Outracing the Flames Discussion Thread

[piosenniel]

Valier's Character

Name: Vaenosa

Age: 19

Race: Men

Gender: Female

Weapons:Handmade bow and quiver of arrows.Fairly good shot from horse back.Two small daggers,both homemade with red dyed leather hilts,hidden under her riding tunic.

Appearance:5'8 Slender,but with feminine curves.Mid back length, hay coloured hair that tended to curl(annoyingly)Hard,peircing blue eyes. Delicate facial features.Wears a tan riding outfit that consists of: pants,tunic,dark brown boots laced to the knee,and a brown leather hip pouch which belonged to her father.

Personality/Strenghts/Weaknesses: Cold,shy,quick to judge,untrusting.Has a sort of macabre sense of humor.Slightly obsessive with everything she attempts .Loyal to all those that she loves. Over confident, thinks things would be done better if she did them herself.Very self reliant, almost anti-social.

History: Lived on a small farm,that mostly grew crops for the surrounding farms.She is an only child.Her father died when she was 10.Her mother raised her by herself until she fell ill.Then Vaenosa cared for her.Has travelled.Always on her own with her chestnut stallion named Nay,who is a silly, giddy,fellow that loves to run.She never visited many towns,just watched the counry side fly by.

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Valier's Post

Vaenosa turned her back to the crowd and grasped her mother's hand firmly, leading her towards the small stage that was set up in the town hall. "Vaenosa you must go child! Do not worry about this old woman, I will be fine. I will go with one of our kindly neighbours,do not fret!" "Mother I will not leave you,not in your condition! Who will care for you? You are not strong enough,you need me here with you."

As they approached the stage, the MarchWarden was requesting volunteers to ride ahead with a letter for the King. Vaenosa felt a slight squeeze in her hand. Sighing deeply she turned around again to her ailing mother. " No mother I insist I stay here with you!" But the look of determination in the sick woman's eyes, melted Her heart. Before she could try and reason with the woman again,she felt a push from behind. Hands grabbed her from the front and lead her away.With one last look at her mother, Vaenosa raised her head high and walked towards where the other volunteers stood.

After receiving praise from the March Warden, he dismissed them all to their houses, to return in the Morn with weapons and horse. Then he would fill them all in on their duties.

Vaenosa was dazed. Almost walking in a fog, she found her way outside without looking for her mother.The cool air hit her face, bringing some colour back to her ashen cheeks. Then came the small frail arm, touching her own. "This my daughter is all I ask of you before I go......Please save this town,Get help while we still can! Your Father loved this town, as I do. I would love for this to be your place. For you children and your children's children. Please go."

With shoulders slumped and head hung low, Vaenosa let herself be led back slowly to the place she called home.

Awaking the next morning to he mothers wracking coughs, the day before came flooding back."Well there's no chance I'm getting out of this now,I may as well make the best of it." Vaenosa was reluctant to put all her energy into the thought of the long road ahead,for if she did she would be set to accomplish what ever was asked of her, to the fullest extent. This scared her to her very core. Yet she would put on a brave face and say goodbye to her mother,maybe for the last time.

After a teary goodbye and a promise to stay safe, Vaenosa packed a travelling pack with some extra clothing and equipment. She was accustom to carring only what was essential, to let Nay go as fast as he pleased. Walking out to the stables, lifted her spirits some due to the slight Autumn breeze.

Nay was prancing in his stall and throwing his head back in anticipation. She had not let him run the day before and now he knew she was taking him out. "alright my friend,lets go." She jumped smoothly on to his blanketed back and without another look back, she started down the road to the town.

Tying Nay outside took alot longer than it should have, Vaenosa was still nervous about the whole thing. There was three other people she would be traveling with, and she was sure they would just get in the way. Taking three deep breaths she walked up the steps and through the door.

[piosenniel]

Naria's character

Name: Incana

Age: 18

Race: Human

Gender: Female

Weapons: She would carry a rock thrower of sorts made of a long piece of leather looped and attached to a y-shaped hard wood stick. She has a pouch for carrying her rocks for her rock thrower- slung over her shoulder. She would also carry a simple utility knife long enough to do some damage if need be.

Appearance: Incana has long dark blonde hair almost brown that she keeps tied back in a half ponytail. Eyes that seem to change their colour with her mood; sometimes a gold colour sometimes a hazel green. She is 5'6" and weighs in at a whopping 115lbs. She would have pale skin compared to most of the other villagers, but very rosy cheeks. She usually wears a wrap tunic made of leather and lined with angora, that her mother made for her and leather leggings. She has a pair of high leather boots that she wears this time of year that tie up around her calves.

Personality, strengths, weaknesses: She has a great personality, at least that's what her parents say, she is always bubbly and full of life. She is usually the voice of reason when a problem arises. But, Incana is quite bull headed at times when she wants to be usually ending her in hot water.

