Outracing the Flames RPG

[Maeggaladiel]

Fionn rose and spun, taken by suprise. Blast; he hadn't been paying attention! Had this man been a bandit or an orc, he would have been dead and horseless by now. Well, at least the others hadn't been around to witness his mistake...

The boy wiped his ash-stained hand on his trousers before taking the horses' leads from the man.

"Thank you," he muttered in embarrassment. "Aye, they should probably be tethered."

He went to work, securing the animals.

"Miss Meghan is off hunting with Master Osmod and Miss Eostre," he said. "They should return shortly, I'd imagine." He cast a glance over his shoulder at the newcomer. Fionn thought he recognized him from around the village, but he wasn't certain. Well, he knew his name.

"Forgive my asking, but... Who did you say sent you?"

[Eowyn Skywalker]

Not so far away, the oblivious remainder of the party found themselves searching the foliage for food and any vegtables that may have survived the hints of frost indicating an oncoming winter. Eostre didn't believe it would be too long before snow set in, but she thought it might wait a little bit longer; perhaps til they were back from this mission.

She threw a glance at her silent companions, each and everyone of them focused enough on the idea of getting meat for supper that they for once weren't squabbling or making stupidly self-critical remarks over every possible thing that could be said and done. At least sometimes they could all get along.

A crackle in the branches: a rabbit lept from the underbrush and, in a fit of panic, bounded straight towards Meghan.

[Undómë]

Bregoware

Meghan


The rabbit was down before it understood the worn leather boots before it were not simply part of the brush. Not dead . . . the arrow had pinned the doe through a hind leg. Meghan slipped the knife from her belt and grabbing the creature firmly by its ears, she slit the throat with a single cut. It bled out quickly, the back legs twitching and kicking for a moment, then going limp.

Another, smaller male rabbit had hared off in another direction. The smell of blood driving it hard away from the site of slaughter. Meghan concentrated on her own kill. She gutted it, taking care not to nick the scent glands as she removed them, and placed the unwanted remains beneath a bush. She’d set the liver aside and before it had a chance to cool, she cut the large, dark red organ into three pieces. It was still warm as she stuffed one of the pieces in her mouth. Delicious! She hadn’t realized how hungry she was.

Meghan stood up, her kill secured to her belt with a leather thong. She held out the other two pieces of liver, skewered on the tip of her knife, toward the other two. ‘Care for a piece before it’s gone cold?’

[Undómë]

Bregoware

Rædwald


Leof sent me, Master Fionn. Meghan’s brother.’ Rædwald smiled, recalling his talk with Leof. ‘I believe he’s still a bit peeved that she managed to get chosen instead of him. And worse yet, of course, is the fact, she’s his little sister.’ The older man shrugged his shoulders. ‘Got a wife and babies to look after, Leof does. And so, here I am, in his stead, and to see that she makes it to and from the King’s hall safely - like a little niece that girl is to me.

Fionn had finished tethering the horses, and Rædwald gave an approving nod. ‘Better to have them closer in, as you’ve done,’ he said. ‘They’ll give alarm if anything is coming near and you’ll be able to get to them quickly should you need to.’

He unloaded his own mount and stacked his pack and weapons near his bedroll. The evening was getting cold and Rædwald was glad of the fire Fionn had built up. He drew near it and warmed his hands over the flames.

‘I’ve got some potatoes Leof sent along, over there in the burlap bag inside the canvas one,’ he said, pointing to where he’d piled his equipment. ‘They were busy packing up all the foods they could, you know – getting ready to set out. They’d just have been left for the birds and rodents to peck at.’ Rædwald retrieved a number of them and set to poking them in beneath the ashes at the base of the fire. He looked about, a frown on his face. ‘You have a little kettle somewhere? We can fill it with water and have something hot to drink by the time they get back.’ He fished about in his pack and pulled out a small pouch of dried mint leaves and rose hips. ‘Too bad we’ve no honey. I like my tea with honey. Ah well, I suppose we’ll just have to make do.’

Rædwald sat crosslegged on one of his blankets, poking the potatoes occasionally with a long stick he’d found. ‘Be interesting to see Edoras again,’ he said, keeping his eyes on the flames. ‘Never thought I would again. Served with the Riders back . . . well, a good number of years ago really. Not in the King’s own éored, of course. But still, we’ve seen some battles, my lance and I along side them.’

‘What about you, Master Fionn? You’re a young man . . . and fit enough. You ever thought of being a Rider?’

[Tevildo]

Dorran did not object when Vaenosa offered to take the first watch of the night. Nor was he surprised when the woman stubbornly moved her bedroll from the protected warmth of the fire to the far end of the encampment. Dorran had finished his dinner, assured Brand that he would help him with the traps in the morning, and then slipped inside his bedroll. Tired from the lengthy trek and the bickering that had marred much of their day, he had fallen asleep in just a few minutes.

