in the morning, before you depart, though I will be gone by then. Feel free, Mystir, and the rest of you, to examine my library, but do not take anything," he warned them with a slight chuckle.

He then climbed up the spiral staircase and turned back on the balcony, and said, "Good night," finally bidding them a farewell before he turned and disappeared out a second floor door that led they knew not where. They heard him lock it, though, as he closed it.

Gareth appeared just then from a ground floor door, and stood there, but said nothing. He seemed to be waiting for any orders, or to lead them to their rooms, or something.

- JimGM.

PBEM Orlantia: Time to Read.

Tyrulf was content letting the others tell the story to Sir Eric. *Besides, the more people who tell it, the more likely something will slip out,* he thought, and they didn't want any of Joad's secrets slipping out, so he remained silent.

Munching on the food that Gareth brought in, Ty had listened as various members of the group spun the tale of their adventure. His only spoken words were regarding the tome that Bebe found in the temple.

After all was said and after Sir Eric had excused himself, Tyrulf looked around at the many books in the vast library while wishing he had more time to spend reading much of it. With such a vast amount of books, however, it would be hard to find something specific unless there was a list written somewhere of the whereabouts and subject content of the many of the books there.

"Gareth, I was wondering if there is a list of the books that reside in this massive library. There are several things I would like to look up, but it could take weeks to find out about one thing let alone many. Perhaps they are even in a specific order? By author or subject or title or whatever, mmm?" Tyrulf kind of rambled on for a minute, overwhelmed with the amount of knowledge contained in this room.

Gareth waited patiently for Tyrulf to finish. It looked like he had seen this reaction before, as there was a slightly amused expression on his face.

"Well, this is how it works." Gareth said while pointing. "There is no list - no index or cross references that I'm aware of, sir, but I think each section is more or less dedicated to certain subjects. What was it you were seeking, sir?" he asked.

- MJA (Tyrulf) and - JimGM.

PBEM Orlantia: So Much Information - Not Enough Time.

Ty looked around at vast number of books. *So many books,* his head swam at the thought of all that information.

"Well, Gareth, I would like to read up on the northlands to start. The other two subjects that I would like to look up would be 'The Arcane' and 'Religion.' Any information in these areas, past or present, or even fictional stories if nothing else, would be greatly appreciated."

Tyrulf smiled as he looked at Gareth and waited patiently. So many books in the vicinity to which he had easy access put Ty in a good mood, and he couldn't help but smile.

- MJA (Tyrulf)

PBEM Orlantia: Chaotic System.

"That might be hard to pinpoint, master dwarf," Gareth began. "I have some inkling of what's in here, or at least where one might look, but the master has never been much of a scholar or a great organizer of such things. I do know for a fact, sir, you won't find hardly anything on the craft of magic. What few books of worth in that area my master and his friends found went, as you might imagine, to his friends who were more inclined toward those arts. Same with religion, I'm afraid, sir. In many ways, what you see before you are the castoffs that nobody else wanted. The rest are the tomes that dealt with martial studies, tactics, combat, and, of course, my master's abiding interest in nature. There are also books on navigation and seamanship. And then there are a lot of personal things - family histories. Not my master's family, but family histories he's collected that would take years to shift through and wouldn't be of much interest to anybody but a family member - and most of those families probably have no living members remaining, lest the books might have found their way there. No, fully half these books here comprise almost what you'd think of as a book graveyard. My master just doesn't have the heart to destroy such things - not when he has an room and a few shelves to spare."

Tyrulf was disappointed about the chances of finding anything on the arcane arts or even religion in general, but he wondered about family histories. His own family, for example. Might it be there? Even if it were, how to find it? It seemed hopeless.

"I guess, sir, some family stuff is more or less religiously inclined. Holy Scripture for family religions, and the birth and death records many often wrote inside the covers as they were passed down from generation to generation."

Gareth showed Tyrulf where those books were located. Judging from the dust on those books, he could tell no one had picked them up since they had been shelved years ago - not to mention that Sir Eric probably didn't allow his staff to clean that room too thoroughly - probably because you couldn't trust a servant to know what was valuable, or just plain garbage.

