Outracing the Flames RPG - The Barrow-Downs Discussion Forum

Child of the 7th Age · 04-20-2006, 03:49 PM

Child's post

Calimehtar's rage in battle knew no bounds. The "fools" were proving to be more formidable opponents than he had bargained for. Who knew that a ragged band of women and beardless youth could be so tenacious? Even the horses on which they rode seemed to be seasoned warriors as they twisted and turns to get out of the way of the slashing swords and then surged forward with raised hooves to lash out at the enemy.

A number of Calimehtar's men had already been cut down by the swords of the enemy; they now lay bleeding and lifeless on the ground. The lord of the Easterlings cursed under his breath. He had made a mistake in judgment, a major mistake in judgment. It would have been better to wait for the night after the camp had fallen asleep, when he could have picked the strangers off one at a time under the comfortable cover of night. But now they must fight for their life, perhaps attempt to regroup, and run off to fight another time.

While thrusting out with sword and spear, Calimehtar watched in frustration as one of the Easterling horses fell under the assault, the animal's knees buckled under his body. The rider flew off and hit the ground with a resounding thud as Calimentar rushed forward to position himself in front of the fallen Easterling, facing the Rohanite who had sent the spear into the horse's side.

Lifting his sword high above the man's head, he let go a great battle cry and thrust his blade downward at his neck and shoulder. Unable to regain his balance, Sythric would do nothing but cover his head with his shield, in a vain attempt to parry the oncoming blow. The blade was defected but the shield immediately flew from Sythric's tight grasp and fell useless onto the forest floor. Seeing his advantage, Calimehtar dashed in and slashed down with his weapon; his blade cut the edge of Sythric's shirt and sliced into the flesh below, leaving a trail of blood along the man's side. Forcing aside the pain that was just now registering on his brain, Sythric twisted his body, and dropping to the ground, managed to retreat hastily from the attacking Easterling and jump behind the protective cover of one of the horses.

Seeing his victim attempt to escape, Calimehtar raced forward to pursue the wounded man, but was stopped in his tracks by an unearthly howl coming from the top of the hill, "Calimehtar! Come now." The urgency in the voice was unmistakenable. Calimehtar turned and began struggling up the muddy hillside.

_____________________________

The rider had thought to offer his fair haired prize directly to Lord Calimehtar, but one of the others had snapped out a warning that all female prisoner must be taken to the ridge where Aliharmi waited. The man bounded up the hillside, the woman's lithe form still draped over his saddle. When he finally reached the hilltop, Aliharmi reached over and yanked Meghan's body off the horse and then bid the man adieu, telling him to return to his post below. Meghan fell to the ground with a dull thud. Aliharmi bent closer to examine the prisoner and rolled her body over onto her back so that he could gaze upon her face.

Nice, very nice. She'll fetch a pretty penny on the market. Aliharmi rubbed his plump hands together in sheer anticipation of the reward that they would garner. This one still had some life in her unlike the ruined and lifeless women he'd often seen back in Mordor. He took out a knife and rubbed his finger along the edge of the blade. It wouldn't do to ruin the merchadise, yet Aliharmi felt an unrelenting urge to press the blade against the side of her face and place his mark upon the woman. A few cuts and decorative swirls made a face interesting and surely would be appreciated by the discriminating connosieur who enjoyed wild and intriguing women. Aliharmi placed his dagger against Megha's cheek and began to exert pressure with his fingers. He let up for a moment and withdrew the dagger. How much more fun it would be to instill terror in this pretty little soul? Surely, this was an opportunity not to be missed.

He gently rocked the woman awake, patting and fussing over her almost like a young child. Still dazed and confused, Meghan groggily opened her eyes to see the Easterling lord brandishing an ornate blade in the air. He flashed it conspicuously before her face, laying the sharp edge flush against her throat. A smile spread over Aliharmi's face as he carefully began to draw it across her skin.

