Yona Tosken was in the barn when the horn sounded.  She'd been there since the previous day, most of that time in her carefully constructed hideout, which consisted of an empty crate, laid on its side, under a pile of hay.

The sound was extremely faint by the time it reached her, but she recognised it.  She'd been at the market three years ago when Urdon, or maybe one of his gang, had climbed the tower on a dare and used the horn to signal their success to their comrades.

Yona sighed and muttered under her breath, "Go away Urdon!" (words which gave her a small degree of satisfaction, even though she was sure nobody had witnessed her defiance), then returned to what she was doing.  She had pushed some of the concealing hay away from her den, to give herself a little more light, and was currently sprawled half in, half out of the crate, examining the entrails of a rusty old lock that she'd found a couple of days ago.  The lock casing had been badly corroded, but a little work had been sufficient to get it open and give her a look at the innards, some of which were in reasonable shape.

Then the horn sounded again, and Yona stopped her examination.  "That's not good."  The logic was simple enough - even if the first note had just been one of Urdon's gang again, they would not be allowed to stay where they were, or to blow the horn a second time.

Maybe it really was something important?  Another sigh, and Yona crawled out of her crate, pushed the hay back over it, and walked out of the barn into the bright daylight.  Which, she noticed, did nothing to improve the look of the bruise on her arm.  And that reminded her...  She ran back inside the barn and reappeared moments later, leaning on a heavy stick as she walked towards the village to see what was going on.
This message was last edited by the GM at 15:00, Sun 04 Mar 2012.

Horrors are attacking, was his first thought. Then he remembered the stupid troll blowing the horn on a lark. When it blew again, though, he was sue it was the end of the world.

And time for battle. He hurried downstairs, and grabbed the battle ax that had been archived there. Hefting it in two hands, ready to take on the world by himself, he prepared to surmount the obstacle of the stairs back to ground level. Hearing footsteps, he became much less the world conquerer, though, and wrapped it up in his cloak, and hurried out the door.

"Gonna see what the noise is all about," he tossed over his shoulder as he went out, hopefully bypassing parental questions or notice.

In the Enclave, Shal'hassan sets aside her own work, joining her brother in the street.  "I do not know," she admits, shading her eyes.  The Tower is kat'ral; the Trolls decided it, and built it, and although some from other Races do climb it and sit watches at times... usually, it is a Troll.  And it's easy to see, even from the distance to the ground, that it is one there now.  He - or she, that's not easy to tell in the backlit silhouette - appears to be hanging the horn back on its hook.

"Two calls," Shal'hassan says, thoughtfully, turning it over in her head.  "I don't know what that means."

But Thal'ur'ten, who works at the slaughterhouse, is passing in his own quick walk towards the Tower, and he pauses a moment to explain.  "People," he says.  "Strangers."

------------

And though it's noted first within the Enclave, the word is soon fluttering up and down the streets.  Strangers.

Karick's Bend has been as isolated since Emerging as it had been within the buried Kaer.  People have left, it's true - a steady trickling over time.  Elves curious to see what became of the Wyrmwood.  A few T'skrang have gone `Upriver', seeking their own kind.  The Orcs, Humans, and Dwaves have far longer treks to their ancestral homes, but a few have set out over the years in hopes of making their way.  Or even to see if the rather tyrannical Empire of Thera might have opened its gates and returned to Barsaive, possibly bringing with it safety...if not freedom.

...Only twice in the fifteen years has a Troll disappeared, and the rest of the Clan has never said that they `left' - they simply stop speaking of them altogether, as if they'd never been.  Some of those beyond the Enclave mutter that they were murdered by the other Trolls for some sleight to the Clan's Honor - but, notably, never where another Troll might hear the muttering.

And no one has ever come in.  Or even back.

As the word passes, activities halt.  Tools are set down, food set aside, conversations forgotten.

...The word passes Peck, as he looks forlornly at the sack of chains - a sack which will be much harder to pick back up off the ground than it had been to carry, or even to pick up the first time, when it had already been on a table.  "Forget the bag!" a passing Windling exhorts.  "Strangers!  Come see!  Come see!"  Without waiting, the Windling follows its own advice, flitting up and over the rooftops where - chains or no - Peck can't really follow.  But it seemed to be heading basically East.

...The wind carries the word to Alia, first in a whisper, and then in a shout.  The shout, it transpires, came to the wind from one of the Orc guards who had been leaning against the corner of a nearby house.  "Strangers!" he calls, excitedly, briefly grabbing the hilt of his sheathed sword.  "Maybe we'll see a real reason for the City Guard this day!"  He pushes off from the wall and takes off at a run.
 Valystinus, Alia's father is drawn out of the house by the sound, and catches up to her, resting a hand briefly on her shoulder.  "Mother will finish up," he says, gently, walking alongside his daughter.

