Outracing the Flames RPG

[Arry]

Brand’s face was slick with sweat from the exertion of the ride. Though the day had grown colder as it passed, it was all he could do not to throw off his cloak to feel some relief from the oppressive heat he felt. He wiped at his face with his gloved right hand, throwing back his cloak a little on that side so that the cooler air might touch him. He was careful to keep his other arm well hidden beneath the cloak. His left shoulder felt tight, hot as an ember, and he could feel the slow trickle of something down his torso as a thickish liquid oozed downward.

‘Perhaps we can unhook the sledge from the horse and three or four of us might carefully bear Sythric on the sledge around the log and the muddy water . . .’ He shifted in his saddle, in a small effort to ease the pain.

‘Meghan and Leod, perhaps you could do this . . . yes? With the help of Naria and Dorran? But that’s only one small offering. Perhaps another of you can see an easier way . . .’

[Folwren]

Athwen finished unsaddling and rubbing down her horse well before Dorran had returned with the wounded group. She set about to using the wood that the others brought in to making the camp fire and then, after washing her hands as best she could, she began to prepare the meal. Her short argument with Dorran from earlier came back to her as she pulled out a pan and she smiled a little. She wondered if he’d even remembered when he went back out to meet the others.

As she prepared the meal her mind wandered back to the events of the day. It had been almost fun. To her, riding out before the ones who had to go more slowly, it felt much like a holiday. The day itself had been nice, perhaps a little on the chilly side, but with a few, scattered runs in their riding, they had managed to keep warm. She and Dorran, after the race, talked quite a bit about past times, concerning horses, anyway. She learned that he had worked with his master’s horses daily. It was little wonder that he had ridden so well, then, and had not minded taking the extra weights of his pack and other luggage. He told her stories about the horse’s, and had made some of the antics of a particular foal sound so humorous and made it bring such lively thoughts to her mind (for she knew how young horses played), that Athwen had actually laughed.

After making sure that the food left to warm until the others got back, and also that water was heating up, Athwen sat down a few paces off, wrapped her arms about her legs, and stared into the fire. Everything was quiet about her. Eostre stood nearby in the shadows. She was silent, as usual. Fion and Osmod were talking quietly on the opposite side of camp; she didn’t know what about.

Sitting thus in silence for a while with nothing to occupy either her mind or her hands, she once more began to think about what was to come, and some part of her thought about what had been. Dorran had mentioned earlier the master of his village. He was kind, he had said, and would help her if he could. That was true, he probably would. What was more, Athwen had no doubt that any one of her companions here would do their best to see that she wasn’t left helpless and alone. She didn’t want to be a burden to people, though.

With a sigh, she lifted her hand and rested her forehead on it, combing back the hair with her fingers. Life was so uncertain now.

But why should that let her down? Time would tell what came, and if she met it bravely and without faltering, then she would find a way through. Dorran had said that, or something like, she felt sure he had.

A stick hissed and popped and a fragment fell from the fire. It attracted her gaze and she stared at it while the orange changed collars and then slowly faded into black as the minutes passed. A thought came to her that if she were to blow upon the stick, it would glow and glimmer again, and maybe even briefly burst into flame. If she left it alone, it would fade and die and become cold and hard, a useless clump of charcoal.

'Hope is like that,' whispered a voice inside her head. 'If you leave it lying without taking it up, it will go away for ever, and then there won’t be anything to live for. But so long as there’s hope, there’s a way to live.'

‘Hope of what?’ she murmured. There was no answer for the space of a moment. But then Osmod came up, carrying a larger piece of wood. She looked up at him as he placed it carefully on the fire. It’s bark was dry and old and the flames eagerly accepted it, the fire leaping up higher suddenly. A faint smile came to her lips and she lifted her head and let her hand fall. 'You’ll find a reason. Someday. Life’s uncertain, remember? You won’t know until you get there.'

[Nogrod]

‘Perhaps we can unhook the sledge from the horse and three or four of us might carefully bear Sythric on the sledge around the log and the muddy water . . .’ Sythric had been somewhat aware of the situation, but now Brand's words really woke him up. He was terrified of the idea. It was already enough to be tied to the sledge. Sporting over a piece of water with it was just too much.

