Outracing the Flames RPG

[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."

[Arry]

Wulfham


‘It was a big cat . . .’ Brand said in answer to the man’s question of what had caused these wounds. ‘. . . the one that tore my cheek and arm. She was hungry, I guess; she and her yearling cub . . .’ Brand’s words trailed off and he clenched his teeth, hissing softly as breathed in. The man had washed his wounds, and that was bad enough as he peeled off the scabby edges and cleaned out the small amount of purulence that had begun to fester in the deeper places. But now he patted on the herbal concoction and the raw wounds rebelled. He fought back tears, swallowed a scream, and was rewarded with a feeling of a numbing, soothing relief as the poultice began at last to ease the raw flesh.

Brand rolled up the sleeve of his tunic and laid his left arm on the table. ‘Master Healer, if you would be so kind. These, too, are not doing so well.’

As Leod worked, Brand told him the stories their Lord had heard of Orcs and of Easterlings coming into the outlying villages, the ones just beyond the river. ‘Like your village here, we heard they were burning everything and killing all. Wulfham lies nearly five days’ ride up the river from here. We are not much bigger than you, and like you we lie near The Great River. Lord Aldwulf has ordered the village to evacuate; they are heading toward the King’s Hall for refuge. There were four of us young ones sent ahead to ride as fast as we might to ask the King to send Riders to aid the village on its way. The older men, some warriors, most farmers, went with the village to keep it safe should it be attacked on the way.’

‘We saw the smoke from your village when we rode up on the rise just north of here. We came down, Vaenosa, Incana, Dorran, and I . . . to see if any survived. And oh, Grandfather . . . Sir,’ he said, for Leod had not yet given his name. ‘We were struck dumb at the sight and smell and emptiness of this place. Our guts clenched and the blood ran cold in our veins thinking how our little village and our families, friends, neighbors, might meet this same fate.’

‘The only living thing we’ve found so far was a dog, and we thought to take him with us.’ Brand lowered his eyes, his unbandaged cheek blushing as he looked down at the table. ‘And when I found your little place, I thought that whoever lived here had been killed along with the others. I came to get a sack to take the rest of your winter vegetables to take with us. I did not mean to steal, but only thought that out of this horror we might salvage something to help us on our way.’

He looked up a fleeting smile on his lips. ‘My mother has a little herb garden, like yours, but much smaller. She has some way with the making of poultices and unguents and potions and such. And I thought of her as I looked at your neat little plantings. How you’d paired the herbs and the small walkways that make it easy to gather them . . . she has much the same orderly and practical mind about her wee helpers, as she calls them. I confess, I was intending to gather some your herbs, too, only the ones I recognized the uses for. My mother found me a poor student when in came to such things, and thanked goodness for her daughters. For my part, I know only those that are good in stews and teas and those helpful to my sheep . . .’

Leod had finished dressing the wounds and was busy cleaning out the bowl in which he’d mixed the herbs. Brand sat looking about the neat little place and remembering the destruction that lay all about it. ‘I’m very sorry I stole from you,’ he said to the man whose back was turned to him as he worked. ‘And sorrier still that you might think of me only as some thief. My father would die of shame if he thought his only son was thought of in such a way.’

He cleared his throat, not sure how to go on. ‘Grandfather, I think you’re not safe here any longer. Will you ride with us? Tell your story to the King?’

[Nogrod]

Bregoware

Sythric looked around him, over the whole party. There was silence. Everyone seemed to have fallen in their thoughts – well he was too. He remembered the last time he had crossed the river. It was a hot summer's day, almost four years ago. Had it been so long ago? There had been a gentle breeze over the river that eased the heat. There had only been a couple of travellers and one merchant with his wagons abroad. He had rode to Bregoware with the merchant, he was called Tricart, if he remembered it correctly. Nice guy he was, although a bit talkative. Sythric smiled a little. That day on the ferry was vividly in his mind. The sunshine and the warmth, the security of those days...

He hadn’t ever kind of made himself used to the water. It is for the fishes, as he had always accounted for his inconvenience with all things related to water. Now he was regretting, he never had really looked over, how these ferries really worked. The rope was kind of fitted to the ferry somehow, and then pulled from land with the pulleys. Well, we have no rope, and no-one to pull from ashore. Could anyone of us swim over, even if we had a rope and some genius to find out a way it could work? Getting into that current with Thydrë? No way! There had to be a solution for this one... there just had to be!

[Farael]

The situation was worst than what it had looked like. Just when Osmod was hoping to get across the river quickly, they found yet another difficulty. The rafts were waiting for them, albeit on the wrong side of the river. He nodded his head when Fion suggested they went looking through the boat-houses for anything that could help them cross the river. Osmod added that they should also look for any supplies that may be useful on the road to Edoras. The group stayed together for a moment, still hesitant to part ways even if for a moment. Then, still lost in their thoughts, each of them went searching through the houses.

Osmod chose an old house that stood by the river. It was small; probably nothing more than a storage room, but maybe there was something useful in there. Unlike most of the other houses, the door was shut. Rather than a lock, it had a length of rope tied in a complicated knot. He looked to the skies, his hopes failing. Instead, he saw a tree, with a pulley secured on its trunk. The tree was strong and the pulley was big, as if made for heavy work, yet there were no tall structures around. Nothing he could see would need such a big pulley. Until then, he had not considered how the rafts were manned. He looked at the rope, the door that was still closed and then at the pulley. He turned around and made his way back to where Sythric was waiting. “Pray tell, my friend, you have been here before, have you not? You said something about ropes to get the rafts across. Did you also say something about pulleys? There is a strong one on the tree over there, and I’m starting to think it may be meant for the rafts.” Osmod looked over the old man’s shoulder and on to the rafts on the other shore ” If we could get one rope across, with the help of the pulley, we may be able to pull the raft back to our side of the river. I wonder where we can find such a long rope…” His voice trailed off, as he remembered the closed storage room and wondered what laid on the inside.

