Outracing the Flames RPG

[Nogrod]

Osmod led them to the river. Sythric stayed somewhere among the last one's, trying to hide his feelings. But then they all saw the situation. There was the rafter’s house, the boathouse, and the quay, where the ferry would be. There were a couple of sheds and a swing that had seen it’s best days long time ago.The swing particularly, gave rise to some more eerie feelings, thinking about the laughter and joy of the children swinging in it, now totally absent. Childrens’ voices echoed around the place as grim reminders of the state of the affairs.

But the ferry was not there! Looking at the other side of the river, they saw it. People had evacuated, leaving the ferry to the west bank of the river! The river was about 100 yards wide on the spot and the currents were a bit milder – that was the reason why the ferry had been built just here in the first place. But surely it would take quite an effort for anyone to swim over – horses anyhow probably couldn’t do it without drifting unforeseen mileages south. There was no sign of the ropes either, the ropes with which you could pull the ferry over. The wheels by which this had been done, lay idly by the quay, stripped naked of the ropes. And getting the ferry going without the ropes, would take at least three people: two for the “oars” and one for steering towards upriver – and thence balancing the currents.

“This is most unwelcome news, I must say.” Said Sythric, breaking the silence to which everyone had fallen. “Although it’s quite natural. No-one would leave a usable ferry to this side of the river, to be destroyed by a random orc-party. And when the next villages and towns reach this spot, they will have able-bodied and stern men enough to swim over, and get the ferry back here – even without the ropes. We surely can’t blame people of this town for being careful with the ferry. But now we are in trouble.”

[Tevildo]

Leod pressed his body flat against the rugged wall of the root cellar, shrinking back into the shadows. He had opened the outer door a scant inch or two in a fruitless attempt to hear what was going on above. So far, the strangers invading his house had not found their way down to his cellar. Leod was not surprised. The entrance to the underground chamber was so cleverly concealed that very few of his neighbors knew of its existence. He had used the room for many years, mixing and testing his herbal potions. Whatever their other advantages, the Orcs were rather short on brains and had been completely unaware that he had found refuge just a few feet underneath the cottage floor. He had huddled low in the darkness, silent and shaking in fear, as the mob had trampled through the village, burning and killing.

Since that terrible moment, Leod had remained hidden within his underground sanctuary, emerging only to snatch a few supplies and crawl back inside. He had finally decided it might be safe to go outside and see if there was anyone else alive. But just when he'd made that decision, a new party of invaders had fallen upon his house. Leod inched forward out of the cellar to get a closer look at the thieves. At least, they were not Orcs. Even so, they seemed to be human ruffians of the worst sort. One was pillaging through the sacks he'd placed on one of the chairs. Worst of all, they'd begun to steal herbs and fruits out of his garden. How dare they? That garden was more dear to him than anything he possessed. The village depended on his potions. Some of the herbs were extremely rare, useful in the treatment of many ailments.

Leod watched with growing anger as the man pillaged through the canvas sacks. He would not take it any more. Picking up the only thing that might serve as a weapon, Leod waited for the woman to go out the door, rhen rushed forward and, with a mighty heave, lunged towards Brand, grazing the side of his head with the shovel.

[Folwren]

Wulfham


Smoke. . .there was so much smoke. . .and ashes. Every gust, every breath of wind, caused whole handfuls of ash to swirl up in the air. Nothing was left of her home. Nothing, except for the ruined, stone fireplace against which Athwen cowered. One hand covered her mouth, the other arm wrapped about her head. Her tears were spent, and her eyes burned because of it.

Why? She couldn’t stop the question from turning over and over again in her head any more than she could answer it. They hadn’t caused any trouble, they hadn’t done anything wrong. They were a peace living people without an evil thought to share among them, why this? Couldn’t it have been somewhere else? And why had she been spared? She should have been home with her mother, she should have been baking the evening bread, but no! She had gone out to ride, and she had ridden a long way and come back oh, far too late.

A choked cry escaped from her mouth and she shut her eyes and drew her knees more tightly against her chest, trembling at the sound. Why? She didn’t know. Maybe the dead would hear her.

How long she sat thus, crouched beside the ruined fireplace, Athwen didn’t know. Time passed unnoticed, but seeming to take an eternity. The dead corpses of her family, and everyone she had known her entire life were strewn about the ground, some near, many others farther away, all lying amid the burned and smoking ruin of their homes, some untouched by fire, others half burned. She dared not lift her eyes. Not until a sound pierced the unnatural stillness. . .

Athwen’s eyes slowly opened, and then her arm, aching with having been clamped so long and so hard about her head, slowly relaxed and lowered. Her other hand dropped and she lifted her head; slowly, slowly - afraid to move, afraid to be seen. Upward by degrees, she raised her eyes and looked. A short distance away, two horsemen were walked carefully through the burnt ruins of the houses and buildings. She could not see their faces clearly, her eyes were bleary and weak, but she could make out the familiar form of horse and rider. They rode slowly towards her, down what used to be the main road through the village. Athwen forced her legs to move and she slowly and achingly stood up. Her hand shot outwards towards the fireplace to help support herself and a loose stone fell with a clatter.

A thought of caution flashed through her mind. Had they heard that? Would they hurt her, or help? It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered, really. Her hand dropped away from her support and she looked up again towards them. Yes, one of them had caught sound of the falling stone, and now they both turned their horse’s heads towards her. Her clear blue eyes watched them, and she waited in silence, neither worried nor anxious for them to finally stop and address her.

[Naria]

Wulfham


Incana and Dorran made their way towards the West side of the village, "So much destruction, it seems to have taken much more damage than the East side of the village. Do you think that this is where the onslot of the rampage had begun?"

Her boots were getting heavy with mud and ash and she had to stop and sweep the excess off every few steps. The one time that she was bending over to do this, however, she happened to spy something ugly and hopefully dead lying on the ground to her left. Incana hadn't seen any such creature before, thus not knowing its breed or type. All the woman knew was that it was hideous and it smelt bad. This one wasn't as badly charred as some of the others that she saw earlier, the smell was the creature itself. Incana's gag reflex went into action as she approached it, "phew this is truly horrible" waving her hand in front of her face looking at Dorran. She hesitantly gave it a quick kick in the foot, nothing. She gave it another kick, nothing. Courage was building the more Incana kicked the creature's feet, one more good hoof and she was satisfied that it was dead.

The reason for her even wanting to go near something that wretched was to retrieve an axe out of its head. Incana put one foot on its stomach and the other firmly planted on the ground, and pulled. The axe came out with surprising ease, she held out the tool and said to Dorran, "Look what I've found, we could surely use this to chop wood." Incana attached the axe to Starlight's pack and got back into the saddle to continue their survey.

The slow gate of the two horses didn't get the couple too much further from the found dead creature, when Incana heard what seemed like a stone being dropped or thrown. She immediately brought the mare to a halt and listened intently for any further disturbances. Incana looked down and saw that the dog had also heard the noise, he was frozen in his steps and had his hackles raised starring at the door to a cottage. She whispered to Dorran, "Did you hear that? I think that sound came from in there." A sudden fear rushed over Incana and thought that the noise may be one of those creatures that she came across. She decided to wait and see what Dorran wanted to do before investigating any further.

