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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: 3854384" data-attributes="member: 40208"><p>Sleep was not peaceful. The still summer air of the Vale always carried the smell of woodsmoke, and the hint of burning meat. Across the starlit night, howls of goblins and their worgs echoed, sometimes close, other times far. Despite the solid wooden walls and sturdy door of the barn, the pair kept a watch through the short night.</p><p></p><p>Up with the dawn, they decided not to stay to see if the Dauth people left that day. Leaving a small pouch of coin as thanks for Brund’s hospitality, the two mounted their horses and rode off. Brund had taken good care of their mounts, feeding and grooming them himself. The pair also found their packs plumped with sausage and bread, their skins filled with water. Though artifice of the northlands meant they were always provisioned, the kindness was much appreciated.</p><p></p><p>The two had agreed to move with all haste to the Holds, pressing their horses in the hopes that fresh mounts could be gotten from the dwarves. As such, they made good time, passing from the scrub and light trees of the Vale to the first rolling foothills of the Wyvernwatches. As evening crept on, the lights of the first of the Holds became visible. Still, a grim reminder was behind them, at their back, distant over many miles could be seen a column of smoke. A town aflame.</p><p></p><p>A bolt rang out from the darkness, sticking into the hard earth of the hills. “Who goes?” cried a voice from the hills in heavily accented Argyle, the unmistakable lilting tongue of a continental dwarf. There was a brief, heated exchange.</p><p></p><p>“Who’s there?”</p><p></p><p>“I’ve sixteen crossbows on you, greenskin. If you value your neck, you’ll answer.”</p><p></p><p>“Greenskin!? You talk to ‘em Xerx, I’m not dealing with savages.”</p><p></p><p>“We are the warriors who defended Drellin’s Ferry, seeking help for the Vale against the Red Hand. We care not for your aggression, though we understand it in this time. Come forth so we may make proper introductions.”</p><p></p><p>“Cloth-brained low-landers. Names, give me your names!”</p><p></p><p>“My name’s Sol, and this is Xerxes. And you have no idea where we’re from!”</p><p></p><p>“Now you know us, tell us yours.”</p><p></p><p>Finally, a short, stock figure crept forth from the darkness. “You’ve a tongue on you, Sol Greenskin.” He was dressed in grey leather, with the short beard of a young dwarf. Casually, he held an unloaded crossbow and at his belt he wore an axe and a long knife. He was nutty skinned, and dark toned, with dark blue eyes. “And my name is Bors, son of Bors, of the Hammerfist Holds. I do not know your names, but I can see you are not goblin, nor friend to their kind. What brings you so far in this bad time, away from the security of Brindol?”</p><p></p><p>“Hammerfist, eh? We’re lookin’ for a captain Helmbreaker.”</p><p></p><p>“Never heard of him.”</p><p></p><p>“Are you sure, Bors? An Ervath Helmbreaker, captain of the Shining Axes. We have taken up a duty on behalf of the Lord of Brindol, to secure his warriors in the defence of the city. We discovered the couriers for the message murdered on the road. After avenging them against their slayers, we took up the message… and the money.”</p><p></p><p>“Ah, well now,” Bors’ brow furrowed, and he looked from Xerxes to Sol and back again, “Well now, maybe I was a little hasty. There is a Helmbreaker around these parts, though I don’t know why you would be looking for him. He’s not much more than a babysitter these days. Still, I can show you to him. Provided you tie off your weapons.”</p><p></p><p>The pair agreed and, as soon as spear and axe were stowed, Bors lead the way. Along through the hills for an hour, away from the lights and sounds of the hold they went. Bors shushed their questions as the settlement faded away behind them. Finally, the path they followed sloped down and broadened into a flat clearing before a tall cliff. Here was the camp of the Shining Axes. Yet here and there could be seen small people, tiny children and stooped elders, obviously not dwarfs.</p><p></p><p>“So this is where the other Halflings went,” whispered Sol. Xerxes nodded in quiet reply. They reached a larger fire, where a lone dwarf sat. He was bearish, tall for his kind, massive and hairy. He wore dull grey plate of adamant, his face hidden behind long silver hair and beard. As Bors approached, he peered at the party through tired old eyes, sorrowful as stone that had witnessed the passing of an age.</p><p></p><p>“Captain Helmbreaker, I bring you Sol Greenskin and Xerxes of the Low-lands, champions of the Ferrry. I found them stumbling towards the holds. They say they have business with you.” The old dwarf nodded, his gaze intent on the flame.