OOC: Due to the nature of things, I will not present this one in the normal format. Instead, what follows are individual character pieces which are, for the most part, happening concurrently. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- The Young Ranger Kyran walks into the mage guild and looks around curiously, but not touching anything. He goes to the counter/wherever it is that looks like he could have services done for him. The reception area of the Guild-House is done up in a modern décor: hardwood floor with ornate throw rugs, oversized plush chairs, the works. A window area with a wood counter dominates the one wall. The woman behind the counter stops fixing her nails long enough to barely look at Kyran as he approaches. "You're no wizard. What do you want?" She chews on something a little, blowing a bubble with it before it pops; at which point she pulls the wad off her face and back into her mouth, resuming her chewing. Kyran looks at the woman. "I get the feeling you would be able to provide the means to enchant equipment with magic. Am I correct in this?" "Define 'you', sugah. If y'all mean me, nah, Ah'm no spellcaster, just the receptionist. Now, there may be someone here who can, but y'all have ta go through me. If ya know what I mean." She snaps her chew again. "Now, Ah'm sure a bright boy like yoaself knows what needs ta be done befoah y'all can see a wizard." She fixes him with a stare that could melt steel. Kyran gulps. "Um, by 'you' I mean you as a person, and by a means, I refer to your probable contacts with someone in this establishment that could provide the services required." He pauses, and blushes slightly. "And by equipment, I mean a shield, not the innuendo you may be referring to, that I am sure." Clearing his throat, he starts again. "So, would you be able to direct me to a spellcaster that would have the means to do what I ask, or should I look elsewere?" "Ah am able to, sugah. But y'all hafta convince me ta inturrupt mah bosses to get this done." From the back, the sound of a door opening and closing reaches Kyran's ears. "Cordelia! Stop pestering the customers! Don't we pay you enough, that you have to try and bribes from everyone who walks in the door?" A grizzled old man steps forward, looking very much like the stereotypical doddering old fool wizard. His eyes, however, pierce right into Kyran's mind and soul. "Cordelia, go water the plants on the roof. Now, young man, what can we get for you? You don't seem to be the wizard type, nor a sorcerer. You have the look of a man familiar with the wilderness about you; a ranger, perhaps? Ah, you're looking for enchantments. Come into the back, so we can discuss what you need, as well as what you can afford." Kyran smiles and nods. "Yes sir." He doesn't seem bothered by the eye- piercing-whatever-it-is as he walks to the back along with the wizard. "So, she is always like that?" "Sadly, yes. Why the guildmaster lets her stay here is beyond me. I think perhaps she's leeching off his cash. Now, may I see what you wish enchanted?" Kyran looks about, then unslings his shield from his back. It's of very fine craftsmanship, and the silvery shine can only realistically be duplicated by mithril. In addition, a series of jagged spikes adorns it, so that it doubles as a weapon. "This shield is what I'm planning on having enchanted. For defensive purposes, that I am sure." "A very nice shield, yes. And not yet enchanted, I see. A basic enchantment will cost you one thousand gold pieces, or the equivalent in goods, and take a day of work. You will have to leave it here, you realize." Kyran replies. "Thanks, it was a gift from my father. That sounds like a fair price. I can live without it for that long..." He sniffs the air and then sneezes. "I should have no trouble finding this place, but it's kind of dusty." He smiles sheepishly. "So you can have it ready tomorrow morning?" "This time tomorrow, it will be ready. Payment is up front, of course." Kyran nods. "I know it doesn't take you the full amount to actually enchant the shield. Perhaps half now and half when I come back for it? Not that I don't trust you, it isn't that. I would just like some form of safeguarding. If you wish, I can show that I have the full monetary amount right now." "Astute. Right you are, my young friend, about the price. One half the price up front is acceptable; we often have people asking for similar terms." Kyran smiles and takes a bag out of his haversack. He places it on the table: it contains exactly 500 gold coins. "I shall return tomorrow morning, that I will. Thank you, now I should see what my companions are up to. Oh, could I please get your name? It is of some importance should I need to reach you, you know. I'm Kyran Wakefield." "Tomorrow evening, it will be ready. Morning comes too early, and it is approaching sunset now as it is. My name, when you return, is Karsald Niroth. Have a good night, and stay safe." Kyran nods. "Good evening Mr. Niroth." He leaves the room, and the store for that matter. Once outside, he takes a quick whiff of the air and begins to unerringly make his way torwards the Temple district, and not-so-coincidentally, the location Menaria and her group are at. