Seekers of Truth RPG

[Crystal Heart]

Sandrina nodded and looked around. She knew that her parents couldn't be here anymore. There was just no way that they would send people like these to get others. Her parents had never been like that.

"We need to leave the estate. We need to find my parents. Harold and his horrible sons must have them or something along those lines. Hama, can you make the journey?" Sandrina asked. Hama nodded slightly, the pain still in his eyes.

An arrow zoomed through the air and landed at Hama's feet. A piece of parchment was wrapped around it. Sandrina took it out of the ground and unrolled the paper.

"It reads: Sandrina you have no chance. We are going to your parents and we are going to kill them. Then we're going to kill you. I suggest you run away now," Sandrina read, swallowing hard. She looked up, her eyes filled with determination and a new emotion, hatred. Hatred for the traitors that lived within her family. Absolute traitors in every way.

Sandrina stood up and helped Hama to his feet. He leaned on her heavily, but she did not waver underneath his weight.

"We have to go now. Send out any word you can on our way into Rohan. This began as a battle. Now it is a war," Sandrina announced. She whistled for the horses. They came running instantly to her call. She helped Hama to his horse then jumped upon hers. She kicked the sides of her horse, which reared in response then sprang off in the direction of the city of Rohan.

[Firefoot]

Harold watched in satisfaction at the stricken look that came over Sandrina’s face as she read the message. He and his sons had made good time throughout the night and by the light of the early morning approached and hid on the very grounds of the estates. He himself had shot the arrow with the message tied to it. The message had been simple: death to her parents, and death to herself. Now he only had to see what her reaction would be. He was not quite close enough to make out Sandrina’s words to her companions, about half of which he had noted were in fact female, but he could see their actions.

He smiled evilly as Sandrina whistled for the horses the group was using. His smile faded to a frown when he realized the direction she intended to take, however. She did not flee as he had expected; rather she headed her horse deeper into Rohan. Her companions followed as soon as each was mounted, one of the men injured. She’s going after her parents, he realized. Another one of those female weaknesses - no thought to your own safety... Harold did some quick calculations. She would take the roads, because she would need to find out where her parents were living, and the only way to do that would be to go through towns. He, on the other hand, knew precisely where Henry and Eowyn made their abode. He and his sons would go cross-country, then, and come to the cabin ahead of Sandrina, where they would be waiting with a trap.

In case the Estates had not been left alone, he left silently from his hiding spot and motioned for Arthur and Samuel to do the same. If he had not been so enthused by his own devious plans he might have noticed how his sons were reacting to the situation. Samuel looked the same as always, reluctant and disgusted, which would not have surprised Harold, but Arthur’s feelings were changing to be closer to Samuel’s, which would have sparked Harold’s temper in a big way had he paid attention.

Harold did not pay attention, though, and so his sons were spared a tongue lashing. Harold checked on the horses, and saw that they looked fatigued, as well they should. He said, “We need fresh horses. We will have to trust that there are no people left at the estates, and if there are...” He gripped his sword handle. “They will die.” He spun on his heel, expecting his sons to follow. He made his way down the familiar trail to the stables, and found it abandoned. Smirking, he mused that Sandrina had left no thought whatsoever to the well-being of the estates.

“Hurry; we don’t have much time,” said Harold. “Get a horse, and return to where are supplies are.” For himself, he knew precisely the horse he wanted: a tall gray with a good build and strong hindquarters. The horse was at the far end of the stables, and turning a corner he nearly tripped. Seeing the cause, he mentally recoiled in disgust. It was the body of one of his men. Couldn’t do their job right, could they? You’d think they’d be able to get the best of a bunch of women and a few men. He really did have no time to waste, so he continued on with no thought to the corpse. He found the horse and led it back to their meeting location by a different route.

Arthur and Samuel came back about the same time he did, and began to saddle the new mounts. Ready to go, Harold issued another set of instructions. “Sandrina has gone after her parents. We need to beat her and her companions to Henry’s cabin, so we will be heading in a direct route there-” He gestured vaguely toward Henry’s house. “-and once we get there we will secure Henry and Eowyn and lay a trap for Sandrina. We will not kill Henry and Eowyn yet; for her trouble Sandrina will see them die.” Samuel looked outraged. Arthur schooled his expression to one of none. He thought Samuel would argue, and he even opened his mouth to do so, but no words came out. “Good,” said Harold evenly. “We are in agreement.” He mounted skillfully and set off at a trot into the knee-high grass of the plains. Leading the way, he thought he heard Arthur and Samuel talking quietly behind him, but Harold did not care. So long as they did his bidding, he gave little heed what they thought. And they would do his bidding, for his sons would not dare to do otherwise. Harold set his mind on their destination. Soon, very soon, his schemes would come to fruition, and an unhappy day that would be to those who dared to oppose him.