"Please friends! How about Meghan and Leod you just help me to my feet and support me over it? If its not too deep..." He turned his eyes towards the others, trying to take a firm grip from the sledge's side to aid him with rising up. "I would surely like to be in an upright position for a while.", he said, addressing his words mostly towards Leod, "I think, it would do me good too. And anyhow, if I can't be trusted to walk today, how do you think I'm riding tomorrow? I should try it."

[Tevildo]

With this last pronouncement from Sythric, everyone turned to Leod. The healer glared back at Sythric, "Alright. Enough! I have heard that tone before. I know when it is useless to argue with a stubborn patient. I would rather do what Brand suggested, but it will do us know good unless you cooperate. A short walk will not hurt you, but be careful. It's slippery."

Leod reached over and gently slid his hands underneath Sythric's arms, offering him some support so that he could stand up. Then the healer snapped out his orders. "Dorran, drag the sledge over to the other side. There should be no trouble now that it's empty. Meghan, you've a gentle hand and seem like a sturdy lass. Get over here on the other shoulder and lend Sythric your strength. We'll take this slow and easy. The last thing I want to see is my patient falling on his face. And the rest of you, find your way through the trees to the other side. I don't know how deep the water is, and we may need your help to pull us out of this muck. Here now. One of you take my healer's satchel so it doesn't end up under water."

Once the older man had finished speaking, Sythric headed for the trees to make his way around the log . They had no trouble getting beyond the fallen tree trunk. Leod thought it might be easiest to continue through the trees and then cut back to the main trail, but that proved to be a bad idea. The mud was so soft that the walkers slid in up to their ankles and could barely pull their feet out of the muck. It was clearly safer to go back to the main pathway and wade through the water. As Sythric cautiously ploughed through the water, the rocks underneath made for uneasy footing. Once or twice he slipped, but Meghan and Leod reached out to steady him. At its deepest point, the water reached as high as their knees. Despite the rocks and the water, they managed to get Sythric safely to the other side and Meghan was also pulled out on the bank.

Leod gave strict orders that Sythric was to go back immediately on the sledge, and that he would not listen to any further nonsense or protests. As the group mounted up, the healer slipped over beside Brand and whispered, "Master Brand, I do not like the look of you at all. Frankly, you look worse than Sythric. Since Dorran says that camp is just a few miles away, we'll continue on. But the minute we get there, you're to settle down and rest, and I must have a look at that wound."

The group continued forward. The flat and open trail made for relatively easy going, and it was not long before they reached the point where Dorran told them to leave the trail. Within a few minutes, they were approaching the campsite. The odor of a lovely hot meal floated enticingly towards them.

"Oh, bother! I forgot." With that, Dorran raced over to Athwen and apologized. "My fault, my fault. I was supposed to do the meal. So now I owe you two I guess. I don't know what you made but it smells lovely, and I know the others are hungry."

[Folwren]

The noise of the returning group brought Athwen out of her reverie. She roused herself and stood, ready to offer herself to anyone who needed any help. The only light was that from the fire, and it leaped and danced, sending odd shadows away into the darkness. The horses came near, mere outlines in the greyness, and then they came into the firelight. The riders looked pale, the wounded ones weak and in pain. She took a step forward and then stopped. Osmod and Fion were approaching them. They would be more help than she. She would only get under foot at the moment. Better to put the finishing touches to the meal.

She was going to some saddle bags to get bowls with Dorran’s voice over took her. ‘Oh, bother! I forgot!’ he cried. She heard his hurrying footsteps behind her and as she turned to face him, bowls in hand, he was alright there by her side. ‘My fault, my fault. I was supposed to do the meal. So now I owe you two, I guess. I don’t know what you made, but it smells lovely, and I know the others are hungry.’

He put out his hands to take the bowls from her. Athwen, being preoccupied with answering him, let him take them gently away from her.

‘Nothing special. What can one do without a proper cooking place? I’ve merely used some of the water and cooked up some of the smoked boars meat we had from a few days ago and tossed in a couple vegetables that you found. . .I think it was you. . .’ She didn’t know for certain, though, because she hadn’t been there when they’d found them. ‘And some of the herbs from Leod’s garden,’ she finished. ‘I can do a bit of cooking in a pinch, I think.’

