On The Border 16/06/08 15:30

We’re out of Halfling Territory and into the Borderlands! Eventually the farms got smaller and farther apart, and the hedges stopped. The road got rocky again, and now we’re in some kind of a scrubland. Once, this must have been a lively trade road. In spite of the cracked stones, we’ve been making good time. We’ve passed a few Halfling Wagons headed towards the Mountains, but After the War, the Dwarves became distrustful of the Humans. They’ve cut off almost all contact, and will only trade with the Gnomes and Halflings.
We’ve been traveling northeast for most of the day. In the distance, I can see the peaks of the Paladine Mountains. From here, they seem a very peaceful place, and I can understand why they would be the center of the Dwarven religious life. The peaks are high and majestic. We’re too far to reach them in a day’s travel, but even from here they tower over the plains.
A little while ago, we passed through a little gate town, the official end of Lithia. We are in a sort of no man’s land. Dad has taken out Grandfather’s old crossbow, and it’s sitting loaded and ready on the box seat next to him, while Gloria and I lay back here in the hay. Gloria pulled out a book from her pack, and hasn’t said half a dozen words to me since. I’ve just been watching the scenery and thinking.
The gate was only symbolic, of course. It was manned by two Halfling knights wearing the livery of the king as well as the insignia of Shadyborough. The real army hasn’t been out this far in years. The Orcish threat pulled them eastwards, and left the Halflings to maintain the shaky peace between Human and Dwarf. Most of the towns along the border disappeared. We’ve passed the remains of them. There were signs that led to empty fields, and the frames of old houses and barns, reclaimed by weed or wind or fire. I never thought about how fragile our civilization could be. Those that remain have raised militia, and turned themselves into tiny fortresses. I’ve heard that bandits and beasts roam the plains unchecked now. That’s the reason for the crossbow. With the amount of gold in my tuition we’re carrying, we’re ripe targets.
The bow is another of my Grandfather’s relics from his days wandering, and it is a treasure in and of itself. It is called a ‘Treaty Bow’ and it dates back innumerable centuries. The treaty weapons were the greatest symbols of friendship between the five peoples, and were used against the Orcs to great effect during the wars. It makes me kind of sad to realize that maybe the ones from the last war are the last. Grandfather told me a lot about them, and winning this one was one of his favorite conquests. They were crafted in Carbein, and each weapon shows the greatest talents of each of the Five People. The stock is carved from the finest Ironwood, gathered and shaped by the secretive elves, making the butt nearly as deadly a striking weapon as the ammunition. The fastenings and facings are of the finest Dwarven mithril, which reflects the purest and most beautiful light, while being stronger than steel. The bowstring is woven from the finest Halfling-raised silk, which will never snap no matter how far it is pulled. The crosspiece has been treated with the most exotic and powerful elixirs that humanity has to offer, making it as supple as it is strong. Finally, the whole weapon has been enchanted by the most powerful magic the Gnomes can cast, lightening the weapon, and ensuring that the bolts fly as swift and sure as the winds. It is as much a work of art as it is a weapon.
Grandfather told me the story of winning the bow from a Drowess who had somehow gotten ahold of it. He said that sort of thing was common. Some hero carries the sacred blade, or what have you off into monster-infested lands and falls there, leaving another soul, who has no right to it, to claim it. He said that his spear Incisor has a long and colorful history itself. But that is another tale. This one is rather long, and, having nothing else to do on the cart, I’ll try my hand at telling it. But I’m a bit worried. My grandfather was a fine warrior, who could split a match and a hundred paces. My father, who is wise and could sell an elf kindling, is a nearsighted merchant. If something happens, will he be able to fire it?

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