Outracing the Flames RPG

[piosenniel]

Bregoware


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]

Bregoware


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 . . .

[Arry]

Wulfham


What little there had been left of the night had escaped Brand altogether. He’d hauled out his old leather pack, the one he used when he was out in the summer’s moving from camp to camp as the sheep moved from one grassy area to another. Clothes were folded and rolled into small bundles and placed in the bottom compartment. A small wooden box with a few salves and bandages went into a side pocket. Opposite it, there were candles and his little box with flint and steel for fire. Cord snares and a few netted traps were rolled small and tucked into a small front pocket. A trio of waterskins, and the nested pots burnt black from many cooking fires were tucked into a canvas bag along with a small pouch of salt. Some rope, a small hatchet were secured to the pack. His short sword made ready. And of course, his bedroll.

His mother had made a pot of good strong tea laced with honey to keep them awake as the family got him and themselves ready to go. His father had groomed Brand’s chestnut mare until she gleamed and given her an extra portion of oats for the journey’s start. His sister’s husbands would look after his sheep, mingling them in with their own as they made their own journey toward the King and his protection.

‘And now who’ll be looking after Patch, here?’ he asked, his hand going down to scratch the head of his dog. ‘He’d best go with you, Da. He’s used to you. And you can use him to keep the flock in line. He crouched down and spoke softly to the dog. And for his part, Patch seemed to understand. With a gesture of his hand, Brand bade the hound sit by his father, telling him he must stay.

He mounted up, his family gathering about him, touching him as they spoke their farewells. His mother, he could see was near to tears, her daughters arms around her for support. His father, a man of few words, looked up at the cloudless morning sky and nodded his head in approval. ‘Well, then,’ he said, ‘best be off while the going is good. There’s a fair wind coming in from the west. Be good ridin’ weather.’ His voice trailed off; his eyes gone a little bright. ‘Darn near forgot this,’ he went on, handing up Brand’s oaken cudgel. ‘Go on now. They be waitin’ for you,’ he finished. And with a light slap to the mare’s hindquarters, he sent Brand racing toward the march-warden’s hall.

----------

‘Whoa up, M’Lady!’ Brand called to his mare as they entered the courtyard. The march-warden’s hall and yard were already a beehive of activity. To his right he saw one of the other chosen riders motioning him over. He picked his way carefully through the piles of possessions that Aldwulf’s family had set out to sort through.

‘Dorran, isn’t it?’ he said to the younger man as he dismounted. ‘Can you show me where we’re to pick up our food and water and such? And the march-warden, did he say if he had any final instructions for us?’ He looked about for a moment. ‘And have the women . . . that is, the other riders, gotten here yet?’

[Arry]

Bregoware


Farael's post

Osmod’s first thought of the day was “For the Lord of the Mearas I overslept.” Looking out his window, he could see the sun was already shining brightly on this chilly autumn day. He was supposed to be meeting the other riders in less than an hour and yet he had not even started packing. He knew not what to do and so he laid in bed for a few more moments. “If I am to be late, I might as well enjoy what could very well be my last awakening on this comfortable bed.” Yet the grim thoughts convinced him to wake up at last rather than stay in bed. With a tired sigh he put his traveling clothes on and made his way to the kitchen. It was a pleasant surprise to find not only a full breakfast set for him, but also everything he planned to take was set and packed by the door. His family was waiting for him and they called him merrily. They enjoyed breakfast together and then walked with Osmod to the stables. He had been expecting his father to ride with him into the town, but when he did not make any attempts towards his own horse, Osmod understood he would be riding alone. Holding back the tears he hugged his father and his mother. The neighbours had also come to wish him good luck and so it was a fairly merry group that accompanied Osmod outside of his father’s plantations. He knew they would all look after each other and found that thought comforting.

