Outracing the Flames RPG

[Folwren]

Wulfham

To Edoras! To see the King? On normal occasions such words would spark a wild excitement in Athwen, but this time the words didn’t ring so much as they used to. But, still, he was asking her to go.

‘We’d be glad of your company, wouldn’t we? Come along, won’t you mistress. . .’ He trailed off and inside she felt half inclined to smile. She had neglected to give them her name.

‘Athwen. And don’t call me mistress, or ma’am, for that matter.’ Half heartedly, she smiled, thanking him for the kindness offered by his simple address. ‘I don’t deserve either, nor to be asked to accompany you. Leod is going?’ She turned and looked at the elderly healer. He nodded. She turned back to Brand and then looked at his companions. Finally, she straightened her shoulders and lifted her chin a little higher. By far the shortest of the group, she figured the thought had entered most of their heads that she wouldn’t be an excellent rider, and would likely hold them up, and whatever else if she accepted Brand’s quick offer. It wasn’t a ridiculous assumption, really, but she promised herself she would be able to show them otherwise.

‘I will accept your invitation,’ she said to Brand, setting her eyes on him again. ‘There is nothing left for me here-’ her breath caught momentarily, but she continued again almost immediately, though her eyes dropped away to the ground. ‘They were all killed. And though I would like to stay and hope for those words to be proved wrong, I can’t. I’ve looked and I’ve found them all. . .’ Her heart began to beat harder and faster and the panic that had first assailed her when she saw the destruction began to come back. She looked up imploringly at Brand, hoping that, maybe, he, or someone, might understand just a little. She took one step back, grasped for control over her feelings, and merely said in finishing, ‘I will come.’

[Maeggaladiel]

Fionn bit down on his lower lip in concentration, sweat beading on his forehead despite the cool air. This was hard work; harder than he had expected. He was glad that he had eaten some of Sythric's soup before starting this project, otherwise he was sure he wouldn't have had the strength. Setting up the pulley mechanism had been irritating and troublesome at first, and manning the pulley was physically taxing. The sooner they crossed this damned river, the better.

"I'd rather be a farmer than a ferry master, that's for certain," he grumbled. He'd spent many long hours in fields, hacking away at weeds and bending over crops, and chopping loads and loads of wood. He was strong, but this was still hard. His arms grew tired from making the same pulling motions over and over again, and his fingers grew sore even through the thick gloves.

The rope was heavy and wet, and the current tugged at the wooden ferry. The ferry was so close... And yet so infuriatingly far away. Was it even moving at all? It had to be. He grit his teeth and continued to tug.

[Naria]

Wulfham


Incana gave a nod to Athwen as Brand introduced each member of the group. This poor girl, she thought, I can't even begin to imagine what she is feeling with all that has happened to her. Incana wanted desperately to embrace this forlorn girl and tell her that everything would be ok, but she knew that everything was not ok and it would take kindness and time for Athwen to come around.

Incana's thoughts went back to her own family and wondered if they were safe and were able to make it out of the village in time. She caught her breath at this thought and shuddered to think of any of her family dying at the hands of these foul beasts called Orcs.

The woman had an idea just then and gestured the group away from Athwen for a moment to talk. "I think what this young girl needs right now is a form of goodbye to her family and friends. I would like it if you three men would gather all of the human bodies and bring them to the centre of town, if you will. Vaenosa and I will find wood, placing the logs and tinder on the ground for a start." It would be a grisly task, but Incana was confident that this would start the healing process for Athwen.

[Arry]

Wulfham

Dead sheep were one thing . . . the bodies of men, women, and children another. It was the natural course of things for sheep to be killed as they pastured. Hungry predators would come hunting them, waiting carefully for their chance to spring upon a straggler. Then the body of the sheep would be dragged off and eaten. And there was the difference. The sheep were food; they sustained the wolf, or cat, or even eagle carrying off a spring lamb. But these poor souls, they were killed for darker purposes, in the service of that Lord of the Shadowed Lands. And for sport, too. Brands stomach lurched a number of times at the ways in which the bodies had been hacked up and displayed. It was a depth of foulness he could not fathom, nor did he want to.

