There was a good chance someone wanted to speak to me. The massive incessent pounding on my door was a decent hint. That was a real shame, cause I'd been reading the most interesting things.

"Muse! Come on out! Sheesh, I know you're in there!"

Like, apparently fire's nature is to burn and purify, and the only reason it is seen as a destructive force is it's misuse or imbalance. That's science now, it seems. I shook my head in misery; this did no wonders for my rising headache. Letting Matt back in was a great distraction, so I did. Of course as I turned from the door, he dragged me out of it.

"Come on, barbeque time!"

Huh? taking another look as I was dragged, I realized it was sunset. The sun seemed to be swimming in an ocean of flames. I'd been in that damnable book for some time. Aside from the sun setting, there was another glow in the center of town. This one seemed to be surrounded by rather brazen noise. Right, roast dinosaur.

"So, you were reading your magic book, weren't you?"

I looked up at Matt; much to my annoyance he hadn't let go of my captured arm yet.

"You know me too well. Of course I was. Specifically, the chapter on fire as an elemental force."

"Good; you need a break before you tac-nuke us by accident. Here, take this, you'll need it."

He handed me a small pouch of tooled leather I recognized as hanging on a peg inside my kitchen; when had he grabbed that? I snuck a peek inside to find a delicate polished wooden fork and a small but sharp looking knife. Ahh, personal cutlery.

"Oh, if I tac-nuke you, it won't be an accident, I assure you. I'm coming, mind letting go of my arm?"

I could just barely make out his blush as he let go; you'd think I just told him I had leprosy, it happened so fast. Luckily, I had the perfect awkward moment smoothing comment. I picked up the pace to use it.

"Come on, if we don't hurry, the drum sticks will be gone!"

He stared at me like I had grown a second head for a moment. Well I thought it was funny anyway. Of course they were nowhere near out, the legs were huge. There were large tables showing the nicks and scars of heavy use set at the edge of the bonfire, filled with crude grey clay plates, pots, and bowls of herbs and condiments... well such condiments as we had. Of course we had no ketchup.

"You sure you wouldn't rather have the stuff over there?"

I looked to where Matt was pointing. It was a table filled with vegetables, with a few tubers and fruits. Potatoes, apples, some kind of berry I didn't recognize offhand (but looked vaguely like a blackberry) wild onions... someone had been busy. I got the inference though, Matt was either making a joke or insulting me outright. After all wussy elves are vegetarians, aren't they? They couldn't possibly eat meat. Pointedly I grabbed one of the proferred plates and tore into the well roasted hunk of leg placed on it. (Ok, so I actually used the knife and fork I had in my small pouch; I'm not a barbarian!)

Matt pulled out his own pouch; maybe all the good citizens had them. Then again Phil was eating with his hands... messily, so maybe not. The meat itself was delicious; though oddly enough it did not taste like chicken. After all, weren't birds descended from dinosaurs? Instead it was a richer, heavier flavor of deer... sort of. The vegetables looked lonely, so I snuck a few when Matt turned his back.

The scene reminded me of a sort of outdoor viking feast, with lots of wine (the contents of those malformed clay jugs) and loud merriment; I began to wonder if the noise would draw predators. Then again, wouldn't too much noise and fire drive them away? I needed to bone up on my hunting skills. Of course many of the predators I was worried about didn't exist yesterday.

"So, lady Muse."

I refocused.

"Mayor Conratty."

He had grease smeared all over his face. How did he manage that with utensils?

"We have decided on the party to send to Toledo."

A hint of unease, a flare of danger.

"The village council decided on Karl to lead the expedition, and Phil Keene, Thomas Caine, Randolf Wills, Matt Lockland, Pastor Collins... and you."

No. No no no no no no no!

"Wait, what?"

"We need you to go. You handled that dragon thing with ease... "

"Dinosaur."

" ...Whatever. You handled it. If our expedition gets attacked by something like that, they need you there to help them."

"but you guys will need me here!"

I'm not doing the whole party sent into the woods thing! They can just sue me!

He started using his greasy hands to tick of points; seriously, did he bathe in the stuff before breaking out the silverware?

"There are more of us here than are going; and so far your insights have been useful. The council and I believe you will be most useful in uncovering what is going on. Plus we have Frank."

"Frank?"

"Frank Cipro, know him?"

I knew him, a smarmy forty plus guy. Five foot six inches, weighing about 200 pounds. A soft pockmarked face over a flabby body. Always working on his next scam. Last week if I remember right, it was penis enlargement devices sold over the internet.