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- The Necromancer Resting a somewhat heafty shoulder satchel on a bar stool as he looks across the bar at the gnoll, Segev replies in his usual quietly assured voice, "Tonight, tomorrow, and possibly tomorrow night. What do you charge?" "Five silver for each night. So, ten silver or one gold, your choice." Segev counts out 12 silver pieces from a pouch he pulls from the depths of his robe. "I left instructions with your stableboy to see my horse is well cared for and safe. Please," flashes a gold coin that he drops back in the pouch, "see to it that he gets anything he requests in line with caring for it. If that and my privacy are well protected, my gratitude will take material form when my business in your establishment is concluded." "So long as you clean up after yourself," the gnoll replies, handing you a key. "Room 112, around the back." Segev accepts the key, picks up his satchel, and heads to the room. The room, which isn't very far from the stables, is the basic affair: a cot, a nightstand, and an unlit oil lamp with a pint of oil in it. An adjacent room has a large tub, a small water basin with a mirror behind it, and a seat akin to that in an outhouse. Neither room has any major decorations. He returns a few moments later, sans satchel, and comes back in with his armored cargo over his shoulder, dragging it back to his room. Anything that would litter the floor cleans itself up in his wake, but already the smell of lye is degrading to the true stench underneath. He hurries back to his room, wrinkling his nose. After securing the lock behind him, he settles in for some sleep, hoping he won't be disturbed until he wakes up eight or so hours later and gets to work. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- The Temple of Akanksha Menaria heartedly returns the embrace. "Thank you, sister for your hospitality of myself and my companion. As always the goddess is in my heart and thoughts. This is Tana and I am Menaria." Tana relinquishes both arms and armor, removing first his buckler then his green Silk shirt and lastly the chain mail underneath, handing over his crossbow and scimitar and knife. "I suppose if meet needs to be cut, it will be offered in such manner." Menaria smiles as she relinquishes her quarterstaff. She quietly whispers under her breath as she hands the staff over, "Has there been an attack here?" "An attack? None yet." She takes the quarterstaff and Tana's weapons, and places them in the storage room. Then she returns to the pair. "Our High Priestess is awaiting you in her quarters. Follow me." The Wanderer slowly makes his way into the temple behind Menaria. He gives a cordial nod, and makes motions to show that he is indeed both unarmed and unarmored. After this, he clasps gloved hands behind his back and quietly begins to follow her. The postulant saunters up the center of the temple and through the door at the back. She leads them up two flights of stairs; the sounds of rites being performed waft through the hallway through closed doors. She knocks on one of the quiet doors. "High Priestess, Sister Menaria and a friend are here to see you." "Send them in, Sister Gwendolyn." As they are let into the High Priestess's chambers, Menaria, Tana, and the Wanderer are acutely aware of her presense. She is tall and regal, dressed in a flowing blue dress. She's an older woman, human, in her mid- to late-40s. "Greetings, Sister Menaria. What news from our sisters in Caer Ritaegno? You may leave now, Sister Gwendolyn." The young postulant leaves with a nod. "I didn't want to say anything in front of her. You understand why. Is it true?" Once the other priestess leaves, Menaria's calm expression falters somewhat. "Our High Priestess was murdered...and a dagger baring the symbol of the goddess of lust (ooc: not sure if allowed to speak other gods/goddesses names inside opposition temples; some allow some don't) was embedded in her. It had writings on it...but it was written in Undercommon. I used a spell to speak with her deceased spirit and found out that the murderer is after the location of the Spear." She pauses as she takes a slow breath. "On our way out of town, we came across a couple of goblins, one supposedly a paladin. They said that they were persuing a mind flayer that was killing high priests and high priestesses attempting to get information on a powerful artifact. They believe it was heading to Caer Ritaegno next. It appears that this mind flayer has killed several and possibly still on the loose. I would take caution...you could be on its list. Whether or not the mind flayer killed my high priestess or not... there could be several hunting for this artifact. Maybe all working for the same person or persons or independently." She thinks for a moment to see if there is anything that she might have left out. "An Illithid, you say?" Tana blurts out. Then he quietly adds, "They are a troublesome lot. I have yet to face one in combat, but I am not beyond the risk, if need be. It is not the sharp edge of a sword that they seek." "So, the spear used by our goddess's sole daughter