The smell of incense and candles permeate the air of this high vaulted, stone walled church dedicated to the immortal, Iomedae, an immortal goddess of valor and justice. The church is simple and opens from doubled wooden doors into row upon row of long wooden pews, or benches with a carpeted aisle down the middle. A shepherd's bell mounted above the door herald's your entrance.

In the back of the church, centered of the wall is a white marble statue of a warrior woman. She is poised with sword behind her in one hand and the other hand pointing high in front of her. In front of the statue is a silver godbowl. A plaque nearby reads, "Praise and blessings upon those who sacrifice for the good."

To either side of the statue are tall candelabras with one of the six candles lit. Off to either side wall is a wooden door. The left one is open and the right is one closed.

In the left doorway a woman in normal clothing appears. Her breathing is quick and she seems flushed. A pendant in the likeness of the statue can be seen adorning her neck as she wipes away perspiration with a cloth.

"Good evening friends. I am Cirthana, an adept to the goddess Iomedae. How may I be of service to you?"

Friendly as she seems, anyone with a good sense of such things can tell she is very intelligent and her questioning glances are cautious.

"Good evening, Priestess Cirthana," Dûrwë says in a pleasant tone and demeanor, "I am Dûrwë Ondosumé, and my companions are Tynia Earthbound and Ordil Longfellow. We wished to speak to you regarding the current situation in the town."

Seeing that she was perspiring, Dûrwë adds, "did we come at a bad time? We can return at a more convenient time if you like? Are you feeling alright? This isn't the due to the sickness, is it?"

Tynia, on entering couldn't help but notice the decor, at first, then to the woman in which Dûrwë spoke to. She narrowed her eyes to better see if the woman was sickening from something or from something else entirely, though not sickening.

She remains silent allowing Dûrwë to be the spokesman for the group, for the moment. While she gazes upon the Priestess.

"Bad time?" she repeats, "No, of course not. I am available to all who are in need."

She lets out a breath of air and comes forward to look at the elves closer. She has only ever seen one elf in her life, at that was not such a pleasant experience.

"You speak of the current situation. I assume then you know that one source of our water supply has been discovered to be tainted with a fungus that causes a malady known as black scour taint. Do not drink water from Brookman's well."

Ordil had been taking in his surroundings, impressed that this simple village church contained more finery and wealth than many a thief's guildhall. But after the priestess answered Durwe, he emerged from between the cohort of elves to speak.

"Glad to hear you're keen on helping the needy. That's why we're all here, isn't it?" He lets the question hang in the air, using a deliberately ambiguous tone, then swiftly changes the subject, eying the woman carefully.

"Were you just coming from somewhere, Madam? I only say it 'cause you have the look of it," he says in reference to her short breath and perspiration, "and because I've had a long day myself. Why just today, I was hanging on a rope down in that darn well, and from the look of things down there, I have a god to thank that I haven't started coughing, yet."

He began to pace about now, eying the furnishings in the church carefully. Too suspicious to tell her about the stones, he began to improvise without loosing a step, "'Course black scour don't typically grow in wells in such a volume 'less someone's put it in there. And with folks talking as they are about strange happenings in the woods, and rumors about kobold witchdoctors, well, we've got reason to think that someone or something has a mind and a means to hurt you all real bad."

He stopped his movement, again abruptly, returning his stare to her face. The old charlatan's trick; always keep them on their toes. "So if you, or anyone else within this holy house, might be able to give us some information on these kobolds, on anyone with a grudge against the town or the logging operation, or anything else that explains what might be going on here, then you'd be going a long way to helping all who are in need."

Cirthana either ignores the first questions, or glosses over them for something she finds more interesting.

"Kobold witchdoctors." she repeats, her smile having faded somewhat with Ordil's questions.

"Truthfully, it is not something I have considered. I have heard no rumors of them. They are vile little creatures who worship dark gods and would, without a doubt, do such a thing as poison a village of humans. The thing about kobolds though... they're not all that intelligent nor hardy little creatures."

She lets the obviousness of that statement settle in before continuing.

"The logging consortium is a powerful collection of unscrupulous tycoons and magnates of the lumber trade. They control most of the tree-felling camps (commonly called cutyards) in the area around the vale. Those lumberjacks who refuse to affiliate with the consortium, and agree to its horrendously exploitative labor and pay practices, are often muscled out of business or simply disappear. The consortium employs three hundred jacks and nearly half that many sellswords, thugs, and mercenaries to protect the cutyards from monsters as well as to intimidate competitors. So, there are plenty of people that might wish them ill. But... out of business? No, the lumber is the backbone of this village."

"I would hear what rumors of the kobolds you have heard... if you do not mind."

A new thought occurs to her.

