Gemstone III was a text-based MMORPG set in the world of Elanthia. The game began as a free service to AOL subscribers, and I first started playing back in 1996, a month before AOL switched to monthly billing. I played many different characters until 2000, when I gave up text-based games forever in favor of EverQuest. I still remember killing my first rat in the catacombs under Wehnimer's Landing. What follows is the greatest adventure of one of my later characters, an elven rogue named Harrow Darkbriar.

The Book Hunt: A Harrowing Tale

Harrow Darkbriar, elf of Ta'Nalfein, waited alone in the secret workshop. Far beneath the streets of Wehnimer's Landing, the little-known chamber was rarely used- and well suited to his purposes. Weapons in various states of completion were held in locked vises atop a large wooden workbench, and shelves filled with finely made tools lined the walls. Bolted to the center of the wall was a plain iron cresset, shaped like a trident and containing a pale, flickering flame. By pulling hard on the cresset, one could activate an old mechanism behind the wall, causing it to swing open. This was the only access to the room in which he waited.

Harrow was clad in the non-descript garb of a traveller. A dusty brown hat was perched on his head, covering his long, straight dark hair, and an old brown scarf was wrapped around his neck. At his waist were a gem pouch and tool satchel of sturdy dark leather, and a weathered leather cloak covered his reinforced leather armor. He held in his right hand a leather-bound prayer book, which he had just removed from the grimy skull-clasped leather backpack he wore.

The backpack, and more importantly the prayer book, had until recently been trusted to the keeping of Laltobur Faircaverns, a dwarf of little importance. The book itself belonged to a powerful sorceress, the Lady Penstar. She was a Trine of the Coven- that meddlesome organization of powerful female spellcasters. Harrow had managed to acquire the book from her incompetent servant, Laltobur. After gleaning what information he needed from the book, Harrow made plans to sell it for whatever he could get.

With a sudden grind, the secret door in the wall pivoted, and Dafnie, a red- haired half-elf, entered with a startled look on her face. She was almost immediately followed by her companions- Valkyva, Narissa, Cassioppia, Penstar, Desmonique and Larsista. Harrow quickly tucked the stolen tome into his leather cloak and looked up. Narissa waved scornfully to him, while Dafnie leaned nonchalantly against the huge broadsword.

"Who are you?" Harrow asked, startled by the sudden appearance of the women. He narrowed his eyes with suspicion. Then, his jaw dropped as he realized that these were witches of the Coven- no doubt come to retrieve their book. The fence Harrow had been expecting was not there, and he knew he had been sold out.

"You cannot have found me unaided," Harrow snarled. "I have been betrayed!" One of the leaders of the witches, Desmonique, pleased to have found the thief so quickly, exclaimed gleefully, "ah ha!"

Harrow felt suddenly quite exposed and outnumbered. He spoke aloud a brief prayer in his native elven dialect, "Charl, guide me to your sanctuary!" Then, he slipped a gold ring from his finger, and raised it skyward, almost tauntingly. He slid the ring back on his finger... and disappeared.

The Nalfein's surroundings shifted, and he felt a little pulse from his ring as the teleportation magic adjusted to the new environment. Standing among tumbled rocks made slick with still-wet seaweed, Harrow gazed down at the pools of water that lingered between the rocks. He was in a tide pool in the beach area, near the Coastal Cliffs. Here and there among the crevices, odd bits of sea-life still clung, waiting for the return of the tide and the sheltering sea. Harrow scrambled down the side of the tide pool, ignoring the dismembered bits of fish and small crabs flung there by the retreating waves. He hurried downward until he had reached the bottom of the rocky slope and stood along the edge of the tide pool itself.

The far end opened out to the sea, and there seemed to be no other way out, save by climbing back up the slope behind him. Leaning against a worn boulder to rest a moment, Harrow noticed an odd smell all around the area, coming from a large smudge of some black viscous goo on the rocks. Suddenly, Harrow had the strangest feeling he was being watched. The hairs rose on the back of his neck, and he realized the Coven was using their dark craft to seek him out. But the feeling faded as quickly as it came.

Climbing around one of the boulders, Harrow ducked into a tidal cave. Cool seawater lapped around his ankles, and he found the light filtering in from the cave mouth reflected off the resulting wavelets in a hypnotic display. The tunnel extended southward, going deep within the cliff. Peering in that direction with his elven sight, Harrow could make out a faint emerald glow illuminating the rough walls of the cave.

He hurried south, and came to the edge of an emerald pool. Underneath the surface of the water, a faint glow was emanating from a small opening. Making sure the book was safely sealed inside his backpack, Harrow took a deep breath, held his nose, and dove into the pool, and swam for the opening. The opening was difficult to reach, and Harrow found himself beginning to panic. But just as he thought he was about to run out of air, the opening came into view and he managed to pull himself through.

Harrow found himself in a domed chamber. Looking upward, the most prominent thing visible was an enormous statue of white coral tinged with blue flecks. The statue's form glared down at him with impassive, seemingly harsh, blue eyes. He also saw a polished mother-of-pearl dais. Suddenly, a dolphin's tail rose out of the water nearby. The tail seemed to wave at him briefly before it came crashing down, sending water splashing in all directions.

