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Travels through the Wild West: a Forgotten Realms Story
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<blockquote data-quote="Lazybones" data-source="post: 1389" data-attributes="member: 143"><p>Part 10</p><p></p><p>Cold rain fell in sheets across the country around the River Chionthar, driving the inhabitants of the region’s farms and villages indoors to share the warmth of fire, ale, and good conversation. Well, <em>most</em> of the region’s inhabitants, anyway…</p><p></p><p>The small company from Dunderion marched steadily southward through the rain. Ahead of them, the line of trees that marked the border of the Wood of Sharp Teeth was looming ever nearer. The weather was making it increasingly hard for them to follow the traces left by the prisoners and their guards, wiping away tracks and turning the ‘trail’ they followed into an indiscriminate morass of sticking mud. </p><p></p><p>After the battle at Steel Jack’s camp, most of the members of the posse had just assumed that they would now return to Dunderion. Cal had plied the power of his healing wand to restore Telwarden and the other injured members of the group to health, depleting much of the item’s power in the process. A search of the camp revealed what Benzan had already learned; that the prisoners taken by the bandits, including presumably the Lady Ilgarten, had already been sent on to some unknown destination. They buried the one guardsman and one villager who died in the battle. The surviving members of the posse rounded up the bandit mounts, sorted through their gear for items that could be salvaged, and poked around for loot. Lok found a small strongbox buried under Steel Jack’s tent, and forced the lock to reveal it full of shiny silver pieces. That raised the spirits of the posse somewhat, although Telwarden’s eyes had already been focused southward, toward where their ultimate goal still eluded them. </p><p></p><p>Benzan had searched out the cave where the hobgoblin spell-caster had laired, looking for his book of spells. Cal told him that such tribal adepts often did not use such traditional means of working magic, relying instead on their totems and dark rituals to draw upon their powers. The gnome did claim the adept’s wand, which vanished into one of his many hidden pockets. </p><p></p><p>One of the mercenary guardsmen removed Steel Jack’s banded mail, which though a little battered was still obviously of masterwork quality. The guardsman offered it to Telwarden, but the sheriff shook his head and refused even to touch the blood-stained mail. The guardsman shrugged and took the prize to his fellows, who after drawing lots assigned it to one of their number. </p><p></p><p>Lok had already claimed his prize: Steel Jack’s magical axe. The weapon seemed to thrum with power as he lifted it, and the icy aura that surrounded the blade when it was hefted did not affect him in the least. </p><p></p><p>They had come a long way and fought a mighty battle, so when Telwarden ordered them to gather up their gear and prepare to ride—south, not north as they had expected—there was immediate and open dissent. </p><p></p><p>“We’ve done our duty, and more, sheriff.”</p><p></p><p>“Those prisoners are long gone, and there’s only so much we can do!”</p><p></p><p>“What lies that way anyway, but the Wood? Surely you’re not expecting us to follow you into there!”</p><p></p><p>“Sir, my wife and small ones are home, waiting for their dad to come back. They can’t eat noble intentions.”</p><p></p><p>“What about the Hellriders? Let them chase down this noble wench—you can bet that one of <em>them</em> wouldn’t do so much for one of <em>us</em>!</p><p></p><p>Telwarden just stood there with that trademark hard look on his face, although the tightness of his jaw testified to the intense feelings he was battling—or restraining. After a few moments, though, the guardsman and militiamen began to shift their attention to the four companions, who stood apart as a group and who had not engaged in the protests or debate. Everyone present had witnessed their role in the battle, and realized that these talented individuals had played the crucial role in their victory over the bandits. What side would they now come down on?</p><p></p><p>Cal stepped forward into the circle. He pulled his lute from the oilskin bag he wore across his back, strummed it gently, and began to sing. </p><p></p><p>His song didn’t seem to have much to do with the current quandary. It was a song well-known through these parts, a song of the old frontier. Its subject was the great historical battles that had been fought nearby, in the area now called the Fields of the Dead. But the focus of the song wasn’t famous heroes or noble causes, but rather its somber chords spoke of the fallen dead, the ordinary men who gave their lives on the battlefield. The assembled men bowed their heads as the gnome’s expert fingers played out the eulogy to their two late companions, his voice filling out a soft accompaniment to the music. When it was over, more than one man present had to wipe away a covert tear from his eyes. </p><p></p><p>“We came out here to do a job,” Cal said. “Carus and Jolan gave their lives to help us rescue those men and women, and it doesn’t seem right to just turn back now, to leave the job unfinished.”