A Land to Call Their Own RPG

[Memory of Trees]

What on earth was that racket? May poked her head out of the wagon canvass, and her eyes grew round as she viewed an all-out brawl taking place not far away. Between her parents and the Whitfoots! Who would have thought? May couldn’t tell what they were fighting about, and, oddly enough, she didn’t really want to know. She had a suspicious feeling that the argument might have something to do with four shiny copper coins.

And in that moment, May realized something that had been growing on her mind ever since they had left Bree. Sure, she wanted things to change, and sure, she disliked the Whitfoots and the others like them. But she never wanted to hurt anyone. Fighting wasn’t the way to make things change.

It occurred to May to wonder where this sudden burst of tranquility had come from. Not from Grandpa Fordo, surely, and probably not her mother either, by the looks of things. She didn’t know, but I think that if Granpa Fordo could have seen her right at that moment, and heard what she was thinking, he would have said she looked exactly like her grandmother Primrose had once.

May was startled by a yell from Henry. “May, they’re coming!” he shouted, brown curls plastered to his head and eyes bright with badly concealed excitement. “I can see them coming, May,” he said again.

“Alright, I’m coming,” she huffed, hopping off the back of the wagon. There, coming towards them from across the soaked campsite, were two children – a boy about Henry’s age, and a little girl who couldn’t have been more than seven. As they came closer, May thought the scowling boy looked like trouble, but she couldn’t deny that the little girl was so cute her icy disdain began to melt a bit. Not much, but a little.

The four children stood silent for a moment, eyeing each other warily. Then the older Whitfoot announced rather sullenly, “My name is Crispin. I’m almost thirteen, and I don’t need a babysitter.” Henry’s frown deepened.

“I’m Alora,” the little girl piped up. She looked confused, and leaning close to May she whispered loudly, “Pardon, where are the babies you’re supposed to be sitting on?” Henry and Crispin howled with laughter, and May couldn’t resist a smile.

“Babysitting means we’re watching you and your brother, Alora,” she said, gently ruffling the little girls flaxen hair. Alora still looked a little puzzled, but this answer seemed to satisfy her.

May saw Henry and Crispin standing awkwardly beside each other, each stealing quick glances at one another when they thought the other wasn’t looking. She elbowed her brother, whispering through her teeth, “Say something to him, Henry.”

Henry scowled at her, but turned and said smilingly to Crispin, “Hey, Crispin, ya like to explore?” The younger boy’s eyes widened as he nodded yes. “Wanna check out the forest?”

“Sure!” Crispin quickly agreed and hopped off the log.

Henry gave May a defient, mischevious glance, and she hissed loudly through her teeth with frustration. “What are you doing?”

“We’re just going to do some exploring,” Henry shrugged off his sister’s penetrating eyes. “No big deal, Sis. Wanna come?”

“I do!” Alora excitedly stood up on the log, jumped off, and grabbed her brother’s hand.

May narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “Where are you going, Henry?” she asked warningly.

“Just around the edge of the forest, that’s all. Come on, May…it’ll be fun.” Henry was using that wheedling tone he employed when trying to get his mother to do what he wanted. That was a bad move, because May hated it when he did that. Besides, little red flags were flying up in her mind. She kept her tone calm and polite for the Whitfoots.

“Henry, you know that’s not a good idea. Mr. Whitfoot’d skin you alive if he found out you were taking his kids into that forest.”

“Why can’t we ‘splore?” little Alora asked, tugging on her sleeve. “We do at home.” He had them completely won over.

“He’s not going to find out,” Henry said simply, throwing another look toward the adults. “You can come or not, Mayflower, but we’re going.” He glared obstinantly at her.

May could have screamed in frustration. She had seen Henry like this a hundred times before, and she knew that nothing she could do would change his mind. The three children started off towards the woods, but they were going slowly, halting every few steps, and May knew they were waiting for her to make up her mind.

Well, she couldn’t exactly let them wander off on their own, could she? At least this way she could keep them from doing anything too stupid. Wordlessly, May stood up and took Alora’s hand from Henry. He have her a triumphant grin.

May leaned over close to her brother, whispering venomously so that only he could hear, “Yeah, I’m coming to make sure you don’t kill yourselves. But you just wait until I tell our daddy what you did, Henry Chubb. I’ll be surprised if you can sit down for a week!”

