The Usher explains: There's nothing worse than sitting in the audience wondering, 'Who was this character again? Where did he come from? What's his connection to the plot?' So that none of you become thusly agitated, you will be interested in this glance backward, perhaps only days... perhaps a bit more, into Gilgamar's past as experienced by Sepulos the Lector... Enjoy.

The old man just glared at the newcomer. He just glared and crossed his arms defiantly. "How dare this man come here and ask a bunch of questions? Doesn't he know that's just not polite? Of course he don't, that's the problem with them that comes here, they just don't know!" he was thinking. He screwed his grimace even tighter and on his wrinkled face, his eyes narrowed to venemous slits.

Before the old-timer stood a man who was bearded and scholarly. He wore a perplexed expression on his face at having been so impolitely treated. All he had done was ask if the old-timer had known of any caves in the vicinity. The man was sure there were, his research had led him here and last night's discussions at the only Inn in the village had produced some positive leads, at least before a scuffle broke out between a hunter and a dwarf with a particularly large belly.  He'd gotten the feeling though that his search was never going to get any easier. He needed a break, a real bit of progress, and the glaring man on the porch in front of him didn't seem all that interested in participating in it.

Somewhere far in the distance there was a rumble of thunder. The scholarly man smelled the air, expecting to find the sweet aroma of later summer rain. Strangely, it was not there. Perhaps when the wind changed it would arrive just before the large drops hit the ground in a hurried rush.

The old timer's gaze narrowed even more as he considered the newcomer, for he had also heard the thunder and noted the absense of a rain-smell. As the scholar turned to leave, the old man grunted, "That ol'cave collapsed when I were a youngling! You'd never find it anyways, it's all over-growed!" It was the old-timer's way of acknowledging the younger man's interest. He never uncrossed his arms, the scowl was still on his face, but his screwed-up eyes were a little bit softer.
This message was last edited by the GM at 09:15, Sat 14 Dec 2013.

As was his reflective habit, Sepulos the Lector of Beymarth stroked his fist-length beard as he listed to the old man. He was somewhat perplexed by the fellow's animosity; still, he was used to native reluctance to disclose details about places around which thousands of years' of local legend (much of it unpleasant) had accumulated. His researches into the ancient history and lore of the Elves had led him to various places throughout the continent of Gawr, and he had once even been chased out of town by an angry mob for asking directions in the local bazaar to the site of an ancient necropolis that was rumored to be in the area. Bidding farewell to his interlocutor, Sepulos turned back down the gravel walkway of the old man's property and followed it back to the main road that had taken him from the town itself to these surprisingly rustic outskirts. There was the thunder again; the sky was pregnant with vast, seemingly impenetrable clouds that filtered the sunlight above into a brooding and oppressive darkness.

Sepulos smiled at that last thought, which was not entirely his own, but that of common sentiment; actually, he had always, since youth, for some reason associated gloomy weather such as this--when the spring was just on the threshold of summer and the air was delightful with pleasant, fragrant winds--with a thrilling adventurous feeling that welled up from deep within him. Such a feeling, impervious to even the thought of resistance, often had found him alone in the cultivated and well-wooded city park of Beymarth, swinging some stick he had picked up as if it were a massive sword and wandering around among the oaks, the footpaths, and the scenic bridges. There he would spontaneously imagine himself, for instance, to be a weary and famished human knight who had just penetrated the outskirts an ancient and magically preserved Elvish city, the inhabitants of which had all been put to sleep by a demon of Oozh. The city park, then, would become for him merely the park lands on the outskirts of the Faerie city (which he took to be the dimly descried rooftops of Beymarth in the distance). In his imagination, he had been wandering throughout a country that had become a wasteland--a vast desert--and battled ferocious beasts without coming across any other sentient creature besides the jinn who danced on the sands and disappeared at his approach. Then, suddenly, the desert had ended and given place to these beautiful woods and gardens--he had arrived at the goal of his quest!

--Sepulos, shook off the reverie and smiled. Was it not ironic to think that he was now, as a forty-year-old man--not a knight, but a scholar--himself searching for the traces of a vanished Elf civilization? Yet the two scenarios, similar as they might be in form, could hardly be more different in tone and color: the glamor and enchantment he found in such a quest as an adult, as part of his life's work, had little to do with the indescribable archetypal joy of youthful fantasy. . . .