</p><p></p><p>“Aye,” Lok added in assent. </p><p> </p><p>There were a few murmurs, but Telwarden could sense that the mood had changed. With a nod of thanks to the gnome, he mounted up and rode out, the others following his example behind him. </p><p></p><p>* * * * * </p><p></p><p>Once again, it was time for a decision. </p><p></p><p>The company had reined in on the very edges of the forest. Tall trees rose up all around them, shielding them from the rain, which had fallen off again to a more-or-less omnipresent drizzle. The transition into the forest was so sudden, so abrupt, that it had an unnerving unnaturalness to it that all of them could sense. That wasn’t even considering the reputation of the forest as a haven for horrible creatures like hydras and dragons, beasts beyond even the imagination of simple folk like the villagers from Dunderion. </p><p></p><p>And yet it was into the wood, apparently, that the prisoners had been taken. Cullan could no longer say with surety, now that the rain had obscured their trail. </p><p></p><p>For a moment they just remained quiet, sitting their mounts while the horses nibbled at the sparse grasses. </p><p></p><p>“Well, what now, sheriff?” Benzan finally asked, putting into words the question that was on everybody’s mind. All of them, even Telwarden, had hoped that the trail from Steel Jack’s camp would lead to some resolution, any course but this one. </p><p></p><p>Telwarden turned to face them, all of them, and for the first time since they had begun this journey, his expression softened. “You have all done well,” he told them, “and I am grateful for your company on this mission. You were right earlier, Kamin,” he said to one of the villagers, “you’ve all done what is demanded by duty, and more. We are far from home, in a dangerous land. We all know the reputation of this forest, and have heard the tales of dark things that lurk within. I cannot ask you to risk your lives without a better understanding of what we might find.”</p><p></p><p>The sigh of relief that came from the assembled villagers and guardsmen was clearly audible. Benzan, however, asked, “But that’s not all of it, sheriff,” he said softly. </p><p></p><p>Telwarden actually smiled, but it was a wry smile, the smile of a man who knew his doom. “No, warrior,” he said. “My duty lies down this path, even if I must walk it alone. I have asked much from you and your friends, from all of you. Return to your homes, your caravans, or whatever calls you. Take the silver, and divide it amongst yourselves—I only ask that you give an equal share to the families of Carus and Jolan.”</p><p></p><p>“What of your duty to Dunderion?” Benzan prodded. “You have a responsibility to those people as well.”</p><p></p><p>“That responsibility was forced upon me, but I have tried to live up to it as best I can, to do my best by the people of that community. But at the moment, others need me more.”</p><p></p><p>“Getting yourself killed isn’t going to do anybody a lot of good,” Benzan said. </p><p></p><p>“I have to try. You heard what Steel Jack said.” </p><p></p><p>Benzan remembered. Until that moment, he hadn’t known that Telwarden had heard it too. </p><p></p><p>“Cullan, brief Lord Dhelt’s men on what we discovered, and where we tracked the prisoners—”</p><p></p><p>“I’m sorry, sir,” Cullan interrupted, “I can’t do that. You’re going to need a tracker, in there, if you are going to have any hopes of finding those prisoners.”</p><p></p><p>“And surely you can’t expect to ride off on such a foolish, noble adventure like that without a bard along?” Cal added. “Tales of self-sacrifice and all make for good art, but the crowd likes it when the good guys win in the end.”</p><p></p><p>Lok said nothing, but urged his horse up beside Cal’s in a clear gesture. </p><p></p><p>Benzan shrugged. “Well, my ma always said, if you’re going off on a half-cocked mission to rescue a pretty woman being held prisoner inside a dragon-infested forest, you might as well go all the way.”</p><p></p><p>Cal turned back toward Delem. “There’s no shame in going back with the others,” he said. “The road back’s just as rough as the road in, and they could use your protection.”</p><p></p><p>Delem looked at each of his new companions before responding. “I want to stay with you guys,” he said. </p><p></p><p>Telwarden was moved by the expressions of support. “You all know the dangers,” he said, “but I welcome your companionship as we face it together.” To the remaining ten members of their company—none of whom had come forward to volunteer—he said, “Head back to Dunderion as quickly as you can. You should encounter a party of Hellriders on the way—let them know what we’ve learned.”</p><p></p><p>One of the militiamen, a young cooper, replied, “You can count on us, sheriff. Good luck, all of you.”</p><p></p><p>They sorted out their equipment, leaving most of the heavy items taken from the bandit camp with the group that was returning. As Lok handed over the strongbox to one of the villagers, however, Benzan stopped him.