That made Henry a little nervous, but not enough to make him stop smirking. And May thought she saw him mouth as he turned his head away, “Tattletale.” She ground her teeth.

And all the while the four children were getting closer and closer to the forest.

[alaklondewen]

Ummph! All of the air in the round hobbit’s lungs was forced from his body as he thudded against the damp and unyielding forest floor. Sweeping his unruly red curls from his forehead, he managed to smear the mud, which was now caked on the palms of both of his hands, across his face and into his hair. He could feel the coolness of the wet mud seeping through is breeches. Cursing under his breath, he swore if his clothes were ruined those Chubb brats would work off their cost. “With interest,” he snarled. It was their fault he was out here tramping through the woods, unaccompanied, in the dark, and now his expensive attire was soiled. They, that Henry and Mayflower Chubb, always seemed to be having some sort of fun, and they certainly had never asked him to join them. Who did they think they were? They’re nobody, just a couple of ruggers. But he, he was a Fallohide, from a prosperous family. Why his daddy was going to run the show when they got to the new land. He’d work for his father, of course, and be above those Chubbs, as if he wasn’t already. They should be so lucky as to have him around to befriend. The only choice he had was to follow them on this little escapade through the forest and demand he be allowed to join once he caught up to them. They couldn’t refuse…not with his reputation.

Pushing his weight up with his arms, he tried to get up from the ground, but immediately tripped again and landed in the same place. It was as if the trees themselves were tripping him. They’d better not try to hurt me, he thought. Daddy, would just hire some Big Folk to cut them trees down. They’d be sorry then.

Crawling along as quickly and soundlessly as he could was proving to be a rather difficult task. Every once in a while, his knees would slip and his belly would drag on the floor, but he could hear their voices just ahead, so he kept on creeping up as best he could. The element of surprise would surely seal the deal. He’d have them where he wanted, and then he'd spring out from behind a tree. The tween chuckled to himself.

Then, from the shadows beyond his prey, a series of blood-curdling howls froze the hobbit in his tracks. He could feel the hair rise on his toes. Darting his eyes to and fro, he saw nothing but shadows within shadows. As he contemplated his next course of action, sweat began to bead along his forehead and his heart seemed to be beating in his throat. Sheer panic overcame him, and he leapt to his feet and stumbled through the trees yelping as he went. “Help! Help! Henry, May! Help!” As he tottered into the small grove where the young hobbits were resting, four shocked faces turned to him wide-eyed.

“Why, Adelard Proudfoot, what is the matter with you and why are you making all that noise?” Mayflower Chubb stood and immediately confronted the hobbit.

Adelard stopped short, realizing his utter foolishness, and tried to regain his composure. Placing his hands on his hips, he straightened his face and stuck his short nose in the air. “I knew you’d be scared of those wolves out there, and I knew you’d be scared of me too if I came runnin’ through here. And you were too, I know it!” Yup, they wouldn’t think he was the one that was afraid now. Yet May tipped her head to one side and looked at him disapprovingly. That May, she sure is pretty…for a rugger anyway.

************************************************** ********

ArwenBaggins' post for Crispin:


“An’ who are you?” Crispin narrowed his eyes and furrowed his brow toward the newcomer. Anyone who was going to come and barge in on what was going to be his chance to save everyone needed to be set straight.

The new hobbit took his eyes off May for a second and straightened his coat, trying to indicate his conceited authority. “I am Adelard Proudfoot,” He looked over to Crispin and frowned; Crispin could have sworn he saw and heard a snarl.

Tightening his grip on the stick he held white-knuckled, another unnerving howl was emitted from the dark wood around them. Ruffling Alora’s hair and giving off a fake smile, he held his sister’s hand as if it was the only thing in the world to hold on too. Don’ let’m know I’m scared. I’m a Whitfoot… we don’ get scared in the woods! He cleared his throat and cast a swift glance to Adelard, huffing angrily at the new hobbit that seemed to be competition.

[Regin Hardhammer]

Harold watched as Grandpa Fordo raised his cane valiantly over his head and issued a challenge to the wolves lurking in the forest. Although he did not say so aloud, Harold completely agreed with his father’s sentiments. The Harfoot was not an aggressive Hobbit by nature, except when the safety of his children was in jeopardy. His family was the most important thing that he had, and he was not going to sit idle while wolves gobbled up May and Henry. Those scoundrels had better flee while they can, thought Harold, before I get to them and make them feel sorry.