Out of nowhere came a howling cry like a wild beast trapped in a cage or a beserker who has lost his wits. A young lad, darker than the Rohirrim, grim of visage and utterly desperate, came racing over the hill, utterly oblivious to the danger at hand. He bore an axe in his right hand and a dagger in the left, both extended outward. Aliharmi stood transfixed, scarcely believing that a child like this would dare accost him and suddenly realized the danger he was in. Aliharmi turned from Meghan and cried out for help, "Calimehtar. Come." He stared in disbelief as Dorran charged forward, showing no sign of stopping.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

Undómë's post

Meghan felt the sharp sting of the blade as the keen edge slid across her throat. Blood pooled along the neat cut, dripping down into her collar. The pain brought her to her senses; her eyes snapping open to see the horrid, leering face of one of the Easterling warriors looming over her.

She dared not scream or move, fearing his knife would be pushed deeper as he made his furrow along her skin. Just when she thought she couldn’t bear it any longer the pressure lightened; there was a loud raging howl and he turned from her abruptly.

Dragging herself up to a sitting position, she saw the younger man from Wulfham come charging across the ground toward her captor. His eyes were ablaze and he charged toward the Easterling as one gone mad.

A desperate anger rose up in her that these foul men should try to harm her or any of her companions, new and old. She felt helpless, though, her weapons were gone, and her small self would be no more threatening to these men than a flea to a wolf.

The small germ of an idea began to take hold. If only she hadn’t left them behind. No . . . there they were! Her hand slid into the top of her right boot and pulled out the two metal needles she used for knitting. She grasped them both in her hands and got to her knees.

The Easterling was focused Dorran’s attack. She scuffled up near him and drove the weight of her body toward him, plunging the sharp tips of the needles through the breeches the man wore. As they pierced the back of his left knee he turned just enough to backhand her away from him. The sharp crack of his hand against her jaw sent her flying backward. She landed a little ways away, her small form crumpled against a tree trunk.

Tevildo · 04-20-2006, 04:43 PM

Dorran's slender frame collided with that of the massive Aliharmi. Rage poured out from every fiber of his small being. There were too many memories flooding his mind, too many reminders of mothers and sisters and friends dragged off and tormented by the Easterlings. At least Meghan had succeeded in slipping a short distance away from her captor so that she was out of immediate danger.

The more powerful but less agile Aliharmi managed to keep on his feet, but just barely, thrown off balance by the rutted and muddy terrain. Lumbering up to confront his attacker, Aliharmi ripped out his sword and lunged towards Dorran but the attempt fell clumsily short. Attempting to step back and regroup, his feet met with a thick patch of oozing mud. With the Easterling no longer attacking, the young man again threw himself forward, this time slashing sideways with his axe. There was a resounding thud as Dorran sank his axe head into the larger man's chest. His victim fell to the ground instantanously. The body gave one shudder and then fell silent. Filled with a madness he was unable to control, Dorran lunged forward one last time. Lifting the axe above his head, he brought it down on Aliharmi's prone body two more times.

As Dorran realized what he was doing, the young man shook his head in disgust and let the axe handle slip through his fingers. He ran over to where Meghan lay huddled under the tree and bent down to help her. It was at that moment that the Lord of the Easterlings bounded up the hill, scimiter drawn, and charged straight for Dorran and Meghan.

Nogrod · 04-21-2006, 08:25 AM

The impact wrenched the shield from Sythric’s grip and pushed his whole body backwards. It was a mighty blow. He was just about to regain his balance, when he saw the next swing coming in from above him. Sythric tried to yank his body backwards as fast as he could, to avoid the hit.

First, after the softened impact, it just felt as a gentle touch sliding down his side. But he knew, the easterling hade managed to make a hit that penetrated his breast-armour. The pain would come only afterwards, in its due time. Sythric let his backward motion carry him off the saddle, turning his body as he fell. He got to his feet, Thydrë being between him and the easterling chieftain. He called Thydrë to run, slapping her hard to her back. Time! Time! Sythric saw an easterling horse tramping nervously but idly, some ten yards away from him – its rider had fallen dead to the ground. He took a run towards it, trying to unsheath his sword while making towards it. Glancing fastly behind, he saw the easterling-lord to get around Thydrë – with some effort. Good Thydrë! I love you! But he was after him now.

