A Land to Call Their Own RPG

[Melisil]

For most of the day Alora and her family had been traveling somewhat wearily in the rain. Her parents both seemed tired, and weren't smiling. Crispin wasn't smiling for that matter either, but having him beside her made her feel safer in the rain anyways. Personally, Alora acually loved the rain. The only part about it she didn't like was the cold it brought. She sat in a corner of her family's uncovered cart, blankets piled on top of her for the whole trip. She just laughed at the tickling feeling the rain played on her face.

By the time they arrived at what she was told was going to be their camp for the night it was still raining. Alora couldn't tell you that though as she had fallen asleep only a half hour earlier, and as she was peacefull there on the cart, no one woke her.

Alora dreamed peacefully of playing in a stream that was by a new house, Alora had guessed it was where they were going. She awoke to find both her parents, and the Chubb grownups yelling at each other something horrid. The yelling scared Alora. It scared her in a way she hardly knew before. She jumped quickly out of the wagon and over to Crispin. She grabbed her big brothers arm. "Why are they fighting Crispin?" she asked in almost a shriek (because of fear).

"They're fighting over grownup stuff Alora, you wouldn't understand." came Crispin's reply.

Alora couldn't tell what tone Crispin had used at her, and this only added to her fear. She watched as their parents fury grew. "Make it stop Crispin, please!"

Crispin looked down at his sister, "Don't worry Alora, it'll be ok. I'm here, and mum and dad won't be fighting for long." Crispin's words comforted Alora greatly. She held tight to her brothers arm, still unsure what to do, but calmer none the less.

Although she hadn't noticed it at first, being distracted by her parents arguments, Henry and May Chubb were sitting down on on log next to them. Although slightly startled by this, Alora supposed they were doing the thing called babysitting her father had talked to her about. She was still rather confused by what the term babysitting meant, though she supposed it meant they would be sitting on babys.

Temporarily distracted from her parents arguments, Alora made her way over to May. "Um, May." she started shyly, "pardon, but where are all the babys your supposed to be sitting on?"

May Chubb looked at her confused for a moment, before responding with a laugh, "Babysitting means that we're watching you and your brother, Alora." Alora was taken aback by this response, so instead of trying to work it out, she sat down on the log next to the two Chubbs, and waited for Crispin to sit aswell.

After a minute of sitting silently, puzzling over the term 'babysitting', Henry Chubb stood up, and asked Crispin if he would like to go exploring, at which, Crispin responded with a yes. Alora, not wanting to be left out of the fun, jumped up aswell and cried out, "I want to go too!"

Henry smiled at this, but May told him that, for some reason which had to do with Alora's daddy, they shouldn't go. "Why can't we go?" Alora asked, totally lost as to why they couldn't explore, "We're allowed to go 'sploring at home."

[Regin Hardhammer]

At first, Harold was puzzled when Kalimac called him over demanding to know what he had told Elsa about the babysitting and the money given to the children. For one moment, Harold stood to the side, trying to sort out everything inside his head. I don’t understand why Kalimac is getting mad at me. I was only trying to be polite.

His intention had not been to start trouble, but now a huge fight had erupted causing the entire camp to come to a screeching halt. Harold tried to defend his actions, but every thing he said seemed to be twisted and came out sounding differently. Worst of all, everyone was looking at them. Elsa and Sarah were waving their arms and trading sharp remarks. Grandpa Fordo’s leg appeared to be completely healed as he sprinted forward and scuffled valiantly with Kalimac. Kalimac seemed to be getting the worst of it and was whacked on the back by his father's cane which had accidentally loosened from Fordogrim's feeble grip.

This has gone far enough, thought Harold. I must help put an end to this nonsense. By nature, he was a peaceful Hobbit, and considered violence a waste of energy. Harold walked up to Fordogrim and Kalimac hoping to separate the two and bring them to their senses. He did not think that his elderly father would fare well if Kalimac decided to retaliate.