Astride Daisy, Harold rode towards the dismal forest. He gritted his teeth in frustration to hear Kalimac’s sardonic reply to the passionate challenge of Grandpa Fordo. Harold hardly regarded this as an “escapade”, as Kalimac had so coolly put it. As Kalimac passed Fordo who was riding on Stout, Harold thought he saw the Fallohide stick his nose high into the air

How can he let old disputes impede our progress when our children’s lives are at stake? Maybe he should put his pride away for a moment and concentrate on finding our young ones!

Now, more than ever, Harold hoped that May and Henry were doing their job. When he’d told them that they’d be responsible for the Whitfoot children he never imagined that something like this would happen. They’re good lads and lasses; they’ll be fine, Harold told himself. He sincerely hoped that the four children were the only ones trapped in the forest.

Reaching into his pocket, Harold fingered his trusty sling as well as a few rocks that he had gathered by the road. In Bree, he had been quite the expert with it, using the weapon to pick off crows from Kalimac’s vegetable patch even from a great distance. Somehow Harold figured that these animals would be more difficult to subdue than a mere witless crow. He had also draped his scythe over his shoulder suspended from a rope, the one he used to cut grain in the fields back home. Back then, he couldn’t have imagined using it to fight for the lives of his children, nor did he ever want to be asked to do so again.

As the Hobbits proceeded onward, Harold became anxiously aware of the dark trees looming above. The forest was a quilt of shadow and mystery and seemed mysteriously frightening, perhaps even more so than normal because of the terrifying ordeal that lay ahead of him. But Harold suppressed his fear with anger, which flowed like a river through him. Those wolves will not lay a single paw on any of the children, vowed Harold. I may not be the strongest Hobbit, but I certainly am the most determined you are ever likely to meet. With a fervor, Harold entered the gloomy wood, his father riding beside him. For once in his life, Harold reflected, he and his father saw things exactly the same.

[Memory of Trees]

May could sense a growing air of unease the deeper into the forest they got. A continual stream of complaints were running through her head. This is stupid, Henry. It's wet, it's cold, it's creepy. You don't have to prove to them you're tough. This is stupid. But she didn't say it out loud - something stopped her. This is Henry's way of showing he's better than them, she thought. I have my way, he has his. He needs to impress them. So she kept her mouth shut.

May was surprised how much darker it actually was in the forest, and she wasn't pleased by it. She was not scared, but all her instincts were screaming that this was wrong, wrong, wrong, this shouldn't be happening, we shouldn't be doing this.

And then the howles began. Murderous, blood-curdling howls, and although Mayflower had never before heard a wolf, she knew that's what it must be. But as of yet, she still wasn't frightened.

May turned to see Crispin and Alora running to catch up. What was she doing? She was supposed to be watching them! "Stay with the group," she snapped as they reached her. Crispin looked scared, and so did Alora.

Another howl, closer this time. Alora whimpered and buried her head in her brother's shirt. "Henry, stop," she said firmly, taking the little hobbit's hand. "We're going to take a rest, and then we are turning right around and going straight back to the camp. Do you hear me, Henry?" Her brother agreed - he didn't look too eager to press forward himself.

They sat down in a small clearing and rested their backs against the wide trees. To her surprise, Alora strayed a little from her brother's side to lean against May's welcome shoulder, and she didn't push her away. She wouldn't have, not in a million years.

Was someone crying? May glanced down at Alora, but her face was dry. Crispin? Henry? And then a fat young hobbit charged into the clearing, bellowing at the top of his lungs, "Help! Help! Henry, May! Help!"

May lept to her feet, brandishing a stick wildly, then dropping it as she realized who it was. "Why, Adelard Proudfoot, what is the matter with you and why are you making all that noise?" she said, throwing her hands on her hips.

Adelard stopped short, realizing his utter foolishness, and tried to regain his composure. Placing his hands on his hips, he straightened his face and stuck his short nose in the air. “I knew you’d be scared of those wolves out there, and I knew you’d be scared of me too if I came runnin’ through here. And you were too, I know it!”

