Outracing the Flames RPG

[Nogrod]

Osmod led them to the river. Sythric stayed somewhere among the last one's, trying to hide his feelings. But then they all saw the situation. There was the rafter’s house, the boathouse, and the quay, where the ferry would be. There were a couple of sheds and a swing that had seen it’s best days long time ago.The swing particularly, gave rise to some more eerie feelings, thinking about the laughter and joy of the children swinging in it, now totally absent. Childrens’ voices echoed around the place as grim reminders of the state of the affairs.

But the ferry was not there! Looking at the other side of the river, they saw it. People had evacuated, leaving the ferry to the west bank of the river! The river was about 100 yards wide on the spot and the currents were a bit milder – that was the reason why the ferry had been built just here in the first place. But surely it would take quite an effort for anyone to swim over – horses anyhow probably couldn’t do it without drifting unforeseen mileages south. There was no sign of the ropes either, the ropes with which you could pull the ferry over. The wheels by which this had been done, lay idly by the quay, stripped naked of the ropes. And getting the ferry going without the ropes, would take at least three people: two for the “oars” and one for steering towards upriver – and thence balancing the currents.

“This is most unwelcome news, I must say.” Said Sythric, breaking the silence to which everyone had fallen. “Although it’s quite natural. No-one would leave a usable ferry to this side of the river, to be destroyed by a random orc-party. And when the next villages and towns reach this spot, they will have able-bodied and stern men enough to swim over, and get the ferry back here – even without the ropes. We surely can’t blame people of this town for being careful with the ferry. But now we are in trouble.”

[Tevildo]

Leod pressed his body flat against the rugged wall of the root cellar, shrinking back into the shadows. He had opened the outer door a scant inch or two in a fruitless attempt to hear what was going on above. So far, the strangers invading his house had not found their way down to his cellar. Leod was not surprised. The entrance to the underground chamber was so cleverly concealed that very few of his neighbors knew of its existence. He had used the room for many years, mixing and testing his herbal potions. Whatever their other advantages, the Orcs were rather short on brains and had been completely unaware that he had found refuge just a few feet underneath the cottage floor. He had huddled low in the darkness, silent and shaking in fear, as the mob had trampled through the village, burning and killing.

Since that terrible moment, Leod had remained hidden within his underground sanctuary, emerging only to snatch a few supplies and crawl back inside. He had finally decided it might be safe to go outside and see if there was anyone else alive. But just when he'd made that decision, a new party of invaders had fallen upon his house. Leod inched forward out of the cellar to get a closer look at the thieves. At least, they were not Orcs. Even so, they seemed to be human ruffians of the worst sort. One was pillaging through the sacks he'd placed on one of the chairs. Worst of all, they'd begun to steal herbs and fruits out of his garden. How dare they? That garden was more dear to him than anything he possessed. The village depended on his potions. Some of the herbs were extremely rare, useful in the treatment of many ailments.

Leod watched with growing anger as the man pillaged through the canvas sacks. He would not take it any more. Picking up the only thing that might serve as a weapon, Leod waited for the woman to go out the door, rhen rushed forward and, with a mighty heave, lunged towards Brand, grazing the side of his head with the shovel.

[Folwren]

Wulfham


Smoke. . .there was so much smoke. . .and ashes. Every gust, every breath of wind, caused whole handfuls of ash to swirl up in the air. Nothing was left of her home. Nothing, except for the ruined, stone fireplace against which Athwen cowered. One hand covered her mouth, the other arm wrapped about her head. Her tears were spent, and her eyes burned because of it.

Why? She couldn’t stop the question from turning over and over again in her head any more than she could answer it. They hadn’t caused any trouble, they hadn’t done anything wrong. They were a peace living people without an evil thought to share among them, why this? Couldn’t it have been somewhere else? And why had she been spared? She should have been home with her mother, she should have been baking the evening bread, but no! She had gone out to ride, and she had ridden a long way and come back oh, far too late.

A choked cry escaped from her mouth and she shut her eyes and drew her knees more tightly against her chest, trembling at the sound. Why? She didn’t know. Maybe the dead would hear her.

How long she sat thus, crouched beside the ruined fireplace, Athwen didn’t know. Time passed unnoticed, but seeming to take an eternity. The dead corpses of her family, and everyone she had known her entire life were strewn about the ground, some near, many others farther away, all lying amid the burned and smoking ruin of their homes, some untouched by fire, others half burned. She dared not lift her eyes. Not until a sound pierced the unnatural stillness. . .

