Shopping and other minor tasks completed, the Hunters return to the Temple to meet with Lutescu and Dargo.Piotr follows about as always, trailing behind the group close enough to be available while attempting to remain unseen.
The day is fine and clear as the heores walk through the village, with a salt tinged breeze coming off the sea. To the north, the hardwood forest of the Dymrak dominates the view, its newly sprouted spring mantle of green spreading out as far as the eye can see.
As the five arrive at the Temple they notice three pike armed guards in chain mail attempting to restrain a small woman. The woman, dressed in a ragged grey dress with a black hooded cape, curses the guards as they struggle to prevent her entry to the Temple.
"Pox upon all ye, all says I, " she spits, "if I weren younger, a spell I'd cast! Frogs, all ye would be frogs! I desire only to see the Master of this place, not his lackeys!"
One of the guards spies the Hunters. "My apologies, m'lords, Brother Piotr." he stammers, "Lord Lutescu awaits inside. Please go in. We'll deal with this crone."
"CRONE!" the woman hisses," she turns to face the five, and the group can see the woman looks very old and almost exquisitely ugly. She possessess a bulbous nose, blotched skin (with an enormous wart on her chin), and stringy grey hair. The woman is a little over 5 feet tall and stands stooped with what appears to be a hump. "Crone ye call me, no insults or curses do I cast upon thee, yet I am treated thusly?"
At the sight of the crone, Piotr instinctively recoils, and turns pale.
Another guard, his face florid from exertion, places a tight grip on the crones arms. "Quiet, witch! Lars, gag her before she casts a spell upon us. How she got into the village is beyond me, magic I 'll wager."
The woman studies the Hunters, and she ceases her struggling slightly. "Hmm, ye all are not of here. Strange visages all of you. "the old woman cranes her neck and squints her left eye, while opening her right eye wider. Her eyes are cloudy, opaque, and her pupils can barely be seen.
"Me sight is not as once it was ,but there what? A Half breed- yes I know ye kind, and a dweller of the deserts. Hmm an Aelf but with the look of the wyrm, and one who looks like a book worm." The crone cackles loudly at her jest. " Ahh.. and whats this- the Sun Gods symbol ye have there. Nicely rendered that."
"Ahh good sirs, listen to my plea, and not to these knaves,'' the crone moans, "Thog is captured, me home taken. Dreadful beasties them gnolls, lingering bout the river. Me homes new for new I am here, aid me strangers, aid an old woman!"