History: Her father is the village horse breeder and works hard on there farm tending to the horses and goats. Her mother is a seamstress using the goat wool for angora. Her mother would have also worked on the farm tending to the goats, chickens and horses. She is the only child of her parents, her mother had a hard time during labor with Incana and didn't want to risk losing her life with another one. Because her father was a horse breeder he would have to travel great distances at times to sell his stock therefore, Incana was used to being by herself although she didn't mind being alone she often wondered what else there could be outside her village for her. She had learned a lot of the techniques that her mother had taught her and wouldn't have minded putting them to use some day. She often muttered to herself "why does no man want to take me as his bride?" She always thought that she was missing something in her life, besides having no family of her own or husband at her age, but couldn't quite put her finger on it. They have a herd of 15 horses and two of them were not to be ridden, "they are strictly for breeding!"her father would say. So she always had her pick of which to ride on any day. Because of his generous nature, her father had built a smaller house off to the side of theirs in case someone from out of town would need a place to stay. Her uncle was that person, he said he was only going to stay for a week or two but it's turned out to be two years now. Incana liked to watch her uncle practice his archery she thought, for being an older man, that he was the best that she had ever seen. He was also very good in tracking and taught Incana a few tricks of the trade.

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Naria's Post:

Incana and her mother were getting ready for bed when her father and uncle came crashing through the door. "Something is going on in the town square" her father exclaimed. "We heard the bell ring, must be very important." said her uncle. With their night dress on and lanterns in hand , Incana and her mother hurried outside with her father and uncle leading the way. "It's a good thing that we reside nearby else you ladies would be catching a chill this night." her uncle said trying to lighten the mood.

Approaching the centre of town they noticed a large group of people had already arrived. Some they recognized some they did not. "I wonder where these people have come from that I have not seen before." Incana said with concern in her voice. "Oh don't worry, I'm sure it's nothing that we should be too concerned about." her mother said not quite convincing herself of that.
The four of them walked through the crowd and into the town hall where there were even more people that they had and had not seen. Incana was starting to feel overwhelmed and scared. She took her father's hand and held it tightly. Her father, straining to hear, heard what sounded like a plea for help from an older man in the sea of villagers. With Incana's hand still tight in his they weaved around people until they were closer to the stage.

The MarchWarden had given his speech to everyone and after listening to him, Encana's parents couldn't believe what they had just heard. "He can't be serious Sending our young ones out like that." Her father said in obvious disdain about the idea. There was some quarreling back and forth among some other parents and it was getting louder and louder. The MarchWarden banged his staff on the stage floor twice. All went silent. "I implore all of the young people of Rohan, come forth if yea shall volunteer for this task." Incana felt a pain in her stomach and a pull in her that she could not ignore. She slowly loosened her grasp of her father's hand and walked even closer to the stage. "NO!" cried her mother "I won't let you do this." Incana picked her mother up off of the floor, wiped away her tears and whispered into her ear, "I'll be ok. Don't fret mother I will come back to you. I have to do this." And with that Incana raised her hand.

With barely any sleep Incana awoke the next morning to find that it wasn't a dream that had kept her tossing but a cold reality. Her mother had been up before her daughter that morning and prepared and packed some food and extra clothing for the journey. Her father came inside and wiped away some dirt off of his face. Incana couldn't help but notice that the dirt had smudged even though it wasn't hot enough outside this time of year. She felt tears well up in her eyes and threw herself into her father's arms. He pulled her back and told her that the horse was ready while he walked into another room. Incana heard muffled sobs; she wanted to go and be with her father but she changed her mind. Her mother hugged her only child and said good-bye and told Incana that she loved her. Incana put the food pack around her waist and went outside where her horse was waiting tied to a post. She fastened her weapons to the side of the horse sighed deeply, mounted and made her way to the town.

[piosenniel]

Tevildo's character

NAME: Dorran

AGE: 16, but passes as 18

RACE: Human

GENDER: Male

WEAPONS: Dorran cherishes a sturdy bow and knife that were passed down to him by his father. He has some skill with these weapons in hunting and cleaning game. He has a sling fashioned from soft leather, which is the weapon he prefers to use when protecting farm animals from annoying pests like snakes and rodents or in bringing down small prey to feed himself and his sister.

APPEARANCE: Dorran is a tall but slender lad with a shock of brown curly hair, skin that is darker than most in the village, and earnest brown eyes. His serious expression and somber demeanor make him look considerably older than his actual age of sixteen years. Dorran wears a pair of mended breeches, a shirt, and a homespun vest that have all seen better days. His pockets generally bulge with the rocks that he always keeps nearby in case an unsuspecting rabbit comes darting across his path. Around his neck hangs a simple thong with a copper medallion that he keeps tucked underneath his shirt. Dorran has a way of blending quietly into his surroundings so that few of those who pass by even notice him. He generally prefers it that way.

PERSONALITY/STRENGTHS/WEAKNESSES: Dorran's personality seemingly matches his quiet and unassuming outer appearance. He keeps much to himself out of choice and necessity. He lacks the protection that comes from having a cynical tongue to lash out at others or an adult protector. His manner is steady and cooperative, but he gives little hint to the outside world of what his real feelings are. He lacks confidence, thinks little of his own abilties, and tends to live from day-to-day, not caring much about the future. In reality, he is an extraordinarily gifted young lad who has managed to provide for himself and his younger sister despite enormous adversity.