...Kerric passes the Word in his haste to escape the house, and most particularly, the, "Be caref--wh-- hey!" that follows him out the door, suggesting that his father is at least suspicious of the rather large lump beneath his cloak.  As he rushes by, he overhears a pair of Elves; "It means Strangers Approach; and it must be true.  The Trolls haven't the wit to lie!" one assures the other.

...Opluriko rides out past the Corral, and finds the other T'skrang already gathering within the fences, discussing the Word with excitement.  Many of them appear to be armed.  With a clicking sound, Moren calls her horse over to him, and with her, Opluriko.  "Someone's coming," he says.  "From downriver."  He looks at her thoughtfully, and then at the horse, and grins suddenly.  "If you want to stay, you may stay; if you want to ride out and see, or to see from the throng of the city, you may go."

...Yona...enters a town that appears deserted.  There are signs of one or two people, maybe, still in their houses, but most lie empty.  She can hear definite sounds of a crowd drifting out from the east.  But nobody appears to have waited for her.

Opluriko grinned, "Thanks! And don't worry - I'll be fine. Jayme can get me out of danger if there is any." Without bother to explain more, and now having directions, she turns the mare downriver, excited rather than scared. Would they be t'skrang? Or one of the other races? Or perhaps a mix? The last time she could remember being this excited was the first time that she'd learn to jump horses over obstacles - and that was years ago.

The wind whispered and Alia blinked in surprise. "Strangers? Here?"

The orc's shout brought her up short for a moment. "You don't think that they'll want to hurt anyone, do you?"

She was about to continue when her father put his hand on her shoulder. "Father, there are strangers coming! Isn't this exciting?" She nodded absently at the news that her mother was going to finish grinding the herbs.

Outside of the enclave, Mace'aurek could see the people of The Bend making their way east.  Nothing draws a crowd like a crowd, the young troll thought to himself.  He wasn't fond of crowds, and even less so of those composed mainly of other non-troll inhabitants.  It wasn't that he disliked his fellow name-givers, but with his great size, he always felt out of place among so many other smaller folk.

But even his own self-conscious thoughts could not deter the curiosity that seemingly struck everyone within the town, including himself.  It wasn't everyday that the tower horn blew, let alone twice in succession.  Mace'aurek followed slowly behind a group of other townsfolk, lingering behind at a short distance.  He was weary of who these supposed strangers were and what purpose their visit to his sleepy town entailed.  When he arrived at where the majority of the people had stopped, he stood back several yards from the rest of the crowd waiting and pondering the reason anyone would have to come and visit Karick's Bend.

Yona continued towards the sound of the voices, now just as curious about them as she was about the horn.  The lack of people as she walked through the town didn't worry her overly - it just meant less chance of somebody bothering her.  And if the people were still missing on her way back, it might give her the opportunity to take a look around.  There were a few people she'd always been curious about.

Ahead of her she finally saw some of the townsfolk.  They all seemed to be heading in the same direction as she had planned to go, so she followed them.  Not too closely though.
This message was last edited by the GM at 10:46, Wed 07 Mar 2012.

"Strangers?" he asked a random person, after he made sure he pointedly didn't hear his parents. He was going to get it later, probably, unless he figured something out. Maybe sneak the ax back in, then sneak out, and come in the front door again...

"Are you sure? Maybe one of the trolls got the signals mixed up... I mean, when's the last time anyone blew that horn anyhow?"

"Strangers ?" Peck echoes the question that is posed across the length and breadth of Karrick's Bend, but the Windling to whom it is directed does not hear him, the small creature already flitting away over the roof tops.

The young man eyes the sack at his feet with consternation.  Oh aye, his curiosity pulls at him too, but what's in the sack represents a lot of hard work and, more importantly much needed coin for the family ...

Looking around the Open Market, somewhat forlornly, Peck sees a familiar face at her stall - old Anje !  With her bad leg, the old woman will not soon be abandoning her simples and concoctions.  Shouldering the bag, the young man staggers over as quickly as his legs will carry him, dumping the sack down with gratitude.  "Keep an eye on it for me, will you ?" he begs over his shoulder, already heading east, no longer slowed by his burden.  "Please !" he calls back as he breaks into a run, not wanting to miss the excitement.

As almost the whole town - less the occasional mother committed to her herbs, and a handful of old women left guarding other people's sacks of yet other people's chains - gathers to the southeast, Mayor Marawel^* makes his way to the fore, with a politely small contingent of guards just a step behind him.  He moves out of the crowd, ready to greet the newcomers.

