Outracing the Flames RPG

[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?

[Nogrod]

Sythric seemed to be the first to notice the sound. As a rider he was used to picking that one from all the others. Even as the sound was faint, there was no chance of mistake. Horses, and they are coming straight towards us, and not only one or two... “Horses coming! Quick now everyone! Get to your horses, run away! Leave me and Brand here!” He turned a bit to face the direction where the rumble of the hooves was coming from. Now they were loud enough for everyone to hear.

“Fion! Throw my bow and arrows to me. I may have strength for one or two shots. That might slow them down a bit”. Sythric tried to get up, turning around and taking a grasp from the rock he had been leaning towards. He tried to pull himself on top of it. “C’mon Fion, no time to waste!”, he shouted and forcibly pulled himself up the side of the rock.

But then he heard a familiar voice from under the now thundering hooves. It was Dorran calling them! Good earth!, he gasped and let his grasp loose, just leaning to the rock with his face against it. “It’s Dorran, and Athwen! ... And, could they be? They must be elves!”, he heard Fion shouting enthusiastically. Sythric was too tired from his sudden effort to either properly rise up or to set down. But he heard an elf talking, introducing himself as Haekánoion and telling about them and their fortunes. There is an elven healer here! Brand might be saved! Then he suddenly felt the pain again. His eyes went black for a while and he lost his hearing too. He saw his dearest stream once again, but just for a second. He came back to awareness of the general hassle around. Osmod was talking something to the elves. There were sounds of footsteps and a hum of voices all around...

[Farael]

Clip…clop….clip….clop…

The sound of horses, riding towards the camp. There weren’t enough men to resist; the wounded would be easy pray for the easterlings. They could only sit back and wait, and hope that the riders moved along worried about their own business. But they did not. Thankfully, at the head of the column were Athwen and Dorran, who seemed to be leading a peculiar group of strangers. Osmod could not believe his eyes, but there was no mistaking the shine in their eyes, those raiders were elves. They unmounted and introduced themselves, apologising for the treatment they had given Leod overnight. Then they offered help, and Osmod knew that in spite of the stories he had been told of elven witches casting nets of shadows that swallowed full companies of men who happened to wander close to their territories, they were the group’s only hope.

At once the healer among them set to work on the wounded while the rest of them helped build a cairn for Vaenosa and preparing her for her last rest. Osmod wanted to help but he was awed and at the same time scared of these strange people. They were so much like him and yet so distinctly different, he felt like a beggar dragged on to the court of a mighty king. Their movements were soft and smooth while Osmod felt slow and sloppy, and their voices barely rose from a whisper and yet he could hear them clearly. For a moment, Osmod felt as if he was back on his grandmother’s house, listening to her stories by the fire. But then the moment was over and there was still work to do, elves or not they’d need his help if they were ever to move on from that awful place and to the golden halls.

[Undómë]

‘Begging your pardon, ma’am.’ Meghan stepped quietly up near to Nevtaliel’s side. She spoke in a low voice, not wanting to interrupt the talk between Haekánoion and Osmod. She reached out a hand as if to pluck at the Elven lady’s sleeve, then thought better of it. She did not wish to offend by placing her rough skinned, dirt-stained hand on the Elf-fabric.

‘My . . . friend . . . is very ill. Will you come see him first?’ Meghan motioned to where Brand lay. ‘He has a wound in his left shoulder, a deep wound from an Easterling’s blade. Leod has done as best he might with it. But still it festers and he’s run high fevers.’ She swallowed her fright that he might die, trying to give the Elvish healer a picture of how he had been and how he was now. ‘But he’s gone all cold now. And barely breathing. And where he used to open his eyes at times, now they are closed mostly.’ Her voice broke a little as she went on. ‘Sometimes they do flutter open . . . but it’s as if he stares far off to someplace I can’t see . . . someplace where I no longer am.’

‘Please . . . come see to him.’ Her hand reached out and briefly touched the Elvish woman’s arm.

‘Shall I fetch you something . . . warm water, clean rags? Whatever you might need, I can get them for you . . .’

[Child of the 7th Age]

Nevtaliel looked gently at Undómë and smiled, "I will be glad to do what I can. I am no worker of magic, but perhaps I can do something to help." The Elf could not help but notice the dark rings under the woman's eyes and the strained look on her face. She obviously cared deeply for the young man whose wounds she had tended, who now lay silent and huddled on the ground.

Kneeling down beside the injured man, the Elf glanced over at the woman, "There is something you may do for me, but first you must tell me your name and the name of the young man who lies before me."

Upon hearing the response, she handed the girl a small packet of herbs, "Meghan, be very careful with this. I have but six leaves and all are precious, since this herb does not grow in these parts. It comes from Gondor and places even further distant. Since your healer now sits with the others who are injured and tends their wounds, you will need to help me with Brand and the other man who is most seriously injured."

She then went on to explain, "You must place one leaf in a small pot over the fire, grind it into tiny pieces, and stir the pieces into the water. Heat the mixture until the brew is steaming. Then, bring the pot back to me and do the same with a second leaf. I think I will need at least two for Brand, and two for your other friend so you must make four pots in all. And while you are working with the herbs, send someone else back with a bowl of warm water and clean rags. The others in camp will not need such strong remedies. We will wait till later to tend to their wounds."

"Go now, while I remove Brand's bandage and have a closer look at the wound. Hurry back as quickly as you can. I fear there is little time."

[Tevildo]

Dorran

Dorran was about to join the younger Elves and a few of his own companions who were constructing a cairn for Vaenosa's body. But just as he was prepared to leave camp with the others to search for large stones, he ran into Meghan who whispered a request in his ear. Dorran ran to fetch a bowl of hot water and and secure a number of clean rags and bandages from Leod's satchel. Then he hurried back to where the Elvish healer knelt beside Brand's body, offering her the water and the cloths.

"Ma'm, begging your pardon, but I hope you will try and do what you can. He is a good and decent man. He's really been the heart of our group, and there's no way we would have made it this far without Brand." He looked curiously over at Nevtaliel and gathering all his courage asked, "Do you think that you will be able to save him?"

[Undómë]

Meghan was careful to follow the Elven woman’s instructions about the leaves. As she stirred each one carefully into their own little pots of water, she sniffed at the fingers with which she’d crushed them. There was a sharp, clean smell that lingered on her fingertips . . . a deep smell, redolent of the sort one gets when a storm is about to break over the fields and the air is heavy, pregnant with the scent of promised rain. The aroma lifted her spirit a little, giving her some small measure of hope.

She left two of the pots of leaf-brew near the fire to keep warm, instructing Incana not to let anyone touch them until the Elven healer called for them. The other two she hurried back with to Nevtaliel, careful not to spill a single precious drop.

As she neared where the Elven woman knelt down by Brand, she heard Dorran’s question. ‘Do you think that you will be able to save him?’ Meghan’s breath caught in her chest as she stopped short, fearing what the healer might say in response.