HISTORY: Dorran and his sister Creide, now twelve years old, came to the village of Wulfham when they were tiny children, brought there from some identified place that lay towards the east by an elderly maiden aunt. Neither of the trio ever spoke of what had become of the childrens' parents. Whatever difficulties had befallen the family, Dorran and Raven kept the story to themselves. The aunt was a poor seamstress, barely holding body and soul together. Both Dorran and Creide had to be sent out in service at a very young age. After helping out in the households of several farmers in the region, the children found their way into the employ of Lord Aldwulf: Creide as a scullery maid and Dorran in the stables. With the passing of their elderly aunt, the march-warden and his lady had taken pity on the two and let them bed down in a tiny cellar room that faced onto the courtyard. The children are well behaved and generally accepted by the other villagers, yet now and then someone mentions in a whisper that the two were originally from outside the area, and no one knows from where they came.

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Tevildo's post

Dorran sat up with a start, threw off the covers, and leapt to his feet, hurrying over to the door and throwing it open. The sun had risen several hours before. He had managed to sleep through the cock's welcoming cry and all the hustle and bustle that had gone on in the courtyard, an area that stood only a short distance from the doorway of their tiny shed. Quickly sweeping his eyes over the area in front of the main hall, Dorran could see that preparations for their journey were well under way. The horses had been saddled and were snorting with impatience to be off. Several of the party had already arrived and were saying their final goodbyes to well wishers and friends.

Pummelling his fist into his other palm in frustration, Dorran turned and glared back at Criede. His sister was seated at the small table and was putting the finishing touches on a large sack of provisions that she meant for her brother to carry with him. "Why didn't you wake me sooner?" Dorran demanded. "I intended to be up and about. And what are you doing with all that food? The Master said he'd supply us with whatever we needed."

"Perhaps so," retorted the younger girl. "But this may be the last time for a while that you get a taste of my biscuits and apple tart. I thought you might like it." She stared back at him and then boldly stuck out her tongue. One moment Criede could be serious and adult, and the next moment acting just like a child.

"Alright, alright." His tone had softened considerably. "You've got me there. But still, I should have been up at dawn. What about the watering and feeding of the horses?" He stopped for a moment and shook his head, "It isn't like me..."

Criede interrupted before her brother could say another word, "The Master said I was to let you lie abed. You were up late helping him to gather the things that the group would need today. He wanted you to get some sleep before you began your journey. Anyways, it's only a few steps out to the courtyard, and you'll be ready to leave."

"Well enough, I suppose," he conceded with a sigh. "Promise be you'll be good, Criede, and do what the Lady says, and that you'll mind her on the road. She says you're to sleep in the hall with the other maids until you all leave together so you won't be out here on your own."

"I'd rather stay here," she objected. "This is my home."

"No more trouble now. Just do as the mistress says. When she says it's time to leave, you must go with her. She has always been kind to us and I expect you to behave. I'll see you soon in Edoras so you have nothing to fear."

"Alright, I promise. But why are you going early? You don't have to, you know. The Lord wouldn't make you. I'm sure of it."

"No, he wouldn't make me. But I want to go. I would never feel right being here and doing nothing, not knowing the danger the whole realm is in. Anyways," he muttered through gritted teeth, "not if I could do something to strike a blow at the likes of them."

Criede glanced up sideways at her taller brother, "You don't expect to see any of. those, those.... things on the road."

"I don't know but I don't expect so. They're still off to the east, or so I heard the Master talking. But if I do meet one, he won't live till another day. They are evil through and through. They have no soul, no heart, only blackness." There was real animosity in the lad's voice, the tone of one who knows more than what he says.

"Promise me, Dorran." his sister responded. "Promise me that you won't do anything foolish. You're the only family I have."

"I promise. I'm not a fool. And being dead isn't something I want to do for a long time. Anyways, dead men can't fight Orcs."

With that final thought, Dorran reached down and gave his sister a final hug, and raced out into the open courtyard to join the others who were just mounting up.

[piosenniel]

Farael's character

NAME: Osmod (Osse)

AGE: 20

RACE: Human

GENDER: Male

WEAPONS: An old but well cared for short sword that belonged to his grandfather. Back on those days it had a pattern drawn on the blade but it has long been erased. The grip is simple leather, comfortable if not very luxurious. Also, Osmod carries a longbow and a quiver full of arrows. While living outside the town and caring for his cattle he had had to deal with predators more than once and he was a good archer. Much better than a swordsman anyway.

APPEARANCE: Tall, around six feet, and in good shape as he was often looking after his father's cattle. Dark black hair cut rather short, about two inches above his shoulders. He wears simple home made breeches and tunic, both light brown and a black leather belt. His boots and cloak belonged to his grandfather before him, during his times as a rider in the armies of Thengel King, father of Theoden.

