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The Red Hand of Doom - Completed 8 February 2008: Against Tiamat and Epilogue
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<blockquote data-quote="Pedestrian" data-source="post: 3854383" data-attributes="member: 40208"><p>Dauth was their next stop. They went along the new road, west out of Prosser, through what was once the heart of Prosser wood. Xerxes felt watched, dim eyes held back by layers only as thick as gauze. The wildness of this place had been beaten back, destroyed, but the ghost of it eked on in a place beyond this. Old dark trees lined the path, solemn trunked and stoic in the face of their eventual demise. Strange, how awareness of other places added to his perception of his own.</p><p></p><p>Much like Prosser, Dauth had been terrorised by the monsters of Prosser Wood, and saved by the Blades. It was a collection of modified humans houses from the time of Rhest and new built Halfling burrows, overlooked by the burnt out shell of a tower. As they rode through, they saw that the insular nature did not mean the Halflings were ignorant of goings on in the wider world. Bales of hay were being set up to provide cover, and the locals all went about with slings of crude javelins. Xerxes and Sol dismounted, walking over to one of the locals who was resting against a human built wall.</p><p></p><p>“Ayp, bigg’n?” said the stocky Halfling, sandy haired with a face worn and lined from hours in the sun. The thick accent took Xerxes a moment to decipher, so Sol answered.</p><p></p><p>“What’s going on that’s made everyone so afraid?”</p><p></p><p>“You no ‘ear? Gobber be comin’ outta th’ mounts, ‘n’ our town be in th’ way.”</p><p></p><p>Xerxes nodded “We have found they plan to enslave you.”</p><p></p><p>Sol, a bit shocked by his friend’s abruptness, added “There’s not much comfort to offer, but maybe you could head to Brindol. They’ve got walls there. Could make a stand.”</p><p></p><p>“Thar’s no shock in tha’. Jus’ us much they plan t’ ate us’n. An’ we can’t be goin’. This ‘ere be our ‘omes. We ain’t got nothin’ else.”</p><p></p><p>“So what’s your plan then?” Sol was trying not to sound desperate. The little burrows of the Halflings, protected by bales of hay, wouldn’t last a day against even a squad of hobgoblins foot-troops.</p><p></p><p>“’Idin’ most. We’re no’ so close t’ Brin’ol tha’ many’ll come. May’ap we c’n give ‘em ‘ard time. In’eges’ion like. Doubt the bigg’uns o’ Brindol’ll ‘ave time fer us’n anyway.”</p><p></p><p>“I think Brindol will take anyone who stands with them. It’s going to be a hard thing against the Hand as it stands, without turning away help.”</p><p></p><p>“Oi see’s what yer sayin’. Mayhap you should ‘ave words wi’ th’ elders,” Brund nodded up at the tower, “they be up there, in th’ cellar. ‘S a good place fer war plannin’, spirits in th’ keep are frien’lier to such than those o’ th’ farm” He sucked on his lower lip, thinking. “Oi tell you wot, why don’t you let me put you up in m’ barn? There’s nowhere else’ll fit you in town. Look af’er yer ‘orses too.”</p><p></p><p>“My thanks, master Brund. We shall take you up on that offer,” Xerxes bowed his head, “and we will also seek out your elders. It won’t be safe for your people here, and if your elders can make it so you go to Brindol, then I shall be happy. ”</p><p></p><p>“Thanks fer yer words, sir. It of’en be tha’ the big’ll forget th’ small.”</p><p></p><p>“The stature of the soul never thinks of that of the body.”</p><p></p><p>Brund bowed and wondered off, leading the two horses as he did. Xerxes and Sol followed the old cobbled road, shot through with weeds and grass, up the hill, to the ruin. As they walked, Halflings looked up at them, but none barred their progress. For all Brund’s talk of making a stand, the Halflings looked resigned to defeat. Xerxes also noticed that there were no children, or elderly about. They reached the old keep, three walls all that was left of the fortification, the ground scorched black. There were no guards posted, and the two descended down an ancient ladder into the once wine cellar of the keep.