Sailing Away RPG

[Firefoot]

Sondo lifted his head hopefully when he realized that the time between the flashes of lightning and cracks of thunder were becoming long indeed. Was the rain falling lighter, too, or was it just his imagination? Perhaps the wind was less cutting now. And maybe, that was a glimpse of sunlight through the clouds. Certainly, it was still raining and the river was rough yet, but Sondo was fairly sure the storm was over. They had made it through!

The others seemed to be perking up as they realized the same thing. Granted, they were still stranded on a raft with no decent means to get to shore, but the storm was over; surely everything would be better now. It wasn’t to say that anyone was particularly cheerful (they weren’t) for they were largely still cold, wet, and miserable, but there was a palpable mood of relief in the air.

Gripping the mast tightly for support, Sondo stood up. He wanted to get a better idea of the lay of the land than he could get sitting down. His stance on the rolling raft was shaky, but he did not show it. He stood straight, straining his eyes through the gray rain. Even drenching wet and shivering slightly from the chill, he looked every inch the leader. It was still his adventure, and his infallible optimism would not be suppressed now that the worst of it was over. Seeing him up, some of the hobbits began to move around as well, as much simply to stretch as anything else.

“Hey, there’re some more rapids coming up,” announced Sondo to everyone and no one. “Let’s see if we can get the raft over to the right side of the river more... it doesn’t look so bad over there.” Some raised their eyebrows at him, but it was Rory who asked the unspoken question: “How? Our poles and rope are gone.”

Sondo shrugged impatiently. “Well, what if we used our arms and legs to paddle over there?” No one seemed overly thrilled about getting even more wet than they already were. Seeing this, Sondo was the first to sit down on the edge and put his legs in the (cold) water. He was joined rather reluctantly, some on one side and some on the other to balance the raft.

“Now, paddle!” said Sondo. He kicked his own legs hard, and the joint effort seemed to work, at least a little bit. It did not occur to Sondo that if it hadn’t worked then they would all have been sitting at the edge of the raft while it went over the rapids and they all would have ended up going for a swim. Luckily it did work well enough, and as they drew near the rapids most instinctively withdrew their limbs in preference for the security of the middle of the raft, and the rest followed suit. It was a bit rough, but Sondo had been proven right; the right side was more sedate, and compared to some of the rapids earlier in the day the ride was fairly smooth. There was a quiet satisfaction that had not been fully disabled by the loss of steering equipment. To Sondo, it seemed that even if the hobbits weren’t as jovial as the previous day, their earlier gripes had been forgotten, even though this was not actually true.

The sun was setting and the hobbits were getting hungry again by the time anyone realized the full impact of what it was that they had accomplished earlier: they had steered the raft! They could get to shore, have a hot dinner, and get warm and dry before a fire! Someone voiced this realization jubilantly, and a bit of a cheer went up. Those who had been observant had already noticed the dark clouds which were threatening to let loose a downpour over again, and were the most relieved at this prospect. Heartened by the thought of warmth and comfort, the hobbits began to take their positions on the edge of the raft when someone cried out: “Wait!”

In their new hope, they had ceased to pay any attention to the river. Looming just ahead was another set of rapids, and they could not be all sitting on the edge going over those! So impatiently they set out to wait. Before they had even reached them, however, the storm broke loose once more. A crack of thunder came from directly overhead, and drops came fast and furious. The hobbits were nearly unprepared upon hitting the rapids, and many lost their footing, though luckily none fell overboard.

The griping that Sondo thought had been forgotten quickly returned now. No one wanted to go so close to the edge now that the waves were all but ready to come and turn the raft over! They once again had no means to get to shore, and had no way to see now that the sun had set, leaving them in utter, rainy darkness. Much of this complaining turned against Sondo, and though he tried his hardest to assuage it, he was completely unsuccessful, mostly because he was unconvinced himself. What would they do now? They had never sailed at night before, for obvious reasons. Now it was night and storming! He then felt as much as heard a rock scrape against the bottom of the raft. He could feel an alarming wave of dread rush through him, like when he reached the top limb of a tree and had no idea how to get down or was caught in the act of steeling some mushrooms and knew his Pa was going to give him a thrashing. Only this was worse. Much worse.