PERSONALITY/STRENGTHS/WEAKNESSES: A shy and quiet man, he enjoys the wonders of nature and peace. He has been raised to work hard on the task at hand, which ever that may be. He is extremely loyal to both the King of Rohan (even if he now lives outside the boundaries of the country) and his friends.

HISTORY: Even though Osmod's family is very wealthy, his father has always made him work for what he wanted. As soon as he was of age, Osmod was sent to look after his father's cattle and he loved it. The wide open spaces, the company of animals... much simpler than that of men with all the lies and pretended friendships. His horse, a strong dark brown gelding, is all the company he needs, and all the company he seeks more often than not.

Ever a lover of nature and peace, when peace was shattered and nature threatened by the invading orcs and men, Osmod wanted to join the King's army and fight them back, as his grandfather had done. Yet as the March-Warden had asked for volunteers to run to Edoras and alter the King, Osmod knew it was his best opportunity to help his family and the few friends he had. Their only hopes rested on a quick ride to the King's palace and an even faster ride to rescue the harrased villagers.

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Farael's post ------------ FIRST POST FOR OUTLANDERS

The long, slow wail of a horn arose those living close to the Town Hall. The sound of horns was taken up and repeated by others as they awoke and soon all the town had rose to the sound of alarm. The March-Warden Horwald was calling for a town meeting. It had not happened since the times of Brego King, many lives of men before, that this emergency call had sounded in the middle of the night. There was no man alive who had been born then, but still the villagers responded as they had trained themselves to do.

Upon receiving the disturbing news in the middle of the night, Horwald had ordered his eldest son to sound the alarm but he had not shared the dire news with anyone. It was the right of all the townspeople to learn about the incoming dangers at the same time. After making their respective horn calls, the people of Bregoware had started to make their way towards the Town Hall. As this town was mostly a farming community, it had been the best part of two hours before all the families were represented. Mostly men had answered the distress call, but in dangerous times like these some brave women had joined their husbands and fathers.

With a sigh, Horwald raised his hand to ask for silence. He was proud to see the look of worry in the faces of men untainted by fear. Soon that would be no more, as the news he had to tell them were ones no March-Warden had ever been forced to say in this town. A tense silence was finally achieved and so Horwald, son of Leodwald addressed his people. They were his, his responsibility. As he repeated them the words of the messenger, who at the time had long ran off to meet with his own townspeople, he saw even the bravest of his men frowning. Bregoware had been harassed by easterlings and even a party of orcs before, but the news were that of a marching army not a wild group of bandits. The people had followed him through the hardships of living outside the boundaries of the Kingdom of Rohan and they trusted him. They would follow him if he ordered them to abandon their houses. They would follow him if he ordered them to retreat into the fortified city and prepare themselves for what could be a long siege. But as he looked into his people’s faces, he could not bear the thought that in the next weeks some of them would die, no matter what choice he made.


Osmod was awaken by the alarm cries of his own family’s horn. He ran up to his father’s chambers to find him standing by the window, blowing at the horn that had belonged to his grandfather. He could hear the distinct sound of other horns at the distance, but more worrying to his mind was the sound of his mother crying. Leofwen had always been a strong woman; she had even ridden against an invading group of bandits in her youth.

The alarm sound was soon picked up by other families and father and son readied themselves for the ride to the Town Hall. They chose their fastest horses and carried their swords with them. Osmod did not have a sword that belonged to him and so he ‘borrowed’ his grandfather’s. It had been hanging on the wall since the day Osbearn had returned from the ranks of Thengel King.

They were one of the last people to arrive, as his father’s lands were far outside the town, but many of the men present allowed them to make their way closer to where the March Warden was standing. Horwald’s face was grim and soon they learned why. First there was silence. Then the yelling started. The opinion that was voiced the loudest was that of war. They had defended themselves from those orkish bandits before, they would do it again. Yet soon common sense sank in and they realized they would fight a loosing battle that would be over before it even got started. The men still wanted to fight, many of them were gripping their swords hilts already. Yet as they looked around the room and saw the women present, they understood they could not let their families die for their pride. Soon the room was silent and the March Warden announced what they all dreaded. The city was to be emptied by noon on the following day. They would march towards Edoras, protected by the warriors of the town.

As everyone was reading themselves to go back to their houses and start preparing for the long escape, a voice was heard on the back of the room. Osmod could not tell if it had been a man or a woman who had spoken, he could not tell even if it had been any older than himself. Yet the words were true. Marching armies could run faster than retreating towns and even if they left on the first light the following day, they might not make it to Edoras before the orcs caught up with them. At least some riders would need to be sent to alert The King and bring back help.

Silence fell upon the room again as they saw the March Warden deliberating with his main counsellors. When he looked up, his face was stern and decided. Four of their fastest riders would go ahead of the main group. Yet he could spare none of his warriors and so volunteers would be needed. Osmod’s hand moved towards the hilt of his sword even before Horwald had finished the call for volunteers. Never before had anyone but the March Warden heard those words and never before had they been meant for anything other than teaching the March Warden his duties and responsibilities. “Who among the people of Bregoware will answer my call? Who among us braves will show to be the bravest? Who will risk pain and death for the greater good of his people?”