Before Harold could put his plan into operation, Kalimac let out a loud cry “YOU ADDLE-BRAINED OLD GOAT,” and charged forward, knocking Harold's father to the ground. Kalimak loomed over the aged Fordogrim, his hand grasping the older Hobbit's shirt. The calm, reasonable Harold felt a knot of rage swelling up inside his stomach and then spreading out through his entire body. Nobody calls my father an addle-brained old goat, even though he sometimes may act like it.


Growing up, Harold had participated in a few fistfights and minor scuffles with other Harfoot lads in his neighborhood. But he'd made a point to steer clear of the richer Fallohides whose burrows were located in the wealthier sections of town. After coming of age and settling down, he had few disagreements with the Whitfoots. When differences arose, he'd generally backed down and complied with their requests. None of these scenes had ever turned violent, or even terribly angry. This time, however, he could not contain his rage. Charging head on like a ram, Harold bellowed, “Kalimac, you can whine to me how you got in trouble with your wife because you didn’t tell her about the babysitting money, but you can not insult my father.”

Harold let out a deafening roar, which if he had been cool headed, would have surprised even the humble Hobbit himself. This should teach that cocky, rich landowner that he can not step on my family and get away with it. Blinded by ire, Harold pinned Kalimac to the ground and lifted his chubby fist high in the air, starting to bring it down with great force right in the center of the rich Hobbit’s face.

[Child of the 7th Age]

Four swift dark shadows padded noiselessly over the North Downs and then slipped into an isolated wood thicket, scouring the land for any scent of prey. The pickings from the night before had been pitifully few. There had been no deer or ferral pigs; they had been compelled to make do with one tiny coney whose body had been greedily devoured. The empty feeling in their bellies drove the pack onward towards the ancient Forest, a territory they usually avoided. Desperate to find something to eat, they put aside normal caution and ventured onto unfamiliar ground, hoping that the pickings would be better there.

Grog halted for a moment under a low craggy overhang and sat on his haunches, signalling the others to do the same. A lean scarred bundle of muscle and grit, leader of the pack, he cocked his head to one side and sniffed the night air to try and determine what lay ahead. A sudden breeze carried faint scents from the south, a strange yet familiar odor that he could not quite place.

"Two-leggeds?" Aisha queried, flinging a probing eye at Grog. "Men or Orcs? They make poor hunting and worse eating." She spat the words onto the ground with undisguised contempt.

None of the pack wanted to deal with Orcs or Men. They'd had too many bad encounters. Their own band had once included twelve wolves and several pups. Two-leggeds and their infernal wars had made their lives a misery in the far north. All the plump livestock and even the deer had been killed off by marauding soldiers. Six of their own number had died, clubbed down by a band of raiding Orcs who had dismembered the carcasses with fierce, bloody hands and eaten them raw. Aisha quivered at the memory of her lost brothers and sisters.

Grog smelled again and then smiled as the meaning of the scent became clear. His nostrils widened as he drew the air in, tasting it on his tongue. "No, these are not Men or Orcs. I have seen their kind before: small things that go on two legs, plump and tasty, and not so large or fierce as the others. Just right for a pack such as ours."

Grog leaned his head back and howled at the moon in triumph, anticipating his victory meal. The other three did the same. Then the band silently got to its feet and, following the scent, descended towards the target at a dead run.

[ArwenBaggins]

Crispin's grip was taught on his sister's hand. Even though he felt foolish by holding hands with a girl (even a little one), he knew that if she was lost or hurt he'd be doom. And with his father and mother in the raged state that they were, getting in trouble probably wasn't such a good idea...

As they entered the forest, Crispin pulled his spitty hay from his mouth and shoved it in his vest pocket. "Crispin, it's dark in here," Alora tightened her grip on her older brother's hand and wimpered.

"Aw, c'mon Alora. We 'xplore all tha time at home. This is just like home... only alot bigger. No, don't cry!" His sister puckered her lip and looked up to him with watery blue eyes. Sighing advertly, he looked down at her. "D'you want a piggy-back ride?" The little giggled and jumped up and down.

Bending down, he allowed Alora to get on his back. Henry smiled at him and Crispin tried to smile back. He hadn't relized how heavy Alora was getting.

