A Ranger Visits the Orphanage

The Abbot Elijah studies Ardylan from a respectful distance with an intense but steady gaze. Only after a considerable moment does he break into a warm smile. On some days, he would bring out a platter of brie cheese, rye bread and sweet wine, leaving it on a stone bench near Ardylan beckoning him to refresh himself. Elijah doesn't seem forthcoming in conversation preferring to go about his duties silently, occasionally pausing and nodding to himself as he picks up snippets of Ardylan's sharing to the children.

When ardylan leaves elric gives him a bear hug.

"Ye've done a beautiful thing friend you have my sincerest gratitude for sharing your time with these poor souls"

*Ardylan thanks Elijah for the food and drink, helping himself to a bit of it. He gives most of the cheese away to the children, as well as a little bit of the bread (though he drinks all the wine himself). Other than that, he leaves Elijah to his business, not wishing to interrupt the busy man.

A few of the children seem to enjoy talking about nature more than the others - sharing their stories and observations about the local flora and fauna with Ardy. A pair of elven children - a little girl and her younger brother - seem to have more interest and connection to nature than the others. The girl has already learned to identify over thirty different kinds of flowers in the area with impressive accuracy. The young boy, though barely old enough to speak, is frequently able to coax birds to land in the palm of his hand. The boy usually whispers a few words to the birds before lifting his hand to the sky, letting them fly away.

As he leaves one evening, he's crushed by a sneak-attack-bear-hug from Elric.*

-HURK!- *He grunts as he's squeezed, rather surprised. After he's able to breathe again, he returns the hug and chuckles.*

"I haven't spent as much time here as I would have liked. I was curious to see if any of the children felt any kind of connection to nature, the way the members of the Circle do. Sometimes I fear the Circle will feel stagnant without new members."

Spencer Beholder, humanitarian to the free peoples (and not so free) happens by the scene, smiling lightly from beneath his sombrero. He regards the children as they heed Ardylan's suggestion and tips his hat slightly as they scamper on by. He is a tall and handsome human, with travel tanned skin and a large blue quill poking obnoxiously from the band in his headpiece. He notions to Ardylan and looks down to the poorly scribbled map in his hand.
"Hey fella, you know where I can find an abbot by the name of Elijah around here?" The bard then returns a look from the map to Ardy. "He heads up a chapter of Lathander, well according to this." Gives the map a good shake and awaits an answer.

*Ardylan wanders over to Spencer, returning the hat-tip with a small wave. He glances down at Spencer's map briefly, then nods.*

I believe you're in the right place. I don't know Elijah very well, but I've seen him around here - at the church of Lathander, at the orphanage, even coming and going between the farms and Myth Drannor. You're likely to run into him soon. If you don't though, you can always send him a letter. Just give it to any courier and they'll make sure it gets to where it needs to go. That's probably the easiest way, otherwise you might spend a few days looking for him.

Spencer nods as Ardy speaks, though a look of discouragement looms on the Bard's face. The Editor of the Daleland's Beholder didn';t have days to look for the Abbot. With a sigh of frustration he considered something desperate, but immediately dispelled the thought.

"I see, can you tell me what he looks like, in case I see him from a distance?" he replies, removing his sombrero and punching some shape into its brow, then neatly sliding the map inside. In one slick motion he plops the thing back on his head.

On the even days of the week, the Abbot Elijah gathers the children of the orphanage right after the break of dawn for his special class Master Your Mind, Master Your Body. The class lasts three hours with no breaks in between. Though many restless and fidgety children have dropped out of the class over the weeks, those who remain are now able to last the entire duration without complaint as Elijah patiently guides them through the fundamentals of meditation and martial art.

By the end of the class, a sheen of glistening perspiration can be seen on his bald-shaven pate, reflecting the glory of the morning's light.

*After a moment's pause, he describes the abbot to Spencer, putting special emphasis on the fact that he seems to recall Elijah being bald - a mortal sin of fashion and attractiveness, in his eyes.*

Giving a healthy laugh, Spencer is momentarily grateful that his partial baldness (self inflicted) comes with being a diligent keeper of a well groomed Mohawk. Agreeing that total baldness is an unacceptable fashion extreme the bard extends his hand and introduces himself, "I'm Spencer, regional Sociologist and obviously... wayward traveler."