While Incana waited for Dorran to think, a horse came from what it seemed out of nowhere. She immediately noticed that it still wore its saddle and halter and thought this to be curious. She had yet to see another horse and wondered why would a horse let loose in a pasture have all of its equipment on. Sensing no immediate danger, the lone horse had very little problem approaching the two riders and greeted them with a low grunt. Incana did not make a sound, she gave the horse a rub on the cheek for reassurance and took hold of its reins and sat quietly.

[Maeggaladiel]

Fionn stared stupidly at the distant ferry for several long moments, his tired brain struggling to comprehend the situation. Half of his mind was still preoccupied with the horror of the ghost village, and another large slice was busy worrying about Bregoware and his family. That left a rather small section to wrap itself around the problem of the ferry.

Overwhelmed, the boy rubbed his forehead with the back of his hand. At first he was willing to urge his horse forward anyway, letting the mare swim across. But luckily, a sliver of common sense slapped him in the face and pointed out the current. He and the horse would end up seven miles downstream before they reached the other shore. Fionn discarded that idea. The ferry was still the best way to cross the river.

But how to reach it? Slowly his mind let go of the images of the deserted village and turned to face the problem at hand. The sooner they crossed, the sooner they could get away from this place. And that suited all parts of Fionn's mind just fine.

They might be able to manage a crossing if they had some rope, he thought. But there was no way that anyone would be carrying that much rope with them. So how would this town handle such a problem? It was their ferry, so they had to have some kind of plan in case of accidents like this.

"Perhaps we should check the buildings around the river," Fionn suggested. He had to speak loudly over the rushing of the current, which made him uncomfortable. "The boat-houses and the ferry-master's quarters might have something we could use." Fionn knew nothing about boats, but he figured that someone else might.

He felt a little uncomfortable about rooting through someone else's belongings, but it might be the only way to cross the river and continue their journey.

[Valier]

Wulfham

Vaenosa stood outside the dwelling, staring in throught the open door for a long moment. Brand had disappeared into one of the cottages after she told him she was going in search of some supplies and hopefully some horses. She felt a shiver go up her spine as she held her breath and stepped inside. It was a small, cozy place, not unlike her own. In the center stood a large wooden table clad with settings for five people. The family who lived here must have been about to sit down to sup, when the attacks started. The food on the table was starting to turn, causing the air in the small space to be sicklingly sweet. Moving towards the cooking area in search of some food, Vaenosa's foot moved something on the floor. She bent to retrieve it when she realized it was a child's doll. It was made of straw, with horse's hair upon it's head. Turning it over in her hand Vaenosa fingered the dress it wore gently. It was worn and dirty from a child's hands, who had held it dearly. Perhaps the child dropped it in the panic to flee to safety. Vaenosa smoothed the dolls hair and placed it upon the table.

She had no desire to search the house further. Turning towards the door to leave Vaenosa spotted an interesting weapon planted firmly in the doors frame. It was three inches wide at it's fattest point, tapering to two and a half inches at it's rounded hilt. The handle was wood wrapped in worn leather." I will take just this, nothing other,for I am sure the bounty we have already taken is enough for many." She wiggled and pried as she strove to remove the blade from the frame. It was at Vaenosa's shoulder level, a large, tall man must have wielded this. After a few seconds of struggling to pry it loose, she resorted to placing her foot on the frame for leverage. With one large heave it came loose. Admiring the fine, sharp blade, she wrapped it in some stray cloth. Taking one last solomon look back, Vaenosa stepped back out into the sulight.

She decided she would stow the blade on Nay's back, but glancing around quickly she saw he was not near. She was sure his nerves had got the best of him and he bolted out of this burnt town. Shielding her eyes, she looked harder. There was Nay, no farther than an arrow's throw away, with his ears perked, trotting towards a wooden structure. She let out a low whistle to get him to come back. He stopped, looked at her....then continued on his merry way. Vaenosa stamped her foot at her horses disobedience. "OOOOhhhhh! I really should have gotten a horse who at least comes when I call him!.. I will sell you, you know!!!" She called after the prancing idiot.

Tying the blade to her back, She started after him, cursing his chestnut hide as she went. She was sure this was just one of Nay's strange games. She slowed as she approached the dwelling and peeked her head inside. There huddled in the corner were two male horses,one black, the other brown. Scared and probably hungry. They did not even seem to notice Nay's weird attempts to cuddle them. But Nay would be Nay.... He gave one of the horses a slight nip in the behind and they both bolted out the door and down the road at full speed towards where Incana and Dorran were searching."Great! Now look what you did!" She said to Nay giving him a small pinch in the flank, before she mounted his back.

She was sure Brand had heared her whistle. So she headed full speed towards the horses. Maybe she could give chase till they tired,then rope them. As she neared the horses they indeed began to tire. She saw to her left Incana and Dorran.And were her eyes right? Another, smaller figure was with them! She jumped from Nay's back and approached the horses, who's heads hung down heaving in exhastion.She slipped two ropes around their necks, giving each one a small treat she had in her bag. Leading all three horses now, she headed back towards The small group of people waiting.

" I have found two new companions! I see you have found one as well!" Vaenosa sized up the small woman, with knowing eyes, she had seen that look of despair before in her own face. She looked towards Incana and Dorran for an answer.

[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.

[Undómë]

Bregoware

Rædwald


While Sythric made soup for the companions, some of the others of the group had ridden north a little ways along the river to where the river was shallower and the current a little slower. The others of the group had found several large stacked coils of rope in one of the small storerooms at the headman’s stable. And they transported them in a small cart they’d found to the place where Rædwald had decided he could best cross.

They spent a while securing the ends of the lines to each other with sailor’s knots, being careful to have far more than twice the river’s width of rope for the pulleys. Rædwald secured the middle of the loop to the back of his saddle and instructed the others to make sure the ropes played out smoothly behind him.

He stripped down to his breeches. ‘Now you just take these and stuff them into that oilskin sack there, Meghan. And bind it tight against the water.’ Rædwald handed her his boots, his thick woolen socks and his heavy woolen shirt. He watched as she tucked them in the sack and secured it to the front of his saddle.

Liss balked at first as she neared the river’s edge, but under his gentle encouragement she stepped into the slow moving currents and urged her to swim straight across the water. Her efforts pulled her forward just as the currents drifted her south toward the ferry landing. About midway, she almost floundered, but her rider guided her through the problem.

As Rædwald moved down the river, the others on the shore he had started from had now secured the two ends to a horse each, and their riders kept pace with his progress as he drifted southward. The rope, held between these two poles - Rædwald and the other two riders – floated in a large bend just on the surface of the river.