Harrow pulled a dagger and the leather-bound prayer book from his cloak, prepared to make a stand, yet half believing that the Coven would not dare to shed blood here in the shrine of the Sea Judge, Charl. Remembering the crystal amulet he wore, Harrow focused on projecting his thoughts at his pursuers.

"Ha ha!" he thought to them. The emerald points in the statue's trident flickered briefly. After a moment they returned to their normal brilliance. Then Harrow heard the faint thoughts of Penstar echo in his mind. "He scoffs at us in his thoughts, but we shall find him."

As if in answer, Dafnie, followed by Larrista, suddenly surfaced nearby, coughing and sputtering. Harrow scowled at them, and tightened his grip on his dagger. Dafnie gestured and uttered a phrase of magic. Paying no heed to the sanctity of Charl's grotto, she pointed one finger at Harrow. He blinked, and his mind went completely blank. His arm dropped, holding his dagger useless by his side. The other witches quickly joined them, swimming up through the emerald opening. Cassioppia, perhaps mightiest among the Coven, gestured and uttered a phrase of magic of her own. She gestured at the numb elf, and strands of webbing shot forth to bind him helplessly to the rocks.

"Ha!" Lady Penstar exclaimed, clapping her with pleasure. They finally had their victim in their clutches. Dafnie pointed at Harrow, and he awoke, as if startled from a dream. The witches all gathered around Harrow, like spiders in a web. "Naptime so soon?" taunted Penstar. Larrista leapt on the hapless rogue, and forced his head down under the water. He quickly emerged, sputtering and spitting. "Great job," congratulated their leader, the evil Cassioppia. "Unhand my book," demanded Penstar.

Harrow was now in fear for his life, yet he was not ready to submit. "Hah," he sneered, "Lousy witches-"

Instantly, Dafnie gestured at him, causing Harrow's mind to go blank again. Narissa asked, "Lousy?" to which Penstar could only snicker. "He must mean Eratika," answered Dafnie with a grin. This brought a chuckle from the other witches.

"Wake him," Larrista ordered. But instead of waiting, she gestured and uttered a phrase of magic. Harrow was unable to ward off the arcane assault, and he felt a numbing jolt reverberate through his skull. He was stunned senseless. It was Cassioppia who finally brought him around, so they could question him. Narissa poked Harrow sharply in the ribs, more like a cook inspecting her meat than someone trying to awaken a sleeper. Still entangled in the sorcerous web, Harrow was unable to move at all. But, his senses regained for a moment, he made one last act of defiance.

"Trollops and nursemaids," he hissed, only to receive a blow from Penstar in answer. Her fist caught the webbed Harrow square in the solar plexus, and he doubled over, gasping for air. Cassioppia laughed at Harrow's plight, while the witches clucked like hens at his last words, and debated how to prepare and interrogate their prisoner.

"Trollops?" Narissa asked.

"Nursemaids?" Penstar wondered.

"Trollop?" asked Dafnie. "A baby troll?"

"Trollops are female trolls," explained Desmonique. "We...are not trolls."

All the witches nodded in agreement.

"You think a stun is bad?" threatened the sinister Larrista.

"Kill 'im and search 'im," advised Elleth.

"Which arm do you want, Desmonique?" teased Larrista. "I will get the other one."

"We shall draw and quarter him," laugheded Desmonique, the most fey of them all.

Of all the witches, Cassioppia alone was in no mood to jest, for they had not as yet retrieved the stolen book. "Harrow," she said, "There is no way ta hide, tell us what we want, an give us what is ours." The webs dissolved from around him, as if on cue. Cassoppia, concerned that their prey might die of some wound before they were through with him, checked Harrow for injuries with an expression of false concern. The thump from Lady Penstar had stunned Harrow so badly, he was still quite unable to speak. The gathered witches all giggled and tried unsuccessfully to revive the unconscious elf. At last they decided they could only wait until Harrow revived on his own.

"Well perhaps he will have time to consider his actions," Penstar asked rhetoricaly. She peered quizzically at the stunned Harrow, knowing full well he could hear her but was quite unable to answer. All the women nodded to Penstar in agreement. Then, the sadistic Larrista said, "I hate violence though." With that, she gestured at Harrow, and his right leg painfully snapped.

Cassioppia who was leaning against a polished mother-of-pearl dais, glanced at Harrow again, and did her best to mend his wounded leg. She wanted Harrow's wounds to be painful, but not life-threatening. She was having difficulty restraining her bloodthirsty sisters, however. "We can't kill 'em!" she exclaimed. All the witches nodded their agreement. "If we kill him," Penstar reminded them, "Lorminstra may take pity on him and return him to her bosom."

A dolphin suddenly leapt out of the water before them, turning several cartwheels in the air before disapearing underneath the surface in a quiet splash. "I could have blown his leg off you know," Larrista said, pouting.

