A Land to Call Their Own RPG

[Witch_Queen]

"Oh good their still alive." Out of everything that could happen Sarah didn't want her husband a children to die. She knew the wolves wouldn't eat Grandpa Chubb since all the meat would be tough to eat. Sarah almost laughed at the thought of wolvess trying to tear through Grandpa Chubbs flesh and then running away from his cane. She shook her head to get the picture to leave. She ran over to her family to hug her husband and children. Never had she been so happy to see them all safe and together. Everything is better now that my children are safe.

Sarah thought she was actually going to have to use her rolling pin to defend her family but remembered that it was still back at the cart. She was in so big of a hurry that nothing could keep her away from her children. Not even Marcho could have stopped her. "I'm glad to see that your ok. Did any of you get hurt?" Sarah thought they would all say no but noticed that Harold's pants leg was ripped. "Oh Harold what happened to you leg. You didn't take a tumble again did you?" She was worried now because she had to make sure Harold was going to be ok.

Sarah needed Harold to be ok. We've got to get this fixed. Sarah didn't care about the pants all she wanted to know was if Harold was ok.The pants can be fixed but Harold can't be replaced. She wanted to cry but held it back. Her family was safe for a little while at least. Its all my fault. If we hadn't of been fighting then the children wouldn't have ran off. We need to be extra careful since they aren't all full grown yet. It doesn't matter how old they get May and Henry will always be my babies.

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

My Dearest Prim,

Well I hope you won’t think the less of me for what I’m about to tell you, but there’s no way to get around what’s happened. I never lied to you when you were with me and I don’t think as it’s right to start doing so now.

I’m afraid my love that your husband has behaved like a tom-fool knotbrain. I can’t say as I didn’t have good reason, but that’s no excuse. First, I got into a bit of a tussle with young Mister Whitfoot, if you can believe it. There was a ballyhoo between our Harold and Sarah, and those Whitfoots, and I got in the middle of it, pretty quick. Well, one thing lead to another and before I knew it I had accidentally hit that Kalimac with my cane and then he came at me – and then, would you believe it? Our Harold rushed in like a bull that’s been baited too far and nearly knocked that Kalimac down the pegs he needs knocking down! I don’t mind admitting to you that I was that proud of him. And you should have seen Sarah, too, giving those Whitfoots a proper piece of her mind. I begin to think that she might be developing some sense after all.

But there’s even more. Right in the middle of all this there was a whole pack of wolves that attacked us, and the children were gone into the Forest and there was such a panic and a cry as you’ve never heard. Well, I don’t need to tell you that Harold and I were off at once to save Henry and May, and who came with us but that fool of a Whitfoot Kalimac. You see, his children are so unruly, and his wife such a delicate mother, that our Henry and May are the ones who take care of the Whitfoot little ones now – so they were all off together in the woods with those demons!

It turns out that Harold and I would have been better to think a bit before roaring off into danger, as we soon got lost, and when we did get found again we were attacked by the wolves and very nearly done in by them. I did put one of them back a step, but it was only by the luckiest of chances. Still, the others seem to think that I did something grand and old as I am, I’ve learned that when folk think well of you, that’s no time to go telling them they’re wrong.

But here I am nattering on about myself when I can hear you wanting to know about the children. May and Henry are fine – that May apparently put up quite a fight of her own; she has some grit in her. That young Adelard Proudfoot had got himself mixed up in things too, and he took a bit of a bite from a wolf, but he’ll recover. I should say here that Sarah was there too, ready to do battle with the beasts with her bare hands.

At any rate, all’s well that ends well, and things ended well indeed. It was that touching to see Harold and Sarah getting the little ones back all safe. They were so glad to see Henry and May that they didn’t take the time to give them the proper scolding, so I had to see to that. We had a nice meal back at the camp after all this so the adventure seems to be over for now. I just wish I could be sure it was the last one of this wretched trip, but I’m not so crack-brained as to think that it could be!

I hope that you are well and happy. I miss you awfully.

Your husband,

Grim

P.S. In all fairness I should say that it was young Marcho Bolger who saved us from the wolves.

[Memory of Trees]

It was all over before long. The wolves were driven off, and the sounds of the "battle" grew quieter and changed to the happy noise of reuninted families. May kneeling at Adelard's side when she heard a familiar voice call out, "May! Henry!"

