Outracing the Flames RPG

[Maeggaladiel]

"I'd take the next watch," Fionn began, "but people tend to show up unannounced whenever I'm left in charge. I'm too tired to make any more introductions. We'll end up with an army a thousand strong if I keep this up." He lay down on his bedroll and closed his eyes. A moment later, his eyes reopened.

"Which would apparently suit the March-Warden just fine," he added, quietly and not without some ire.

He held no grudges against either Raedwald or the newcomer Sythric; he had always admired those who rode in the Mark. But it was quite disturbing to think that the council, all of whom had seemed perfectly happy to send the small party out to Edoras, was now doubting their abilities.

Why did Bregoware send a retired Rider out as "aid?" Did they think they needed a babysitter? Were they regretting their choice in messengers? Did they expect his party to be hopelessly lost and crying like children right about now?

Fionn forced his eyes closed once more, and sleep descended upon him.

[Nogrod]

Bregoware

The easterling cavalry was closing in, riding ever tighter around the perimeter of the refugee camp. They sent their lethal arrows one at the time, at least fifty arrows in the air simultaneosly. It was pure slaughter. The children were crying out in panic, their mothers wailing in agony. The men and the women were trying to find a shelter from the wagons, some of them trying to shoot back. Two or three of the wagons had already been lit by the flame-arrows, that a few of the easterlings used. The darkness of the night and the brightness of the flames made a stark contrast. Then there were those blood-chilling screams that came from the onfalling orc-army. It had emerged from nowhere, and was upon the people before they could come to grips with this new danger. Cwen was running towards her mother, face turned to despair, when the orc appeared from behind her, and swang its sword...

Sythric woke up, sweating, hearing his own heart bumping heavily and fast. It was quiet, and the stars shined calmly over the skies. He rubbed his forehead to ease the tension, but that didn’t seem to help. Slowly he rose up to sitting position and tried to relax. Nothing seemed to help: he was still shaking all over. Maybe it was just too little sleep or something...

As he seemed not to be able to get those images out from his head, he rose up, and thought of having a little walk. Maybe a chat with the guard, whoever he or she was, could release him from these dark visions. He would just have to occupy himself with something else. Sythric saw a figure standing, leaning towards a tree, some thirty feet away from him. He started to approach the figure carefully: not to make too much noise, but no to be perceived as stalking either. He would just need to have some company, not a third alarm for this party today.

[Arry]

Wulfham


Brand was barely aware as someone leveraged him up from his blankets to a sitting position and spoke to him. He could barely make out the words at first, but they were spoken in a soft voice, and he was very glad of that. His head was pounding from the fall he’d taken when the cougar landed on him. Brand struggled to open his eyes and he groaned as he raised his fingers to the back of his head, to the large knot there.

‘Drink this!’ he heard the voice urge him. It was a sharp taste on his tongue as he took a swallow of the warm tea. Willow bark! ‘Good!’ he said, his own voice barely above a whisper; the loudness of it as it rattled about his head made him wince again.

He took the cup in his hands, sipping at the brew. There was a bulky bandage of sorts on his left forearm he noted, and then recalled how the cat had clawed him. The gouges stung beneath the strips of cloth and he wondered if they would leave scars. Worse yet was his face. The right side of it felt on fire and the eye was swollen shut. Brand fingered the bandage that had been secure there. It seemed a little west, and drawing his finger tips away from it he noted they were stained with dark blood.

A grim laugh escaped him, causing him to groan again at the movement of his face. A bit of dark humor in the midst of present pain. Seeing as how he would most likely be scarred, perhaps his sisters would give up their quest to find a suitable wife for him. ‘Now that I am no longer suitable,’ he said to himself, ‘perhaps they will leave me be!’

He asked after Lady. And being told she seemed to have fared better than he, he heaved a sigh of relief. ‘Wake me at first light, then,’ he said. ‘We should get an early start.’ His voice trailed off as he lay back down; soon he was asleep.

-----

Next day . . .