Athwen’s eyes slowly opened, and then her arm, aching with having been clamped so long and so hard about her head, slowly relaxed and lowered. Her other hand dropped and she lifted her head; slowly, slowly - afraid to move, afraid to be seen. Upward by degrees, she raised her eyes and looked. A short distance away, two horsemen were walked carefully through the burnt ruins of the houses and buildings. She could not see their faces clearly, her eyes were bleary and weak, but she could make out the familiar form of horse and rider. They rode slowly towards her, down what used to be the main road through the village. Athwen forced her legs to move and she slowly and achingly stood up. Her hand shot outwards towards the fireplace to help support herself and a loose stone fell with a clatter.

A thought of caution flashed through her mind. Had they heard that? Would they hurt her, or help? It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered, really. Her hand dropped away from her support and she looked up again towards them. Yes, one of them had caught sound of the falling stone, and now they both turned their horse’s heads towards her. Her clear blue eyes watched them, and she waited in silence, neither worried nor anxious for them to finally stop and address her.

[Naria]

Wulfham


Incana and Dorran made their way towards the West side of the village, "So much destruction, it seems to have taken much more damage than the East side of the village. Do you think that this is where the onslot of the rampage had begun?"

Her boots were getting heavy with mud and ash and she had to stop and sweep the excess off every few steps. The one time that she was bending over to do this, however, she happened to spy something ugly and hopefully dead lying on the ground to her left. Incana hadn't seen any such creature before, thus not knowing its breed or type. All the woman knew was that it was hideous and it smelt bad. This one wasn't as badly charred as some of the others that she saw earlier, the smell was the creature itself. Incana's gag reflex went into action as she approached it, "phew this is truly horrible" waving her hand in front of her face looking at Dorran. She hesitantly gave it a quick kick in the foot, nothing. She gave it another kick, nothing. Courage was building the more Incana kicked the creature's feet, one more good hoof and she was satisfied that it was dead.

The reason for her even wanting to go near something that wretched was to retrieve an axe out of its head. Incana put one foot on its stomach and the other firmly planted on the ground, and pulled. The axe came out with surprising ease, she held out the tool and said to Dorran, "Look what I've found, we could surely use this to chop wood." Incana attached the axe to Starlight's pack and got back into the saddle to continue their survey.

The slow gate of the two horses didn't get the couple too much further from the found dead creature, when Incana heard what seemed like a stone being dropped or thrown. She immediately brought the mare to a halt and listened intently for any further disturbances. Incana looked down and saw that the dog had also heard the noise, he was frozen in his steps and had his hackles raised starring at the door to a cottage. She whispered to Dorran, "Did you hear that? I think that sound came from in there." A sudden fear rushed over Incana and thought that the noise may be one of those creatures that she came across. She decided to wait and see what Dorran wanted to do before investigating any further.

While Incana waited for Dorran to think, a horse came from what it seemed out of nowhere. She immediately noticed that it still wore its saddle and halter and thought this to be curious. She had yet to see another horse and wondered why would a horse let loose in a pasture have all of its equipment on. Sensing no immediate danger, the lone horse had very little problem approaching the two riders and greeted them with a low grunt. Incana did not make a sound, she gave the horse a rub on the cheek for reassurance and took hold of its reins and sat quietly.

[Maeggaladiel]

Fionn stared stupidly at the distant ferry for several long moments, his tired brain struggling to comprehend the situation. Half of his mind was still preoccupied with the horror of the ghost village, and another large slice was busy worrying about Bregoware and his family. That left a rather small section to wrap itself around the problem of the ferry.

Overwhelmed, the boy rubbed his forehead with the back of his hand. At first he was willing to urge his horse forward anyway, letting the mare swim across. But luckily, a sliver of common sense slapped him in the face and pointed out the current. He and the horse would end up seven miles downstream before they reached the other shore. Fionn discarded that idea. The ferry was still the best way to cross the river.

But how to reach it? Slowly his mind let go of the images of the deserted village and turned to face the problem at hand. The sooner they crossed, the sooner they could get away from this place. And that suited all parts of Fionn's mind just fine.

They might be able to manage a crossing if they had some rope, he thought. But there was no way that anyone would be carrying that much rope with them. So how would this town handle such a problem? It was their ferry, so they had to have some kind of plan in case of accidents like this.