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

Meghan


Meghan’s hands were clutched hard around the reins of her horse as she watched Rædwald’s slow progress across the river. And she had gasped when she saw Liss falter in the current. She held her breath, eyes wide as he and his horse were carried a little ways south of the ferry landing. But soon she could see Liss gaining her footing on the little shoal that led down from the western bank to the water’s edge.

The rope now was quite sodden and heavy. And it was with great effort that Liss pulled it up a ways onto the bank and then headed back toward the ferry landing. An equal effort was made as Rædwald took the looped rope and finagled it onto the pulley. He waved and shouted at those across the river, indicating they should finish the job at their end. He opened his oilskin

Meghan waved back to him and rode quickly to where the pot of soup was simmering. A quick cup of it would be welcome in the chilly breezes. As she ate, she watched the taller of her companions work on securing the rope through the pulley guide at this side of the river. She shaded here eyes with her hand and looked to where Rædwald stood. He had put on his shirt and boots and stood near Liss, feeding her some of the dried apple slices Meghan had placed in his waterproof sack.

‘Well,’ she thought to herself, ‘All he’s got to do now he said is to pole the barge back while the others work the pulley.’ She looked to the landing near her, and saw they were almost ready . . .

[Tevildo]

Dorran was having a difficult time keeping his mind on what Incana and Vaenosa were doing. Brand had told them to get some horses, and it looked as if they were successful in finding several new mounts. He had answered Incana with several curt nods and single word answers when she had questioned him. Fortunately, Incana was so engrossed in her job of searching the houses that she seemed unaware of the fact that Dorran's mind was elsewhere.

Dorran no longer carried the shield he had found on the Orc. He just could not bring himself to touch the nasty thing. It had been given to Brand for safekeeping. Yet the memories from his childhood hung heavy over his mind. It was one thing to fight Orcs; it was quite another to take on the chosen band of the Dark Lord himself. Brand seemed to have some understanding of what that might mean. The girls had not heard their conversation and seemed not to understand what that gruesome shield with the glaring red eye might mean to their future.

When Incana had heard the noise and asked him to investigate, he had responded mechanically, going forward to investigate what the sound was. All his complacence had been swept away when he'd gotten a closer look at the young woman who now stood hesitently in front of them. Dorran had not said a word but gently reached out with one hand and gestured for the woman to follow them down the road way. Once, he had turned around and tried to ask the young woman who she was, but whether she did not understand or was too afraid to answer, the unknown villager had still not said a single word.

As Vaenosa had approached them, he had gone up to her and softly noted. "I don't know who she is. The stranger's said nothing, but at least she's not run away. She may have been a little frightened to see a man. Perhaps if you or Incana will talk to her, she will answer."

[Folwren]

Athwen followed the young man mutely to his companion. She kept her eyes down and her mouth shut, not really knowing what would happen if she looked a stranger in the face right now and spoke to him. But when he stopped, she looked up, and her eyes fell on her own horse, being held with his reins in the woman’s hands. Silently, she reached out for him, and she was handed his reins.

“Come, li’le one, come,” she murmured, drawing him near and placing her hand on his shoulder. He was trembling, and in the back of her mind she knew he was fearing the same thing she was - the dead and the burned. But she didn’t think about it. She buried her face in his mane, wrapping her arms about his neck, and shut her burning eyes.

Oh, the cruelty of wanting to cry and not being able to. Athwen became absolutely still again, as though frozen in her place. Her little chest rose and fell and her throat was choked up, but there were no tears and she made no sound.

After a moment, however, she seemed to come to herself. Slowly, she looked up, loosed her grasp on her horse and turned about. The strangers, there were three now, she noticed, were all looking at her. Somehow, she didn’t mind, nor did she feel threatened.

“I am sorry,” she said, her tone dull and quiet. The next moment, she realized she had nothing further to say, and so she didn’t say anything, and simply stood and looked at them, just as they stood and looked at her.

[Eowyn Skywalker]

Of course they were almost ready. It wasn't as if she would've not taken the time to pack up anything that wasn't needed (which of course nothing was)... it wasn't as if they hadn't taken time to eat. But some things went unspoken, perhaps for the greater good of the party, and perhaps for not.

Eostre didn't care. This was only the first step, after all. Standing beside her horse, she stared across the river. It was a bit narrower here, a bit shallower, but still swift from the nearby mountains—fortunately it was late fall, not spring. There was no melted water runoff to sweep away the horses and riders into the icy maw of death that surely waited beyond the bends and rapids.

The river was their enemy, sure as the orcs and wolves preying upon villages.

The sun gleamed off of the river, as cold as the chilly wind. Eostre tugged her robes tighter about herself, sipped the remainder of her soup down and stashed the tin cup. Surely they'd leave soon...

[Arry]

Wulfham

Brand was very glad the older fellow was not going to be stubborn. He felt he owed the man on two counts – one for the vegetables and herbs he’d taken from his gardens and the second for the use of his healer’s skills to treat his wounds. It would have been very hard to leave Leod behind when it was time to go. And somehow he could not see them hog-tying the man and taking him along with them in that manner.

Leod led him to the cottages of his nearby neighbors. They poked about and Leod called the names of various members of the different families but only silence, or the echoes of their own voices met their ears.

He could not see Vaenosa anywhere in that part of the village, and Brand thought that perhaps she had gone chasing after some extra horses for them. ‘Let’s go to the western side of the village, Master Leod,’ he said after they had finished looking through yet another empty house. ‘My other companions are looking for survivors there. Though it was hit much harder than this little area. Most of the buildings are burnt to the ground and there are a great number of bodies lying about . . . villagers and Orc alike.’

Again Leod led the way, and Brand could see he was saddened and angered at the destruction that had taken place. Soon the could hear voices a short ways away. ‘It sounds like one of my companions, but there is another voice I do not recognize.

The two rounded the corner of a half burnt building and saw Brand’s three fellow travelers – Incana, Vaenosa, and Dorran. They had their backs to Leod and Brand as they approached. And as the two drew near the familiar trio, Brand could see beyond them another person – a very young girl, holding onto the reins of a horse.

Brand hailed his three companions and introduced Leod to them, saying that he had agreed to come with them. He stepped forward and smiled as best he could given his face was half in bandages. ‘And who is this?’ he asked cocking his head a little as he took in Athwen. ‘I see you have a horse, mistress. Are you coming with us, also?’

[Nogrod]

Bregoware

Sythric was brought back to the here and now by the oncoming steps. How long has passed, what’s happened? The bright voice addressing him got him totally awake from his thoughts. “Is the soup ready? Raedwald would surely use some in a moment – and so would I”. It was Meghan. She sat beside him with a cup in her hand.

Sythric looked back at Meghan, pretty unsure about anything just now. Then he took a look to the shore. Fionn and Eostre were bringing the rope to the pulley, and someone seemed to be tying the raft at the other side of the river. “What on earth!” Sythric almost shouted, turning back to Meghan. “It was Raedwald, now wasn’t it?”. As Meghan nodded, he smiled her back broadly.