He felt warm as he threw off his blankets. Opening his eyes, he could see the sun was shining brightly and already stood at the mid-day position. Brand raised himself up on one elbow and yelled out, ‘Hey!’ He was about to chastise his companions for letting him sleep when his head began to throb and his wounds ache. Brand lowered his voice and waved to someone on the other side of the fire. ‘Any of that willow bark tea left?’ he asked instead. ‘And am I still dreaming or do I smell something roasting over the fire?’

His belly rumbled hungrily with no accompanying wave of nausea. A good sign, he thought . . .

[Undómë]

Bregoware

Meghan

In the end it was Meghan who took the last watch ‘til morning. It was not an unfamiliar thing for her to do, for often in the summer when her goats pastured far from home, it was she and her dog who shared the watches. She’d brought her small skin of water and her worn leather case with its cherrywood pipe her brother had carved for her, and the sweet pipeweed that came from far off Bree.

She sat a little ways away from the banked fire and the bodies in their blankets. She could hear Rædwald’s soft snore and she chuckled to herself. They often shared pastures for their small herds, and he would swear up and down he did not snore though she teased him good-naturedly about it often. Some of her present companions slept like logs, barely moving, and some, she noted tossed and turned as if demons from the dark forests of the north pursued them in their dreams. And perhaps they did . . . who could know, save the dreamer . . .

It grew colder as the night waned and she was glad she’d brought her brother's woolen socks and his thick wool breeches to wear. The layers of clothes hid her slender body, and about them all she’d draped a heavy wool cloak. She looked much like a small woolen mountain when she was sitting on the ground, a volcano of sorts, with her little pipe lit and the pipeweed tamped in it giving off a bright orange glow. Her herding pole lay at her side; her bow and arrows near to hand.

Outside the snores and rustling blankets, there was only the occasional soft scurrying of some small animal making its way across the frosty ground to break the night’s natural silence. And so to keep herself awake, she would rise from her sitting position and stamp her feet a bit to bring back the warmth to them and walk about a bit.

She was just thinking of resuming her seat after one such walk-about when her eye caught a hulking figure back lit by the fire’s little glow coming toward her. Her eyes darted to the quilt wrapped figures about the fire, naming each of them. There was one place where the blankets were empty.

‘Sythric! Is that you?’ she called out softly as the tall man approached. Her thick wooden pole she grasped firmly in her hand, as she always did when on guard with her goats. ‘Come closer, man,’ she said, the starlight now making his features more recognizable. ‘Was it you I saw having the bad dream? You tossed and turned like a leaf on a rushing stream. Come sit and talk and smoke a while with me. I’ll have to admit I’m tired and it would be good to hear the sound of another voice to keep me from dropping off.’

[Tevildo]

Dorran leapt to his feet, raced over to where Brand was sitting, and held out a steaming mug of willow bark tea.

"You're alright?" Dorran's voice was tentative and strained. Obvious guilt was written over his face. "Can I get you something? Anything at all. I still have some of my sister's biscuits. Or maybe you are cold? You can borrow my blanket." The young man went over to retrieve his pack, fumbled around inside, and pulled out a heavy woolen blanket, despite the fact that the day was warm and the sun shone brightly overhead.

Dorran pushed the blanket towards Brand and then confided in a lower voice, "It's my fault, you know. You wouldn't be in this mess, if I'd managed to get out of the way of that cat. I'm sorry....really sorry. I won't forget how you've helped me."

The boy ploughed ahead without waiting for an answer. "I feel so silly. I was angry at Vaenosa for making herself a nuisance, but now I've gone and done something even worse."

"Anyways, I thought I should tell you something. Vaenosa was a real help last night. Without her, we would have been in serious trouble. She brought you back to camp single handed, stoked up the fire, tended the horses, and made all of us a healing potion. Incana and I were too weak and wounded to be much help, although I'm feelng better this morning."

Dorran pointed down to his bandaged ankle and then looked around to make sure that the woman was not nearby, "I wanted to speak with her and thank her. But, truthfully, she still scares me a bit. Once or twice, I tried to say something, but she glared and I ran away." Dorran privately promised himself that, sometime in the next day or two, he would try and approach the young woman again. Out loud to Brand, he merely said, "I guess we'll wait here for today? And maybe tomorrow too? It looks as if you could stand some rest."

