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<blockquote data-quote="byxbee" data-source="post: 36909" data-attributes="member: 985"><p><strong>Durnae's Ride</strong></p><p></p><p>Chapter 4</p><p>“Durnae's Ride”</p><p> </p><p>Durnae rode his newly acquired horse hard through the rest of that day, pausing only briefly to choke down some barely edible rothe jerky. He wondered if Damarans ate any other meat besides rothe. He longed for a slab of mutton or sea bass seasoned with exotic spices. Instead, it was jerky through the day and a dinner of boiled oats and dried pullroot.</p><p></p><p>It had been hard, riding north into the great unknown without guidance or company. The path itself was clear enough, but the expansive, wide-open landscape was almost too open. There was no sign of life, no people, dwellings, nor herds of sheep. Endless nothingness. For miles and miles in every direction, Durnae saw little besides flat dirt, stubbly waist high bushes, and an occasional pile of rocks. Were he to encounter wolves or goblins on these plains he would have no place to hide, no place to seek shelter or protection. Durnae felt more and more alone as the protection and civilization of Valls grew more and more distant.</p><p> </p><p>He cursed himself aloud for leaving so hastily without grabbing more supplies. His hard jerky and sack of oats would disappear in less than three days. The road to Bloodstone Pass was a long one, 7 days on the fastest of steeds, 12 or more by wagon. He would eventually be forced to hunt for food, and he hadn’t seen any suitable game in the past day.</p><p></p><p>And then, of course, there was the cold. Frigid and harsh are words that wouldn’t begin to describe the conditions he had endured during his first day on the Damaran plains. Great gusts of wind so powerful they nearly stalled his powerful horse in full run, bits of ice and dirt borne on the wind pelting him relentlessly, and the steady disheartening presence of dark gray storm clouds looming before him all served to sap his conviction and strength. He traveled barely 5 miles that day as he was forced to stop often to rest his spirited horse. </p><p></p><p>But he could not stop for long because he knew that Speck wouldn’t be far behind. Speck was sure to be better supplied, of that Durnae was certain, and would probably bring companions to help him in his search. Durnae was justifiably afraid of the man, as Speck had the reputation of being a relentless tracker who always found his target.</p><p></p><p>So when, midday through the second day of his trek, a figure appeared off the empty horizon behind him, mounted and gaining fast, Durnae spurred his horse on faster. Whoever his pursuer turned out to be, Durnae was surely not going to sit and wait for it to catch him.</p><p></p><p>He pushed his horse as much as he could, trying to expand the distance between him and the lone rider following him. After an hour of hard riding, but with his unknown follower gaining rapidly, he spied a small shack at the side of the road, maybe a mile ahead. Smoke rolled out of a chimney and a single animal was tethered to the side of the building.</p><p>Durnae figured that this hut was his only chance of protection. Whoever was in that shack was bound to be friendlier than Speck. He slowed his horse as he approached the building and eyed the beast tied up outside. It looked like no other animal Durnae had yet seen. It stood 6’ at the shoulder and was covered with long strips of matted brown hair that ended in ball-like clumps. The creature had a horned head, similar to a goat, and long sturdy legs. It grimaced at Durnae as he approached, and looked for all the world like an unsavory, ill-tempered beast.</p><p></p><p>And it stank. From hundreds of feet away Durnae caught wind of an impossibly pungent odor so strong he could barely breathe. He could taste the stench as if he had licked the beast. It smelled like a mixture of horse dung, burnt hair and stale year old sweat. He was coughing and nearly retching by the time he had circled the small building and had tied his horse to a pole on the opposite side of the shack.</p><p></p><p>The door was locked, but not very sturdy. He pounded once and glanced to his right.</p><p>The distant rider was no longer distant. He had a minute, maybe two at the most, before Speck would be upon him. Gathering his cloak about him, Durnae prepared to slam into the door. Just then it swung open to reveal a jovial dwarf with a foaming flagon in his hand.</p><p></p><p>“Weeeehll met trahveler… C’mon in for a…” the dwarf said politely as Durnae burst past him and slammed the door shut. Durnae caught a glimpse of a roaring fire and a sizable feast laid out upon a rickety table before he took up a defensive position to the right of the door, sword drawn… </p><p></p><p>The thundering of hooves on frozen ground came to a sudden stop. Durnae could hear the mount breathing heavily in the frosty air. Sensing danger, Durnae’s Dwarven companion set down his mug and fingered his axe.