Then there was that weird, howling cry that about silenced everything on the battlefield. It came from the ridge. And it was followed by a much harsher – but not more secure – call, in a language he couldn’t understand. Sythric saw the easterling-lord’s eyes narrowing, his expression showing growing contempt. Then he spurred his horse up the hill.

That howl came from no fully grown man! Sythric was at the same time releaved as the imminent danger to himself was lifted, and even more worried. He tried to scan the battleground as fast as he could. The easterlings seemed to be on their way up to the ridge. Where were Raedwald, Meghan, Dorran, or Vaenosa? And then he saw it. The cry came from his lips without reflecting on it, his voice breaking as he shouted: “Raedwald!!!”. His eyes had went black for a moment, just as he had seen Raedwald lying on the ground, two arrows on his back. He went through simultaneous bursts of maddening anger and utmost sorrow and pain. Tears bursting from his eyes, he rushed forwards to Raedwald's dead body. But the pain stopped him. His side was in flames now. He tried to make a compromise between the speed and the pain. He was dead. He is dead!

You will not stop now! You will not stop here! He would scorn you, if you let this go unavenged. He would scorn you, if you didn’t try to save this day! All these young people here! Do it!

He called Thydrë and picked Readwald’s lance from the ground, touching the dead man’s shoulder with the tip of it, as a sign of honour - the way the riders used to do. “C’mon all of you, ready to help our friends! Let’s ride up to the ridge, after those bastards! There are people in trouble!”. He tried to jump on Thydrë as usual, and felt the agonizing pain on his side. He had to try again. On the second time he managed to mount her, but the pain almost stunned him. He recollected himself soon enough and spurred Thydrë to a gallop. He didn’t wait to see, whether anyone followed or not. This was a mission he was going to see to its end, whether anyone was in it or not. Those easterlings – and that lord, who had sneakingly got the better of him, while he was helping a friend! But where is Brand? How is he?

