Outracing the Flames RPG

[Farael]

The forward group rode all day at a steady pace, stopping only once for rest and a quick lunch. Osmod was silent most of the way, thinking ahead of the road they still had to cover and constantly looking around for signs of danger. It was rather surprising then, when the other scouts came back and asked him if he was thinking about stopping for the night. Surely there was still plenty of time before sunset.

That was not the case. Lost in his thoughts and with the sun at times being covered by trees, Osmod had not realized as the day had slipped by. They looked for a good place to stop and found a small hill just a few minutes ride ahead. It was not too high, so the wounded would be able to climb it easily, yet a thick clump of trees grew close to the top, which would provide wood for fire and protection from the wind. It was also easily defensible, which Osmod considered should be taken into account whether they liked the idea or not.

There were many things to do and not enough time if the camp was to be set before the wounded rode in. Wood needed to be gathered and larger logs would probably need some cutting, the horses needed to be tended, a fire started and food prepared. Osmod asked Fion to walk with him to the woods while Athwen and Eostre looked after the horses. He had heard Dorran had some skill with food so he asked the young man if he needed anything to prepare a meal. The young man seemed to hesitate for a moment and then quietly asked Osmod if no-one would ride back to meet with the wounded. They would not make it to the camp before nightfall and they may get lost, he argued. Dorran was right, Osmod realized, and so he let the young man ride back to meet with the others.

Walking into the woods, Osmod started picking up fallen branches. He had kept himself busy during the day but now the thoughts of their fallen friend crept back into his mind. He wondered if the men of Rohan would fall too, littering the battle grounds as the branches littered the forests’ floor. For the first time, he realized that he may become one of those branches, whether fighting in battle or after all was lost. He felt then that maybe he would not be riding back to Bregoware after reaching the Golden Halls. Maybe he would stay and fight for those that could not. Glancing towards the camp he saw Athwen looking after her horse. She had lost it all without a chance to fight back, as had many others he did not know. It was not only for Ræwald he would fight for.

[Tevildo]

For the remainder of the afternoon, Leod fussed and fretted as he watched Sythric bump up and down on the sledge. Once when Brand dropped back to ask an innocent question, Leod had lashed out that he had never been on this pathway before, and it certainly wasn't his fault they were out here in the middle of nowhere with a convoy of sick people. If it had been up to him, the injured would have stayed in camp at least another day or two.

The path they were following was not making things any easier. The trail twisted and wound and turned back on itself. Rocks were scattered everywhere. It was quite late in the afternoon when Leod began worrying that they would not make it into camp until nightfall. The last thing he wanted was to be travelling so late. Those who had been wounded at least needed a full night of rest, to say nothing of the dangers of trying to find their way in the darkness!

Leod glanced down at Sythric, and saw the man trying to fumble with his bandages; a slight red stain gave the telltale hint that the wound was bleeding again. Leod shook his head with a sigh. Perhaps the cut was deeper than he had first realized and would now require some stitching. He had a needle and the precious silk thread along with turpentine wax and clarified hog's grease inside his healer's bag. Leod promised himself that they would stop in about an hour so he could stitch up Sythric's wound.

That stop, however, came sooner than expected. The first riders had pulled up and were staring down at a large log that had been thrown crosswise over the path. Immediately on the other side there was a large expanse of ankle deep water, filled with slippery mud. Leod might not describe it as a small bog, but it was definitely larger than a puddle. It would not be difficult for those on horseback to veer off the trail and thread their horses through the trees to go around, but there was no chance for a sledge to get through. Ironically, they could see the trail straighten out ahead, looking broad and flat and open. If they could just get beyond this particular point, they would likely have an easy ride to finish up the day.

Leod hurried his horse up to the front of the line, staring down at the stubborn obstacle, clucking in exasperation, "This is just wonderful! The perfect ending to a perfect day. I absolutely forbid Sythric to sit a horse. Don't even think about it!" At this point, Leod glared menacingly over at Brand. "This poor man is already bleeding. So, unless we put wings on this sledge, he is going nowhere. Ideas, anyone?"

At that instant, there was a clatter of hooves, as a rider came pounding up the trail from the opposite direction. As the distant figure became clearer, they could see it was good news. Splashing his horse through the puddle, Dorran waved a welcoming hand and bellowed out a "haloo" to his comrades. His face registered mild surprise as he saw Sythric lying prone on the sledge, but he was quick to add, "We've found a good campsite for the night. It's not more than two miles from here. If we can just get across this little bog, we'll be fine." Then he echoed Leod's question, "Ideas anyone?"

