Sailing Away RPG

[Firefoot]

Camp that night was about as cheery as could be, under the circumstances. They made camp fairly early for various reasons, the most prominent one being to catch some fish, but also so that they might rest. They had had little sleep and most were unaccustomed to such long days of hiking. Feet were sore and everyone was relieved at the chance to sit down. Sassy volunteered some fishing line which she had found in a pocket, and make-shift poles were made from branches. A few hobbits were set up with fishing poles by the river, but after an hour or so they had still caught only two fish, and those not particularly large. No one wanted to wait any longer for their dinners, and so the two fish were cooked at their little campfire and they had a fair meal when combined with the food left over from lunch. Certainly, it was not up to hobbit standards and any one of them could have done with a bit more food, but they weren’t precisely hungry any more.

What concerned Sondo was that now they really were out of food. They would be relying solely on their abilities to find and catch food, and from what he could see wildlife was none too plentiful. Besides, catching food took time. His outlook was bleak, for just the same as he had not known how far away Sarn Ford was, so also did he not know how far away from home they were. He tried to cheer himself by thinking they were doing all right so far and it would get better, but underneath it all he was worried. In his fourteen years of life he had never gone without; now, adventure or not, they had very few basic means for survival. Luckily, there was a clear stream not far from their camp; he did not fancy drinking the muddy waters of the Brandywine. But what would they do if they did not find fresh water? They had no water bottles. He was worried, very worried. Already he had been criticized for his leadership, though nothing yet was truly his fault. What would happen when they went hungry? The responsibilities associated with the title “leader” were being heaped on him like never before. What was he to do?

Nevertheless, he tried to keep a friendly, cheerful attitude for the sake of the other hobbits. They trusted him, to a greater or lesser degree, and he did his best. Even in his grim outlook, he was having fun now. Surely that counted for something. So he tried to put off the negative thoughts and joined the banter surrounding the fire until it began to get dark and hobbits started yawning.

A mention of standing watch through the night was made. A couple looked surprised that it might be necessary, and for himself Sondo had not even thought of it; others appeared concerned that it might be necessary. It sounded like a good “just-in-case” type of plan, and so most of the hobbits agreed fairly readily. So they drew lots for watches, and Sondo sighed resignedly at getting one smack in the middle of the night. He had wanted a good night’s rest.

He fell asleep soon enough, though, and slept deeply until he was awakened abruptly just past midnight for his watch. He got up tiredly and found a rock to sit down upon. For the most part, his watch was uneventful as he had expected. He had told Falco that morning that he heard wolves during the night, even though he actually hadn’t, because it seemed a good argument in the heat of the moment. Now, however, he really did hear them. They sounded far off but it was chilling nonetheless. Such a tangible threat was not lightly shaken off. The howls faded, however, and he heard no more during his watch.

~*~*~*~

The next few days were increasingly dreary. In the morning of their first full day since the split, they left the woods behind and the ground became increasingly more hilly. At first, they tried to continue to stay close to the river, but the bank was extremely uneven and in staying a little further back they were forced to continue up and down the hills. This was extremely tiring, and during their “lunch break” (they still called it this even though there was no lunch to be had) they decided to stay in the ravines between the hills in order to avoid the continuous climbing. In theory, this was a good idea, but in practice it led them further and further from the river, even though they tried to keep left. Ultimately, they were too worn out and hungry to realize just how far they had strayed from their path; it turned out that by the time they stopped the river was not even in sight on top of the hills. All Sondo was sure of was that they were heading more or less north.

The following days continued in much the same way. Hunger became almost constant, for the land was basically void of any edible vegetation, and only once did the succeed in catching a scrawny coney in the snares they left overnight. It had tasted good that night, but the end result was that it merely sharpened their hunger in the following day. Along with the hunger came weariness; they had sleep enough but without food to sustain the energy needed for their hiking, they were all but spent. And the grime! None of them had had a proper bath in days, and there was no getting away from the dirt of travelling. No more mention was made of breaking off of their main path and venturing east; they mostly wanted to go home now if only for the reason of having their needs taken care of. What he wouldn’t do for a hot meal and bath followed by sleep in a real bed. Sondo’s attempts at cheering the others became fewer and less convincing, for he himself was able to find little cheer. Also contributing was the stark absence of Falco and Reggie. Though only mentioned in whispers if at all, they were all sharply aware of the empty spaces. Several time did he wonder how the pair were making out, and whether they had made it to Sarn Ford and found supplies. Perhaps Falco had had the right idea after all; it was certainly taking them long enough to get anywhere - maybe Sarn Ford had been closer than he realized. But there was no going back.

