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Tibber’s Brook Stone Tablet

A crafts man is busily chipping away at a large stone in the town center caving out a story with some local importance.

On that terrible night the first evil eyes peered out from the treeline at the town’s high walls a Paladin of the Heliod rode in as the last to pass before the gates were sealed for fear of the enemy set about the woods. The silent stranger arrived unbidden as the siege began and the defenders were forced to man the walls. As every ladder rose with numbers to hole the defences the Paladin would arrive with mighty feats to end the threat. For a day and a night this continued until the enemy held off from the attack to count the dead.

The paladin sat and meditated on the hillside for four days and nights while the enemy drew up about the walls and begun afresh a bloody siege. The militia and people cried out for the spirits to aid them as the dark nights drew in the worst of the enemy’s strength. When all seemed lost the gates splintered before the hatred without and the paladin came to the fight to stand alone before the mass of the enemy battled for four days and nights outside the gates. Smiting foes with every swing of his arm he broke even their captains as they sought him out. The people wept in shame as they bound up the town’s works as best they might and loosed what ammunition they had left.

On the fifth gale struck night the first amongst the mountain beasts appeared at the gates with his vanguard. All other stockades in their path had fallen to their ravening, a full five towns burned that very night across the northern-lands. One last bounty, one last breach to make before their looting and slaughter was done, just one paladin to kill, one lone man, undefended and weary. Weighed by concerns we cannot know the great monster took the matter of the champion into hand. Though bloodied from all his trial the martial priest took up the gauntlet against this fresh and mighty foe. What great power moved his limbs is hard to fathom but at the very break of dawn the rain clouds parted and a terrible wailing began amidst the enemy. From the wall the people looked out and saw that the paladin had carried the contest of champions.

Able to stand no more the people charged out from the gates and rallied to their warrior, some bore nothing but sticks and their grim shame made an iron will to fight. Shock, anger and the new found ferocity of their enemy sent even the hardened vanguard fleeing for the mountains. The day was spent in celebration for all but the captains of that rag tag militia and of course the noble paladin. For them was a council to quest out the next move in this drama. Townspeople had been taken from the siege and other fallen towns and if the raiders could make the mountains in enough order to hold their captives then the fate of those souls was sealed to that of agony.

Much was considered but the matter was decided when on that night the paladin strode out from the cathedral and led his steed along the road west, to the mountain passes. Quick as they could the captains rallied up what force they could and followed along. When the vengeful force caught up with the halting foe it was a day of many a great martial feats. The scattered groups had drawn back together for the large part and though split between the tribal leaders was twice those that dared match them. Ever at the fore their holy leader inspired all to smash the foe with such force that like a strange water the once horrific foe ran up the hillside leaving weapons, captives, loot and any who could not carry themselves.

Then at last did the host turn back to their lands, each now a true warrior tested in battle and soldier in an army loyal to their captains and that sainted paladin above all kings and before all oaths. Long may Numoria remember that she contains all the strength of man to stand like a bulwark against any who would shed our loved ones blood or take from us our hard earned lands.

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The Last Watch of Summer DarthSeldon