"Are you working with sheriff Deldrin? Did he send you down a disease ridden well?"

Tynia turns her face on those questions, a brow rose.

"Actually, not him. We had our own reasons for doing that," she said with a shrug. "And what is your reason behind this?" She would then ask politely.

Dûrwë listened while Ordil spoke, and thought to himself, good, he's cautious with his words.

"Interesting," Dûrwë says thoughtfully, "the old, one-handed woodsman specifically told us that you had recently sighted one or more kobolds in the forest in the vicinity of the Brookman well. Just to be clear, and not waste your time, did you see any kobolds recently?"

Your own reasons, Cirthana noted and filed away in her memory. Who were these people if not working for the sheriff Deldrin.

"I'm not sure I understand your question Tynia. Reason for what?"

Cirthana is relieved when the other elf speaks up with a more direct question, but it throws her off somewhat.

"Goodness no! Certainly not." she exclaims. "And I do not know a one handed woodsman you speak of. Its not that I know all the woodsmen, but I think I would remember a one handed one. Perhaps he is new here. There have been new faces around here of late."

Dûrwë raises an eyebrow as he says thoughtfully, "curious."

The elf woodsman shrugs his shoulders with a smile, and says in his normal pleasant tone, "I apologize, Priestess Cirthana. More than likely, I have confused the old woodsman's words. We've have come to Falcon's Hollow in response to a call for aid placed in Falcarragh by the herbalist here. We arrived earlier today, and the first excursion in our investigation was to the Brookman well. We discovered the strange, fungi-covered stones in the well there. With this discovery, there can be no doubt that someone is actively trying infect the townsfolk of Falcon's Hollow. Is there any information, however innocuous, that you have that might shed some light on this horrendous plot to exterminate the townsfolk of Falcon's Hollow?"

Lady Cirthana does not seem too surprised to hear that the herbalist is behind the questions being asked.

"Honestly... I had not considered the pestilence a deliberate attack. I know blackscour taint likes moist, cool, and damp areas and so I had people check the wells and the pier yesterday morning. That is when we discovered it in the well. I advised sheriff Deldrin to cover it and bar anyone from using the well until we can rid the well of the blight."

"Exterminate might be a bit of an exageration. This pestilence will make you ill, but for the most part will not kill. Unless one is frail such as the elderly or the very young."

"Still... who would want to do such a thing? I think you might be onto something if kobolds were sighted around here. In fact, other humanoids that live in clans can be found deeper in the wilds and any one of them could be behind such a thing. Gobs and Hobs, or worse, orcs and ogres but more specifically a shaman of their clan. If its deliberate, it might be conjured. Did you find any sign of ritual or magic used?"

Cirthana gasps with a new thought. She visibly whitens while saying, "This could be a ploy to weaken the village before plundering it."

"Oh dear!" she frets, "I am letting my over active imagination run away with me."

A muffled cough from behind the closed door draws her attention.

"You must excuse me, but I am being lax in my duties to those who are sick. I'm very sorry, but I'm afraid I don't know much more than that."

"Blessings upon you! Let me know if I can help further."

Lady Cirthana makes for the closed wooden door.

Tynia waves a hand in response to the lady, "Tis of no import."

She goes back to listening to the conversation with the Lady, Ordil and Dûrwë while wondering on the motive. Why spread this taint in this place the way they did?

At the mention of magic that could have been around the well she questions herself, now why hadn't she thought of that? Surely there might have been signs or some presence of magic, but she she hadn't so much as looked for it.

She sighs at the realization they might have missed something.

Dûrwë nods and bows his head slightly as he says, "good evening, Lady Cirthana. Thank you for your time."

As Dûrwë exits the church, he walks over to the godbowl and drops a copper piece into it. He bows his head momentarily in reverence.

Iomedae, please accept this offering and bless my companions with the wits to discern this vile threat to the good people of Falcon's Hollow, and the strength and stamina to see this vileness destroyed permanently, Dûrwë prays to the Power.

Exiting the church of Iomedae, you find the streets quiet with exeception of an annoying dog baying away several yards north of where you stand. Several other dogs off elsewhere in the neighborhood pick up the raucous barking.

Your short trip back to Jak-a-napes is uneventful and you find that Karok, Jhaelin and Brett have not returned yet from Laurel's shop. The tavern portion of the Inn is busy with all manner of people. Outside the building are several beggar types and shadowy figures who give you casual eye as you return.

Inside, music is playing and the laughter and conversation has become loud. Several provocatively dressed women move among the crowd of unshaven, drunkenly cut yard men, hoping to get some coin for their troubles. The adventuring group seen earlier are no where to be seen. The smell of cut wood mingles with that of ale and food.