“Help yourself with the soup, and give it a stir if you leave the pot. It would of course have been better if it could have simmered another couple of hours...” With that he winked an eye to Meghan and rose up, addressing her still: “Then again. I’ll prefer bad soup to the option of spending any more time in this hounted place that just throws grim ideas over you.” He grinned amiably and turned towards the shore where others were approaching the pulley. “I’ll see if I could be of any use down there. I’ve sat down enough for this day.” By that he went to the shore.

--------

The ferry approached slowly but steadily. It was hard work. The rope was totally soaked and the ferry had some weight too, not to mention the current that tried to push the ferry downstream – a force which they had to fight against too. As the ferry was about the midway over the stream, he remembered! Long time ago, he had been on the ferry, when it had been laid full with the autumn’s harvest. The ferry had been quite loaded indeed! Then the ferrymen had used a kind of reel that was attached to the pulley – so that the round movement of the pulley could be changed into a straight pulling movement behind the pulley. And they had used horses to pull it! And that cage-like thing surely was here somewhere! He remembered vaguely, how it looked like. Someone must have run across it while searching the sheds... It would be tough oaring, getting ourselves to the other side anyhow, notwithstanding us being already quite feeble after this one. Well, it is late anyhow. You should remember things in time my friend! Sythric addressed himself, and bit his lip to make another pull.

Of course Raedwald! The thought came to him while pulling the raft. That’s so like him! When others say, that we should think about a problem faced, Raedwald would solve it meanwhile – and not only solve it, but accomplish it also. He just kind of saw the solutions and then acted on them, not making a fuzz about it. That was one of the reasons, why Sythric thought so highly about Raedwald, and why he was so happy about their friendship. He himself might have been the more battle-hardened warrior of the two – having served mostly in parties that had frequent borderline skirmishes - and probably in a bit better physical condition, due to his continuos riding, shooting etc. while teaching the youngsters. But no-one could outwit Raedwald, or actually do the things he did. He is just a marvellous man! Even if, after the soldiering years he had abandoned all the military excercises, he clearly is the man to cross the river by himself! Of course there were other things, more important ones: all the shared memories, the hardships taken together, facing death side by side. Those things do bind people to each other. And anyhow. Sythric just loved the man: his personality, his humour. What an example of the Rohanian spirit he is!

“You never give others a chance to work things out, now do you?” That’s what he would say to him as he would come to the shore. And he would embrace him, embrace him hard. And I’m being the melancholic cooking-boy today as others have done the work? I’m tired, yes. Because of these days of riding with barely no sleep at all, yes. But still. Pull yourself together man!

[Folwren]

Athwen looked up at the man addressing her. Her blue eyes softened slightly as she saw his bandaged face, even now, in her present state, pitying someone without even knowing them.

‘I see you have a horse, mistress,’ he said with a gentle smile. ‘Are you coming with us also?’

‘I don’t know,’ she answered. She studying him a moment longer after her slight reply and then looked at his companion. Recognition flooded her face and she extended her free hand, a smile coming to her face. ‘Leod! You. . .you were not. . .’ she faltered, and her face twitched slightly. ‘That is good enough,’ she said, lowering her hand and eyes together. ‘You are alive.’

She drew a trembling breath and let it out slowly. There were so many feelings warring against each other inside. She didn’t know what to think, what to do, or even how to react. To despair and wish to die seemed to the easiest route just now, and the least miserable. What was living?

But no. She shook her head to her own thoughts, struggling with a battle within. There were people here and she wasn’t alone. She had to show strength . . . perhaps it would get her through, even if it was faked. But at least they shouldn't have to bear it. They had asked her a question, and she must answer.

She looked back at Brand, though she didn’t know his name. ‘I don’t know if I am riding with you,’ she said. ‘Where are you going?’

[Undómë]

Bregoware


Meghan


Her cup of stew was quickly downed; the rich taste of the lamb lingered on her tongue even as she washed it down with a long drink of water. Meghan ran to the Ferry-dock to see how she could help.

One of the men had climbed the pole from which the pulley hung and was securing the length of rope through its guides. Another of the companions, one on horseback, stood up on his horse’s back as another held the reins and handed up the end of the second rope, which after a few fumbles and twice as many curses was pulled as taut as they could get it and finished off with a sailor’s knot. Rædwald secured the barge to the pulley line with the rope that was coiled in the bottom of the barge.

A cheer went up from both sides of the river as that task was finished.

The pulley apparatus itself was fixed on a stout pole that was driven deep into the ground just back from the bank’s edge. And in normal times, the strength of several donkeys would be used to turn the wheel that hauled in the rope. But their little group was unfamiliar with that more complicated mechanism and so they had to do the work by hand. Gloved hands – as one of them had cautioned, would maintain a better grip and save their hands from rope burn.

The bottom section of the long loop hung down far enough that several of them could grab hold of it and tug. The group formed a line along the length of it, spacing themselves out a little ways along the dock that extended into the river and began to pull steadily with their gloved hands.

Meghan, for her part, added her own slight weight to the team effort. As the rope began to move through the pulley guide, those at the back of the line would move forward to the front to take a new grip. And so began the long slow process of moving the barge . . .


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


Rædwald

He had tied Liss to the dock, giving her a last slice of apple and a promise he would soon be back. There were four long, thick oaken poles in the bottom of the barge. He picked one up as he boarded the barge and took a firm hold of it. He would be able to push with it along the river’s bottom to help the barge move forward.

It was slow going, but the combined effort of those on shore and his poling got the barge across. It would be easier going back across as three other of the men could help him.

Once back ashore, he gladly accepted a cup of Sythric’s savory soup, and in fact had a second one . . . ‘Just to fill in the empty corners,’ he said, with a grin.

The barge was big enough for all of them to fit in it. The horses could be tied to the back of it and could swim across as the companions poled. When lunch was done – the fire was put out, the bowls and pot cleaned and packed away and soon the barge was loaded

[Arry]

Wulfham

‘Well, we . . .,’ he paused for a moment his brow wrinkling. ‘I’m sorry, but I don’t know your name.’ He stepped to the side and let his hand move from one to the other of his companions. ‘This is Vaenosa . . . and this, Incana. And here’s Dorran. Leod you seem to know already. And I’m Brand.’

He nodded northward, saying they were from a village about her size called Wulfham. ‘About five days ride from here,’ he went on. His eyes darted quickly about the still smoking ruins. ‘Our march-warden had heard tales coming in from the north across the river that villages were being attacked by small roving bands of Orcs and sometimes Easterlings. And that the attacks had grown more frequent. He ordered the village packed up and is moving them toward the King’s Hall in Edoras. That is where we’re bound. With letters to the king, asking for help as we move toward the safety of his own town.’ His voice trailed off for a moment. ‘What has happened to your village has made it all the more real for us.’ He turned toward the others of his group. ‘I don’t think we knew the Orcs had crossed the River; that they were even closer to us than we thought.’

Brand noticed her glance at his bandaged face and he raised his hand unconsciously toward it. ‘We had an unfortunate encounter with a big cat several days ago. Or fortunate, perhaps, in that she is dead and we are still able to move onwards.’