"Perhaps we should check the buildings around the river," Fionn suggested. He had to speak loudly over the rushing of the current, which made him uncomfortable. "The boat-houses and the ferry-master's quarters might have something we could use." Fionn knew nothing about boats, but he figured that someone else might.

He felt a little uncomfortable about rooting through someone else's belongings, but it might be the only way to cross the river and continue their journey.

[Valier]

Wulfham

Vaenosa stood outside the dwelling, staring in throught the open door for a long moment. Brand had disappeared into one of the cottages after she told him she was going in search of some supplies and hopefully some horses. She felt a shiver go up her spine as she held her breath and stepped inside. It was a small, cozy place, not unlike her own. In the center stood a large wooden table clad with settings for five people. The family who lived here must have been about to sit down to sup, when the attacks started. The food on the table was starting to turn, causing the air in the small space to be sicklingly sweet. Moving towards the cooking area in search of some food, Vaenosa's foot moved something on the floor. She bent to retrieve it when she realized it was a child's doll. It was made of straw, with horse's hair upon it's head. Turning it over in her hand Vaenosa fingered the dress it wore gently. It was worn and dirty from a child's hands, who had held it dearly. Perhaps the child dropped it in the panic to flee to safety. Vaenosa smoothed the dolls hair and placed it upon the table.

She had no desire to search the house further. Turning towards the door to leave Vaenosa spotted an interesting weapon planted firmly in the doors frame. It was three inches wide at it's fattest point, tapering to two and a half inches at it's rounded hilt. The handle was wood wrapped in worn leather." I will take just this, nothing other,for I am sure the bounty we have already taken is enough for many." She wiggled and pried as she strove to remove the blade from the frame. It was at Vaenosa's shoulder level, a large, tall man must have wielded this. After a few seconds of struggling to pry it loose, she resorted to placing her foot on the frame for leverage. With one large heave it came loose. Admiring the fine, sharp blade, she wrapped it in some stray cloth. Taking one last solomon look back, Vaenosa stepped back out into the sulight.

She decided she would stow the blade on Nay's back, but glancing around quickly she saw he was not near. She was sure his nerves had got the best of him and he bolted out of this burnt town. Shielding her eyes, she looked harder. There was Nay, no farther than an arrow's throw away, with his ears perked, trotting towards a wooden structure. She let out a low whistle to get him to come back. He stopped, looked at her....then continued on his merry way. Vaenosa stamped her foot at her horses disobedience. "OOOOhhhhh! I really should have gotten a horse who at least comes when I call him!.. I will sell you, you know!!!" She called after the prancing idiot.

Tying the blade to her back, She started after him, cursing his chestnut hide as she went. She was sure this was just one of Nay's strange games. She slowed as she approached the dwelling and peeked her head inside. There huddled in the corner were two male horses,one black, the other brown. Scared and probably hungry. They did not even seem to notice Nay's weird attempts to cuddle them. But Nay would be Nay.... He gave one of the horses a slight nip in the behind and they both bolted out the door and down the road at full speed towards where Incana and Dorran were searching."Great! Now look what you did!" She said to Nay giving him a small pinch in the flank, before she mounted his back.

She was sure Brand had heared her whistle. So she headed full speed towards the horses. Maybe she could give chase till they tired,then rope them. As she neared the horses they indeed began to tire. She saw to her left Incana and Dorran.And were her eyes right? Another, smaller figure was with them! She jumped from Nay's back and approached the horses, who's heads hung down heaving in exhastion.She slipped two ropes around their necks, giving each one a small treat she had in her bag. Leading all three horses now, she headed back towards The small group of people waiting.

" I have found two new companions! I see you have found one as well!" Vaenosa sized up the small woman, with knowing eyes, she had seen that look of despair before in her own face. She looked towards Incana and Dorran for an answer.

[Arry]

Wulfham


Brand entreats Leod

The blow took Brand by surprise. He had but barely seen the grey haired old man from the corner of his vision lunge at him and had tried to move away. But the flat of the shovel caught him a glancing blow on the right side of his face. The claw marks that ran from temple to chin there were already red and swollen; the force of the blow made him cry out in pain. His wounds broke open and began to bleed profusely.

