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Travels through the Wild West: a Forgotten Realms Story
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<blockquote data-quote="Lazybones" data-source="post: 1385" data-attributes="member: 143"><p>Part 6</p><p></p><p>By the time that the sun rose on another blustery autumn day in the Western Heartlands, the small company of vigilantes from Danderion had already traveled miles out into the wild countryside. The farms that supported the village, huddled close around the community against the dangers of the wilds, had already fallen behind them, leaving only wide open plains for as far as they could see. Down the track toward Elturel were more farming communities and more settled lands, but that was not the direction that they would be ultimately headed. </p><p></p><p>The force that Sheriff Telwarden had assembled looked tough and determined, for all that it had been so hastily cobbled together, and was relatively few in numbers. The sheriff rode at the front, in the company of a tracker named Cullan, a grizzled old veteran draped in a cloak that was obviously magical, the way it tended to blend into his surroundings and blur the outlines of his figure as he rode. In addition to the six men-at-arms raised from the merchant caravan, he had another half-dozen locals, determined members of the town militia who wore leather armor and who carried small but powerful bows at the ready. And then there were the four companions, riding in the rear of the column.</p><p></p><p>The posse was mounted on the best horses the village could provide on short notice, and they ate up the miles as the pre-dawn gave way to a sunny but cold morning. The weather looked to hold for the moment, but there were some ominous looking clouds to the north and west that each of the companions hoped would blow past them without bringing rain. </p><p></p><p>They reached the site of the ambush an hour after sunrise. There wasn’t much left, only the burned-out shell of a wagon, the dead body of a horse punctured by crossbow bolts, some tattered bits of cloth fluttering from the surrounding brush, and a faint stink of decay that hovered in the wind before disappearing. A search quickly uncovered a pile of bodies that had been dragged into the thick bushes along the trail. Five men lay there in a bloody heap, what was left of their clothing still showing the symbol of House Ilgarten, a stylized griffon with a sword clutched in one claw and a coin in the other. They had been killed by crossbow bolts or by deep gashes probably caused by an axe or heavy sword, and looked to have been hastily but thoroughly looted by the attackers. There were no signs of the raiders; if any had fallen in the brief assault, their bodies must have been claimed when they retreated with their loot and hostages. After a hurried burial, the posse set out after the bandits. </p><p></p><p>It wasn’t hard to follow their trail. The tracks of several wagons headed away to the southwest; clearly the raiders did not seem particularly concerned about concealing their tracks. At least it would make them easy to track, and it would make them slow moving and easier to catch. By the looks that were exchanged by some of the pursuers, they weren’t particularly eager for that prospect.</p><p></p><p>“I’ve got a bad feeling about this,” Benzan said, as sun approached its zenith and they passed into a region of gently rolling low hills. “I’ve never known bandits to be this… obvious. Something’s not right.”</p><p></p><p>“It’ll be all right,” Cal said, although it was clear that he was a little nervous as well. The gnome had started the morning telling a few tales of famous adventurers and songs of noble deeds, but after what they’d seen at the ambush site, none of the company seemed much interested in songs. Beside him, Lok seemed uncomfortable in the saddle of his borrowed horse, and the beast seemed equally unhappy with the arrangement. </p><p></p><p>“Those men… they were just slaughtered,” Delem said. </p><p></p><p>“Yeah, well, this whole region is chock full of things like hobgoblins—and worse—that’d just as soon kill you as say hello, so keep your eyes open, and those spells of yours ready,” Benzan snapped. At the outburst, Delem subsided again into subdued silence. </p><p></p><p>The hard pace that Telwarden set ate up the miles, even as the terrain grew more forbidding. The hills were too low to be a real obstacle, but the dells in between them were increasingly choked with tangled growth, much of it brown and dead and as tough as thick rope. The wagons stolen by the raiders had to some degree blazed a path, though, and as they pressed on, they encountered more signs of their quarry. Cullan pointed out a boot print here, a broken and discarded harness there, and other signs that most of them would otherwise have missed. The bandits seemed to have set a rapid pace as well. After a few hours of hard riding they came to an abandoned wagon, one of its wheels shattered where it had gotten caught in a gouge between two rocks. The tracks continued toward the southwest. </p><p></p><p>As the day deepened into afternoon the posse began to show the results of Telwarden’s hard pace. The village had not been able to spare the luxury of extra mounts, so their horses were flagging and they had to increasingly walk the beasts to spare their strength. A few miles beyond where they had encountered the wagon, Telwarden called a halt beside a slightly taller hill whose crest rose up perhaps a hundred feet above their current position. The men-at-arms and villagers immediately started tending to their mounts or taking cold rations out of their saddlebags; a few just plopped down on the hard ground, taking advantage of even a few minutes of rest. </p><p></p><p>Telwarden, however, handed the reins of his horse to one of the village militamen, and with Cullan close behind started up the hill. After only a momentary pause to secure their mounts where they could forage amidst some of the scrub grass, the four companions headed after him.