</p><p></p><p>Barrels served as seating and fuel for light down in the earth, broken and rebuilt as crude tabling. Just near enough the ladder to benefit from the waning daylight, three wizened Halflings pored over a crudely sketched map of Dauth village, whispering amongst themselves. Just off to the side, a younger Halfling woman in a green cloak with an aged sword strapped to her waist, waited. It seemed the elders had just received a report from her.</p><p></p><p>“Greetings, elders of Dauth. I am Xerxes of the North, scholar and adventurer. My friend is Sol, a warrior hardened in the pits of Srax. We come to speak with you of the threat of the Red Hand.”</p><p></p><p>“Ayup,” one of the Halflings, a wrinkled man with a slight stoop, regarded the pair with tired brown eyes “I be Doug, this be Cam” a younger – though still old – Halfling, shorter and stocky, “Th’ ladies are Rose,” a plump, large-nosed woman, “and this be m’ daugh’er, This’le,” the young woman standing outside the group. “We‘re jus’ talkin’ ‘bout the gobbers as it ‘appens.”</p><p></p><p>“’Ow many of you are there? Who can fight?” Sol towered above the gathering. With his thick, scarred arms across his broad chest, he cast a long broad, shadow, ominously covering the map of Dauth.</p><p></p><p>“Count is ‘alf the adults’ve stuck ‘ere to keep Dauth ours. Others are off.” Thistle answered, stepping around the half-Orc as she did. “We’re keepin’ ‘em safe, and ne’er you mind where.” Sol grunted in response, whether satisfied or irritated it was hard to tell.</p><p></p><p>Xerxes took the lead. “I am here to convince you to head for the safety and high walls of Brindol. I can well understand the desire to remain by your homes, but if you do then you throw away your lives. Bricks can be relaid, houses rebuilt. Lives are not so easily replaced.” </p><p></p><p>“It be biggun’s trouble,” cursed Cam, “biggun trouble causin’ harm fer us folk. Las’ place we need to go be a biggun town.” He stamped his foot. “My kin ‘ave worked this land goin’ back ten mothers, all while biggun lords and kings was ‘aving their wars and killin’s, an’ look where it got ‘em? Nay, the folk go unnoticed by bigguns, an’ tha’s th’ best.”</p><p></p><p>“See here,” Xerxes strode forward, rolling out the map that had been reclaimed from Vraath Keep, placing it across the little Dauth parchment. He traced a gloved finger across the path of the Horde, marking where it split, where it rejoined, “the Red Hand has plans to sweep across the Vale, in numbers. Only in Brindol, with her stout stone and strong arms can a stand be made. This Hand is reaching out, trying to crush the rose of Elsir. Only one strong thorn will pierce it, turn the Hand away.”</p><p></p><p>“The Horde’s comin’ here,” Sol’s voice was quiet, soft. “who’ll stand up for you out here? Who’ve you got to defend you?” Xerxes knew his friend’s quietness was born of anger, anger and fear from an old hurt.</p><p></p><p>“Me an’ a few other striders, we keep an eye on the wild things, keep hurt away from town,” Thistle fingered the well-worn hem of her cloak “We’re not strong warriors like you’n, maybe, an’ we’ll not be saying otherwise,” her eyes flicked to the gathered elders, “but those that’re ‘ere aren’t aimin’ to be moved offa their land. I just come back from Talar, two days back, watched as the Horde burned it down. I don’ wan’ tha’ ‘appenin’ ‘ere.”</p><p></p><p>“Good folk, I am not trying to tell you how to go about your business, how to govern your village. But I can see no way for Dauth to stand on it’s own. You must leave for Brindol, the sooner the better.”</p><p></p><p>“What o’ Pross’r?” spoke up Rose, knitting her doughy hands together, “we o’ Dauth know the Six, know an’ trust ‘em. Times were bad, an’ the Six ‘elped Dauth as much as they ‘elped Pross’r.”</p><p></p><p>“We gave the Six the same council as we have given you. Leave for Brindol. Stand together with Lord Jaarmath.”