</p><p></p><p>A pair of feet hit the ground just outside the door as Durnae prepared for a fight…</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="byxbee, post: 36909, member: 985"] [b]Durnae's Ride[/b] Chapter 4 “Durnae's Ride” Durnae rode his newly acquired horse hard through the rest of that day, pausing only briefly to choke down some barely edible rothe jerky. He wondered if Damarans ate any other meat besides rothe. He longed for a slab of mutton or sea bass seasoned with exotic spices. Instead, it was jerky through the day and a dinner of boiled oats and dried pullroot. It had been hard, riding north into the great unknown without guidance or company. The path itself was clear enough, but the expansive, wide-open landscape was almost too open. There was no sign of life, no people, dwellings, nor herds of sheep. Endless nothingness. For miles and miles in every direction, Durnae saw little besides flat dirt, stubbly waist high bushes, and an occasional pile of rocks. Were he to encounter wolves or goblins on these plains he would have no place to hide, no place to seek shelter or protection. Durnae felt more and more alone as the protection and civilization of Valls grew more and more distant. He cursed himself aloud for leaving so hastily without grabbing more supplies. His hard jerky and sack of oats would disappear in less than three days. The road to Bloodstone Pass was a long one, 7 days on the fastest of steeds, 12 or more by wagon. He would eventually be forced to hunt for food, and he hadn’t seen any suitable game in the past day. And then, of course, there was the cold. Frigid and harsh are words that wouldn’t begin to describe the conditions he had endured during his first day on the Damaran plains. Great gusts of wind so powerful they nearly stalled his powerful horse in full run, bits of ice and dirt borne on the wind pelting him relentlessly, and the steady disheartening presence of dark gray storm clouds looming before him all served to sap his conviction and strength. He traveled barely 5 miles that day as he was forced to stop often to rest his spirited horse. But he could not stop for long because he knew that Speck wouldn’t be far behind. Speck was sure to be better supplied, of that Durnae was certain, and would probably bring companions to help him in his search. Durnae was justifiably afraid of the man, as Speck had the reputation of being a relentless tracker who always found his target. So when, midday through the second day of his trek, a figure appeared off the empty horizon behind him, mounted and gaining fast, Durnae spurred his horse on faster. Whoever his pursuer turned out to be, Durnae was surely not going to sit and wait for it to catch him. He pushed his horse as much as he could, trying to expand the distance between him and the lone rider following him. After an hour of hard riding, but with his unknown follower gaining rapidly, he spied a small shack at the side of the road, maybe a mile ahead. Smoke rolled out of a chimney and a single animal was tethered to the side of the building. Durnae figured that this hut was his only chance of protection. Whoever was in that shack was bound to be friendlier than Speck. He slowed his horse as he approached the building and eyed the beast tied up outside. It looked like no other animal Durnae had yet seen. It stood 6’ at the shoulder and was covered with long strips of matted brown hair that ended in ball-like clumps. The creature had a horned head, similar to a goat, and long sturdy legs. It grimaced at Durnae as he approached, and looked for all the world like an unsavory, ill-tempered beast. And it stank. From hundreds of feet away Durnae caught wind of an impossibly pungent odor so strong he could barely breathe. He could taste the stench as if he had licked the beast. It smelled like a mixture of horse dung, burnt hair and stale year old sweat. He was coughing and nearly retching by the time he had circled the small building and had tied his horse to a pole on the opposite side of the shack. The door was locked, but not very sturdy. He pounded once and glanced to his right. The distant rider was no longer distant. He had a minute, maybe two at the most, before Speck would be upon him. Gathering his cloak about him, Durnae prepared to slam into the door. Just then it swung open to reveal a jovial dwarf with a foaming flagon in his hand. “Weeeehll met trahveler… C’mon in for a…” the dwarf said politely as Durnae burst past him and slammed the door shut. Durnae caught a glimpse of a roaring fire and a sizable feast laid out upon a rickety table before he took up a defensive position to the right of the door, sword drawn… The thundering of hooves on frozen ground came to a sudden stop. Durnae could hear the mount breathing heavily in the frosty air. Sensing danger, Durnae’s Dwarven companion set down his mug and fingered his axe. A pair of feet hit the ground just outside the door as Durnae prepared for a fight… [/QUOTE]
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