Outracing the Flames RPG

[Eowyn Skywalker]

Having rode with her bow tight at hand, Eostre loosened her grip on her bow, letting it slip a bit down between her fingers. Not so loose as to allow for potential splinters, if the cold got to the well-aged and cured wood, but enough to release a bit of stress caught up in her expression.

The tiniest bit of cynicism crept up in her face. "The blackbird's whistle. For all we know it could've very well been an alert, the sign of an ambush about to be loosed. In which case we've been spotted by now," she wanted to say, but held back, letting the silence from the fear of being attacked and slain overcoming her need to vocalize a very seldom thoughtout opinion.

Silence, if nothing else, came naturally to her.

As naturally as the addition to the thoughts. Slain like Osmod and Fion. She didn't know. Perhaps they were dead, and they would swiftly follow, as well as their village and family... Or perhaps not.

For a moment, she desired a window to stare from, a limited vantage point through which she could observe and still remain hidden if the need was there. But she stiffled it, the same as the thoughts that the bird call may have been a signal...

Fingers tightened once more around her bow. Just try it.

[Undómë]

Meghan


As Rædwald and Sythric discussed what they might do about the bloodied bundle in the field, Meghan drew her horse a little to the side. The men had their heads together their eyes flicking up now and then toward their objective. She spoke low to Ash, giving the little mare a pat on the neck. Ash’s ears swiveled to the sound of her voice and the horse nickered low.

Something caught the grey’s notice and she startled, taking a few steps backward. Meghan’s head turned toward where the mare’s eyes stared. There in the distance to her right was a lone figure on a horse. A young woman, she was sure – small statured, long blonde hair, and yes, a dress. Bent over the dark-maned neck of her mount, the woman did not seem to notice the Bregoware group in the distance. Squinting in the light, Meghan took note that the woman did not seem armed.

Without thinking, Meghan turned Ash toward the woman and urged the horse in her direction. Maybe this person had seen or knew something of Osmod and Fion. She could see the woman had turned her horse about and was going slowly along. Allowed to go on, she would soon be out of hailing range.

Ash, at the bidding of her rider, was now at a full gallop. Meghan, her yellow braid flying behind her, stood up in her stirrups and called loudly to the other women. ‘Hey! Hey, you on the horse there! Wait up, will you?’ One hand on the reins, Meghan waved the other wildly in the air

Meghan’s spirited little mount ran as fast and as effortlessly as a prairie wind over the over the sere grassed ground. With a determined effort, she closed the space between her mistress and the other . . .

[Arry]

The man, Osmod, fell silent as he glanced from Brand to where his fallen companion lay. His eyes were wary it seemed and no answer was forthcoming to Incana’s question. Brand rubbed the back of his neck, an unthinking attempt to release the tension that knotted his shoulders.

‘Leod will see to your friend,’ Brand said, not pressing the man for any further information. He nodded in the direction of the burned village. ‘And yes, we know about the village to the north. We . . . we paid the villagers what honor we could with the pyre.’ He looked down at the ground, shaking his head at the remembrance. ‘My companions and I also know the fear that such a fate might be visited on our own village.’

He could see Leod and Dorran approaching the camp. ‘That older man, there, is Leod. He was the burned village’s healer. We are lucky to have found him, seeing that our few skills in healing are really meant for our flocks and not for us. It was he who dressed my wounds and tooke the fever and the fester from them.’ Brand rolled up his sleeve to show the long furrows from the cat’s claws that had scabbed over well now and were no longer reddened. His cheek still bore the bandage Leod had applied to it. ‘And Athwen . . .’ he looked about the camp, but could see neither her nor her horse. ‘She was the blond haired young woman, no taller than a cricket hardly, who lured you and your companions into our campground. She’s the only other survivor we found.’

‘Anyway . . . come have something to eat and drink with us while we wait for Leod to see to him. There’s some tea in that post set near the fire. You can use that cup to the side of it. It’s mine, but I’ve done with it and it’s rinsed out. Help yourself to one of the fish, if you’re hungry. We’re smoking some of them to take with us.’ He was about to ask Osmod if the two of them wanted to ride with them . . . strength in numbers, and all that . . . but he thought perhaps it might be too presumptuous to think the a man they’d nearly done in would want to trust them enough to travel with them. ‘Sort it out later,’ he said to himself.