"Daddy!" she cried, jumping to her feet. Harold Chubb clasped his two children in a warm embrace. May put her arms around him and buried her face in his chest, breathing in her father's warm, earthy smell. "Oh, Daddy," she whispered, and suddenly all the braveness went out of May. She began to tremble, and she felt weak and frightened.

Grandpa Fordo stood to one side, and began to scold both children half-heartedly. “Don’t you two ever go wandering off like that in the forest again," he said, shaking a knobby finger at them. "I was so worried what was going to happen. That was the most foolish thing you two bubble brains have ever done. What are you trying to do, make your old Grandpa sick? I’m so mad that I … I…” Then Grandpa took a step back and shook his head, a look of relief clearly settling over his face. “Well, the important thing is that you’re safe. Thank goodness nothing happened.”

"Oh, Grandpa," May said, laughing through her tears. She pulled away from her father and planted a kiss on the old man's cheek. "I don't think there's any chance of this happening again." Her grandpa looked both surprised and pleased.

It was now her father's turn to lecture. “Be more careful next time,” Harold warned, “You two must learn to be more responsible. When I heard those creatures howling I thought that you were wolf dinner for sure." Then his expression softened. "Speaking of dinner, I bet you two are hungry. In my rush to save you, I neglected to bring any food, but your mom and I will get you something to eat.” He took her hand and started to go back, but May stopped him.

"Wait, Daddy," she said suddenly, halting. "I forgot about Adelard!" Her father looked puzzled, and May hurried to explain. Pulling her father over to where the Proudfoot boy lay, she said,"Something has to be done about him. I think he's hurt pretty bad, Daddy. Are his parents here?"

Harod said he didn't think so, but assured his daughter that someone would see that he got back to the camp safely. Reluctantly, May left with her father. Something was bothering her. Adelard never would have come into the forest if it weren't for her and Henry, and he had been rather brave fighting the wolf. And there was something else, too. Adelard's parents hadn't come looking for him, which meant one of two things: one, that his parents had never realized he was gone, or two, that they didn't care enough to come looking for him. Maybe there's more to Adelard Proudfoot than meets the eye, she realized.

[Regin Hardhammer]

After Harold had reunited with his children, he made a point to go find his wife and let her know the injury he'd received from fighting the wolves was only a small scrape. “Don’t worry about me, " he responded with a broad grin. "I'm fit as a fiddle and ready to push on. Why don’t you fix something for May and Henry here? I bet they’re starving.”

After a hug from his wife, Harold remembered another important task that still needed to be done. He wanted to get the chore of apologizing to the Whitfoots out of the way, since he was not exactly looking forward to that. He turned to offer Sarah an explanation before continuing on his way. “As much as I'd love to eat and relax with the family, I have some pressing business with Kalimac that needs tending. After what happened with the wolves, our great hubbub with the Whitfoots looks kind of silly, and I think it’s important we put such trifling scuffles behind us. I've decided to go to Kalimac and apologize for my atrocious behavior. Even thought it could be awkward, it’s the right thing to do. Save some food for when I get back.”

Harold meandered slowly over to Kalimac’s campsite still struggling in his head to find what words to use. He discovered the Fallohide landowner in the midst of an intense conversation with Marcho. Harold hesitated for a moment; he had not planned for Marcho to hear his apology, but finally reasoned that he probably owed some explanation to both of them. Getting up his courage, Harold approached the two Hobbits, tugged on his cap, and politely interrupted, “I am so sorry to horn in on your conversation, but I did need to share something important with Kalimac. Marcho, I think you should hear this too.”

As Marcho and Kalimac looked up, Harold stared resolutely at the ground, a little reluctant to look them squarely in the face. He continued on more slowly. “I’d like to offer my humble apology for my rash actions and words in our argument. And also say thanks for your help to me when I got in trouble with the wolves. In truth, I don’t really know why I got so mad earlier. Lately, I find myself getting upset easily because of everything that’s happened on this trip. It seems I’m risking my family’s life, yet I don’t quite know why."

Harold wondered if he'd said too much and looked nervously over towards Marcho, stammering a bit. "Begging your pardon, sir. I'm sure you know best, of course. It's just that nothing's really changed for myself and the other Harfoot Hobbits. When we reach the White Downs, things won't be much different than they were back in Bree. The Fallohide landlords will still own the land, and I and the other Harfoot will work hard and fork our rents over to them. We won't even own the burrows that we live in. That's fine, I suppose. And I do get a lot of satisfaction out of seeing things grow. Only I could have done all that back in Bree without risking my children's lives"

"I’m sorry Kalimac, but no one ever asked me or my buddies whether or not we wanted to move. There we all were, sitting in the Prancing Pony, quaffing a brew, having a good time, and enjoying ourseves, just like always. Suddenly, the Pony was gone and everything had changed."

