A Land to Call Their Own RPG

[Kransha]

They had sallied forth, a motley enough trio considering they were currently at odds. Kalimac kept shooting venomous glares at both the Chubbs, which were quickly and promptly returned by them. Though that rivalry kept them off guard, they soon turned their attention to the vile symphony of noises that was issuing from the woodland depths. The trees and roots on the ground, which Kalimac was so familiar with, became a hardship as well. It was harder now to navigate towards the sound, but Kalimac knew a way. His natural knowledge might come in handy just now, even though he was unused to the territory and the surroundings. He managed, after some searching, to execute a well-done wolf call, to the general surprise and confusion of the two Chubbs. Luckily, his bizarre action was explained before he had to speak, and the trio set off again…right into the clearing that contained the predators, their prey.

Instantly as Kalimac’s eyes caught sight of the murderous, fiendish wolves who would dare to assault his children, the short but firm oaken bow strung around his arm was whipped out fully and leveled at one of the coiled up beasts who was about to spring. Usually, better judgment would’ve had him aiming at one of the vile creatures edging ominously towards him, but he was too filled with this furious energy to even notice them. A narrow shaft was instantly plucked from the compact quiver that was dangling nonchalantly just behind his right leg and lay that arrow bolt sternly on his closed fist which gripped the bow's handle. His hobbit eyes narrowed at the beasts as he aimed precisely.

“Get away from our children, you foul creatures!” commanded Kalimac in his biggest voice, which, incidentally wasn’t very big at all. Kalimac was a good hunter as were most Fallohides, but he could not recall being openly threatened by murderous wolves. Suddenly, as soon as it had sprung up, his newfound strength wilted. His rigid arm wavered, his stomach jumped, and a distinct gulp could be heard as his grip on the fine bow began to weaken and tremble as the gentlehobbit stared down the length of his quivering arrow at the voracious looks on those wolf muzzles and the evil, utterly fiendish glint in their eyes.

In retrospect, it is never a good idea to take out a bow when trembling; it makes for very bad aim and stamina. This was the fact that ran, over and over, through Kalimac’s mind as he realized that he’d just let go of the arrow. The shaft slid from his bow, whistled through the air, and thudded into the wooded earth right beside one of the snarling beast. No, not a good idea at all.

[Child of the 7th Age]

Grog snarled and twisted his body to the side as a fiendish arrow came biting into the ground no more than half a foot away. Rage welled up inside his head as he turned to face the annoying two-leggeds. The pack had just slunk out of the depths of the thicket to begin their assault on the cubs when the three ponies had come trampling through and forced them to turn about.

"Regroup and attack!" Grog imperilously commanded. "I will deal with the cubs. You three go after the others. The two-legged's bow can do little close at hand. Forget the riders and harry the ponies. Come in under their feet."

With that, Grog turned and swiftly made for the nearby glade where the five children were trapped. He glimpsed back once and saw Aisha charging the larger cart pony with a savage look of determination etched on her face. Each of the pack chose an intended target, slashing and biting furiously at the legs of the horses. Darting in and out while skillfully avoiding the hooves, they snapped at the hind and forelegs. The two-leggeds were busy defending themselves and, for the moment at least, had no hope of breaking through to the glade where their children were.

The cart pony squeeled in terror, with ears flattened against her head as Aisha leapt up and aimed for Daisy's rear, barely missing by an inch. Totally unprepared for the noise and tumult, Daisy reared up on her hind legs with Harold clinging to her back. The female wolf charged again, this time attacking from the side. Her eyes wide with fear, the pony bucked and lashed out with two hind legs, landing a glancing blow on Aisha's ribs. At that instant, Harold lost his seat and went spinning to the ground. His pony whirled around and sprinted furiously out of the woods in the direction where Marcho's band was coming.

Aisha stood her ground in front of the two-legged, a leering grin of triumph spreading over her face as she prepared to spring. But before she could lurch forward, the grin suddenly faded. She saw her victim quickly stoop and pick up something that had fallen to the ground. In a split instant, the two-legged was brandishing not a weapon, but something that could do just as much harm. It was a tool Aisha had seen before whenever she raided the farms outside Bree to steal hens and goats: a short wooden shaft with a long sharp blade at one end........

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Grog speedily approached the forest grove where the five children had gathered, barking and howling as he went. For one split instant, he stopped and sat on his haunches some paces distant, trying to choose which cub he should pull down first. He greedily stared at the children and then loped onward, his eyes gleaming cold and bright from out of the dark night shadows.

