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Sins of Our Fathers - 2/10 - Final Update
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<blockquote data-quote="Destan" data-source="post: 911794" data-attributes="member: 12157"><p><strong>On the Heels of History</strong></p><p></p><p>Raylin mac Larren squatted in the dying weeds. The weather had turned unseasonably warm over the past night, and he gave thanks to the spirits of his fathers for such good fortune. The frozen ground had thawed somewhat. The tracks would now be easy to follow, easier to find. </p><p></p><p>He pressed a calloused hand into the soft earth and lifted fingers to his nose. The soil was cold and damp to the touch, but the scent…there was a scent, however faint, that conjured images of hills rolling toward the horizon like green-flecked waves. For a moment the Larren clansman forgot his quarry. He thought only of his home, and a storm-tossed evening long ago. </p><p></p><p>But only for a moment. “Sniffing the dirt in an effort to rid your nostrils of the half-troll’s stench?” John of Pell squinted down at Raylin from atop his horse, head cocked to one side. “Not a bad idea, actually. Does it work?”</p><p> </p><p>Raylin grinned like a wolf. “As for Brother Vath, I can still smell him. But I also smell the rûcken. Their heads are as good as in our rucksacks.”</p><p></p><p>Baden scanned the horizon of scrub brush and sickly trees. “The Forgefather be praised.”</p><p></p><p>Raylin swung atop his own horse. Though he had not admitted it to his companions, he feared he would prove unable to locate the trail. Two days of fruitless searching had passed since the party left Aramin and his chest of gold. But the ground was soft here, thanks to the rise in temperature, and he could make out the slightest impressions of booted feet, recently made.</p><p></p><p>“How many?”</p><p></p><p>Raylin glanced at the mountain dwarf, sitting astride his horse like a child on a rickety wagon, and shrugged. “I know not. If we follow them for a bit, I may learn more.”</p><p></p><p>Vath walked over to where the ranger had been kneeling and studied the ground. The horses whickered softly and pulled away from the half-troll. “Our prey goes toward that line of trees, yes?” His voice was a groaning croak.</p><p></p><p>Raylin nodded. “Aye. Northward. Though nothing is northward save more of the same. Plains, sparse woods, a few hills. This is ugly country hereabouts.”</p><p></p><p>Amelyssan circled his horse about the group. The elf’s proud features were smooth, but his eyes flashed with anticipation. “Enough banter. Let us make haste.”</p><p></p><p>***</p><p></p><p>Raylin laughed and kicked heels to flank. He led the party northward into the tree line. To the east, the sun struggled to overcome the broken peaks of the Balantir Cor. The mountain range covered most of eastern Valusia. Raylin had always felt both comforted and intimidated by the rocky walls. At times they seemed like protective arms of stone and granite, at others but a foreboding line of jagged rock.</p><p></p><p>The rûcken trail pierced the tree line and sauntered downward into a valley carpeted with gorse and sagebrush. The humanoids were avoiding the hilltops and ridge crests; locations where they might be seen by an observer upon the plains was given wide berth. </p><p></p><p>Only a few hours before nightfall, Raylin called for a halt. He slid off his horse and stared hard at the ground. The spirit-fathers were testing him. The soft loam of the plains gave way here to cracked, paved rock. Flagstones, actually, from some ancient highway or plaza. </p><p></p><p>Valusia was dotted with the detritus of past Empires, most of which Raylin had never heard of. The clansman appreciated the occasional ruined tower for shelter during inclement nights, but the stones now at his feet only gave him pause.</p><p></p><p>“What is it?” John produced a withered apple and leaned forward to feed it to his mount. “I thought we gained on them, yet now we stop?”</p><p></p><p>Raylin frowned. “We are close, aye. But these stones do not hold their tracks like the earth.”</p><p></p><p>“Epala*,” whispered Amelyssan as his eyes stared at sights unseen. “This was once the central plaza of an old city. Something was lost here. Long ago. It has not returned.”</p><p></p><p>John grunted. “Who needs the past when you have the present? It appears we may have lost something here as well.”</p><p></p><p>Baden waved a gauntlet about the clearing. “These paved stones cover most of this valley. It will not be easy finding their trail should we have to circle the boundary.”</p><p></p><p>Raylin chewed his lip in thought. He enjoyed these recent companions, for the most part, but they overly enjoyed the sound of their voices. “They were heading northward, so let us continue in that direction until the stones end. Impassable mountains are east of here, and the towns of men to the west. Spirits willing, they remain unaware we follow.”</p><p></p><p>The group pushed northward once more, picking their way among the ruins of old outer walls and forgotten buildings. None of the horses could bear the smell of Vath, nor his weight, so the half-troll loped alongside the party like any hunting hound. He climbed over piles of jumbled stone and ducked through holes in the old walls, but never fell behind their pace. </p><p></p><p>Perhaps an hour later, the paved stones gave way once more to a blanket of thick, yellow weeds. Raylin climbed from his horse and walked along the edge. The valley was narrow here. To the north, the direction they were going, the ground sloped upward into a slender defile. It was useless; he had lost them.