</p><p></p><p>“We’ll… we’ll give it some thought. We’ll def’nately ‘ead Pross’r way,” Doug’s voice was the deciding one on the council it seemed. Sol and Xerxes said their goodbyes, and went to seek out Brund’s barn for the night.</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Pedestrian, post: 3854383, member: 40208"] Dauth was their next stop. They went along the new road, west out of Prosser, through what was once the heart of Prosser wood. Xerxes felt watched, dim eyes held back by layers only as thick as gauze. The wildness of this place had been beaten back, destroyed, but the ghost of it eked on in a place beyond this. Old dark trees lined the path, solemn trunked and stoic in the face of their eventual demise. Strange, how awareness of other places added to his perception of his own. Much like Prosser, Dauth had been terrorised by the monsters of Prosser Wood, and saved by the Blades. It was a collection of modified humans houses from the time of Rhest and new built Halfling burrows, overlooked by the burnt out shell of a tower. As they rode through, they saw that the insular nature did not mean the Halflings were ignorant of goings on in the wider world. Bales of hay were being set up to provide cover, and the locals all went about with slings of crude javelins. Xerxes and Sol dismounted, walking over to one of the locals who was resting against a human built wall. “Ayp, bigg’n?” said the stocky Halfling, sandy haired with a face worn and lined from hours in the sun. The thick accent took Xerxes a moment to decipher, so Sol answered. “What’s going on that’s made everyone so afraid?” “You no ‘ear? Gobber be comin’ outta th’ mounts, ‘n’ our town be in th’ way.” Xerxes nodded “We have found they plan to enslave you.” Sol, a bit shocked by his friend’s abruptness, added “There’s not much comfort to offer, but maybe you could head to Brindol. They’ve got walls there. Could make a stand.” “Thar’s no shock in tha’. Jus’ us much they plan t’ ate us’n. An’ we can’t be goin’. This ‘ere be our ‘omes. We ain’t got nothin’ else.” “So what’s your plan then?” Sol was trying not to sound desperate. The little burrows of the Halflings, protected by bales of hay, wouldn’t last a day against even a squad of hobgoblins foot-troops. “’Idin’ most. We’re no’ so close t’ Brin’ol tha’ many’ll come. May’ap we c’n give ‘em ‘ard time. In’eges’ion like. Doubt the bigg’uns o’ Brindol’ll ‘ave time fer us’n anyway.” “I think Brindol will take anyone who stands with them. It’s going to be a hard thing against the Hand as it stands, without turning away help.” “Oi see’s what yer sayin’. Mayhap you should ‘ave words wi’ th’ elders,” Brund nodded up at the tower, “they be up there, in th’ cellar. ‘S a good place fer war plannin’, spirits in th’ keep are frien’lier to such than those o’ th’ farm” He sucked on his lower lip, thinking. “Oi tell you wot, why don’t you let me put you up in m’ barn? There’s nowhere else’ll fit you in town. Look af’er yer ‘orses too.” “My thanks, master Brund. We shall take you up on that offer,” Xerxes bowed his head, “and we will also seek out your elders. It won’t be safe for your people here, and if your elders can make it so you go to Brindol, then I shall be happy. ” “Thanks fer yer words, sir. It of’en be tha’ the big’ll forget th’ small.” “The stature of the soul never thinks of that of the body.” Brund bowed and wondered off, leading the two horses as he did. Xerxes and Sol followed the old cobbled road, shot through with weeds and grass, up the hill, to the ruin. As they walked, Halflings looked up at them, but none barred their progress. For all Brund’s talk of making a stand, the Halflings looked resigned to defeat. Xerxes also noticed that there were no children, or elderly about. They reached the old keep, three walls all that was left of the fortification, the ground scorched black. There were no guards posted, and the two descended down an ancient ladder into the once wine cellar of the keep. Barrels served as