</p><p> </p><p>“We’ve covered a lot of ground today,” Cal said as they ascended. “We must be nearing the river.”</p><p></p><p>His words were borne out when the neared the crest, and could see the River Chionthar below them, winding its long route between Elturel and the trading cities further inland, and Baldur’s Gate and the Sea of Swords. They were closer than they thought; perhaps a mile further separated them from the near bank of the river. </p><p></p><p>Taking Telwarden’s example, the companions stayed low and within the cover provided by the scrub-shrouded boulders that topped the hill, so as not to provide a silhouette that the raiders—or other threats—could see easily. </p><p></p><p>“Are there any fords near here?” Telwarden was asking Cullan as they approached.</p><p></p><p>“None within three day’s ride, sheriff,” the old tracker responded. </p><p></p><p>“Well, they got across somehow, so we will too,” Telwarden muttered under his breath.</p><p></p><p>“We might want to think about setting up camp soon,” Benzan offered. When Telwarden fixed his hard eyes on the warrior, Benzan continued, “You might want to remember that hobgoblins can see in the dark, and you and your men can’t.” He didn’t add that his own mixed heritage gave him that gift as well. </p><p></p><p>Telwarden’s expression softened only slightly as he recognized the truth in Benzan’s words. He turned to head back down the hill, but suddenly Cal said, “Do you smell smoke?”</p><p></p><p>Everyone turned their attention back to the southwest, where the trail they were following had wound steadily all day. There was only the faintest hint of a breeze from that direction, but no sign of smoke across the horizon. </p><p> </p><p>“I don’t see or smell anything,” Cullan admitted. </p><p></p><p>“I’d trust his gnomish nose, if I were you,” Benzan offered. He leaned forward, using a boulder to support his weight, staring out into the growing shadows across the hills ahead as if that little extra distance could help him penetrate what was hidden amidst the ups and downs of the terrain. “They might be bandits, but they aren’t stupid. If they have an encampment around here, it would be hidden, and they wouldn’t let any smoke be visible, either.”</p><p></p><p>“All right,” Telwarden said decisively. He turned and quickly made his way back down the hill, the others hurrying to catch up. The men were already readying to ride out again, sensing the renewed determination in the manner of their leader. </p><p></p><p>“Any sign of them?” one of the militiamen asked.</p><p></p><p>“No, but we’re nearing the river,” Telwarden told them. “The gnome thought he smelled smoke, so they might have an encampment nearby, on this side or the far bank. Keep your eyes open for anything.” They didn’t really need the warning; all of them were on edge. </p><p></p><p>It didn’t take them long to reach the near bank of the river, but by that time the sun was nearly touching the horizon to the west. The river wasn’t especially wide at this point, nor was the current particularly rapid, but it would be a difficult crossing with their mounts and equipment. The trail of the wagons led right down to the water’s edge and then disappeared. Sheltered within a copse of trees and thick bushes a short distance back from the riverbank, the company debated their next course. </p><p></p><p>“What happened to those wagons?”</p><p></p><p>“Maybe the raiders ’re in league with river pirates, smugglers from Baldur’s Gate…”</p><p></p><p>“Maybe them’s ghosts, and just floated across.”</p><p></p><p>“Shut yer yap-hole, you stupid—”</p><p></p><p>“It’s gettin’ late, and them horses aren’t gonna be goin’ much further, the way soldier-boy keeps drivin’ us…”</p><p></p><p>“Quiet—he was a Hellrider, you know…”</p><p></p><p>“All right,” Telwarden’s muted but potent voice cut through the chatter. “We’ll camp on this side of the river tonight, and make the crossing in the morning. Set up camp, but keep it out of sight of the track and the river. Cullan, help set up a picket line—”</p><p></p><p>“There, don’t you smell that?” Cal said again. The breeze had picked up in a sudden gust, and suddenly they all <em>could</em> sense it, a faint but discernable tang of woodsmoke that hung in the air. It came from the direction of the river.</p><p></p><p>“They must have a campsite hidden on the far bank,” Telwarden said. “Maybe those bandits aren’t as clever as you give them credit for, warrior,” he said to Benzan. </p><p></p><p>“Or maybe they’re waiting for us, with an ambush ready,” the tiefling retorted. “Or maybe they’re traveling at night, and are getting ready to break camp.”</p><p></p><p>“Well then, since you seem to understand these raiders so well, what course do you suggest, outlander?”