</p><p></p><p>“We camp here.” The clansman turned to pull the saddle from his mount.</p><p></p><p>“Here?” Baden eyed the old stones. “There are memories in these rocks. Things best left forgotten. Ask the elf – he can tell you.”</p><p></p><p>John winced and slid from his horse. “I’d rather not, if I have a choice in the matter.”</p><p></p><p>Raylin ignored them and began to collect firewood. He had survived more than one rûcken night attack. If he had lost the humanoids, perhaps they would do him the favor and find him instead.</p><p></p><p>***</p><p></p><p>Raylin had taken the last watch, so he sat quietly as the land turned to pink around him. The cold had come stealing upon them during the mid of night, but the rûcken were not so accommodating. His breath created ghosts with each exhale, the wraiths drifting upward in a thin line. There was no wind this morning.</p><p></p><p>“Pack your things. Quickly. We must be off.”</p><p></p><p>The party pushed northward, Raylin in the lead. The broad-shouldered ranger occasionally knelt and studied the ground like a priest reading omens in the movements of meandering beetles. Yet, try as he might, Raylin could find no further sign of the rûcken.</p><p></p><p>The rocky walls closed in to either side of them, making the dim day even darker. Baden suggested the defile looked like Moradin’s axe had sundered the mountain in twain, and the party was but crawling along the base of the wound. John of Pell had a different analogy- he thought the stony crags appeared like old men staring into a well. Raylin, however, paid little mind to their quiet bantering. He was fast losing hope – it had been too long without any signs or spoor. </p><p></p><p>Then he heard it – the sounds of battle. Not near, but neither was it far. Sounds had a way of echoing oddly in the deeper ravines of the Balantir Cor.</p><p></p><p>“I think the rûcken have been found, but not by us,” Raylin said. He paused long enough for his companions to hear the sounds. He watched their expressions, judging each man in turn. Raylin had not drawn swords with these travelers - not yet. And no two men were the same until they shared a laugh or shared a fight with one another. Nonetheless, he liked what he saw.</p><p></p><p>Baden unslung his axe, his eyes shining. “By the sounds of it, there must be a dozen rûcken over that ridge, not one of which knows he’s about to meet his doom.”</p><p></p><p>John pulled up on his horse and drew a slender rapier. “You are wrong, friend dwarf. Over that ridge are six hundred crowns, just waiting for us.”</p><p></p><p>Raylin’s laughter boomed from the rocky walls. “Aye, ‘tis high time for a little wet work, eh? May Talos fetch the hindmost!”</p><p></p><p> </p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p>* Epala is one of many now-lost Empires that spanned the world of Ostia Prim, including the Valusian Isle. Many of her slender towers dot the landscape of the Cormick plains in central Valusia.</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Destan, post: 911794, member: 12157"] [b]On the Heels of History[/b] Raylin mac Larren squatted in the dying weeds. The weather had turned unseasonably warm over the past night, and he gave thanks to the spirits of his fathers for such good fortune. The frozen ground had thawed somewhat. The tracks would now be easy to follow, easier to find. He pressed a calloused hand into the soft earth and lifted fingers to his nose. The soil was cold and damp to the touch, but the scent…there was a scent, however faint, that conjured images of hills rolling toward the horizon like green-flecked waves. For a moment the Larren clansman forgot his quarry. He thought only of his home, and a storm-tossed evening long ago. But only for a moment. “Sniffing the dirt in an effort to rid your nostrils of the half-troll’s stench?” John of Pell squinted down at Raylin from atop his horse, head cocked to one side. “Not a bad idea, actually. Does it work?” Raylin grinned like a wolf. “As for Brother Vath, I can still smell him. But I also smell the rûcken. Their heads are as good as in our rucksacks.” Baden scanned the horizon of scrub brush and sickly trees. “The Forgefather be praised.” Raylin swung atop his own horse. Though he had not admitted it to his companions, he feared he would prove unable to locate the trail. Two days of fruitless searching had passed since the party left Aramin and his chest of gold. But the ground was soft here, thanks to the rise in temperature, and he could make out the slightest impressions of booted feet, recently made. “How many?” Raylin glanced at the mountain dwarf, sitting astride his horse like a child on a rickety wagon, and shrugged. “I know not. If we follow them for a bit, I may learn more.” Vath walked over to where the ranger had been kneeling and studied the ground. The horses whickered softly and pulled away from the half-troll. “Our prey goes toward that line of trees, yes?” His voice was a groaning croak. Raylin nodded. “Aye. Northward. Though nothing is northward save more of the same. Plains, sparse woods, a few hills. This is ugly country hereabouts.” Amelyssan circled his horse about the group. The elf’s proud features were smooth, but his eyes flashed with anticipation. “Enough banter. Let us make haste.” *** Raylin laughed and kicked heels to flank. He led the party northward into the tree line. To the east, the sun