[Witch_Queen]

Sarah turned around to see that Harold was about to punch Kalimac. As much as she wanted to see something happen to their landowner Sarah couldn't bring herself to see someone else hurt the hobbit. "Harold don't do it!" Her scream broke through the air and everything went silent for a moment. "Don't let your anger get the best of you." She walked over and began to stop the fight but quickly turned around and looked at Elsa. It was all this womans fault that Harold was angry.

Sarah changed her mind about stoping her husband. The way he defended his father only made Sarah love him even more. It wasn't everyday that she had a chance to see her husband in action. "Elsa Whitfoot... it is your fault that my Harold is about to give Kalimac a black eye. I just hope you can live with yourself after this is over with you cocky git." Sarah didn't go off on anyone at the drop of a hat. It took them insulting one of her family members.

Sarah walked over to Fordo. "Father Chubb are you ok?" She needed to calm down before she too began to take a tumble with Elsa. Sarah thought that Fordo was going to pummle Kalimac with his cane. The show would have been good to see. Sarah regreted her decision to leave her home. "Fordo you and Harold was right we shouldn't have left home. Though this fued is long over do. I still wish you hadn't of listened to me. All I do is run my mouth about how I want more." Sarah looked around to see if she could see her children. All four of the little hobbits were gone.

May and Henry are doing their job. The one we are now disputing about. For some reason it would have been best if they had decided that they didn't want to babysit for the Whitfoots. Sarah turned back to the rest of the adults. She wondered if she should make a final attempt to break them up. The fight had became more than just your normal shouting match, this time it was personal. Sarah wasn't going to let the others blame her husband for anything. After all if Kalimac had told his good-for-nothing wife perhaps this wouldn't have happened. Sarah placed her hand around her neck and noticed that her beloved necklace was gone. She wanted to break down into tears, that was the only thing she had gotten in a few years from Harold. I hope I didn't loose it.... Oh wait its in the cart. At least thats where it better be.

[Child of the 7th Age]

Uninvited guests....

Almost as one, the members of the pack veered southward towards the source of the scent, trotting swiftly along the rocky ridges of the hills until they came to the place where the strange two-leggeds had gathered in great numbers. The band approached down wind of the Hobbits. There were dozens of wagons and small campfires spread out along the side of the road. Evidently, the fools had not even bothered to post a sentry. Everyone inside the camp was paying close attention to a few of their companions who were squabbling over something, and did not hear or see what was happening just a few paces distant. Grog could glimpse a dog or two lounging about the camp but these were beasts for herding rather than guarding, and were unlikely to offer much resistence.

The youngest of the wolves gave a whine of eagerness as he saw the plump, unarmed figures going about their business, totally unaware that they were being stalked. Aisha snapped her head about and issued a stern warning growl to her brother, and then all was silent.

The moon had slipped behind a cloud and all was dark in camp. The earth was bathed in an eerie grayness. Grog's shaggy coat, and that of the other wolves, blended in perfectly with the shadows. The only thing that could be seen, even from some paces distant, were matching pairs of greedy yellow eyes blazing in the night.

Still, Grog hesitated to attack. The two-leggeds looked harmless enough, but there were too many of them. Even though he might succeed in bringing down several of his victims, other two-leggeds would run over and strike a blow to defend their kin, before they could drag the bodies away.

"Too many! Too many!" Grog muttered shaking his head. He had never seen such a large assemblage of two-leggeds in one place. Their numbers were even greater than the bands of soldiers and roving Orcs that he'd known from the North. Leaning down to Aisha, he growled a warning, "Too many to attack here! Surely one of these fools has left the site to gather firewood or hunt some game. We will slink through to the spot where the forest runs up beside the road and track down their scent."

With that the pack took off, steering around the back of the wagons on silent, padding feet. After entering the tangled thicket of trees, Grog placed his nose to the ground and trotted about in wide circles until he found the particular trail on which the four children had left the camp only a few moments before. Grog quickly sensed that these were young littermates, who probably could not defend themselves in any way. Unable to hide his pleasure at the smell of easy prey, Grog let out a howl of triumph, in which the others quickly joined. Then he turned and made his way down the trail, all the while sniffing at the ground so as not to lose the scent. The others followed behind him, their red tongues lolling out of their mouths in anticipation of the feast that was sure to follow.

