Flight from Rohan RPG

[Envinyatar]

The group reached the Fords of Isen after a good hour of traveling on foot – what would have been a short distance on horse, now became a tiring march as the companions made for the river’s crossing. They would still be in the Riddermark when they crossed the river, but once they passed the southern tip of the mountain range they would pass out of the Mark and into Dunland.


The company had bathed their injuries in the cold waters of the Isen, and dressed them as best they could. Aldwulf had been able to retrieve his pack, and now it was secured on his back, the weight of it making his steps slower. He had found a small put of unguent in his kit bag and after washing the dried and still oozing blood from the gash on his right cheek, he applied the ointment to the raw wound. He caught a brief glimpse of his face in the pool of water, noting that he would carry a scar from this encounter – it would match the other scar on his left. He smiled to himself, despite the pain and the grimness of their situation. Both scars were from battles in which he had fought alongside the Hyldeson brothers.

Another hour later, the group had cleared Dol Baran, the last southern outpost of the northern range of the Misty Mountains. Brytta called a halt, and the group sat silently on the ground, leaning on their packs. A few gulps of water, and a brief cold meal and they were on their way again.

Two days of long marches, broken only by brief rest stops brought them just beyond the range of the Misty Mountains and out into the plains of Dunland. Now they were truly out of the Riddermark. Once again, Brytta called for a small rest.

The Brown Lands stretched before them, the home of the longtime enemies of the Men of the Mark. To the north of their position was Methedras, the southernmost of the tall peaks. It was toward there that they must make their way – somewhere, just a little to the south and west of it, lay the start of the ancient North-South Road that would bring them into the western lands.

Aldwulf fingered the healing wound on his right cheek, rubbing it lightly. The wargs were behind them, and now the prospect of crossing through Dunland faced them.

‘We have traded one danger for another,’ thought Aldwulf, as he shouldered his pack after the brief rest. Warily, the tired group pushed on.