Dorran and Leod had entered the camp as he finished speaking with Osmod. Dorran hung back a little until Brand was by himself, then spoke somewhat nervously, saying how sorry he was that he’d been wrong. ‘You weren’t wrong, at least from where I stand, Dorran,’ he told the lad after he’d heard him out. ‘You’re no more some wizard as can see into the future than I am. These really could have been those Easterling men you told us of. And where would we have been if you hadn’t warned us and they had taken us into slavery or killed us?’ He looked Dorran in the eye. ‘I’m sorry, too, that we had to find out in this manner that they were men just like us. I’m not sorry that we took action to keep ourselves safe and alive. I just don’t know how we could have done it any other way.’

Brand paused for a moment to consider Dorran’s questions. ‘He didn’t say too much,’ he answered, nodding toward Osmod. ‘About where exactly they are from. Not the burned village, though. His village is about a day’s ride from the river, though east or west I’m not sure. And whether there are any more than these two, he did not say. For my part, I told him what we were about. We’ll have to wait until they trust us a bit more, I think, before they tell us what they are doing here.’

He gave Dorran a reassuring grin. ‘I see you’ve been busy getting us some more wood. Let’s get the fire built up a little. By tomorrow noon, we should have enough fish smoked to travel on. If Master Osmod and his companion wish to come with us, we’ll welcome them. If not, then we’ll say our farewells and be on our way.’ He glanced northward briefly then back to Dorran. ‘We must think of ourselves, of Wulfham and our families’ welfare first.’ He shook his head slightly. ‘It sounds harsh doesn’t it? I wish it didn't have to be. But wishing won’t make it so . . .’

[Folwren]

Athwen had not seen the group of horsemen standing near to where Vaenosa and Incana had killed and left the deer. She would have remained completely oblivious to them, had she not been hailed unexpected by one of their group. She and her horse turned their heads at the same instant. He brought his head up and ears forward sharply and as his nostrels dilated and his eyes opened even wider, he uttered a low nicker.

'Hey! Hey, you on the horse there! Wait up, will you?' the rider called. Athwen checked her gelding, but he didn't stop and instead he turned on his hind feet and went trotting and prancing towards the oncoming stranger and mare.

'Why you insupportable animal!' Athwen scolded under her breath. 'Really, Parith, you're quite embarrassing.' The horses were drawing closer together and Parith's neck was arching and his feet were lifting more like a stallion's than a gelding's ought. She drew him in and made him stand still. He obeyed her admireably well and they waited as the stranger slowed to a canter and then to a trot and in a moment, stopped altogether in front of them.

Anyone might have told Athwen that to turn and meet a complete stranger at such a time as that was a rather empty headed thing to do. But the thought never occured to her. She felt she had little reason to fear anything, particularly a young woman who seemed to be only a little larger than her own tiny self and who, though armed, didn't appear to be threatening at all. Anyway, she had a descent look about her, and after seeing orcs and what they did, Athwen certainly wasn't about to compare such a person to an evil creature or being like that.

'Hullo!' Athwen said, much as she would have before all the trouble of yesterday came. 'Where do you come from?'

[Maeggaladiel]

A throbbing pain in his forehead was Fion's first clue that he was drifting back to consciousness. When you were out cold, as Fion had just now learned, you didn't feel pain. You didn't feel anything.

Voices rang out through the darkness, although he could neither understand them nor match them with faces at this point. His mind seemed fully occupied with the constant, fiery pulsing that tore through his skull.

He was beggining to become aware of the rest of his body, however. His back was pressed against something hard and uneven. The ground, most likely. Something wet was being poured into his mouth, and he coughed. His scalp ached, as though someone had grabbed his hair and yanked. It was, all in all, an overly uncomfortable experience.

His eyes still closed, Fion grunted in pain and tried to move his head. The voices were silent for a moment, and then spoke again, more urgently. Something touched his head. Were they talking to him?

By the powers, that hurt! he thought as he tried to move again. What... What had happened to him??

Then, like a flood, it came back to him. The ride. The tracks. The noises. The... sudden explosion of pain at his brow. And then the darkness.

He forced his eyes open. For a moment, the world was a kaliedoscope of colors and shapes, blurry and too bright. Where was he?! Something must have knocked him out while he was riding with Osmod. That meant... (his mind tried to piece things together, with limited success) That meant that somebody had attacked them! It was an ambush! Where was Osmod?!

"Osmod?" he croaked out. "Its... It's an ambush!"

His vision began to clear, and he was suddenly aware that he was in the company of strangers. Instinctively he tried to push himself to his feet, away from the people surrrounding him. He stood, wobbled, fell over, cursed sharply as pain and diziness washed over him, and began a hasty backwards crawl away. His mind wasn't running at full speed yet, and he tripped over himself. Groaning, he touched his hands to his temples.

"Who... Who are you?" he demanded to the people around him. "Where is Osmod? What have you done to my friend?"