They had continued to keep watch at night, as well, more for the sake of doing it than for any other reason, for as yet no threat had been detected. Sondo did not hear the wolves any more until several days later; he was pretty sure it was the seventh night since they had left Buckland. He could not believe that they had only been out a week; it seemed so much longer. He was not sure that they foreboded well, but passed it off. Their situation could not get much worse, and he thought that if the wolves were going to come after them they would have done so already. During these lonely watches he had only his memories and dreams to sustain him: memories of those first few days, and wistful dreams of how their adventure might have gone. For all their miserable conditions, adventure to him was still very much romanticized. Adventurers went off and after beating off the bad guys and maybe fighting a battle or two came home with treasure and none the worse for wear. This adventure was going all wrong! Adventurers were not always tired and hungry. They did not have to face mutiny. He would not let himself face the truth, that adventure wasn’t always what the stories made it out to be. He wouldn’t, or couldn’t, maybe, for then all hope he had in this venture would disappear completely. He was convinced that there had to be something more to it.

But so far there wasn’t. And after five days since the raft had crashed, Sondo had lost all hope that there would be. Even without hope, though, he kept on believing that it would get better. It had to. They set camp yet once again on the eighth evening. It would get better.

[Child of the 7th Age]

Bingo was beginning to wonder if they could possibly be walking in circles. They had only taken a few days to journey down river on the raft. Why would their trip back home be taking so long? They couldn't even see the river any more. Maybe they had veered off to the west and would never get back to Buckland again. That thought made him exceedingly gloomy.

At least the members of their party weren't squabbling with one another. But it was not long before Bingo began to feel that the long periods of silence were even harder to take than some good honest fighting. Perhaps his friends were afraid to say what was on their minds because they had lost all hope of ever returning.

The grime and hunger were an annoyance to Bingo, but no more than that. He could have ignored the gnawing sensation in his stomach and the fact that his shirt now looked little better than a dirty old rag, if only his brother was with him. Bingo missed Reggie more than he could ever put in words. His whole life had been spent beside his brother. He had consoled himself at the death of his parents by saying that at least he still had a family in the shape of Reggie. Now Reggie was gone, and Bingo was feeling very lonely. Whenever he thought he heard a noise in the bushes or a footfall coming behind them on the path, he whirled around to see if his brother was there. But every time he had been disappointed. Still, he hadn't entirely given up hope. Whether they reached Buckland or not, Bingo was not at all certain. But something inside his head still reassured him that somehow, someway, Reggie would find his way back with or without Falco, and they would be together again.

[Encaitare]

His traveling had been difficult and lonely... although lonely was the worst part, he thought.

Reggie had been wandering along the riverbank as best he could until the terrain became too difficult to manage. He had then turned away from the river, figuring that the others most likely would have gone that way as well. Unfortunately for him, he had not thought of his food situation very well. He had eaten most of the berries he had found early on, and was a good distance away from the Brandywine before it dawned on him that he really should have fished while he still could. Then he remembered that he had no line or hook, so it wouldn't have made too much difference.

I could have used my shirt as a net, he thought inconsequentially now as he continued through the bare land. His third day without Falco was coming to a close, and he figured he must have covered a considerable distance. He had risen as early as he could, and continued quite late every night in the hopes of catching up. Now he was tired and hungry, and decided that it was time to stop and rest.

Somewhat anxiously, he settled down by a mound of dirt and dug himself in backwards enough that he felt relatively safe. He had heard wolves last night, and hoped that the small shelter would be enough to provide him at least a little protection. Their mournful howling had frightened him to no end, not only for himself, but for all of his companions, wherever they might be. Trying to empty his mind of all his worries, he drifted off to sleep.

When he woke, it was still dark out. The moon provided enough light to see by, but it was still unsettling. It was the dark of deepest night when all the world was asleep, and anyone who was not was left to fend for himself against all the creatures of the night. He remembered the scary stories some of his older cousins had told him, delighting him with tales of monsters. But that had all been okay then, because he would always go to sleep that night in a cozy bed in Brandy Hall, knowing that he was safe from harm. Now every story he had ever been told seemed as though it might come true.

