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Raiders of Oakhurst - A memoir of Erais Gunterson
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<blockquote data-quote="Colmarr" data-source="post: 4222221" data-attributes="member: 59182"><p>As I joined my companions, I saw that among the clutter on the table was the stone dagger and arrowhead. Picard was speaking as I sat down.</p><p></p><p>“There are only a few places in the area where they might have sourced the obsidian. There’s Hidemountain to the south, the Stone Table to the north, or Cragg’s Keep to the northeast. Wherever it came from, I’d suggest you stay clear. These things travel in large numbers, and you’d be putting your lives in danger to take them on in their home territory.”</p><p></p><p>Tira regathered the stone dagger and arrowhead, sliding the former under her belt and handing the other to Skamos. “We’ve fought and bested them once already”.</p><p></p><p>“Oh? How many were there?”</p><p></p><p>“Four”, she replied confidently.</p><p></p><p>Picard snorted contemptuously. “Four is a small group for these things. There’ll be many more than that if you continue to seek them out.”</p><p></p><p>“Nevertheless, we must.” I said, and Picard shrugged. </p><p></p><p>He looked at Tira appraisingly. “I wish you all the best of luck.”</p><p></p><p>Having investigated the old tomb and the farmsteads to the south, there was really no logical place for us to go next other than Waymoot. Corrin was desperate to set off, so we ate a hearty lunch and then began the trip north. Corrin was eager and driven, which easily made up for his shorter legs, and I found myself struggling to keep up with him. Waymoot was approximately five hours north of Oakhurst along the Great North Road and more than once during the journey I found my brain lulled by the monotony of marching feet. At those times, I couldn’t help but think of Picard’s words. </p><p></p><p>Part of me wanted to dismiss the eladrin’s warning as cowardice or bluster, but he had not done wrong by us yet and I had no reason to suspect that his information was insincere now. That in turn meant that we were undoubtedly heading into enemy territory with no clear idea of the numbers or resources of the dog-men. It was an unsettling thought. More than once I turned to Tira or Skamos to discuss my fears with them, but stopped. </p><p></p><p>The half-elf seemed self-assured and her confidence was infectious. Each time I looked to her my fears melted away for a time, and I no longer felt the need to raise my concerns. </p><p></p><p>Skamos on the other hand seemed almost entirely pre-occupied with some internal train of thought. His feet moved surely and steadily, but his eyes did not seem to take in our surroundings and I knew it would be hopeless to try to interrupt him long enough to have any meaningful conversation.</p><p></p><p>I did not try to voice my concerns to Corrin. The paladin had always proven to be a doughty warrior, and with so many of his kinsmen at risk I knew he would have little time for my fears.</p><p></p><p>With no one to talk to, there was little for it but to push my concerns down. Amaunator would see me through.</p><p></p><p>Our first glimpse of Waymoot was of ugly smoke on the horizon, a dark smear rising into the dusky sky. When we drew closer, we could make out five or six houses clustered around a larger central building. The structure was completely burned out. Its roof was almost entirely gone and half of the eastern and northern walls had fallen in when the heat of the fire became too much. Waymoot seemed deserted. Or dead.</p><p></p><p>As we made our way into town, it became clear that a battle had taken place there. Discarded and broken weapons littered the streets, together with the corpses of the fallen; both halfling and dog-man. It appeared that the villagers had formed a last stand in the burnt-out building. Seventeen charred corpses, adult and child, proved that it had been unsuccessful. Corrin stood in the collapsed doorway and stared at the dead, his breathing frighteningly shallow. I could not bring myself to stay so near that charnelhouse, and I turned away.</p><p></p><p>Skamos was standing a short distance away and beckoned me over. When I joined him, he waved his ebony wand towards the east.</p><p></p><p>“Some of the villagers are still alive. Or at least they were when the battle finished.”</p><p></p><p>He lowered his wand and pointed it at the ground at our feet. Clearly visible there were multiple tracks made by halfling feet. Here and there I could also make out smaller prints made by children, and overlaying them all were the three-toed tracks of the dog-men.</p><p></p><p>“They were taken prisoner?” I asked, horrified at the thought. </p><p></p><p>Skamos nodded.</p><p></p><p>When we informed Corrin of our discovery, he insisted that we set out immediately in pursuit of the dog-men. I wanted to do so. I truly did. But I recognized that it would soon be dark and that we were far from expert trackers. It would have been madness for us to begin a pursuit in such circumstances. But we did it anyway. Corrin could not be persuaded to wait until morning, arguing that we did not know how much of a lead the dog-men already had. We had seen the savagery of which they were capable, and he passionately reminded us that the Waymoot villagers’ lives now rested almost entirely in our hands. Skamos, ever practical and stoic, argued longest against setting off into the deepening darkness, but eventually even he could not dissuade Corrin from his planned course of action. None of us were willing to let the paladin set off alone.</p><p></p><p>Unfortunately, our efforts were stymied by the close of day. We managed to follow the dog-men’s tracks for a little over an hour before we lost them in the dark. Even Corrin was forced to concede that we could go no further, but he refused to return to the relative safety of Waymoot. We took what shelter we could from a gentle culvert and spent a cold and uncomfortable night in the foothills. </p><p></p><p>As we clustered around our meager fire prior to retiring, Skamos retrieved from his pack the silver dagger he had recovered from the body of Olvar’s brother. I had forgotten all about it when speaking to the old priest.