"Yeah I know him."

"Well he can do magic too! So we won't be defenseless with you gone."

I begged to differ.

"I must confess I am a bit curious. Excuse me a moment."

I went to go find Frank; I didn't have to go far. He was right at the edge of the firelight, staring at me with an intensity and expression I felt was normally reserved for the victims of pedophiles and serial killers.

"Frank."

"Yes lady Muse? Enjoying the party?"

Well, I was.

"The mayor tells me you can use magic too?"

"Yes lady Muse, I displayed a few tricks for the council. I wanted them to know that there was more than one wizard in town."

Hmmph, shows what he knows. I'm a sorceress. Wait, did I just think that? No, no I most certainly did not.

"I see, that's great news, and puts my mind at ease. Tell me please, how would you have handled this beast?"

I speared a bite of leg from my plate to remove all doubt about what I could mean. His rather soft goatish face morphed into an expression I'd seen on a few people before, he was going to be evasive. The eyes loking up and left for brief stints, the pulling away, further from the fire and me... he was going to lie or tell a half truth.

"I'd have used 'Arrow of Acid'; it's a spell that melts a target."

So a half truth then. I've no doubt he'd have used it, it was likely his strongest spell. For him to even mention using it, it would have to be the only thing he'd have a chance of taking down a T-rex with. The spell though had several problems. It was
thrown, for one. While my lightning was cast without fail on any target I could see, the Arrow of Acid was thrown like a rock, which meant you could miss. You could even hit someone else in the middle of a crowded melee. The second problem is, even if it could kill a dinosaur (which is doubtful; perhaps a 50/50 chance) the acid takes time to work. Which meant that you'd have a burning, sizzling, pissed off dinosaur attacking people in the meantime. Possibly for minutes before dying.

It was absolutely the wrong spell to use, and he knew it. The only reason anyone would use it is if they had no other spell capable of doing anything of consequence. One look at my face and he knew that I knew it too.

"I am aware of that spell. Thank you for answering me."

I turned to go back, but his next question stopped me.

"Lady Muse, what is your strongest spell?"

Hah. I should have known it'd come to this. The usual way... well the usual polite way for one caster to gauge the strength of another. Most spellcasters answered such questions, with a lie if nothing else. How very silly, to compare spells known and assume that it was strength. Of course the real question that most meant to ask was: 'What is your strongest destructive spell?' How very human.

"Well, I know the elements of fire and lightning, I know water and earth. But in all probability... "

I turned to him, focused for a eternal moment, and conjured a rose from nothing.

" ...pure creation is my strongest spell."

I knew one thing, it sure took alot out of me. I could barely make it back to my seat and drink before slumping. I would be darned if I let that hack see me sweat though. I handed the rose to mayor Conratty.

"Alright, he's not as good as me, but he'll do."

For you guys at any rate; I don't stay where I'm not wanted, and this is the mayor and council working together to rid the village of undesirables. Maybe it's that I'm too powerful and he's scared I'll take over? Nah that's the council as a whole, I'm no longer human and I command weird powers. No secret why they want me gone; they can control Frank, or think they can.

"Then you'll go? splendid! The expedition is set to leave in the morning, at first light."

"One other thing, I can understand everyone else, but why is the pastor going?"

"Well not only is he a priest now, he was a medic in desert storm. We do want you all to come back, after all."

He delivered that with a grin and a chuckle that did little to reassure.

"I see. Makes sense. Alright, it seems I have to pack, so excuse me."

He gave a jaunty wave with his face buried in his plate. I could just make out his muffled "Good night."

Disgusting.

Since I knew all the other players, a visit to pastor Collins before I turned in seemed a great idea. That isn't to say I didn't know pastor Collins, but I most certainly didn't know the new pastor Collins. What god did he serve now? Vulcan, like my friend? I considered that doubtful, he'd always seemed so nice and passive when I avoided him like the plague before. We got along mainly because he wasn't one of those in your face types, and didn't care that I was an athiest. He'd talk to me anyway, and religion wouldn't even come up.

Oddly enough for a village this small, pastor Collins' church wasn't the only one in town. It was one of two. Before it was simply a single story rambling brick structure erected in the late 60's. I wasn't sure about the denomination, but it was erected completely by donations and seemed pricey. Now it was quite different.

Honest to the Gods greek style marble columns of the purest white held the oversized polished and stained timber framework and shingled roof, and the walls were made of finely quarried and cut sandstone. where the stone had come from was anyones' guess. The building itself was much smaller than it used to be, covering a bare fraction of the land; but the property was surrounded by trilothons of sandstone and wood, giving the impression of both open space and enclosed, sacred area. It was beautiful.