Everyone was jolted from their feet when the raft ran headlong into an unseen rock. Then everything seemed to be going in slow motion. A shout that he knew he should recognize was heard, and Sondo knew that someone had gone overboard. There was no time to react, though, before he heard a crash and felt the raft tipping. He was suddenly airborne, and had no way of knowing where he would land. He could hit a rock. All around there were shouts, and there was splashing all around. Then he himself felt himself submerge. He gasped; water filled his mouth. Where was the surface? It was dark - which way was up? He could not see and could not breathe. Under water was blended with above water in the pouring rain. Then, for an instant, lightning flashed and he swam upward. A thought came unbidden: no one swam in a thunderstorm - it was dangerous. He had to get to shore, but his limbs seemed heavy. He felt himself go under again, and his foot hit the bottom. He pushed off, trying to get back to the surface. How deep was the Brandywine anyway? He began to panic. He was going to drown! He thrashed his arms and legs, losing his head and forgetting what he did know about swimming in his panic. Where was everyone? Where was Sassy? She was, after all, his sister, and he felt an overwhelming need to save her as well as himself. Having a purpose calmed him some, but he still couldn’t see. What was happening?

[Child of the 7th Age]

By the end of the afternoon, Bingo was feeling considerably better. His stomach was calm, and he had regained his strength and spirits. The hobbits had even managed to work together to get through several hard stretches of the river. Bingo was relatively optomistic that they would soon find a way to maneuver the craft towards shore and settle down for food and rest before darkness fell.

However rejuvenated Bingo may have felt, his expectations soon met with a very different outcome. In the space of only a few moments, dark shadows and rain had descended like a grey iron curtain over the river, shutting out all the light and making it impossible to see. At the last moment, they had gone hurtling forward towards a huge, submerged rock, which had only a few inches of its surface visible above the water. No one on the raft, not even Sondo, had seen it.

Bingo heard a sickening noise as wood met rock. The front of the raft tilted crazily upward and then came smashing down on top of the jagged stone. Several of the logs snapped in two. It seemed as if their mighty raft was no more than a toy boat that a child might take out to play. Under the weight of the collision, one side of the raft dipped omenously low and began to sink. Water rushed in, sending luggage and supplies and all of the hobbits hurling into the water.

Everything happened so fast that Bingo had no time to prepare or be afraid. It was almost as if he was in a dream....only this time he could not wake up, no matter how hard he tried. He felt his body smack the water. It was cold, far too cold. Bingo tried to move his hands and legs to swim but they refused to obey him. He took in a mouthful of water and began to choke and gag, feeling an insistent tugging on his leg. Something was beginning to pull him down. Looking desperately around for a way to save himself, he spied a long tree branch hurtling down stream, apparently caught in a faster current in the very middle of the river. With a final gasp, he lunged forward, forced himself to grab onto the makeshift lifeboat and held on desperately as he was carried along. Looking back, he saw that his companions were still desperately floundering near the spot where the raft had capsized. They were screaming and yelling for help.

As the current slung him forward, Bingo hastily glanced back over his shoulder scanning the horizon for a glimpse of his brother. But, with the heavy grey shadows and dark moonless night, all the hobbits looked like tiny dots: it was impossible to tell one from another. The current was still too strong for Bingo to let go, even though he wanted to turn back to help. Still clinging to the branch, he made his way around a bend in the river, hanging on by the barest edge of his fingernails. All signs of the original raft and the rest of the hobbits were now totally hidden from his view.

I've got to get out of here. I must go back and find my brother. If something happens, it's all my fault. I should never have let him come. But, however desperately Bingo may have wanted to do that, he had no choice now but to continue hurling forward, trapped on his makeshift craft.