He forced himself to focus his thoughts on looking for a path into the woods opposite the old man's house. From what little he had been able to gather from the locals about the location of the cave he was searching for, such a path should visible somewhere around here; apparently it would be close to a collapsed drinking fountain. . . .

The old man muttered under his breath as the scholarly stranger walked cheerfully away. "Fine, be that way!" He turned an entered his farmshack, shaking his head. "Try to help somebody out an' off they goes! Won't never find it, that one..."

----

Sepulos was undaunted by the difficulty of finding the next clue. He had spent a long time, hours and hours just of study, burning through basketfuls of candles in the process, and then there were the weeks of travel invested that should be considered as well. No, he would grind forward, because now he felt it... he felt he was getting closer, and no grumpy ol' codger was going to upset him today. He walked around a mudhole in the trail and almost continued onward when those instincts that had gotten him this far kicked in.

He turned back to the mudhole and examined the undergrowth on both sides of the pathway to determine the source of the water.  There it was! A large stone, perhaps two or three paces into the brush jutted up out of the ground at a slanting angle. As Sepulos moved back the vegetation surrounding it, his heartbeat quickened.

The stone itself was covered in dark green, luxurious feeling moss. The water source which provided the necessary moisture for the moss, and eventually pooled and seeped into the mudhole on the pathway, originated near the top of the stone.  Such things do not happen in nature normally and so the Lector of Beymarth began to strip away the moss. Underneath was revealed the stone was actually carved. It was a depiction of a frog and from its mouth came a drizzle of water. The ground must have given out over the years and it had settled backwards at an angle, soon to be reclaimed by the earth.

After a good quarter hour of work and with the aid of a long pole that Sepulos 'borrowed' from a nearby rail fence, he'd gotten the statuette mostly de-mossed and pried nearly vertical again. He wedged a few flat rocks beneath the back edge to hold it. Almost immediately the seep of water from the frog's mouth increased into a small stream and then finally into a gentle fountain.

Sepulos was thrilled that after all these years... decades? more? ...that it was still functional, and if he were not having that feeling of getting closer to his goal, he might have spent a day or even a week restoring the fountain completely. He was about to trudge off into the surrounding forest to look for another clue, when he realized the froglike statue was not symmetrical. Three of the feet had three 'toes' each, but the last, the hind right foot, had five...

As soon as he saw the unusual toe distribution on the frog he knew without a shadow of a doubt that this was no ordinary fountain--not even an ordinary "antique" fountain. Frogs normally have four toes on their front feet and five on each of their back ones. The sculpted figure could only be a Zog, one of the kindly, beloved familiar spirits of the  elf culture who were rumored to have inhabited this region aeons ago, before the dawn of human history. The close proximity of such an ancient artifact literally made him shudder, as he realized that he was face to face with an actual physical proof of the great people's existence--something that had mostly been relegated to the realm of legend by other scholars. In a way, this discovery had been almost too easy. Hadn't anyone familiar with these legends, a scholar for instance, ever come this way before and encountered this relic, standing here in the clear light of day? It was quite likely that they hadn't; Gilgamar was a pretty rustic community as it was, far from any of the major cities (Beymarth itself, 150 miles away, was only a small university town, although the institution itself was quite prestigious). Any of the locals, or travelers, who had encountered this or similar relics in the woods would probably have merely brushed it aside as something outside the sphere of their mundane concerns--either that, or assumed it to be the figure of some eldritch devil that they would rather have nothing to do with (and this would explain the native hostility about the subject of the elves).

At any rate, Sepulos could assure them that this was no devil. A Zog, according to the lore that had survived of the vanished elves, was one of a semi-intelligent tribe of benevolent fairies who had befriended these people after one of their kings had delivered them from millennia of slavery to an inter-dimensional demon. They weren't really "frogs"--this was merely how they manifested themselves in the mundane sphere, being like all fairy folk creatures formed from fire, and whose physical shape was hence malleable within a range of patterns germane to their nature. Each of these shapes--there were three or four for the Zog--were characterized for unknown reasons by three digits on each of the forelimbs, four on the back right and five on the left.

