Outracing the Flames RPG

[Nogrod]

Nogrod's post:

Sythric was showing the traces orcs had left to Vaenosa, as they noticed Raedwald approaching them. “Orcs, on their way westwards, maybe two days!” Sythric called to Raedwald as he had dismounted and came towards them. Raedwald took a fast look around the place and nodded thoughtfully.

The rain was slowly getting more intense and sudden gusts of wind made it even more chilly. Storm was building up. “Hoisting some tarps, should we? It will be a wet lunch without them?” he asked Raedwald, turning towards Vaenosa at the same time: “Could you get us some wood and get a fire going? Maybe somewhere there...”, he pointed uphill, to a place some twenty yards from where they were standing, “there seemes to be just a bit of more even ground”.

As Vaenosa left to get the wood, Sythric and Raedwald started to check the trees around the fireplace to come, to see where they could tie the tarps, and should they need additional supports. When they finally got to the bussiness of actually spreading and hanging the canvasses, Sythric asked Raedwald the question, he had been thinking a lot during the morning: “How about this Brand-fellow? You’ve been riding with him all morning, I gather. What kind of man is he? And have you got any idea, how Osmod takes this? A strange guy from another village just practically leading the whole group. He did seem to be a somewhat reluctant leader, but still. He has been so quiet after that attack. I wonder, whether you should talk with Osmod on a suitable occasion?”

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Undómë's post


‘I’ve upped my estimation of Brand,’ Rædwald said as the two men secured the tarps to the trees. ‘He’s not a military man, doesn’t think in those terms from what I can see. He’s a good, solid fellow, though, who listens to what his folk have to say, and takes their opinions into account.’ He tightened a knot round a branch and chafed his hands together to bring back a little warmth to them.

‘He’s got a good head on his shoulders and an admirable sense of responsibility for what tasks he takes on. And I think that’s how he sees this ride to Edoras. As a task he’s taken on for his village’s lord, and by extension for the village itself. He has a strong sense of family, too. His first loyalty, I think is to them and then to his village. Now that’s not to say he has no respect for the King. He does seem to in his own way.’ Rædwald looked into the distance, his face thoughtful. He’s a good man, one who would do right by you. And I think that’s why the others follow him . . . not because he wants to be leader . . .’

‘And Osmod, well I’m not sure what’s going through his mind. I think the ransacked village and the unfortunate injury to Fion has put him in a reflective mood. Both these young men . . . Brand and Osmod . . . they’re just farmers and ordinary villagers at heart. That’s where their real strength lies in the husbanding of land and flock and crop . . . not in the awful, foul business of war and slaughter and grim deeds.’

He took a breath and waved at the approaching group. ‘I wouldn’t want to push him . . . Osmod, that is. If he wishes, he can come to me with his concerns, in his own way and at his own time. It’s the consideration I’d give any man.’

[Tevildo]

Dismounting his horse, Dorran went over to Brand and excused himself for interrupting, "Can I speak with you? It shouldn't take very long."

Dorran managed to steer Brand gently over to a large fir tree that provided a convenient overhang from the cold rain that was still falling. "I know you must think me daft to keep going on about this. But I feel compelled to say something. Large groups of Orcs don't march out on expeditions like this unless there are some Easterlings nearby to follow up. The Lord of Mordor uses them to keep an eye on each other, because he frankly doesn't trust either group as far as he can throw a stone. And Easterlings are much better for dragging back riches or some of the captives, rather than simply butchering them wholesale."

Dorran drew a breath before continuing, "Out on the trail I had the strangest sensation that there might be soliders from the east lurking about, perhaps even watching us. Probably I'm wrong, but when I was younger I had a good nose for such things. Some of the men used to rely on me to warn me when someone was coming. Anyways, Easterlings and Orcs are different. Orcs will come and accost you face-to-face, engaging in a bloody fight. Usually they're on foot, but Easterlings are good with a bow and can ride well. They'll stay back and watch you for the longest while and pick their time very carefully, sending a barrage of arrows into camp before riding in on their horses."

