Villhalas of Cameron:
Villhalas clears his throat and takes a step forward - "M'lords.. I am Villhalas of Cameron - and this is my Party." Vil nods over his shoulder in the way of the Group.* "We have been tracking our Mounts (Vil nods in the way of their horses) - as they had fled from an encounter we had with several Griffen earlier this morning." At this Vil smiles confidently and casually rests his hand on the hilt of his Rapier.** "In truth - finding these beasts has brought us off of our intended trail. We've recently left Borderton - in search of a Group of Brigands who have been running unchecked up and down the Road to Deuxchay - attacking and pillaging trade caravans as they make their way peacefully along the East-West corridor." Vil takes in the rest of the Elven party and finishes -
"Would you have any information that may assist us in tracking these Bandits down? Your aid would be much appreciated M'lord."
Villhalas' speech appears to have its intended effect, and then some. The elves, poised for combat and with arrows straining to be released from their bowstrings, relax at a subtle hand gesture by the scarred elf. The elf mounted upon the dweomered steed also relaxes a bit, the tendons of his hands--poised to hurl a spell--ease their tension. The scarred elf sighs.
"You travel dangerous lands, half-breed. The gnoll tribes are fast and mobile, and will run down any who have not the quickness to elude them. And your mounts," the elf gestures to the party's horses, grouped together and flanked by a mounted elf on each side,
"are bred for human lands, and human activity. They would bear you to ruin in combat." The scarred elf considers briefly, as Asher, Villhalas, Hau'dn, and Garryn observe this mounted company. The elven horses have canine teeth, and their hooves appear sharp and deadly. The riders bear composite long bows, and long swords are slung over their shoulders. Numerous leather straps criss-cross their minimalistic saddles, sewn with ears, horns, teeth, and other momentos--presumably harvested from the humanoid and giantish tribes of the Central Wilds.
"This one," the scarred elf gestures to the human,
"claims to have been a part of your human trade along that corridor of which you speak. He, and your mounts, are but a burden to us. I remand this human and these horses to your care--we rely upon our skill and speed, and will not tolerate the weak in our travels." The scarred elf gestures again, and Aidrin finds himself being bodily lifted from the saddle as two elven horsemen "help" him dismount. The elven mage leaps from his phantom horse, waving a hand. The horse dissolves in smokey, grey tatters, and the elf springs into the saddle of his own horse--recently vacated by Aidrin.
The elven riders, taking this as a cue, begin to gather for departure, breaking their ring formation and gathering in a loose phalanx. The scarred elf regards Villhalas.
"You have a gift with words. I pity you, though, half-breed. To have the blood of The People mixed with the human mud must be crippling and soul-killing. I commend you for having the persistence to resist ending your own life when you achieved your majority. I would not have made the same choice." With a wordless cry, the scarred elf urges his mount away, and his riders leap to follow. Within seconds, the elven horsemen are but a cloud of dust on the eastern horizon.
OOC: That Diplomacy roll was epic, raising a Hostile attitude to one of Indifference.