‘Anyways, that is where we are going . . . and Leod, too,’ he went on, nodding toward the healer. ‘To Edoras; to the King.’ He looked at her questioningly. ‘There’s the old goodwives’ tale – that there be safety in numbers. Or so my Gran says and in just that way, too.’ He chuckled, thinking of her. It was an incongruous sound as it rolled out of him and over the razed village and the corpses.

‘We’d be glad of your company, wouldn’t we?’ he asked his eyes going to his companions. ‘Come along, won’t you Mistress . . .?’

[Folwren]

Wulfham

To Edoras! To see the King? On normal occasions such words would spark a wild excitement in Athwen, but this time the words didn’t ring so much as they used to. But, still, he was asking her to go.

‘We’d be glad of your company, wouldn’t we? Come along, won’t you mistress. . .’ He trailed off and inside she felt half inclined to smile. She had neglected to give them her name.

‘Athwen. And don’t call me mistress, or ma’am, for that matter.’ Half heartedly, she smiled, thanking him for the kindness offered by his simple address. ‘I don’t deserve either, nor to be asked to accompany you. Leod is going?’ She turned and looked at the elderly healer. He nodded. She turned back to Brand and then looked at his companions. Finally, she straightened her shoulders and lifted her chin a little higher. By far the shortest of the group, she figured the thought had entered most of their heads that she wouldn’t be an excellent rider, and would likely hold them up, and whatever else if she accepted Brand’s quick offer. It wasn’t a ridiculous assumption, really, but she promised herself she would be able to show them otherwise.

‘I will accept your invitation,’ she said to Brand, setting her eyes on him again. ‘There is nothing left for me here-’ her breath caught momentarily, but she continued again almost immediately, though her eyes dropped away to the ground. ‘They were all killed. And though I would like to stay and hope for those words to be proved wrong, I can’t. I’ve looked and I’ve found them all. . .’ Her heart began to beat harder and faster and the panic that had first assailed her when she saw the destruction began to come back. She looked up imploringly at Brand, hoping that, maybe, he, or someone, might understand just a little. She took one step back, grasped for control over her feelings, and merely said in finishing, ‘I will come.’

[Maeggaladiel]

Fionn bit down on his lower lip in concentration, sweat beading on his forehead despite the cool air. This was hard work; harder than he had expected. He was glad that he had eaten some of Sythric's soup before starting this project, otherwise he was sure he wouldn't have had the strength. Setting up the pulley mechanism had been irritating and troublesome at first, and manning the pulley was physically taxing. The sooner they crossed this damned river, the better.

"I'd rather be a farmer than a ferry master, that's for certain," he grumbled. He'd spent many long hours in fields, hacking away at weeds and bending over crops, and chopping loads and loads of wood. He was strong, but this was still hard. His arms grew tired from making the same pulling motions over and over again, and his fingers grew sore even through the thick gloves.

The rope was heavy and wet, and the current tugged at the wooden ferry. The ferry was so close... And yet so infuriatingly far away. Was it even moving at all? It had to be. He grit his teeth and continued to tug.

[Naria]

Wulfham


Incana gave a nod to Athwen as Brand introduced each member of the group. This poor girl, she thought, I can't even begin to imagine what she is feeling with all that has happened to her. Incana wanted desperately to embrace this forlorn girl and tell her that everything would be ok, but she knew that everything was not ok and it would take kindness and time for Athwen to come around.

Incana's thoughts went back to her own family and wondered if they were safe and were able to make it out of the village in time. She caught her breath at this thought and shuddered to think of any of her family dying at the hands of these foul beasts called Orcs.

The woman had an idea just then and gestured the group away from Athwen for a moment to talk. "I think what this young girl needs right now is a form of goodbye to her family and friends. I would like it if you three men would gather all of the human bodies and bring them to the centre of town, if you will. Vaenosa and I will find wood, placing the logs and tinder on the ground for a start." It would be a grisly task, but Incana was confident that this would start the healing process for Athwen.

[Arry]

Wulfham

Dead sheep were one thing . . . the bodies of men, women, and children another. It was the natural course of things for sheep to be killed as they pastured. Hungry predators would come hunting them, waiting carefully for their chance to spring upon a straggler. Then the body of the sheep would be dragged off and eaten. And there was the difference. The sheep were food; they sustained the wolf, or cat, or even eagle carrying off a spring lamb. But these poor souls, they were killed for darker purposes, in the service of that Lord of the Shadowed Lands. And for sport, too. Brands stomach lurched a number of times at the ways in which the bodies had been hacked up and displayed. It was a depth of foulness he could not fathom, nor did he want to.

Brand pulled on his thick leather gloves and tied a triangle of cloth he’d torn from a clean sheet as a mask for his nose and mouth. The thought of touching the dead flesh made his skin crawl. Still, he steeled himself to the task, knowing that his family would not want to be left in such shameful disarray; it would dishonor them.

They found one large, low-sided wagon that looked as if it had once been used for haying. One of the men took charge of the horses, keeping them calm as they went slowly through the death glutted streets. The other helped Brand swing the bodies up onto the wagon bed, sometimes using a strong woolen blanket as a sling for the larger ones.

It was a slow job, and often they had to stop to drink a little water to soothe their ashy-parched throats, or to clean their eyes of sooty debris. Or sometimes it was simply that they had to retch . . . the sight of some horribly killed person just too much to bear. The grisly job of transporting the dead to the center of the village ate up most of the daylight hours left to them. And in fact the sun was already setting as they finished, leaving only a pink glow that created the setting for a somber mood.

Still in his ashy clothes, his face grimy with sweat, soot, and dirt Arry took his place near the still unlit pyre. He’d taken off his gloves and stuffed them in his belt. In the middle layers, near him, was the body of a man he guessed to be near his own age. The man’s eyes were open and he seemed to be staring upward toward the darkened sky. One arm was flung outward from the pyre as if reaching out for help. Unthinking, Brand reached out to tuck arm against the man’s side; and with his fingers he shut the poor fellow’s eyes. A few words, unbidden, came to his lips. He had heard his father say them when they had gone to the funeral of one of their close neighbors. Brand spoke them quietly now, and with a simple sincerity.

Wes þū hāl! Ferðu, ferðu . . . Be thou well! Go, go . . .

As he stepped back, from the corner of his vision he saw Incana step forward with a burning brand.

[Naria]

Wulfham

Incana looked at Athwen with tears in her eyes for approval before she used her torch to light the wood. The woman stepped back beside the young girl and watched as the flames slowly licked the wood and gradually became bigger swallowing what used to be Athwen's kin. Incana knew that their spirits were no longer with them, but this thought did not ease her aching heart. She felt for Athwen and hoped that in some small way this would help to ease her pain. Incana could not look at the fire anymore, she kept her eyes on the ground trying hard to block the sounds and smells that were emanating in front of her. She could not find the appropriate words to sooth her new friend, so she unfolded her hands and reached over taking hold of Athwen's and hung her head in complete silence.