The hill dwarf looked for quite some time, but nothing appeared familiar or useful to him, and he had looked through dozens of books, and each new venture took a dozen minutes. Looking at the many bookshelves, he could tell at that rate it would be several days before he'd finish just that section.

*This is work for a real scholar or a sage,* he thought with a yawn.

- JimGM.

PBEM Orlantia: Time to Read

Alana looked in awe at the collected wisdom in Sir Eric's library. This visit had certainly been one of the wonders of her journey. The others had told her a few things about the knight, but to see it for herself was far more impressive than just to hear about it.

*So this was how it can be for an adventurer,* she thought. *Not that that should ever be the main reason to go on a quest, of course,* Alana hastened to amend her thoughts.

And she had no doubt that sir Eric had earned everything he now had to show, the hard way, but it nevertheless was nice to know that doing the right thing could actually pay off in a way. Alana had some dreams of her own that she still hoped to realize one day.

Thoughts about doing the right thing brought her back to the thing that had preoccupied her of late, namely figuring out what to do next and whether or not she had the funds to finance those activities. She got the impression she wasn't the only one whose thoughts had been wandering in that direction, given the reactions on some of the things Sir Eric said about the silver and the book Bebe had salvaged.

And now she found herself in a huge library. Alana wasn't really the studious type. She preferred practice to burying herself in books. But now that the opportunity presented itself, she wondered if there would be any tomes on druidic lore at which she might peek. Digging in her memory, she remembered Elfrid mentioning some texts written by a famous monk she wanted to look up. But try as she might, she couldn't remember the monk's name. That would, no doubt, make it kind of hard to find him.

*Well,* the druid inwardly shrugged, *perhaps it'll come to me in a while.* In the meantime she listened with interest as Tyrulf addressed Gareth. He obviously knew his way around books, so she intended to follow his lead.

- Wilma (Alana)

PBEM Orlantia: Of Druidic Lore.

"Do you know if Sir Eric has anything concerning druids?" Alana asked Gareth during a lull in the tour through the library.

"Very little, I'd say," the butler replied to a disappointed druid. "But there is one tome he has," the butler smiled. Retrieving it from a shelf, he handed it to Alana.

<Alderami>'A Ranger's Obligation'</Alderami> it said in the elven tongue.

"This was written by a ranger - or perhaps a bard about a ranger - and in it he speaks constantly of the many times unknown druids appear and remind him of obligations his order owes to the druids. It might be serious, or it might be a joke since it happens at all the most inopportune moments. I was never certain. Maybe a bit of both. If I had to guess, I'd say it's more fiction than fact - the actual circumstances and adventures, anyway - but it might contain grains of truth in it about druids and rangers. I do know, since I asked my master about it one day, that rangers are often called upon by the druidical orders to aid them in their causes, and a ranger would be hard pressed to say no to them."

Alana happily took the book and, thanking the gods it was no more than one hundred pages thick, retired to her room to read the account, thanking the butler as she departed with Cosher, who had offered to show her the way. After a quick stop to purloin the remainder of the keg of stout, the two found their way upstairs to their respective rooms.

- JimGM.

PBEM Orlantia: Songbirds and Blue Eggs.

Sometime after Sir Eric departed, most of the party decided to head to bed. Eventually, Mystir and Tyrulf remained alone in the library. After Gareth's brief explanation of the categorizing of books, if you could call it that, Mystir set out to see if anything caught his eye.

At first the pair read the titles aloud to each other, thinking a book might be of interest to the other, but a few dozen names later and the pair then proceeded in silence. An hour had passed. Hundreds of books had been scanned over, and after climbing and descending ladders a half dozen times, something finally caught the attention of Mystir.

"Birds of the Imperial Continent," he read.

Slowly the wizard pulled the over sized book from the shelf. Wrapping an arm around the ladder for balance, the boy opened the book to a random page. A beautiful orange and black painting of a bird stood out to him.

