Outracing the Flames RPG

[Maeggaladiel]

"I'll join you," Fion said to Osmod. He had no desire to remain in that charred village any longer than he needed to. And he had no desire to look weak and hesitant in front of Raedwald, Meghan, and Eostre. Fion suspected that most of them-- Eostre and Raedwald in particular-- saw him as nothing more than a foolish child. That morning, while he was trying to feign sleep for a little while longer, he had caught a soft and humorous exchange between Meghan and Raedwald: "If it hadn’t been for young Fionn, tossing and turning in his blankets, I would have slept right through ‘til daybreak!"

Young Fionn can't handle the horrors of war. Young Fionn should just go home and tend his chickens, as Young Fionn is just as silly and featherbrained as they are. That was pure angry exaggerating on Fionn's part, to be sure, but Raedwald's comment had hit a nerve.

Fionn thought Raedwald had been sincere when he asked him about joining the Riders. But now, he could see that it had all been a jest. And the joke was on him. They were all laughing at him, or shaking their heads in pity behind his back. Poor little Fionn thinks he can take on the world.

Were they laughing at him, or was it just his imagination? Fionn didn't dare look over at their faces. What did they really think of him? He had his own ideas about Eostre's opinion, and one or two new outlooks on Raedwald's, but what about Meghan and Osmod?

Fionn wasn't sure what he should do, but he did know that he'd be better off with Osmod while he thought about it.

[Arry]

Wulfham

‘Let’s get some use out of this net while we talk, eh?’ Brand pointed to a fair sized eddy pool just upriver. ‘My grandfather taught me this. He’d been down to The River’s bay, and saw some of the lesser folk fishing in this way.’ He held up the round net with its little iron weight-pieces tied all about the edge. It was nearly his height, its weighted edge just off the ground above his bare feet.

Athwen had crept to the pools edge and noted where the school of trout lay in the slow moving currents. Brand looped the retriever cord about his right wrist and gathered up half the net in practiced folds. With a smooth motion he threw the net out towards the water, aiming for the place Athwen had indicated. They both watched as it hung in the air for the briefest of moments then dropped to the river’s bed.

‘Here! Catch hold of the line!’ He motioned her nearer and showed her where to place her hands, near his. They pulled the retrieval cord steadily and were soon rewarded with a goodly number of fish.

‘Now, to answer your question . . .’ He crouched down opening the net to retrieve the wriggling trout. ‘We are bound for Edoras, to the King’s Hall, actually.' His dark blue eyes regarded her gravely. ‘Our March-warden, Lord Aldwulf of Wulfham, received news that bands of Orcs and Easterlings were raiding closer and closer in toward the borders. We four are sent to the King with letters asking that he send some Riders out to secure our village as we make the slow march toward Edoras and safety.’ He shook his head, looking out over the broad width of the river. ‘Lord Aldwulf did not know the foe had already passed the borders.’ His face was a mixture of great sadness and banked anger. ‘Your own village . . . its fate at the hands of the Orcs . . . has brought this fact, what was only grim words in tales told us, all too much to reality for us. The flames of war lick at our heels now, it seems. Once we have replenished our foods; then we must ride hard toward the Golden Hall.’

Brand looked up at her, his gaze taking in her slender frame, noting how young she looked. He wondered how well she would do on the ride. In the end, though, it made no difference, he supposed. She and Leod could not be left to fend for themselves. We men of the Mark cannot leave our own people behind.

He snorted quietly, his eyes narrowing. Now look at you Brand, son of Aidan . . . what’s come over you? Man of the Mark,eh? ‘Twill be some larger boots to fill. He gave a half smile, thinking perhaps this new thought might soon feel comfortable enough.

‘Best we stow these fish in the pack here before they flop themselves back to the water,’ he said aloud, grabbing for the wriggling forms.

[Folwren]

Athwen was quite aware that she was being sized up as Brand finished telling her what their business was. More likely than not, he found her wanting, though his face didn't betray such thoughts.

'Best we stow these fish back in the pack here before they flop themselves back to the water,' he said, looking down at their catch.

'Oh,' Athwen said, somewhat surprised. 'I thought. . .aren't you going to cook them first? I mean. . .' She blundered rather miserably over her words and Brand looked up. 'My brother and I used to alwayst put them on a sharpened stick to carry them home. Stuck it through the gill and then through the mouth. You don't?' She looked rather quizically at him.

But before he could answer her, they were hailed by Leod and Dorran who were returning. Athwen looked up and took a few steps away from Brand. 'Good morning,' she said, nodding to Dorran and giving Leod a faint smile. 'Brand just caught a whole net full of fish and we were about to go back to the fire. I guess you are coming, too?' Of course they were. But there was still the question of the fish. 'Leod. . .he's about to stick these raw fish, still alive, in that pack of his. That can't be right. Can it?'