</p><p> </p><p>Benzan hesitated, as the attention of everyone turned squarely upon him. He glanced once at his new companions, and then at the river a short distance away, as if measuring something in his mind. Finally, he sighed. </p><p></p><p>“I guess I’ll have to swim over there and see what they’re up to,” he said.</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Lazybones, post: 1385, member: 143"] Part 6 By the time that the sun rose on another blustery autumn day in the Western Heartlands, the small company of vigilantes from Danderion had already traveled miles out into the wild countryside. The farms that supported the village, huddled close around the community against the dangers of the wilds, had already fallen behind them, leaving only wide open plains for as far as they could see. Down the track toward Elturel were more farming communities and more settled lands, but that was not the direction that they would be ultimately headed. The force that Sheriff Telwarden had assembled looked tough and determined, for all that it had been so hastily cobbled together, and was relatively few in numbers. The sheriff rode at the front, in the company of a tracker named Cullan, a grizzled old veteran draped in a cloak that was obviously magical, the way it tended to blend into his surroundings and blur the outlines of his figure as he rode. In addition to the six men-at-arms raised from the merchant caravan, he had another half-dozen locals, determined members of the town militia who wore leather armor and who carried small but powerful bows at the ready. And then there were the four companions, riding in the rear of the column. The posse was mounted on the best horses the village could provide on short notice, and they ate up the miles as the pre-dawn gave way to a sunny but cold morning. The weather looked to hold for the moment, but there were some ominous looking clouds to the north and west that each of the companions hoped would blow past them without bringing rain. They reached the site of the ambush an hour after sunrise. There wasn’t much left, only the burned-out shell of a wagon, the dead body of a horse punctured by crossbow bolts, some tattered bits of cloth fluttering from the surrounding brush, and a faint stink of decay that hovered in the wind before disappearing. A search quickly uncovered a pile of bodies that had been dragged into the thick bushes along the trail. Five men lay there in a bloody heap, what was left of their clothing still showing the symbol of House Ilgarten, a stylized griffon with a sword clutched in one claw and a coin in the other. They had been killed by crossbow bolts or by deep gashes probably caused by an axe or heavy sword, and looked to have been hastily but thoroughly looted by the attackers. There were no signs of the raiders; if any had fallen in the brief assault, their bodies must have been claimed when they retreated with their loot and hostages. After a hurried burial, the posse set out after the bandits. It wasn’t hard to follow their trail. The tracks of several wagons headed away to the southwest; clearly the raiders did not seem particularly concerned about concealing their tracks. At least it would make them easy to track, and it would make them slow moving and easier to catch. By the looks that were exchanged by some of the pursuers, they weren’t particularly eager for that prospect. “I’ve got a bad feeling about this,” Benzan said, as sun approached its zenith and they passed into a region of gently rolling low hills. “I’ve never known bandits to be this… obvious. Something’s not right.” “It’ll be all right,” Cal said, although it was clear that he was a little nervous as well. The gnome had started the morning telling a few tales of famous adventurers and songs of noble deeds, but after what they’d seen at the ambush site, none of the company seemed much interested in songs. Beside him, Lok seemed uncomfortable in the saddle of his borrowed horse, and the beast seemed equally unhappy with the arrangement. “Those men… they were just slaughtered,” Delem said. “Yeah, well, this whole region is chock full of things like hobgoblins—and worse—that’d just as soon kill you as say hello, so keep your eyes open, and those spells of yours ready,” Benzan snapped. At the outburst, Delem subsided again into subdued silence. The hard pace that Telwarden set ate up the miles, even as the terrain grew more forbidding. The hills were too low to be a real obstacle, but the dells in between them were increasingly choked with tangled growth, much of it brown and dead and as tough as thick rope. The wagons stolen by the raiders had to some degree blazed a path, though, and as they pressed on, they encountered more signs of their quarry. Cullan pointed out a boot print here, a broken and discarded harness there, and other signs that most of them would otherwise have missed. The bandits seemed to have set a rapid pace as well. After a few hours of hard riding they came to an abandoned wagon, one of its wheels shattered where it had gotten caught in a gouge between two rocks. The tracks continued toward the southwest. As the day deepened into afternoon the posse began to show the results of Telwarden’s hard pace. The village had not been able to spare the luxury of extra mounts, so their horses were flagging and they had to increasingly walk the beasts to spare their strength. A few miles