'The Imperial Robin, the largest of the East Imperial thrushes, is found over most of the Imperial continent in the summer months. Its familiar song, cheer-up, cheer cheer cheer-up, begins well before daybreak and in many regions signals the start of spring and brings in the new year.'

*This looks promising,* he thought, slowly closing the book and once again descending the ladder. The wizard moved over to one of the tables in the room and continued reading about robins.

'From three to five smooth, glossy blue eggs are incubated by the female and hatch in about two weeks.'

"Yes," he said to no one in particular, "this will do quite nicely."

Mystir didn't notice when Tyrulf finally left the library. In fact, the wizard became almost oblivious to his surroundings. The handwritten, handcrafted works of art in the book had captured his attention. Mystir studied each captivating painting and drawing of the various fowl and their eggs. Gareth came and went a few times, making sure his needs were met.

Soon many more hours passed, though he didn't realize exactly how long he was reading until the smell of breakfast filled the air. Noting his location in the book, he closed it. The boy began to return the leather-bound object to its original location, but quickly realized he wasn't quite sure where that was.

"I know I was on that ladder," he said to himself, "but I don't know on which shelf it was."

His stomach began to growl. Staying up all night had left the boy famished, not so much from reading, but from being awake for 36 hours, and the last eight passing without a bite to eat.

With a newfound knowledge of birds cycling through the boy's head, he left the book on the table and headed to the kitchen. *I need to make sure to let Gareth know I left a book out.*

- Kevin (Mystir)

PBEM Orlantia: Insufficient Time.

Tyrulf readied himself for bed, his thoughts pondering not what he was doing - which was routine enough such that it didn't require thought - but what he had left behind. Who knew what it might be? Sadly, he was too tired to go on after a time, and had to excuse himself. And in the morning they would depart. He might return one day, he mused, but when you came right down to it, the chances of his family history being contained in Eric's library was slim. Most of those books had not come from the Mundanus continent for a start - having been collected elsewhere.

*No, at best I'm leaving behind such a small chance of anything, I'd be much better off hiring a sage to look into anything I might want - and I'll be rich enough to be able to afford that now,* he added with a smile, thinking of the book of poetry.

He lay down and thought of his family - not his adopted one, but his real one - whoever they were. But he did not think too long, for soon he was asleep.

- JimGM.

PBEM Orlantia: Dreams.

Afyanna sat on the edge of the bed and undid the leather straps and buckles that held the armor breastplate to her upper body. She wriggled it up to her neck then began shrugging out of it - until her hair got caught in the chain lining. The kin-der sighed dejectedly and struggled to free an arm in order to reach behind her to untangle her hair from the tiny links. In a crisis of course, she wouldn't stop to worry about a few strands of hair. After a few moments, she was free. Afy slid out of her breastplate completely, pulling the cotton undershirt most of the way off as well. She tugged the shirt back down, covering her sun-starved skin. Next, she unbuckled the leg pieces and slid out of them with far less trouble.

As she stood and stretched after being confined in the armor for so long, Afyanna noticed the dirt on the fine rug in her room. It was without question from her armor. It was so easy for dirt to get between the small overlapping metal plates of her armor. That was an annoyance of scale mail. What dirt wasn't trapped there often got in amongst the tiny linked chain under pieces. At least there was a padded inner lining to make it comfortable. Well, more comfortable than if it wasn't lined. Comfort was several items down the list of requirements for armor. Besides, what it made up for in comfort, it more than lost in charm due to its odor. The rancid smell of sour sweat perpetually lingered in the leather, and when it was wet from perspiration, rain, or whatever, it was not exactly pleasant to be near, let alone in.

*No matter what I do, I can't seem to get all the dirt out,* she thought, lamenting over the mess she'd made on her host's floor.