"Of couse," indicated Dorran with a shrug of his shoulders, "I could be wrong about this, the same way I was wrong the last time. I'll let you be the judge." The young man darted a nervous look towards Brand.

[Arry]

Brand listened carefully to Dorran, nodding thoughtfully as the young man finished speaking. ‘What happened after we found the burned village, regrettable as it was, doesn’t make your knowledge about these matters any less true or well grounded. Seems to me that the rest of us still need to keep what you’ve told us in the front of our thoughts.’ He pursed his lips and looked down at the ground, kicking at a small rock near the toe of his boot.

‘I have to be honest,’ Brand went on, looking back at Dorran. ‘I’ve never seen an Orc; only heard the stories about them and how vicious they can be. And I guess that was all brought home to me with seeing Athwen’s and Leod’s village. The cruelty . . . it sickened me. Had you not brought up the Easterling men and how they might figure into all this, I would still be operating in ignorance of how that foul Dark Lord lets his armies run.’ He shook his head. ‘Orcs are bad enough . . . I mean you can kind of expect something this bad from them, being as how they’re sort of like monsters or deformed beasts . . . or at least, that’s how I think of them. But to think that men . . . I mean, how can they do such horrid things . . . things worse even than the beasty Orcs, if I understand you rightly.’

Brand ran his fingers though his tangled hair. ‘Well, all we can do is be on the alert as we ride along and set watches when we camp. You especially, Dorran, if you see or smell or hear anything suspicious, raise the alarm. “Better safe than sorry”, or so my father always says.’ He nodded at Dorran. ‘If they’re sneaky, like you say, your eyes and ears may give us one advantage we have . . . something to give us just enough time to either get away or to turn their attack aside before they can overwhelm us by surprise.’

He let his breath out in a noisy rush. ‘Whew! . . . Well, let’s put that aside for right now, what do you say. There are no Easterlings in sight at the moment and I’m hungry and cold . . . how about we get us something to eat and a hot cup of tea. Perhaps our chances will look better with our bellies full and our toes and noses warm!’

Brand put his arm over Dorran’s shoulders and walked with him to the fire, making small talk about Wulfham and family as they went along. In the back of his mind, though, Brand could not shake the image of the monstrous men, as he saw them, who would take the lives of others so lightly . . .

[Arry]

Nogrod's post

The chicken were roasted quite quickly. With bread, and whatever anyone had to go with them, it made a decent lunch. The rain wasn’t getting worse anymore, but had evened to a steady flow of water, from which the canvasses gave them occasional shelter. Four chicken to twelve people. Not so bad as missions go, Sythric thought by himself while taking a small sip from his wineskin. But this is not going to last too long... still, we all are cold. He looked at the half-empty skin in his hands for a while and then passed it over.

Addressing all the people around the small fire, he said: “I can continue scouting this afternoon, but if anyone of you is willing to go for it, I will be just happy to ride with the main group. But whoever is going to scout, I would like to give you some advice, as I think that most of you have never scouted in the head of a company. Sooner or later, many of us will have to perform that duty. My friend Raedwald here”, he glanced at Raedwald shortly, “can elaborate, if I make the point inadequately”. He caught Vaenosa’s eyes, then looked at Brand and Osmod to ensure their approval, and then continued.

“Basically scouting is easy. There are just two principles involved: see all, and do not be seen by any.” He smiled a bit after his words – and received the wineskin back from its tour from Leod, who was sitting next to his right. “But to accomplish that, you need two more things. You have to be fast, and you have to plan the best route well beforehand. And even as these are neither very complicated things, you could say, it’s an easy thing. It’s just when you have to combine all these four in real situation, that scouting becomes more challenging.”