Brand sat down hard on the floor of the cottage, his knees buckling under him from the sharp, pounding pain. He looked up and saw the old man raise the shovel as if to strike again. The fellow had a wild look about him, his blue eyes glinting with purpose. Brand reflexively raised his arms up to avert another blow. As if in sympathy, the long deep claw marks that ran down the length of his left arm began to ache and throb.

He cried out in the old tongue, speaking to the man as he did with his own grandfather, when that old man’s mind wandered back to his grandfather’s time.

‘Ná, ná! Fréond! Brand - afWulfham; afRiddermark!’ he gasped out. And then again in the Common Speech. ‘No! No! Friend! Brand – from Wulfham, from the Riddermark!’

He rocked back and forth his one hand now pressed against his bleeding face as he held out his other hand upraised, palm outward toward the man. ‘Help me, please! I meant you no harm . . .’

[Tevildo]

Hearing the familiar Rohirric words, Leod hastily drew back his weapon and lowered his arm to the side, letting go of the shovel and letting it drop with a clang onto the wooden floor. There was a gruffness in Leod's voice as he turned to talk with Brand.

"My pardon, but what did you expect, coming into my house this way? If yoy are one of our own Horse-folk, one of the Lohtûr, why do you rob my house, tear up my garden and trample my herbs? Can you not see this is all I have left from a lifetime of service? Would you take away this pittance to increase your own wealth? Is this what is means to be a man of Rohan? If so, I have outlived my usefullness."

Leod turned away, bitterness clearly written on his face, as he gazed off towards the far horizon. His voice dropped lower. "They came from there. The Orcs." He pointed a finger towards the east. "Hundreds of them flooding into our village. We have had a few plunderers before, rough bands from the north. But this was nothing like that. Many of these bore the symbol of the Eye. It was not enough to plunder and rape. They must kill every last one of us. I survived only because I had a place to hide. I doubt there are any others. How I would like to make them pay! I have had some experience with these monstors. But it is no good. I am past the age of being a soldier. I have only my skill with potions and herbs, and my instincts as a healer." Leod looked down at his own hands as if seeing them for the first time.

Leod hesitated for a moment and then bent lower, catching a closer look at the half healed wounds that criss crossed Brand's face. "You have not had it too well yourself, I see. And whoever has doctored you has done a poor job of it. Come over here. Sit at the table." He went out of the room for a moment and re-emerged, carrying a small bowl filled with a concoction of herbs.

"Come on," he growled. "I don't bite. You will feel better after I apply this to your wounds. And meanwhile you can tell me exactly what you're doing here, trying to rob my house."

[Folwren]

Wulfham

To Edoras! To see the King? On normal occasions such words would spark a wild excitement in Athwen, but this time the words didn’t ring so much as they used to. But, still, he was asking her to go.

‘We’d be glad of your company, wouldn’t we? Come along, won’t you mistress. . .’ He trailed off and inside she felt half inclined to smile. She had neglected to give them her name.

‘Athwen. And don’t call me mistress, or ma’am, for that matter.’ Half heartedly, she smiled, thanking him for the kindness offered by his simple address. ‘I don’t deserve either, nor to be asked to accompany you. Leod is going?’ She turned and looked at the elderly healer. He nodded. She turned back to Brand and then looked at his companions. Finally, she straightened her shoulders and lifted her chin a little higher. By far the shortest of the group, she figured the thought had entered most of their heads that she wouldn’t be an excellent rider, and would likely hold them up, and whatever else if she accepted Brand’s quick offer. It wasn’t a ridiculous assumption, really, but she promised herself she would be able to show them otherwise.

‘I will accept your invitation,’ she said to Brand, setting her eyes on him again. ‘There is nothing left for me here-’ her breath caught momentarily, but she continued again almost immediately, though her eyes dropped away to the ground. ‘They were all killed. And though I would like to stay and hope for those words to be proved wrong, I can’t. I’ve looked and I’ve found them all. . .’ Her heart began to beat harder and faster and the panic that had first assailed her when she saw the destruction began to come back. She looked up imploringly at Brand, hoping that, maybe, he, or someone, might understand just a little. She took one step back, grasped for control over her feelings, and merely said in finishing, ‘I will come.’

[Maeggaladiel]

Fionn bit down on his lower lip in concentration, sweat beading on his forehead despite the cool air. This was hard work; harder than he had expected. He was glad that he had eaten some of Sythric's soup before starting this project, otherwise he was sure he wouldn't have had the strength. Setting up the pulley mechanism had been irritating and troublesome at first, and manning the pulley was physically taxing. The sooner they crossed this damned river, the better.

