Outracing the Flames RPG

[Folwren]

The sound of a voice woke Athwen before dawn had completed itself. She squinted up at the swiftly brightening and sky and wondered if she really did have to get up quite yet. She had watched for the first hour last night and when she thought she could not possibly keep her eyes open any longer she had gone and woken Osmod. After a shamefaced admittance that she had only watched for an hour but felt too tired to stay awake any longer, she’d gone to bed. Now as she woke to the morning she felt as though for once, since her village was burned, that she could sleep longer. But that wasn’t to be. The ground was lumpy and the birds were calling, and they should be on their way as soon as possible anyhow.

With a prodigious great yawn, she sat up and stretched. Then she looked about, ready to greet anybody available with a merry good morning. But there was no one available. Incana was on watch - she could see her out in the woods - Meghann was bent over Brand, looking worried and distraught, and the others still slept. It must have been Meaghan’s voice that had woken Athwen, and she felt herself go cold suddenly and without explanation. The good humour she had awoken in retreated and hid and a strange fear slowly filled her, like a small, trickling stream slowly fills a pool of rock. She pushed the blankets off of herself and stood up.

She started across the camp to go to Meghan and see if something was wrong, and if there was, if she could help. Her steps led her beside the sleeping forms of the other two wounded companions - Vaenosa and Sythric. She looked at them as she passed. Sythric seemed to still sleep as well as anyone might except but Vaenosa. . .

One glance at the young woman’s face showed Athwen that something was wrong. She quickly turned and knelt beside her and reached out her hand to touch her face.

‘She’s cold!’ The words leaped out in a startled, high voice, and her hand jerked back. A tremor ran through her body and then she touched her again. She reached for Vaenosa’s hand and felt for a pulse. There was nothing. ‘Is she dead?’ she whispered. She could certainly feel her own heart pumping hard against her ribs, but the body beside hers was still. Still and so cold. Tears came to her eyes. ‘Dead?’

A movement to her right caused her to raise her head. Meghan had gotten up to her feet and she looked scared. Athwen stared up at her.

‘She’s dead?’ Meghan asked, indicating Vaenosa with a swift, downward glance of her eyes. Athwen nodded mutely, unable to speak immediately. ‘Brand is not well, either. I think. . .’she stopped and changed her course. ‘Where is Leod?’

Athwen turned her head the other way and her eyes swept the place where he should have slept. ‘I don’t know,’ her voice said, trembling. ‘I don’t know where he is, or if he ever returned from last night. He left at the very beginning of the night - he didn’t tell me where, but I thought he’d be back. He probably had to find some more plants to help him. . .but he’s not - he’s not back.’ Her voice failed her altogether then and even if she had wanted to say anything further, she couldn’t have. Vaenosa was dead, Brand was seemed to be leaving, and Leod was gone. Would they loose all of the ones who had been wounded?

[Tevildo]

Leod lay unmoving on the ground not more than eight feet away from where the Elves were still talking. He was careful to remain motionless and tuck his head under the blanket they had given him. Underneath that cover, he could hear every word they were saying.

Last night, he had not known how to explain why he was wandering alone in the woods in the middle of the night. Looking back, he could not help but feel that it was very foolish of him to go out so far on his own, even if his need for the herbs was great. Now all he wanted to do was to protect his friends from these strange and regale creatures who were so well armed and seemingly filled with anger and suspicion. Leod had admitted to one of the Elves, a woman who had questioned him closely, that he was a healer and had gone out at night to search for the lichens that are so good in drawing out ill humors from a wound. He totally denied that he was with anyone else even after she pressed him further. She had given him a strange look and walked away.

Now that he had heard what his fate was to be, Leod did not know whether to be happy or sad. At least they had decided not to skewer him in two. But his spirits sank down to this toes as he heard that he was to be carted off to the north and let go in the middle of nowhere, many miles from his friends and the injured men and women who so desperately needed him. He simply could not accept that.

As he listened to Nevtaliel speak, a desperate plot hatched in his mind. This woman, at least, was not his enemy. Leod did not know much about Elves, had never seen one in his life, but he did know that their healers were said to possess amazing skills, far beyond the reach of mortal men.