*Grasping Spencer's hand and giving it a firm shake, Ardy introduces himself.*

Ardylan. Regional... goofball.

*He gives Spencer a wink and lets go of his hand. If the name "Spencer" rang any bells to Ardylan, he didn't let it show on his face.*

If you don't mind me asking, why are you seeking out the abbot, Elijah? I don't mean to pry, I'm just curious, is all... the orphanage could always use more help, as would any part of Lathander's church. I think they're always open to new members and whatnot.

Spencer tilts his head and weighs that question. What was he doing here? Oh yes, that's right.
"Well turns out I've been rather naughty and heard he's the man that takes confession seriously." The bard replies, looking beyond to see the Church of Lathander. "I think I'll just post up at the doorstep for a day or so, maybe he'll turn in." and with a tip of his sombrero he begins towards the Church. "Nice to meet you Ardylan, world needs more goofballs...people take themselves way too seriously these days."

The Abbot Elijah returns to the temple after having spent days in Shadowdale ministering to the afflicted. Like fallen leaves swept up in a billowing gust, he rushes through the Lathanderite farms towards the temple, robes aflutter.

Elijah looks as though he has aged a number of years since he set forth from the temple days ago. His face is lined with weariness and a brooding contemplation seems to enshroud the monk.

Nearing the doorsteps of the temple, the Abbot spies an unfamiliar figure with an outlandish hat. Fixing an intense penetrating gaze at the stranger, Elijah slows his steps and regards the man, a steely focus dancing behind the monk's eyes.

"So...Abbot Elijah I presume...the....description betrays you (looks at his baldness). Or does you service, depending on what circles you frequent. Anyhow. I believe we have a meeting long overdue, I've been here three days and nearly took off. But, if you are who I think you are, then you need little introduction. As for me...well...I'm Spencer Beholder."

The Bard removes his over sized sombrero and reveals his perfectly shaped Mohawk, with a slight bow he resumes his normal, cocky upright posture and smiles. "I come with good intentions...and very much free of charge."

Elijah regards the bard curiously, half amused at the erect mohawk. That explains the need for an over-sized contraption, he thought as his eyes flitted between the sombrero and the clump of hair pointing defiantly towards the heavens.

As the bard makes his dramatic introduction, Elijah found himself folding his arms, the fingers of his left hand absentmindedly tracing the runes inscribed upon his robe sleeve. He looks intently at the bard's eyes as he speaks, making note of every blink that seems out of pace.

Once the bard is done, and his theatrics duly performed, Elijah gives a briefest of nods. "Spencer Beholder", he says, ruminating over the name. "We have, indeed, a long overdue meeting. And I thank you for taking the trouble to seek me out." Pausing for a moment, he adds "Presumably, at great peril to your personal well-being and the longevity of your provocative publication."

"Come, I am sure we have much to talk about." Elijah gestures towards a private, shaded area of the temple courtyard, without breaking his intense gaze on the bard.

Beholder walks with the abbot making sure to stay side by side and in stride. A way of measuring him up perhaps, not because of some manly macho thing, but to determine how serious and how confident Elijah was about himself. "Provocative...I like that word, dangerous though, very dangerous word to use. As for the jaunt out here? It was fine, honestly, the attempts on my life have decreased ever since Zhentarim got the panties slapped off of them." Spencer finally made it to the intended area of the courtyard and awaited Elijah, would he sit or stand? "Never the less, I needed to come and speak with your Holiness to clear the air a bit."

The Abbot walks with the flamboyant bard towards the temple courtyard where a round stone table and a single stone stool await. He deliberately slows down his stride, making sure the bard doesn't have to resort to a haste spell or similar to keep pace. No, as that would have been an embarrassment for the visitor.