"I'd rather be a farmer than a ferry master, that's for certain," he grumbled. He'd spent many long hours in fields, hacking away at weeds and bending over crops, and chopping loads and loads of wood. He was strong, but this was still hard. His arms grew tired from making the same pulling motions over and over again, and his fingers grew sore even through the thick gloves.

The rope was heavy and wet, and the current tugged at the wooden ferry. The ferry was so close... And yet so infuriatingly far away. Was it even moving at all? It had to be. He grit his teeth and continued to tug.

[Naria]

Wulfham


Incana gave a nod to Athwen as Brand introduced each member of the group. This poor girl, she thought, I can't even begin to imagine what she is feeling with all that has happened to her. Incana wanted desperately to embrace this forlorn girl and tell her that everything would be ok, but she knew that everything was not ok and it would take kindness and time for Athwen to come around.

Incana's thoughts went back to her own family and wondered if they were safe and were able to make it out of the village in time. She caught her breath at this thought and shuddered to think of any of her family dying at the hands of these foul beasts called Orcs.

The woman had an idea just then and gestured the group away from Athwen for a moment to talk. "I think what this young girl needs right now is a form of goodbye to her family and friends. I would like it if you three men would gather all of the human bodies and bring them to the centre of town, if you will. Vaenosa and I will find wood, placing the logs and tinder on the ground for a start." It would be a grisly task, but Incana was confident that this would start the healing process for Athwen.

[Arry]

Wulfham

Dead sheep were one thing . . . the bodies of men, women, and children another. It was the natural course of things for sheep to be killed as they pastured. Hungry predators would come hunting them, waiting carefully for their chance to spring upon a straggler. Then the body of the sheep would be dragged off and eaten. And there was the difference. The sheep were food; they sustained the wolf, or cat, or even eagle carrying off a spring lamb. But these poor souls, they were killed for darker purposes, in the service of that Lord of the Shadowed Lands. And for sport, too. Brands stomach lurched a number of times at the ways in which the bodies had been hacked up and displayed. It was a depth of foulness he could not fathom, nor did he want to.

Brand pulled on his thick leather gloves and tied a triangle of cloth he’d torn from a clean sheet as a mask for his nose and mouth. The thought of touching the dead flesh made his skin crawl. Still, he steeled himself to the task, knowing that his family would not want to be left in such shameful disarray; it would dishonor them.

They found one large, low-sided wagon that looked as if it had once been used for haying. One of the men took charge of the horses, keeping them calm as they went slowly through the death glutted streets. The other helped Brand swing the bodies up onto the wagon bed, sometimes using a strong woolen blanket as a sling for the larger ones.

It was a slow job, and often they had to stop to drink a little water to soothe their ashy-parched throats, or to clean their eyes of sooty debris. Or sometimes it was simply that they had to retch . . . the sight of some horribly killed person just too much to bear. The grisly job of transporting the dead to the center of the village ate up most of the daylight hours left to them. And in fact the sun was already setting as they finished, leaving only a pink glow that created the setting for a somber mood.

Still in his ashy clothes, his face grimy with sweat, soot, and dirt Arry took his place near the still unlit pyre. He’d taken off his gloves and stuffed them in his belt. In the middle layers, near him, was the body of a man he guessed to be near his own age. The man’s eyes were open and he seemed to be staring upward toward the darkened sky. One arm was flung outward from the pyre as if reaching out for help. Unthinking, Brand reached out to tuck arm against the man’s side; and with his fingers he shut the poor fellow’s eyes. A few words, unbidden, came to his lips. He had heard his father say them when they had gone to the funeral of one of their close neighbors. Brand spoke them quietly now, and with a simple sincerity.

Wes þū hāl! Ferðu, ferðu . . . Be thou well! Go, go . . .

As he stepped back, from the corner of his vision he saw Incana step forward with a burning brand.

[Naria]

Wulfham

Incana looked at Athwen with tears in her eyes for approval before she used her torch to light the wood. The woman stepped back beside the young girl and watched as the flames slowly licked the wood and gradually became bigger swallowing what used to be Athwen's kin. Incana knew that their spirits were no longer with them, but this thought did not ease her aching heart. She felt for Athwen and hoped that in some small way this would help to ease her pain. Incana could not look at the fire anymore, she kept her eyes on the ground trying hard to block the sounds and smells that were emanating in front of her. She could not find the appropriate words to sooth her new friend, so she unfolded her hands and reached over taking hold of Athwen's and hung her head in complete silence.