The five of them stood with Athwen for a very long time, the sky had erased the pink hue and replaced it with darkness. There were but a few sputters and popping sounds coming from the fire now, and Incana thought it best if they were to leave the scene and get some food and much needed rest. With Incana still holding Athwen's hand the group left the ash behind and made their way to Leod's cottage.

[Farael]

It was slow, hard work but at last the pulley system was set and the raft was brought to their shore of the river. They were all tired but it was just a few hours after mid-day and they knew they had to push on forward. There was still some of Sythric’s soup left and Osmod helped himself to some, before the fire was put out and the pots cleaned up. He then offered re-filling everyone’s water skins while he went down to the river to wash his cup. While he did so, the rest of the group packed up and loaded the raft.

The horses would be tied to the back of the raft and swim after them, so each rider needed to secure their own horse, as the animals would let no-one else do it. At last, the horses tied and their belongings loaded on the raft, each of the men grabbed a pole and started pushing towards the other shore. Their first efforts were not very coordinated and they seemed to be drifting downriver more than moving across. It did not take long until each of them realized they needed to push together if they ever wanted to make it across and so, guided by their own grunts, the men coordinated their efforts. At last, they were across.

Osmod felt the crossing of the river had taken hours, but as he untied his horse and lead him out of the water he realized it had not been more than a few minutes. His arms ached and he felt as if he had somehow hurt his chest, but it was not time for them to stop. The horses would need to be looked after before the winds chilled them to their bones, and then they had to keep on riding. “This was never meant to be a pleasure trip,” he thought “but it is only our second day riding and I don’t know if I can take another step before collapsing. Still, I must try. It’s my job if I am to be their leader”. Osmod looked at the other riders and wondered because of what insane whim of destiny the March-Warden had chosen him to give the letters to. They were all able bodied and smart. They all worked as hard as he did and perhaps most importantly, they didn’t seem to need a leader. In spite of his best judgement, he started feeling like a burden to the group. Yet because of luck, destiny or misfortune, he had received the letters and neither of the older men had seen the need to take his place as a leader. So, Osmod decided, he would need to lead by example, work the hardest to earn the position that had been given to him by chance.

It was not long before the horses were dry, their belongings loaded and the group set to go. Before leaving, Osmod walked back towards the raft and untied the rope that had helped them bring it across on the first place. It would not do for them to leave the way open for a group of orcs to follow their tracks. Not knowing what to do with the rope, he decided to heave it on the water and let the river decide its faith. To his great relief, the rope got caught on something at the other end and, rather than drifting down river, it just flapped on the current but stayed put. Whoever came next would still need to get the rope across somehow, but perhaps this small difficulty would deter a band of the servants of the enemy.

Most of them had never been across the river Those who had had done so long ago, so Osmod decided they would need someone to scout ahead, to warn them of any problems they may run into. He volunteered himself for the first shift, saying that he would warn them either in person or by leaving a sign should anything happen. ”I will meet with you if I get tired, and then someone else can take the scouting duties. Give me a few minutes to get ahead and then follow my tracks.”

They needed to go due south, according to Sythric, so Osmod checked the position of the sun and set his horse on a quick trot. He didn’t look back at the rest of them, just waved his arm vaguely and rode on.

Two hours had passed and he had seen no signs of people, whether friends or foes. He hoped the other riders would understand that he was not planning on going back to them until they stopped for the night. He was tired as was his horse, but he needed time to think.

Hours passed by and night encroached the day but the group had not yet seen Osmod again. The tracks of his horse’s hooves were easy to find and from time to time he had left one of his drawings to let them know he was alright. Yet night was drawing clear and soon they would need to camp. As the sun was setting they saw a lone man on foot, bringing the horse by the reins. When they drew near, they could see it was indeed Osmod. Both him and the horse appeared to be unharmed yet the man seemed absent, as he looked up to the riders on their horses. When inquired about what had happened he just muttered ”Not fifteen minutes from here there is a small hill. I rode atop that hill and looked ahead. I cannot explain to you what I saw; you will have to see it for yourselves.” Without another word Osmod mounted his horse again and showed them the way towards the hill.

[Folwren]

Wulfham

Darkness had fallen. The same shroud that covered her heart and mind took possession of the world. Athwen stifled a sob and her hand tightened in Incana’s. A gentle return of pressure strengthened her once again, as it had during the burning, and she looked up a the woman who offered her support.

Incana offered her a small, encouraging smile and then gently turned about, leading Athwen with her. They all walked away from the smouldering fire and picked their way carefully through the ruined houses of the village.

Athwen took a shuddering breath and looked up as she walked. Above them, the stars twinkled coldly in the black sky. She remembered a couple years ago when she and the young man who she was supposed to have married (they were but boy and girl then) had lain together under these same stars and tried to count them. Her brother had been with them, too, and had laughed at their attempts and instead tried to show them the constellations.

But they were all gone now. She lowered her eyes again. They had been given a proper and honorable farewell, though, and that was better than nothing at all. It would have been torture to survive, knowing that they lay side by side with their killers, to be eaten by the wild birds of the air and scavengers of the earth. It was better. . .a little. And bit by bit she would recover.

[Nogrod]

Bregoware

Sythric’s hands were quite numb after all the pulling and pushing. The two and a half days spent on the saddle with not much sleep in between, started to take their toll. He felt being in slower time-mode with regard to his surroundings. The world was a soft one today. He tried to keep himself alert by thinking. Trying to think clearly was a way to avoid falling to the half-sleep of remembrances and idle speculations. So he was thinking about this group once more.

Raedwald was just a head taller than the others – himself included. He would be the natural leader of the group, but because of the dynamics of the party, Osmod was better in that role. And Raedwald’s person was not the leader-person. He had shown it all the way by staying out of any conversation concerning these issues. Oh, how I admire his silent wisdom and fast action! What a man!

And surely, Osmod had shown his qualities. When Meghan had had her troubles at the morning, Osmod had shown better judgement than he himself had. He was really beginning to trust Osmod on this. Sythric was quick to believe in all the good with anyone – especially if they were young - but real trust was a different matter. Now he started to have some on Osmod.

The third one he was trusting somewhat, was Meghan. She was probably the only one of them to have really decided, why she was here and what it meant that she was here. She was the only one to have really chosen this task! That you couldn’t say about the others – himself included!

But how about Fionn and Eostre? He had talked with Fionn on their way to Aernanaes this morning, he had seen him working with the rope and they had been pulling it together, next to each other, and they had been oaring as a pair at the ferry. Fionn seemed quite reserved, very careful not to reveal his innermost thoughts or fears, turning it to a fun everytime, there was something bothering in the air. He also seemed very young indeed. Sythric did not know his exact age, but thought he was the youngest of them, by a margin. Still his earlier impression of a good lad, conscientious and quiet, held anyhow. He was only a bit worried about how he would react in a real stress – gods forbid them to meet any! He really symphatized Fionn, and hoped for this belief not being ungrounded.