He took another sip from his skin and closed the cork. “I saw Vaenora here...”, then he got baffled as Vaenosa’s look changed, “Venoa? Sorry, I must have slipped your name. Vaenosa was it?” As he saw some people around him nodding in comfirmation, he continued, slightly embarrassed. “Well, Vaenosa here”, he nodded to her, trying to apologize from her with his eyes, “I saw her riding today, and she was doing a good job. She was on the primary task of a scout, checking the route of the party ahead. Maybe one should pay a bit more attention to approaching possible ambush-places more covered and faster, but that was a good job from someone with no military training. You have talent for this work Vaenosa.” With that he smiled openly to her, and nodded approvingly. “But as we are strong enough in numbers, we can spare another scout also. And that work is partly different. The other scout should – as I did this morning – try to find places where he would have the best possible view to the surrounding areas. Kind of widening the scope of our awareness. In the best instance, we could have knowledge of any possible enemy from a day’s or two’s distance, and could avoid meeting them altogether. And that brings me to this morning. I climbed that larger hill back there. The city of Croacht seems to be standing, and there were no armies up and about spreading over our land. So also some good news to report on these unhappy times.” With that he ended, and turned questioningly towards Readwald.

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Undómë's post


‘That lifts my spirits . . . the news about Croacht. Though at the same time, I think that it will be hit hard once the bigger battles begin and that Dark Lord in Mordor pushes west.’

Rædwald threw the leg bone from the chicken he’d been eating into the fire, watching what little fat was left on it blaze up around the knob ends. ‘I think Sythric, is right in his little lesson on scouting. I know most of you who tend flocks have some experience with it . . . though your enemy would be of the four legged variety, and less likely to be as stealthy as some of the two legged sort.’

He nodded at Sythric, saying, ‘I think it might be best if you stay on as one of the scouts. Perhaps Osmod and Brand and I can take up the rear position, and be on alert for problems following us.’

Rædwald’s eyes flicked round the circle; some were uneasy at his words and glanced over there shoulders as if to make sure no danger lay behind . . .

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Folwren's post


The food and fire had thoroughly warmed Athwen. The borrowed cloak was pushed back over her shoulders and the hood draped down her back. She sat with her legs crossed and her elbows on her knees, looking from one speaker to the other as they talked about scouting and what dangers lay ahead. She wondered if there would really be any dangers to look out for. Surely the orcs would be long gone by now, and the Easterlings. . .they would have been seen by now if they were around, surely?

All the same, the older men’s words sounded grave and they were absolutely serious. She looked around the group of twelve and then out at the grey and dull sky and world outside the sheltering tarp. Certainly she wasn’t looking forward the leaving and heading out again. With a sigh she rose and went to the edge. She stuck her hands out beyond to catch the falling streamlets of rain water running from their tent. With it she rinsed her hands from the lunch and then turned back.

As she was returning to the fire, she noted Osmod by his horse, messing with the saddle bags. She altered her course and went to him, stopping behind him.

‘Do you want your cloak back? I’m quite warm now. Thanks very much for lending it.’

He looked over his shoulder at her and one of his quick smiles flashed across his face. ‘No, keep it yet a while longer. It’s still raining and you’ll need it when we leave.’

Her eyes almost twinkled as she smiled back. ‘You’ll need it to, I’ll remind you,’ she answered. He shrugged, closed the bag, fastened it and turned to face her, but she could tell from his face that he would still refuse. Her hands were at the clasp. ‘Won’t you take it?’ He only shook his head, and she gave up. ‘I saw you riding Vaenosa’s horse yesterday,’ she said at once. ‘You ride very well. Not many of the boys at home could have kept their seats as well as you. Do you train horses?’

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Farael's post


“Train horses?” Osmod laughed slightly “No, I can’t say I do that. But I spend a lot of time among horses, dogs and cattle. I guess I have learned a thing or two about each of them… A... and Nay, the horse, was only playing.” He smiled briefly, doing his best to downplay what had happened “He could have kicked me off if he had really wanted to” He smiled at Athwen, and offered her one of the biscuits he had taken from his bag, then he put a whole one in his mouth.

