Dramatis Personae:
    Korg Magnusson
    Roland
    Marcus
    Segev Stormlord
    Tanda
    Menaria
    Glim Folkor
    Achmuid Lannstucht
 
    Standing not much more than 4' 6", Glim Folkor is not what one would expect 
from an adventuring gnome. He wears neither armor nor mage robe, no sword or 
staff. He is dressed in serviceable leather trousers that are bloused into a 
pair of thick hide boots, the like one would think to find worn by a blacksmith. 
His shirt is homespun wool over which is worn a leather vest with numerous odd 
bits of metal and a stylus sticking up out of several pockets. His thick silver 
hair is drawn back over his skull and clasped in place by a well crafted silver 
clip, causing a shimmering cascade of hair that flows down to the middle of his 
back and is tied off at the end with a leather thong. His eyes sparkle as he 
looks about, taking in everything they light upon. From his expression, it is 
difficult to tell if he is paying attention to his surroundings, trying to 
figure out the inner workings of the physical universe, or dealing with an upset 
stomach from the previous evening.
 
    Achmuid Diasstacht Ruanntich Miruint Lannstucht has the pale milk complexion 
typical of her people, with very dark eyes and her hair is a queer shade of 
brown so dark as to be nearly black with dark golden highlights. ("It's not 
black, it's dark liver chestnut!" 'Uh, oook.') This is quite long and kept 
smartly braided in an intricate knot around her head.  At 5"8', she is a wiry 
130 lbs.  She is habitually dressed in a vest and riding leathers dyed to match 
her hair, a curious little blue wool cap trimmed in fur, and sweaters in various 
shades of blue. The sword by her side looks more like a curved executioner's 
cleaver.  Her overall effect is quite dangerous but feminine all the same.  In 
fact, outside Rochlad the typical effect is "Holy ****, who the hell is 
*THAT*?!"
 Dunnstacht is her Rochlad-bred stallion, a lanky golden buckskin with one hell 
of a nasty temperment.  As per Rochlad tradition, his incisors and canines are 
capped with gold inlaid steel serrated on the back edge and his face is tattooed 
around the eyes and muzzle elaborately in such a way that details his pedigree 
if, of course, one knows how to read the designs.  These designs are also etched 
into Achmuid's vest and riding leathers in gold.
 

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     Tanda started to awaken slowly and rather fuzzily, which was par for the 
course for someone who only got to sleep about the same time the birds were 
waking up. Not surprisingly, given the place she was in, her dreams were 
pleasantly erotic in a way that makes one want to sleep until one in the 
afternoon. The room she was staying in was dim and quiet, and she was 
sufficiently comfortable and relaxed to not want to get up. No, it was much 
better to stay here in bed, lying on her side all warm and content, her legs 
intertwined with those of the softly snoring person in her arms, the pleasant 
weight on her chest moving with her breathing, and WHAT?!
     Any desire to sleep in further died of crib death as she opened her eyes 
quickly, but not so fast as to disturb the person next to her. She looked down 
at herself to find that she was completely nude, as was the woman she held in 
her arms. This person had thick auburn hair spilling past her shoulders, 
unblemished olive skin, and whose curiously golden eyes had just opened as well. 
"Ah," she said serenely, "you're awake. Theo had to leave on some errands for 
the temple."
     Things began to come together in Tanda's mind. This was Phoebe, one of the 
priestesses at the Temple, who were well-trained in the sexual arts. Theo was 
one of the number of men the Temple kept around for female celebrants for whom 
only a man's touch would suffice. She also seemed to remember that she'd availed 
herself of both their affections for her part of the festival. Granted, actually 
bedding Phoebe was nothing that she would've done normally, but Phoebe had 
enjoyed pleasuring and being pleasured by her.
     As if responding to her internal monologue, Phoebe smiled and began to 
plant butterfly kisses along the side of Tanda's neck, causing her to tilt her 
head back to expose more of it. How did that one hymn of Akanksha go? "If you 
can't be with the one you love, love the one you're with"? Except in Tanda's 
case, the former was someone she had not met, at least not yet...
 
     'Ack! Time already? Uggg, should've been a little bit more easier on the 
ole body!' Menaria thinks to herself as she opens her eyes and sighs at seeing 
that it is well into the day.
     She stretched herself on the large bed as she is careful not to disturb the 
two that occupied the space opposite of her sides. Totally engulfed in sleep and 
snoring.  The one on her left was a tall man heavily muscled and around his 
forties in age.  The one on her right was a much younger man and slender in 
build.  Her smile freezes in place as her dark brows furrow slightly in 
confusion.
     'Ummm wait...that's right, these are two new ones. The captain left earlier 
due to having to report for duty. Shame... how ale interfers with their stamina. 
It might be quite a while before I can "work" again!' She chuckles as she gets 
out of the bed; still naked she lightly dons a see-thruish robe, silvery white 
in color.  
     Upon the scream she races to the door, opening it a little she hangs her 
head out and looks around to see what is causing the commotion. 
 
     Any further rumination on the subject was rudely interrupted by the sounds 
of horrified screaming. With long-ingrained reflexes, Tanda bolted out of bed, 
finding her boots and slipping them on before realizing she'd forgotten to put 
her breeches on first. Casting around for something she could slip on, she found 
the robe that Phoebe was wearing and donned that rapidly. "Stay here," she said 
before opening the door and running down the hallway to the sound. "I'll be 
back."
 