The room fell silent, interrupted only by the sound of a sword being unsheathed. One volunteer had accepted the call. Soon two more swords were raised over the heads of their brave owners. One last volunteer was needed yet the room had fallen silent again. Osmod closed his eyes and tensed his grip on the sword. Almost without him knowing, he unsheathed his grandfather’s sword. He had answered the call for help.

Voices were heard at the back of the room and spread out quickly towards the front. Soon all the gathered townspeople were discussing the names of the volunteers. Everyone seemed to want to talk to Osmod and grab his arm. He had shown to be as brave as his grandfather Osbearn had been, they said. He had shown to be great among the great of his town. But Osmod knew he had shown nothing yet. He was still safe inside the walls of the village and there were many dangers to confront before he would even consider himself to be brave.

Horwald dismissed everyone but the volunteers and their families – it would have been pointless and cruel to force them appart now when they would be parting soon enough, perhaps for ever- who stayed and gathered close to him. He praised the volunteers sincerely and offered them his help in anything they needed. He would provide them with food and water, as well as fast horses if they lacked one. Of course, they all had good horses, but it was a great compliment to be offered a horse by the March Warden himself. After the March Warden had spoken, Osmod asked of him only one thing. The sword he carried was old and the edge was dull. He wanted to carry his grandfather’s sword and would very much appreciate it if the March Warden could have it sharpened for him. Horwald granted him his wish, as he granted everything the others asked. They stayed until it was long past midnight discussing the best strategy for their ride, but they all agreed that there was no way of knowing what they would find and so no way of making accurate plans. The town of Bregoware would have to trust on their rider’s skill and intelligence. And as most of them made their way to their respective houses, they knew their trust had not been misplaced.

Osmod rode back to his father’s estate. His father had been uncommonly silent since he had volunteered himself and they rode in silence towards the big house. After they left the horses in the stables, Osmod’s father asked him to wait on the hall before retreating to his own room. Osmod complied and sat down on the cold floor, feeling more comfortable there than on the sturdy chairs. He scrambled up to his feet as he heard his father walking back in and could not help to gasp when he saw what he was carrying. His father had his own longbow on one hand, the finest quality weapon his family had. But what surprised the son was the family horn in his father’s left hand. It belonged to his father, it had belonged to his grandfather before and to his father before then. “Son, it has been our family tradition that the father of the house gives this horn to his son on the day of their wedding. I know not if I shall live to see that great day and this is why I want you to have it. It may be of assistance to you and I know our ancestors will forgive me for breaking our long held tradition”. As Osmod laid sleepless on his bed, he told himself that nothing would go wrong as he had the protection of those who had fought the same enemy before and won.

[piosenniel]

Undómë’s character

NAME: Meghan

AGE: 17

RACE: Men

GENDER: Female

WEAPONS: Long, thick pole about 6” taller than herself; it tapers from sharpened tip to about a 3” knobbed base. She uses it mostly for dissuading small predators from her flock of goats. A skinning knife in a plain leather sheath hangs at her hip from her belt. She is a fair marksman with her small hunting bow – though she prefers to set out her corded traps or nets when looking to bring in small animals or birds. She is also hardly ever without her sharp, metal knitting needles close to hand.

APPEARANCE: 5’1’ 111 lbs; fine boned, slightly built, agile, well muscled/strong for someone with such a small frame. Thick, honey blond hair, worn in a long plait to mid back. Light blue eyes. Skirts and tunics during the warmer months; A pair of her brother’s old pants, made of thick material, thick socks, knee high soft, worn boots and warm sweaters in the colder months knitted from goat hair yarn.

PERSONALITY/STRENGTHS/WEAKNESSES: Meghan is a self sufficient woman. Used to being on her own as she moves her small flock of goats from one sparsely grassed area to another. She is quick to laugh at the antics of others as well as at her own follies, and when she does her eyes glint with impish delight and her entire face lights up. She has opinions on almost everything, and is quite capable of defending them if challenged. Fortunate for her, she has enough native wit to know when to keep those opinions to herself. She is a kind person, especially to those she feels are being unjustly trod on. Her kind-heartedness, though, is sometimes difficult to discern beneath her oft-times prickly exterior.

HISTORY: Meghan’s father died of some consumptive illness when she was quite young. Her mother, though she did not suffer the same illness as her husband, never quite recovered from the loss of him. She fell in on herself, growing old quickly. Meghan, at age eight, and her brother, barely fifteen took over the running of the house and the care of the goat herd. There had been four other babies between her and her brother, but none had survived their infancy. Her brother Leof, needless to say, has always been very protective of her.

Meghan’s mother is still living, though her mind wanders much in bygone days. Leof married, and he and his wife, Gudryn, have two babes of their own Everyone lives in the small family house her father had built. Meghan loves them all dearly, but oft times she feels hemmed in and overwhelmed by the close, constant presence of them all. As often as she can, she stays with the goats as they move from pasture to pasture. Nights they huddle near her, listening, she likes to tell herself, to the music she plays on her reed pipe.