Until now, there hadn't been any indication of the Zog beyond the same material that pointed to these Elves--various cycles of obscure legendary tales found on the peripheries of much more salient and well-known cycles, such as the great prose epic, Skeegia, of the North Mountain Elves.

The scholar bent to sniff the water that now flowing with a pleasant rush, slightly easing the oppressive atmosphere that had begun to gather in the woods due to a darkness and silence which exceeded even his taste for atmospheric gloom.

The water smelled earthy and "springy" was the word that seemed to pop into the scholar's mind... The statuette had been there for a long time, and the longer he thought about it, the more firm he became in his assumption that its significance had long been forgotten.

Another rumble of thunder, this time louder than it had been at the cabin of the old-timer, echoed its way across the sky, which indeed was growing darker. There was still no rain-smell however, and so far no breeze.

OOC: You may make both an Int check and a Wis check if you choose. Roll under your score and don't forget to add the +1 for Int mod.  Consider however that a failure may have unforeseen consequences. Your choice to risk the roll(s) or not...

15:26, Today: Sepulos rolled 9 using 1d20+1 with rolls of 8. [Intelligence]
15:27, Today: Sepulos rolled 10 using 1d20 with rolls of 10. [Wisdom]

OOC: Whew!

OOC: The burbling water from the fountain runs clear after only a few minutes while you are standing there, and smells very inviting. You cannot help but notice the vigorous vegetation in the vicinity and think perhaps this statuette may have been placed here for more than one reason... (Wis)

It occurs to you that the statuette's strange configuration of feet and toes may in fact be some sort of clue. Perhaps there is a way to puzzle out what the frog might be hiding... (Int)

As he stood looking around at the brush and trees around him, and was about to set forth again, that unmistakable sensation of inspiration tingled down the neck of the Lector of Beymarth. Some bit of phraseology or a flash of legend seemed to tug at him from the inside.  The frog sat by the side of the path, spitting water happily to the hungry plants and moss around it.

Having come face to face with a Zog--a relic of unimaginable antiquity--standing here in common daylight, Sepulos was sure that he was on the right track; he felt certain--though there was as yet no decisive evidence of this--that whatever underground spring was feeding this fountain must originate in the very cave that he was seeking. "Caves" was the more appropriate expression, since these elves were rumored to have--unusually for their race--lived underground in a great enchanted city of their own devising. Rumors of this strange and magnificent place had found their way into the old songs and legends of most of the peoples--elves, dwarves, and humans--who inhabited the continent. Sepulos had long been aware that some ancient caverns, rumored to be in the vicinity of Gilgamar, had been the popular site of many a strange adventure in search of lost treasure, that is before the opening collapsed in the great earthquake of sixty years ago. Still, no traveler had ever said anything about finding an underground city in these caves; furthermore, there were lots of "legendary caverns" throughout this part of the continent, and the only reason that Sepulos had thought to connect the Gilgamar caves with those of ancient legend was through having one day noticed, while reading an otherwise unrelated history of the region, the tantalizing similarity of the some of the modern place names with those of the vanished civilization--or rather, with certain eminent figures and heroes of that civilization. His interest stirred, he made a detailed linguistic analysis of these names and arrived at a strong disposition to believe that somewhere beneath Gilgamar was the magical city of the Elder Elves.

He looked around and could find no other clues. The fountain stood, as it were, alone within its halo of antique enchantment. The scholar put his shoulder to the side of the fountain and pushed as hard as he could. Then he pushed from other directions. Then, when nothing happened, he attempted to investigate the object with closer scrutiny. . . .
This message was last edited by the player at 02:58, Sat 28 Dec 2013.

As time wore on and Sepulos struggled with the statuette, he began to grow thirsty and frustrated. He forced himself to remember his long months and years of study that had gotten him to this point and chided himself just a little for his impatience. The cloudy sky was darkening a bit and the intermittent rumbles of thunder growing more frequent. A stray bit of sunlight managed to find its way down from the west... "Afternoon," Sepulos thought to himself. Then as with the brief illumination of the struggling sun, the scholar's eyes snapped back to the statuette.

The frog was oriented north to south, facing the pathway which made the foot with the extra toe facing the northwest. An extra toe on one side and one missing from the other... Northwest was the direction to go! The Lector of Beymarth again felt the thrill of anticipation!

