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Message: <blockquote data-quote="Systole" data-source="post: 6360373" data-attributes="member: 93930">Tyrien slips ahead, over the stones of the crumbled elven ruins and toward the walls that surround the catacombs and the former keep.  If there are guardians, she is unable to see them.  But if there are guardians, they also seem unable to see her.Creeping to a gap in the walls, she peers inside,  which appears to be an ancient courtyard that has long since fallen into ruin.  Rubble covers large swaths of the ground, and Tyrien can make out two -- no, three -- sets of steps that descend crookedly into the darkness below the ruins.  Wights trudge into and out of the stairways, bearing pickaxes and shovels.On the far side of the courtyard stands a small pavilion of recent construction, complete with a pair of crude ... well, they appear to be thrones. Nearer the center of the courtyard, there is a large tent.  A pair of voices, one of which is familiar and raised in anger, emanate from the tent."...foolish digging!  Our son is in danger, and the intruders have magics that can sever me from my minions.  We have waited long enough.  We have gathered enough meat.  It is time to drown this town in a tide of blood!  Why do you delay!?"The answer is in a much more reasonable tone and is therefore too quiet to make out, but the timbre of the voice is feminine.[sblock=OOC]There are about a half dozen wights at any given time, although Tyrien is sure that there are more than a dozen in total.  She is at the southern break in the wall.[sblock=Map]<img src="http://i1257.photobucket.com/albums/ii513/pnthffr/elfruins.jpg" alt="" class="fr-fic fr-dii fr-draggable " data-size="" style="" />[/sblock][/sblock]</blockquote>

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