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Undómë’s post

Meghan stood against a wall, on a chair she’d dragged over to give her some height. Had it been her choice, she would have stayed home altogether, minding her mother while Leof and Gudryn saw to the fuss at the town’s hall. Not that she wasn’t concerned about the horn call to gather, but the thought of so many people as they pressed in against her made her loathe to go.

‘I’ll just look after mama,’ she had told her brother, as he scrambled into his tunic. ‘And the babes, of course. You and Gudryn can find out the news.’

‘Nay,’ he’d told her. It was Gudryn who would see to the household while they were gone. It was he and Meghan who would represent their family at the meeting.

So, here she stood on her small island of wood looking out over the sea of her townsmen’s heads. Their faces were all turned to Horwald as he raised his hand to speak. And the words he spoke were chilling. A small current of cold fear ran down her back, making her shiver. Orcs! Worse yet, Easterlings! And in an organized group this time, not just some willy-nilly raiding. She wondered for a moment what sort of dark captain might have managed to make them work together. Given their natural hatred of each other they would have torn each other apart. She shivered again at the thought that somehow they were now acting together.

Her mind was racing as the march-warden laid out his plan to move the villagers toward Edoras. How would she manage her goats on the march? What supplies would she need to bring for the long journey? She would want to make sure they had enough to eat – especially the milkers, as they would provide nourishment for her family and others. She was making lists in her mind when she heard someone ask the question about sending for help. And looking up she saw Horwald nod his head at the truth of it and speak with his counselors.

Meghan flattened herself against the wall as he called for volunteers – four fast riders to make haste to the King himself. She did not intend to be one of them. She closed her eyes, willing herself invisible. Peeping through one eye she saw that swords had been raised as the volunteers made themselves known. Osmond’s blade was raised, as well as one of Fion’s weapons, and there across the room was the hand of . . . a woman, whose name she could not recall. Voices were raised praising the braveness of the volunteers.

But the march-warden had called for four – she only saw three . . .

Beside her, her brother made a shuffling sound as he readjusted his position leaning against the wall. She turned to ask him if he’d noted the fourth volunteer and saw with horror his own blade raised. In a quick, unthinking move she bent down from her perch on the chair and grabbed their father’s old sword from his hand. ‘You sheep-brained fool!’ she hissed at him, the sword upraised in her hand as she maneuvered it away from him. ‘Who will protect our mother and your wife and babies if you ride off westward?’

Murmurs of approval swelled about her. She stood upright wondering why her name rose on the current of voices. Her face blanched when she realized she still held her brother’s sword up and away from his grasp. She leaned back against the wall for support, her knees suddenly turned to jelly, as the march-warden pointed to her and nodded his head in approval.

The remainder of the meeting, after the greater part of the villagers had gone back to their homes, was a blur to her. Plans were discussed, as well as supplies, and horses. She recalled saying that ‘yes’ she would need a faster horse, as their old farm horse would only plod her way to Edoras and most likely arrive after the villager itself had got there.

Leof and she tramped home in a stony silence. He was angry that she had grabbed the blade from him and been counted among the volunteers; she was angry that he had thought to raise it on his own behalf at all.

o*o*o*o

Meeting at the Hall the next day

It was a tired Meghan who dragged herself to the Hall the next morning.

Her packing had not consisted of much – her few clothes, her cape, her stick and little bow, her knife, and of course, her knitting needles and her yarn. Gudryn had made her up a small packet of food for the day, knowing the march-warden’s family would see to her other provisioning.

She had said her good-byes, telling her mother not to fret. That she would soon be back and that Leof and Gudryn would take good care of her. Gudryn hugged her, whispering ‘thanks’ in her ear for making Leof stay with them. Leof, faced with the inevitability of her going thawed and clasped her fiercely to him. ‘You come back, you hear!’ he ordered her, his voice gone husky with emotion. ‘Or begads I’ll hunt you in the otherworld and drag you back to us!’

Meghan pushed herself a little away from him, and kissed him on the brow. ‘And you brother, take care of my goats! Else I give you a thump on that thick head of yours for everyone that’s gone missing.’

She pushed open the doors to the Town Hall and tromped in. Laying her pack and bedroll at her feet, she thumped her pole on the wooden floor to draw attention to herself. ‘Well, here I am; ready as I’ll ever be. Now if you’ll just show me to the horse you promised, I’ll get the both of us ready to be off . . .

. . . on this fool’s errand! she added to herself. Fools all, if we think we’ll make it . . . more the fool, if we think the King and his Riders will care about our outland problems at all . . .

[piosenniel]

Maeggaladiel's Character

NAME: Fion

AGE: 17

RACE: Men

GENDER: Male

WEAPONS: Well-used wooden bow, quiver of arrows. One plain hunting knife.

APPEARANCE: About 5'9". Dirty-blond wavy hair, usually pulled back into a ponytail. The meagre beginnings of a beard marks his chin. Gray-blue eyes. A somewhat muscular build from years of farmwork, but not overly so. Fion is stuck somewhere between lanky teenager and adult, and he has been trying to push himself towards the latter.