Then, very quickly, everything happened. Catching the loud noises that were coming from the the grove where their fathers were fighting, the two-legged cubs veered around in horror and caught sight of the gleeming eyes that were spying at them out of the bushes, gradually approaching closer to the place where they were standing. Now that his advantage of secrecy was gone, Grog quickly decided on a course of action. Charging through the bracken, howling and snarling, he headed straight towards his first chosen victim: the fat hobbit who had just arrived.

[Regin Hardhammer]

In a state of panic, Harold watched as his beloved pony Daisy sprinted back toward camp. A ferocious wolf glared at him intently, with a ravenous grin on its gnarled face. The other two beasts, wild and battle-scared, attacked Grandpa Fordo and Kalimac. Although Harold tried to be attentive, the wolves had still managed to ambush them and force them to retreat. He desperately thought of the children and prayed that the wolves had not harmed them yet.

“Get out of my way,” Harold yelled at the wolf, “I’ve got to get to my children.” No beast was going to stop him from saving poor May and Henry. The wolf crouched and prepared to lunge at Harold. Before it could spring, Harold hastily grabbed his scythe, which had fallen to the ground. He lashed out with it at the savage creature. Harold watched the animal recoil, with a look of astonishment that such a little creature could defend itself.

Suddenly, a mighty paw slammed into Harold’s leg. Sharp claws ripped through Harold’s worn pants and grazed his tan skin. He let out a piercing cry as pain hit like lightening and surged through his body. Blood trickled out from the edge of the gash and dripped onto the shady forest floor that was covered in layers of leaves. Harold stumbled, but caught himself before tumbling to the ground, and swung his scythe with even greater force at his attacker. The blade grazed the wolf’s ear, making a small notch, as the wolf sprang back. Harold himself was quite surprised that he had managed to land a blow to the beast. Although he had used his scythe many times before, he had never tried to attack anything with it. The Hobbit was not very proficient with weapons and had no experience with them. If I knew how to fight well, I would be able to beat these wolves and rescue my children.

Harold began to tire of swinging his weapon, and he feared that the wolf would soon close in on him. His strokes grew steadily shorter. He looked about despairingly, searching for any sign of rescue. Kalimac, riding on Staddle, had managed to subdue the wolf attacking him for a moment. He rode towards Harold and hesitated for a moment before offering his hand. Harold grasped Kalimac’s outstretched arm and swung himself onto the pony. Harold felt very relieved, but the wolves moved in on the two Hobbits and resumed their attack.

[Arestevana]

Elsa stared after Kalimac’s retreating back in disbelief. He wants me to stay behind? Kal, you’re mad! Our children are lost and you want me to stay behind!? There was only one acceptable reaction. Elsa tightened her grip on the broom and ran after her husband.

After only a few steps, Elsa was breathing hard. The three ponies had already reached the forest’s edge. Sarah Chubb ran past Elsa, who realized that the other woman was much stronger than she. Elsa sped up, determined that Sarah should not reach the forest first. Soon both ladies were forced to halt as Marcho headed them off just short of the forest’s edge.

“Elsa, Sarah, I know you’re worried sick, but there is nothing you can do.” He told them. . “Go back to your wagons…no, better yet, go to my wagon. Estella is there and she will be armed.” But I am armed! Elsa wanted to shout. Here was a harder decision, though. Could she disobey both her husband and the appointed leader of their group?

Obediently, Elsa turned around and headed toward the wagon. She could hear Sarah close behind. Marcho left, apparently satisfied that they were following his instructions. Elsa turned to face Mrs. Chubb. “I apologize for today’s argument, and anything offensive that I said.” She mumbled, not meeting Sarah’s eyes. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, my children are lost in the woods.” She turned away, not waiting for an answer, and began running toward the forest again.

“Whoa, Elsa.” Sarah called, easily catching up. “It’s not just your children that’s lost, it’s May and Henry too. I’m coming” Elsa did not respond; already she was panting. She was not sure whether her apology had been accepted, but she was grateful for the company.

Elsa’s appreciation for Sarah’s companionship increased tenfold when they entered the forest. She struggled through the underbrush, batting at vines and branches with her broom. The ponies should have left a path easy to follow, but their trail seemed to vanish after several yards. Elsa glanced around helplessly, reluctant to ask for Sarah’s guidance.

Suddenly a low howl rippled from the woods just ahead of the women. Elsa whimpered and clutched her broom. A chorus of howling erupted from further in. Sarah plunged into the bushes ahead, moving toward the fierce howling with admirable determination. Elsa followed with considerable reluctance. After several frightening moments of blind racing, Elsa knew that she was well and truly lost. She caught up to Sarah, who had paused briefly, and voiced a troublesome question. “Which way now?”