[Himaran]

Raen rode on in silence. He was worried about Hama; the man was acting resolute and strong in order to impress Sandrina - and no harm was done in that. However, it was obvious that he was badly injured - perhaps near death, in fact - and pretending to be tough and resiliant was not always a prudent path to take in such a situation. Adding to the discomfort of the ranger was the fact that he now felt conciencious around Sandrina; had spent the last quarter hour lavishing Hama with gratefulness for his bravery and sympathy for his injury. Why do you care? You are a ranger, and he is a man. It is his place, not yours, to be Sandrina's hero.

Raen pondored the last statement in his head for a while. Had it not been he that had gone in first to check things out? If they had followed Hama's advice, they might all be dead now. But because he was standing beside Sandrina, a man the ranger would have easily slaughtered turned Hama into her savior. And there is nothing wrong with that! He fought bravely, and saved her life, as did you... The last statement was true; there was no denying that. Then why did he still feel bitter resentment? As a ranger he had done great deeds before without getting recognition - merely floating away from whatever he had accomplished. That was his way, and the way of all his kin.

Now, Raen mused, it was time to allow Hama to lead the group. Frankly, the ranger was tired of giving direction to a man that clearly wished he had never been born, let alone entered this company. Besides, this is not my place. I should never have joined them, and risked my life for this snide man who struts about like a general, constantly reminding us of his time in the King's Royal Guard... Then something caught Raen's attention. Looking carefully at the ground, he was able to pick out partially erased hoof-marks. They had gone this way, that was certain. But the ranger was intent to keep the information to himself - after all, now it was Hama's perrogative to notice features such as this.

[starkat]

Anora was worried. She had watched as Sandrina paid attention to Hama. She also noticed that Raen seemed displeased. I hope this does not get out of hand. We do not need problems within our own ranks right now. The young woman was still watching Raen when she noticed him take a look at the ground.

Urging her horse up next to his, Anora looked down. She was not completely certain that those were tracks. I wonder why he did not say anything? Surely not because of Hama? I had better ask. "Raen, do you think that those are the tracks of the men headed for Sandrina's parents?"

[Firefoot]

When Harold saw a puff of smoke in the air, he knew they were getting close to Henry and Eowyn’s cabin. He motioned for his sons to draw in closer so that they could talk.

“I do not expect a lot of trouble from them,” he began. “We will go to the front door and get Henry to answer it. It would be well to have your swords drawn. I will take care of Henry; you two can go find Eowyn. Hold on a minute.” He rummaged in his saddlebags until he found what he was looking for: two long lengths of rope. One of them he tossed to Arthur, who caught it. “Tie her up, and make sure she does not have a knife on her person so they will not escape. Understand?” They nodded. “Come then.”

There was a tree nearby, and the three of them dismounted and tied their horses there. Harold led the way, marching boldly up to the front door. His sword was drawn, though it was more for show than anything else; he did not expect to use it. He knocked sharply, and in a short time it was opened.

“Brother,” said Harold. There was no affection in the name. He quickly moved so that the door could not be closed on him. He put the sword to Henry’s throat.

“What are you doing here?” asked Henry evenly, ignoring the cold blade at his throat.

“You haven’t heard then?” said Harold, feigning mild surprise. “Well, you will understand very soon, I assure you. So long as you cooperate, I will not have to use this sword. Yet.” To Arthur and Samuel, he said one word: “Go.” They understood, and pushed past Henry into the house.

Fury shown in Henry’s eyes. They were the same color as Harold’s; the brothers shared many facial features such as this. That was where the similarities ended, however. Henry was taller but less broad in shoulder, and where Harold tended to intimidate people he met, Henry was a very welcoming person to be around.

“Why are you here?” Henry asked through gritted teeth.