Reggie gulped as he heard a distant baying. He felt that there was not a chance of falling asleep again, and so he rolled out of his little hollow, causing some dirt to fall on him, down the back of his shirt and into his hair. He combed his fingers through his knotty hair to get the dirt out (largely unsuccessfully), stretched his short limbs, and walked on.

He continued as one in a dream, not following any consciously chosen course, but just allowing his grimy feet to take him where they would. Twice he stumbled in his tiredness; once he fairly tripped and fell on his face. Yet the thought of the night monsters was enough to make him keep walking. To sleep was to be vulnerable when one was lost and alone.

I shall have to sleep in the day and travel by night if this keeps up much longer, he thought irrationally, getting fairly giddy in his lack of sleep. He felt as though he just might laugh in the face of some big old wolf if it came snuffling along, looking for a nice little hobbit for supper. Everything was going so strangely and so wrong -- what did he care if something else terrible should happen?

He entered a rocky patch of land. The sharp stones beneath his feet did not cut him, but certainly forced him to pay more attention to what was going on. A good thing it was, too, for he just thought he had heard someone say, "Hello?"

Ridiculous. Who would possibly be awake out here at this time of night? Reggie shook his head. He was going mad like they said old Mr. Baggins was.

"Hello?" No, there it was again, clear as the stars above him. He wasn't dreaming after all.

"Is anyone there?" The voice did not sound scared, but hopeful. Suddenly Reggie was wide awake. He knew that voice -- it was Bingo's.

"Bingo?" he asked, taking a few steps forward.

"Reggie? Is that you?" He heard the scuffling sound of someone standing up. Reggie flew forward and nearly knocked his brother over in an embrace.

"I'm so sorry, Bingo," he said, tears coming to his eyes. "I'll never abandon you again, I promise! Don't hate me... I'm so sorry."

[Child of the 7th Age]

"Hate you? I don't hate you. I am so happy to see you alive and well. Don't you look fine!" Bingo leaned over and engulfed Reggie's frame in a big bear hug. Then Bingo peered at his brother more closely and burst out in laughter. "Actually, you don't look fine at all. You look worse than I do, which is saying a lot. What I wouldn't give for a tub filled with hot water just for the two of us. Whatever possessed us to go on this little trip? It's certainly a good thing I got up. I was lying on the ground with tree roots sticking me in the back. I swear that they were moving, and I couldn't get to sleep. Then something inside my head whispered a warning to get up and go for a walk."

With a grin of affection spreading over his face, Bingo reached out to tousle his brother's ragged curls. Reggie's clothes were streaked with leaves and dirt. Long rips disfigured his shirt, and his hair was matted. But he looked like the finest thing Bingo had seen in a long time. "Don't the two of us make a picture! Aunt Hilde and Aunt Opal would make us wash in the shed for at least ten years to scrape all this dirt off." With a sigh Bingo added, "Well, it can't be helped. We'll just have to pull together to get ourselves out of this mess. Come on back to camp. I know everyone will be happy to see you."

As they walked along the trail, they talked of little things: how loud their stomachs were growling from lack of adequate food, how they would gladly undergo a whipping just to get a plate of Aunt Opal's biscuits, and how dark and mysterious the forest seemed at night. When they finally reached the edge of the encampment, Bingo stopped for a moment. He hesitated, uncertain what to say, but then plunged ahead, "I'm sure Sondo is going to want to know how Falco is, and whether you made it to the Ford. Maybe Falco sent a message through you?" Bingo looked expectently at his brother, but Reggie did not respond. At that moment, their attention was diverted by noises and shuffling in the camp. At least one other hobbit seemed to be stirring and awake.

[Crystal Heart]

Sam hears noises in the night

It was awfully dark and he was cold and hungry. And there, poking him in the side was the tip of some unfriendly tree’s root. Sam curled up in a little ball and huddled as best he could beneath his cloak. He was just on the brink of a little more sleep when the sound of feet scuffling along tapped at his consciousness and then voices drew nearer, bringing him fully awake.

At first, he was afraid. Who would be walking toward the Hobbit camp talking? Ruffians? Or worse yet, Orcs? Sam tried to be as still as he could, hoping they wouldn’t see him, but just a little, lumpy rock beneath a tree. He quieted his breathing and pushed his hands a little against his grumbly stomach to make it stop gurgling. His ears were straining to catch the sound of Orcish chatter . . .

‘Maybe Falco sent a message through you?’ drifted out to him from the darkness.