04-20-2006, 03:49 PM	#1
Child of the 7th Age Spirit of the Lonely Star Join Date: Mar 2002 Posts: 5,133	Calimehtar Child's post Calimehtar's rage in battle knew no bounds. The "fools" were proving to be more formidable opponents than he had bargained for. Who knew that a ragged band of women and beardless youth could be so tenacious? Even the horses on which they rode seemed to be seasoned warriors as they twisted and turns to get out of the way of the slashing swords and then surged forward with raised hooves to lash out at the enemy. A number of Calimehtar's men had already been cut down by the swords of the enemy; they now lay bleeding and lifeless on the ground. The lord of the Easterlings cursed under his breath. He had made a mistake in judgment, a major mistake in judgment. It would have been better to wait for the night after the camp had fallen asleep, when he could have picked the strangers off one at a time under the comfortable cover of night. But now they must fight for their life, perhaps attempt to regroup, and run off to fight another time. While thrusting out with sword and spear, Calimehtar watched in frustration as one of the Easterling horses fell under the assault, the animal's knees buckled under his body. The rider flew off and hit the ground with a resounding thud as Calimentar rushed forward to position himself in front of the fallen Easterling, facing the Rohanite who had sent the spear into the horse's side. Lifting his sword high above the man's head, he let go a great battle cry and thrust his blade downward at his neck and shoulder. Unable to regain his balance, Sythric would do nothing but cover his head with his shield, in a vain attempt to parry the oncoming blow. The blade was defected but the shield immediately flew from Sythric's tight grasp and fell useless onto the forest floor. Seeing his advantage, Calimehtar dashed in and slashed down with his weapon; his blade cut the edge of Sythric's shirt and sliced into the flesh below, leaving a trail of blood along the man's side. Forcing aside the pain that was just now registering on his brain, Sythric twisted his body, and dropping to the ground, managed to retreat hastily from the attacking Easterling and jump behind the protective cover of one of the horses. Seeing his victim attempt to escape, Calimehtar raced forward to pursue the wounded man, but was stopped in his tracks by an unearthly howl coming from the top of the hill, "Calimehtar! Come now." The urgency in the voice was unmistakenable. Calimehtar turned and began struggling up the muddy hillside. _____________________________ The rider had thought to offer his fair haired prize directly to Lord Calimehtar, but one of the others had snapped out a warning that all female prisoner must be taken to the ridge where Aliharmi waited. The man bounded up the hillside, the woman's lithe form still draped over his saddle. When he finally reached the hilltop, Aliharmi reached over and yanked Meghan's body off the horse and then bid the man adieu, telling him to return to his post below. Meghan fell to the ground with a dull thud. Aliharmi bent closer to examine the prisoner and rolled her body over onto her back so that he could gaze upon her face. Nice, very nice. She'll fetch a pretty penny on the market. Aliharmi rubbed his plump hands together in sheer anticipation of the reward that they would garner. This one still had some life in her unlike the ruined and lifeless women he'd often seen back in Mordor. He took out a knife and rubbed his finger along the edge of the blade. It wouldn't do to ruin the merchadise, yet Aliharmi felt an unrelenting urge to press the blade against the side of her face and place his mark upon the woman. A few cuts and decorative swirls made a face interesting and surely would be appreciated by the discriminating connosieur who enjoyed wild and intriguing women. Aliharmi placed his dagger against Megha's cheek and began to exert pressure with his fingers. He let up for a moment and withdrew the dagger. How much more fun it would be to instill terror in this pretty little soul? Surely, this was an opportunity not to be missed. He gently rocked the woman awake, patting and fussing over her almost like a young child. Still dazed and confused, Meghan groggily opened her eyes to see the Easterling lord brandishing an ornate blade in the air. He flashed it conspicuously before her face, laying the sharp edge flush against her throat. A smile spread over Aliharmi's face as he carefully began to draw it across her skin. Out of nowhere came a howling cry like a wild beast trapped in a cage or a beserker who has lost his wits. A young lad, darker than the Rohirrim, grim of visage and utterly desperate, came racing over the hill, utterly oblivious to the danger at hand. He bore an axe in his right hand and a dagger in the left, both extended outward. Aliharmi stood transfixed, scarcely believing that a child like this would dare accost him and suddenly realized the danger he was in. Aliharmi turned from Meghan and cried out for help, "Calimehtar. Come." He stared in disbelief as Dorran charged forward, showing no sign of stopping. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Undómë's post Meghan felt the sharp sting of the blade as the keen edge slid across her throat. Blood pooled along the neat cut, dripping down into her collar. The pain brought her to her senses; her eyes snapping open to see the horrid, leering face of one of the Easterling warriors looming over her. She dared not scream or move, fearing his knife would be pushed deeper as he made his furrow along her skin. Just when she thought she couldn’t bear it any longer the pressure lightened; there was a loud raging howl and he turned from her abruptly. Dragging herself up to a sitting position, she saw the younger man from Wulfham come charging across the ground toward her captor. His eyes were ablaze and he charged toward the Easterling as one gone mad. A desperate anger rose up in her that these foul men should try to harm her or any of her companions, new and old. She felt helpless, though, her weapons were gone, and her small self would be no more threatening to these men than a flea to a wolf. The small germ of an idea began to take hold. If only she hadn’t left them behind. No . . . there they were! Her hand slid into the top of her right boot and pulled out the two metal needles she used for knitting. She grasped them both in her hands and got to her knees. The Easterling was focused Dorran’s attack. She scuffled up near him and drove the weight of her body toward him, plunging the sharp tips of the needles through the breeches the man wore. As they pierced the back of his left knee he turned just enough to backhand her away from him. The sharp crack of his hand against her jaw sent her flying backward. She landed a little ways away, her small form crumpled against a tree trunk. Last edited by piosenniel; 04-21-2006 at 02:55 AM.