“All in good time, Henry. Now, if you will please turn around and put your hands behind your back...?” Keeping his eye on the sword in Harold’s hand, Henry did so. Had he done anything else, Harold would have been forced to use the sword. Harold took the rope in his left hand, and first looped it around Henry’s waist to keep him from going anywhere while Harold tied his hands, for Harold needed both hands to do the tying and would have to sheath his sword. Harold chatted amiably while he worked, saying: “Now I suppose you want to know my reasons? I will tell you. You see, if my fool sons had been more competent the first time around, Sandrina would already be dead-”

“It was you!” said Henry, rage easily evident in his voice. He had given a jerk at the ropes, but Harold already had it tied securely.

“Yes, it was me. It almost worked too: I got the estates and Lightheart business, after you moved out here, and everything seemed to be going fine. That is, until a few days ago when I got word that Sandrina was in fact alive and well, and had gathered to herself a band of allies.” (“Good for her,” murmured Henry.) “She is coming here even now, in attempts to save you from me. When she does, my sons and I will be waiting. Her companions can die, but she will be taken captive, even as yourselves. She will see you die as part of her punishment for causing so much trouble, and then she will die.”

“I think Sandrina will prove more trouble than you think,” said Henry lightly. “You always did underestimate women.” Harold snarled, “That is because they are the weak and foolish half of the human race.

“Now, that knife you are wearing will have to come off. We couldn’t have you escaping, now, could we?” Harold removed the knife from its sheath and set it on a nearby table.

“Let’s see. I think we should be able to find a closet somewhere for you and your wife? That would be just the thing. He caught sight of a door off the room where he was now and opened it.

“In you go,” said Harold. He looked around for a key, and saw one sitting on the same table where he had set Henry’s knife. He pocketed it, figuring it to be the one to the closet.

“Arthur! Samuel! Bring Eowyn in here!”

[Arien]

Braedon brought up the rear of the group, he pulled the reins of his horse to slow it down and then slackened them. Hama seemed to be taking his injury well, however it was obvious it was all for show, a wound like that would cause great pain. Greater pain than Hama was showing. Braedon knew that he was doing this for Sandrina, to stop her worrying. She had taken to comforting him and rewarding his courage with words of praise.

Braedon moved his hand to his own injury , it had been bandaged and was the least of his worries at the moment. But its sting reminded him grimly of the danger that the could, or were heading into. He sighed and watched as Haven’s horse moved in front of him, and then he glanced ahead to where Hama and Sandrina were leading the group. Raen was momentarily looking at the ground before him.

Braedon cast his eyes down too. Tracks! He stopped his horse and dismounted, crouching down to the floor, he ran his over the vague tracks of horses. They couldn’t have passed but a few hours ago, and there! Heading away from the estate, he moved along the tacks a bit. Haven had also dismounted and came over to join the Ranger.

“What is it?” She asked, looking down to the ground where Braedon was tracing his hand over.

“Tracks…” he mumbled.

“Is it them?” She asked, crouching down beside him, looking awkwardly at the indistinguishable mud and tracks.

“I am sure of it… Look,” he said pointing , “going from the estate. It has to be. Who else would be here? We have seen no one for miles.”

The two mounted again, the group unaware of their stop. Braedon rode up beside Raen, and Anora who had now joined him.

“You have see the…”

“..tracks, yes. I have.” Raen replied quietly. Braedon paused for a moment and with his better judgement he decided not to question Raen.

“We must inform Hama, he has obviously not see them.” Braedon waited for Raen to reply.

[Crystal Heart]

Sandrina's eyes scanned everywhere as she rode onward. That's when she saw them. Tracks leading away from the estate. She glared at the dirt. Her uncle or her cousins or both had figured what she would do. They would be after her parents now. There was no way she was not going to fight for them. She spun her horse around and bolted through the trees.

"Keep up or you'll be left behind!" Sandrina called to her company, a rage filling her. She knew exactly what her horrible extended family was to do. She was sure that they would try to use them as bait or something. They would probably even kill her parents, but as long as she was breathing she vowed that they would not die. No one on this day would die. No one that is except for her uncle and cousins. They would die.

She planned in her mind just what she would do. She knew that it was foolish to barge in through the front door. No, they would be expecting that. She had to do something that they never would believe that she would do.

They always believed that she was foolish. They always treated her like she was stupid just because of her gender. She hadn't proceeded in this quest quite like she should have and she knew that. But her parent's lives hung in the balance. It didn't matter what happened to her. The only thing that mattered was whether or not her parents lived and brought them to justice.