Gathering every bit of courage that he had, Leod leapt to his feet and turned to face the Elves. "The woman is right. I am a healer, but I am also a terrible liar. My friends are camped no more than two miles from here. They are no brigands, just common folk from several villages miles north of here. One of those villages, the one that I call my home, was burned down by a pack of roving Orcs, every person in it slain but myself and one other young girl."

"We are trying to get through to Edoras to warn the King that the Orcs have begun a rampage through the countryside, and he and his Riders must stand against them, if any of us are to survive. My own folk are gravely injured. When you found me, I was trying to search for the medicine that might save them. My supplies are gravely low. We had spent the last few days fighting Orcs and Easterlings, and many were afflicted with grievous wounds. To be honest, I was a fool to leave camp. I do not even know if these wounded men and women can survive, but without me they have absolutely no chance. Already, they are burning up with fever and half out of their minds."

"Please, sirs and madame, I am not the like of you but my folk mean much to me. I have heard that Elves have wonderful ways with a healing hand. I can take you to our camp that lies no more than a few miles upstream. Perhaps you can help those who are sick and injured. Meanwhile, as we approach the camp, you may keep your knife trained on my throat. If I have lied about any of these things, slash my throat and let me fall and die. Please, great Elves, if you have any mercy, will you come and help my friends?"

Nevtaliel stooped to pick up her bag of herbs and remedies, and glanced over towards Haekanoion. He said nothing but quickly nodded his head in assent. Within a moment, all had retrieved their horses, and were cantering briskly along the bank of the stream, with Leod sitting behind one of the riders. Despite his offer, there was no knife trained upon his throat.

[Folwren]

Athwen placed Vaenosa’s hand by her side and got up quickly. She looked around the camp once again, taking into mind the people there. She saw Incana walking towards them through the trees, looking half worried, half curious about what was going on. Dorran, too, was waking up. He propped himself up on his elbow, rubbed the sleep from his eyes with one hand and then looked up at Meghan and Athwen.

“What’s going on?” he asked. Athwen took a step towards him. Her hands twisted together and she struggled to keep from crying.

“Vaenosa’s dead,” she began. Dorran sat upright. “And Brand, Meghan says, is doing very badly, too.” Dorran shot a sharp, anxious glance in the direction of Brand. Meghan had gone back to him and was kneeling beside him again. “I don’t know how Sythric is,” Athwen continued. “But. . .but Leod. . .” she stopped. Dorran looked around and upon seeing no healer, he got swiftly to his feet.

“Where is Leod?” he asked.

“I-I saw him leaving last night, scarcely after everyone had gone to bed. I was on watch and he went without saying anything.”

“He didn’t come back?” Dorran’s voice sounded sharp as he put the question.

“No. I didn’t even think about it. I kept watch for an hour, and I didn’t even consider that he should be back.” Dorran said nothing. Athwen wondered if she had done something wrong, but at the same time she thought that it wasn’t that sort of silence that Dorran kept. “I thought he was just going out to find more herbs and plants. He’s been using a lot for the wounds and he’ll need more.”

“Something must have gone wrong,” Dorran said after another moment’s pause. “He should’ve been back by now. We’ve got to find him. Without his help, neither Sythric or Brand have any hope of living.” He fastened his cloak and buckled on his sword belt as he spoke.

“Can I go with you?” Athwen asked. “Meghan can stay here and watch them. Please let me go. I know a little bit about where Leod might hope to find some of the plants he needed and I might be able to help.”

Dorran looked skeptical as he glanced down at her. “You don’t have any weapons,” he said.

“Do you think that if Leod ran into any trouble, our entire group put together would be able to get him out of it by force?” Athwen demanded. “We can’t take everyone, and even if we could, it wouldn’t do any good. Our best chance of finding anything out without getting caught or killed ourselves is to go in small numbers and without being burdened with useless weapons.”

Dorran agreed after a moment, and then, after explaining what they were going to do to Osmod, Fion, Incana, and Meghan, the two of them set off in the direction that Athwen had seen Leod leave the previous evening. Neither of them knew anything about tracking, so they could only continue walking in the direction that they guessed he had gone, traveling as quietly and as carefully as they could while straining their eyes and ears for any sight or sound of the healer.