[Tevildo]

Leod thought for a moment and then reassured her, "Either way will do. I think we'll be fine with the fish in the satchel. It's only a short walk to camp. We can clean and gut them as soon as we arrive. Now going back to our village is another matter because the walk is so much longer. I can remember many a time that I warned the Crawford twins not to stash the fish in their bags." There was genuine enthusiasm in Leod's voice as he continued his explanation, "Usually, I carry my fish from the river in a bucket of water to make sure they're nice and fresh. I have a small table in my yard where I clean and dress them. Then I gather some of the fallen branches from the oaks that grow at the far edge of Old Granny's land and...."

Abruptly, Leod stopped and stared down at the ground, rubbing the back of his hand over his eyes. There was an awful moment of silence. He had said too much. There was no village anymore. Both Old Granny and the twins had been killed, like all their other friends and neighbors. The last thing this young woman or the others wanted to hear was how wonderful it had been in the good old days before the Orcs had come.

Uncertain what to do or say to compensate for his blunder, inwardly seething with frustration, Leod snapped at Athwen in a peevish voice, "Enough of that nonsense. We've got more things to think about than fish. Let's just get back to camp quickly so we can get out of here as soon as possible. This whole place gives me the willies."

The group plodded down the path, with no one brave or foolhardy enough to try and start another conversation. As they finally reached the camp, Dorran grabbed the pack and curtly offered to clean and cook the fish. The young man seemed just as distraught as Leod. He knelt down a short distance from the fire and jerked out his knife, removing the heads and tails and then cutting and deboning the fish with a few swift hacks of his blade.

[Eowyn Skywalker]

Now remaining to wait for Sythric, Eostre mindlessly found that she had to count the heads of those in their party waiting before she was able to slip into the dull, yet somehow demeaning stare she ordinarily wore. Three. Meghan, her (her being Meghan) brother's friend—or at least ally, and herself. A hint of a snort crossed her face. Meghan, who dispised her, and someone who surely wore the same contempt...

But just perhaps her view had altered the smallest bit over Fionn. He made himself out to be naive, from what she had saw of him. Naive, unable to handle the terrors war would surely throw at him.

He only went with Osmod to prove a point. To prove that he was more than a farmboy, she thought to herself. Perhaps to show off for Meghan—faugh, who doesn't love Meghan? Osmod seems to show some degree of facination with her, she seems to share that, or perhaps direct it towards little Fionn...

Eostre rubbed her fingers mindlessly over her mount's ears, beginning to feel the chill of winter setting in distantly, even in warm clothing. It would be a cold ride to Edoras, if they made it that far. If there wasn't an ambush staring them in the face.

It was the cynic in her that caused her to glance back, to make certain that her baggage was still on her horse, tightly strapped where the wind wouldn't blow it away. Perhaps it's not that I'm hated, simply that I'm feared. That's going to kill us if it comes to life or death...

[Undómë]

Bregoware

Meghan


‘Why exactly are we waiting here?’ Meghan readjusted the battered leather pack that held the most of her belongings, lashing it more securely to the back of her saddle. Let’s ride out and meet him.’ She mounted up and rode toward the center of the village, not caring who or if anyone followed after. She’d already seen the burned bodies in the moonlight and there had been no Orcs about then – even less chance that they would be a problem now. But just in case, hung her bow at the front of her saddle, close at hand, and nearby was her quiver of arrows.

Sythric had said he would be at the southwest corner of the town. ‘No need to go near the main square,’ she said as they entered the town proper. ‘Unless of course, you want to see where the dead were put afire.’

‘If not, then let’s head directly to where Sythric said he would meet us.’ Meghan kicked her mount lightly in the flanks and urged her on.

[Folwren]

Wulfham

Athwen went to where she had slept when they arrived at the camp. Having nothing to fill her hands with, she stood with them clasped behind her back, looking out across the gently waving grass. Unconciously her eyes were drawn in the direction that the village had once stood and in a moment, she became aware of it, and a wave of grief passed over her suddenly, catching her unaware. She caught her breath against sudden tears and clamped her mouth shut firmly.

Abruptly, she turned away, dropping her eyes and bowing her head as she did. A moment of perfect misery passed over her as she struggled hard not to break down under the utter feeling of loss and sorrow. It was over in a minute, but it left a shadow that she could not shake. She looked up and walked to Leod. Laying her hand on his arm, she asked quietly, though not quite in his ear as she was several inches too short:

'Where are the horses? I would like to check on mine.'

He glanced at her briefly and she knew by the expression in his eyes that he saw right through her feelings. But he didn't keep the gaze for long. He looked up and to his right. 'Over there, lass,' he answered, nodding in that direction. A brief, shadow of a smile crossed her face.

'Thank you,' and without another word she let go his arm and walked quickly towards them. In a moment she caught sight of one horse's hindquarters and tail behind some bushes and rounding them, she came upon the entire group. Her horse gave a low nicker when he saw her and walked rather lazily to her at once.

'Sorry, my little fellow,' she said, extending her hand as he sniffed at it eagerly. 'I don't have anything today. Do they treat ye well, lad?' And as she put the question to him she began to run her small, expert hands quickly over his body and legs.

Anything to keep my mind off it all, she told herself, pursing her lips as she felt his knee and then slipped down to the hock. Anything. But even as she thought it, she leaned forward into his shoulder, screwing up her face and begining to cry softly.