They would never expect her to come slinking through the backdoor. If there was a back door. She rode onward until she reached the house, but Hama was already smashing through the door. She raced her horse around the back, flung herself off, and crashed through the door with Anora at her side.

That's when she saw her parents and the rest of her forgotten memories came flooding back to her. Anger at having been missing, lost, hurt, hungry, and numerous other things flooded her mind. She cut her father's bindings and smiled.

"Do what must be done father. I will be here when you are done," Sandrina said, smiling. His eyes looked over at her in disbelief.

"I promise that I will my darling daughter. For you and your mother," Henry replied. She handed him the sword from her belt.

"Here you shall need this." Henry nodded, took it and hurried forward towards his brother.

The battle raged on, but Sandrina didn't care. She hurried over to her mother and undid her bindings as well and helped her to sit up. They sat together and watched. Then her father killed Harold, getting rid of the evil once and for all.

[Firefoot]

Harold glanced up, startled, as the door crashed inward. A man, one Harold vaguely recognized, strode through the door with a sword in hand. Eowyn was dropped by Arthur, who also drew his sword. For the moment, Harold shoved Henry into the closet and shut the door. He readied his sword, knowing this man couldn’t be the only one coming. He was proven right almost immediately when three women pushed through the door, one of them Sandrina. She met Harold’s gaze boldly, hate mirrored in her eyes.

“Time for you to die,” said Harold. He lunged for her with his sword, and his blade crashed on that of the woman standing to Sandrina’s right. He did not waste time to glare at her.

“It is not I who will die today,” said Sandrina. Harold supposed she was trying to sound noble. “It is you.” She too drew her sword, and Harold found himself faced by the three armed women.

“Not until you do,” replied Harold, and with that he made another move that began the continuous dipping and twisting that made up the special dance of sword fighting. Harold had great skill with a sword, and he knew it. He received a small nick on his left shoulder, but returned it with many more. Seizing an opportunity, he snaked his sword back behind one of the woman’s legs and sliced at her hamstrings. The woman collapsed, out of the fight. Now Harold had but two opponents. The ring of metal on metal was in his ears, and his awareness was limited to that of his sword and this battle.

He was about to deliver the death-stroke to the woman he did not know when his blade was stopped abruptly by another’s, and Harold was jerked back to reality. He saw that it was a man, about the same height as himself. Harold kept his eyes on all of them. Sandrina seemed perhaps a little relieved. The man spoke to them, “Sandrina, Anora, you two go and help Henry and Eowyn. I will take over from here.” The man turned to Harold. Harold now had the opportunity to see what else was going on in his peripheral vision. There was only one other man that he had failed to notice before, and he was fighting Samuel. Arthur was still fighting with that other man, whose actions were now visibly labored.

“You have caused Sandrina a great deal of pain, you know,” the man addressed Harold, apparently testing Harold out.

“Good,” replied Harold. “She has caused me a great deal of trouble.” Harold ran his blade down that of his new opponent’s. Harold feinted left and stabbed to the right. The man parried both with slices of his own. Harold nodded. Here was a decent swordsman. This fight was more intense than the one he had fought with the women. Harold could feel sweat dripping down his forehead. He had not had rough days like these past few in many years, and he was not young anymore. To his benefit was the skill and wisdom such as it was that came with age. There was no time for thought. The heat of his hate fueled him on. He had a goal to accomplish; this man was only an obstacle. By the end of this day, Henry and Sandrina alike would be dead for the griefs they had caused him.

The man was good, but Harold was better. The man, seeing a chance, reached out too far, and Harold did not hesitate. He ducked, knocking the man off balance, and stabbed into the man’s side. Blood spurted from the wound. The man fell over in a faint, but Harold knew he was not dead. He had struck beneath the rib cage. He set his sword to the man’s chest. Ordinarily, he would have left the man, but he had aided Sandrina, no small crime in Harold’s opinion.

“I would not do that if I were you,” said a soft voice behind him. It was one Harold recognized instantly: Henry’s. Harold felt sharp cold metal against his own neck. Slowly, he turned around.

“If I were like you,” said Henry. “I would kill you now. But I will not. I will give you a fair chance. Let us see whether your sword skills have improved since we were teens.” Harold’s temper flared. Henry had beaten him before when Harold tried to kill him; he would not now.

“You will regret it,” Harold spat. He turned, and walked toward the gaping doorway. “Come. We will do this properly, in somewhere with more space than this room. Henry grunted in assent, and followed Harold outside.