Their search had been fruitless for nearly three quarters of an hour. Athwen was about to despair when Dorran set his hand suddenly on hers in a cautious, silent warning. She looked up at him, and his finger was pressed against his mouth, bidding silence. His eyes were slowly scanning the trees and foliage and she turned to look in the same direction. In a moment, she heard what he had - the sound of horses forging their way through fallen leaves and low or fallen branches. The two looked at each other, and then with a silent nod of the head, Dorran started towards the sound. Athwen followed close behind.

In a little while of walking as quietly as possible and keeping behind as many trees as were available, the two of them soon caught sight of the group of mounted elves. Dorran and Athwen came to a halt. Athwen scarcely dared to breath as she watched them come nearer. Then she felt Dorran tug on her sleeve and she looked down to see him crouching behind a wide tree. She joined him quickly.

The elves came nearer and nearer and soon their faces were visible. Athwen bent towards Dorran and dared a low whisper. “Were they the ones who stopped him, do you think?”

He nodded slowly. “I see him riding behind one now.” She turned to look and sure enough, there was the elderly healer, riding behind the saddle of one of the elves.

“Well, let’s go, then,” she said. Athwen had always been impulsive and this appeared to be no exception. Neglecting even to look at Dorran to see if he shared her point of view, she jumped up directly to her feet and started forward at a hurried trot. “Leod! Hullo!” she called out, waving her hand to catch their attention. “Stop, please! We need help!”

[Undómë]

Meghan barely realized that Dorran and Athwen had left camp. She turned back to Brand and slumped down beside him. Weariness overwhelmed her. Weariness and a great sadness. His hand was very cold as she picked it up and held it against her cheek.

‘You cannot die,’ she began. ‘I’m not done talking to you. There are many more stories you haven’t heard. And I’ve heard very few of yours. You cannot take my stories with you and leave me none of your own.’

She rocked back and forth a little, humming an old tune. Her fingers reached, unthinking, for her pipe, forgetting for a moment that she had thrown it on Rædwald’s pyre. ‘And if you’re bound from this world, you cannot take my songs. I've lost my pipe. I cannot lose my songs altogether. How will I sing my flock to sleep? You cannot take their comfort from them.’

Meghan lay his hand on her knee and knuckled her eyes, not that there were tears to be dealt with; just the feeling beyond all tiredness that hope had fled. The flats of her hands pressed in against her cheeks, trying to rub some warmth into them.

I wish I were on yonder hill
'Tis there I'd sit and I'd cry my fill,
And ev'ry tear would turn a mill,
And a blessing walk with you, my love

She sang softly, leaning in close to him. Her eyes scanned his pale face for any sign that he might hear her.

Shule, shule, shule aroon
Shule go succir agus, shule go kewn;
Shule go dheen durrus oggus aylig lume,
And a blessing walk with you, my love.

His hair shines gold and his eyes are blue
His arms are strong and his words are true
In my heart I’ll always be with you
And a blessing walk with you, my love.

Shule, shule, shule aroon
Shule go succir agus, shule go kewn;
Shule go dheen durrus oggus aylig lume,
And a blessing walk with you, my love.

Come, come, come O love,
Quickly come to me, softly move,
Come to the door and away we'll flee,
And safe forever may my darling be.

Shule, shule, shule aroon
Shule go succir agus, shule go kewn;
Shule go dheen durrus oggus aylig lume,
And a blessing walk with you . . . my love . . .

Meghan’s voiced trailed off . . . he lay so still . . .

‘You cannot go, Brand . . . how will I follow?’

[Nogrod]

Farael's post

Osmod asked Fion to get some water boiling and then run to the river to refill the water-skins. The young lad asked Incana for help and the two hurried off, knowing that Leod would need water to clean the wounds and to prepare his potions. Walking then to Meghan, Osmod kneeled by her side and waited patiently as she spoke softly to Brand’s ear. Her words he could not tell, but the meaning was clear. When she finally seemed to have stopped talking, Osmod gently took Meghan’s hand in his, hoping to comfort her slightly. She turned around, looking upset –or was it his imagination? - Yet even if she was, she had recently lost a life-long friend and now Brand seemed to be loosing his fight as well. She had her reasons. Osmod felt guilty for interrupting yet he knew that if Leod was to come back and save Brand and Sythric, he’d need to have everything ready. Perhaps it would even be good for Meghan to be a busy as well.

