A Perilous Vice
The Twenty Fifth of Elnu-hamba [Elnu Descendent] Year 1348 A. L. (After Landfall)
For a long moment you can but stare at the sorcery with no sorcerer to cast it, at the work of craft with no craftsman to carve it, that is no splinter cast by chance but a dagger made with a purpose.
A weapon of vengeance grown from the heart of the dead? You had seen stranger things these past months, but then you have seen more perilous things also. Thus you wrap the dagger tightly in cloth tie it off with rope, a riddle for another time. Later can have it examined and properly destroyed if needed, or use if proven safe. It might even be important evidence of our mission should it have any relation to standing stones later.
"Pale moonlight lies upon the blade," Inge says softly as though half in a dream, her eyes filled with some sight beyond the light of common day "The tide has shifted out, but it has not yet come in yet the hour will not be held back." She shakes herself. "Foresight... the dagger has the power of forsight, likely to seek a foe that had worked harm upon the tree."
"And if we are not so fortunate as to have found a weapon suited to it on the eve of battle?" Your prompt
"Then perhaps it might seek some foe of its maker which is no foe of yours and grand false augury and traitor gaze." She carefully takes the wrapped bundle from your hands and slides it into the saddlebags. "That would be the Sphere of enchantment and not farsight, but one should not trust magic to be as stone unchanging, but know it to be as the flowing water ever at your feet."
"I cannot say I will find that hard, present company excluded of course." Your jest is rewarded with a laugh, a giggle really, the most childlike sound you have heard from Inge yet.
Alas the last note of it is quick to fade among the echoes of sharp stone and dark green bough. You nod to the men behind you, the sign worth more than a dozen words might, be on your guard and keep your weapons ready.
As you turn the final corner in the winding path there is no rustle in the underbrush, not even the song of a bird to break the silence, only the sound of iron shod hooves on stone, as strange to these islands as the sight before you is to Norman eyes. The crest of the hill had been flattened by the work of human hands and about it set three standing stones three times a tall man's height, all black as ash and all carved with a strange sharp script unlike any you had seen among the Anwa so far. Yet your eyes to not long linger upon the stones for between them lies a round well that at first seems deep and dark, but then in the light of fading evening flashes old and there you see a pile of gold sparkling, necklaces and armbands, coins and...
"Offerings to the gods, we aught not touch..."
Inge's words do not so much fall upon deaf ears as upon the ears filled with the song of greed and the lust for gold. Jean slides off his horse with practiced ease and practically runs towards the edge of the well. Before you can give more than a shout of warning he reaches into the water.... and something reaches out. You think you catch a glimpse of lithe silvery limbs and hair white as new spun snow, but you could not put a name to it.
Jean starts to cough and hack as a drowning man even as he rolls backwards onto the stony ground.
"Wait!" Inge shouts as you throw yourself off silver to try to offer what help you may. "He failed the guardian's test, if you interfere we will have to fight it!"
What do you do?
[] Guardian be damned you are not going to let any man of Verley die under your eyes
[] Listen to Inge, Jean made his bed now he will have to lie in it, you will not risk the lives of everyone else here because of his greed
[] Write in
OOC: Inge did identify the being you face, but there is only so much she can shout at you in a few seconds. Not yet edited 