has once again resurfaced. A goblin paladin? Hannass has been careless again, I see." The High Priestess sits back on her futon. "Sister Menaria, Mister Mauru, what I am about to tell you is confidential, on a need-to-know basis only. And it is clear that it is Akanksha's will that you need to know. "All three of you know that Bri'ney is Akanksha's daughter. As a teenager, Bri'ney rose up in rebellion against our goddess, and crafted a spear which was the embodiment of her own twisted erotic desires and practices. As mother and daughter fought--the only time Akanksha actually took part in a battle--she grabbed the spear from Bri'ney's hands and tossed it down into the sea. From there, the public knowledge of the Bri'ney Spear ends, for it was believed that the Spear had been lost. "The Bri'ney Spear, however, was not lost. It washed ashore in what is now Freehold, and was claimed by one of the Desert Kin. Its infernal influence created strife and conflict wherever it went, as it caused those of ill heart to desire it, to become obsessed with owning it. Finally, a paladin by the name of Sir Carrado, whose race has been lost to antiquity, captured the Spear and with Moradin's aid split it into two pieces: the shaft and the spearhead. The shaft has since been destroyed, for the Spear's power was centralized in the spearhead. "The spearhead was handed to our goddess's high priestess in the city of Redwater, just prior to the collapse of the Great Empire. When the thrice- accursed false Church rose to power there, the spearhead was moved across the bay to our temple in Marach. However, a daring theft from the Marach temple occurred three months ago, and the spearhead was among the items stolen." She sighs as she finishes relaying this information. "With the spearhead once again outside of our domain, it is likely creating all sorts of evil. Surely, Akanksha smiles upon you, Sister Menaria, as it is her will that you find the spearhead and return it to our care before those else who seek it." Menaria frowns slightly. "So in happenstance the spearhead's location is indeed not known any longer..." The very idea of priestesses/priests being killed for information they truly do not have is unsettling to her. "I will try my best to recover the spearhead and return it. Hopefully my other companions will join me in this quest." She then turns to Tana offering a grateful smile. "I thank you for your assistance. I will need all the help I can get." The Walker steps forward and speaks. "You are in mortal danger. The last priestess was murdered, and you are highly likely to be the next to die. What do you wish to do about this?" His voice is still a whisper. As to how in the nine hells the man knows this, Menaria is left to her own devices to guess. He simply stands quietly, giving Menaria a brief, fleeting glance. He then looks to the priestess. At the Walker's warning, a puzzled look crosses Menaria's face as she glimpses the eyes behind the cowl. She then looks back at the High Priestess. "Indeed, you are in danger. You must take all the precaution you can. Unless there is more information you can provide me, I will try to round up my other companions and see if they will assist me with this quest. There is no information on who the thieves were? Any clues that could lead to that information? If we can get an idea of the thieves, that would be a great help. Otherwise we'll have to go to Marach and start from there..." "Any information we have is already out of date. We were not informed as to the thieves' identities; the priestesses and authorities in Marach are indeed your best leads." She looks at the Wanderer, fixing him with a gaze. "Do not be so hasty as to assume that death is final, young man. In times as ours, Golma's blessing can restore the dead to life. It is one who fears death that will never live. Remember that." "The will of the gods is not frivolously forsaken. I do not claim affiliation to Akanksha, but it appears that by destiny, I have become involved in an investigation of immense consequence. I will provide that which I have for this venture," Tana comments. "Sister..." after the briefest of uncomfortable pauses, "Menaria, that is if you will allow me to accompany you." She nods. "We will then head to Marach to get what information we can. Hopefully it will still be logged somewhere whether on paper or in people's minds. We will then be off, if my companions decide to stay the eve in this town. May I and my companions stay here for the night? Only if there is room of course; I do not want to be a burdon as I am sure my companions do not wish to as well." "Akanksha's house is open to all. And do not worry about room; as you should be aware of, Sister, each of Akanksha's beds are able to hold five." She bows respectfully while chuckling. "Yes, I do remember how many to a bed." Chuckles some more. "Then I will try to scrounge them up then. Thank you for your hospitality. We will return shortly; that is if I can find them... if not then I will return with those I can find." -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- The Elf and the Oracle The elf-traveller secures a room at the Midnight