PERSONALITY/STRENGTHS/WEAKNESSES: Fion is somewhat naieve, and an idealist. He sets out from his home ready to save the world, not expecting the world to laugh and kick dirt in his face. He can be over-eager to help people and can become sidetracked easily. He tries to play the role of the gallant knight in shining armor, and is easily delfated when people give him a dose of reality. He is, however, loyal and honest, a quick thinker, and an excellent shot with the bow.

HISTORY: Born and raised on a small farm, Fion has known no other life. He has dreamed of traveling to Edoras, though, and wants to become a Rider of the Mark. Most of his life has been spent working on a farm with his father and younger brother. Through his various roles as "delivery boy" for his father, he has proven himself a swift rider and a trustworthy messenger.

When the orcs began their advance on Rohan, Fion begged his father to let him fight with the adults. His father refused, saying that a farm boy with a bow could do little good in such a battle. When the call for messengers went out, Fion approached his father again and demanded to go. His father finally agreed, although hesitantly. Fion was elated.

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Maeggaladiel's post

The hall went silent as the call for volunteers rang out. Fion looked up at his father. The broad-shouldered man stared out over the sea of frightened faces, his own sun-worn face an expressionless mask.

Fion grimaced. Why so few volunteers? This was an important job! This mission required endurance, knowledge of the land, and speed on horseback. It practically screamed for Fion's involvement. Why, he could do this with his eyes closed!

There was a voice from the front of the hall, and people were nodding at him. That was when he realized his hand was above his head. Oh...

"Fion!" his father hissed in anger and shock. "You fool, what are you doing?" He grabbed the boy's arm and forced it to his side. "You cannot do this!" But it was too late. The boy's fate had been sealed.

"He's naught but a child!" his father protested to the people around him. Fion, feeling rebellious, pulled away.

"I have seen ten-and-seven summers; that is enough!" he said. He jutted out his chin, wishing that his "beard" was more than short blonde dandelion fuzz.

"And I am the fastest rider around!" he added proudly. "You said so yourself!" He held up the worn hunting bow. "And I can hit a bird's eye in the dark!" A mild exaggeration, but boasting never hurt.

His father stared at him, his expression odd but unreadable. Fion shifted uncomfortably.

"I can do this," he insisted, pleading with his eyes. "Please, let me try. If I don't go, we could all be in danger."

There was another long silence. His father stared hard at Fion; the boy tried hard to return the stare. After a moment, the elder man sighed.

"Do what you must," he said. Fion, wanting to prove himself mature enough to handle the task, refrained from letting out a joyous yell.

"I'll make you proud," Fion said. His father grasped his shoulders.

"You already have."

[piosenniel]

Eowyn Skywalker's character

NAME: Eostre Merir

AGE: 20

RACE: Human

GENDER: Female

WEAPONS: Eostre carries a quarterstaff about six feet tall, made out of simple wood, a bow and a quiver of arrows (she probably has about twenty arrows, none of those unending elven arrows that Legolas seemed to have), and a longer dagger (does the term dirk apply in Middle-earth? Because that's how I'd define her blade), in case her staff were to break or anyone be too near for ranged attacks. No flashy weapons for her. Armor-wise, she has leather vambraces, only because it would be stupid for an archer not to have that sort of protection and a thick leather tunic underneath her clothing. At least, she will in this RP, not that she'd normally wear that sort of garb.

APPEARANCE: Eostre isn't very tall—perhaps 5"2— a typically larger human build overwhelming her features, and leaving her, although fairly pleasant looking, not the beauty queen of the area. Her hair is not so long as it is free-flying, cut shorter to not get in her way with various chores overwhelming who she is. Her eyes are a dark brown, and her hair's a sort of flaxen brown, not really gold, but more flat. She wears flat brown clothing, trousers underneath a skirt for the sake of both convenience and riding, and a long sleeved tunic with a vest-like foldover front. ((one might think Jedi, but not quite so overdone)) Her skirt is a basic long pleated job. Wearing moccasin-like leather shoes, she doesn't tend to think too much of her appearance, trying to keep herself down to a simple, pragmatic approach. She wears her hair up in a ponytail much of the time, believing in being pragmatic at nearly all times. ( For reference, a photo, but her hair should be blond and tied back. And just totally ignore the clothing.)

PERSONALITY/STRENGTHS/WEAKNESSES: Eostre is a cynic. It's pretty well as simple as that. The oldest daughter in her family, she quickly adapted to a mistrusting manner—though nothing happened to her parents to scar her, in fact, they're all still alive. It's natural for the oldest child to become either a caretaker or sort of slip away into their own world. Eostre somehow managed to do both, dutifully carrying out her chores and actions until she left home at the age of twenty (that was this year, I suppose) to work as a farmhand, no desire to get married living in her heart at that time—though this could change. She was a fast learner, silently picking up on everything, not readily desiring to speak unless spoken to—yet when she did choose to speak, she was able to become an incredible leader. She sees things very often as purposeless, preferring to let others do their foolish play while she walked alone, letting herself close herself in far too easily.