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Arry’s post


While the others saw to Sythric and Vaenosa, Brand urged Lady to a place on the opposite side of the fire. He was glad of the general hubbub of the camp – the settling of the wounded; the preparation of the evening meal. It drew attention away from him.

He sat for a moment in the saddle, catching his breath as he mustered the energy to dismount. His left arm was all but useless now; it was so swollen and very painful.

Lady stood stock still, sensing her owner needed what small assistance she could give. Brand loosed the cinch and let the saddle drop to the ground. He undid the buckle that held her bridle and she backed away as he held onto it, loosing it from her head.

‘Good girl!’ he said, patting her on the neck. He opened one of the small bags tied to the back of the saddle and gave her a handful of oats. ‘There’ll be plenty more once we reach the Golden Hall.’ She eyed him as if skeptically and made no comment save the crunch crunch of her teeth on the grain. Lady looked hopefully for another hand out, but when none was forthcoming, she wandered off a little to nibble on the dried tufts of grass about the edges of the camp.

Brand dragged his pack and bedroll near the fire. Unlike earlier when he felt hot, now he felt quite chilled. Pulling his cloak about him, he sat down carefully on one of his folded blankets and drew the other up over his shoulders, pulling it tight about him. His teeth were chattering despite the heat from the cook fire.

Someone handed him a mug of warm tea . . . and he mumbled out a word of thanks . . .

[Undómë]

‘You’re more than welcome!’ Meghan straightened back up and took a sip of her own tea. ‘I wish we had some honey from my family’s farm,’ she said, her nose wrinkling a little at the bitter undertaste of the herbs.

She shivered beneath her thick cape. The wind had shifted from the west and now the cold eastern currents swept over the plains bringing the assurance of a storm.

‘Move over a bit!’ Meghan reached out with the edge of her boot and nudged Brand a little. ‘My legs are still cold and wet from the trek through the bog with Sythric.’

Tucking her cloak beneath her, she huddled down next to Brand. ‘Cat got your tongue, eh?’ Meghan took another drink of tea, thinking perhaps he was just tired. She leaned forward, picking up a small chunk of wood to throw in the fire. As she leaned back, her right shoulder hit against his left.

‘Sorry! Didn’t mean to hurt you.’ Meghan thought she heard him stifle a gasp. A glance his way showed he was shivering hard. Setting her mug on the ground she put a hand on lightly on his forearm. ‘Are you alright, Brand?’ she asked, a look of concern on her face.

His head was in profile to her. She reached out and tipped his face toward her; her fingers lightly guiding his chin. Alarmed at what she saw, she called out loudly.

‘Leod! Come quickly! He’s sick!’

[Tevildo]

Tevildo's post

Leod had been replacing bandages, stitching up cuts, and simmering herbal remedies in several small pots hanging over the firepit, when he heard Meghan calling out in a worried voice. One look at Brand told him all he needed to know. The man's face was flushed; his hair hung limp, dripping with sweat. Fever! Undoubtedly high fever. That could only mean that the wound had gone bad. There was no time to lose. For the tenth time that day, the healer silently cursed that he had let others persuade him to push his patients forward without another day of rest.

Leod had Brand remove the clothing that lay directly over the wound so they could have a better look. What he saw deeply concerned him. Red streaks radiated out from the wound. There were several deep pockets of pus.

"Alright, Brand." The healer spoke in his gentlest tone, far different than how he'd sounded on the trail earlier that day. " Your wound has flared up. We're going to have to get it cleaned and then I'll lay down a honey potion. I don't know why, but the honey seems to draw out the bad spirits and start the wound healing again. I'm afraid this may hurt a little. Just hold on and we'll be done in a minute."

First, Leod continued to talk to Brand, explaining what he was doing to him. "This will be hot, quite hot. It's water and clove oil mixed, an excellent rememdy for cleansing. Just hang on for a minute."

"Next, you'll feel some pressure. I'll be cleaning out some of the infection....nasty green and yellow stuff that will do you absolutely no good." Leod was careful to drain out all the hidden pools, soaked the wound in the clove oil mixture for some time, and finally dried it.

"One last thing," added the healer, addressing both Brand and Meghan. "This will help. The honey came from my backyard. The flowers there were amazing. It took years to figure out which ones were best to grow, but the honey the bees made from those flowers was unusually potent in the healing of wounds." With that explanation, Leod took out a bandage and placed a generous amount of honey on it before wrapping up the wound.