Mushroom for the evening for th epaltry sum of a single gold piece and departs the inn to make his way to see the Oracle. Once in the temple of Navor and Ryl, the elf is approached by two priests. "How may we be of service, my son?" the older one asks. The elf bows respectfully, "Honored Keepers of Wisdom and Knowledge, I have travelled long and far; from the First Lands, to visit the Oracle. I seek an insight into my destiny." "What is your name, son?" "I am called Ruathor kar SilverBow, Honored Ones." "Then clear your mind of all thoughts, Ruathor kar Silverbow," the elder priest states simply, "and enter the Oracular without malice, hope, or expectation." The priests divest Ruathor of any weapons and/or armor he is carrying, then guide him into a darkened room. The smell of sandalwood, frankincense, and myrrh incense invades his nostrils, and a the only light is that of a small candle. He is led to and told to lay down on an altar. "The Oracle will be along shortly. In the meantime, you must meditate, for destiny comes clear to those whose thoughts are not mud." Ruathor, as he is instructed, lies on the alter as comfortably as he can manage. Taking deep breaths, trying to clear his mind while he waits, and listening to any sounds in the chamber, he focuses on the candle and watches calmly the flickering flame. As he attempts to clear his mind, he finds that it's a lot like trying to dry a plate with a spray of water. Every thought cleared just makes room for another. Kind of like trying to go to sleep, that way. As the thought that elves don't sleep passes through his mind, Ruathor's mind's eye becomes active. In it, he sees many hands, some human- or elf-like, some clearly not. His own hand is among them. They all seem to be reaching for a ... head? No, not an elven head, but a head nonetheless. The hands are each trying to put the head on a set of shoulders--their shoulders?--but as each set of hands puts on the head, reality turns red. Blood red. Ruathor recognizes his own hands among those reaching for the head. His hands reach the head, and one wraps around it, drawing blood as it does so. Some hands are helping his, other hands are hindering. As his hand wraps around the head, a flash of light blinds him.... ....Suddenly, Ruathor is an old, venerable elf, sitting on a throne. A lich appears nearby, the face is familiar, but for some reason he's forgotten the name. "Come, old friend," the lich states. "We have unfinished business." "Indeed we do," Ruathor replies, standing up unsteadily. The lich grabs Ruathor in a choke-hold, while Ruathor reaches for a box dangling from the lich's belt.... ....Suddenly, Ruathor is on a ship. In his hand, he holds an ornately decorated spear; an odd weapon for an elf. He is standing on the bow, gazing at a strong fogbank that is rolling in. All of a sudden, the fogbank lifts. Ahead is nothing but still waters. "Impossible," he mutters to himself. "Where did it go? Al Quenda is gone.... ....Suddenly, Ruathor stands in front of an altar; he can't seem to make out the deity the altar is dedicated to. He's handing over a locked box to the High Priestess; his bruised and battered friends stand near him. he thinks to himself.... A hand shakes the elf awake. It is the older priest. "Ruathor, the Oracle will see you now." A wizened old crone enters the room. "You have seen visions," she states. She holds up a hand, stopping him before he can speak. "Those visions show many things; only possibilities. Always in motion is time, and neither the past nor future--nor even the present--ever truly happen as seen. You have seen your Destiny, yes. And your Fate. It is the choices you make that will determine which one, or which ones, come to pass. Go now, and let Navor's knowledge and Ryl's wisdom guide you. And beware Hiini's deceptions. You may find help in fulfilling both your Festiny and your Fate with a student of Su'kal." Without another word, she fades from view.... A hand shakes the elf awake. It is the older priest. "Ruathor, what the Oracle had to say was between you and her. Go with the blessing of the god of knowledge and the goddess of wisdom." -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- A Message Drakar pulls Katrina aside before she follows the others into the town proper. "Narush would not be welcome here in the city and I will stay out here with him. If you would be willing to bring back some supplies for us from the city I would give you the blessing of the spirits and a gift of holy water. What we need is not much. Some meat & travel provisions to replenish our supplies, a recent map of the area and whatever gossip you hear in town." Drakar hands over to her a small pouch of coins for the provisions & map if she should accept. "I have one further request to you. I find myself indebted to Menaria and you for your help with the plantation and I would like to repay that debt by assisting you in your travels in the area, but I have need to send word back to the Baron Shi'uarra, in whose town we first met and to whom I hold some allegiance to. If your companion hawk, Paia would be so inclined carry a message back to him, I would be doubly indebted. I