</p><p></p><p>“Ahem! Aren’t you forgetting something?”</p><p></p><p>Lok looked blankly at him for a moment, but then understood as Benzan came over and scooped a generous portion of coins into a small sack. </p><p></p><p>“Our cut,” he said, simply.</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Lazybones, post: 1389, member: 143"] Part 10 Cold rain fell in sheets across the country around the River Chionthar, driving the inhabitants of the region’s farms and villages indoors to share the warmth of fire, ale, and good conversation. Well, [I]most[/I] of the region’s inhabitants, anyway… The small company from Dunderion marched steadily southward through the rain. Ahead of them, the line of trees that marked the border of the Wood of Sharp Teeth was looming ever nearer. The weather was making it increasingly hard for them to follow the traces left by the prisoners and their guards, wiping away tracks and turning the ‘trail’ they followed into an indiscriminate morass of sticking mud. After the battle at Steel Jack’s camp, most of the members of the posse had just assumed that they would now return to Dunderion. Cal had plied the power of his healing wand to restore Telwarden and the other injured members of the group to health, depleting much of the item’s power in the process. A search of the camp revealed what Benzan had already learned; that the prisoners taken by the bandits, including presumably the Lady Ilgarten, had already been sent on to some unknown destination. They buried the one guardsman and one villager who died in the battle. The surviving members of the posse rounded up the bandit mounts, sorted through their gear for items that could be salvaged, and poked around for loot. Lok found a small strongbox buried under Steel Jack’s tent, and forced the lock to reveal it full of shiny silver pieces. That raised the spirits of the posse somewhat, although Telwarden’s eyes had already been focused southward, toward where their ultimate goal still eluded them. Benzan had searched out the cave where the hobgoblin spell-caster had laired, looking for his book of spells. Cal told him that such tribal adepts often did not use such traditional means of working magic, relying instead on their totems and dark rituals to draw upon their powers. The gnome did claim the adept’s wand, which vanished into one of his many hidden pockets. One of the mercenary guardsmen removed Steel Jack’s banded mail, which though a little battered was still obviously of masterwork quality. The guardsman offered it to Telwarden, but the sheriff shook his head and refused even to touch the blood-stained mail. The guardsman shrugged and took the prize to his fellows, who after drawing lots assigned it to one of their number. Lok had already claimed his prize: Steel Jack’s magical axe. The weapon seemed to thrum with power as he lifted it, and the icy aura that surrounded the blade when it was hefted did not affect him in the least. They had come a long way and fought a mighty battle, so when Telwarden ordered them to gather up their gear and prepare to ride—south, not north as they had expected—there was immediate and open dissent. “We’ve done our duty, and more, sheriff.” “Those prisoners are long gone, and there’s only so much we can do!” “What lies that way anyway, but the Wood? Surely you’re not expecting us to follow you into there!” “Sir, my wife and small ones are home, waiting for their dad to come back. They can’t eat noble intentions.” “What about the Hellriders? Let them chase down this noble wench—you can bet that one of [I]them[/I] wouldn’t do so much for one of [I]us[/I]! Telwarden just stood there with that trademark hard look on his face, although the tightness of his jaw testified to the intense feelings he was battling—or restraining. After a few moments, though, the guardsman and militiamen began to shift their attention to the four companions, who stood apart as a group and who had not engaged in the protests or debate. Everyone present had witnessed their role in the battle, and realized that these talented individuals had played the crucial role in their victory over the bandits. What side would they now come down on? Cal stepped forward into the circle. He pulled his lute from the oilskin bag he wore across his back, strummed it gently, and began to sing. His song didn’t seem to have much to do with the current quandary. It was a song well-known through these parts, a song of the old frontier. Its subject was the great historical battles that had been fought nearby, in the area now called the Fields of the Dead. But the focus of the song wasn’t famous heroes or noble causes, but rather its somber chords spoke of the fallen dead, the ordinary men who gave their lives on the battlefield. The assembled men bowed their heads as the gnome’s expert fingers played out the eulogy to their two late companions, his voice filling out a soft accompaniment to the music. When it was over, more than one man present had to wipe away a covert tear from his eyes. “We