The five of them stood with Athwen for a very long time, the sky had erased the pink hue and replaced it with darkness. There were but a few sputters and popping sounds coming from the fire now, and Incana thought it best if they were to leave the scene and get some food and much needed rest. With Incana still holding Athwen's hand the group left the ash behind and made their way to Leod's cottage.

[Farael]

It was slow, hard work but at last the pulley system was set and the raft was brought to their shore of the river. They were all tired but it was just a few hours after mid-day and they knew they had to push on forward. There was still some of Sythric’s soup left and Osmod helped himself to some, before the fire was put out and the pots cleaned up. He then offered re-filling everyone’s water skins while he went down to the river to wash his cup. While he did so, the rest of the group packed up and loaded the raft.

The horses would be tied to the back of the raft and swim after them, so each rider needed to secure their own horse, as the animals would let no-one else do it. At last, the horses tied and their belongings loaded on the raft, each of the men grabbed a pole and started pushing towards the other shore. Their first efforts were not very coordinated and they seemed to be drifting downriver more than moving across. It did not take long until each of them realized they needed to push together if they ever wanted to make it across and so, guided by their own grunts, the men coordinated their efforts. At last, they were across.

Osmod felt the crossing of the river had taken hours, but as he untied his horse and lead him out of the water he realized it had not been more than a few minutes. His arms ached and he felt as if he had somehow hurt his chest, but it was not time for them to stop. The horses would need to be looked after before the winds chilled them to their bones, and then they had to keep on riding. “This was never meant to be a pleasure trip,” he thought “but it is only our second day riding and I don’t know if I can take another step before collapsing. Still, I must try. It’s my job if I am to be their leader”. Osmod looked at the other riders and wondered because of what insane whim of destiny the March-Warden had chosen him to give the letters to. They were all able bodied and smart. They all worked as hard as he did and perhaps most importantly, they didn’t seem to need a leader. In spite of his best judgement, he started feeling like a burden to the group. Yet because of luck, destiny or misfortune, he had received the letters and neither of the older men had seen the need to take his place as a leader. So, Osmod decided, he would need to lead by example, work the hardest to earn the position that had been given to him by chance.

It was not long before the horses were dry, their belongings loaded and the group set to go. Before leaving, Osmod walked back towards the raft and untied the rope that had helped them bring it across on the first place. It would not do for them to leave the way open for a group of orcs to follow their tracks. Not knowing what to do with the rope, he decided to heave it on the water and let the river decide its faith. To his great relief, the rope got caught on something at the other end and, rather than drifting down river, it just flapped on the current but stayed put. Whoever came next would still need to get the rope across somehow, but perhaps this small difficulty would deter a band of the servants of the enemy.

Most of them had never been across the river Those who had had done so long ago, so Osmod decided they would need someone to scout ahead, to warn them of any problems they may run into. He volunteered himself for the first shift, saying that he would warn them either in person or by leaving a sign should anything happen. ”I will meet with you if I get tired, and then someone else can take the scouting duties. Give me a few minutes to get ahead and then follow my tracks.”

They needed to go due south, according to Sythric, so Osmod checked the position of the sun and set his horse on a quick trot. He didn’t look back at the rest of them, just waved his arm vaguely and rode on.

Two hours had passed and he had seen no signs of people, whether friends or foes. He hoped the other riders would understand that he was not planning on going back to them until they stopped for the night. He was tired as was his horse, but he needed time to think.

Hours passed by and night encroached the day but the group had not yet seen Osmod again. The tracks of his horse’s hooves were easy to find and from time to time he had left one of his drawings to let them know he was alright. Yet night was drawing clear and soon they would need to camp. As the sun was setting they saw a lone man on foot, bringing the horse by the reins. When they drew near, they could see it was indeed Osmod. Both him and the horse appeared to be unharmed yet the man seemed absent, as he looked up to the riders on their horses. When inquired about what had happened he just muttered ”Not fifteen minutes from here there is a small hill. I rode atop that hill and looked ahead. I cannot explain to you what I saw; you will have to see it for yourselves.” Without another word Osmod mounted his horse again and showed them the way towards the hill.