Until one notices the young T'skrang on the horse, cantering down along the riverbank.  Seeing this, the Mayor begins to hurry his own walk, forcing the guards staying near him to break into a near jog to keep up, trying to intersect their course.

Peck and Kerric, each trying to force their way through the crowd, find themselves pressed into the same channel by the shifting movements of everyone else trying to force their way forward or at least hold their position.  Although `most everyone' has gathered occasionally for major events, there's never been such a press of curiosity before, making it a bit more vigorous than usual.  More dangerous, even.

Mace'aurek, waiting politely at the back edge, watches the shifting mass curiously.  The other Trolls wading through, in particular, look rather like boats crossing a sea of heads - having a rather easier time of it than Peck and Kerric do.  After a few moments, Mace notices the quiet Tosken girl draw up near him, also apparently content to stay on the outskirts.  Aria is also nearby, held back from the crowd by her perhaps overprotective father, who is responding to her questions.  "I don't think we really have enough information to guess," he admits.  "But while it seems very unlikely that anyone would want to hurt us, I can't argue with a bit of caution."

...And yet, despite the Mayor's best effort, Opluriko sees them first.  Only by moments, but nevertheless, the bragging rights are forever hers.  (Or perhaps whoever blew the horn, if they care to tussel over it.)  There are five of them, each very different.  No--six, the Windling was hard to see.  They walk out of the trees, about twenty feet from the river's edge, and approach quietly, watching.  It's clear they heard Jayme's hoofbeats before seeing anyone; they don't seem especially worried, or hostile, but they're certainly cautious, and, on balance, armed.  Especially the Human.

Their Elf draws ahead of his group, and utterly fails to turn towards the Mayor, instead approaching Opluriko directly.  "Ah!" he says.  "It is so good to see a friendly face!"



^{*-Mayor Laeth Marawel, an elf, who has been mayor for about a hundred years now; it got buried in the Races writeup, so I thought I'd re-mention it.}

Yona stayed close to the edge of the crowd, although "just beyond the edge" would also have been a valid description.  Staying out in the open reduced her chances of seeing much, but also reduced the chances of any of Urdon's Gang managing to get close to her.  They were probably somewhere in there - there was no way they could ignore something like this.

So she found a convenient spot, one where she could see in all directions, and leaned comfortably on her stick while she studied the backs of the people in front of her (with frequent glances around to watch for trouble).  Most of them she recognised, even from this angle.

Opluriko was glad to have Jayme, patting the big horse's neck appreciatively as the mare got her around the crowd. She didn't even really notice the Mayor or his contingent, much more interested in the unknown than the known.

She drew Jayme to a halt as soon as she glimpses them, smiling. She was neither surprised nor afraid that they were armed - they had been out beyond civilization, after all, and who knew what was out there?

It was only when the Elf addressed her that she realized she was actually ahead of anyone else. Her chest puffed out proudly - she apparently looked more important than the Mayor. "Hail and well met!" she called a traditional greeting. But then she realized she didn't exactly know what else to say to them. "Welcome to Karick's Bend!" It was easy to hear the excitement in her voice. After another moment of thought, she proceeded, "Let me introduce Mayor Laeth Marawel," she gestured toward the elf and his contingent. But she continued smiling at them, feeling she had done her duty introducing the mayor, and if they decided to continue talking to her instead of him, all the better.

Alia struggled briefly against her father's patiently protective grip. She really wanted to see these newcomers. It was so exciting! Nobody had ever come here before. However, his unyielding grip on her arm prevented her from going forward and probably bumping into one or more of Urdon's gang. Being a little taller than most was an advantage, so she contented herself with peering out over the crowd in an attempt to see something.

As she peered at the group in the distance, she nodded. "Yes father, I suppose so." After a several second pause she continued. "They probably have all kinds of stories about where they're from.  Depending on how far they've come, they might need healing supplies." She started mumbling contentedly to herself about the prospect of the strangers coming to the shop in need of healing herbs.

"You're in the way," he explained, pushing his way past here and there. Darn tallfolk.

The gall of these new folk, to be nice. Now he wasn't going to be some hero, saving the village. He'd probbably be 'some guy in trouble with his dad', instead. At least he could keep his weapon wrapped in the cloak, and not make it any worse. It's possible he could come up with some perfectly reasonable explanation... Too bad you don't go chopping trees with a battle ax. That might actually work... if his dad didn't have servants to do the chopping, anyhow. More thinking needed...

