Hard Winters RPG

[littlemanpoet]

Eodwine was wakened by the ruckus. He leaned up on his elbows. Saeryn was stirring. What was he hearing? He focused. Wake! Wake! We are flooded! Wake! Maybe he was just dreaming. He shook the cobwebs loose in his mind. No, it was no dream. He could hear the furious knocking. Was it the middle of the night? It must be. He groaned and got out of bed.

Oh no.

The floor was covered in water. He pulled a face. Disgusting. It was probably very dirty water. How could this be! They had just gotten done digging a very good trench! He pulled on his briefs, threw on a tunic, and hurried to the hall.

Thornden was up and dressed already.

"How bad is the flooding?"

The whole of Scarburg is a lake," Thornden replied. "What shall we do?"

Eodwine sighed and his shoulders slumped. He hated this. It would have to be his decision, and the lives of all of these people depended on him. This was what he could not tell Saeryn: he was terrified of making decisions that would go wrong or be not enough in the end, for lack of foresight or what have you. He searched through his harried mind for anything that might help. Everything was wet. What was not? The roof of the hall was wet, but it would not be enveloped in the flood. Move everyone to the roof? It seemed ridiculous. The scar was above it all, too.

"Thornden, what do we have to use to keep people dry if we can get them to a place that will not be flooded?"

[Folwren]

As Thornden threw on his clothes, his mind worked with the questions of where the water was coming and how quickly it was rising. He also thought of the food, so recently brought here, and so easily ruined if reached by water. He paid no mind to the men’s talk as he finished dressing and waded his way to the great hall. Someone asked him what he should do, but Thornden didn’t know yet. He told him to follow.

Out in the great hall, Léof met him almost at once.

“The stables are flooding, too, worse maybe than here.”

“I have not even looked outside,” Thornden answered. “What is it like?”

Léof described the scene. Rowenna approached as they spoke, and she reiterated what Léof had said – the entire place was flooded, and the water was rising.

“Don’t let the horses go yet,” he said. “Put the halters on them, so that those who can may be able to ride. Let the foals and any you have that cannot be ridden loose at once. Maybe they can find higher ground.”

As Léof departed, Eodwine approached Thornden from the other side. “How bad is the flooding?”

“Léof tells me the whole of Scarburg is a lake,” Thornden said, turning at once. “What shall we do?”

He saw Eodwine’s shoulder’s slump, and for a second, Thornden remembered that Eodwine was older than he, and these constant setbacks were becoming more and more difficult for him to surmount. He regretted asking the question and reproved himself for not having come up with something before Eodwine arrived.

“Thornden, what do we have to use to keep people dry if we can get them to a place that will not be flooded?”

Thornden reflected quickly. His earlier thoughts of food availed him, and he said almost without hesitation, “The caravan came with tarps over the wagons. Those are well oiled and tarred and will keep some people dry. If the water is not too high, we should try to use the wagons, fill them with the youngsters and with some food, and try to pull them out.”

[Firefoot]

Léof hesitated only a moment before leaving to do as Thornden bid. Thornden was right, and Léof had to face it: he could not protect the horses, and the young ones would stand as good a chance on their own as with the human denizens of the Hall.

He made his way down the stable aisle, opening stall doors and releasing the uneasy yearlings, two-year-olds, and pregnant mares. None were yet due to foal, and he hoped they might be a calming, steadier influence on the flightier young animals. “Look after them, alright?” he said to Cinderfoot as he led her out of the stables. “And don’t even think about having that foal till the water’s gone and you’re safe back here.”

Lastly he came to Æthel’s yearling filly Ællwyn, the one for whom he had such high hopes. “Be wise and brave and safe,” he murmured to her. “Come back to me when it’s dry.” The flick of her ears told him she was listening to his voice, but her anxiety at the rising water was clear. She hesitated only a moment before plunging out into the rain, trotting to catch up with the small herd that was already headed towards higher ground and shelter on the Scar. Their instincts are good, he told himself. They will be safe.

But his worry continued unabated, and he could not help but wonder if it was the last time he would see any of them. If there was something more he could have done. Memory flashed sudden and bright in his mind of another day long ago: stables burning, horses screaming…

But no. There was nothing more he could have done then, any more than he could do now. He had other charges to care for, and he put his worries aside as he began the familiar work of haltering the remaining horses and preparing them to ride out.

[littlemanpoet]

Eodwine sighed with relief. He put his hand on his shoulder. "Thornden, you are a rock. I thought that we would have to have everybody climb onto the roof. I give you the power to do as you see fit about the wagons. Give orders to who you deem fit."

He wanted Thornden to give him orders so that he would not have to think of what to do next, but that was not the way this was to go. He looked about him to see if there was anything that stood out to him that needed doing.

"Thornden, I am going to stay here and work as the point to which all questions must come. Spread the word that any new woes and troubles are to be brought to me."

Thornden nodded and moved.