Brand pulled on his thick leather gloves and tied a triangle of cloth he’d torn from a clean sheet as a mask for his nose and mouth. The thought of touching the dead flesh made his skin crawl. Still, he steeled himself to the task, knowing that his family would not want to be left in such shameful disarray; it would dishonor them.

They found one large, low-sided wagon that looked as if it had once been used for haying. One of the men took charge of the horses, keeping them calm as they went slowly through the death glutted streets. The other helped Brand swing the bodies up onto the wagon bed, sometimes using a strong woolen blanket as a sling for the larger ones.

It was a slow job, and often they had to stop to drink a little water to soothe their ashy-parched throats, or to clean their eyes of sooty debris. Or sometimes it was simply that they had to retch . . . the sight of some horribly killed person just too much to bear. The grisly job of transporting the dead to the center of the village ate up most of the daylight hours left to them. And in fact the sun was already setting as they finished, leaving only a pink glow that created the setting for a somber mood.

Still in his ashy clothes, his face grimy with sweat, soot, and dirt Arry took his place near the still unlit pyre. He’d taken off his gloves and stuffed them in his belt. In the middle layers, near him, was the body of a man he guessed to be near his own age. The man’s eyes were open and he seemed to be staring upward toward the darkened sky. One arm was flung outward from the pyre as if reaching out for help. Unthinking, Brand reached out to tuck arm against the man’s side; and with his fingers he shut the poor fellow’s eyes. A few words, unbidden, came to his lips. He had heard his father say them when they had gone to the funeral of one of their close neighbors. Brand spoke them quietly now, and with a simple sincerity.

Wes þū hāl! Ferðu, ferðu . . . Be thou well! Go, go . . .

As he stepped back, from the corner of his vision he saw Incana step forward with a burning brand.

[Naria]

Wulfham

Incana looked at Athwen with tears in her eyes for approval before she used her torch to light the wood. The woman stepped back beside the young girl and watched as the flames slowly licked the wood and gradually became bigger swallowing what used to be Athwen's kin. Incana knew that their spirits were no longer with them, but this thought did not ease her aching heart. She felt for Athwen and hoped that in some small way this would help to ease her pain. Incana could not look at the fire anymore, she kept her eyes on the ground trying hard to block the sounds and smells that were emanating in front of her. She could not find the appropriate words to sooth her new friend, so she unfolded her hands and reached over taking hold of Athwen's and hung her head in complete silence.

The five of them stood with Athwen for a very long time, the sky had erased the pink hue and replaced it with darkness. There were but a few sputters and popping sounds coming from the fire now, and Incana thought it best if they were to leave the scene and get some food and much needed rest. With Incana still holding Athwen's hand the group left the ash behind and made their way to Leod's cottage.

[Farael]

It was slow, hard work but at last the pulley system was set and the raft was brought to their shore of the river. They were all tired but it was just a few hours after mid-day and they knew they had to push on forward. There was still some of Sythric’s soup left and Osmod helped himself to some, before the fire was put out and the pots cleaned up. He then offered re-filling everyone’s water skins while he went down to the river to wash his cup. While he did so, the rest of the group packed up and loaded the raft.

The horses would be tied to the back of the raft and swim after them, so each rider needed to secure their own horse, as the animals would let no-one else do it. At last, the horses tied and their belongings loaded on the raft, each of the men grabbed a pole and started pushing towards the other shore. Their first efforts were not very coordinated and they seemed to be drifting downriver more than moving across. It did not take long until each of them realized they needed to push together if they ever wanted to make it across and so, guided by their own grunts, the men coordinated their efforts. At last, they were across.