"Kerric !" Peck exclaims in surprise as the ebb and flow of the gathered crowd bring him and the Dwarf together.  Perhaps working together the pair of them can force their way through.

Being of only average height himself, Peck can't see much of what's going on, but his hearing is tuned to long hours at the forge, trying to carry on a conversation over the pounding of hammer on metal, the complaints of horses unwilling to be shod, and the roar of the fire as the bellows fan it hotter. 

"Hah !" a grin splits his lips as he turns to Kerric.  "Opluriko's greeted them ... whoever they are.  Marawel will be livid !"

Seeing Yona only a few feet away, Mace'aurek stepped up beside her.  He towered over her, as he did most people in the village.  "Yona, you look worried," he said quietly in his deep, earthy voice.  "I'm sure they pose no danger," he said pointing to the road where the strangers were approaching from.  He didn't realize her concern was more a result of Urdon and his group than whatever the horn had been sounded for.  Mace'aurek rarely gave Urdon much thought these days.  "They're probably just passing through on their way to somewhere more important then Karick's Bend," he offered her a small grin, his large lower canines protrude from his bottom lip while he raised his brow.

"It's not them, Mace." Yona replied, looking up at the troll and returning the smile, "There's enough people in town for me to worry about."

She shifted her weight, from one foot to the other, considering Mace's comment on the strangers, "I don't reckon they're passing through though.  If people had to go through Karick's Bend on their way from one more important place to another, I think we'd see more of them doing just that."

"Peck," he greeted, less enthusiastically than the smith, but not necessarily less glad to see him. "Don't know why an Elf's mayor, anyhow," he agreed. "Everyone knows it's a job a Dwarf would do much better."

"Stand aside, short people want to see, too," he informed the crowd in general, and the ones who wouldn't get out of his way specifically, as he puncuated with an elbow to the hip, or shin for the really tall ones.

Peck smiles non-commitally at Kerric's suggestion, then follows in his wake with shrugs and apologies for those suffering the Dwarf's passage.

"Not sure I'd want the job," he muses. "Not like anyone's ever pleased or grateful ..."
This message was last edited by the player at 11:59, Mon 26 Mar 2012.

Even though Alia was focused on what was happening in front, she could hear her friends talking nearby. Turning, she looks at them with her typical vague gaze. " You really think that we're their destination? Wow. I hadn't considered that at all. That makes it even more exciting, doesn't it?"

"Never thought of it like that... Maybe it is better an Elf deal with it."

The elf draws up short, tilting his head, looking at Opluriko curiously before lowering his gaze and walking easily up to Jayme, lifting his hand.  "And you brought a friend," he says.  The horse dips her head, letting the elf stroke her mane.

The T'skrang from the group hurries forward a little, chuckling.  "Thank you, child," he says, nodding to Opluriko, and then turning quickly to the approaching Mayor.  "Greetings, indeed!" he offers, projecting his voice remarkably well, speaking not simply to Marawel, but to the gathered crowd.  Kerric's determination - and perhaps elbows - actually draw him and Peck up to the front, but even those far to the back can hear the T'skrang speak, albeit faintly.

"I fear we've caused a good deal more of a stir than we'd intended, so please allow me to assure you, all, that we neither intend nor carry harm to your fine town."  He shrugs, his fine robes rippling with the motion.  "I am well aware how much weight such promises bear, but we do bring a spot of money, and a plethora of tales and, one does hope, engaging conversation!  All we require is a few rooms of your inn, and I assure you, we shall be no trouble at all."

There is then a quieter moment as the Mayor responds, facing the wrong way to be similarly heard by anyone not yet at the front of the crowd, but it seems safe to assume that this is where he explains that Karick's Bend has no Inn, and perhaps it would be best if these Strangers were to pass on someplace better suited.  The T'skrang looks visibly dismayed, and rather startled.

"Well.  I...see," is his response.  "Then it seems our stay will be a brief one, but nevertheless, with your permission, Sir Mayor, might we enjoy your people's hospitality, and perhaps seek a few provisions before we carry on?"

The Mayor replies again, and the T'skrang brightens a bit.

The Mayor turns, then, making a general shoo-ing motion towards the crowd.  "Come now, people, come now," he calls out, albeit not quite so effectively as the newcomer had.  "Back to our day; these folk didn't come to be stared at, now, did they?  Is that the hospitality we offer?"

"We do not have an inn," Kerric says boldly, "but we will offer hospitality. I do not think any have the room to house all of you, but let me be the first to offer a place for at least one of you to stay."

Boy I hope Dad likes it, he thinks. Otherwise my goose is cooked for sure. Maybe he'll be so distracted, he won't even think about what's under the cloak...