It was also empty. At least, the outer area was. The boundary was easy to discern... I felt something as soon as I crossed it. A sort of full body tingle, kind of like getting a mild static shock over your entire body. Hmm. Step back, and again; same result. Reaching the inner sanctum, I did what any polite person should do... snuck a peak to see who was there. The place was empty save for the man himself.

Pastor Collins was always a man I had deep respect for. A veteran of desert storm now in his 40's (though I hadn't known he was a medic) he had actually seen combat there. Not everyone had. When he left he was cocky and strong. When he came back he was slightly broken and deeply religious. He was always a big man, but hadn't changed as much as the others around here; still solid but graying prematurely, which contrasted with his unlined still almost boyish face in a unique way. The loose white cotton pants and tunic he wore were different than anything else I'd seen so far. He still had his army ink though, all down both arms. He went to some seminary a year after his enlistment ended, and came back again to preach the gospel. something he'd been doing for decades now.

Now he looked forlorn... lost. Deeply troubled. I probably shouldn't, but I felt I had to intervene. After all, our lives may soon depend on him.

"Copper for you thoughts?"

He started violently and looked back.

"Sorry, didn't mean to interrupt."

"No, it's fine. Come in lady Muse. What can I do for you?"

A bad idea to answer that directly. Instead I pointed past the alter, where a statue of a woman who had to be idealized in just about every way stood looking down upon the delicate oaken pews, a soft loving look upon her perfect face.

"So who is it now?"

"Minerva, Goddess of healing."

If anything he looked even more miserable. Ahh crap I hate being right. A crisis of faith of epic proportions. I sat next to him and he took that as his cue to start.

"I knew Him yesterday, loved Him yesterday, walked with him and spread His message yesterday... and now he's dead. She's here, as if She were always here, and He is dead. My mind is filled with her message, her ways. I can barely remember his name at all."

Not knowing what else to do I gave him a hug.

"It'll be Ok. We will figure out what happened. Besides, not to belittle what you're going through or anything... but His message is a healing one, right? Healing the sick, helping those less fortunate?"

I pointed to the statue to help my point.

"Well so is hers."

He looked lost in thought. Was that all it took? Crap that was easy.

"Look, got to go pack. See you in the morning, OK?"

"Sure. See you then."

I left him with his eyes boring holes into the placid statue, as if the answers he sought would be found there. Who knows, maybe they will. The visit certainly answered a few of my questions. With only one example in front of me, I was fairly certain all new priests would have powers. I felt his Goddess here, and somehow that feeling was familiar, even though I'd never felt it before in my life. Which meant that if his new faith held, he could be very useful. Perhaps more so than I.

Sure I felt like a jerk for thinking it, but we needed every advantage.

I stepped back into my place and the smell of fresh brewed tea drew me to the kitchen. There it was, brewed by the spectral presence floating just behind my counter. At least, I hoped it was. I hadn't even realized I wanted any, but the specter had. I still had to come up with a name for that thing. Ahh, I got it! Boris! Perfect name for it, it looked like a Boris.

I couldn't be sure, but I think it shuddered a bit. I sure hope so anyway. Well on to packing anyway, Boris could handle the dishes. Sheesh one day, and already I'm getting lazy and indolent due to newly granted magic. There had to be a moral in there somewhere. Not like I could trust Boris to pack for me. I instinctively knew that'd be beyond his pay grade. Time to see what traveling clothes I had... this silly dress wouldn't cut it.

My closet was full of dresses, ornate ones, frilly ones, plain ones, all on hand carved hangars that looked as if they were grown for the purpose. In an... armoire? (I think that's what it's called.) There was a selection of corsets and panties of various types and colors; some looked like they hooked into each other somehow, others were far less elaborate. Nothing. I turned back to the closet, refusing to believe any elf would only own frivolous clothes, and that's when I noticed the cloth wrapped bundle stuffed way in the back of the closet, behind the winter boots and snow shoes.