“I am sorry Meghan that I need to ask this of you right now, yet you are the one who knows best what our healer will need when he gets here. I have already sent Fion and Incana to bring us as much water as they can; now we only need to prepare Leod’s potions and unguents and pray he gets back here soon enough to use them. You know what he will need better than myself, I will stay here by Brand’s side and look over him if you wish.”

Trying his most reassuring smile, he placed his hand on Brand’s forehead to see if the man had a fever, which he clearly had. Then he busied himself on arranging the covers so that the man would not be cold. Osmod did not look up to see if Meghan was still by Brand’s side.

---------------------

Nogrod's post

Sythric was once again back at his little stream at Skara. His life seemed to revolve around it in many ways. He had lived in many different buildings at Skara, he had lived in Croacht for 15 years, he had travelled across the Wold, but still that little stream beside the fields of Skara held him deeply tied to it. It had been there before he was born and it would be there after he would die.

He had served the riders for a full year and been granted his first leave. Three weeks it was to be. He had spent a couple of days with his friends at Croacht just to celebrate their first year and then gotten back to Skara. He was sixteen and it was the first night at home. The big party was to be held the next day, so Sythric had been allowed to have some time by himself, at the stream as he wished. All the family knew its meaning to him.

Sythric sat on a rock by the small watermill as she came towards him. Aescwyn was the girl from the neighbouring farmstead. They had known each other from childhood, but it had been only less than two years ago that Sythric had really gotten a crash on her. He had dreamt of her nights and days, imagining what it would be like to hold her in his arms or to kiss her. But she had been promised to a certain lad called Beorthsige, an annoying son of a local trader. Good marriage that was, to be sure, but it made Sythric bitter as a lemon. And she had never answered his feelings.

But now she was there, her light dress shining in the moonlight. She stepped on to the plane beside the wheel of the watermill, and walked towards him. Then she stopped on the planks just a few yards away from him, two feet above the waterline. “Well Rico, what a surprise!” she called him, smiling kiddingly. “Or can I call you that any more now that you are a real rider of Rohan? And you are growing a beard! Well, you must be a man now...”, she added and smiled a conspirational smile. Sythric was totally at loss about what to do or say.

Up to this day Sythric hadn’t conclusively figured it out, whether what followed was actually an accident or a deliberate plan of Aescwyn. Anyhow, she staggered on the planks and fell. Before she had touched the surface of the water, Sythric was on his feet and rushing towards her. He jumped after her to the water and grabbed her into his arms, helping her up. The water was just waist-deep. He surely had known that, but as he had been acting on instinct, he hadn’t come to think about it.

There they stood in each others arms totally soaked. Sythric felt so ashamed that he tried to avoid Aescwyn’s eyes, but he didn’t let go of her either. She held tight to him as well. Then she started laughing and in a moment Sythric was laughing too. While laughing, they both took a bit firmer hold of each other. Sythric remembered how her body felt pressing tightly against his even now.

This should not be, but still this is just how it should be, he thought to himself when the laugher finally died off. They were staring at each others eyes now quite intensively, trying to read the other mind. “This should be...” Aescwyn whispered quietly, leaning carefully against Sythric’s shoulder. “I was thinking about the same thing Aescwyn”, Sythric whispered to her ear with a sad smile, fondling her hair tenderly. Aescwyn raised her head up and met his gaze. Slowly their faces drew nearer each other.

That kiss Sythric had remembered all his life. He remembered her scent, her body pressing onto his, the feeling of her lips against his, the wet fingers running at his back, the chill that run over him from tip to the toe making his feet waver...


“Vaenosa’s dead”, he heard the words through his dreams. Vaenosa’s dead? His mind was struggling to get itself conscious. “Where is Leod?” Dorran? Why are you asking for Leod, where is he, what has happened? His mind was trying to cope with the cryptical real life sentences and the all-embracing world of dreams and memories. “Something must have gone wrong”, he heard Dorran say, and then it was images again. Vaenosa was running uphill with the easterling trailing her, ready to kill her in an instant. Sythric remembered spurring Thydrë to do her best, he remembered lowering Raedwald’s lance to a charging position. Vaenosa’s dead!

“Shule, shule, shule aroon...”

The song entered Sythric’s mind, at last waking him up to full consciousness. He opened his eyes and saw Meghan singing at Brand’s side. Brand looked pale indeed. A dying man... The thought of Brand dying, the beauty of Meghan’s song and the painful expression on her face brought tears to Sythric’s eyes and cold shivers were going through his body.