But Eostre then? He hadn’t exchanged too many words with her. He also remembered Meghan’s doubts. On the top of that, she was the only one he knew not beforehand at all. That should have to change! The sooner, the better.

Sythric took a glance around. Eostre was riding alone, just behind him. He dropped his pace to allow Eostre to overtake him. As Eostre was about to pass him, he called her. “Do you mind having some company? I would certainly do with someone to talk to. I seem to be too tired and talking could help. And anyhow, we don’t know each other very well, so it would be a high time for us to become acquaintanced?”

Eostre seemed a bit distressed, but accepted the offer. They discussed about her parents, and the whole issue of living alone - and Sythric told her stories about his years, living alone too. The miles passed more easily this way.

[Arry]

Wulfham

Though they were tired, the thought of spending the night in the dead village did not sit well with any of the companions. Brand asked Leod if he knew of a place some ways south, where they could camp for a day, do a little hunting and fishing to replenish their food supplies and then move on from there.

Leod considered the question as they helped him pack up what he needed . . . his herbs and potions and unguents and other odds and ends of those sorts of things common to a healer. With his permission, they also gathered up some of the vegetables from his garden to take along.

When they were done, he thought perhaps he could show them a place where he went during certain times of the year to gather the wild plants that hid in the forested places along the river and would not be tamed to grow in his garden. The night was brisk as they rode out. Unclouded, the moon and stars shone down bright. With Leod in the lead, the horses picked their way along the uneven ground with a fair ease.

He led them a goodly distance to a little glade set in a small grove grown thick with cottonwoods very near the river. There was an old fire pit, ringed with stones in the center of it where they built a little fire to ward off the cold. After a simple late supper of dried meat, apples from Leod’s place, as well a loaf of whole grained meal washed down with a cup or two of chamomile tea, they were ready for sleep.

Brand took the first watch, inviting the dog they’d found to share it with him . . .

[Nogrod]

Bregoware

They followed Osmod to the top of the small hill. They were quiet. Osmod’s feeling catched on them all. Sythric thought, he knew, what it was: there was the town of Scyffold to be seen from the hill. He glanced at Raedwald, and saw the same sorrow in his eyes.

When they got up to the hill, the sun was already setting. The charred remains of Scyffold were silhouetting the night sky. They just looked and looked on it, silently, no-one saying a word. That was even more than Aernanaes. To the right, they could see fires lit towards the oncoming darkness. They must be the people from Aernanaes, maybe a day’s ride away from us, Sythric thought, but kept his thoughts to himself – as all the others did.

At last Osmod spoke: “"I think we should camp here. We will not be able to get much further before nightfall anyway and this hill should protect us from the wind as well as the sight of the town. Forgive me but I dare not sleep where the town can be seen.”

They all agreed to Osmod’s proposition and started to unpack their horses. Sythric got a leave from nightwatching, due to his lack of sleep. As most of the others gathered around a small fire to talk away the tension, Sythric just dropped off and slept away from this world.

[Undómë]

Bregoware

Meghan


The moon was bright enough that the way to the ransacked village was well lit. Meghan left her horse behind and picked her way down the slope. Her boots kicked up the light layer of ash and soot the wind had blown from the charred remains. At the back of her mind she could hear a small voice of warning, that perhaps this was not a safe thing to be doing . . . by herself . . . much less at night.

The blackened and tumbled down walls of what had been some of the outlying huts were the first things she came upon. The moon’s light softened the ragged edges of them and threw wide puddles of shadow about them. It was so quiet. So very quiet, save for the occasional sound of the night’s breeze as it flapped a half hung shutter against a cottage’s remaining wall.

It struck her odd, this quietness. Even in the late watches of the night there were noises in Bregoware. The bleat of a baby goat, wanting its mother. Chickens squawking as they ruffled their feathers and then settled back to sleep. The soft slap-slap of someone’s feet as they headed for the privy. A child, crying out in a dream. A feeling of great sadness washed over her at the loss of these familiar sounds. This village must have known them, too. And now they were muffled beneath the fallen timbers and the ashes.

‘Is this what we will return to?’ she asked, thinking of her family’s home as her eyes took in the ruins of some farmer’s place. And next to it the burnt little pen and shed where his family’s animals had been kept. She had always felt safe, secure, in the little dwelling where she lived with her mother and her brother and his small family. Now she understood how insubstantial were those old wood walls and thick oak doors against the ravenous dark wolf from the east who would devours all if he could. She shivered, pulling her cloak tighter about her.

In the dirt pathways that led from the outskirts to the center of the village were strewn the bodies of the awful creatures who had wrought this destruction. The villagers, it seemed, had put up a valiant fight against them. But so many were the attackers that they had not a chance of victory.

A frown furrowed her brow as she walked along. Where were the bodies of the slain villagers? Her stomach revolted at the sudden thought that the remainder of these vile creatures, these Orcs, might have taken them for food. Surely not! She sent a quiet plea out that this would not prove true.

As if in answer to this, she found her way at last to the village center, the small square that had served these people much as the one in Bregoware. A gathering place where news both ill and good was told and joyous tidings celebrated, sad ones mourned. Some ones had taken the time to separate these good people of Scyffold, as Sythric had named it, from their murderers and sent them beyond the circles of this world. Brought back honor to them in this way; gave their spirits some measure of peace against the horror of their passing.

Where were these good people now who had done this last thing, she wondered. And who would do the same should the darkness fall on Bregoware?

A tear slipped down her cheek, looking at the charred remains of bones. From the inner pocket of her cloak she took out her little reed pipe. She fingered the small holes in it for a moment, recalling a song an old piper had once played to send off the spirits of a number of young men of Bregoware killed in a skirmish with a small scouting party of eastern men. She hummed the melody to catch the notes then put the pipe to her lips and played for the fallen . . .

[Farael]

Osmod could not sleep. It was in part due to the pain on his limbs and his chest, but it was mostly because of another kind of pain. He had been the first one to gaze upon the burnt village and he had been all alone when he did so. His mind kept going back to that terrible moment when he saw the town from afar.

...His horse was panting, and so was him. He was trying to rid his mind of those doubts by showing himself just how far he could go without breaking. His horse seemed to have understood his master’s thoughts and did not complain when Osmod set a gruelling pace for the two of them. There was a hill and night was nearing, so Osmod decided to give his horse a rest while he went up on the hill to scout forward. After all, he still had to scout for the riding party. He grabbed a water skin and his sword and ran up the hill, until his legs ached and his temples throbbed.

He reached the top of the hill and breathed in a lungful of air. Something did not feel right. He thought it was because he was tired and so he bowed his head and breathed slowly, taking in big gulps of air rather than faster and smaller ones. It was still not alright. At last, he lifted his head and looked towards the horizon. There was a town, not too far ahead, and something did not sit right with it. At first, Osmod’s tired mind could not understand what was going on. Then he understood. That village was dead. Not just empty, as the other town had been, but dead. The enemy had reached it before the people managed to escape. The wind was blowing his way and carrying the scent of rotting bodies. The smell of death was what he had been breathing in.