Sarah was kept from answering by a thunderous crashing in the brush. A cart pony burst from the foliage in a wild dash. Sarah let out a cry and made a grab for the animal, but it evaded her and continued in it’s mad flight from the forest. Trying to still her pounding heart, Elsa noticed with detached puzzlement that Sarah was once again tearing through the forest at an alarming speed. The thought of being left behind frightened Elsa more than the sudden realization that Sarah’s path, like the ponies, seemed to be vanishing quickly.

Elsa followed as quickly as she could, trying to imagine the purpose behind Sarah’s sudden haste. Branches, roots, and other obstacles were proffered by the forest with unrelenting generosity, and it became increasingly difficult for Elsa to think and run at the same time. It had something to do with the pony… That was the Chubb’s pony, Elsa thought, tripping over a log. She loosened her broom from the grip of a vine for what seemed the hundredth time.

The Chubb’s pony, so Harold must have been riding it… It was too clear even for Elsa to miss. The image of the riderless pony came back to her mind with the chilling realization. Something must have happened to Harold. Even though Elsa did not consider Mr. Chubb a friend, the thought of the usually cheerful hobbit lying dead or gravely wounded in this hostile forest disturbed her terribly. Harold was armed. If something has happened to him, what of Alora and Crispin? What if we’re too late?

[alaklondewen]

Adelard’s period of slight adoration of Mayflower Chubb fell quickly short when the sounds of shouting and struggles caught his attention. Spinning on his heals, a gasp escape his throat when he met the gaze of a great wolf that was positioned just outside the circle of the grove. Before the young hobbits could react, the beast leapt forward aiming for the horrified Adelard. The weight of the hefty animal knocked the hobbit to the ground, but it was unable to rip at the victim’s vulnerable throat because Adelard forced his forearm over his head and managed to lodge it between the jaws of the massive wolf.

As the two struggled, the other youngsters stood with mouths gaping unsure of what they could possible do to aid in their fellow hobbit. It was at this point that young Henry remembered the flint he had placed in his pocket after he had helped with the bonfire earlier that evening. Working as quickly as he could move, Henry pulled out the flint and proceeded to strike the pieces together over a dried, leafy branch that lied next to the log upon which they took their rest. May seemed to instantly understand her brother’s intent and grabbed another branch.

The produced sparks quickly took hold of the parched leaves and soon flames licked upwards generating a blaze of light that startled the wolf long enough to loosen Adelard’s bleeding arm. The young prey cried out as the teeth pulled from his skin, and he was able to kick the beast’s belly. At the same time, Henry and May, with branches ablaze, swung their weapons toward the wolf. A flaming leaf flew from Henry’s bough and landed directly between the raging wolf’s ears, causing it to cry out in pain and recoil. Adelard took the opportunity to roll out from under the beast, protecting his injury with his other arm.

The great wolf recuperated quickly and lowered himself over his haunches, ready to attack again, when a great ruckus was heard coming through the trees……….

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

Stout whinnied in terror as the great she-wolf loped toward them, her tongue hanging out between yellowed teeth, her eyes ablaze with a terrible hunger. Fordogrim just had time to realise that neither Harold nor Kalimac would be able to help him when the wolf was beneath Stout, slashing at his faithful pony’s flanks. Stout screamed with pain as one paw raked its way through the flesh of his belly, and rearing, he spun about. Fordogrim gripped the saddle with his free hand and tried to hit the wolf with the only weapon he had – his cane – but the knotted wood only cut through the air as he flailed about uselessly. Again, the wolf lunged at the pony and Stout turned about, Fordogrim thought to run away, but his old friend’s heart was apparently made of sterner stuff. As the wolf made for them, Stout lashed out with a hind leg, neatly catching the monster on the side of her shaggy head.

The wolf staggered back and fell against a tree, yelping and spitting in anger. But she soon righted herself, and lowered her belly to the ground. Now, the thrill of the hunt was gone from her eyes, and there was only a blind hatred. She glared at Stout and Fordogrim with the look of a beast intent upon destruction and rapine. Fordogrim knew that all thoughts of food were now gone from her mind; all she wanted was to kill, and to feel the blood of her prey course over her teeth. She took her time in this attack, circling around the slower moving pony, whose own movements were beginning to slow down from the pain of his wound. The wolf soon got behind them both and immediately sprang. Fordogrim turned in his saddle and lashed out with his cane. “Get away you mongrel!” he cried, sure that it was the last thing he would ever say.