[Primrose Bolger]

Sassy’s hands were so cold she just couldn’t hold on to the rope any longer. Her fingers were numb and she had to think about each one as she pried it from the line. She was wet, too, and the cold from the river water that splashed over the raft as it dipped and tumbled its way down the river froze her to her marrow. One leg, in fact, was so cold, the muscles were slow to respond as she tried to shift her weight a little to a more comfortable position.

When the raft hit the rock she skidded in a wild arc across the wet slippery surface toward the eastern part of the channel. Her little body slammed hard against the root tangle of some old willow that had crept down the bank to dip into the river’s edge. For a long moment her breath was knocked out of her; then, the slapping of the water against the roots where she lay brought her back to her senses enough so that she wrapped her little arms around a root and clung on for dear life as the water flowing down the river pushed at her.

She gathered her wits and pushed herself up the slick bark on the root to where it met the trunk. Easing herself around the base of the tree she found her way to the upper part of the river bank. Her teeth were chattering, and her right cheek stung from where it had careened against the tree root and gotten scraped. It felt raw and achy and when she put her fingers up to it, they came away wet and sticky.

It was dark, the moon and stars obscured by the storm clouds. Sassy tripped and fell several times as she put distance between herself and the river. Her ears were ringing still from the blow to her head, and she couldn’t make out the voice of anyone shouting or calling. Tears of frustration and of fear welled up in the little girl’s eyes and spilled down her scratched and bloodied cheeks. She blundered finally into a low thicket of elderberry bushes mixed in with ferns. Sassy knelt down and burrowed her way beneath the loose thick covering of leaves and fronds. She was just too tired to go on. And far too cold. Her little pack was still strapped to her back, all soggy from the rain and the dip in the river. She took it off and laid her head on it as she scooped the layers of leaves over her trying to give herself some warmth. Only her little nose poked out from her leafy blanket.

Sassy had no idea where she was. She curled up in a little ball, her teeth chattering as she lay there. ‘Please let it be morning soon,’ she mumbled to herself as she shivered. ‘And please don’t let any critters sneak up on me either.’ A fitful sleep came finally to her as she huddled there, a stout little piece of wood she’d found buried beneath the leaves clenched in one hand . . . ‘just in case,’ she had told herself before she drifted off . . .

[Boromir88]

Rory's stomach was aching, as he hit the water, it felt as if all the air was pushed out of him. He remembers the storm subsiding, and everyone starting to ask about supper, when all of a sudden it struck again; een fiercer then before. The Hobbits had no choice now but to let the raging river guide them. All their poles were gone and they couldn't even dream about steering the raft with their hands and feet.

That's when the raft shattered against the boulder. It broke in half, and splintered into many pieces. Rory was catapulted into the air. As he started coming down he was heading face down towards the water. His father always said, "don't land on your belly, if you can help it." It was too late, he smacked into the roaring waves.

Rory looked at his stomach, it was beat red; probably going to leave a bruise. He wasn't hungry any more; the pain forced his mind off food. He leaned up underneath a tree, to protect himself from the rain. He was wet, cold, and aching, which ment he wasn't going to get a good rest tonight. Out of pure boredom, he began to doze off and slip into a dream....I don't know how to swim. In these waters there was no hope of swimming, no matter how strong of a hobbit you were. The water was swirling, my only hope is to stay calm and let the water lead me. I must stay above water. What was it that Pa always told me?...Paddling! It didn't get you very far, and tired you out quickly, but at least it kept you afloat. Just go along with the current....it'll land you a shore eventually. Why can't I paddle? My arms...legs...are too heavy...I'm sinking...

Rory woke with a gasp. As soon as he woke he knew his dream was just a nightmare, he didn't sink...he was still alive. Rory had tried to remember what happened after he began to slowly paddle, how did he get back to shore? His head started hurting; he couldn't remember.