Osmod felt the crossing of the river had taken hours, but as he untied his horse and lead him out of the water he realized it had not been more than a few minutes. His arms ached and he felt as if he had somehow hurt his chest, but it was not time for them to stop. The horses would need to be looked after before the winds chilled them to their bones, and then they had to keep on riding. “This was never meant to be a pleasure trip,” he thought “but it is only our second day riding and I don’t know if I can take another step before collapsing. Still, I must try. It’s my job if I am to be their leader”. Osmod looked at the other riders and wondered because of what insane whim of destiny the March-Warden had chosen him to give the letters to. They were all able bodied and smart. They all worked as hard as he did and perhaps most importantly, they didn’t seem to need a leader. In spite of his best judgement, he started feeling like a burden to the group. Yet because of luck, destiny or misfortune, he had received the letters and neither of the older men had seen the need to take his place as a leader. So, Osmod decided, he would need to lead by example, work the hardest to earn the position that had been given to him by chance.

It was not long before the horses were dry, their belongings loaded and the group set to go. Before leaving, Osmod walked back towards the raft and untied the rope that had helped them bring it across on the first place. It would not do for them to leave the way open for a group of orcs to follow their tracks. Not knowing what to do with the rope, he decided to heave it on the water and let the river decide its faith. To his great relief, the rope got caught on something at the other end and, rather than drifting down river, it just flapped on the current but stayed put. Whoever came next would still need to get the rope across somehow, but perhaps this small difficulty would deter a band of the servants of the enemy.

Most of them had never been across the river Those who had had done so long ago, so Osmod decided they would need someone to scout ahead, to warn them of any problems they may run into. He volunteered himself for the first shift, saying that he would warn them either in person or by leaving a sign should anything happen. ”I will meet with you if I get tired, and then someone else can take the scouting duties. Give me a few minutes to get ahead and then follow my tracks.”

They needed to go due south, according to Sythric, so Osmod checked the position of the sun and set his horse on a quick trot. He didn’t look back at the rest of them, just waved his arm vaguely and rode on.

Two hours had passed and he had seen no signs of people, whether friends or foes. He hoped the other riders would understand that he was not planning on going back to them until they stopped for the night. He was tired as was his horse, but he needed time to think.

Hours passed by and night encroached the day but the group had not yet seen Osmod again. The tracks of his horse’s hooves were easy to find and from time to time he had left one of his drawings to let them know he was alright. Yet night was drawing clear and soon they would need to camp. As the sun was setting they saw a lone man on foot, bringing the horse by the reins. When they drew near, they could see it was indeed Osmod. Both him and the horse appeared to be unharmed yet the man seemed absent, as he looked up to the riders on their horses. When inquired about what had happened he just muttered ”Not fifteen minutes from here there is a small hill. I rode atop that hill and looked ahead. I cannot explain to you what I saw; you will have to see it for yourselves.” Without another word Osmod mounted his horse again and showed them the way towards the hill.

[Folwren]

Wulfham

Darkness had fallen. The same shroud that covered her heart and mind took possession of the world. Athwen stifled a sob and her hand tightened in Incana’s. A gentle return of pressure strengthened her once again, as it had during the burning, and she looked up a the woman who offered her support.

Incana offered her a small, encouraging smile and then gently turned about, leading Athwen with her. They all walked away from the smouldering fire and picked their way carefully through the ruined houses of the village.

Athwen took a shuddering breath and looked up as she walked. Above them, the stars twinkled coldly in the black sky. She remembered a couple years ago when she and the young man who she was supposed to have married (they were but boy and girl then) had lain together under these same stars and tried to count them. Her brother had been with them, too, and had laughed at their attempts and instead tried to show them the constellations.

But they were all gone now. She lowered her eyes again. They had been given a proper and honorable farewell, though, and that was better than nothing at all. It would have been torture to survive, knowing that they lay side by side with their killers, to be eaten by the wild birds of the air and scavengers of the earth. It was better. . .a little. And bit by bit she would recover.