Outracing the Flames RPG

[Farael]

”So you were the Leader of your group then? Why do you say were? Have they all mutinied against you?"

-She was doing it on purpose, wasn’t she? No-one would ever be so tactless, even if he had commented on it himself- Thought Osmod. ”Well Miss, they have not mutinied against me, not just yet… but after they see how easily I lead Fion and I into your trap, I don’t think they’ll…” he never got to finish his sentence. The horse pounced on his back and threw him straight into the ground. From there, he looked up at Vaenosa, who was offering him a helping hand. The whole scene struck Osmod as funny. There he was, thinking that the woman was evil, possibly a murderer, and walking towards the camp with her just because she was still part of the Wulfham group and her horse decided to show him what humility meant. The woman didn’t seem so bad after all, maybe a little uptight, but she was not evil. With a chuckle, he took her hand and thanked her for the help. Then, with a curious glitter in his eyes, Osmod excused himself from Vaenosa for the moment.

He turned around to face Nay, who looked pretty content about himself. Knowing that the horse might expect some foul play, he approached him slowly, smiling and trying to look as harmless as he could. The horse had his eyes fixed on him, and that was not what Osmod wanted. He extended his arm and snapped his fingers a few times, which caught Nay’s attention just like he expected. Nay tried to bite his hand, but Osmod quickly took his hand away and, before the horse could recover, he jumped on to his back. He secured himself as best he could without a saddle and got ready for what was to come. First, Nay seemed oblivious of the rider on his back or perhaps confused. And then it started. Kick… Jump… Kick… Kick… Turn, Jump…. Kick The horse tried his best to rid himself of Osmod, but the man had managed to secure himself firmly. The horse kicked and Osmod laughed. The horse jumped and Osmod braced himself, for Nay was a strong animal and many times he was close to rid himself from his assailant. Finally, they both calmed down, tired and sweating. Still chuckling, Osmod dismounted and patted Nay’s neck in a friendly way. ”You give good fight my friend… next time I might not be as lucky” he told the horse, forgetting that Vaenosa was standing right there. He looked up at her, with a big impish grin as he ran his fingers through Nay’s mane ”You have a great horse, Miss. A little playful maybe, but he is a strong one. I am sure he will help you through your mission. He smiled as Nay took another friendly bite at his shoulder and shook his head in disbelief. He would have thought the horse would be too tired to bother him, at least for a few minutes.

[Arry]

Brand stepped back a pace. He found the nearness of her somewhat disconcerting. Not unpleasant or off-putting, but rather an unfamiliar inclination or curiosity that made him uncomfortable with its presence. He could not tell if he was glad she had come to her senses and let drop her hand or if he were dismayed.

‘It was a big cat, a cougar, that attacked our camp some days back,’ he offered in explanation. ‘It was after Lady, my horse. I couldn’t let Lady be brought down by the brute, so I foolishly took the cat on. And she nearly did me in before I could best her.’ He rolled his tunic sleeves down, shielding the scars on his arm from her gaze. There was nothing he could do to hide those on his cheek. And so he simply gazed toward her with as unconcerned an air as he could muster.

And broke the brief silence that had fallen thick between them with a change in subject. ‘You know . . . I’m a fair hand at oat cakes.’ He nodded at her. ‘No, really, I am. At least Lady thinks so, as does Patch . . . my dog,’ he said with a grin. ‘And even my more well done, crispy sort are relished by my flock when we’re out in the summer pasture . . .’

[Undómë]

Undómë's post

Meghan


‘Burnt oat cakes, eh? Hmmm . . .’ She stepped back and hands on hips gave him an appraising look, looking him up and down through narrowed eyes, brows raised. Had she been taller, it might have proved more effective. Still she was a large spirit in a small body and what she lacked in stature, she made up for in words . . . which were often not well thought out aforehand.

‘I can only think of one sort of animal who goes about in a flock and who might be so daft as to think a lumpy, charred offering would be tasty.’ Meghan shook her head and snorted. ‘Sheep . . . those dim-witted great lumps of yarn!’ She laughed, saying, ‘The only thing more feebleminded than sheep is the herder!’

Stifling another laugh, she glanced up and caught the change of expression on his face. Her mouth formed and ‘Oh!’ of sudden realization, her eyes opening wide. ‘Oh, no . . . tell me you’re not a sheep man . . . are you?’