He was about to doze off again when he heard a rustle. Rory jumped, with his hand on his small sword, now alert. He heard the noise again, it was not too far in front of him. He began to think of pirates. Rory heard some of the hobbits talking about pirates. About how they went sailing and searched for treasure. That's what the hobbits' adventure was supposed to be like, right? Sailing down the Brandywine and coming upon treasure. What if it was a pirate...or worse...one of those Ruffians cousin Merriadoc was talking about. He didn't like the sound of those ruffians.

Rory had no choice, he couldn't run, or atleast not far, he was too sore and weary. He pulled out his dagger, didn't know what he would do with it...if it was a ruffian. I mean he is a hobbit and these ruffians are supposed to be the size of one of those Big folks. He sucked up a deep breath of air, as the sounds began getting closer, he tried to let out a bold warning, but it came out weak and pathetic, "Who goes there?"

[Child of the 7th Age]

After what seemed like hours to Bingo, the current began to slacken. His branch veered off into a side eddy and was finally brought to a halt by a floating mass of twigs and decaying bracken. He managed to wade out of the water and scramble up the steep bank by using the tangled tree roots to give him a hand and foothold for climbing. By now, it was completely dark. Nervously, he looked up into the skies searching for any visible sign of the moon or the stars, but the dark canopy above was featureless and blank.

Since the muddy shore was too slippery for him to walk without sinking in up to his ankles, he veered off towards the east, entering the thick grove of trees and bushes that stretched along the length of the Brandywine. He had absolutely no idea where he was or at what point on the river the raft had capsized. His main thought was to get back to his brother, and he vowed not to rest until he had managed to do that. Still, he did not like the idea of walking through the woods. The one lesson that had been drummed into his head from childhood was to avoid the woods because terrible things lurked there.

Bingo was so tired that he could barely put one foot in front of the other. But, dutiful as ever, he plodded onward, struggling to keep awake and alert. Periodically, he would bump into a bush or small tree because he wasn't watching closely enough. Plus, the night was so dark that it was difficult to see anything more than a foot away. In the distance, he heard a howling. Only a farmer's dog lost in the wild, he assured himself. But at the back of his mind lurked the image of a fierce wolf, with gleeming eyes and slavering jaws. An owl hooted in a tall tree. Bingo stopped to listen feeling increasingly ill at ease.

He went over to a tree and yanked off a sturdy cudgel, both to help him navigate the uneven ground and to provide a handy weapon if any of the foreboding noises turned out to be a portent of some immediate threat. Bingo was careful to stay on the edge of the forest, close enough to the river that he could keep track of any noises coming from that direction. But, so far, there was absolutely no sign of the raft or his brother. As he trudged along, Bingo began remembering the tales Granny used to tell him: how the hobbits of Buckland had once battled the forest and imprisoned it behind a tall hedge. He remembered her speaking of moving trees that would suddenly come alive and attack without notice, swallowing up a hobbit in its twisting limbs and trunk. Bingo shuddered slightly, wishing that he was home safe in bed. Perhaps it would be better if he stopped now, and waited for the morning to come. But then he remembered Reggie, and that Granny had also told him a hobbit must be brave and push on even when things seemed hopeless.

What happened next, Bingo could never quite explain. He was blundering through a thicket of elderberry bushes and ferns, making more noise than he should have, while thinking that it would be nice if he was back at Brandy Hall, drinking a cup of elderberry tea, when suddenly he tripped over a root, or that's what it seemed like to him. Immediately, a threatening creature loomed on the path ahead of him: a shapeless mass covered with leaves and dirt. Bingo froze in alarm, thinking that this must be one of the evil tree spirits that his granny had warned him about. The only difference was that this creature was more bush-sized than tree-sized. Bingo grimaced and steeled his nerve. He did not want to be swallowed by a bush. Raising his cudgel above his head, he roared out a warning and raced forward, intending to pummel the evil bush into the ground if it did not get out of the way.

[Encaitare]

The water was cold and swift, and as he struggled to stay above the surface of the water, Reggie couldn't help thinking, Haven't I done this before? This was the second time they had all been thrown into the river, but this time it was darker and far more dangerous. The current pulled at him, as if whispering to him.