For this, she's very shielded, her personality guarded. She hates to trust unless positive this emotion will be returned, and although is very passionate about what she believes to be truth, masks her patriotic spirit as much as the leader underneath the indifferent guise. A notable physical weakness is an allergy to pollen, ei, hayfever. And though she's had to lift heavy things in typical farmwork, not to mention shooting off intruders now and again, she's not particularly strong with melee fighting. She has few qualms in killing if she has to, and knows a deal about basic medications, both able to come up with herbal mixtures and the nitty-gritty of setting broken limbs and bandaging wounds.

If she chooses to love and or trust someone, she holds to this to the uttmost, though this leaves her very suseptable to heartbreak, whether through death or simply betrayal. Eostre also has a nearly flawless memory, though again this is also a weakness as things most people would want to forget engrain themselves into her mind.

Since age limits in this RP force me to make Eostre younger than she should be, the fact that she's the oldest child made her end up wiser beyond her years, perhaps a bit of an unnatural maturaty, though no worse than her narrator, who suffers the same maturaty defect in reality. (coughs)

HISTORY: Eostre has no greatly exceptional history. She's the oldest born in her family, grew up to learn to take care of horses, cows, chickens, and sheep, not to mention knowledge of how to weed the garden. Having about five siblings, she's well aware of a maternal need to care for people although cynicism frequently overrides this. Once she decided her siblings (who weren't that much younger than her; her parents were busy) were well enough on their own, she decided that it would be better to help out with some older people whose oldest children had been killed in a previous bandit attack, or something like that. Considering he was her mother's brother, therefore rendering the family owning the farm her uncle and aunt, there was nothing of any scandelous manner to consider, and considering their only child was six years old, it was probably a good thing she helped anyway. Nooooooothing of merit here.

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Eowyn Skywalker's post

Jerked from a weary sleep by a strong wailing of an alarm, Eostre's eyes flickered open in the dark. An attempt to speak... her voice choked off and she leaned over to grasp a white square of fabric, rubbing some excess mucus from her mouth with a grimace. It took the adult woman sometime before she was able to place the harsh sound of alarm that drilled through her mind, chasing away all the flickering images of the dreamworld she dwelled in during her sleep. Something about... A chicken?

But, as was her custom, she didn't let anything sway her course from the choice to sit up and shove her bedding aside, yanking her nightshift off and changing hastily into full garb. By the time she was fully dressed—making the attempt to change in the dark hardly easy—the sound of the alarm had long leaned towards the houses far further away from the Town Hall, and in other rooms in the house, there came the sound of feet smacking against bare wood, her host family coming to wake her up.

Had they honestly thought the light sleeping Eostre would still be abed when alarms cried all through the town, the clatter of hooves passing through the streets and roads stretching far beyond the town to the adjoined lands? She could scarcely sleep through the sound of bacon frying in the rare mornings when she was ill, mainly from allergies. But it meant little; she was dressed, as were they all, and the bordering elderly Haodel and Gelwyn were insisting she ride to the Town Hall with them from their farm. Gelwyn wanted to stay with cousin Ieloa, Haodel wanted to go to the meeting... clamor. She didn't mind. There was no way she could ever have fallen asleep after such a racket! What was the world coming to? A full out war?

Needless to say, not being so far out of town, the two arrived quickly to the Town Hall, possibly after the first ten or so people had arrived. By this point the woman was well awake, sticking close to Haodel as they watched others arrive to the meeting.

An explanation...

Eostre exhaled. So. It did come to war, then. She felt no fear, only a vauge sense of intriege at the arguements being cast around the room, the voices raised and tossed from one hand to the next. The call for aid was too facinating; she didn't want to see any unnecessary death.

Metal cut against metal, and a sword was raised above one volenteer's head, held high in the crowd. She hardly hesitated after that. The mission screamed for fast riders, for those who knew the land, knew how to fight, and wanted to protect their land. She unsheathed her dirk, raised it above her head with just the faintest flicker of a challenging smile on her face.

Haodel threw her a glance. "Eostre..."

"They mayn't even allow me to ride along," she murmured in soft reply. "If they do, I ride hard. I shall return, and in the meantime you and Gelwyn will manage."

He only inclined his head, and she realized when he had spoken, he hadn't spoken in critisism. So. It was done, then. She glanced up at the flame-colored light reflecting off of her blade for a moment, then back down at the others surrounding her. Somehow, time seemed to blur past, others finally raising their blades in agreement of the mission.

Time passed...

The Marchwarden dismissed everyone beyond the volunteers and their families, but names had still spread. Her family recognized her involvement, remaining while Haodel returned to his family. Somehow through the plans, the clock passed well beyond the witching hour as they spoke, exchanged embraces with her family near the end, though they were unnaturally silent, Eostre noted.

She was silent through much of the planning, letting things sink in. And when she went to ride back to Haodel's family, her parents pulled her aside, insisted that it would be better if she spent one last night at home. As if she would never return, she thought...

And yet, as she lay sleepless abed once more, she felt no fear of death, only a desire to protect others of the potential same fate.