It was a moment before he could swallow and speak again, but the blush on his face spoke for itself. “I am so sorry… I guess I have learned about horses but forgotten my modals.” His face was crimson red and he could see Athwen found it quite amusing.

Osmod escorted Athwen back to the fire, as the last few drops of rain fell from the skies. Soon they would be leaving again and Osmod wanted to warm himself some, as he was colder than what he let on. But of course, he smiled at Athwen when she asked him if he was cold and denied it. His cloak looked rather funny on her and at any other time, he would have laughed about it. This time, the situation was too solemn for such thing.

Lost in his thoughts, Osmod did not realize Athwen had been talking to him. This caused Osmod to blush again, but this time, neither of them said anything about it.

[Arry]

Camp is packed up and the group turns westward across the plains

From the wide and rugged shelf of rock that formed the East Wall of Rohan, near where the Nen Hithoel cascaded downward in the Falls of Rauros, the small group of travelers had turned west into the broad valley of the East Emnet. It was atop one of the hillocks there that they had sheltered as the rains pelted down.

Sythric and Rædwald had managed to string some canvas tarps among the trees which afforded some respite to the horses and the companions. A small fire gave the added comfort of hot tea and hot food while the group waited.

The rains at first fell in a thick slanting curtain of water, cutting them off visually from anything at a greater distance than the lip of the hill. Sounds too were difficult to hear from outside the little area of shelter. The rain was loud as it beat against the tarps and splashed down on the sere grassed ground of late autumn.

Little by little the downpour let up. What was once a lowering darkness as the storm pressed in upon them, now gave way to the hazy greyness as rain became a lighter mist and then stopped all together. The threatening clouds had moved on and there seemed no more to follow.

Brand was the first done with the meal, and as the day had lightened, he went to where the horses were picketed and untied Lady. He brought her round to the area near the other tarp and replaced what few items he’d got from his pack – his bowl and spoon, his little packet of herbs for tea. The pack he secured to his saddle.

‘We should move out,’ he said, knowing that would be an unpopular plan; for although the rain had let up, the day had grown more chill from the damp and the wind. ‘There are a few more hours of light left to us. And now that we are turning westward, it is but three days’ ride to River Entwash, and from there just two to the King’s Hall.

He narrowed his eyes and looked west over the broad plain of the East Emnet. In the distance he could see trees scattered across the rolling countryside in little thickets. ‘We can make for that bigger coppice there,’ he said, pointing to where a small spinney of bare limbed oak were growing on a once grassy little rise. ‘That will be our night’s camp.’ He turned back to where most of the others were still gathered about the little fire. ‘We will still have plenty of evening light to set up our shelter once we get there.’

With some reluctance the others set themselves in motion. And soon the noon camp was taken down and packed away, the fire put out. The companions mounted up once again. Osmod and Fion rode at the lead for now as Brand and Rædwald fell to the back. Two scouts went out as before . . . Vaenosa, as was her preference, and one other . . .

The horses plodded westward with as much enthusiasm in their gait as seemed on the faces of those astride them.

[Child of the 7th Age]

The leader of the Balchoth beckoned to the others to follow behind in a single line. After riding for some time, Lord Calimehtar indicated that they were getting close to the junction of the trail where the strangers should be found.

Calmehtar raised a hand in warning, his jewelled ring flashing as it picked up the last light of the day; the sun was beginning to sink below the horizon. The riders moved with perfect grace. They barely made a sound as they pushed ahead to the spot that the scouts had identified. Their leader bore an ornate bow slung over one shoulder, and an elaborate curved blade that hung down on his hip. On his chest was an breastplate emblazoned with the symbol of the Eye. For these men were Easterlings, members of a cruel clan completely under the sway of Sauron. For nearly six hundred years, the tribe had terrorized the lands on both side of the Great River, often in the company or with the help of Mountain Orcs. Long ago in the year 2510, they had launched a massive invasion to the west, but had been thrown back by the combined might of Cirion, the twelfth steward of Gondor, and Eorl the Young, who had led the horsemen of the North.