Wait a minute! Either he was dreaming still, or Falco had really turned against them. Sam pinched himself to make sure he was awake, then listened all the harder. It didn’t sound like he thought Orcs should . . . but still it could be ruffians. Then, the voices stopped and so did the footsteps.

Well, he couldn’t let the bad ‘uns get his friends! He picked up a good sized rock and rose up from his sleeping place, intending to clonk the ruffians on the head.

But there, in the pale moonlight, was Bingo . . . and Reggie! Sam rubbed his eyes, and took another look, making sure. He went running toward the two brothers, dropping the rock as he ran.

‘Hey! Wake up everybody!’ he called out with a grin on his face. ‘Reggie’s back!’

[Primrose Bolger]

Sassy had given up completely on her mop of curls. So matted and tangled were they that not even her attempt to use her stubby fingers to pry apart the knots was of any use. With a sigh she pulled out one of the large checkered napkins she’d brought the cookies in and folding it into as neat a triangle as she could, tied it round her head and behind her ears like a little bandana. At least any straggling curls would be kept out of her face, she thought.

She heard voices at the far edge of their rough little camp and stood up, wondering who was talking. It was barely first light; the moon had not yet set, and darkness still covered much of the area. The mists were rising from the ground as the sun's light crept just to the horizon, making it hard to see clearly in the still dark distance. Sassy shivered in the chill morning air. Her little cloak was stiff with dirt and the rips in it let the cold seep through. She stamped her feet as she picked up her pack and slung it on her back. Moving a little closer to the source of the voices, she was delighted to learn that Reggie had abandoned that mean boy, Falco, and come back to their little group. She could see Bingo looking at him fondly at him, relieved to have his brother back. ‘I wish I was born a boy,’ she thought to herself, looking wistfully at the two. ‘Then maybe Sondo would like me better.’ She waved at Reggie when he glanced toward her, and was about to go up and greet him. But someone else had beat her to it, and so she turned away.

With a resigned little sigh, she turned back to where she’d been sleeping. In a small copse of ash and oak, a little ways away from their camp, she’d set her traps. Her hopes were dim that she’d find anything . . . there had been nothing caught for a number of days. But her luck had shifted it seemed, last night, and there were two fine, fat coneys caught in the rope loops, their necks broken. She took them down and wound up the loop rope traps, stuffing them securely into one of her pack pockets. The coneys she slung over her back and made her way as quickly as she could back to camp.

Everyone it seemed was gathered about the returned Reggie. So, her own return remained unnoticed, if indeed anyone had even noticed she had been gone. Shrugging off her ‘left out’ feelings, she concentrated on getting a little fire going. And once done, she skinned and gutted the well fed, if unfortunate, coneys; spitted them each on thin, ash tree branches she’d brought back from the little thicket; and set them to roasting over the small fire.

Sassy sat near the fire to tend the spits. She sniffed appreciatively as the heat cooked the meat. ‘If we quarter them,’ she thought, her tummy growling, ‘there’ll be a good sized chunk for everyone and a bit more.’ She snorted, thinking how Falco would not get a bit of her coneys. Sassy could just hear her Gammer saying how it was best to be kind even to those who spited you. But she just didn’t feel very kind at the moment . . . only very hungry and glad there would someone’s portion for the rest of them to share.

[piosenniel]

Sam

The first faint smell of roasting meat drew Sam like a magnet. He was glad to see Reggie, and hopeful at first that perhaps he had brought back some food from Falco’s camp. But Reggie’s tummy growled as loudly as Sam’s, letting him know there was no hope there.

Then . . . a delicious odor tickled his nose and sent his mouth watering.

Sam turned in the direction of the enticing smell, hoping his mind was not playing tricks on him. There on the other side of the camp was Sassy, crouched down near a small fire she’d started. He could see her hands reach out to turn a spit to either side, now and then. And on each of those spits was a plump coney! He drew near the fire and crouched down, himself, near Sassy.

‘I’ll tend to this one, and you can tend to the other,’ he offered, nodding at the coney to his left. ‘We’ll get them done up in no time with two of us cooking!’ He pulled out the little knife he had in his pocket. ‘I can help with the cutting, too,’ he said, his eyes gleaming at the prospect of a hot meal.

‘Going to be a good day,’ he thought to himself, grinning as he watched the coney turn a nice golden brown and smelled the fat dripping from it sizzle on the coals.