[Firefoot]

Yawning, Cerwyn joined the crush of people gathering in the great hall. "What's going on?" she asked of no one in particular, having missed the original alarm cry and only been awakened by the general clamor that followed.

The man next to her turned, and her eyes widened in recognition - it was him, the kidnapper. Scyld smirked - he'd not yet met Léof's tibet sister but it seemed that his reputation had preceded him. At least there was none of the scorn and mistrust in her face that had seemed to mark most of the old Scarburgians' reactions to him - only curiosity, and maybe just a little fear. He could have some fun with that - later, when the Hall wasn't under water. For now, he only said, "It seems that that we are being flooded."

She nodded and scurried off. She caught a glimpse of her brother as he was rushing outside - of course he'd go back to the horses before checking on her. She sighed. Spotting Javan not far away, she approached him instead. "Looks like you were right," she said.

[littlemanpoet]

"Such an astute comment," Scyld heard from behind him. It was Rowenna. "Yes, we're being flooded."

He looked at her sidewise with that sardonic expression of his.

"So are you going to stand there and smirk at everybody, or are you going to be useful?"

[Folwren]

"Right about what?" Javan asked, hopping up and down on one foot as he tried to tug on his wet boots - it was never easy putting on wet boots.

"You said earlier it might flood," Cerwyn said.

"I said Osmund said that!" Javan snapped. "I wish he was wrong!" He jerked the second boot on. "I'm going out to help Léof." He ran toward the door. "Come on, if you know anything about horses!" he called over his shoulder.

"Javan!" he heard from his left. Thornden came striding toward him. Javan swerved from his original course to meet him. "We're going to load the wagons and try to take the people and some food out with them. Go out and tell Léof and begin. I'll send men to help you."

Javan nodded and hastened outside. The cold, deep water brought him up short. He paused on the top of the steps leading down from the hall to the courtyard. He drew a shuddering breath and then plunged in. It swirled about his knees, and he shook his head. He doubted they could get the wagons out of this.

"Léof!" he shouted when he reached the stables.

"Here!" came the answer. Javan sloshed to him.

"We're to harness horses to the wagons. Best get the biggest ones, I don't know if we'll be able to get them out."

---

Saeryn

She stumbled out of bed. Her body ached with weariness. Why had this come now? She shook her children awake and bid them dress themselves. Eoghan began to cry.

"Mama, my stomach hurts!" he whimpered. Saeryn touched his forehead and ran it quickly over his cheek and behind his head to his neck. He felt cold and clammy. What more?

"Get dressed, son," she said quietly, her own stomach giving a terrible twist of fear. "You're going to be alright."

She dressed herself with haste, listening all the while as Eoghan's whimpering continued. Just before she left the room, she heard him begin to vomit. She turned back to him. He sat shivering violently on his mattress, leaning over, thankfully, so he had no soiled himself. She hastily wiped his face with her skirt and wrapped him in a blanket. "Are you feeling alright, Ruari?" she asked, looking over at her. Ruari stared at her, her eyes huge and dark, and nodded. "Come on, then."

She led the way out into the bustling hall. Eodwine stood near the fire, which thankfully was still alive, thought water was beginning to churn among the dry ashes beneath the grate.

"Eoghan is ill," she said. "Eodwine, if we are leaving, we must have food and shelter."

[Firefoot]

Cerwyn hesitated a moment, put off for a moment by Javan’s snappishness. Well – better to be useful somewhere. She’d only pulled a shawl around her shoulders over her shift when she’d been woken, so she hurried back to the women’s quarters to put on some more useful clothing. She pulled a dress over her head, and after brief consideration decided to pull on Léof’s old trousers that she’d arrived in as well.

All told, dressing only cost her a few minutes’ delay, though in that time several others had been recruited to the stables and she followed them out. Léof spotted her almost immediately. “Do you need something?” he asked.

“No, I’m here to help,” she said. Seeing his look, she added, “Javan said to come.”

If anything, his frown deepened, but he had better things to do than argue. “He’s in the tack room,” Léof said, gesturing. “You can help him bring the harnesses for the carts out. I was about to bring out the first horses…” his voice trailed off as he remembered she’d come out with several others who also needed instruction. He addressed the small group. “The horses in these first four stalls need to be harnessed.” He considered for a moment. The carts had been left alongside the stables; there had used to be an awning there but it had been used for firewood like so many other structures that winter. “A few of you go out and see how stuck the carts are and whether they can be brought around, or if we’ll need to hitch the horses directly out there to pull them out.” The men dispersed, and when Léof turned back to Cerwyn he found that she had disappeared as well, hopefully to find Javan as he'd said.

He’d barely gotten one of the horses out of its stall and clipped him into the aisle to be harnessed when one of the men who’d gone outside to check on the wagons returned. “The ground’s so wet the wheels have sunk straight into the mud,” he reported.

Léof sighed. “I guess we’ll see what happens when we get the horses hitched then,” he said.