OOC: Perhaps I'm being too subtle, but I've re-read my posts and I *think* there are several clues I've included multiple times in various ways.  Now that you know the direction to go, you just need to find it! If you need additional clues as to what I'm trying to accomplish let me know. Or flame me if you simply find this sub-game annoying... ;-)

OOC: It was rather subtle, but now that I see what you meant with the toes, all I can do is give myself a facepalm :-)

I don't mind subtlety and puzzles at all. I'm just a little rusty. I'll aim to get Sepulos into the cave within next few days, as things hopefully quiet down around here.
This message was last edited by the player at 20:33, Sun 29 Dec 2013.

Sepulos has been so busy that he only now, as he pauses to rest before following the direction indicated by the Zog's toe, realizes how thirsty he is. He scoops up some of the clear, cool water into his hands and drinks. The water is truly delicious! He drinks again and again until he is refreshed.

Like the moss and plants growing in the run-off of the ancient fountain, Sepulos felt invigorated and refreshed. It wasn't simply that his thirst was satiated by particularly delicious spring water, but more that he felt... alive! His fingers seemed to tingle as they touched the worn stone of the statuette. His ears picked up sounds he didn't realize were being made. His eyes detected shades of colors and clarity he couldn't recall noticing before. His mouth... echoed... with the springy taste of the water.

The skeptic in him immediately disregarded it as coincidence... a subtle change in the afternoon lighting, or altered acoustics due to his clearing of the brush, or even the presence of a particular mineral in the spring which gave the water a unique taste. But the searcher in him, the part of him that believed in a long-forgotten city of elves, that part wondered a little if the experience was something more. Subsequent sips did not enhance the sensations, though the water was still delicious.

Finally, Sepulos turned his back on the statuette and then quarter-turned to the left. Northwest. He began to make his way through a dense forest, deeply carpeted with old leaves. The further he went, the larger the trees became until he was quite sure he found himself in a part of the forest that hadn't seen an explorer in decades, perhaps centuries. He continued to move toward the northwest, at least he thought he was still heading in that direction. The old-growth could not fully insulate him from the thunder and overhead the sky was growing dark. His excitement was too strong to win out over sense at this point, and he continued forward in his quest to find the cave.

OOC: Let's do another perception (Wis) check, add a +3 to your Wis - from the fountain... ;-)  If successful (15 or less) then you narrate the finding of the cave entrance and describe it and I'll take it up from there.  If not successful, then I'll narrate it all. (Muahahaha!) Also, if you get creative with your roleplay, I'll throw in an extra +1 to your roll..

OOC: Uh oh. . . . 04:49, Sat 04 Jan 2014: Sepulos rolled 11 using 1d20+3 ((8)).

The Usher contemplates... doesn't say a word, just sits there tapping the side of his cheek with a long, thin finger. He remembers what the next act is about, but not how the current one finishes, so like the rest of the audience he is here to serve, he sits back to watch it unfold...

The Lector of Beymarth was caught up in the moment. When he noticed the parting of the trees before him, he should have slowed his pace and taken stock of the situation. He did not. Acting like a gnomish tinker at a lever and gear warehouse auction, he charged forward, convinced he'd finally found the home of his long-lost Elves. The trees surrounding the clearing closed around him. It was only when a swirling wind formed a whirlwind of leaves in front of him that he realized he'd walked right into a trap.

Here, deep in the ancient forest, where light struggled to penetrate, it was already autumn, or perhaps winter spring and summer never paid it a visit. Sepulos had no idea how far he'd walked - it felt like only minutes, but could have been hours or days or... The dead leaves swirled faster and faster, now picking up twigs and then branches. The breeze that was creating the whirlwind seemed to howl with a voice of sorrow and loss. Sepulos tried to retreat, but found his way blocked as no matter which direction he turned, it all looked the same. He waited with his breath caught in his throat as the leaves, twigs, sticks and branches of the forest floor swirled into a being before him.


The tall figure of a forest guardian appeared as the whirlwind grew to a climax and then faded away. It was made of the woven branches and twigs and clothed in the beautiful robes of multi-colored fallen leaves in their thousand shades of fall. Upon the head of the figure was a stick-crown, adorned with dead grasses and dried up flowers. The being was terrible and fabulous at the same time. It raised a leafy arm and pointed a twiggy finger at Sepulos and its voice was that of all the thousands of trees around him, whispering together in a shout!

