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Message: <blockquote data-quote="the Jester" data-source="post: 2658084" data-attributes="member: 1210">Seven people, armed and armored and clearly ready to strike, surround our heroes as they emerge from the elf-ruin.“Halt!” one barks.“The bird-woman!” cries Cur Sed Seed.  “She’s getting away!”One of the seven sneers.  “Don’t try to trick us!”“It’s no trick!” exclaims Sheriff Jorgen.  “This thing attacked us, and- who are you?”The others posture and threaten, and it rapidly becomes apparent that they aren’t willing to give out any information.  While they do so, Jorgen studies them carefully.  The first is a woman in armor of boiled leather.  A long spear is gripped competently in both hands; a bow is across her back.  Beside her is a tall man in hide armor with a humungous axe.  An elfblood accompanies them, bow at the ready, another longspear propped against the stones beside him.  Four more human swordsmen and –women form a screen in front of the three speakers.“What are you doing in there?” demands the woman with the longspear.“Ooshell- those two look like the ones the goblins warned us about.”  The elfblood gestures at Otis and Cur.  “What?  Goblins?  You consort with goblins?” Jorgen asks angrily.  “Who are you and by what right do you detain us?  We are on a mission for the lord of Whitewater.  I am the sheriff of Whitewater, for that matter!”“And I am the lord’th thon,” Sir Cedric adds grandly.“I ask again: what were you doing in the elf-ruins?  What have you tampered with?”  The woman- apparently named Ooshell- speaks quietly, but her tone warns of impending danger.”“We were just looking into our heritage,” Dahlia offers.  Kyle nods emphatically.  To their surprise, the elfblood responds to their words with a growl.  “Your heritage is nothing to be proud of.”“Aren’t you proud of your elven blood?” Kyle inquires.“No!” he barks.  “And neither should you be!  Elf blood is nothing to be proud of, it is a mark of shame!”  He glares at the two elfbloods in the party.  Dahlia mutters imprecations at him under her breath in Elven.The conversation dances around for a time, with little real information being exchanged, but gradually the sense that violence is a hair-trigger away fades as the two groups talk.  It seems that the seven folk confronting our heroes are mainly concerned with stopping anything from emerging from the elf-ruins.“Too late,” Cur comments.  “There was a terrible fire-beast that came out already, and drove the goblins from the south side of the gorge.”“Yeah, and these weird mucus-guys that were with it- though I don’t know that they came from the ruins.”  Dahlia shudders.  “They were disgusting!”“But we destroyed them,” Kyle adds.Once the party reveals that they have destroyed the cyst and the fire beast, the conversation begins to relax.  Eventually, the two forces agree to descend into the vale below the elf-ruins to talk things out, and a few things become clear.  The people who are so aggressively questioning our heroes seem to be members of an organization called the Keepers of the Cerulean Sign dedicated to stopping lost elven relics from being disturbed.  All too often, according to them, elf-ruins contain things better left forgotten.  Things like the fire-beast, according to the Keepers.  They tell the party that they wish to ensure that things sealed away stay sealed- and the blue symbol that our heroes saw within the elf-ruin is one of their signs.  Things get a little dicey when the Keepers accuse Cur and Otis of murdering goblins, but the two of them manage to convince the Keepers that there must have been some kind of misunderstanding, miscommunication, self-defense or something involved.  Reluctantly, the others let the topic go.  It is clear, however, that they have some level of sympathy for the goblins.  After the groups have finally relaxed, and the weapons don’t seem likely to leap clear of the sheathes, and reasonable (albeit opaque) discourse has ensued, Sheriff Jorgen gives one of the Keepers a note.  “This designates you as a friend of the sheriff of Whitewater,” he declares.  “It might come in handy sometime.”One more thing comes out of the negotiations.“We’re keeping our eyes out for something in particular,” comments the elfblooded Keeper, Gelron (who calls himself the Repentant).  “There are people in the area seeking a lost relic that should stay lost.  A hilt.  If you should come across them, they must be stopped.”“You mean like a thword hilt?” Sir Cedric asks.  Gelron nods.  “What good ith a hilt without any other partth?”Ooshell shakes her head.  “We know they don’t have the hilt yet,” she comments.  “They may have the other pieces.”By now it is late.  The stars are out above the campfire, already burning low, and the talk has lasted late into the night.  Sleep calls, and soon both groups have sunk into the sweet oblivion of unconsciousness.  Naturally, they set watches; and naturally, they share them.  Neither side is easy enough with the other to trust them to watch over them in their sleep.***The next couple of months are lazy.  Spring turns towards summer, and the days run short and hot.*  A dog show comes through town, which our heroes find very entertaining.  Cur gets in a little trouble when some of the folk of Whitewater catch him rooting in their trash; Jorgen thereafter appoints him Whitewater’s rat-catcher.  He takes to this new job with relish and insufficient discretion, and within a few weeks he has gotten in trouble several more times, finally being demoted from his position as one of Jorgen’s deputies and left solely as rat-catcher.  Our heroes enjoy their time, and Cara’s belly starts to bulge a little.  Sir Cedric is overjoyed and happily informs his father; Sir Martin begins making preparations for the wedding.  Goer grins at her and advises her, as she is pregnant, to stick to white wine until she gives birth.  He then sets about chartering passage for himself and his friends on a small boat to Kamenda City, both to seek out more advanced training and to see the city (though Dahlia is reluctant to go and debates whether to just stay behind- she has no urge whatsoever to see the city).  He’s been brimming over with the urge to travel some lately, and Sir Cedric is highly reluctant to leave his comfortable realm.But as idyllic as the late spring is, nothing good lasts forever.  On the morning before the group’s planned departure to Kamenda City, many of them are in the Fat Mallard.  Sir Cedric is out at the Whitewater estate; Dahlia is enjoying some morning gardening lessons from the three weird ladies in town. Glancing to the south, she frowns.  A distant line of figures is approaching.  There are glints from the morning sun reflecting off of metal.  Some sort of banner flaps in the vernal wind.  “What’s that?” she wonders aloud.The weird ladies stand and look, visibly stiffening.  “Oh dear,” Drendlin mutters.Somewhere, a bell starts to ring.  The sound of shouting in the streets comes to Dahlia’s ears.“To arms!  Soldiers are coming!  Tydonians!**  To arms!!!  WE ARE UNDER ATTACK!!”Next Time: The Tydonian attack!*Summer = shorter days in Cydra.  Winter = longer days.  Ask me how that works sometime. **Tydon is an earldom that neighbors Kamenda.  They are traditional enemies.</blockquote>

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