I could barely move what turned out to be a huge chest the size of a steamer trunk. Made of heavy oak and banded with steel, it sported a viney thorn filled rose plant scrawling it's way across both the wood and metal parts. There was no lock, just a hasp, and it opened wide without a sound at my merest touch. I could tell immediately I hit paydirt.

dark grey leather pants, still supple and somehow soft. Lined with something on the inside that felt like, well felt, but wasn't. At least I don't think it was. A second pair in black, treated the same way. A tan leather tunic with short white cotton sleeves seamlessly sewn onto it, lined like the pants and with what appeared to be lily designs worked into it. Anther tunic much the same but all maroon and sporting roses. A rather elegant light grey cloak that had no special stitchwork, but I could tell was special somehow. I could also tell it matched the boots under it, which were delicate, very well made, and carried on the same rose motif I'd seen off and on in my house. They looked so small... I wasn't sure I'd get used to seeing my feet fit boots like this.

In a corner was a dark tan bag, a finely woven burlap satchel about the size of one of those cavernous purses some women liked to wear that you could fit a compact car in. There were Runes stitched into it with a fine black thread, running up and down it's surface. I knew immediately what it was of course, so I set it aside. A wooden canteen was next, looking like one of those old circular canteens except it had no seam. Grown into that shape, of course, makes sense for an elf. I swear if I started munching granola and singing odes to trees....

After that was the sword. Even sheathed in it's leather scabbard (with, of course, silver roses worked into it) I could tell it was odd. The metal was an odd reddish gold that caught and drew the eye. The hilt was wrapped in two pieces of rowan with an odd bumpy leather stitched into place around them. It made a pretty good grip. The width and size was of a rapier; again delicate was the first word that came to mind. However the hilt was obviously made for two hands (especially hands as small as mine) and the length was almost that of a full broadsword. Light enough for one hand but a little unweildy, obviously designed for two.

I pulled it; runes etched and chased with some dark substance, possibly metallic in origin, chased themselves across it's length. The script was elegant, beautiful, and almost readable; something about it tickled the back of my memory. One word I could make out clearly and most powerfully as the blade whispered it's soothing greetings into my mind: 'wasp'.

Thankfully the blade was quiesent. I had no true idea, but according to the best lore I could go on, magical blades often fought their owners for dominance or took control of them. There was nothing of that here however, just a soothing caress of my mind and a mental farewell before I sheathed it. Questions, questions.

Head the battle for dominance already been fought by the other me? Or had this blade been made for me in such a way that I was already it's master? Did it matter, in the long run? I took the bag and packed it with one of the sets of traveling clothes, some underwear (including a few of those stupid corsets) a dress for special occasions (hey I was taught to carry one set of good clothes when traveling by my mother, sue me). That disappeared into the bag without a hitch, so I added rope, a small knife, the canteen, some small pots and pans, and most importantly... my magic book, along with a few books from my library. I was pretty glad when my magic book didn't cause the 'bag of plenty' to burp up all it's contents or open a hole to another dimension. I've heard some magic items could cause the bag to be finnicky like that.

Last thing I needed was another dimensional headache; I already felt like how I imagined Ash from the Evil Dead series must feel. Oddly enough I had the feeling that the most important book I had wasn't the magic book, but the now aptly named 'forbidden beastiary' that my old game monster manuals became. It was a large set of small books, bound in leather and each about the size of a small paperback. In each were the alphabetical listings of each known monster or race supposedly inhabiting the planet, along with common trends in culture, strengths, and most importantly, weaknesses. There were thousands of entries.

Knowledge was power after all, and knowing what spells or tactics worked best against monsters like say, trolls for example could mean the difference between life and death. I just hope the books are accurate. The flyleaf said they were penned by 'Owam the all knowing', whoever that was. Last I knew those same books were penned by a bunch of sweaty nerds with nasally laughs.

Packing complete, I disrobed (getting the dress off was a pain, the buttons were in back - Boris to the rescue.) and chucked the stupid clothes down a small chute near the door before I realized I now knew what that small well concealed chute was for. I decided not to think about that, but slipped under the cool sheets. It was moderately warm, and during the hot days and nights I did not like to sleep in clothes. The bed seemed warm and comfy enough, the night calls of the owls and animals sootrhing, so I stayed there.

*****

I woke all at once, much as I had before. It was not yet sunrise; the night was still dark. Oddly enough that hampered me not at all. I could see everything by the brilliant pale light of the half moon. I walked into the kitchen to make breakfast and go over my mental checklist. Some mildly hard bread (baked into a sort of french loaf, which I just gnawed on - no need to have manners at home) and some eggs from my icebox prepared in my iron skillet was plenty. I just did not have the apetite of the old, bigger me.

