The thirteenth of Sollus.  It's a pleasant day in Karrick's Bend - as, quite honestly, most days are.  The month of Sollus lies in the first half of the rainy season, which is itself not unpleasantly rainy nor very much colder than the sunny season, and is nevertheless what passes for `winter'.

It's mid-afternoon, and people are out and about, doing the things people do.  The market bustles pleasantly, and Ambin the Cobbler passes a bit of time with a customer complaining that his spot is too near the Forge; apparently, when the day is done and he lays in bed, he still hears the ringing clang of metal on metal.  It's a common, but good-natured grumble.  Laethianna rolls up the parchments that Tillar just bought, tying them off with a small bit of ribbon as is her custom.  A nice touch, especially for a town with only one devoted stationer, and to Tillar's mind, unnecessary, though he supposes it does make it a bit easier to carry home.

The farmers and their helpers are out turning soil, as it's a good day for it - warm now, but the ground still damp under the topsoil from yesterday's rain.  At the Ranch, the animals in the corral seem to be enjoying the sun, and Jhevarra walks a pair of horses through their paces.

...And then an unaccustomed sound cuts across the soft susurrations of a town enjoying its day.  A blaring sound.  Like a horn.  Like the one that hangs atop the Watchtower, presumably to be blown if something were seen.

It's possible that someone's even worked out some kind of meaning, like, "Blow once if you see fire, twice if you see stormclouds, and if you see a dragon, just blow as hard as you can while you jump down off the 'Tower."  But if there is such a code, not many people know it, so really, it's just a suddenly disruptive blaring sound.

By the time it reaches the outskirts, it's softened, noticeable more as unusual than as loud - but reach them it does, and it is noticeable.

And whatever it might mean - however probably it doesn't mean anything at all - it's undeniably curious.

The town quiets for a moment, and then the gentle ripple of voices begins to pick up again.  Perhaps marginally louder than it had been, as people wonder aloud what that was all about.

And then the horn blares again.

And at least one thing can be agreed: If there is some kind of code, apparently `Two' isn't stormclouds, because there aren't any.  Just some nice fluffy ones.
This message was last edited by the GM at 00:48, Sun 04 Mar 2012.

Opluriko looked up at the sound, soft though it was where she was lunging a horse, putting the mare through her paces. The t'skrang, who thought of herself as a she, though like most t'skrang didn't know definitively and was waiting for that knowledge, looked up, slowly spinning in place to follow the line, the long whip in her hand still waving vaguely threateningly to keep the horse moving. But now her eyes were focused on the town, and if she could see it, the tower itself.

When the second blast sounded, she couldn't ignore her curiosity anymore. She tucked the whip into her belt, as she wore little more than a loincloth, skittered up to the horse, unclipped the line, and pulled herself up onto the animal's back. A lunging harness isn't meant to be a riding harness, but still it gave just enough to hold onto, and Opluriko fancied herself a good enough rider. She turned the mare toward town, tapping her heals to the horse's sides to encourage a nicely paced canter. The sort appropriate if you might have to jump things like fences or hedges along the way.

Mace'arek was in his family's home working hard at cutting a quartz crystal.  He chipped away the edges of the crystal with care, using the skills that had been passed down through the generations of his family.  His thoughts were not with his work, however.  The troll's mind was elsewhere, as it often was, dreaming of the far off wilds of Barsaive and the adventures that awaited.

When the horn blared, Mace'arek was brought back to Karick's Bend, but he did not loose a beat in his work.  Only his brow raised a little at the abnormal sound of the horn.  He continued to chisel away at the quartz, shaping it into something simple, yet beautiful.  When the horn sounded a second time, Mace'arek placed down the chisel and wiped his brow with a nearby rag.  He rose to his feet and lumbered over to the doorway.  He climbed through the door and took a few steps towards the tower, which was not far from his home.  He craned his neck up to the tower and shielded his eyes in an effort to see what was happening in the tower above.

"What's going on?" he asked quietly to his sister, Shal'hassan, who seemed it worthy to come and investigate the matter as well.

Alia was working in the shop part of the house. A number of the herb sprigs hanging from the rafters were dry enough to grind, and that's what she was doing. A big stone mortar and pestle were on the table and she was humming tunelessly as she worked the latest batch of herbs into a fine powder for healing poultices and herbal tonics.

The first time the horn sounded, Alia looked up from the mortar and pestle with a dreamy look. "I wonder why they're sounding the horn." After a second she continued "No, I don't suppose it's stormy, the clouds aren't right. Probably nothing."

She turned her attention back to her task when the horn sounded again. Once again she looked up and this time cocked her head to the left. "That's never happened before." She dithered for a moment "I suppose finding out what's going on wouldn't hurt."

She called out. "Mother! The herbs are mostly ground. I'm going out for a breath of air." She ambled towards the door.

The first note of the horn causes Peck to pause ... but only perhaps as he's glad of any excuse to rest a moment as he struggles through the town with a heavy sack over his shoulder.  Sothanar wasn't one to pay a copper more than he could get away with, and had demanded free delivery into the bargain, which left the blacksmith's apprentice sweating in the afternoon sun under the weight of the freshly forged chains that the Trapper had ordered.

The sound dies away to be replaced with the buzz of speculation.  With a sigh and a grimace, Peck adjusts the load to something less uncomfortable and manages a few steps before the horn sounds again.

The sack hits the ground with a clunk as Peck straightens, looking around him in puzzlement.