</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Colmarr, post: 4222221, member: 59182"] As I joined my companions, I saw that among the clutter on the table was the stone dagger and arrowhead. Picard was speaking as I sat down. “There are only a few places in the area where they might have sourced the obsidian. There’s Hidemountain to the south, the Stone Table to the north, or Cragg’s Keep to the northeast. Wherever it came from, I’d suggest you stay clear. These things travel in large numbers, and you’d be putting your lives in danger to take them on in their home territory.” Tira regathered the stone dagger and arrowhead, sliding the former under her belt and handing the other to Skamos. “We’ve fought and bested them once already”. “Oh? How many were there?” “Four”, she replied confidently. Picard snorted contemptuously. “Four is a small group for these things. There’ll be many more than that if you continue to seek them out.” “Nevertheless, we must.” I said, and Picard shrugged. He looked at Tira appraisingly. “I wish you all the best of luck.” Having investigated the old tomb and the farmsteads to the south, there was really no logical place for us to go next other than Waymoot. Corrin was desperate to set off, so we ate a hearty lunch and then began the trip north. Corrin was eager and driven, which easily made up for his shorter legs, and I found myself struggling to keep up with him. Waymoot was approximately five hours north of Oakhurst along the Great North Road and more than once during the journey I found my brain lulled by the monotony of marching feet. At those times, I couldn’t help but think of Picard’s words. Part of me wanted to dismiss the eladrin’s warning as cowardice or bluster, but he had not done wrong by us yet and I had no reason to suspect that his information was insincere now. That in turn meant that we were undoubtedly heading into enemy territory with no clear idea of the numbers or resources of the dog-men. It was an unsettling thought. More than once I turned to Tira or Skamos to discuss my fears with them, but stopped. The half-elf seemed self-assured and her confidence was infectious. Each time I looked to her my fears melted away for a time, and I no longer felt the need to raise my concerns. Skamos on the other hand seemed almost entirely pre-occupied with some internal train of thought. His feet moved surely and steadily, but his eyes did not seem to take in our surroundings and I knew it would be hopeless to try to interrupt him long enough to have any meaningful conversation. I did not try to voice my concerns to Corrin. The paladin had always proven to be a doughty warrior, and with so many of his kinsmen at risk I knew he would have little time for my fears. With no one to talk to, there was little for it but to push my concerns down. Amaunator would see me through. Our first glimpse of Waymoot was of ugly smoke on the horizon, a dark smear rising into the dusky sky. When we drew closer, we could make out five or six houses clustered around a larger central building. The structure was completely burned out. Its roof was almost entirely gone and half of the eastern and northern walls had fallen in when the heat of the fire became too much. Waymoot seemed deserted. Or dead. As we made our way into town, it became clear that a battle had taken place there. Discarded and broken weapons littered the streets, together with the corpses of the fallen; both halfling and dog-man. It appeared that the villagers had formed a last stand in the burnt-out building. Seventeen charred corpses, adult and child, proved that it had been unsuccessful. Corrin stood in the collapsed doorway and stared at the dead, his breathing frighteningly shallow. I could not bring myself to stay so near that charnelhouse, and I turned away. Skamos was standing a short distance away and beckoned me over. When I joined him, he waved his ebony wand towards the east. “Some of the villagers are still alive. Or at least they were when the battle finished.” He lowered his wand and pointed it at the ground at our feet. Clearly visible there were multiple tracks made by halfling feet. Here and there I could also make out smaller prints made by children, and overlaying them all were the three-toed tracks of the dog-men. “They were taken prisoner?” I asked, horrified at the thought. Skamos nodded. When we informed Corrin of our discovery, he insisted that we set out immediately in pursuit of the dog-men. I wanted to do so. I truly did. But I recognized that it would soon be dark and that we were far from expert trackers. It would have been madness for us to begin a pursuit in such circumstances. But we did it anyway. Corrin could not be persuaded to wait until morning, arguing that we did not know how much of a lead the dog-men already had. We had seen the savagery of which they were capable, and he passionately reminded us that the Waymoot villagers’ lives now rested almost entirely in our hands. Skamos, ever practical and stoic, argued longest against setting off into the deepening darkness, but eventually even he could not dissuade Corrin from his planned course of action. None of us were willing to let the paladin set off alone. Unfortunately, our efforts were stymied by the close of day. We managed to follow the dog-men’s tracks for a little over an hour before we lost them in the dark. Even Corrin was forced to concede that we could go no further, but he refused to return to the relative safety of Waymoot. We took what shelter we could from a gentle culvert and spent a cold and uncomfortable night in the foothills. As we clustered around our meager fire prior to retiring, Skamos retrieved from his pack the silver dagger he had recovered from the body of Olvar’s brother. I had forgotten all about it when speaking to the old priest. [/QUOTE]
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