May tipped her head to one side and looked at him disapprovingly. She disliked Adelard, and what's more she was convinced that he had had a crush on her for the past year. He was fat, disagreeable, always mean to Henry, and a general snob to anyone he found "below him." She frowned.

"Well, you found us now, and we seem to be in much better condition than you are at the moment," she said calmly. "What do you intend to do now, Master Adelard?"

***********************************

Melisil's post:

All around her, Alora heard frightning noises. She had never heard things like this before, but they scared her. Long howlings. Crispin, who was currently beside Alora, was frightened too. This added to her fear.

May and Henry told them that they were going to sit down for a moment, then start back home. Alora agreed to this idea gladly.

The group had only been seated a moment, when a hobbit that Alora didn't know of appeared before them. He startled her, as he had come in to the clearing yelling and shouting like an angry baboon! May seemed to know the Hobbit though, so Alora calmed down, hoping that they would start for camp again soon.

[alaklondewen]

Once the realization that the four children were missing settled on the hobbits, panic broke out among the settlers. Marcho, having dealt with intense situations before, knew that if they did not form an organized party, the crisis would only get worse. It was too late for the fathers, and grandfather, of the lost children. To Marcho’s dismay, the three mounted their ponies and rode off into the forest despite the scout’s loud protests. The children’s safety was the most important goal, and the trio of riders were putting themselves in unnecessary danger. Their behavior was downright foolish. The Whitfoot and Chubb wives had nearly made the same mistake. Marcho caught them running after their husbands, and physically stopped their progression. These women would have been in even more trouble than their male counterparts. One of them had even armed herself with a broom. No, Marcho would not allow them to be apart of this.

“Elsa, Sarah, I know you’re worried sick, but there is nothing you can do.” The scout glanced at Elsa’s broom that she gripped tightly. “Go back to your wagons…no, better yet, go to my wagon. Estella is there and she will be armed.” Marcho knew his bow and quiver were nestled just behind the seat, and Estella was trained to use it at need.

Turning his back on them and assuming they would do as he commanded, Marcho, with help from his brother and Fredigar Headstrong, began gathering every eligible male to go into the forest. They would be stronger with a greater number, and since he was unsure how many wolves were near, he did not want to take any chances. He only hoped the beasts had not surrounded the camp.

Once the hobbit men were approximately seventy strong, Marcho gave the order and they moved toward the eaves of the woods. The hobbit band might have made the soldiers of Big Folk chuckle if they had seen the Halflings marching with their short knives. Some were fortunate to have long knives or short swords, but many carried sling shots and farming tools. They were not as trained as the Big Folk or the armies of old, but they were strong in their hearts. Moving forward with formidable determination, these hobbits were not coming returning without those children, even if they had to fight with all they had.

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

The hobbits’ headlong rush into the forest was severely stayed the moment they passed under the trees. All three ponies shied away from the trees, and the branches that had before seemed high enough to let them pass beneath lowered and waved in their faces, catching and scratching at their eyes and mouths. Fordogrim lashed out against the forest with his cane, batting the branches away from him, but the low whispering in the leaves came back to him like hissing laughter. Soon, Stout and Daisy had slowed to a walk, and even Kalimac’s thoroughbred was forced to stumble with the work ponies through the roots. With the initial rush of terror and ferocity gone, a cold and tingling fear settled on them all as they realised what they were doing: before them lay the Forest and in it were Wolves. They were only three against that. But also in the Forest were their children. Fear might have dogged their very steps, but not one of them even considered turning back.

After the initial volley of howls an eerie silence had fallen on the Forest. Not knowing which way to go, the three hobbits headed more or less in the direction of the last sounds they had heard. The further they went, the harder it was to move in a straight line, as the trees seemed to crowd them about, forcing them always to their right and back toward the edge of the Forest. Fordogrim lashed out with his cane against the trunk of a large oak, crying out, “We want nothing to do with you! We’re only in here a-trying to save our little ones!” but the oak tree only shivered with a treey kind of rage and the woods crowded in about them more closely than before.

Harold spoke quietly, his voice coming from the darkness to Fordogrim like the pale cry of a phantom. “Father, perhaps we should try not to upset anything in here and simply look for the children.” Fordogrim nodded; he knew his son could not see him, but he also knew that a lack of reply on his part would be taken by Harold as assent.