The brothers faced off, a few feet from each other, each raising his sword. Wordlessly, they flew at each other. Both started out relatively easily, and as they felt each other out the skill level steadily increased. Very evenly matched, both Henry and Harold received small cuts, but nothing more serious than that, though Harold's shoulder where the woman had cut it was throbbing. They fought in a cold fury, their swords blazing as if on fire in the light of the westering sun. The advantage switched back and forth, both men attacking and parrying.

Henry made as if to slash into Harold’s right side. Harold saw this as a fatal mistake, and he stabbed with a vengeance at Henry’s heart. As soon as he began to move, Harold knew he had made a mistake. Henry had fooled him with a simple trick, and sure enough the blade of Henry’s sword came up and knocked Harold’s weapon out of his hand. He knew that Henry would not let him go free this time. Bitterly he rued the day Arthur and Samuel had failed to kill Sandrina. Because of their mistake, he would die this day.

Henry wore a small smile on his face. It was not happiness, nor satisfaction. Harold realized it was sadness. Henry moved his sword within inches of Harold’s face. Harold did not flinch.

“I wish I did not have to do this,” said Henry. “but I do. If it had been only me you had hurt, this day and every day since Sandrina turned up missing, I could forgive you. I was not the only one hurt, though. My wife and daughter have suffered, too. This is for them.” His voice, though it had grown softer in tone, had also grown harder in conviction. This aroused curiosity in Harold. He wondered his brother’s words, that his death was for Sandrina and Eowyn. What kind of love was this? Harold did not understand, did not want to understand. It was too late for him. Any breath he took could be his last. He pushed the soft thoughts away. He had lived strong, and he would now die strong.

“This is for them,” repeated Henry, and with those words he drove his sword through Harold’s heart.

[Hama Of The Riddermark]

Hama swung again and again at Arthur who, although visibly shaken and scared, was parrying each stroke deftly, a swordsman's instinct, nothing more or less..."You know nothing of us!" he screamed at Hama, who he obviously didn't recognise immediately, "You know nothing! We have done no wrong, you're a rider, you are sworn to protect us!"...Hama smiled grimly at this last remark. "Sworn protector of law abiding citizens, Arthur Lightheart!" Arthur reeled at the sound of his name. "Not petty, murderous, rich criminals like yourself and your family!"..."Who ARE you?" Arthur screamed, Eowyn stood up, visibly hurt, and bleeding from the mouth where Arthur had dropped her. Her eyes widened, like Arthur's, and like Samuel's, when he said as he swung agin, "I am Hama Haukrsonn, sworn protector of Eomer, his law, and his people. I am also a friend of your family..." Hama smiled as he leaned in close, swords locked, "You always were a slimy, spoilt little brat, Arthur. I'm amazed you're still alive..." Samuel tripped over his own shoes and fell backwards onto the floor as he retreated backwards from the battle. Raen grabbed him and held a knife to his throat. "Leaving so soon, worm?"

Hama and Arthur were evenly matched, for all his experience, Hama was hurt badly, and the bandage around his midriff started to redden around his back as his wound opened again. Arthur, seeing Hama's increasingly laboured swings, stepped up the pace. Now the positions were reversed, Hama was driven backwards while Arthur continued to swing furiously. Eventually, Arthur became tired as well, foiled by Hama's skill. Both men lowered their swords for the briefest of moments to rest...

Hama's face hardened as he watched Sandrina. He'd protected her, damn near died for her, and for what, so these criminals could walk free? As Crystal handed him back his sword, Hama raised it to Arthur's throat. Arthur started to weep, the tears of the damned. He crawled to Hama's feet, kissing his shoes, beggind him to spare his life. Samuel just sat quietly at the back, whimpering. Hama looked dow at Arthur. "One good reason. One good reason why I shouldn't kill you, Arthur." Arthur lowered his head and wept. It was a pitiful sight. He knelt down, praying. Hama spat at him...and raised his sword....


The blade clove clean through Arthur's neck, his headless body, spewing fountains of blood, fell to the floor. Hama raised the head by its hair and threw it at Samuel, who caught it. He began to weep as he saw the expression on his dead brothers face, one of sheer, pure terror. "It'll be you next, Samuel Lightheart, if I ever have cause to do it." Hama spoke harshly, and left, leaving Samuel weeping like a child over his brother's body...