When Dorran awoke, the camp was still and filled with shadows. The fire had burned down to a few glowing embers. He could see Brand and Incana curled up inside their bedrolls. There was no sign of Vaenosa, who was apparently still on watch, perhaps seated amid the trees and bracken that encircled their camp.

Dorran strained his ears but was surprised that he could not hear the chirping of small insects or the croaking of frogs that usually provided a pleasant backdrop to a night spent in the woods. He suddenly felt uneasy. The frogs had been lively enough when he'd first fallen asleep, and he wondered what had happened to them. He dug deep inside the blanket, pulling it over his head, and tried to will himself back to sleep. His efforts met with little success. He tossed and turned this way and that, trying to find a comfortable position.

Lying on his back, with the covers still tugged over his face, he was surprised to hear a strange sound he could not identify cut into the silence. At first, he could not be sure what it was.

Just an owl hooting! Go back to sleep. He dug his head deeper into the blanket but the sound did not go away. Instead, it became louder and more insistent as if something or someone was coming closer. Dorran sat bolt upright in his bedclothes. A chill howl rang out over the camp: a sound like a woman wailing and weeping. Again, it rang out, loud and demanding. There was no question now. Someone was out there, either a live person crying out for help or some ghastly apparition that had come to plague them.

His heart cold with fear, Dorran sprang to his feet and raced over to where Brand was sleeping. He reached out, grabbed Brand's shoulders, and shook him vigorously, "Wake up, wake up. Someone's out there in the bushes....a woman, I think. We have to help her." The eerie cries reverberated through the entire camp.

[Envinyatar]

Wulfham


Her long, thick tawny tail twitched angrily as she looked toward the intruders’ camp. The big cat growled low at her year old cub and hissed, warning him back from where she crouched on the rocks west of the little forest.

The presence of the two-leggeds irritated her, and in several ways. They were camped on the trail the deer often took on their way to the river. The deer would be skittish, moreso than usual. Hunting would be poor tonight and she was hungry, as was her cub.

Beyond that was her hatred of them and their biting, slashing weapons. They had killed two of her cubs. Just two full moons ago. And for nothing more than the two addle-brained sheep she had dragged off. It was her right to trim the herds in her range. How dare the two leggeds deny her! How dare they threaten her family!

She screamed out her anger and frustration beneath the slivered moon.

Then, her nose took in the scent of the horses . . . their fear . . . and the promise of rich, bloody meat . . .

A sleek, tawny ghost, she moved among the shadows . . . her green-gold eyes intent on her prey . . .

[Arry]

Wulfham


‘Wake up, wake up. Someone's out there in the bushes....a woman, I think. We have to help her.’

Dorran’s voice broke through the thick fog of sleep. That and the accompanying screams that tore among the trees. Brand scrambled out from his blankets and jammed his feet into his boots. ‘A woman?’

The sounds of the panicking horses grew louder. They were whinnying in fear and moving restlessly against their tethers. ‘No human that,’ he said picking up his oak cudgel.

‘Fetch your bow,’ he called to Dorran. ‘Vaenosa! Incana! To the horses with your weapons. They’re under attack!’

Brand grabbed up one of the long branches that lay by the fire and lit it, wielding it in his left hand. He and the others fanned out from each other just a little as they made their way quickly to the now screaming horses . . .

[Maeggaladiel]

"A Rider?" Fionn echoed, the corners of his mouth curving into a wry smile. "Oh, I've thought about it, to be sure. Most of the village lads have thought about it, when they were younger." He stood and stretched, and went to the party's saddlebags. He dug through their packs, looking for a kettle or something that would serve as one.

"Most've us would have done anything for a chance. But the fact is, we're farmers," he continued, as though the concept of becoming a Rider were but a silly childhood dream. "I don't weild a great lance or ride giant horse; I raise chickens." He grinned over his shoulder at the man and held up a small copper kettle.

"Found one," he said, waving the kettle. "Don't suppose the others will mind us using it; they'll be drinking from it too." He dissappeared for a moment, going down to the stream. He came back a few minutes later with the pot filled with clear water.

It had been a lie; Fionn would have jumped at the chance to join the Riders. Yes, he knew it sounded like the stereotypical young hero story. A farm boy from nowhere in particular rises to greatness in the service of his King. But it was much more appealing than the story of his life thusfar: amateur archer and lord of a vegetable garden and a bunch of brainless chickens.

Despite his apparent naiveté, Fionn knew when to keep some dreams to himself. Otherwise, they were trod upon. This was one of those dreams.

Fionn set the kettle down by the fire. The smell of cooking potatoes made his stomach growl.

"I don't think plain potatoes have ever sounded so appealing," he said with a laugh. "Although hopefully the others will have had some luck hunting, and then we'll have some meat to go with 'em." Still, he thought, some butter would be nice as well.

Fionn reclaimed his seat by the fire.

"You said you've been to Edoras?" he asked suddenly. "As a Rider? What was it like? I've never seen it."