struggled to overcome the broken peaks of the Balantir Cor. The mountain range covered most of eastern Valusia. Raylin had always felt both comforted and intimidated by the rocky walls. At times they seemed like protective arms of stone and granite, at others but a foreboding line of jagged rock. The rûcken trail pierced the tree line and sauntered downward into a valley carpeted with gorse and sagebrush. The humanoids were avoiding the hilltops and ridge crests; locations where they might be seen by an observer upon the plains was given wide berth. Only a few hours before nightfall, Raylin called for a halt. He slid off his horse and stared hard at the ground. The spirit-fathers were testing him. The soft loam of the plains gave way here to cracked, paved rock. Flagstones, actually, from some ancient highway or plaza. Valusia was dotted with the detritus of past Empires, most of which Raylin had never heard of. The clansman appreciated the occasional ruined tower for shelter during inclement nights, but the stones now at his feet only gave him pause. “What is it?” John produced a withered apple and leaned forward to feed it to his mount. “I thought we gained on them, yet now we stop?” Raylin frowned. “We are close, aye. But these stones do not hold their tracks like the earth.” “Epala*,” whispered Amelyssan as his eyes stared at sights unseen. “This was once the central plaza of an old city. Something was lost here. Long ago. It has not returned.” John grunted. “Who needs the past when you have the present? It appears we may have lost something here as well.” Baden waved a gauntlet about the clearing. “These paved stones cover most of this valley. It will not be easy finding their trail should we have to circle the boundary.” Raylin chewed his lip in thought. He enjoyed these recent companions, for the most part, but they overly enjoyed the sound of their voices. “They were heading northward, so let us continue in that direction until the stones end. Impassable mountains are east of here, and the towns of men to the west. Spirits willing, they remain unaware we follow.” The group pushed northward once more, picking their way among the ruins of old outer walls and forgotten buildings. None of the horses could bear the smell of Vath, nor his weight, so the half-troll loped alongside the party like any hunting hound. He climbed over piles of jumbled stone and ducked through holes in the old walls, but never fell behind their pace. Perhaps an hour later, the paved stones gave way once more to a blanket of thick, yellow weeds. Raylin climbed from his horse and walked along the edge. The valley was narrow here. To the north, the direction they were going, the ground sloped upward into a slender defile. It was useless; he had lost them. “We camp here.” The clansman turned to pull the saddle from his mount. “Here?” Baden eyed the old stones. “There are memories in these rocks. Things best left forgotten. Ask the elf – he can tell you.” John winced and slid from his horse. “I’d rather not, if I have a choice in the matter.” Raylin ignored them and began to collect firewood. He had survived more than one rûcken night attack. If he had lost the humanoids, perhaps they would do him the favor and find him instead. *** Raylin had taken the last watch, so he sat quietly as the land turned to pink around him. The cold had come stealing upon them during the mid of night, but the rûcken were not so accommodating. His breath created ghosts with each exhale, the wraiths drifting upward in a thin line. There was no wind this morning. “Pack your things. Quickly. We must be off.” The party pushed northward, Raylin in the lead. The broad-shouldered ranger occasionally knelt and studied the ground like a priest reading omens in the movements of meandering beetles. Yet, try as he might, Raylin could find no further sign of the rûcken. The rocky walls closed in to either side of them, making the dim day even darker. Baden suggested the defile looked like Moradin’s axe had sundered the mountain in twain, and the party was but crawling along the base of the wound. John of Pell had a different analogy- he thought the stony crags appeared like old men staring into a well. Raylin, however, paid little mind to their quiet bantering. He was fast losing hope – it had been too long without any signs or spoor. Then he heard it – the sounds of battle. Not near, but neither was it far. Sounds had a way of echoing oddly in the deeper ravines of the Balantir Cor. “I think the rûcken have been found, but not by us,” Raylin said. He paused long enough for his companions to hear the sounds. He watched their expressions, judging each man in turn. Raylin had not drawn swords with these travelers - not yet. And no two men were the same until they shared a laugh or shared a fight with one another. Nonetheless, he liked what he saw. Baden unslung his axe, his eyes shining. “By the sounds of it, there must be a dozen rûcken over that ridge, not one of which knows he’s about to meet his doom.” John pulled up on his horse and drew a slender rapier. “You are wrong, friend dwarf. Over that ridge are six hundred crowns, just waiting for us.” Raylin’s laughter boomed from the rocky walls. “Aye, ‘tis high time for a little wet work, eh? May Talos fetch the hindmost!” * Epala is one of many now-lost Empires that spanned the world of Ostia Prim, including the Valusian Isle. Many of her slender towers dot the landscape of the Cormick plains in central Valusia. [/QUOTE]
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