"Well, Master Brand, you're not going anyplace tonight. And, as for tomorrow, I am not at all sure. If necessary, I shall stay here in the woods with you and Sythric, and give you two some extra time to rest while the group goes forward. Sometimes this honey works quickly. At other times, it may take a while. But if your fever is this bad in the morning, I will personally sit on top of your chest and enlist Dorran to do the same to prevent you from going anywhere!"


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Nogrod's post

For a short while Sythric had felt somewhat energized as he had been allowed to leave that gods-forsaken sledge and stand up. Even the trouble of getting over the bog had been refreshing variation to just leaning in the sledge and getting all his parts sore and aching. Sythric would have loved to try riding after the crossing, but Leod’s gaze had been firm enough for him even to dare suggest it. And in the end, he knew that Leod was right. He wasn’t a man to ride.

Leod had stiched his wound as a first thing as they had reached the camp. Even though he was still under the spell of Leod’s painkillers, the stiching operation was extremely painful. Sythric had to bite his teeth not to yell in pain. Leod had allowed him a last sip of his wine before he started. The rest was to go on cleansing the wounds, his own to begin with. After the operation he was bandaged once again, although the bandages were the same he had before, stained with dried blood and mud. After bandaging he was hoisted to lean against a larger tree beside the fireplace so that he could follow what was going on. Fion brought him a bowl of broth and smiled encouragingly. Sythric thanked him for the broth. The smell of it made him realize his hunger. Well, this can’t be too bad, if I’m still hungry..., he thought to himself, smiling inwardly to the irony of his own thoughts against what he actually felt. Fion stood aside him as he took the first spoonful of the steaming broth. Sythric looked at him to the eyes, smiled a little and said. “Leod told you to see if I can manage this? Well, tell him that I can. You should do better by helping him with the others. I’ve been taken care of enough already for this day.”, with that he winked an eye tio Fion and nodded. Fion smiled hesitatingly, unsure of what to do, but Sythric’s nod gave him relief – and by a nod he went after Leod who was tending Vaenosa.

The easterling had been a skilled swordsman, and his blade had been truly excellent. It had cut through his leather armour like paper, breaking at least his ribs. Leod had said nothing about his organs and Sythric hadn’t wanted to ask about them. The wound started from near his armpit and went down his side almost to his waist. It was a vertical, sharp and clean cut. Like it’s been made with a carving knife! A dull orcsword would never do anything like this, no no... He suddenly remembered the last time, indeed the only time he had been really seriously injured before. It had been his second last year in the riders.

Two orcs had been coming onto him. He had parried the one to his left with his shield, intending to swing his sword against the one coming from his right. That had been a bit too ambitious move. The hit on his shield had been powerful enough to unbalance him just enough to miss his swing with the right hand. The blow to the right side of his chest had hitten him with almost full force. Had his sword not have hit the orc’s sword just ever so slightly, killing off some of its momentum, he would have been dead by that one. If that orc would have had the sword of this easterling... I wouldn’t be here to remember it.

The orcswords are mainly heavy and dull. For someone wearing any quality armour they basically produce concussion-like hits – if they come through. Sythric had broken some ribs back then too and had some internal bleeding, but his armour was not penetrated and the bleeding had ceased early enough for him to survive. After the battle he had been taken to the nearest town in a carriage with other woundeds. Then he had laid a full week in bed, not being allowed to even stand up. It had taken another week before he was given a permission to try riding.

Now it seems a bit different. This surely is worse than that one, and we dont have even a cart to carry myself and Brand. And how about Vaenosa? How is she faring? Then he heard Meghan calling for Leod in distressed voice. As he looked to the other side of the fireplace, he saw pale and sweating Brand sitting, Meghan holding him with an agonized look. Leod rushed to them and started tearing Brand’s shirt off, looking very worried indeed. Oh Brand! I hope you are not going to die! You are a good man!, for a while Sythric just stared towards the fire blank-minded. We’re not going to ride anywhere tomorrow, you and I, he kind of addressed Brand in his thoughts. But maybe some of us can, and send a cart to us then? He took another sip of the broth, deeply in his thoughts that seemed to move ever so slowly. But could we make it here until you come back, for it would take several days at best – or would you come here just to pick up our corpses...?