The Balchoth had nursed their grievances and injuries for some five hundred years, never forgetting how they hated the riders and those who called themselves the Rohirrim. Soon now, Lord Calimehtar reasoned, they would take their long desired revenge, dragging off the populace to serve as slaves in Mordor and taking over the lands that should rightfully belong to the Balchoth and the other servants of darkness. Their secret raids were only the first step in a campaign that had been carefully planned, an unleashing of blood and terror that would signal the advancing power of Sauron over the peoples of the west.

Earlier that day, Calimehtar had been closeted with his two scouts. They had reported seeing a good sized party of travellers heading south and west over the broad plain the locals called East Emnet. Both the scouts had agreed that the riders were ripe for the picking.

"Women, a column made up of women," one scout had increduously exclaimed, spitting crudely on the ground. "And the few men with them no more than children. I see one, maybe two, seasoned warriors....no more than that. We may deal with these fools hastily. There is no need to wait for nightfall. Get them just as they arrive at the rise, for surely they intend to camp there. We will have great pickings. Perhaps we'll run the men through with our blades and drag the women back to our lord in Mordor. Fine slaves they'll be, women as young and foolish as these." The scout rubbed his hands together in anticipation of the rich booty that such a gaggle of women would certainly command on the open market.

There had been no disagreement, and the plan was quickly hatched. Now they stood within a stone's throw of the hill, hiding on the far side. "Remember now," growled Calimehtar, "You're to encircle the hill as they are struggling to make their way up. Surround it from all sides that none may escape. When I give the signal, let the arrows fly. And after that we will go in with our swords. The muddy hill will be hard to manage, but remember that we have the advantage of surprize."

As the Easterlings saw the last of the small party of riders mounting the trail that led up to the oaks, the raiders drew their bows and shook them over their heads, letting out a combined howl that could be heard from nearly a mile away. Calimehtar cried out about the ruckus, "Forward then, leave none of the men alive. Skewer them with your swords. Throw the women over your saddles and bring them back to where Aliharmi waits at the top of the ridge. Then return to fight again. Alinarmi will guard over our living booty with his whips and prods."

With a savage cry, the band raced forward, hooves pounding hard against the wet earth. Wave after wave of arrows came streaking through the air, falling upon the heads of the small band of riders. Calimehtar was the first one to come roaring up the hill, heading straight towards those who had positioned themselves at the rear. He reached out with his sword threatening one of the riders and as lust for battle overcame him joined with one of the women in close combat. Leaning over, his fingers closed on the long hair of one of the female combattants....

[Nogrod]

A chilling cry filled the air, coming from all around them. It was followed by the regrettably familiar hissing noise that approached from somewhere up above; growing louder, slowly at first, but gaining both speed and volume, as it got nearer. Sythric went to grasp his shield quite automatically. That noise was almost instinctively tied to that action. The sky was pretty dark already, and made the approaching missiles practically invisible. As the sound of the arrows suddenly grew very violent, he managed to lift the shield to cover his body from the downpouring, lethal rain of arrows. Just before the shield cut his field of vision, he saw them coming towards them, from all over around. He heard himself shouting for “Cover!”, but that yell was overpowered by the ear-breaking whine of the incoming arrows. He heard someone yelling, but didn’t know, who it was.

Now the easterlings were clearly seen, coming on them from all the directions. Fifteen?... more, less?... Maybe two shots more. He had estimeted the distance between them. No more time to lose, he thought. The next pack is in any moment.

“Scatter around! Get away from each other!”, he shouted. “There’s not so many of them at the time, look for them! They will come from lower next time!” Byt the time he had gotten to that, the next pack of arrows was approaching. Sythric got eye on one that was coming quite straightly towards him. He lifted his shield, and hoped for the best. The impact never came, but the sound of the arrow, passing less than a yard to the left from him almost deafened his ear for a moment.