"Who art thou? Why dost thou trespass here? Knowest thou not that this forest is forsaken? Knowest thou not that the spirits of the dead curseth this place and keepeth it hidden? Speak, speak and then die..."
This message was last edited by the GM at 07:33, Mon 06 Jan 2014.

Sepulos is so completely terrified by the apparition before him that his face lost all color as his throat parted with a shrill, inarticulate squeak which, even as he uttered it, he realized was woefully unbecoming a man who claimed such lofty philosophical principles. He knew that according to these, such a creature could only be one particular manifestation of the One Reality, and that Being he had always understood to be ultimately kind. Anything else could only be a veil. Thus, with this bracing draught of doctrine to fortify him, he said in a calmer, though still trembling, voice: "Sir, I've lost my way. I'm a s-scholar, searching for a . . . a c-cave, and I understood that it was someplace in this forest. I meant no disrespect, nor do I wish to intrude where I'm not permitted. Please take pity, sir, and do not destroy me, for I truly meant no harm."

Sepulos was wise enough to realize that this might truly be the end, and as he finished his speech, casting his eyes to the ground, he found the strength or grace to surrender internally to whatever was about to befall him. . . .

The leaves clothing the guardian swirled as it lowered its outstretched hand. The trees which were its voice were also its thoughts and Sepulos could hear what it was thinking...

"He is an intruder who desireth to defile and steal like those that have come before..."

"He asketh for pity, spare him..."

"He trespasseth, slay him!"

"He seeketh Orrildallin, he claimeth to be a keeper of lore..."

"Let him learn of the past..."

"He arriveth at the van of the Ulir! Slay him!"

"Permit him to pass, for he hath drunken of the spring, were it not so he would not have found this place..."

"None in the world of the living showeth pity toward the dead... SLAY HIM!"

The forest seemed to fill with the wind that had blown the forest guardian into being. There was turmoil and a thousand voices at once, silently clamoring to be heard. Finally, it died down and the guardian raised its arm high. Sepulos braced for the end he feared must come.

A single voice spoke this time, the voice of antiquity, the voice of a tree still bearing green in a forest of autumn. The guardian's eyes blazed the color of twilight. "Pity thou shalt have mortal child. There lieth nearby the cave which thou seekest. Here be thou warned... In the instant that thou lifteth thine hand to defile or steal, thou wilt suffer the wrath of a lost people. Thou shalt not survive thine folly. Hearken this warning lore-keeper... and if it be that thou art truly a friend, then thine eyes will be filled as will thine ears with the songs of the past... ages past. Knoweth thou this also, there cometh a plague upon the world, stronger and longer and deadlier than at any time in history. It cannot be avoided unless the Bringer be purged. Go now lore-seeker and lore-keeper, enter if thou wilt, but heedeth! Heedeth and watcheth always!"

The wind burst forth from the trees, whirling and whipping so much that Sepulos had reason to kneel and cover his face with his sleeve. Leaves and dried branches pelted him and then it all died in a gentle, despairing sigh. The trees were no longer surrounding the scholar, but were as they should have been. The only thing that made Sepulos think it had not all been a delusion was something lying on the bed of autumn leaves where the forest guardian had been.  It was a crown, a crown of leaves and twigs and dead flowers...

For several minutes, Sepulos remained as he had been during his interview with the awful being--kneeling on the ground, in a stunned dulness. The fear had mostly passed; now he was merely overcome with a sense of astonishment and wonder, in the shadow of which his thoughts struggled in vain to find coherence. Who was that? And, more to the point, what was it talking about?

It had mentioned a word that he knew only as a shadowy rumor of ancient legend--"Ulir"--but for the life of him he couldn't imagine what such a thing, a creature out of the half-mad nightmares of the occultists, had to do with his present situation, with Gilgamar, or with the Elvish city. The Elivish city! The forest Guardian--if such it was--had mentioned the ancient name of the place, "Orrildallin." Here he smiled as he remembered a pedantic squabble he had once had with a colleague over whether the name was actually "Orrildallin" or "Ovildavin". Some of the old manuscripts mentioned the latter name, and Sepulos had actually delivered a lecture in which he defended his theory that "Orrildallin" was at root a scribal error that had somehow become predominant. So here, at least--if the Guardian could be counted upon--his theory was smashed.