</p><p></p><p>“We found a letter, with some soldiers. It was meant for you, to buy help for Brindol against the Red Hand.” Sol stepped forward, thought better of it. “Xerxes, give him the letter.”</p><p></p><p>“In times past, things were not so,” the dwarf muttered as he read over the letter. He crumbled the page, threw it into the fire with a casual flick “Bors, see to it this coin is set to provisioning the company. The Axes march at dawn.” He stood, brushing his hands off on his long beard “I do not know you strangers, nor your names, nor what deeds you have or what lies before you, but I know that you hold to the honour of times past. You took up the duty of a fallen warrior, and ensured that mine could know to do theirs, that the time is upon us. Sol and Xerxes, now I know your names. I will know them, and mark them as names of honour.” Helmbreaker stretched, his thick bones crackling like shifting earth “You may share camp with the Axes this night, and we will see to it you have fresh mounts for the morrow. Now I must prepare my men.”</p><p></p><p>He began a deep rumble them, a chant in the back of this throat as he moved off. As he passed each of his warriors, they took up the chant, a hymn in praise to Moradin, a reminder of honour, and the doom set forth for each. Sol and Xerxes found a place to bed down and slept.</p><p></p><p>The dwarfs provided tough mountain ponies in place of their mounts, rugged grey haired beasts that, while not as fleet as the horses, were much suited to their path. The first day, they travelled along the passes of the Wyverwatches, the newly built dwarf-roads offering speedy travel. Then came the Thornwaste.</p><p></p><p>Mile upon mile of hardened brown earth, ever parched land growing drier under the unforgiving summer sun, clogged by greedy brambles grown to monstrous size. Here, they were forced to stretch out every drop, and even with the powers Xerxes commanded they slept through the worst heat of the first day. Creatures slithered and crept throughout the waste, monsters grown accustom to the clawed grip of the Ghostlord. The pendant of the lich, away from its master so long, seemed to throb in profane anticipation as they drew closer.</p><p></p><p>Yet their map proved true, and after two days of hard trek, the Thorns parted, opening into a basin. The lion crypt of the Ghostlord waited below.</p><p></p><p>“Let’s get to it then.” Sol was matter-of-fact, axe in hand, as they began their descent.</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Pedestrian, post: 3854384, member: 40208"] Sleep was not peaceful. The still summer air of the Vale always carried the smell of woodsmoke, and the hint of burning meat. Across the starlit night, howls of goblins and their worgs echoed, sometimes close, other times far. Despite the solid wooden walls and sturdy door of the barn, the pair kept a watch through the short night. Up with the dawn, they decided not to stay to see if the Dauth people left that day. Leaving a small pouch of coin as thanks for Brund’s hospitality, the two mounted their horses and rode off. Brund had taken good care of their mounts, feeding and grooming them himself. The pair also found their packs plumped with sausage and bread, their skins filled with water. Though artifice of the northlands meant they were always provisioned, the kindness was much appreciated. The two had agreed to move with all haste to the Holds, pressing their horses in the hopes that fresh mounts could be gotten from the dwarves. As such, they made good time, passing from the scrub and light trees of the Vale to the first rolling foothills of the Wyvernwatches. As evening crept on, the lights of the first of the Holds became visible. Still, a grim reminder was behind them, at their back, distant over many miles could be seen a column of smoke. A town aflame. A bolt rang out from the darkness, sticking into the hard earth of the hills. “Who goes?” cried a voice from the hills in heavily accented Argyle, the unmistakable lilting tongue of a continental dwarf. There was a brief, heated exchange. “Who’s there?” “I’ve sixteen crossbows on you, greenskin. If you value your neck, you’ll answer.” “Greenskin!? You talk to ‘em Xerx, I’m not dealing with savages.” “We are the warriors who defended Drellin’s Ferry, seeking help for the Vale against the Red Hand. We care not for your aggression, though we understand it in this time. Come forth so we may make proper introductions.” “Cloth-brained low-landers. Names, give me your names!” “My name’s Sol, and this is Xerxes. And you have no idea where we’re from!” “Now you know us, tell us yours.” Finally, a short, stock figure crept forth from the darkness. “You’ve a tongue on you, Sol Greenskin.” He was dressed in grey leather, with the short beard of