     Hastily slipping on his boots as he gets out of the overly posh bed and 
grabbing his scarf as his feet carry him with unnatural speed to the door, 
Roland takes no time to look about his immediate surroundings as he rushes from 
his room to the direction of the scream, the featherlight white scarf trailing 
the compacted near-blur of movement that the quiet man has become. His face is 
the usual calm, with slight contradicting undertones of panicked haste. He 
wrinkles his nose briefly as he moves along, not quite used to the scented, 
perfumed oils that have adorned his skin since his long bath last night.
     When he nears the source of the panicked scream, his footfalls slow down to 
that of a fully charging dwarf, moving in with attempted quietness at 20 foot 
intervals, listening for whatever trouble may lie near that he can't see.
 
     Segev lay on his back in his bed, eyes closed. He had been pretending to 
himself that he was still asleep - high noon was an ungodly time to be awakened 
after the horridly long night the festivities engendered. At the sound of the 
scream, however, his eyes slide open.
     A brief look of annoyance crosses his face as he sits up in bed. The 
falling blanket reveals that he sleeps bare-chested, though the black 
undershorts revealed as he climbs out of bed show that this scrawny and pale man 
mercifully does not sleep in the buff.
     With practiced ease, he throws on his robes after retrieving them from the 
peg on the wall he'd hung them on last night - well, earlier this morning, in 
all honesty - before going to sleep. He takes the extra half minute to secure it 
with his travel belt, fastening his spellbook by its chain to said accessory, as 
he is unsure that he will be returning to this room before circumstances may 
force him to leave this temple.
     As he grabs his quarterstaff from the corner in which it was leaning, he 
spares a mental moment to internally reproach the idiocy of the temple 
priestesses in insisting on disarming their guests. He couldn't keep his dagger 
- they found it with a detection spell. He'll have to do something about that. 
Fortunately, they grudgingly accepted his claim that the staff was a walking 
stick. Especially since he ignored their attempts to get him to hand it over. 
Whatever caused that scream, he didn't wish to face it unarmed. As he stepped 
out of his room, closing the door behind him, he was already casting Mage Armor 
and Shield - two spells he always kept memorized, as he never knew when some 
idiot would decide to pick a fight.
     Walking - not running - at a swift pace down the hall, he rounded the 
corner and entered the room from which the scream came, shield interposed 
between him and whatever lay beyond....
 
     Lannstucht leaps to her feet from her blankets on the floor beside the bed.  
She stalks to the door in her tawny fur-trimmed night attire and peers out down 
the hall grumpily, looking for the source of the disturbance.  One of her ankle-
length braids falls over her shoulder as she locates the door of the offending 
room.
 
     Korg rolls out of bed and comes to his feet in a ready stance almost before 
waking up, before scowling after his customary grab for his sword comes up 
empty.  He listens to the scream and pulls on his boots before throwing a shirt 
on.  
     'I much prefer it when I'm the one causing screaming and others to be woken 
up', he thinks to himself as he quietly starts walking towards the door.
     Glancing around the hallway as he walks, he asks, "Tanda, do you remember 
where they put the weaponry?"
 
     The scream seems to have emanated from someone in one of the other bedrooms 
on this floor, specifically from one of the teenaged priestesses-in-training who 
is currently ash white, and still screaming.  As people enter the room, moving 
her out of the way, the sight that greets them seems rather gruesome.  
     A woman, a formerly statuesque half-elf just entering middle age and 
recognizable at the High Priestess of the temple, has been tied spread eagle to 
the bed, blindfolded, gagged, and then stabbed in the heart with a serrated 
dagger.  Looking at the dagger, everyone can tell that it's designed to do more 
damage coming out than going in.  The sheets and mattress are soaked with blood, 
and the High Priestess's body is cold.
     Inscribed on the dagger, should anyone look closely at it, are faint 
etchings in the elven alphabet, but in a language unfamiliar to everyone 
present.  The dagger's hilt ends in what looks like a symbol of some kind 
scratched into the disc-shaped pommel.  (GMly Note: Those of who who recognize 
the symbol will receive secondary emails shortly.)
 

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Mythology Lesson #2
Creation of the Mortal Races
 
 Galsus decreed that the world be populated, but the gods could not decide what 
type of race should exist.  Each god and goddess had hir own ideas on what 
should constitute the ideal race.
 Navor was the first, creating the elves, at that time an immortal race who are 
still generally revered as among the wisest of all the races.  Moradin was the 
next, creating the dwarves, great craftsmen, miners, and warriors.  Gessa, the 
ranger goddess, fashioned the centaurs.  Nyysan claims credit for creating both 
the halfling and the gnomes, although Ryl has also received credit for the 
gnomes. But it was the race crafted by Vy, before her fall from grace, that most 
pleased Galsus: the humans, the most adaptable of the races.
 The evil god Hextor, having the backing of several other gods and goddesses who 
desired to present races of their own, stole a number of each race from the 
other deities and corrupted their bodies.  Thus were created the savage 
humanoids: orcs, goblins, hobgoblins, bugbears, ogres, trolls, driders, and the 
giants.  Because of their original natures, however, these beings retain the 
same capacity for good and evil as their original counterparts.
 
Next: The Fall of Vy, and The War of the Elves