They pressed on for a few more minutes but it quickly became apparent that they were lost. Worse, they no longer had any idea of which way their children lay, and which way lay their danger. They tried crying out the names of the children, but the leaves stifled their voices and their calls fell meaningless and cold to the forest floor. Without a word passing between them, they stopped dead and the trees pulled in around them like the woody bars of a prison. “Well,” Fordogrim began bitterly, “what are we to do now?” He felt old in that moment, old and stupid and useless. He knew that if he had not charged into the woods ahead of the others, his son probably would have taken the time to organise something more useful, and that ridiculous Whitfoot would not have felt compelled to do them both one better and ride in after them. What was I thinking? Better to have stayed behind with the women and children and let them’s that are able-bodied have come in here.

It was, surprisingly enough (to Fordogrim at least) Kalimac who came up with a solution. Rather than crying out the names of his son and daughter, he tilted back his head and let out a terrifyingly good imitation of a wolf’s howl. It rose into the treetops about them and scattered through the boughs, raising the very hackles on Fordogrim’s neck. As the sound echoed off into the woods, the elderly hobbit looked at the Whitfoot and angrily demanded, “Just why in the name of sense did you go and do something like that for?” But Fordogrim was immediately given his answer in the form of answering calls coming from somewhere to their left, and slightly behind them. Wheeling their mounts, the three hobbits charged into the woods once more and made for the sounds of the wolves, which were now coming almost continuously. Soon, however, they had changed into the unmistakable growls and whines of animals on the hunt.

In a state of blind white panic, the hobbits pushed on through the trees until without warning they emerged into a small clearing that was the scene of their greatest nightmares. Standing in the middle of the clearing were four large and hungry-looking wolves. As Fordogrim, Harold and Kalimac entered the clearing, the wolves stopped and looked toward them. The largest growled at the others in their wolf-tongue and the three nearest turned and, snarling, began to advance on them, while the remaining monster brought its belly close to the ground and slunk off into the forest in search of its prey.

[Kransha]

They had sallied forth, a motley enough trio considering they were currently at odds. Kalimac kept shooting venomous glares at both the Chubbs, which were quickly and promptly returned by them. Though that rivalry kept them off guard, they soon turned their attention to the vile symphony of noises that was issuing from the woodland depths. The trees and roots on the ground, which Kalimac was so familiar with, became a hardship as well. It was harder now to navigate towards the sound, but Kalimac knew a way. His natural knowledge might come in handy just now, even though he was unused to the territory and the surroundings. He managed, after some searching, to execute a well-done wolf call, to the general surprise and confusion of the two Chubbs. Luckily, his bizarre action was explained before he had to speak, and the trio set off again…right into the clearing that contained the predators, their prey.

Instantly as Kalimac’s eyes caught sight of the murderous, fiendish wolves who would dare to assault his children, the short but firm oaken bow strung around his arm was whipped out fully and leveled at one of the coiled up beasts who was about to spring. Usually, better judgment would’ve had him aiming at one of the vile creatures edging ominously towards him, but he was too filled with this furious energy to even notice them. A narrow shaft was instantly plucked from the compact quiver that was dangling nonchalantly just behind his right leg and lay that arrow bolt sternly on his closed fist which gripped the bow's handle. His hobbit eyes narrowed at the beasts as he aimed precisely.

“Get away from our children, you foul creatures!” commanded Kalimac in his biggest voice, which, incidentally wasn’t very big at all. Kalimac was a good hunter as were most Fallohides, but he could not recall being openly threatened by murderous wolves. Suddenly, as soon as it had sprung up, his newfound strength wilted. His rigid arm wavered, his stomach jumped, and a distinct gulp could be heard as his grip on the fine bow began to weaken and tremble as the gentlehobbit stared down the length of his quivering arrow at the voracious looks on those wolf muzzles and the evil, utterly fiendish glint in their eyes.

In retrospect, it is never a good idea to take out a bow when trembling; it makes for very bad aim and stamina. This was the fact that ran, over and over, through Kalimac’s mind as he realized that he’d just let go of the arrow. The shaft slid from his bow, whistled through the air, and thudded into the wooded earth right beside one of the snarling beast. No, not a good idea at all.