[Nogrod]

Bregoware

“It would be a tough job indeed, to pull a rope forwards over a running river?” Sythric smiled widely about the thought and patted Osmod to the shoulder. “That sure would be a deed worth recalling!” Sythric laid his hand over Osmods shoulder and they started walking towards the pulley. “Well we are all quite off-focus now, I am too. So don’t mind me jesting about. It’s just to wear off the melancholy that creeps to get you everytime you just stay quiet and serious.” He took a glance at Osmod, kind of studying Osmod’s feelings.

As they got to the pulley, they gave it a closer look. “I have just been cursing the fact, that I have never really taken an interest to learn how these are used. But if there’s another one at the opposite shore, this could work in a bit similar way as the lifts on building sites. You know: take a rope, double the lengtht of the river, and tie it to a loop going around the pulleys on both sides, and then just tighten it. Somehow attach the rope to the ferry and pull. Sounds easy, now doesn’t it?” Sythric looked at Osmod quizzically and then turned to look at the other shore. "There just might be one on the other side. Do you see that rounded shape just left of the ferry?” Osmod nodded. They both were silent for a moment.

“So we only need a rope, twice the length of the river and thick enough to get a loaded ferry across. Then one master-swimmer to get over, despite the current, with that rope around him – and with practical reason enough to find out, how to attach the rope to both the pulley and to the ferry so that it stays and carries the whole weight. Well, getting it around the pulley is the easy one...” He smiled again, but now not so wholeheartedly anymore. There sure was challenge. And to begin with, there was not even the rope as yet.

“I think we’ll have to think about this. Maybe Raedwald has a better memory, or Eostre, she has been on the ferry too. And I do believe, there is a ferry-rope here somewhere, maybe even more than one. They must have had spare ones, and they should have left some here to help the villages coming after them.” Sythric turned away from the shore, and took a few steps towards the horses. Then he turned around, and said

“We should really turn this place upside down, if we need to. At least I can’t see any other reasonable way across the river right now. But there seems to be enough of us to do quite a thorough search without me, in a relatively short time. I could get us a warm soup to be served after you’re ready. And maybe we should share some bread, all those of us who have some?” As Osmod nodded in agreement, Sythric took himself to it.


How many times have I done this in my life? It must be many hundreds, if not more? He spotted a place for the fire quite near the shore. There had indeed been fire there, quite a many times, before this day. The sand was a bit charred and there were some blackened rocks about, amidst the fading green grass of the late autumn. Like from habit, he had collected a neat bunch of dry branches of varied sizes and ripped some bark from the nearby birches, in just a couple of minutes. After lighting the smaller branches with the bark, he piled some thicker branches in a criss-cross way over the small fire, and got to Tyhdrë. Sythric unloaded all of her packages and went to his foodpack. He took out his small pouch of dried mushrooms, the dried lamb he had offered in the morning and a small box of seasoning. Then he got his pot and made to the river, half-filling it with cold Anduin water. After building a small stand for the pot, and hanging it there, he went to get some more wood, bigger ones now.

All the villages he knew! The thought kept filling his mind. It was so overwhelming an idea: all of the Outland being emptied! All those places he knew, and also those he didn’t. It was the end of the world as he knew it, well, the most of it. But it felt like the end of the whole world! Would we ever come back – I don’t mean, whether I will return, but we, the Bregowarians, or other Outlanders? Is it the end of our culture, our people at Wold and surroundings? Where will the Bregowarians live from now on, if they survive in the first instance? This last thought chilled him totally. If? Well, there surely was that possibility... He felt shivers all over as he returned to the gentle heat of the fire. The fire didn’t warm him at all.

Sythric had found some wild thyme, when he was picking the wood, and dropped them to the almost boiling water. Then he rationed out some dried mushrooms and seasoning to the pot, and started to carve pieces of lamb to be added to the soup just a little later, as the mushrooms would start to soften enough, and would have given some flavour to the broth-to-come. Where were the Bregowarians now? Osmod had counted that, but I probably was too deep in my thoughts to remember it anymore. Osmod had spoken spiritedly though, that I remember. His father should be proud of his son.

But will the Bregowarians be safe tonight? He remembered his nightmares from the last night, and was filled with a sudden urge to ride: to ride back as fast as he could. Just to guard his family and friends as well as he could, to die with them if it had to be. To die before them, even if it was just a fool’s hope to make a difference on anything. He stirred the soup where he had added the lamb, drowned into his melancholic mood. “Hope seems to be a refugee too these days”, he muttered half-aloud, just to himself.

[Tevildo]

"Grandfather, it is? Humpf! There was a time I could run rings around the likes of you. Still, I suppose you have a point. And I do have a connection or two in Edoras. Long years ago, I was a healer serving the needs of the Riders. I've heard a thing or two about the ways of Orcs that may be of some use to you. And how your Lord could send your band off without a proper healer, I'll truly never know. Wait here a minute till I get my things."

Leod quickly whisked about the cottage and then out into the garden, stuffing a variety of supplies and herbs into one of the canvas bags. Coming back inside, he picked up his wooden stave and slung the satchel over his shoulder, "We'd best have a look about the village." His tone was perfectly even. "Perhaps these blasted Orcs managed to miss a soul or two. I don't want to leave here until I am absolutely sure that no one has been left behind who needs the services of a healer."

With that, the two men walked through the door and out onto the deserted thoroughfares of the village.