would send Narush...but he has a habit of finding trouble...or trouble finding him." Narush yawns and eyes Drakar with a pained expression, and Drakar ruffles the fur beneath the scale armor before continuing. "Paia seems sharp as a razor and quick-witted to boot and would have little trouble me'thinks." Katrina nods, taking the gold with a nod or respect. "Of course, though it is her desicion." After a few moments of concentration, she speaks again. "Paia is willing. What is the message you wish to send?" Drakar takes off helmet and gauntlet, dropping them on the ground and withdraws a small slip of parchment and with neat, short strokes, pens a brief message with a quill he draws from one of his many pouches with a hand that dwarfs both quill and parchment. He rolls the paper up into a miniature scroll after blowing on the ink carefully to dry it and inserts it inside a small metal vial - no longer or wider than Katrina's little finger - marked with a device along the side. The ends of the vial seem melted somehow, and he places an endcap whose melted edges match those of the vial perfectly. Muttering under his breath, he hands glow for a moment and the metal edges join with what can only be some kind of mending spell. He hands the now sealed metal vial and a leather thong to Katrina. "Thank you Katrina, and thank you Paia. If you would pass your waterskin or any other water containers to me I will bless them for you." Drakar takes the proferred container and quickly blesses the water inside, transmuting it into holy water. As he hands the container back to Katrina, he murmers softly and Katrina's hand tingles with a touch of divine guidance. An aura of blessing and expectation hangs about her, of magicks at her service ready to be discharged. With that, Drakar bids Katrina farewell for the moment. "The good spirits watch over you and protect you and may the Gods of Old walk with you in all the dark places of the world." He takes up his gauntlets and helmet and heads back into the forest with Narush at his side. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Getting Drunk Korg nods at Tanda. "Ale and food both. Let's see if we can find this place." Not having any immediate need of upgrading equipment or the rest, he figures, might as well get something in his stomach. It isn't hard to find the Midnight Mushroom: it's the only one with a sign featuring a busty dark elf holding a tankard of some green fluid. The sign reads "The Midnight Mushroom: Home of Mushroom Beer!" As Tanda and Korg walk inside, the place is packed with adventurer types. A few of the smaller types back off when they see Korg, but a few of them start cracking their knuckles, anticipating a challenge. "I think I like this place," Tanda mentions. "First round's on me." Korg cracks a grin. "Sounds good to me." He strides to the bar and, upon finding the barkeep, orders a round of their finest and asks about food and lodging for at least the night. The bartender isn't hard to find; he's a dwarf, located behind the bar. "Three silver for a meal," he explains, "four copper for the ale, and five silver for a bed in the common room. You want a private room, that'll be two gold." The meal served is pretty good for it's price: a few pieces of bread, some large mushrooms served in a cheese sauce, a hearty gator stew--well seasoned, no less- -with carrots and a baked potato. The house finest is a thick green mead the dwarf says is brewed on the premesis that doesn't smell inviting. But, people are swallowing the stuff down like there's no tomorrow. Korg lets Tanda get the first round, as she promised, and starts in on the mug of mead without hesitation, pausing between swallows to fish a gold piece out of his money pouch for the food, lodging... and a second mug, which he nurses as he works on the stew. "A helluva lot better than travel rations," he mutters between mouthfuls. Tanda takes a swig of the mead, and immediately sprays Korg with it. "This is *gross*!" The bartender sets another mug beside her. "Well then, have another!" Korg laughs at Tanda's predicament and wipes his face with the back of his wrist. "Oh, come on, that just means it's good for you." Tanda manages to swallow her mead. "I guess it's not that bad. Either that, or I feel a buzz coming on already." She takes the second mug offered by the dwarf, and slowly downs it. "Must be a buzz. It still tastes bad; I guess that just means it works faster." Korg gets a third mug for himself and chuckles thoughtfully. "We may have things to do tomorrow, so it might be a bad idea to have more than 5 or 6 of those." This is where Menaria finds them, two hours later. Tanda is already passed out drunk; Korg is nursing--slowly--his sixth mead, and is only halfway drunk. