Baldur's Gate : The Sword Coast Chronicles : NWN2 Persistent World

Eyes of wintery blue observe the woman for a long while. Her footfall then changes to be a bit more audible, so not to startle the woman too much as she approaches. There is look of approval on the older elf's face. She places her right hand down upon the table and then motions with her left hand to one of the maps and begins sharing what she knows.. while also placing questions about other areas that are not as well known.

*A declaration is pinned upon several trees growing on the lands the elves claim as theirs for Doron Amar*

For their crimes committed against the People and our Gods, all members of the Whitewood Vanguard shall receive a warning shot upon their approach towards the Village of Doron Amar. Should they not relent and leave, after the second warning shot, the Evereskan Rangers will shoot to kill or incapacitate.

Not too concerned about roads, a procession of around thirty elven pilgrims on horseback pass across the Fields of the Dead and Thundar's Ride. As they reach the northern bank of the Chionthar at about equal distance from Elturel as from Baldur's Gate, a small elven woman in leathers carrying a spear dismounts her horse and goes to the sandy banks of the river. There she uses the butt end of her spear to start drawing images in the sand in motions that look like a dance. This lasts for a while, and as the time passes, thick roots begin to sprout out of the sandy banks of the river on both sides, meeting in the middle above the waters.

At the end of her dance, a bridge looking like it is made of living wood stands across the river and she mounts her horse again, leading her People across it. As the last horse walks off the bridge on the south side, the roots start to slowly pull back into the earth until nothing is left of the bridge and no sign that there ever was one. By this time, the elves are well into the Glimmerwood.

Some time later they arrive at the entrance of Doron Amar, where they are welcomed in by the rangers of Evereska.

Some hurried words were exchanged with Eladoran in the Jest, as Syndreth ordered a few tables to be emptied and prepared for the guests. Berries and nuts were set out in small bowls as appetizer, as well as an armful of bottles with selected types of elven wine.

Leaving the inn, Syndreth walked up to the statue of Angharradh to greet the pilgrims in a polite manner, but with a warm light in her eyes.

In the following days, uncharacteristically maybe, the new Glimmerlady missed to join the patrols around the village. Instead, she spent most of her time with the pilgrims around the statue of Angharradh, joining their prayers whenever she could.

Days may have passed, when she gathered her will at last to turn to the Totem-sister for personal council.

A rare visitor arrives, now thriceover spied; once in close tow of a councilor, once alone for fletchings, and then. Herein does an eastlander, neither whole elf nor wif, wander paths with words for those knifed ears found eager. Her dark, sullen voice meets the jollity of strangers with some difficulty, and piteous things so privied as her courage unravel like fraying threads under the weight of eye contact in conversation.

She holds firm in such protection facing the ground or trees offers, inquiring on rumors of an evil. A man --- bemasked by a red and screaming visage, and armed with fire-festooned sword in promised death --- stalks the southerlands professing the name of the human god Garagos. He is presumed human himself due to conclusive evidence, but hers is careful to comment as to the tenuous details of his nature.

Tenuous, for she readily confesses to having perceived no such "skelm" with her own eyes and instead asks for the continued safety of a friendly face --- an elfwoman with cornflower hair called Rain --- who suffered his interest and had to flee. And too, as precaution for those wont to treading causeways similar, this knowledge might be thought a kind forewarning to any Tel'Quess traveling light.

With or alack for new information, this ne'er-do-well spares the village her extended presence. But a sentimental she could be thought in departure, for she pilfers treasure to buy her passage: a single leaf, brown and rotted to give way to new shoots, what fell nearest; dearest.

Fadra's cat appears to now be well acommodated in Doron Amar, being fed by random elves all the time and sleeping all day, the cat has never been happier, though it longs for a backpack to hide in, an old habit that the cat will never get rid off of, it jumps inside the bags and backpacks whenever it can, and hiding inside, to take long and short cat naps.

Osric visits the village of Doron Amar. With permission given by Councillor Feleron Nierdre, he seeks skilled artisans and craftsmen from the elven village who might be willing to lend their talents to the remodel of the Vale Estate.

Upon one night, above a forest known to elves as Glimmerwood, a bright explosion momentarily illuminates the sky with ephemeral white and blue colours.

Strange to most denizens, the elves of Doron Amar knew exactly what and where it happened. It was from the top of their magical Spire that the explosion originated, the light escaping through sudden and newly made cracks in its structure and stained glass; energy slipping through and fleeing with the wind.

Though it is not openly spoken as to what events had transpired inside the Spire for such to occur, the entire area surrounding it was evacuated for a few candlemarks. It's said that the Councillors, along with several adventurous citizens and even one human, were involved. A few hushed voices say that most of them have been, quite notably, both disturbed and irritated.

There was commotion in the Glimmerwoods today, more than just the usual orcs that plagued it. Hydras made their way out of the river making towards the village. The elves and a halfling slayed the creatures preventing them from disappearing into the trees. All then went quiet for a time, breaths caught only to have sharp eyes catch sight of green glimmering scales up above heading towards the elven village.

It is said that no lives were lost to the dragon's attack. A story that is said, could have gone much differently had their ally and friend had not been there at that moment.

The Councilors and the people of the village now move around with determined faces. Conversations with the rangers are had and patrols are set up. Panicked civilians are comforted and put more at ease, each given their own tasks. While the blacksmith, Miiria, is asked to craft something that might aid the village. They seem to be preparing the village for something it would seem... but for what?

Given current conditions and threats the Captain of the Mathora has ordered that a sequence of three metal nets be cast at the Southern bridge, and two more spaced out further down the river, to prevent access to the village from the river. As well double guards have been posted for both the river and anything that would come out of it.