Before Brand could respond, Dorran added, "Oh, yes, one other thing. Do you remember those traps you laid yesterday? I haven't checked all of them, but I did find this in one." Dorran held up a good sized hare. "Would you like some stew for lunch? I found a patch of thyme and turnips just a short distance away." Dorran had resolved to plug his ears and cook the lunch, even if Vaenosa called him names.

[Nogrod]

Sythric recognized the soft voice. It was she. Well, that was a relief. Someone he knew. He had so many questions to ask her, but then kind of refrained on them. He truly was happy to see her here on guard at this moment!

"Good night my friend", he said in a low voice, "Well, it surely was me having terrible nightmares. I just had to get away from them". He looked at Meghan with a smile. "I don't know why Raedwald is here, but I do believe, that Leof was overhasty: you seem to be doing fine."

He was silent for a moment, looking at Meghan. She offered the pipe to him, and he took it.

"Then again, I 'm not sure whether I would have to say being happy to see you here or not. I just don't know, which one is the safer place: ours' here, or being with the refugees behind us. You may deduct, that my nightmares concerned those who were left behind. I really do fear for our people".

Sythric sighed, and leaned to the tree, watching Meghan intensively, pulling the pipe towards his mouth.

"But how has your ride been? Everythings' allright? I surely think, both of us "old timers" appearing from nowhere must have begged the question. But remember, that we are two more guys to wield the sword, if it comes to that. I know your father, and Raedwald is my friend. How should we go forwards? I don't have any idea, about how have you declared yourselves during the first day. So who is the leader, which are the tensions?"

He looked at Meghan, quite amiably this time. Took an easy inhaling from the pipe and puffed some semi-fine rings fron it.

[Arry]

Wulfham

Words tumbled out of Dorran like a spring freshet after a sudden thaw. Brand could not help but smile, and doing so, immediately regretted the action. ‘By the Burning Briar!’ he swore holding his hand to his face. ‘The tea, Dorran. Hand me the mug!’

When the sharp onset of pain had diminished, Brand took a deep breath and let it out slowly. ‘No need for “sorrys” and such,’ he told the young man. ‘You got the fiend away from Lady, and for that I’m very glad.’ He clapped the young man on the shoulder. ‘She was a beast of a cat, now, wasn’t she? We came away from it still breathing and her and her murdering get done for. There’s glad enough in that, isn’t there? And won’t it be a grand tale to tell family and friends when we get back!’ He was about to chuckle, when he thought better of it and simply nodded his head, eyes glinting mischievously. ‘Of course, we’ll have to agree on a few details, so as to back each other up. But a little fancy embroidery, as my gran used to say, always livens up a plain piece of cloth, don’t you think?’

‘Here . . . give me the hare, why don’t you. I’ll skin it out and disjoint it for us, if you’ll get the turnips and thyme you spied out.’ He took up his knife and pointed to the pot and the waterskins. ‘I can just get the meat going if you bring those to me. I’d get up myself, but things seems to swim if I move too fast.’

He settled himself in, humming a little as he worked over the hare. Dorran had gone off to gather the turnips and herbs. He’d left Brand one of his sister’s biscuits. Dipped in his tea, Brand savored the soggy snack.

It was a nice, fat hare and he could almost taste it as he put the pieces into the pot and covered it with a bit of water – cooked long enough, it would be tender enough for him to chew on. He pulled his pack over to him and fished about in one of the side pockets. There was a little leather pouch there his mother had sent along. Several large pieces of rock salt. Brand crushed a bit of it and sprinkled it over the pieces of meat.

By scooting himself carefully across the ground and pushing the pot ahead of him, Brand got up close to the fire without sending his head throbbing. He positioned the pot on some rocks right on the fire’s edge where it would soon grow hot enough to bubble and simmer.

Brand looked about the little camp, Vaenosa and Incana were nowhere to be seen. He wondered if they had gone off hunting. Picking up a long thick stick from the pile of wood they’d brought, he stirred the stewing meat a bit and readjusted the nearness of the stewpot to the fire. The effort of just that little work surprised him with how tiring it had been. He gave the meat one more stir and then leaned back against an old stump. Soon, the warmth of the afternoon and the tea he’d drunk had him drifting off to sleep.