"So, here for the festival?" Orrag asked casually, moving around the other two, as if making for the door.

"No, actually," Melann answered. Orrag stopped and seemed surprised. "No?" "No. We're just passing through," Whitlock stated flatly, turning slowly to follow Orrag, watching his every move. Something about the way he walked, and the scars on his hairy arms and face told Whitlock that combat and strife had traveled Orrag's way before.

"We're on an important quest," Melann solemnly told him, her words slow and weighty.

"Quest?" She suddenly had Orrag's full attention. He spoke quickly. "What sort of quest?"

"We're looking for the tomb of an old wizard in the Thunder Peaks," she replied.

"Melann, that's enough!" Whitlock hissed, his hand ready to draw his blade at any moment. His taut wrist ached from the position, and his fingers rebelled at the tension, but he held firm. Wind rattled the entire structure, but the old building had probably weathered many such storms in its time.

"Really?" Orrag seemed intrigued-or perhaps afraid. He ignored Whitlock. "What wizard?"

Whitlock heard Melann's voice in his ear: "Maybe he can help us. We're seeking information. Who's to say where it might come from?"

Before Whitlock could reply, Orrag asked her again, "What's the wizard's name?" Melann turned to him. "Chare'en." Orrag reacted as if struck. He stepped backward and leaned heavily against the wall behind him. He rubbed his rough jowls again and closed his eyes. Melann and Whitlock both watched him, bewildered and wary. Finally, he spoke. "Wizard… Chare'en…" He paused.

"Do you know of him?" Whitlock demanded. "Why?" Orrag asked. Lightning flashed in the small window, followed immediately by a sharp slap of thunder.

"We seek something that lies within his tomb," Melann said. "It will help us remove an ancient curse." She added with a whisper, "We hope."

Again Orrag paused, deep in thought. Eventually he pushed himself away from the wall and regained a bit of his former, gruff composure. He circled around the siblings again. As before, Whitlock turned slowly to continue to face the bestial man, hand ready to draw his sword. Orrag stopped at the doorway from which he'd emerged.

"I can tell you where to find the crypt that you seek. How about that? Is that helpful?'' Orrag told them, and unknowable smile coming to his gap-filled mouth. The only teeth that remained were slightly pointed.

"This… man doesn't know anything," Whitlock told Melann, pointing an accusing finger at Orrag's wide chest. "We should leave. The rain would be better than this." Thunder rumbled outside.

"Oh, I know how to find it. I know a fair bit about those peaks and the valleys in between. I know some of the goblins and orcs that live there."

"No more proof do we need that this man's a liar. Goblins and orcs-vermin!"

"Whitlock," Melann said softly, "I felt that Chauntea brought us here, and now we're seeing her plans for us come to fruition. This man can tell us how to get to the object of our quest. This is it, can't you feel it?" She clapped her hands together and took a step closer to Orrag, her blue eyes peering into his misshapen face.

" 'Course, it'll cost you." Orrag said quietly, seeming to hide a smile behind those cruel lips.

"What?" Whitlock turned back to the man who now leaned in the door frame. The light beyond revealed a simple bed made of hay illuminated by a lantern. Miscellaneous equipment, books, and what appeared to be maps lay scattered around the floor. "The information will cost you," Orrag stated.

"How much?" Whitlock asked suspiciously. Still convinced the man was a thief, the warrior planted his feet squarely on the dirt floor, as if a battle-ready stance might grant him greater resolve or aware ness. He could use either.

“Well, let's see," Orrag said slowly, over-dramatically, mocking a ponderous, thoughtful look. "This is obviously important knowledge, you understand. Hard to come by. I'd wager you couldn't find it anywhere else."

Orrag fanned the flames of Whitlock's fears masterfully.

"I would say about a hundred gold pieces ought to cover it," he stated finally.

Melann looked to Whitlock. He carried their money and knew that was approximately all that they had, but if Orrag actually knew the location of the crypt, could any price be too great? Melann seemed to have no doubt that Orrag spoke the truth. "Whitlock?" Her eyes were wide and moist. "It seems so clear that Chauntea has brought us here. A grain house, no less! That's got to be a sure sign of Chauntea's involvement."

Of course, Whitlock thought, Melann would always optimistically believe anything that sounded like what she wanted to hear. But, he had to admit, this could be their only chance. She seemed to have been right about the elven ghost. He looked into his sister's eyes and saw only confidence. Perhaps her goddess had brought them here. Who knew?

"All right," Whitlock told Orrag through clenched teeth. "We'll pay your price."

"Good. Let's see it," Orrag rubbed his cheek and opened his eyes wide.

"No," Melann said suddenly. "You talk, then we pay."

She knew they would be better to provide a united front, and so backed up her brother's tendency for suspicion. Whitlock turned back to her and nodded with a slight smile.

Orrag didn't flinch. "All right, fine," he said. "You seem like trustworthy folks." He cleared his throat. "Ride east away from town for a full day until you come to a small lake, then head south into the Thunder Peaks. You’ll pass through wooded hills, but it's the easiest way through that portion of the mountains. After another three days' ride, you’ll come on a narrow vale that'll lead you to a high cliff face. You’ll find what you're looking for there." During his explanation, Melann produced a piece of parchment and took some notes so they wouldn't forget.

"The entrance to the Crypt of Chare'en," Orrag told them, "was built into the side of that tall, smooth cliff, but it was covered in a landslide long ago. If you have to get in," Orrag grinned, "you’ll have to dig."

Whitlock and Melann conferred for a moment, determining whether or not they had all the details they needed. Orrag claimed ignorance regarding anything but the actual location of the place. When Whitlock felt assured they could find the crypt on their own, he handed Orrag a leather bag with its strap pulled tight. "Here's your money, half-orc."

Orrag raised his eyebrow and looked at Whitlock. He took the bag and opening it, peering within to eye the coins.

Whitlock turned to the rough wood door leading outside. The wind still rattled the boards of the granary's roof, but he had no intention of spending the night in the same structure as a brigand with orc blood. The storm had been fierce but mercifully short. Opening the door, he looked at Melann. She came with him, but glanced back at Orrag.

"Thank you, sir," she told him, "and may Chauntea be with you." Orrag didn't speak as they left, but his face contorted as if the priest’s parting words were a curse and not a blessing.