At they approach the table, Elijah gestures to the bard to make himself comfortable at the only stone stool. At the other end of the table opposite the stool, the monk adjusts his robes and goes into a half squat posture, feet shoulder-width apart and thighs nearly parallel to the ground. "Ah... My usual morning warm-ups", explains the monk before pouring cups of tea for the bard and himself.

Elijah takes out a chalk from the folds of his robes and draws a grid upon the stone surface of the table. From another pocket, he produces a handful of wooden chips and arranges them within the grid. "A game of chess as we chat?", suggests the monk with a half-smile and a sip from the tea cup, eyes never leaving the bard.

Spencer immediately accepts the hospitality by sipping hot tea. It was wonderful, considering he was gulping the bottom of his water-skin by now. It soothed his sore throat, no doubt from sitting out in the cold weather and napping rather deeply. He was a mouth breather and probably snored, hence many mornings with a sore/dry larynx. Both of his eyebrows went up at the sight of the Chess pieces and the grid. "Oh yeah, I've seen this game played in academic bars and taverns, they call it 'Knights' down south along the Dragon Coast and Quade-Fae'rukz in Amn. That means Four Mages translated roughly." Spencer nodded his head accepting the challenge as he took another sip. "I'll take the light colored pieces since I'm the good guy in our story." He smiled at that and awaited the reply of his host.

Seeing the bard so parched, Elijah refills Spencer's cup the moment he drains it. He looks on in amusement as the bard claims the white pieces hastily, almost defensively perhaps?

The game got going once the pieces are arranged. The Abbot opens with a gambit known amongst the literati in Waterdeep as Unveiling the Masked Lords. As he moves his Archmage piece to the Gargoyle's left, he asks curiously, "So what brings our esteemed editor to my humble abode this day?"

Awaiting an answer, the Abbot takes the teapot in his hand and closes his eyes momentarily. A blazing aura of sunlight springs forth and a burst of flames engulfs his hand. A heart beat later, Elijah lays the teapot down, his hand and sleeves untouched by the fire. "Lukewarm tea is distasteful, fit only for the chamberpot", says the Abbot as he moves his High Priest piece to the Gargoyle's right.

"Clarity." Spencer quickly replies, looking at the board while weighing his options. "And I'd hate to be considered as a ghost writer, you know? Always showing up on paper, but never really seen in public." The tea was soothing yet stimulating at the same time. Years spend as a tavernboy during his youth made him no stranger to the cerebral table games patrons loved to play. Every 3rd day a group of them would come in and claim the far back corner of the Able Tankard (named after his father who owned it), and Spencer would promptly have his chores finished to sit and watch the intensely strategical battles fought over and over between rivals. Over time he'd begun to dabble in the game, then once basic mastery was achieved he began a difficult challenge to even the more experienced grid sitters. He never learned the various and complicated lines, as there was one defense and one opening that he was great at. As the light pieces, he immediately played The Jester's Gambit . This gimmicky defense was designed to lure even the most astute Grandmasters into believing their opponent had blundered on the first move. His Queen's Archer dubiously moves to the center rank, easily captured in the next move by his opponent (if he chooses to capture) without obvious detriment. "I figured it was high time to give my proponents a chance to take a fair shot at me." Spencer was grinning slightly, either from the irony of the game or perhaps the tea just made him feel perky.

"Fair enough", acknowledges the Abbot as he studies the bard's moves. "Though I'm not so sure if your readers are taking your editorials seriously", his eyes flits to the bard's mohawk, "and I doubt their verdict will change now that you've made yourself visible."

Elijah ignores the opposing Archer and moves his Queen into a comforting cluster of Knights. "What has your paper achieved apart from drawing complacent and disdainful smirks from those you seem to be trying to rouse?"

The monk takes a sip and places his teacup down slowly. Of what use is a toothless tiger? A look of sadness fills his eyes as his gaze falls heavily upon the bard.

During the night someone went number two on the main entrance to the the Orphanage.
It seems some idiot thinks it is really funny for some reason.

Damina would remove said "number two" with a frown on her otherwise beautyfull face....mumbling about the arogance and/or plain folly of some people.

Then she would gather some children around her and tell a story about the deeds of the Morninglord and his servants.