Come down here, it's so nice down here, you'll see....

He kicked his feet as best he could to counter the water's pull and tried to get a proper breath of air. He spluttered a bit as he got half a mouthful of riverwater. Moving his limbs as quickly as they would go (not terribly quickly, since the chill water was already taking its toll on him), he managed to stay afloat. In a moment of horror, he realized he was heading towards a large rock, which jutted out like a monolith in the broken surface of the river.

It was too late to do anything about it. He was able to turn so that his back hit the rock and not his face, but he still slammed into the hard stone. Yet it was a blessing unlooked for; he grabbed at the rock with stiff hands and held on for dear life as the angry river churned about him. His breath was knocked out of him by the collision, but he slowly recovered it and looked about for the first time since the crash.

None of the others were visible; Reggie fearfully wondered if they were alright. If Bingo was safe somewhere...

He realized that he had to use his head and get out of the river. He shifted his weight and moved so that he was closer to the bank. The shadow of the dry ground looked wonderfully alluring. Taking a deep breath just in case, he pushed off the rock with his feet and shot towards the bank, dragged a little bit more downstream but mostly in the right direction. He grabbed the protruding root of an old tree and pulled himself to shore.

There he lay for several minutes, catching his breath and staring blankly up at the cloudy sky between the shadows of the boughs of the trees and ignoring the fat raindrops which pelted him. It felt so good to be on solid ground, where nothing was going to pull him in any direction other than the one he chose.

After regaining his strength, Reggie rather unsteadily got to his feet. He was not sure at all which direction to head, but upstream seemed logical. So, he took a few wobbly steps forth, which soon enough grew surer. Every so often, he glaced resentfully towards the river. Once, he thought he saw a jagged-edged piece of wood go floating by, a remnant of their poor raft. All their supplies were gone, he realized, except for what little was in their pockets. Yet right now all he wanted was to find someone else. The woods were dangerous, Aunt Hilda had always told him, and although he often disregarded her warnings, this was one which he was now willing to believe. The sound of the rushing water drowned out many other sounds; what if some animal or villain was trying to sneak up on his? He would never know it until it was too late.

He looked about him anxiously, but was only greeted by darkness. An owl hooted suddenly, giving him quite a start. He sighed as he recognized the sound. Oh, come on, Reggie. It's only an owl. Pull yourself together, or you'll never find the others. He shook his head, flinging little droplets of water into the air, and continued.

Although he went for what seemed to him to be a very long way upstream, he could not find anyone. He shuffled tiredly through the underbrush, no longer concerned about making noise. Let the dangerous creatures of the wood find him. He was too exhausted to do anything about it. Just as he was about to fall down and curl up into a ball among the leaves, he heard a voice. It was soft and frightened, but a voice nonetheless.

"Who goes there?"

Reggie was about to answer, but his voice stuck in his throat. The voice came again, this time more bold.

"I said, who goes there? Show yourself!"

Reggie took a step forward, about to answer for a second time, when suddenly a shape came rushing at him. Something silver glinted in the dim light. He had enough good sense to get out of the way, his sense of self-preservation prevailing over his fear. He noted vaguely that the shape was hobbit-sized, and then it dawned on him.

"It's me! It's Reggie!" he proclaimed to the woods and to the mysterious person, before the latter could prepare for another go at him.

"Reggie?" the person said hopefully. "I didn't realize it was you! It's Rory!"

He was flooded with relief. His luck seemed to be improving. "Do you know where any of the others are?"

"No," said Rory, putting his short sword away. "I couldn't find them, and I fell asleep for a while." Now the other hobbit's voice seemed quite familiar; Reggie figured that it must have been fright that had kept him from recognizing it.

"Oh," Reggie said dully, the word 'asleep' beckoning him to do the same. "Well, I'm glad to have found someone." His mind became hazy with his fatigue; he had to give himself a good mental shake to return to the real world and not that of dreams. "What do you think we ought to do?" he asked at last.