came out here to do a job,” Cal said. “Carus and Jolan gave their lives to help us rescue those men and women, and it doesn’t seem right to just turn back now, to leave the job unfinished.” “Aye,” Lok added in assent. There were a few murmurs, but Telwarden could sense that the mood had changed. With a nod of thanks to the gnome, he mounted up and rode out, the others following his example behind him. * * * * * Once again, it was time for a decision. The company had reined in on the very edges of the forest. Tall trees rose up all around them, shielding them from the rain, which had fallen off again to a more-or-less omnipresent drizzle. The transition into the forest was so sudden, so abrupt, that it had an unnerving unnaturalness to it that all of them could sense. That wasn’t even considering the reputation of the forest as a haven for horrible creatures like hydras and dragons, beasts beyond even the imagination of simple folk like the villagers from Dunderion. And yet it was into the wood, apparently, that the prisoners had been taken. Cullan could no longer say with surety, now that the rain had obscured their trail. For a moment they just remained quiet, sitting their mounts while the horses nibbled at the sparse grasses. “Well, what now, sheriff?” Benzan finally asked, putting into words the question that was on everybody’s mind. All of them, even Telwarden, had hoped that the trail from Steel Jack’s camp would lead to some resolution, any course but this one. Telwarden turned to face them, all of them, and for the first time since they had begun this journey, his expression softened. “You have all done well,” he told them, “and I am grateful for your company on this mission. You were right earlier, Kamin,” he said to one of the villagers, “you’ve all done what is demanded by duty, and more. We are far from home, in a dangerous land. We all know the reputation of this forest, and have heard the tales of dark things that lurk within. I cannot ask you to risk your lives without a better understanding of what we might find.” The sigh of relief that came from the assembled villagers and guardsmen was clearly audible. Benzan, however, asked, “But that’s not all of it, sheriff,” he said softly. Telwarden actually smiled, but it was a wry smile, the smile of a man who knew his doom. “No, warrior,” he said. “My duty lies down this path, even if I must walk it alone. I have asked much from you and your friends, from all of you. Return to your homes, your caravans, or whatever calls you. Take the silver, and divide it amongst yourselves—I only ask that you give an equal share to the families of Carus and Jolan.” “What of your duty to Dunderion?” Benzan prodded. “You have a responsibility to those people as well.” “That responsibility was forced upon me, but I have tried to live up to it as best I can, to do my best by the people of that community. But at the moment, others need me more.” “Getting yourself killed isn’t going to do anybody a lot of good,” Benzan said. “I have to try. You heard what Steel Jack said.” Benzan remembered. Until that moment, he hadn’t known that Telwarden had heard it too. “Cullan, brief Lord Dhelt’s men on what we discovered, and where we tracked the prisoners—” “I’m sorry, sir,” Cullan interrupted, “I can’t do that. You’re going to need a tracker, in there, if you are going to have any hopes of finding those prisoners.” “And surely you can’t expect to ride off on such a foolish, noble adventure like that without a bard along?” Cal added. “Tales of self-sacrifice and all make for good art, but the crowd likes it when the good guys win in the end.” Lok said nothing, but urged his horse up beside Cal’s in a clear gesture. Benzan shrugged. “Well, my ma always said, if you’re going off on a half-cocked mission to rescue a pretty woman being held prisoner inside a dragon-infested forest, you might as well go all the way.” Cal turned back toward Delem. “There’s no shame in going back with the others,” he said. “The road back’s just as rough as the road in, and they could use your protection.” Delem looked at each of his new companions before responding. “I want to stay with you guys,” he said. Telwarden was moved by the expressions of support. “You all know the dangers,” he said, “but I welcome your companionship as we face it together.” To the remaining ten members of their company—none of whom had come forward to volunteer—he said, “Head back to Dunderion as quickly as you can. You should encounter a party of Hellriders on the way—let them know what we’ve learned.” One of the militiamen, a young cooper, replied, “You can count on us, sheriff. Good luck, all of you.” They sorted out their equipment, leaving most of the heavy items taken from the bandit camp with the group that was returning. As Lok handed over the strongbox to one of the villagers, however, Benzan stopped him. “Ahem! Aren’t you forgetting something?” Lok looked blankly at him for a moment, but then understood as Benzan came over and scooped a generous portion of coins into a small sack. “Our cut,” he said, simply. [/QUOTE]
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