Of course the eggs reminded me, that I had an icebox full of stuff I wouldn't be here to eat. and that somehow reminded me of my cellar. My fruit cellar, reached from inside the house by a trapdoor under the rug in the living room, had all sorts of preserved foods for winter... or trips. Some preserved with standard techniques... and some with spells. All I really needed to do was cast the spell on my icebox, and it would keep, at least for a few months. 5 to 6 if my screwy memory serves.

It was kind of odd how I had magic for every little conveniant thing. Of course the spell itself was one of my more powerful ones; it'd fairly wipe me out, at least for awhile. but something told me food would be very important down the road. No corner
Mcdonalds or hostess twinkies in well titled convenience stores. First thing was first however.

The cellar was even more cool than the rest of the house, stone just like the rest of it, and even darker than up above. I actually had to retrieve and light a candle! Let's see... beef jerky, deer jerky, rabbit jerky... good grief, how many animals can you jerk anyway? stacks and stacks of it, rolled into stacks of wax paper. Various herbs of esoteric minced or dropped whole into blown glass jars and capped with cork or metal, sealed with wax. Hams pickled in small airtight barrels of brine.

Along the far wall opposite the shelves holding the herbs and jerky was a series of bins. Each one had the preservation spell cast upon them, and dates carefully written in charcoal on their sides. The dates were in a series of days, one after the other, and just under 3 months ago. Which was a relief, I had plenty of time. I knew that a properly ensorceled bin or chest could keep food like this indefinately (at least until the food was removed, of course) but I also knew with the same surety as the other knowledge that kept popping into my head, that I did not have the power or knowledge for that... yet.

So instead I grabbed a few stacks of the beef jerky and a few jars of dried apple and orange slices. Some of the preserved bread from the bin (travel bread, unleavened stuff that was called 'hardtack' in the days of yore) blew out my candle since I had my hands full and walked back up very carefully. Enough food for the winter indeed. To me, it looked like I had enough food down there alone to feed a family of four for the winter - I couldn't imagine the new me eating all that in less than a year.

Well I had to stop procrastinating, but my trick memory just told me of another thing I couldn't do without. so back into my den I went, this time to the small lab opposite the bookshelf. Under that large and heavy scarred table was a small box. I now knew that it was a field alchemy kit, filled with things like sulfur, rocks exuding iron oxide, glasswork such as the table above it sported, and other essentials of portable chemistry. I fit it into the bag too - the opening stretched and the box seemed to shrink at the same time.

The bag had a pretty large interior space. I almost wanted to try and fit my house in, now. After all, it had a kicking bathroom. Ugh, no more time to waste.

I entered the kitchen, sighted up, and cast the spell. It was like my lightning bolt, all visualization and intent. However unlike my lightning bolt this one knocked my butt to the floor. This served to remind me that I was still roaming naked through my house like a loon. So immediately after the fog left my vision and the walls stopped rotating around me I got up and rectified that situation.

Plain black silk panties, a matching corset that felt as if it would breathe (and let me breathe) the tan tunic and grey pants? leggings? I'll go with pants. Of course the entire outfit was as form fitting as it could get without being formed around me, but I was hoping the cloak would hide that. I even had a good long pair of socks so the boots wouldn't chafe. The boots felt as if they were hugging my feet now, but that was immaterial; after hours of walking they might feel very different.

And of course now that I had my clothes on I had to go to the bathroom. Sigh.

so after THAT was done, I belted on my sword and knife, grabbed my bag and was ready to go just as the sun started over the horizon. Still a little wiped, I dreaded the next step. Stepping outside with a travel mug of tea, I closed the door, locked it with the key, and then started the spell known as 'Magic lock'. (Fitting name, really, so plebian.) like before it too was all visualization and intent. thankfully it was a minor spell that simply kept people without the power to cast spells out of the place you warded. It also required some effort to break, even for a spellcaster. So while you could simply go back in anytime,
any caster trying to break in needed the 'Magic knock' spell (Yes pretty plebian again.) and to test their latent power against yours.

I was pretty confident that even if Frank knew the 'Magic knock', he'd never get inside. and anyone from here without magic could try till doomsday. I was just hoping they wouldnt get pissed at failure and demolish my entire house somehow. Or that something stronger than me would coem along and demolish them all, my house included. Oh well, at least the 'Magic lock' didn't knock me on my butt again. for the next hour or so even conjuring a feather might, but that spell is weak in cost for how handy it is.

And of course I'm the first one here. At least the sunrise is amazing. All yellows and reds around an absolutely huge red hued sun - as if the sky was stabbed and is now bleeding out.

Wow, nice morbid streak... I'll have to watch that.

(tbc)