At last, Harrow finally managed to breathe again. He snarled. "At least I made you fashion forward witches swim," he spat. "How do you like being muddy?" This last insult snapped the patience of the witches like the spine of a rolton. Penstar snarled menacingly at her prisoner. "Fashion forward?" glared Desmonique. "I sorta like him," Narissa chuckled at Harrow, while Dafnie and a few others giggled.

"Ok... Harrow," Cassioppia said, "Now tell us what we want, afore they 'urt ya."

Harrow glanced around nervously, sensing he had pushed his luck as far as it would go. He dropped his dagger with a splash into the water, and slumped his shoulders. "All right," he said at last. "What do you want of me?" Cassioppia nodded with satisfaction.

"Good start," Penstar answered. "Drop the book."

"The book," Elleth screeched.

"The book you miscreant," Desmonique said.

Harrow waved a hand at Penstar, dismissing her indifferently. Seeing her quarry was not yet fully submissive, and fearing he would manage to escape again, Cassioppia quickly shot forth towards Harrow another spray of thick, viscous webbing. The recalcitrant elf once again found himself bound and immobile. "Jest dun't run," Cassioppia said quietly. "Because you know we can find you," added Penstar. "Even in your sleep," muttered Desmonique.

"How can I run with a snapped leg?" the thief pointed out. Cassioppia nodded. He had a point there. "True," she admitted. "Did you steal a book from one of Penstar's manservants?"

"No," replied Harrow, quite emphatically. "This is my book." Penstar smiled at his lie, and with raised eyebrows asked to see the book. Harrow plucked the book from his soggy cloak and held it up. He glanced at Cassioppia, thinking she might be his only salvation amongst the vengeful sisterhood.

"Oh, why bother to ask him anything," tisked Narissa. "Just take it and be done with it. Take his whole arm."

"Good plan," agreed Dafnie.

"Do you think he will drop the book if we blow his arm off?" asked Desmonique.

Harrow glared back at the evil sorceress Narissa. "Aw," she smirked, "he glares so cute!" Then, while witches began debating amongst themselves as to whether an itch curse or a scratch curse would cause him to drop the book, or whether a limb-breaking spell would do the trick, or just spray blood about the chamber. While the others were engaged in their debate like hens in a barnyard, Cassioppia quietly asked Harrow what his book was about. He showed it to her and Penstar. "Is that the book, Sister?" Cassioppia asked, cocking her head at Penstar. "Yes it is!" she exclaimed. Both sisters shifted their eyes to the cowering elf.

"All right!" he finally exclaimed. "I took it because of the map written in the back. There are those who would pay dearly to know of this, the location of your Abbey." He tapped the leather-bound prayer book in his hands. "Some dislike the idea of powerfull, spellcasting women, and knowledge of your Abbey's location would be very valuable " he muttered.

"Harrow," Cassioppia warned quietly, "I dun't know how long I can keep these witches at bay.. you should just hand it over.." She shivered, and showed him the collar bone and slick bundle of bloody intestines that hung like trophies from her belt. "These came from the fence who betrayed you to us." The Nalfein glanced nervously at her. With a sinister grin, Sister Larrista removed a wicked-looking brass tooth-puller from her cloak, and took a step towards Harrow, as if she meant to use it on him then and there. His shoulders slumped in defeat. "All right," he said quietly. "Just let me swim out of here and I'll give the book to Lady Penstar, who claims to be the owner." He waved an insolent hand at Narissa. "Here, take the cursed book," he snarled. With that, Harrow spat an elven oath and tossed the book to Penstar.

"Penstar," Cassioppia asked, "is that what you were lookin fer?" She quickly flipped through the pages to the back of the book, and nodded at Cassioppia, smiling broadly. "Yes," Penstar exclaimed, "and it still has our map in it!"

At that inopportune moment, the adventurer Dicendarq arrived with a splash. "Sure is crowded in here," he said cheerily. Desmonique smiled at the interloper. "Or pleasant," Narissa added, "depending on your viewpoint." Cassioppia smiled sweetly and leaned on Harrow, as if they were just old friends gathered in Charl's shrine for an afternoon picnic. But Harrow cried out "Help me, Dicendarq!" A few smiles and helpful spells from the assembled witches convinced the newcomer that it would be best if he left and forgot what he'd seen. Which he did. Then, they turned their attentions back to their captive.

"What a shame he is still living, too," said Desmonique.

"Now to turn him into a frog," threatened Penstar.

Cassioppia plucked a lock of hair from his head, and showed it to him as a warning before tucking it away in her belt pouch.

"You need to learn to be nice to women," Narissa scolded, "especially witches. Nasty things can happen to you, otherwise. Now, are we clear, Harrow?" Narissa asked, leaning on him.

"You've not seen the last of me," he warned, narrowing his eyes.

"I hope we have," said Penstar.

"I hope not," grinned Narissa.

Then Harrow took a deep breath, held his nose, and, despite the fractured and bleeding right leg that was his gift from the Coven, dove underneath the water's surface and was gone.