04-20-2006, 04:43 PM	#2
Tevildo Shade of Carn Dûm Join Date: Nov 2004 Location: Curled up on Melko's lap Posts: 425	Dorran: Dorran's slender frame collided with that of the massive Aliharmi. Rage poured out from every fiber of his small being. There were too many memories flooding his mind, too many reminders of mothers and sisters and friends dragged off and tormented by the Easterlings. At least Meghan had succeeded in slipping a short distance away from her captor so that she was out of immediate danger. The more powerful but less agile Aliharmi managed to keep on his feet, but just barely, thrown off balance by the rutted and muddy terrain. Lumbering up to confront his attacker, Aliharmi ripped out his sword and lunged towards Dorran but the attempt fell clumsily short. Attempting to step back and regroup, his feet met with a thick patch of oozing mud. With the Easterling no longer attacking, the young man again threw himself forward, this time slashing sideways with his axe. There was a resounding thud as Dorran sank his axe head into the larger man's chest. His victim fell to the ground instantanously. The body gave one shudder and then fell silent. Filled with a madness he was unable to control, Dorran lunged forward one last time. Lifting the axe above his head, he brought it down on Aliharmi's prone body two more times. As Dorran realized what he was doing, the young man shook his head in disgust and let the axe handle slip through his fingers. He ran over to where Meghan lay huddled under the tree and bent down to help her. It was at that moment that the Lord of the Easterlings bounded up the hill, scimiter drawn, and charged straight for Dorran and Meghan. Last edited by Tevildo; 04-21-2006 at 12:05 PM.

04-21-2006, 08:25 AM	#3
Nogrod Flame of the Ainulindalë Join Date: Jan 2006 Location: Wearing rat's coat, crowskin, crossed staves in a field behaving as the wind behaves Posts: 9,308	The impact wrenched the shield from Sythric’s grip and pushed his whole body backwards. It was a mighty blow. He was just about to regain his balance, when he saw the next swing coming in from above him. Sythric tried to yank his body backwards as fast as he could, to avoid the hit. First, after the softened impact, it just felt as a gentle touch sliding down his side. But he knew, the easterling hade managed to make a hit that penetrated his breast-armour. The pain would come only afterwards, in its due time. Sythric let his backward motion carry him off the saddle, turning his body as he fell. He got to his feet, Thydrë being between him and the easterling chieftain. He called Thydrë to run, slapping her hard to her back. Time! Time! Sythric saw an easterling horse tramping nervously but idly, some ten yards away from him – its rider had fallen dead to the ground. He took a run towards it, trying to unsheath his sword while making towards it. Glancing fastly behind, he saw the easterling-lord to get around Thydrë – with some effort. Good Thydrë! I love you! But he was after him now. Then there was that weird, howling cry that about silenced everything on the battlefield. It came from the ridge. And it was followed by a much harsher – but not more secure – call, in a language he couldn’t understand. Sythric saw the easterling-lord’s eyes narrowing, his expression showing growing contempt. Then he spurred his horse up the hill. That howl came from no fully grown man! Sythric was at the same time releaved as the imminent danger to himself was lifted, and even more worried. He tried to scan the battleground as fast as he could. The easterlings seemed to be on their way up to the ridge. Where were Raedwald, Meghan, Dorran, or Vaenosa? And then he saw it. The cry came from his lips without reflecting on it, his voice breaking as he shouted: “Raedwald!!!”. His eyes had went black for a moment, just as he had seen Raedwald lying on the ground, two arrows on his back. He went through simultaneous bursts of maddening anger and utmost sorrow and pain. Tears bursting from his eyes, he rushed forwards to Raedwald's dead body. But the pain stopped him. His side was in flames now. He tried to make a compromise between the speed and the pain. He was dead. He is dead! You will not stop now! You will not stop here! He would scorn you, if you let this go unavenged. He would scorn you, if you didn’t try to save this day! All these young people here! Do it! He called Thydrë and picked Readwald’s lance from the ground, touching the dead man’s shoulder with the tip of it, as a sign of honour - the way the riders used to do. “C’mon all of you, ready to help our friends! Let’s ride up to the ridge, after those bastards! There are people in trouble!”. He tried to jump on Thydrë as usual, and felt the agonizing pain on his side. He had to try again. On the second time he managed to mount her, but the pain almost stunned him. He recollected himself soon enough and spurred Thydrë to a gallop. He didn’t wait to see, whether anyone followed or not. This was a mission he was going to see to its end, whether anyone was in it or not. Those easterlings – and that lord, who had sneakingly got the better of him, while he was helping a friend! But where is Brand? How is he? Last edited by Nogrod; 04-21-2006 at 05:49 PM.