"Not that it wasn't a good idea, of course....., things being crowded and such in Bree." Harold respectfully nodded in Marcho's direction. "Still, things like that can nibble at the edge of a Hobbit's mind, and maybe that's part of the reason I got so angry earlier. In any case, I'm very sorry.”

Harold tipped his hat again and then took a step backward. He couldn't tell from the look on Kalimac's face exactly what the Fallohide was thinking, and he didn't want to prolong the situation any further. He quickly walked away, relieved to be done with it but feeling better about himself for taking responsibility for his childish actions. He wasn't so sure about the other things he'd said. He hadn't meant to reveal his inner feelings to Kalimac, but some of his complaints had just come blurting out. And the funny thing is that some of these feelings were probably as new and unexpected to Harold as they were to the people he was telling.

Quickly Harold pushed the uncomfomfortable experience to the side, and concentrated on more immediate matters. His children and wife were safe, which was the most important thing in the world. His stomach growling like a hungry wolf, Harold returned to his family's wagon and joined in the dinner, purposely saying nothing about what had just happened.

[Kransha]

The world seemed to have flown by in an instant’s span. Kalimac, looking around and blinking like an idiot, found the wolves gone and found Alora perched precariously on the pony, having jumped into his arms and almost bowled him over. Recovering quickly, the hobbit managed to hop down from the pony and hug Alora closer to him. He couldn’t even voice his relief at seeing her again unscathed, but she would’ve cut him off anyway as she whispered in his lowered ear, "Daddy, I want to go home." Kalimac didn’t respond at first, suddenly fearing the worst. He had figured that his children would sometimes protest, but Alora’s voice held a more obvious urgency and sincerity than before. All he could do was shake his head and respond with another whisper.

“Don’t worry, Alora, now that the wolves are gone everything will be alright.”

Before the conversation could continue, Elsa’s arms were wrapped awkwardly around him, Alora, and Crispin, who had apparently been with her. Her loud sobs barely served to muffle the protesting cries of the children at being hugged for over ten seconds. Kalimac’s dreading paleness warmed up slowly as a smile creased on his features. His wife began a weak berating of the three of them, but soon enough broke down into sobs again, before going back on her tirade and inspecting the children from head to toe. Being as quiet as he could about it, Kalimac Whitfoot slipped off as his wife and children headed back towards the campsite. He needed to talk to his half-brother, and found him easily supervising the communal recovery of the hobbit caravan.

“Marcho,” he said, some lingering anger in his voice, “I must know; will there be many such events that mar the course of our journey? I could put up with foxes, I could put up with murderous trees, I could even put up with such ravenous beasts as these wolves, but my family cannot handle much more.”

“There will be more hardships, Kalimac, but we will endure.” Responded Marcho almost curtly, which wasn’t like the scout, as he continued walking around and tying up all of the loose ends frayed by the cataclysmic wolf attack so recently. Still frustrated, and more so now that Marcho was not giving him his full attention, Kalimac continued more heatedly, “With all due respect, Marcho, you have not answered my question. I know you’ve put a lot of stock in this quest, but don’t be naïve about our chances.” He practically snapped back. Marcho, looking slightly frustrated with his half-brother, turned with a protesting finger raised to respond, but was cut off by the out-of-place voice of Harold Chubb, who had seemingly materialized beside the two of them. Kalimac turned, as did Marcho a moment later, to look at the fidgeting Harfoot as he began.

“I am so sorry to horn in on your conversation, but I did need to share something important with Kalimac. Marcho, I think you should hear this too.” Kalimac gave an acknowledging nod and Harold continued. The hobbit went off like an arrow strung expertly on a bow, his words flowing with amazing consideration as he proceeded to give a humble apology to Kalimac, which the hobbit pondered briefly as Harold spoke on, beginning to put his heart into his words. He addressed Marcho too, and the scout also recognized his oddly melancholy confidence in his speech. "I’m sorry Kalimac, but no one ever asked me or my buddies whether or not we wanted to move. There we all were, sitting in the Prancing Pony, quaffing a brew, having a good time, and enjoying ourseves, just like always. Suddenly, the Pony was gone and everything had changed. Not that it wasn't a good idea, of course....., things being crowded and such in Bree." Harold respectfully nodded in Marcho's direction. "Still, things like that can nibble at the edge of a Hobbit's mind, and maybe that's part of the reason I got so angry earlier. In any case, I'm very sorry.”

