The tailor looked up from his sewing and grinned at the man standing in the doorway. “Well, hello sir! Tis good to see you again! Have you come to look at our new shirts? Or perhaps to tell one of your wonderful stories?”

The man smirked and curled his lips as he replied, “Oh yes, a story. Have you heard the one about the tailor who supplied the citizens with fancy shirts at no charge? It’s quite a tale I assure you.”

The tailor’s eyes widened as the man moved aside and a mob of angry citizens filled his shop. The mob tore through the shop overturning barrels and smashing looms. They pulled bolts of cloth from shelves and proceeded to trample them under dirty, mud caked boots. Several hurled dye tubs through the windows, smashing the windows and splattering the outside of the shop with all manner of hues.

As he tried desperately to stop the rampage, the tailor turned to the man and pleaded, “Please, make them stop! Why would you do this? I’ve never hurt anyone. I give gold and food to the poor and hungry. I’m not a rich merchant like many. What have I done to them? I’ve even been to your storytelling sessions! I thought you were trying to bring happiness to the cities!”

The man gazed at the tailor with contempt and sneered, “But I am bringing happiness – to ME.”

With a final satisfied look, the man turned toward the door. Just before crossing the threshold, he turned back and grinned, “And they lived not so happily ever after.”

My Dearest Origin,

*muffles from stomach of alligator*

As you may have noticed, I’ve been a scarce soul here of late on Origin. Well, that evil creature known as real life has reared its ugly head once again and has sadly robbed me of doing what I so dearly love.

I want all of you to know how privileged and thrilled I have been to be your EM. You guys are an amazing bunch of people. You always made me feel great even when things were not going so well.  You supported all my craziness and killing sprees. You put up with my insane typos. You laughed away my EM fopahs. And you forgave those crazy events that maybe were a bit over the top.  You guys really are amazing.

I leave you in the capable hands of my mentor and friend Faine Morgan. She has been so inspiring to me and so fantastic to work with. You guys just don’t even know how much fun we’ve had working together. To kill you guys and to keep you entertained. I couldn’t have asked for a better partner.

I also leave you in the hands of my former partner and still friend Sangria. She and I had many adventures on Napa and have stayed friends since. I can assure you, she will keep up the long standing tradition of death robes and fun on Origin. She and Faine will make a fantastic pair.

And so with a sadden heart I bid you all a fond farewell. Enjoy this world we have created together. It truly is one of a kind and I will miss blowing it and you up. J Rest assured I will be among the residents of Sosaria still… I have too much love for this world to just leave, but only as a mere mortal.

As to the rumors of my demise at Faines hands… well if I had to go it may as well be from one of her insane moves. I wouldn’t want it any other way.

*punches gator to roll over*

I love you Origin. Take care of Sangria and Faine for me.

With much love and affection,

EM Fiorella

“What’ll ya have?” the tavern waitress asked the figure slouching in the corner.

“An Ale and make it cold!” he said abruptly. “and some water and a cloth so I can clean up.”

The wench nodded slowly and walked away looking back over her shoulder at the strange man. He had come in earlier that evening and smelled of something odd. He looked like maybe he had putting out fires, perhaps the ones being started by the rioters she had heard about in other towns. She thought that was awfully brave of him so mentioned it. “Been putting out fires have ya?” as she gave him the water and cloth.

An evil looking smile came out from behind the cloth as he wiped his face. “More like starting them.” He chuckled as the waitress’ face drained of color and she stammered.

“I’ll be right back with your ale.” she rushed off and talked to the tavern keep about what he had just said to her.

Meanwhile at other tables, the topic of the day was the invasion of Britain by the rioters and the burning and destruction of Blackthorns Castle.

“So those fools thought they could take the Castle British as well?”

“Darn near did from what I hear tell.”

“Some fool blew up the bridge to old Blackthorne’s castle. Blew himself up right along with it!”

The figure in the corner smiled to himself as he listened to the rumors milling around the room.