[Arry]

Brand’s face was slick with sweat from the exertion of the ride. Though the day had grown colder as it passed, it was all he could do not to throw off his cloak to feel some relief from the oppressive heat he felt. He wiped at his face with his gloved right hand, throwing back his cloak a little on that side so that the cooler air might touch him. He was careful to keep his other arm well hidden beneath the cloak. His left shoulder felt tight, hot as an ember, and he could feel the slow trickle of something down his torso as a thickish liquid oozed downward.

‘Perhaps we can unhook the sledge from the horse and three or four of us might carefully bear Sythric on the sledge around the log and the muddy water . . .’ He shifted in his saddle, in a small effort to ease the pain.

‘Meghan and Leod, perhaps you could do this . . . yes? With the help of Naria and Dorran? But that’s only one small offering. Perhaps another of you can see an easier way . . .’

[Folwren]

Athwen finished unsaddling and rubbing down her horse well before Dorran had returned with the wounded group. She set about to using the wood that the others brought in to making the camp fire and then, after washing her hands as best she could, she began to prepare the meal. Her short argument with Dorran from earlier came back to her as she pulled out a pan and she smiled a little. She wondered if he’d even remembered when he went back out to meet the others.

As she prepared the meal her mind wandered back to the events of the day. It had been almost fun. To her, riding out before the ones who had to go more slowly, it felt much like a holiday. The day itself had been nice, perhaps a little on the chilly side, but with a few, scattered runs in their riding, they had managed to keep warm. She and Dorran, after the race, talked quite a bit about past times, concerning horses, anyway. She learned that he had worked with his master’s horses daily. It was little wonder that he had ridden so well, then, and had not minded taking the extra weights of his pack and other luggage. He told her stories about the horse’s, and had made some of the antics of a particular foal sound so humorous and made it bring such lively thoughts to her mind (for she knew how young horses played), that Athwen had actually laughed.

After making sure that the food left to warm until the others got back, and also that water was heating up, Athwen sat down a few paces off, wrapped her arms about her legs, and stared into the fire. Everything was quiet about her. Eostre stood nearby in the shadows. She was silent, as usual. Fion and Osmod were talking quietly on the opposite side of camp; she didn’t know what about.

Sitting thus in silence for a while with nothing to occupy either her mind or her hands, she once more began to think about what was to come, and some part of her thought about what had been. Dorran had mentioned earlier the master of his village. He was kind, he had said, and would help her if he could. That was true, he probably would. What was more, Athwen had no doubt that any one of her companions here would do their best to see that she wasn’t left helpless and alone. She didn’t want to be a burden to people, though.

With a sigh, she lifted her hand and rested her forehead on it, combing back the hair with her fingers. Life was so uncertain now.

But why should that let her down? Time would tell what came, and if she met it bravely and without faltering, then she would find a way through. Dorran had said that, or something like, she felt sure he had.

A stick hissed and popped and a fragment fell from the fire. It attracted her gaze and she stared at it while the orange changed collars and then slowly faded into black as the minutes passed. A thought came to her that if she were to blow upon the stick, it would glow and glimmer again, and maybe even briefly burst into flame. If she left it alone, it would fade and die and become cold and hard, a useless clump of charcoal.

'Hope is like that,' whispered a voice inside her head. 'If you leave it lying without taking it up, it will go away for ever, and then there won’t be anything to live for. But so long as there’s hope, there’s a way to live.'

‘Hope of what?’ she murmured. There was no answer for the space of a moment. But then Osmod came up, carrying a larger piece of wood. She looked up at him as he placed it carefully on the fire. It’s bark was dry and old and the flames eagerly accepted it, the fire leaping up higher suddenly. A faint smile came to her lips and she lifted her head and let her hand fall. 'You’ll find a reason. Someday. Life’s uncertain, remember? You won’t know until you get there.'

[Nogrod]

‘Perhaps we can unhook the sledge from the horse and three or four of us might carefully bear Sythric on the sledge around the log and the muddy water . . .’ Sythric had been somewhat aware of the situation, but now Brand's words really woke him up. He was terrified of the idea. It was already enough to be tied to the sledge. Sporting over a piece of water with it was just too much.

"Please friends! How about Meghan and Leod you just help me to my feet and support me over it? If its not too deep..." He turned his eyes towards the others, trying to take a firm grip from the sledge's side to aid him with rising up. "I would surely like to be in an upright position for a while.", he said, addressing his words mostly towards Leod, "I think, it would do me good too. And anyhow, if I can't be trusted to walk today, how do you think I'm riding tomorrow? I should try it."

[Tevildo]

With this last pronouncement from Sythric, everyone turned to Leod. The healer glared back at Sythric, "Alright. Enough! I have heard that tone before. I know when it is useless to argue with a stubborn patient. I would rather do what Brand suggested, but it will do us know good unless you cooperate. A short walk will not hurt you, but be careful. It's slippery."

