“No weapons!” crowed the innkeeper, rising his head from the shelter of the bar, as the inn’s other patrons, who had scattered away from the ruckus, stood in taunt silence, ready to flee for the exits if the conflict continued. Off the beaten path, Velarsburg was a quiet place, seldom visited by adventures, and the locals were quite content to keep it that way for just such a reason. Still eyeing Sabrae with restrained rage, Fhariel sheathed her blade with a sigh of concession, twisting out of Marlykan’s grasp as she did so and sniped; “She doesn’t look like a priestess to me.” “I’m not,” Sabrae hissed, still coiled to strike with her hands gripping the hilts of her sheathed daggers. “But I’m no spider-kisser or one of Vhaeraun’s fools either. I’ve no quarrel with you darthiir, but raise your blade to me again and I’ll gut you just as fast as any of them would.” “None of this is necessary,” Dorn tried to defuse the conflict, stepping between the elven beauties that could nearly be negatives of each other, his voice carrying a compelling, peaceful strength. Then he turned to Fhariel and warned her sternly; “She’s done you no wrong and you do the fair-kind no honor by striking at the innocent… not matter what her blood.” Fhariel saw the gauntlet of Torm hung around the massive man’s neck, and then glanced between the woman and the blonde man that had so easily downed her, noting the symbols of Mielikki and Selune they wore; all signs of good deities of the human pantheon, and, although she followed the Seldarine, she knew that no one of evil intent could wear them without suffer the wraith of the deities they represented. “Perhaps introductions are in order… before what-ever serves as the watch for this quaint little town shows up and jails us all,” Marlykan offer, only half joking as he eyed the folk around them, who still hadn’t returned to their breakfasts. Taking seats around the table, but making sure that the two elves were beyond each other’s reach, the group exchanged tales of how they had come to the out of the way town, which quickly turned into an exchange about the Elven Court, the drow who occupied it and what, if anything, could be done to drive them back into the Underdark. All the while, each of them began to silently ponder the same question. “There has to be something more than mere chance at work here,” Coren finally gave voice to what they were all thinking. “Velarsburg isn’t a place strangers gather… but here we are, assembled as if for some purpose. Each with a reason of our own to stand against the darkness spreading around us, but all of those reasons driving us to the same deeds. We can do more together than apart.” “I agree.” They all turned in surprise to see an oddly dressed young man approach and take a seat at their table. “Kaulen Dundragon… the mad mage of Harrowdale at your service,” he announced as he met their questioning stares, “and if there is some greater purpose at work here… I will be a part of it!”