“Now now, sweetie,” the tavern keeper said to the waitress. “I’m sure he’s just yanking yer chain.” he pushed the girl with the pitcher and mug towards the stranger. She gulped but stepped forward and did her duty.

She placed the mug on the table and poured the ale into it as she tried very hard not to look at the man. He however wanted to look at her and kept smiling his very odd smile.

“Do you like stories?” he finally ask her.

She shrugged, “Sometimes” she said still without looking at him directly.

He moved to get a bit more into her gaze. Finally she looked at him.

“I’ve seen you before?!” she wasn’t sure for a moment. Then remembered… “wait… aren’t you the storyteller. The one causing stories to come alive and go wrong?”

“Ahh my reputation precedes me.” with another evil grin he winked at the young lass. “Please… don’t tell anyone I was here. I have to stay hidden for a time.”

With that he chugged his ale, paid the girl her money with a big tip and strolled out of the tavern.

Immediately the waitress ran for the barkeep to tell him who had been here.

The old lady closed the door and wearily made her way over to the ancient rocking chair in the front the fire. As she dropped into the chair, she looked at the portrait hanging over the mantel and her eyes filled with tears of frustration and worry. So many nights spent waiting for some word, hoping for some sign. So many trips to the various towns seeking some word, some help. Rumors flew likes flocks of birds and unrest was evident in all corners of the land. At every turn she was ignored by the guards who were too busy attempting to keep order to listen to her pleas.

Her latest attempt at obtaining assistance had at least been met with a semblance of kindness. The guard had rebuffed her as they all had but at least he’d been gentle about it. “Old mother,” he said, not unkindly, “I know your heart aches with worry. But look around you. So many missing and hungry and hurt. We don’t have the resources to check every case. I’m truly sorry but there’s nothing we can do. Perhaps you can find a volunteer to help you. That’s all I can offer.”

Where on earth would she find a volunteer? Everyone was too busy worrying about themselves these days. Who would bother with the troubles of an old woman? Sighing deeply the old woman knew she had to try one last time. She’d heard rumors that those called to the hall in Britain would aid those in need. Perhaps, just this once, they’d help her. She simply had to know what had happened. It had been too long.

She pulled the small table close to her chair and adjusted the nub of a candle to shine some meager light on her work. With shaky fingers bent and gnarled from years of hard labor, she put pen to parchment in a last desperate attempt to gain some aid.

“I ask for your help in finding my granddaughter. I have no money to pay but she’s been missing for weeks and I’m deathly afraid of what has become of her. I’m begging for any aid you can offer.

Please meet me at the building in Britain known as the counselor’s hall on Tuesday, the 29th of May, at 6:00 p.m. by the Pacific moon if you can help me.”

Signed,
Mother Mabel

Dacil elbowed his way through the gathered crowd trying hard to steer clear of the more vocal, dangerous looking ones. Within minutes he spied what he was looking for and carefully made his way over to the wall beside the mage shop. Just as he’d been told, there was a mysterious keg there as well as the others he’d seen around Britain.

Dacil’s informants had first told him of the kegs appearing a few days ago. It seemed no one was able to say what was in them or what purpose they served. The kegs bore a label “Made in Ver Lor Reg” and yet all attempts to speak with the gargoyles in that city had come to naught.

Examining the keg closer, Dacil thought he detected a trace odor that, if he was correct, was VERY bad news. With the rioters stepping up their attacks in Britain and Castle British locked down, this was just one more sign of spreading chaos that could very well lead to disaster.

Dacil rose and carefully made his way out of the city. It was time to try to get some answers and he thought he knew just the place to go for them. He did not think it would require assistance but, then again, in these uncertain times, you never quite knew what you might face unexpectedly. Perhaps he should err on the side of caution this time….

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Please meet Dacil Dalgrin at Empath Abbey, Sunday, April 1st @ 5 p.m. PST/8 p.m. EST to lend whatever assistance may be needed.