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- It all comes together (kinda).... About the same time Menaria walks into the Midnight Mushroom, Kyran has made his way to the Temple of Akanksha, much like a lost puppy. He looks around almost uneasily for traces of his companions there, but can't exactly find them. Instead, Kyran is met at the entrance by Sister Gwendolyn. "Please, enter the temple free from the worries of the outside world. Divest yourself of the implements of war, and engage in her holy rites of love. We will store your weapons and armor with care." -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- While the others tend to tasks in town, Drakar sets up camp, relieves Narush and himself of armor and tends to whatever needs mending. Before night falls, Drakar and Narush do some hunting for their supper. Dinner complete, Drakar puts the remaining morsels and leftovers along with herbs gathered from the forest into a small cooking pot purchased from Glim before he left, and leaves it to simmer overnight as a stew for the morrow. With that, Darkar and Narush bed down amidst the roots of an enormous oak and sleep lightly through the night. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- OOC: Okay, everyone should now be in the same time frame, except for Segev who has sent me something to take the place of the entire next day. Feel free to start replying from waking up the next day instead of spending additional time getting everyone together. You may sleep at either the Temple of Akanksha, the Midnight Mushroom Inn, or provide your own sleeping arrangements (as have Segev and Drakar). -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- And now, an alternative Oracle speaks up. (This is totally out of continuity, but is a fun read nonetheless. Enjoy! ^_^ ) As he attempts to clear his mind, he finds that it's a lot like trying to dry a plate with a spray of water. Every thought cleared just makes room for another. Kind of like trying to go to sleep, that way. Oh, wait, elves don't dream. Funny, that. So maybe he'd recognize this as falling asleep if he were to actually have experiance falling asleep...and he wasn't already in the midst of doing so. Well, being an Oracle, I guess I should give you some Oracular vision. Hm. What're you thinking about, then? Ah, yes, destiny. If I had a year's service from every person who came to ask about that...well, that Magician in that Demon's realm certainly has the right idea, but it'd never fly 'round here. 'Sides, he lets it go too often. Always works the--never mind, you're supposed to be dreaming, and here I go making you dream my nonsense. The dreamer finds himself on a path, looking for something. He knows he's looking for something. That's his destiny, after all. To find it. Or maybe he's looking for his destiny? He can't be bothered to remember. In the manner of dreams, it all makes perfect sense right now just to be looking. Got it? Hey, no waking up, I'm just getting creative. Stupid union rules, can't be clear, have to be as confusing as possible. Anyway... This thing he's looking for. It's a head, yes, that's it. A head. And he can't let it get on someone else's shoulders, 'cause it'll make them crazy and do bad things. The head's mother would never approve, which is kind of the point. It's a pointy-head. Get it? Oh, never mind. So, right, there are others looking for it, too. The dreamer sees many hands reaching for this head. A race, both to find it and to get it. His own hands are there, too, of course. It's his destiny we're discussing, after all. So, being a dream, he sees each hand reach it first, in consecutive order. These hands leave trails of blood behind them. The closer they get, the more clearly marked their paths are in the red substance, until, for some of the hands, it looks more like the end of that Gainax movie with all the orange tang, only the tang is red rather than orange, where bodies used to be. And that just isn't as bad as the bad things that happen when those hands put the head on their shoulders. They just go crazy! A few of those hands - all these hands are very distinctive, did I mention that? Oh, don't worry, you'll remember 'em I'm sure...they're important, maybe - just put the head in a box, and bury it in the ground. Then bad things don't happen. Well, not until someone takes it out of the ground. But that may just be fearful thoughts, not visionary. Right? So. Then, because this dream is about his destiny, the dreamer sees his hands reach the head first last. This time, some of the other hands are trying to stop his, while others are helping his along. The path was very clear, this time, excpet that it wasn't, so he's suprised he got there first but knew all along it would be this way because it's his dream and his destiny. So, feeling a surge of...could it be love? Or maybe just lust...oh, not really important, just feeling something along with that sense of destiny that he wanted to find by coming to see that Oracle so long ago. These feelings are confusing, but he knows that with the head's help he can satisfy them. But that could be bad. So he shouldn't take the easy path that he sees to the head but the harder one that leads to a tail or something. Or are there paths at all? No matter, walking forward doesn't work because all he has are hands and a head that is his destiny and he grabs it and-- A hand shakes the elf awake. "Ruathor, the Oracle will see you now." -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- --------------------------------------------------------------------------------