Tipping his hat politely and edging backward, Kalimac and Harold, Fallohide and Whitfoot, rich and poor, looked at each other keenly for what seemed like many minutes before Harold turned, with another tip of the hat, and headed back towards his own family. Kalimac stared after him, putting great consideration into the words his counterpart had just said. He’d almost expected the apology, but the rest had given Kalimac a new insight into Harold as a hobbit, a view of the Harfoot which he’d never seen before in his life. It was strangely disconcerting to know these feelings that Harold had, since he’d often found himself comparing the venerable Harfoot to some kind of slated beast of burden, devoid of any cares except for serving and pestering his employer. But now he knew there was something more. Just like he had his fears, his nervousness, his foolishness, Harold had his past that had been swept away in the winds of Bree.

“You can disregard what I said earlier, Marcho. I do believe I’ve got some thinking to do.”

With that, his mind abuzz with numerous inner conversations which Kalimac was having exclusively with himself, the hobbit of Bree turned abruptly from Marcho and headed towards the waiting arms of his family. He did have a great amount of thinking to do. He saw Harold and his kin in a new light now, even that hostile old coot, Fordogrim. It was like looking through a color-tinted window; everything looked suddenly different, and Kalimac realized who wrong he had been. He would have to consider the Harfoot's words very carefully.

[alaklondewen]

Adelard held his injured arm firmly against his body as he glared menacingly at the Chubb and Whitfoot offspring. Their parents were hugging them, showing joy in the children’s safety, while all Adelard got was a smack to the back of the head from his father for wandering into the forest and ruining his clothes. His mother showed him a bit more attention and ordered a healer to tend to his arm.

The old hobbit gently tried to pull the young hobbit’s bleeding arm away from his chest. A razor sharp pain ripped through his limb, and Adelard shoved the healer roughly away with his good arm, all the while never removing his gaze from the Chubbs. It was after all their fault he was in this mess…they should never had ventured off away from camp, enticing Adelard to find them. Bitterness filled his head as he watched May hug her father once more.

“I am afraid your arm is broken, young Master Proudfoot.” The healer’s soft voice broke through Adelard’s thoughts, and he turned his curly topped head toward the old hobbit, who continued quickly. “Good thing is…it shouldn’t need setting. I can wrap it for you now.”

Adelard just looked through the hobbit and turned back toward May. An inner struggle had begun in the young Proudfoot. He could not keep himself from gazing at the lass, admiring her from afar, but he rebuked himself at the same time for the interest in someone as lowly as a sharecropper’s daughter. His father would never stand for it. Nor will I. He told himself.

As soon as the healer finished wrapping his throbbing limb, Adelard, now hardened with resolve, marched to where the Chubb daughter stood with her family. “This is your fault, May Chubb, and don’t tell me otherwise! My arm is broken! It will be weeks before I can use it again, and…my clothes…they…they’re ruined! You’re going to pay for this.”

Adelard’s shouting was causing a bit of a scene, and soon several hobbits were gathering to watch the commotion. The Whitfoot family, which was cooking only a few feet away anyway, scooted a little closer to the Chubb camp. When the Proudfoot saw them, he turned his focus on the adults. “Do you see?! Do you see what happens when you leave your children with peasants? They think they can do anything! Anything!”

May’s father stepped forward and tried to quiet Adelard, but the young hobbit eluded his touch and spun to face May once more. “This is your fault…” Adelard spoke through his clamped teeth and pointed his finger at her. “You’re going to work for this. Get ready…you’re going to work for this.”

[alaklondewen]

Marcho Bolger

In the days that followed the wolf catastrophe the settlers seemed to be genuinely bound together. Families were helping one another with campsite chores, and the second evening after the fight, everyone pitched in to have a community meal. The ladies prepared a delicious stew from the ingredients each family contributed. Many sang songs and danced, and a barrel of ale was tapped and shared by all. Marcho even pulled out his wooden flute for a rare performance. Overnight, the males took turns, four at a time, standing guard against the surrounding darkness.

Seeing this community-centered spirit raised Marcho’s morale. Thus far, it seemed the group had run into one obstacle after another, and he knew many of his fellow hobbits held him to blame. The Fallohide questioned his decision to lead these innocent folk into the wilderness, but in his heart he knew that if they persevered they would be rewarded beyond their expectations.