[alaklondewen]

“This has gone on long enough,” Marcho groaned to his lovely wife you sat beside him on the back of their wagon. Estella’s brother had found himself in the center of what was becoming an all-out brawl, and Marcho was tired of watching their ruckus behavior. He was going to put a stop to it now, before the argument became violent. What happened in the moments following Marcho’s decision and when he actually arrived on the battle zone occurred so swiftly, it was a blur in the scout’s mind. Old Fordogrim Chubb, either intentionally or not, whacked Kalimac directly in the nose. An action that resulted in an outbreak of violence that concluded with the Chubb father sitting on Kalimac, who was about to receive a good pounding.

“That’s enough!” The scout growled and caught hold of Harold’s arm as it swung downward. Harold struggled momentarily against Marcho’s grip, but the scout was sturdy enough to be able to drag the Chubb from his brother-in-law. “Would you look at yourselves? All of you!” He was about to tell them how they were all acting like fools, when a ghastly howl was heard nearby. The scout froze in his tracks and spoke not. Kalimac started to speak, but Marcho hushed him and listened intently. The bay came from just inside the forest, not 10 yards from where they stood.

Slowly, steadily Marcho unsheathed his knife. “Wolves…” he finally whispered. Regaining his wit, he ordered the men to get their weapons out. “Estella, Elsa, Sarah. Get the kids and get them to your wagons…now.” The scout did not take his eyes from the darkness under the trees, but the command in his voice was enough to get the adults moving.

[Kransha]

The world spun mercilessly as the situation spiraled further. Kalimac, who’d fancied himself in control of the situation, found himself beneath a seething Harfoot with a pulled back fist, namely Harold Chubb. Luckily, before any further physical engagement could occur, an unseen force hauled the Harfoot of him. He remained floored, reclined on the ground in awe and bewilderment as heard the mingled voices of Sarah Chubb, followed soon after by his half-brother, Marcho Bolger himself. Kalimac looked on, seemingly immobilized by simple, outright confusion.

“Would you look at yourselves? All of you!” chided the Fallohide scout, stabilizing the spinning world.

Kalimac, looking oddly dejected, scrambled to his feet like a child caught in a brawl. He promptly began to smooth his ruffled feathers and sweep the dust and soot of earth from his fine clothing. He scowled as his composure returned, the glinting corners of his eyes openly glaring at Fordogrim Chubb. His gaze turned to an ornery looking Sarah Chubb, then his wife, then the defiant employee of his who had taken him so aback by attacking him just now. The Fallohide would’ve continued his avid defense if the scout, Marcho, hadn’t quickly hushed him. He noted that he must’ve missed something in the rustling of his ascension from the ground, since the others seemed to be looking fearfully in the direction of Marcho and the woods. He wasn’t sure what, but he feigned the same befuddlement that he saw in their wide eyes. The eerie silence was broken by Marcho’s dark whisper, “Wolves…” Kalimac didn’t respond, watching as Marcho instantly took charge.

“Estella, Elsa, Sarah. Get the kids and get them to your wagons…now” the scout said urgently. Despite the alarm in his voice and the apparent presence of foul beasts, Kalimac felt like no more could go wrong in this wretched day. As he’d been told, there is sometimes nothing one can do in a situation but grin and bear it, so the resilient Fallohide did. Though it was hard, he managed to crack a grin.

“Alright then,” Kalimac almost interrupted, still dusting himself off disdainfully, “this unhappy incident can be forgotten, I hope.” He turned, looking pleasant again, to his wife, “Elsa, get Alora and Crispin and…”

Kalimac’s eyes had just completed their full scan of the surrounding vicinity. He looked over, rotating on his heels slowly to see all, at the entire area. It was now that he realized, with a mixture of shock, confusion, and horror, that neither of his offspring where anywhere to be seen. He stood, staring out at the others with a hanging jaw for a time before words formed in his mouth.

“Elsa….where are Alora and Crispin?” he murmured, his face slated. Something else had gone wrong.