Leod reached over and gently slid his hands underneath Sythric's arms, offering him some support so that he could stand up. Then the healer snapped out his orders. "Dorran, drag the sledge over to the other side. There should be no trouble now that it's empty. Meghan, you've a gentle hand and seem like a sturdy lass. Get over here on the other shoulder and lend Sythric your strength. We'll take this slow and easy. The last thing I want to see is my patient falling on his face. And the rest of you, find your way through the trees to the other side. I don't know how deep the water is, and we may need your help to pull us out of this muck. Here now. One of you take my healer's satchel so it doesn't end up under water."

Once the older man had finished speaking, Sythric headed for the trees to make his way around the log . They had no trouble getting beyond the fallen tree trunk. Leod thought it might be easiest to continue through the trees and then cut back to the main trail, but that proved to be a bad idea. The mud was so soft that the walkers slid in up to their ankles and could barely pull their feet out of the muck. It was clearly safer to go back to the main pathway and wade through the water. As Sythric cautiously ploughed through the water, the rocks underneath made for uneasy footing. Once or twice he slipped, but Meghan and Leod reached out to steady him. At its deepest point, the water reached as high as their knees. Despite the rocks and the water, they managed to get Sythric safely to the other side and Meghan was also pulled out on the bank.

Leod gave strict orders that Sythric was to go back immediately on the sledge, and that he would not listen to any further nonsense or protests. As the group mounted up, the healer slipped over beside Brand and whispered, "Master Brand, I do not like the look of you at all. Frankly, you look worse than Sythric. Since Dorran says that camp is just a few miles away, we'll continue on. But the minute we get there, you're to settle down and rest, and I must have a look at that wound."

The group continued forward. The flat and open trail made for relatively easy going, and it was not long before they reached the point where Dorran told them to leave the trail. Within a few minutes, they were approaching the campsite. The odor of a lovely hot meal floated enticingly towards them.

"Oh, bother! I forgot." With that, Dorran raced over to Athwen and apologized. "My fault, my fault. I was supposed to do the meal. So now I owe you two I guess. I don't know what you made but it smells lovely, and I know the others are hungry."

[Folwren]

The noise of the returning group brought Athwen out of her reverie. She roused herself and stood, ready to offer herself to anyone who needed any help. The only light was that from the fire, and it leaped and danced, sending odd shadows away into the darkness. The horses came near, mere outlines in the greyness, and then they came into the firelight. The riders looked pale, the wounded ones weak and in pain. She took a step forward and then stopped. Osmod and Fion were approaching them. They would be more help than she. She would only get under foot at the moment. Better to put the finishing touches to the meal.

She was going to some saddle bags to get bowls with Dorran’s voice over took her. ‘Oh, bother! I forgot!’ he cried. She heard his hurrying footsteps behind her and as she turned to face him, bowls in hand, he was alright there by her side. ‘My fault, my fault. I was supposed to do the meal. So now I owe you two, I guess. I don’t know what you made, but it smells lovely, and I know the others are hungry.’

He put out his hands to take the bowls from her. Athwen, being preoccupied with answering him, let him take them gently away from her.

‘Nothing special. What can one do without a proper cooking place? I’ve merely used some of the water and cooked up some of the smoked boars meat we had from a few days ago and tossed in a couple vegetables that you found. . .I think it was you. . .’ She didn’t know for certain, though, because she hadn’t been there when they’d found them. ‘And some of the herbs from Leod’s garden,’ she finished. ‘I can do a bit of cooking in a pinch, I think.’

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Arry’s post


While the others saw to Sythric and Vaenosa, Brand urged Lady to a place on the opposite side of the fire. He was glad of the general hubbub of the camp – the settling of the wounded; the preparation of the evening meal. It drew attention away from him.

He sat for a moment in the saddle, catching his breath as he mustered the energy to dismount. His left arm was all but useless now; it was so swollen and very painful.

Lady stood stock still, sensing her owner needed what small assistance she could give. Brand loosed the cinch and let the saddle drop to the ground. He undid the buckle that held her bridle and she backed away as he held onto it, loosing it from her head.

‘Good girl!’ he said, patting her on the neck. He opened one of the small bags tied to the back of the saddle and gave her a handful of oats. ‘There’ll be plenty more once we reach the Golden Hall.’ She eyed him as if skeptically and made no comment save the crunch crunch of her teeth on the grain. Lady looked hopefully for another hand out, but when none was forthcoming, she wandered off a little to nibble on the dried tufts of grass about the edges of the camp.

Brand dragged his pack and bedroll near the fire. Unlike earlier when he felt hot, now he felt quite chilled. Pulling his cloak about him, he sat down carefully on one of his folded blankets and drew the other up over his shoulders, pulling it tight about him. His teeth were chattering despite the heat from the cook fire.

Someone handed him a mug of warm tea . . . and he mumbled out a word of thanks . . .