seating and fuel for light down in the earth, broken and rebuilt as crude tabling. Just near enough the ladder to benefit from the waning daylight, three wizened Halflings pored over a crudely sketched map of Dauth village, whispering amongst themselves. Just off to the side, a younger Halfling woman in a green cloak with an aged sword strapped to her waist, waited. It seemed the elders had just received a report from her. “Greetings, elders of Dauth. I am Xerxes of the North, scholar and adventurer. My friend is Sol, a warrior hardened in the pits of Srax. We come to speak with you of the threat of the Red Hand.” “Ayup,” one of the Halflings, a wrinkled man with a slight stoop, regarded the pair with tired brown eyes “I be Doug, this be Cam” a younger – though still old – Halfling, shorter and stocky, “Th’ ladies are Rose,” a plump, large-nosed woman, “and this be m’ daugh’er, This’le,” the young woman standing outside the group. “We‘re jus’ talkin’ ‘bout the gobbers as it ‘appens.” “’Ow many of you are there? Who can fight?” Sol towered above the gathering. With his thick, scarred arms across his broad chest, he cast a long broad, shadow, ominously covering the map of Dauth. “Count is ‘alf the adults’ve stuck ‘ere to keep Dauth ours. Others are off.” Thistle answered, stepping around the half-Orc as she did. “We’re keepin’ ‘em safe, and ne’er you mind where.” Sol grunted in response, whether satisfied or irritated it was hard to tell. Xerxes took the lead. “I am here to convince you to head for the safety and high walls of Brindol. I can well understand the desire to remain by your homes, but if you do then you throw away your lives. Bricks can be relaid, houses rebuilt. Lives are not so easily replaced.” “It be biggun’s trouble,” cursed Cam, “biggun trouble causin’ harm fer us folk. Las’ place we need to go be a biggun town.” He stamped his foot. “My kin ‘ave worked this land goin’ back ten mothers, all while biggun lords and kings was ‘aving their wars and killin’s, an’ look where it got ‘em? Nay, the folk go unnoticed by bigguns, an’ tha’s th’ best.” “See here,” Xerxes strode forward, rolling out the map that had been reclaimed from Vraath Keep, placing it across the little Dauth parchment. He traced a gloved finger across the path of the Horde, marking where it split, where it rejoined, “the Red Hand has plans to sweep across the Vale, in numbers. Only in Brindol, with her stout stone and strong arms can a stand be made. This Hand is reaching out, trying to crush the rose of Elsir. Only one strong thorn will pierce it, turn the Hand away.” “The Horde’s comin’ here,” Sol’s voice was quiet, soft. “who’ll stand up for you out here? Who’ve you got to defend you?” Xerxes knew his friend’s quietness was born of anger, anger and fear from an old hurt. “Me an’ a few other striders, we keep an eye on the wild things, keep hurt away from town,” Thistle fingered the well-worn hem of her cloak “We’re not strong warriors like you’n, maybe, an’ we’ll not be saying otherwise,” her eyes flicked to the gathered elders, “but those that’re ‘ere aren’t aimin’ to be moved offa their land. I just come back from Talar, two days back, watched as the Horde burned it down. I don’ wan’ tha’ ‘appenin’ ‘ere.” “Good folk, I am not trying to tell you how to go about your business, how to govern your village. But I can see no way for Dauth to stand on it’s own. You must leave for Brindol, the sooner the better.” “What o’ Pross’r?” spoke up Rose, knitting her doughy hands together, “we o’ Dauth know the Six, know an’ trust ‘em. Times were bad, an’ the Six ‘elped Dauth as much as they ‘elped Pross’r.” “We gave the Six the same council as we have given you. Leave for Brindol. Stand together with Lord Jaarmath.” “We’ll… we’ll give it some thought. We’ll def’nately ‘ead Pross’r way,” Doug’s voice was the deciding one on the council it seemed. Sol and Xerxes said their goodbyes, and went to seek out Brund’s barn for the night. [/QUOTE]
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