Whether the hobbit or the wolf was more surprised by what happened next would be hard to say, for despite the dark and the sudden murderous speed of the beast, and the staggering gait of the pony, and Fordogrim’s failing eyesight, his cane somehow found the top of the wolf’s head. With a sound like that of a stone falling onto pavements, the wolf’s head was driven downward by the knotted wood of the cane. At that very moment, Stout had kicked out his legs in one last desperate attempt to leap forward and save his master, and as the wolf’s head went down it met the pony's hooves on the way up. There was another sound, this time, like a small door slamming shut as the wolf’s lower jaw was driven upward into her skull. She let out a howl of the purest agony as her sharp teeth cut through her tongue, and she fell to the earth splitting blood and trying to see through the welter of stars that swam before her vision.

Fordogrim wasted no time to gloat over his lucky victory. Looking about he saw Harold and Kalimac mounted upon the Whitfoot’s thoroughbred, facing the other two wolves. Spurring Stout toward them he pulled up at their side, brandishing his cane above his head and letting fly with what he hoped sounded like a fearsome cry of defiance. “Me and my Stout have handled one of these monsters! Let’s deal with these last two curs and send them back to the mother as whelped them!”

[Memory of Trees]

Adelard never had a chance to answer her question. He turned as if to speak to her, and then everything began to happen so fast that May could only watch in horror. A massive, grey-furred animal leapt snarling from the darkened woods and knocked him to the ground, sinking its great teeth into his pudgy arm. She screamed in shock as blood squirted from the wound, splattering crimson on the ground.

Then came a cry behind her and Henry ran forward, whirling a burning branch wildly above his head and yelling at the top of his lungs. May caught on at once. Catching up the torch from Henry as he ran past her, she thrust a fallen tree branch into the fire. The dry wood crackled and burst at once into flame, sending a shower of sparks flying out through the air as she spun it out in front of her.

May didn’t go rushing forward as Henry had. She advanced slowly upon the wolf, waving her burning stick in front of her, because she knew that wolves do not often hunt alone, and she was not going to be caught unawares. May stood about four feet away before the wolf took notice of her. He lifted his great shaggy head, Adelard’s limp arm still dangling from his mouth, and stared directly into her eyes.

It was as if all time had stopped. The howling of the wolves and cries of the children and the roaring of the flame in her hand ceased to be for May, and there was only she and the wolf; all the rest of the world had faded away, was no longer important. And May thought had never seen something so proud, so beautiful in her entire life as when she stared into the eyes of that wolf, so majestic, and above all, wild.

But the evil in his eyes betrayed him, and May raised her chin and glared right back the snarling wolf, the flaming branch in her hand. She stared into the hateful eyes of the wolf, and she laughed. There May was, in the middle of the forest, surrounded by wolves and alone, and she laughed in his face. She laughed because she was not afraid. She laughed and laughed, because her name was Mayflower Chubb, and she was stronger than the wolf. May threw her head back and howled like a wolf, spinning her flame around her head, laughing wildly because she could.

Then May released the branch, and it kept on spinning right smack into the wolf, and it clung to his thick fur, and he yelped as his it caught fire. The wolf turned tail and ran howling back into the forest, trailing sparks from his coat. And time went back to normal, and May saw Henry standing and staring at her. She stopped laughing, because there was nothing funny about what she saw next.

Huge, snarling wolves were coming into the clearing from every possible angle, and now May had no stick. They were completely and hopelessly surrounded. I’m going to die, she thought numbly. All this, and now I’m going to die.

But May didn’t, for at that moment a shout came from the forest and help came crashing up to them, yelling and brandishing torches and sticks. May felt weak with relief as they immediately started in on the wolves, but had the presence of mind to check on the unmoving Adelard. She hurried to his side, and at first she was horrified by the thought that he might be dead. The boy lay still and pale, and his arm was turned a funny way. But no, he had just fainted, she realized to her relief. The arm looked broken, though.

“Oh, Adelard!” May sighed as she knelt beside him. “Why couldn’t you just stay home? Then none of this would have happened to you! Of all the vexing boys in the world…” But as she spoke poor Adelard turned and moaned feverishly, and her brow furrowed with concern. The sounds of the “battle” around her had become quieter, and she knew the wolves would soon be driven off.

Reaching forward, she took the boy’s good hand. It was hot and dirty, and she pressed it between her own cool hands. “It’ll be all right soon,” she crooned, and then fiercely, “But I hope you know, Adelard Proudfoot, that you very well could have been killed!”