Rory shrugged, nothing more to Reggie's eyes than a quick raising of shadowy shoulders. "I don't know that there's anything we can do right now. Just wait until morning, I guess."

"I just want to go to sleep," said Reggie, plopping on the ground under the partial shelter of a tree.

Rory chose a nearby tree for himself. "I think I'll keep watch," he said. "There are supposed to be ruffians in these woods."

"Wake me up later and I'll watch too." With that, Reggie finally slipped off into thankfully dreamless sleep.

[Firefoot]

Sondo knew that every moment in the water had him moving further downstream and away from the rest of the hobbits. He had to get to shore. Blindly he struck off across the current, forcing his stiff limbs to move. He swam with a fevered haste, desperate to reach the shore. He knew that he was of no help to the other hobbits when he had no idea where they were and was half-drowned himself. Even so, his progress could hardly be called good because of both the harsh conditions and his own not-so-strong swimming techniques. His rapid strokes soon slowed, and his mind dulled somewhat. Would he ever reach the bank? After what seemed an eternity, he did. The bank was steep, and it was only by sheer strength of will that he was able to pull himself up at all.

The hard swim left him exhausted, but he could not rest yet. He was the leader, and he would not be responsible if hobbits drowned. He looked up and down the river first, as if unsure of which way he was supposed to go. North... would be that way, he thought. Of course. Without further thought, he began to half-stumble, half-run upstream. Where was everybody? Surely some had made it to shore by now. A horrible thought struck him. What if they were all on the other side? He would never find them - they might even think him drowned and go on without him! This was his adventure. His! The thought of someone else taking over cut him deep. He had to find them. How far upstream? Had he gone too far? Oh, this wretched storm! It was ruining his perfect adventure. There was a lump of dread forming in the pit of his stomach. Assuming he found his friends - what then? They would be without supplies. The raft had crashed, his beautiful raft was in shambles, and all their food and blankets and everything with it. There was nothing left. No, wait, that wasn’t true. He felt mild relief poking into his wall of despair as he assured himself that he still had his knife, and an apple from lunch, and soggy clothes. These things would get him far, he thought bitterly. Oh, why did his grand adventure have to go so wrong?

Just then, he tripped and fell. He didn’t get up, either; just lay there drawing deep, shuddering breaths. He had to calm down. They weren’t dead. They would find each other, and they could go home. They had only been sailing for three days; how far down river could they be? These thoughts, meant to be comforting, sounded sarcastic even to himself. The river current had been stronger than he had ever expected, especially in this last day when they had not stopped at all. Sailing was much faster than walking. For the first time, he wondered if he would ever see his home again. What a fool he had been, thinking they could just take off ‘adventuring.’ He began to doubt himself - always before he had gotten them out of scrapes, but how would he get them home? He was the leader, and he could not let them down. What would they say of him if hobbits died? They would never listen to him again. This was beyond bearing, and grim determination settled down in place of despair.

Sondo picked himself up from the ground and took off northwards again. He would find them, all of them. Especially Sassy, the bratty, troublesome, girl - his sister. He wondered again how far he had gone, and how long he would need to look. What time was it, anyway? Surely it was midnight by now. If only the cursed sun would rise; then he would be able to see. He only ran blindly, now; what was the chance that he would simply happen upon someone? He wished he would hear something, anything: cries, yells, even grumbling. It would be so much easier if he could just build a fire and let them come to him. He couldn’t, though; it was entirely too wet, even if it had mostly stopped raining. He halted abruptly; dared he to hope? He had heard something; he knew it. He switched directions and hurried toward the sound. He soon found what he was looking for: only a little ways ahead, there stood a hobbit, though Sondo did not recognize him in the dark. He grinned.

“Hey, you!” he called out, but not so loudly as to startle the other. His approach accompanied the words, and he continued. “Have you seen any of the others?”