He noted that Incana was tending the horses and Fion was boiling water at the fireside. Osmod was sitting by the fire too, looking grim, his hand was bandaged with a linen. Now what has happened? But he couldn't see either Dorran or Athwen? Where are they? Where is Leod? Meghan had stopped singing and the only voice loud enough to enter his consciousness were the crackles of the fire. He carefully adjusted himself, raising to sitting position and leaning towards the rock behind him. Meghan noticed him moving and looked at him with concern.

“Meghan!”, he called her. “Be brave my friend. You will accomplish the task we were sent for and save our people. We should not let him die in vain!” His gaze wandered around to meet Vaenosa’s body lying some feet left from him. “Or her...”, he half-whispered.

[Tevildo]

"Whoa! Stop, good master Elf!" cried out Leod. "Tis one of my companions I spoke about, the young lass who came from the same village where I lived."

As the lead Elf drew up his horse and the others came to a halt, the older healer slipped hastily from the saddle and ran forward to embrace the young woman, so excited was he to know that camp was within a few paces. Seeing Dorran run out from the bushes, he gave him another welcoming embrace and gestured to the Elves that they should follow down the pathway, since the camp lay only a short distance away.

To Dorran and Athwen, Leod quickly explained, "I went out to gather herbs, but my foolish blundering in the middle of the night caused these good folk to question who I was. But after the confusion was straightened out, they agreed to bring me back to camp. But tell me now, how is everyone? Do Brand and Sythric still cling to life? And how fares Vaenosa and the others who are ill? I cannot tell you how worried I was to be away."

Athwen and Dorran glanced nervously at each other, and at first said nothing. It was Dorran who finally explained, "Sythric hangs on as before. But with the others...... "

"Go on lad, spit it out!"

"Vaenosa has lost her battle. The wounds took her no more than an hour ago."

"But how can this be?" countered Leod. "For I knew not that she was so ill." A horrible feeling afflicted the healer in the pit of his stomach as he wondered whether the girl might have lived if he had stayed in camp.

Out loud, he said only this: "And Brand, how does he fare? I pray that he still lives."

"Aye, he lives but barely. Leod, is there nothing you can do to help? Perhaps some new remedies to help him fight?"

Hearing that the others still lived and were in desperate need of aid, Leod pushed back his guilt over Vaenosa's death and concentrated on the immediate problem. "Dorran, there is hope, if only a tiny glimmer. For I have brought with me one whose skills as a healer surpass my own paltry efforts by a considerable amount."

Turning about to the Elves he called, "Come now. Hurry! One of my friends lies ill in desperate straits....."

[Child of the 7th Age]

The Elves rode forward to the small encampment and quickly dismounted from their horses. Haekánoion walked over by the firepit, bowed to those about, and slowly began to speak, "I bid you welcome and beg your pardon. We have wrongly held your healer in our camp as we did not know if he might be someone sent out by a group of bandits to do us harm."

"Our only excuse for this shabby treatment is that we have faced much hardship and violence on these roads the past few week. We were visiting the shores to the south, where our folk once lived, and then went on to Minas Tirith carrying a dispatch from Master Elrond." The Elf did not mention the strange stares and hostile remarks they had encountered from Men in these places who had forgotten the goodness of the Elves.

Everywhere we went, we found enemies with sharp weapons, especially on the road to the east of Minas Tirith. We have fought bandits and men from the South and worst of all, a group of Orcs. Never have we seen so many foul vermin out on the road. It is as if the whole world is on the move, and something evil and of great import is about to happen."

With a sigh, the Elf continued, "Now we must hurry back to Rivendell and tell master Elrond what we have seen. For many of our folk feel that the time has come to depart these shores forever as a great change is at hand. And they await word from us as to what is happening in the outside world."

"My name is Haekánoion and this is my wife Nevtaliel, a healer. Here is our son Lindir, and two young companions, Nihil and Maeghith. We have come with Leod to ask your forgiveness for our mistake, and to inquire if we may be of any help. Leod mentioned that there are those in camp gravely ill and now we have heard that you have lost one of these just last night. There is too much sadness in these times. We can not work magic, but my wife is a healer of great skill. Could she see those who are injured to try and help? And perhaps my sons and his friends could help you in constructing a cairn for the one who died?