A Land to Call Their Own RPG

[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.

[Arestevana]

“Estella, Elsa, Sarah. Get the kids and get them to your wagons…now.” Marcho’s voice was closely echoed by Kalimac’s.
“Elsa, get Alora and Crispin and…”
Elsa did not wait for the rest of the command. The first sound of the wolves had shaken her badly. She glanced around, somewhat surprised when she did not immediately see the children. Surely they would have come running when they heard the wolves?
“Elsa….where are Alora and Crispin?” Kalimac asked quietly. Elsa’s heart leapt to her throat. “What?” she asked shakily. “They’re not… not here?” The wolves howled again, and Elsa’s hands started to tremble violently. Where are Alora and Crispin? She ran back to their wagon as quickly as she could, but the children were not anywhere nearby. As shouts echoed around the campsite, it became clear that neither the Whitfoot children nor their assigned supervisors were with the caravan.
Another howl emanated from the woods and Elsa gave a small, frightened sob. What if the wolves found Alora and Crispin before she could? She ran several hysterical circles of the campsite, calling for the children to no avail. Returning to the place where most of the others had gathered, she tried to get a grip on herself. Marcho was organizing a small group of armed adults to go into the forest. Resisting the urge to cry, Elsa hurried back over to the wagon and pulled a broom out from under the seat.
When she returned to the group, she firmly stood up to Kalimac’s protests, and ignored the hints of smiles on several faces. She was not going to allow the wolves to harm her children. I suppose I do look like an idiot; amongst all these folk with their knives and hatchets, what use is a broom? I just wish I weren’t so terrified.

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

Fordogrim’s head was still reeling from the rapid turn of events when the chilling sound of wolves in full hunt cut his mind like ragged glass through cloth. He had, in his youth, wandered the lands to the East of Bree, and in that time he had heard such sounds on more than one lonely night. Once, in the distance and lit only by the sickly glow of a waning moon, he had seen a pack of wolves attack and tear apart a deer. For years afterward the memory had been with him as a vivid reminder of life beyond the confines of the life he knew with his people in his own homeland. This time, however, the sound was so close that he fancied he could smell death on the wolves’ very breath. All about him hobbits were turning pale and quivering at the sound, for most of them had never been beyond the hedgerows of their fields, or the safety of the city gates after dark. Marcho alone seemed unafraid of the demons in the dark, and stepped forward with his blade drawn. He ordered the families to seek shelter in their carts, for once showing the kind of hobbit sense that Fordogrim was sure had deserted the fellow before undertaking this journey.

There was a sudden commotion among the Whitfoots. He head somebody cry out that their children were missing. At almost the same moment, his Sarah uttered such a gasp that the sound of her terror tore at Fordogrim’s heart. “Harold!” she cried “May and Henry are gone! You don’t think they would have wandered off into. . .” but she was cut off by yet another bloodsoaked howl from the dark.

Harold looked about wildly, calling out for his children, but his voice fell flat and pale into the gathering night. A general hue and cry was sent round for the missing children but it quickly became apparent that they were no longer with the convoy. Marcho was the first to react, ordering all the capable adults to arm themselves and to follow him into the forest. Fordogrim whistled for Stout, and the pony stamped to him as though it were twenty years and fifty pounds ago. The pain in his leg made mounting difficult but he managed it with only one substantial grunt. Gathering up the reins in one hand and wielding his cane in the other he pointed Stout’s head toward the darkness that lay beneath the forest leaves. He had never been more scared in his life, but the thought of his beloved May somewhere in the dark with none to protect her but little Henry and those good-for-nothing Whitfoot children was more than his simple heart could bear. He was no fool, he did not think that he was a match for any wolf he might meet – but at the very least he might prove a more tempting prey than his young and energetic grandchildren.

Stout, too, was terrified, for he had spent his life carrying his elderly master to and from town, and doing little heavy labour. But such was his love for Fordogrim that he was willing to face the fangs and claws that awaited him. He snorted with all the determination of his stout heart and turned his head to the woods. But Harold stepped into their path and grabbed Stout’s bridle.

Fordogrim looked down at his son and cried out, “Son, I’ve never so much as raised my hand to you and I don’t relish the thought of a-doing it now. But if you don’t let go of my Stout, and right quickly, then as I loved your mother I swears you’ll feel the weight of my cane on your head!”

"Father! Don't be ridiculous, we'll use all the help we can get. Just please stay close to me in there!" And with that, Harold rushed to Daisy and began freeing her from the traps. As soon as the draft pony was out, Harold leaped upon her back, and together the father and son turned their mounts toward the woods.

Fordogrim urged Stout on with great spurring kicks, and as they reached the edge of the Forest he brandished his cane above his head and cried out, “I’m a-coming for you, you bloodthirsty villains!”