The ride to the Town Hall was slow and uneventful. He did not want to tire neither himself nor his horse and so he got there a few minutes late. It seemed no one else had made it any earlier and as Osmod was being greeted by the March Warden and his wife, he heard a banging noise behind him. “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 . . . “. He turned around, startled by the sound and the claim, and smiled at the woman that had recently arrived. He remembered her name from the meeting the night before and so he greeted her. “Miss Meghan, I admire your enthusiasm. I hope the other riders will be as excited as you seem to be about our… adventure. Myself, well… I must say, now that departing seems imminent, I’m all the more hesitant. Yet I hope you will bear with me through today, I’m sure I shall feel better tomorrow after camping on the outdoors.” He smiled at her and walked over to shake her hand. “I am Osmod, just in case you have forgotten.”

[Undómë]

Bregoware


Meghan

He loomed over her, offering his hand. She had the disquieting feeling of being a child, towered over by some giant. And the urge to grab one of the chairs that she might stand on it and meet him eye to eye was hard to ignore.

‘I am Osmod, just in case you have forgotten . . .’

She bit her tongue, swallowing the tart remark that threatened to spill from her lips. Forget him? The rich man’s son? . . . not likely. And more than that, from one of those families who owned a large herd of cattle. Cattle! Pah!! Great, dumb beasts that did nothing useful but eat up the pasturelands her goats liked to graze. The only thing dumber than cattle were sheep, in her opinion. Though a case could be made for sheep – they provided wool. Meghan looked him up and down, wondering if he were as soft as some of her girl friends had said. Pampered boy! Riding about on a horse all day watching those lazy, creatures.

‘No, indeed,’ she replied, gripping his large hand firmly with her own.

Well, now, that is a surprise! she thought to herself. His hand was callused as hers were from her long days of work. And his own grip firm and dry.

‘Hard to forget one such as yourself, Osmod. Or shall I call you Master Osmod? What do you prefer?’ As an after thought, she added, ‘Plain Meghan’s good enough for the likes of me.’

She glanced about the hall, wondering where the other two riders were. ‘Have you seen our other companions?’

[Tevildo]

"Aye, sir. That's me," Dorran tugged at his cap and responded respectfully to the sheep farmer. The young lad lowered his head to hide his smile. From the sound of Master Brand's words, the latter harbored at least a doubt or two because the other members of the party were female. It didn't bother Dorran in the slightest. His own sister was as tough and stubborn as anyone he had met. He expected the other lasses would be fast on their steeds and fit into their party just fine.

If truth be told, Dorran felt more comfortable with the girls than he did with Brand. They, at least, did not directly remind him of his own precarious position within the village. The sheepfarmer, by contrast, was a stout young man who had everything that Dorran lacked. His family was respected by all the townsmen. They had been in the area for countless years. Someday Brand would inherit the family farm. A lucky man, indeed, in the eyes of one whose parents had perished!

Dorran glanced up at Brand and shrugged his shoulders, "I expect they are still saying their goodbyes. They'll be here. Just wait. And the water and food are over here." Dorran pointed to a large pile of provisions that was set out in neat packets underneath the oak tree beside the stable. 'I helped get it ready last night. I think you'll find that the lord has provided everything we need."

At this moment, there was a clattering in the courtyard as the first of the women riders made their entrance.

[Naria]

Wulffham


Incana slowed her horse as she approached the town's courtyard. She dismounted and with a look of bewilderment on her face looked around for the rest of the group she was too ride with. Incana suddenly felt scared and apprehensive about what she was about to do. Thoughts of turning back and going home were entering her mind when she noticed two men eyeing her closely.

She tied her horse to one of the hitching posts and made her way over to the men. It seemed like it took this side of forever to reach them almost like she was trying to wade through a mucky bog. Incana took a deep breath and offered her hand to the first man "Hi, I am Incana" Dorran took her hand with a smile. She then turned to the other man and introduced herself to him. He too took her hand and smiled.

"Is there not supposed to be four of us on this ride? We are missing one member." Incana's mind was starting to settle and turned to what adventures lie ahead.