Outracing the Flames RPG

[Tevildo]

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]

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?