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The breeze was warm, the sky as clear as crystal while the druids steadily weaved through the crags and cliffs of the Atoll. Gulls cried above their heads in delight, curiously flocking overhead once the druids had found their destination; a shallow bay with hundreds of shades of coral. The water was clear, calm and inviting, hinting at pleasant hours of scavenging for simple shells, pearls, and sea stones. However, something was amiss... The song of the sea faltered in the perception of the druids. Somewhere, the gentle hum of the tropical coast weakened and whimpered near-silently. Sinking waist-deep into the water, they hone their senses to the center of the bay. Whatever was disrupting the gentle, flowing song of the sea was somewhere out of reach. The five adventurers push boats into the gentle surf, gliding across the still water with ease. Further and further they slowly paddled, the song of nature quieting until nothing but the wind billowed past their ears. Where there was crystal blue water all around them, this portion of the bay was stained with a strange purple hue. The most curious took a small drink from the ocean to find it soured; astringent and nauseatingly salty. The brave dove down, determined to find the source of the somber song... The rigging of the simple brigandine rose like dark spires from the shallow sea floor. It's grave was the corpse of a ruined reef, suffering and dying under the weight of the broken timber and lost cargo. Deeper, and deeper did the druids brave the depths, until the cause of the rampant decay was obvious. The ship once carried fine wine, crates and barrels of luxurious drink from around the world. The broken bottles slowly leaked into the bay, tainting and discoloring the calm water. Fish dared not risk their health, swimming circles curiously around the blight of their once thriving home. For the druids, the time to act was clear to them; today was not a day of leisure and chatter, but of action. Slowly, the adventurers retrieve the broken boxes and bottles. Sweat, toil, rope-burnt palms and heads light from diving, the wine spill is slowly cleared. Raising their staffs together, summoning the cleansing grace of the Aspect's gifts, the water takes on a bright, bioluminescent glow as the druids purge taint from the water. The arduous task of purging the reef completed, the druids clamber back into the boats to make their trek home. Then, a bottle thumps against the boats. Within, a simple scroll reads: "The six mermaid stones rest on Sharktooth Isle." The route to the island wasn't long. Voyage completed within an hour, the druids set foot upon Sharktooth Isle. Indeed, the great whites circled the island hungrily, watching for any fool that might think themselves mightier than the beasts of the sea. On shore, the sailors took respite under a lone tree's shade. "I found a cave!" A druid shouts. Just as quickly as they sought a moment to breathe, the adventures scrambled to their feet, delving into the leaky cave below. At the bottom of the damp stone bowels of the island laid the final resting place of a bearded sailor. He was a dwarf, his beard still glittering with braid-beads and gold of his former splendor. There he slumbers eternally, clutching a key to his chest. The sharp eyes of the druids discern the key's intended purpose. A simple false wall of stone, concealing a dwarven sailor's treasure hoard. With the simple wall opening, before the druids appeared a treasure hoard of six stones. Three of pure, massive opalite, the light of a tropical ocean dawn sealed within the luxurious stones, and three of peacock green alexandrite that shifted to a royal hummingbird purple in the torchlight. The dead captain's note guarded the hoard, old and worn. His final wishes still legible, the druid reads aloud... "Here lays my heart, six in pieces. One for each daughter I should have loved, before the sea stole my heart. Take care of them, for I could not."
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THE START OF THE LONG DISPUTE [!] A well drawn picture of a few rustlers outside of the gates of Elvenesse. Just over two years had passed since the last attack on the Woodland Realm. The elves of Elvenesse had thought they were safe... But everything changed when the Rustlers attacked. Today is a day of triumph. The Wardens- cowards. Sitting high up in their towers, useless to the onslaught the Rustlers brought upon them. Arrows flying through the air- falling upon rock and dirt, only to be picked up and loaded into the crossbows of the very Rustlers they were shooting at. No iron clashed upon any soldier, no blood was spilt. - The citizens took their place. Massacred, robbed from, forced into hiding during the slaughter. No Wardens on horses rode through the city. Instead, they hid in their tower in an act of cowardice. Time and time again, Elvenesse has lied - coming up with continuous nonsense about winning raids, killing people, and the ‘might’ of their cowardly army. No more shall it continue. They shall be brought to light for their chants of ‘victory’ over the likes of the Orcs, Rustlers, and Ferrymen. This marks the start of the long dispute. [!] A well drawn picture of the rustlers after they stole a painting of an elven warrior. [!] A well drawn picture of the rustlers.