Not that this was important when set against the more tremendous things the being had mentioned: that he, Sepulos, would himself be privileged to find that which he sought after, but that he must be careful not to "defile or steal". At that last thought, Sepulos's face fell, for he had hoped so much to be able to retrieve artifacts: what a fortune in knowledge of ancient days such artifacts would bring! Setting this problem momentarily to the side, the scholar thought of something else: what did the Guardian mean when it spoke of a "plague" coming upon the world, and of a Bringer that must be "purged"--and, more importantly--what did these things have to do with him?

Feeling bewildered by all this, Sepulos, got to his feet and saw the crown. He reached out unthinkingly to pick it up and examine it, but quickly pulled back his hand in terror or violating something not meant for him. Had the terrible being with whom he had just spoken been a witness to the destruction of Orrildallin? How old was the thing, and why did it speak with many voices? He looked around, wondering which way to go. The Guardian had said that the cave was not far, and, seeing that the path he had traveled thus far was the only way forward through the dense forest, he set forth again, leaving the mysterious crown behind. . . .

Sepulos, known also as the Lector of Beymarth, and in some circles as 'that crazy elf-seeker' was on the cusp of discovery. Already he had learned much - his journal entry for this evening would be a lengthy one, written with a hand shaking from excitement. He tried to calm his heartbeat as he searched, but it pounded and blood hammered in his ears... as did thunder.

The thunder was suddenly very loud and probably close by. The old and dense forest insulated him from much of the coming storm, but he was still able to feel it. As he cast about finding nothing remotely looking like a cave he began to have doubts. At first he quickly banished them. Of course he'd seen the Guardian. Of course he'd been led here by the strange statuette. Of course... of course the wind could have been caused by the surge from the incoming thunderstorm... of course he'd been searching for decades for clues and of course he was tired... "No!" He shook his head and continued his search.

After a time he came around to the spot where the Guardian's crown rested atop the leafy blanket which covered the forest floor. He had resisted the urge the first time, but this time it was stronger.  Just to think of what his colleagues would say about the proof he'd accumulated thus far! His hand reached forward. Why would the Guardian have left it if it were not for him to take?

A flash of lightning followed by a powerful peal of thunder stayed his hand which was inches from the crown. Sepulos sighed. He had been patient these long years, he could not waste it all now. He stood and turned his back on the crown, hoping to resume his search for the entrance to Orrildallin, whatever that was...

There was another flash and an enormous rumble that caused the scholar to flinch, and when he did, that's when he heard the sound of stone grinding upon stone behind him. He quickly turned around to see a circle form in the leaves between him and the Guardian's crown. It formed from the forest floor beneath the leaves sinking! In a few moments there was a perfectly round hole in the ground which included a set of very narrow and steep stone steps leading downward into the darkness. He did not have a chance to bask in his discovery, for just then lightning struck a tree less than a bow-shot away. The concussion of the thunder was huge and caused an increase of pressure in his chest and ears. He ducked into hole and fled down the stairway. It was that or be pounded by the sudden and strange late-summer storm. The hole closed above him, plunging him into darkness.

Sepulos, known also as the Lector of Beymarth, and in some circles as 'that crazy elf-seeker' might not be considered so crazy now, not after all of this! That was, if he ever made it back...

The Usher sighs: And thus we see this scene come to an end... The only good thing about endings is that it leaves more room for beginnings!

OOC: Sepulos, I'll let you tie the knot in this one.  For the sake of joining the party, (partly so that I can keep up) we'll handle the rest of your excursion and findings as flashbacks or something. I feel like we can end this here and come back to it without doing any real damage to the story... You have the final shot at it too!

I'll introduce you into the Chapter 2 thread tomorrow perhaps.

OOC: Sounds good, sir! Just keep me posted on the OOC thread.
This message was last edited by the GM at 15:58, Thu 09 Jan 2014.

The Usher responds: I think that means you get to craft the closing of this scene... *wink* If you want to that is...