''What do you know about my family, and why would you trust us?''

The deer made a glance at your sword.

''Draw that sword, if you please.''

You had a look at Silberkralle, which until now had been resting on your belt, before slowly unsheathing it.

The stag's eyes widened in recognition as the blade caught the sunlight, revealing the intricate carvings etched into its surface.

The stag took a few steps closer to read the runes etched into the blade of the sword. He read them closely.

''Long it has been since I have lain eyes upon this weapon; it was a gift. For one who helped us in our time of need, forged by the last of those among us who could forge metal.'' The White Stag said.

''Elves?'' You asked.

'' Not quite; the script is in an Elven alphabet, but the one who created it is no longer among us. On the behest of someone else, gifted to someone else. I was there when it was made, though not when it was given.''

''And what does that have to do with my family? I know only that this sword belonged to my father, who inherited it from his great-uncle, but where he got the sword I do not know.''

Where exactly he got the sword, you do not know. Perhaps he took it; perhaps he was the recipient; perhaps he simply found it.

>And is the giver still around?
>I am sorry, but my great-granduncle was an arschbihsop, if he was gifted it, it doenst make sense.
>Write-in