Marcho had never considered that all the hobbits would not feel the reward of living in a new place, but Harold Chubb’s heart felt apology lingered in the scout’s mind. Two days Marcho mulled over the Harfoot’s words. In all honesty, the hobbit assumed arrangements would be kept between families, and that those who worked for others would still honor their appropriate contracts. Yet, how could he, as their leader, not consider the impact of pulling families from land they’ve worked without the prospect of their own land in return. He had promised this new place would provide for all of them, not just the wealthy. On the other hand, what ramifications would be brought about by letting those contracts fail? This issue certainly needed some discussion. Marcho was curious as to what the other Fallohide families would think about such a proposal, and he began considering meeting with the fathers. First, he would question his brother-in-law, since they had not discussed the Chubbs comments as of yet.

~*~*~

Third Morning after Wolves: Henry Chubb

Henry shivered under his blanket and curled up into a ball renouncing the arrival of morning. His mother saw him stirring and insisted he rise to help her with packing and breakfast. Most of the settlers were already busy about their wagons and fires, preparing for the new day. An excitement was in the air this morning. Henry had heard the adults talking the night before and they would be crossing the boundary of the new land today, although their destination lay still a few weeks away. The young hobbit was, to a degree, uncertain as to why they were not stopping once they reached their land, but he shared in the anticipation regardless of his understanding.

The Chubbs had a short breakfast and were soon piled onto the cart moving slowly down the road. Henry was pleased to be allowed to ride in the front with his father this morning, and he took advantage to ask his father all about the new land and why they weren’t stopping when they crossed the river. His father told him that they would be able to establish better trade in the White Downs opposed to the area on the other side of the forest. Henry chewed on this a while before asking with whom they would trade. His father mumbled a reply about Big Folk and Elves, and Henry wondered whether Elves liked eggs and milk enough to trade with them. The two, father and son, sat quietly in their own thoughts until Marcho stopped them for lunch.

The morning had become progressively cloudy and a strong wind was picking up. Henry had a hard time keeping his food on his plate and resorted to hunching his shoulders and surrounding his lunch with his entire body to keep it still. This method worked for the remainder of break, and then it was back on the cart for Henry.

His mother requested to sit with his father this time, so he rode in the back for a while before hopping down to walk awhile. They had been on the road for just a couple of hours since their short lunch, when the sound of the rushing water could be heard. Henry tried to get a look, but there were too many wagons in front of them to see very far ahead. This is it, he thought. This is our new land! The young hobbit was finding it difficult to keep his excitement under control.

~*~*~

Melisil’s Post: Alora Whitfoot

Alora, her family, and all the other assortments of Hobbits traveling with them had been traveling hard most of the day so far. The weather had been very windy for almost the whole of it. Just a few hours after lunch had been eaten, the crowd arrived at a river. The wind was getting pretty strong by now.

“What’s this river called, Crispin?” Alora asked.

“Dad said that it’s called the Baranduin Alora.”

“Oh, ok.” Alora said, daydreaming slightly. The wagons began to ride over the bridge; their wagon was near the front of the line. Alora hopped off, and started walking beside the wagon. Alora glanced at the water; even at the start of a storm, it was somehow beautiful. Every wave it made, every ripple it created, pulled Alora closer to it. She stood at the railing of the bridge, leaning over slightly, as to see just a bit more of the wonderful river. She leaned over a bit more, and a bit more again. She leaned through the railings. I wonder what it would be like to be a fish, swimming in the river, she thought to herself. She extended to tiptoe, peering as hard as she could into the water, watching for the fish.

All of a sudden, ‘Splash!!’ Alora’s foot had slipped, and down she fell, off the bridge, and engulfed in the strangely warm feeling water. She screamed as she fell. She screamed again as she surfaced the water. Fear began to overtake her. Alora started kicking her feet and flaying her arms. The water seemed so much less inviting now, the magic had disappeared. “Mommy!” she screamed, as she surfaced again, “Daddy!” She fell under the water again. Alora couldn’t see what anyone was doing up on the bridge. She screamed, and gasped for breath, every chance she could.

~*~*~

Marcho

Marcho heard the frightful scream behind him and pulled his wagon to a screeching halt. Leaping from his wagon, the hobbit shouted an inquiry, but no one was quite sure what had happened. Several hobbits were leaning over the rail of the bridge, and then he saw the lass bobbing in the waves…