As she stood there in her cotton underclothes staring at the dirty floor, the conversations on the trail came back to her. *I wonder if there is an . . . orison,* her memory stumbled over the word, *to clean armor?*

The example of the mosquito cantrip was still fresh enough, as she had the itchy welts to prove it. *It would take a spell per species,* she recalled he had said. But could you make one to clean metal?* Her mind did its best to think of the possibilities. *Would the spell be based on the metal, or the dirt? The metal armor would make sense, but then would the spell treat the chain and lining as an impurity to be cleaned also, and remove them from the base?*

The idea of her armor just falling apart from attempting a cleaning spell didn't make her feel very good. But then again, cleaning one's armor HAD to have come up before, so someone must know the answer. *I'll have to ask when we get to Alodar, or maybe Sage Shereef might know.*

With that resolved, Afy set the various armor pieces on the chair near the bed, ready in case of an emergency. Then she washed with the cloth and bowl of water on the wooden stand in the room. It wasn't a bath, but it was something. Besides, she had just had a bath the day before.

The feel of a soft bed beneath her was a welcome rarity. Afy wasn't very tired, so she stretched out on the blankets and just stared at the ceiling.

*I wonder how long Sir Eric was in the field,* she wondered. *It must have taken years to earn enough for this place.*

Land of his own. A servant. A huge house with utilities of magic. All of it spoke of enormous wealth. True, as the local lord the surrounding people paid him taxes, but from what she could tell, that income was minor compared to the total cost. No, most of it had to have been earned, bestowed, or inherited. And this was just what she had seen with her own eyes. Who knew what else he had.

*That sword of his is magnificent. No doubt his armor is too.*

Her eyes turned to the pack on the floor, and the armor on the chair. Her scabbard hung from the bedpost within easy reach.

Her possessions identified her as an adventurer - nothing more. She didn't own anything of true worth, or anything distinctive.

*Someday, though,* she smiled. *Maybe a nice set of platemail that's been custom-made for me.* Afyanna's eyes began to droop as she continued thinking about where she wanted to be in the years ahead. *Not steel. Too heavy. And a sword. A thing of beauty like Sir Eric's.*

As the sight of her dirty, worn, armor on the chair blurred before her, Afyanna drifted into sleep with visions of the Crescent Moon emblazoned upon shining armor and a flashing sword.

- Rick (Afyanna)

PBEM Orlantia: Tarren Again.

Breakfast was superb. Doubtless Sir Eric, since he could not be there, has insisted on a splendid meal for his guests. They ate heartedly, talking all the while about the food. What was it, how good it was, what it might cost, why they couldn't have food like that all the time - sigh - they reveled, for the first time since the nightmare's demise, with the thought that things were looking up.

The tome of poetry, it was now openly discussed when they were alone, was probably a first edition and worth a small fortune. When it came to matters of magic and power, it might not amount to much, but in the world of the mundane, it was a princely sum. Even divided amongst all of them, each share would be substantial, and for the first time many economic burdens that normally plagued their thoughts were lifting like a fog being burned away by the morning sun.

Without Eric there, however, there was little to slow them down. Sir Eric had long ago departed sometime before sunrise, and when breakfast was finished, they found Gareth politely urging them out the door and on their way. He wasn't rude or anything - that would surely have gotten back to his master - but he did seem to have other plans for later. Perhaps with his master gone and the house to himself, it was one of his few times to really relax, and he didn't want to waste it step and fetching for them. They could hardly blame him.

Bopper looked well feed and groomed. Cosher grinned when he remembered how close they had come to making a meal out of the mule for the townsfolk of Joad. Luckily, it hadn't come to that, so now the mule could once again service the party by carrying more than its fair share of the load.

They followed the lakeshore, but soon the road rose up to greet them and the King's Highway was again in sight. Once on it, they made good time just as they had before, perhaps covering 24 miles in that day. As the sun sank toward the horizon, though they were tired from their journey, the Kingdom and city of Tarren came into view and they felt quite enthusiastic and quicken their pace.

That was where most of them had met and formed their little group. And now they had returned.

The Copper Keg shown by lamplight when they arrived, but it was unmistakable - particularly to Mystir, who had lived there for some time before the others had shown up. They might not have the luxuries afforded by Sir Eric's mansion, but the accommodations would be good - and what's more, within their means.

They finally entered the familiar establishment - all save Valin, who excused himself and went home to his temple with the promise to meet up at Sage Shereef's the next morning.

- JimGM.