Escape from Nurn RPG

[Envinyatar]

‘Yes,’ he said, securing the top back on the pot of salve, ‘I am traveling back to Rhûn. My family . . . my mother is there. I have not seen her in five years.’ Tenzin fingered the greenstone carved horse that hung on a slender cord about his neck, looking down at the ground with saddened eyes for the briefest of moments and remembering the brief touch of his father’s fingers as he placed it over his head. ‘It was my father’s wish that Rhûnnaro see me safely back there with her.’

‘What will I do? I am one of three children. My two sisters are older than I, and already have chosen their husbands. They will have their own pieces of land now, beneath the wide blue skies of our valley, and fine fat babies for Uncle Tenzin to play with and give sweets to.’ His face lit up when he spoke of this, the desire strong in him to be there among them once again.

‘And one day,’ he went on, speaking low, and almost to himself, ‘a woman will choose me for her husband, and there will be the lively cries of my own sons and daughters, ringing through our own house. I will be a healer among my people, for I have studied that art here, and have some small talent for it.’

He picked up a small stick which lay on the ground beside him, and drew a series of random designs in the dirt, his face a study in considered certainty. ‘My wife will have her own garden, and the running of our house. And some craft of her own which she treasures and makes her glad.’ He laid the stick down carefully across the designs, his brown eyes looking thoughtfully at her face. ‘We will be happy,’ he said with quiet assurance, ‘and far from the shadows of this place.’

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Rhûnnaro listened as the woman spoke to him. ‘I just have to know for myself, if there is a greener side. I think I'll go with you.’

She was one of the younger there, if not the youngest he thought. Thin, too thin. Black curls that framed an open face. Her eyes, though, looked old, and fearful, even now, that she had made her decision. He talked to her gently – there was some shadow that sat heavy on her at times, and he feared she might bolt at a misspoke word.

‘How far do you wish to travel with us . . . Haven, is it not?’ He recalled that this was the name Tenzin had given her, after he had circulated among them, tending to their wounds.

‘It is a long journey from here to the high, green plains of Rhûn and many green places lie scattered along the way. How far do you wish to come?’

Turos approached, limping slowly toward where the two stood talking. He heard the last words that passed between Haven and the man, and nodded his head thoughtfully. Seeing Turos draw near, Rhûnnaro excused himself from Haven and went to speak with him.

‘I have something I would like you to do. We need to make some weapons that have a longer range than these knives.’ He pulled a small leather bundle from his pack which lay propped against the rock, well away from the river. In it were six blades, each a hand-span in length with sturdy wooden grips.

‘If you’ll sharpen these,’ he handed Turos a whetstone, a small bottle of oil, and a soft leather cloth, ‘then Tenzin and I will cut staves for them, and we can bind them to the ends with leather lashings.’ ‘Can you do this for us?’ he asked.

Turos nodded his assent and sat down on the ground, the fingers of his left hand working the edges of the knives deftly over the oiled stone, wiping them clean on the leather cloth.

Rhûnnaro, seeing Tenzin otherwise engaged in conversation with Fionel, went himself a little ways into the woods to cut and trim some thick, long staves. When he returned, he asked the group to take one each and a knife, and cut some strips for leather bindings from the sack in which he had stored the knives.

‘Bind them tightly,’ he instructed them. ‘We may need them soon.’ ‘Gather up what you have, when you are done. We should leave soon before the hunters draw too near . . .’