“One more round coming! After it, make a circle!”, Sythric yelled amidst the chaos and tumult of the horses. He heard, that someone else had also shouted something, but couldn’t make the message out. Suddenly he saw Brand some ten yards away from him, and called him. “Brand!... Brand! Those one’s coming down on us! From the ridge! Would you ride with me against them, to take the worst blow? We will have to slow those down!” If Brand answered, Sythric didn’t hear it, for the easterling cry was on the air again, louder as before – and the thunder of their horses coming towards them with almost full speed sounded frightful indeed. And there was the third pack of arrows, coming almost horizontally now, as they were shot only from under hundred yards away.

The shriek of an oncoming arrow was one of the most frightful noises he knew of. So haphazard, so random was the possibility of getting hit, or avoiding it. As a true rider, Sythric thought of them as kind of unfair weapons. You didn’t have to prove your qualities fighting eye to eye, just let your lethal missile do it for you from secure distance. And you gave your opponent just the hope, that luck would be at your side. No arrow flew even near Sythric this time.

The sound of easterlings changing weapons some fifty yards away, was just as chilling as the noise of the approaching arrows. The soft ringing of the almost simultaneos unsheating of swords from all around them was quite unnerving. Sythric picked his spear and yelled as loud as he could: “In to a circle, in to a circle!” While shouting, he was already making Thydrë to start uphill. He had no time to look for Brand, as he saw the easterlings coming towards, too close already. He spurred Thydrë to make all the speed she could with that short distance, rushing straight towards the avalanche that was rolling down the hill on upon them.

[Folwren]

The light was dim when the attack broke out upon them. Athwen couldn’t tell which direction the arrows came from - probably because they were completely surrounded - nor where to look for the men who uttered such horrible cries. Parith’s head went up and his nostrils flared at the sound and without warning he reared and screamed. Athwen clutched his mane with one hand, and with the other, pulled on one rein. His head came around and his dropped back to his forefeet, spinning about and half cantering downhill, before he turned again and tried to bolt back up.

Out of the corner of her eyes, Athwen saw the figures of horsemen start up the hill after her. She couldn’t count them, there were too many things going on. An arrow passed her head and she heard the whine of wind behind its feathers as it flew by her ear. Then another one grazed her arm and she clenched her teeth at the sudden, sharp pain. Hardly a moment was given her to glance down, and barely had she realized that the blood she saw was from her, that a new worry caused her to forget it.

She had reached the company again, and they were facing around to meet their assailants. Athwen tried to urge Parith forward between two of them, she was weaponless and would be of no use, but he balked, and pawed, and then tried to rear again. Athwen wanted to shriek in frustration and fear, but no sound or voice came to her throat. Her mind was numb and frozen in terror.

And then the Easterlings reached them. The sound of clashing steal invaded upon her ears. She cowered and shrank where she sat upon her trembling horse. But then a hand touched her, reaching across a gap between her and another horse, it closed on her hair, the long, damp locks, close to the scalp. It sent a spark of shattering pain through her head. Her head dropped back, her mouth opened - it was a most vulnerable position, and suddenly she knew it.

She found control of herself at that instant, and when she did, she also gained control of her horse. She grasped the reins and pulled, and he backed obediently, then she rocked forward, bowing over the saddle horn. The grip on her hair didn’t give an inch, and now he yanked, hard, and he very nearly succeeded in his purpose in pulling her from her horse. Athwen screamed involuntarily, and once more her head went back, and her body slipped towards him. She clutched at Parith’s mane.

An unexplainable fierceness flowed through her body. Her eyes darted towards her assailant. She spotted his curved dagger in his belt and she let go of Parith with one hand to reach it. Her fingers closed on the hilt, but before she could draw it out, her hair was released, her hand struck away and then another stunning blow was added to her head. Her senses reeled, but she managed to right herself on the saddle and pull away from the enemy.

But there was another Easterlings, and another, and another, and Athwen suddenly doubted that any one of them would get out alive.