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Arry's post


‘Oh, no . . . tell me you’re not a sheep man . . . are you?’

Now how was he to answer that one? Was he to admit to feeblemindedness simply because he kept sheep? He found himself on the horns of a dilemma . . . and there she stood a great grin on her face, her eyes snapping with delight at having bested him.

He wanted to be angry with her and found he simply couldn’t. Much as he composed his face into some semblance of seriousness, still he could feel the corners of his own mouth inching up into a similar grin.

‘And from the tone of your voice and the tenor of your comments, I’d say you are one of those . . . yes, those . . .’ He wrinkled his nose as if smelling something quite noxious. ‘Goat people.’ Now it was his turn to look down his nose at her . . . as if she were a bug of sorts. ‘Always butting into everyone’s business . . . that’s what goats do. And honestly, I’ve found for the most part their owners have quite similar temperaments. Nosy, bossy, demanding . . . and have you ever noticed how opinionated they are . . . goats and goat-herders . . .

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Undómë's post

Rædwald


Rædwald looked on with great amusement at the teasing play between the young man, Brand, and Meghan. He smiled at the words that passed between them; thinking all the while to himself that just such banter is how it should be between those their age. His eyes took on a certain sadness looking at Athwen as she knelt next to one of the other young men from Wulfham – Dorran. Pain and sorrow should not be the lot for these youngsters . . . it was not right. He spat on the ground thrice and cursed the lord of those dark lands who could not, would not, value lives such as these.

He untied the small sack of oats from his saddle and offered his horse a meager handful. ‘Sorry Lis,’ he told her. ‘But I fear the rest will be used to fill our own bellies, so best enjoy this little treat as there’ll be no more.

‘Come you two!’ he called out to Meghan and Brand. ‘For all your boasting of your cooking prowess, these oats won’t be mixed and seasoned and patted into tasty cakes by your words.’ He held up the bag, looking at them expectantly. ‘Time to put your hands to work and give your mouths a rest, eh?’

He threw the bag to Brand and winked at Meghan. ‘Time for the sheepman to prove his worth.’

[Nogrod]

Sythric really enjoyed the freshly smoked fish while listening to the old man. Fresh food really tasted after that dried lamb! At a moment he realized himself thinking, that the others should be offered some too. It would do good to all of them. Well I hope they notice this chance-lunch themselves, for this discussion will have to be made first.

Sythric started to get the hang of all this. It was at the same time more comforting but also more vividly tormenting. Wulfham might be still standing, even though without its people who were making their journey westwards – as were the Bregowarians. Hope they still were... But the picture was more real now. All of the eastern Rohan was on the move.

Leod fell silent. Sythric chewed the bit in his mouth and cleared his throat. He watched the old man seriously and said with some real compassion. “I’m really sorry about Scyffold. I did visit your town a couple of times, long time ago. It was a beautiful place, and the people I met there were goodhearted.” He took a small bite more of the fish, just looking at the old man who seemed to be in anguish after he had mentioned his town. No wonder, Sythric thought to himself.

“But anyhow. We rest are afraid for our cities and their people, and just hope the fate of yours hasn’t already turned on them – and to all the others. You might not know Bregoware, where we come from. It’s something like a bit more than a day’s ride north-east from the ferry of Arnanaes – or the King’s ferry, as some people call it. Our mission seems to be similar to that of the Wulfhamers here. So we share our destinies.” He fell silent again, just watching the slow fire, and Dorran handling the fish skilfully, as if he had done that all his young life. And young he was, just as Fion... But how about Fion? The thought came back to him, and he got concerned again.

“Oh, how about Fion, the young lad from our party who had himself shot in the head? Is he going to be able to ride tomorrow? This really worries me.” He asked lowering his voice, not wanting Fion sitting some ten yards away from them by the larger fire, to hear them, and looking at the old healer questioningly. Luckily the hassle and toil of Dorran made a shield of sound of some kind also. The words of old Hugebryth echoed in his head once more: “Just remember, that this message to the King, no matter how slim are the chances that it will affect anything in the end, is the single most important thing on your journey. It’s more important than the lives of any one of those youngsters”. Still he couldn’t think of leaving Fion behind, even with some others who would not be fast riders enough. He just couldn’t – even though he knew, that it might just be the thing required from them.