beyond where they had encountered the wagon, Telwarden called a halt beside a slightly taller hill whose crest rose up perhaps a hundred feet above their current position. The men-at-arms and villagers immediately started tending to their mounts or taking cold rations out of their saddlebags; a few just plopped down on the hard ground, taking advantage of even a few minutes of rest. Telwarden, however, handed the reins of his horse to one of the village militamen, and with Cullan close behind started up the hill. After only a momentary pause to secure their mounts where they could forage amidst some of the scrub grass, the four companions headed after him. “We’ve covered a lot of ground today,” Cal said as they ascended. “We must be nearing the river.” His words were borne out when the neared the crest, and could see the River Chionthar below them, winding its long route between Elturel and the trading cities further inland, and Baldur’s Gate and the Sea of Swords. They were closer than they thought; perhaps a mile further separated them from the near bank of the river. Taking Telwarden’s example, the companions stayed low and within the cover provided by the scrub-shrouded boulders that topped the hill, so as not to provide a silhouette that the raiders—or other threats—could see easily. “Are there any fords near here?” Telwarden was asking Cullan as they approached. “None within three day’s ride, sheriff,” the old tracker responded. “Well, they got across somehow, so we will too,” Telwarden muttered under his breath. “We might want to think about setting up camp soon,” Benzan offered. When Telwarden fixed his hard eyes on the warrior, Benzan continued, “You might want to remember that hobgoblins can see in the dark, and you and your men can’t.” He didn’t add that his own mixed heritage gave him that gift as well. Telwarden’s expression softened only slightly as he recognized the truth in Benzan’s words. He turned to head back down the hill, but suddenly Cal said, “Do you smell smoke?” Everyone turned their attention back to the southwest, where the trail they were following had wound steadily all day. There was only the faintest hint of a breeze from that direction, but no sign of smoke across the horizon. “I don’t see or smell anything,” Cullan admitted. “I’d trust his gnomish nose, if I were you,” Benzan offered. He leaned forward, using a boulder to support his weight, staring out into the growing shadows across the hills ahead as if that little extra distance could help him penetrate what was hidden amidst the ups and downs of the terrain. “They might be bandits, but they aren’t stupid. If they have an encampment around here, it would be hidden, and they wouldn’t let any smoke be visible, either.” “All right,” Telwarden said decisively. He turned and quickly made his way back down the hill, the others hurrying to catch up. The men were already readying to ride out again, sensing the renewed determination in the manner of their leader. “Any sign of them?” one of the militiamen asked. “No, but we’re nearing the river,” Telwarden told them. “The gnome thought he smelled smoke, so they might have an encampment nearby, on this side or the far bank. Keep your eyes open for anything.” They didn’t really need the warning; all of them were on edge. It didn’t take them long to reach the near bank of the river, but by that time the sun was nearly touching the horizon to the west. The river wasn’t especially wide at this point, nor was the current particularly rapid, but it would be a difficult crossing with their mounts and equipment. The trail of the wagons led right down to the water’s edge and then disappeared. Sheltered within a copse of trees and thick bushes a short distance back from the riverbank, the company debated their next course. “What happened to those wagons?” “Maybe the raiders ’re in league with river pirates, smugglers from Baldur’s Gate…” “Maybe them’s ghosts, and just floated across.” “Shut yer yap-hole, you stupid—” “It’s gettin’ late, and them horses aren’t gonna be goin’ much further, the way soldier-boy keeps drivin’ us…” “Quiet—he was a Hellrider, you know…” “All right,” Telwarden’s muted but potent voice cut through the chatter. “We’ll camp on this side of the river tonight, and make the crossing in the morning. Set up camp, but keep it out of sight of the track and the river. Cullan, help set up a picket line—” “There, don’t you smell that?” Cal said again. The breeze had picked up in a sudden gust, and suddenly they all [I]could[/I] sense it, a faint but discernable tang of woodsmoke that hung in the air. It came from the direction of the river. “They must have a campsite hidden on the far bank,” Telwarden said. “Maybe those bandits aren’t as clever as you give them credit for, warrior,” he said to Benzan. “Or maybe they’re waiting for us, with an ambush ready,” the tiefling retorted. “Or maybe they’re traveling at night, and are getting ready to break camp.” “Well then, since you seem to understand these raiders so well, what course do you suggest, outlander?” Benzan hesitated, as the attention of everyone turned squarely upon him. He glanced once at his new companions, and then at the river a short distance away, as if measuring something in his mind. Finally, he sighed. “I guess I’ll have to swim over there and see what they’re up to,” he said. [/QUOTE]
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