IC - Village of Yoblora

"They've called me Belle since I was younger," the old woman answers Damir's introductions. "Years past, the people chose me as the village elder. I have done my best. I have studied much of the Veil, as we stand so close by it. Time was, I went to Khelia's very capital to learn of books ... and rumors. Do you know whom you serve?"

"Now we serve the people of the realm,
repenting for our own sins of old,
to assure veil's creatures cannot overwhelm
what's of this world - we have to hold."

Damir asks her to tell them about the village's troubled past. Maybe they can help the people of Yoblora and give them reason to rebuild. After all they have stayed here, even if the place has not been kept in the best condition. There must be a reason why they have abandoned the upkeep, but not the town.

Belle scoffs. "You serve the masters of the realm," she answers. "As does that." She inclines her head toward the faint distant rainbows of the Veil. "And all its creatures," she adds grimly. "They harry us. They harry us."

Ognimir stops with the rope.
He looks Belle in the eye, "With all the ringing, I must have misheard. Did you just say the veil is controlled . . . by the Arcane Order?"
He wipes his hands on his thighs.
"Speak now some evidence for such a claim, or step back such foolish words!"

"Ah, would you bold Guardians gang up on a helpless old woman?" asks Belle, whose tall and erect posture lend her words a mocking flavor. "And what have you read, in the libraries of Khelia? What have you heard, in the kitchens of the taverns where the servers eavesdrop on the Arcane dinner conversations?"

Danill musters up his own mocking flavor. "We'll, I've heard, in common rooms from here to the city, what all people know: the Guardians protect folk from the dangers of the veil."

"If everyone knows that's true, why would The Arcane control the viel. Or How, for that matter."

Excellent questions! Quintus cannot recall having heard such ill spoken of the Arcane Order in the city where he once worked as a tattooist, before tragedy and the consequent stain on his honor forced him into this errant life. Having tied his horse's reins to any nearby fence or hitching post, he crosses his arms within the gay sleeves of his robe and awaits the elder's reply.

"I've seen this before. It is fear talking, not reason! But if you are wrong. And you are wrong. You risk offending the only force that can protect you! Is that what happened? Have you been brewing up lies and causing the good people of Yoblora to despair? Shame on you. "

Damir looks left to right, then to the folks who have already started to abandon their duty and gather around as to hear what the commotion is about.
Instead of adding to the brewing conflict, he takes a step forward - in between the two contestants. He turns to look at the woman and smiles brightly.

"We don't mean to threaten you or yours, good Belle.
On the contrary, we've just saved one and want to aid the rest.
Why don't we postpone this and say our farewell,
to the fallen lad. Then it's your hospitality that I request."

He then puts a hand on his angry friend's shoulder, tosses Ognimir a warning glance - no need to escalate just now! - and continues.

"It's not only Yoblora that has suffered a loss today.
Tempers rise high, lady Belle, but we'll hold them at bay -
for now."

The old woman slightly tosses her head and lifts her eyes. "If you beg hospitality, it's ours that we must offer," she replies. "I won't have it said that I denied guest right to you, especially after you saved Morrin's life. As to the Veil and its masters, I would be glad to unfold to you what I have learned. It's not surprising that you labor in ignorance. I'll say for now only this: it was after our crops failed, and we could not pay the Order's levy, it was then that the Veil and its creatures encroached on Yoblora more than ever before."

Quintus puckers his lips beneath the froth of his beard and his fine brow furrows. The elder's claim makes no sense to him. Why would the Arcane Order send out Guardians to protect the common folk from dangers that the Arcanes themselves control and direct? If that were so, then the Guardians and their whole creed would merely be some sort of fig leaf to cover the extortion visited upon the land by those magi! It would be churlish of them. Very churlish. More than churlish, it would be dastardly...

Quail restrains an uncomfortable harrumph. It won't do to tut the old woman in front of her people, not when they're mourning the loss of one of their own.

"Let us speak privately after the funeral rites, madam, as my colleague Damir suggests," Quintus says. "Then we'll listen to all you have to say, and help in any way we can. That is our calling, as I hope you know."

The old woman clamps shut her jaw and steps away from the group of you, joining the villagers who stand nearer to the pyre. She appears to talk with a few of them quietly for a while, including the grieving Morrin.

After a time, as the sky darkens, the pyre and Lorric have reduced to ash and ember. Old Belle moves back to you.

"The rites are complete," she says flatly. "Come. Join me in my house. I will serve you the dinner I can offer, and we will talk." She awaits your response.

Damir nods - slow and serious, then follows Belle.

Ognimir follows, but there is no chance he eats anything she provides.

Danill follows with a grumbling stomach. He pats his gut ready to eat.

Quintus waits for the senior Guardians to lead the way, then follows in his turn, as seems proper to him.

Belle's dinner is barley mash that is spotted with flecks of bacon, peas, and chunks of onion and carrot. Those who try it find that it tastes like she thought of putting pepper in it, but found the jar was empty. It does have a reasonable amount of salt.

To drink, she offers a big clay jug of cider. You remember seeing a grove of gnarly apple trees near the village.

She waits for one of you to ask a question. After you don't, she says, "How long have you been Guardians?"

Danill smiles round a spoonful. "About a week, here." He scrapes some more mash from his bowl.

Ognimir tries to retain his stoic nature as his stomach gives a loud grumble.
"This is my 12th Season watching the veil. Ever since I was ... "
He exposes his arm to show the scars in the weak firelight.
"... since an arcanist did this to me."