a young dwarf. Casually, he held an unloaded crossbow and at his belt he wore an axe and a long knife. He was nutty skinned, and dark toned, with dark blue eyes. “And my name is Bors, son of Bors, of the Hammerfist Holds. I do not know your names, but I can see you are not goblin, nor friend to their kind. What brings you so far in this bad time, away from the security of Brindol?” “Hammerfist, eh? We’re lookin’ for a captain Helmbreaker.” “Never heard of him.” “Are you sure, Bors? An Ervath Helmbreaker, captain of the Shining Axes. We have taken up a duty on behalf of the Lord of Brindol, to secure his warriors in the defence of the city. We discovered the couriers for the message murdered on the road. After avenging them against their slayers, we took up the message… and the money.” “Ah, well now,” Bors’ brow furrowed, and he looked from Xerxes to Sol and back again, “Well now, maybe I was a little hasty. There is a Helmbreaker around these parts, though I don’t know why you would be looking for him. He’s not much more than a babysitter these days. Still, I can show you to him. Provided you tie off your weapons.” The pair agreed and, as soon as spear and axe were stowed, Bors lead the way. Along through the hills for an hour, away from the lights and sounds of the hold they went. Bors shushed their questions as the settlement faded away behind them. Finally, the path they followed sloped down and broadened into a flat clearing before a tall cliff. Here was the camp of the Shining Axes. Yet here and there could be seen small people, tiny children and stooped elders, obviously not dwarfs. “So this is where the other Halflings went,” whispered Sol. Xerxes nodded in quiet reply. They reached a larger fire, where a lone dwarf sat. He was bearish, tall for his kind, massive and hairy. He wore dull grey plate of adamant, his face hidden behind long silver hair and beard. As Bors approached, he peered at the party through tired old eyes, sorrowful as stone that had witnessed the passing of an age. “Captain Helmbreaker, I bring you Sol Greenskin and Xerxes of the Low-lands, champions of the Ferrry. I found them stumbling towards the holds. They say they have business with you.” The old dwarf nodded, his gaze intent on the flame. “We found a letter, with some soldiers. It was meant for you, to buy help for Brindol against the Red Hand.” Sol stepped forward, thought better of it. “Xerxes, give him the letter.” “In times past, things were not so,” the dwarf muttered as he read over the letter. He crumbled the page, threw it into the fire with a casual flick “Bors, see to it this coin is set to provisioning the company. The Axes march at dawn.” He stood, brushing his hands off on his long beard “I do not know you strangers, nor your names, nor what deeds you have or what lies before you, but I know that you hold to the honour of times past. You took up the duty of a fallen warrior, and ensured that mine could know to do theirs, that the time is upon us. Sol and Xerxes, now I know your names. I will know them, and mark them as names of honour.” Helmbreaker stretched, his thick bones crackling like shifting earth “You may share camp with the Axes this night, and we will see to it you have fresh mounts for the morrow. Now I must prepare my men.” He began a deep rumble them, a chant in the back of this throat as he moved off. As he passed each of his warriors, they took up the chant, a hymn in praise to Moradin, a reminder of honour, and the doom set forth for each. Sol and Xerxes found a place to bed down and slept. The dwarfs provided tough mountain ponies in place of their mounts, rugged grey haired beasts that, while not as fleet as the horses, were much suited to their path. The first day, they travelled along the passes of the Wyverwatches, the newly built dwarf-roads offering speedy travel. Then came the Thornwaste. Mile upon mile of hardened brown earth, ever parched land growing drier under the unforgiving summer sun, clogged by greedy brambles grown to monstrous size. Here, they were forced to stretch out every drop, and even with the powers Xerxes commanded they slept through the worst heat of the first day. Creatures slithered and crept throughout the waste, monsters grown accustom to the clawed grip of the Ghostlord. The pendant of the lich, away from its master so long, seemed to throb in profane anticipation as they drew closer. Yet their map proved true, and after two days of hard trek, the Thorns parted, opening into a basin. The lion crypt of the Ghostlord waited below. “Let’s get to it then.” Sol was matter-of-fact, axe in hand, as they began their descent. [/QUOTE]
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The Red Hand of Doom - Completed 8 February 2008: Against Tiamat and Epilogue
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