Osmod fell to his knees and screamed. He felt like running down to the town and searching for anyone living, whether friend or foe. He wanted to help the people of the town first and foremost, but as his anger boiled over, the idea of fighting some orcs felt quite appealing. Yet common sense won the battle that time and he whistled for his horse to come back to him. He needed to get to his group and he needed to do so fast. It was no longer safe for him to be alone...

Osmod turned in his bedroll, trying to avoid a particularly annoying root and heard some footsteps going away from the camp. He sat up and looked around. Meghan was missing, he assumed she had gone for a walk. It was not safe to do so, not this late at night and alone, so Osmod thought he had to call her back. Yet maybe she needed some time alone, just like he had needed it that same afternoon. On second thought, Osmod dressed up, put his boots on, grabbed his sword and followed Meghan. He kept his distance and walked as softly as he could manage. He wanted to be able to protect her, not to interfere with her thoughts.

She went down the hill and into the burned town and Osmod thought of stopping her again. He decided against it, as he also wanted to see what had happened. Meghan walked into the village, stopping for a moment here, a second there. She seemed to be lost in thought and Osmod did not dare to interrupt her, even when he felt he needed some company. The mangled bodies of the orcs dead during the attack on the city were still laying where they had fallen. ”What kind of a heartless army does not look after their dead?”. Even the defeated villagers had collected their dead, as none could be seen. Osmod frowned as he realized the impossibility of what he had just thought. Someone else had been there before them.

There was no way of knowing whether that ‘someone’ would be their friend or foe, so Osmod hurried to catch up with Meghan. She had found her way to the village square and was standing next to a funerary pyre. Whoever had taken the bodies of the dead villagers had done so to make sure they did not become carrion for the animals. He approached Meghan. She was playing a slow, sad melody and Osmod waited until she was done. He understood this was her way to pay her respect to the dead, and he felt the need to do the same. He kneeled down and drew a pattern in the dirt. It was a different pattern from what he drew when they made camp. It was meant to symbolise a resting ground. His grandmother had told him it helped the deceased ones find their true resting places.

He stood up and cleared his throat. He did not know how to get Meghan’s attention without startling her, as she seemed lost in her own thoughts. He spoke, hoping she would not be too startled.

”Don’t worry Meghan, it will not be the same for Bregoware.” He forced a confident look on his face, even though he did not feel that way at all ”They are coming this way now, our families. Tomorrow they will be across the river and maybe they will meet with some of the other villages. The more people they gather, the more able men there will be. They will be ready and able to keep the orc bandits at bay”.

Osmod hoped his face would not betray his words as he offered Meghan his hand. ”Do you think we should head back now? Forgive me if I followed you, but I heard you leave and I did not want to let you come by yourself. The village might have not been empty. And I couldn’t sleep anyway” With a sad smile he looked at the hill where the rest of the group was sound asleep. Suddenly, Osmod realized they had left no guards to look for any signs of the enemy approaching. It was a bad oversight and he would not let that happen again, yet right there and then, his first concern was Meghan's safety, as well as his own.

[Eowyn Skywalker]

It had been interesting, Eostre thought, to speak with Sythric, albeit briefly. At least, she presumed he had no interest in her, her being greatly older, and he had been friendly enough... perhaps she was too cynical with all the party members. Just perhaps, though.

At the very least, she though perhaps she should be a bit kinder to Meghan. Somewhat.

And the town...

Burnt. Was that a surprise? Destroyed? Was that a shock? She found in a sense it was, almost drawing tears to hardened eyes. Too dangerous. Eostre sat at the fire silently, having withdrawn from the remainder of the party once more. Talking at the fire seemed so empty; the town watching over them no more. After she was excused for sleep after it was finally decided no watches would be set, her sleep was scarcely fulfulling.

Burnt... destroyed... gone. All the people...

It didn't take much to notice Meghan's leaving, not in her uneasy sleep. But she heard Osmod rise; her presense was unnecessary. Was it ever necessary? Hardly...

[Maeggaladiel]

Fion forced himself to close his eyes. He held them closed for several moments, but finally they opened again. It was no use. It was as though the image of the slain vilage had been burned into the retinas of his eyes. Opened or closed, they could still see the horrible destruction...

The image was terrifying. All those people... All those lives... Gone. Slain and burned by orcs or Easterlings.

Fion felt as though someone had slapped him across the face, waking him from a dream. This was reality. This horrible, smouldering scene was reality. People were dying. Fion felt suddenly very small, and very weak, and very alone. There had been men in this town; surely some fighters had lived here. And they had died. Died! If they had been slain, then how could he, Fion of Bregoware, farmer extrordinaire, even hope to survive should he run into orcs?

He just... would! a stubborn inner voice declared. Somehow, he and his party would pull through. They had to. It was their duty... But still, doubt began to cast its shadow over his mind. What if they failed?

Fion rolled over. Meghan and Osmod were gone, he noticed. They must have slipped off while he was busy trying to force himself to sleep.

Everyone else was asleep, although their slumber seemed far from tranquil. Fion quietly sat up. Sleep was unattainable now. He stared blankly off into the darkness, feeling strangely cold.

They were dead. The entire town was dead. A small, sleepy little town...

Like Bregoware.

[Undómë]

Bregoware

Meghan


So caught up had she been in her own thoughts that she did not hear him approach. She gasped, turning quickly to face the source of the noise behind her. Osmod! He was talking to her, but she did not catch his words at first. The sound of his voice seemed so incongruous in this little sphere of silence she had entered.

‘. . . think we should head back now?’

She looked down at the little drawing in the dirt at his feet, wondering what it meant. It seemed more intricate than the last he had drawn.

‘. . . couldn’t sleep anyway.’

His words came to an end and he smiled sadly, his gaze turning up toward the hill where the others were. He was worried about them, it showed in his face. Yet, he had come after her and here he was, offering his hand to her. And then the thought struck her. He was worried about her, too. It was an oddly comforting thought; and in a way, somehow disquieting. This mix of unfamiliar feelings made her uneasy.

She laid her hand lightly in his outstretched one, using it for balance as she took a little leaping step over the pattern on the ground. Her hand dropped away, resting at her own side, as soon as her feet were steady on the other side. ‘My thanks!’ she said, nodding at him quickly.

‘Perhaps your right. We should get back.’ She matched her pace to his longer stride as best she could. ‘At least to rest, if not to sleep.’ She pulled her cloak closer about her, blocking out the chilly air. ‘Will we head south again tomorrow,’ she asked breaking the silence as they walked up the hill. ‘Or head west?’

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

Rædwald


‘There you are!’ Raedwald was halfway down the hill when he spied the two coming up. ‘Now how am I to hold up my end of the bargain with your brother if you go wandering off when I’m dead asleep?’ He rubbed the back of his head, looking at her. ‘If it hadn’t been for young Fionn, tossing and turning in his blankets, I would have slept right through ‘til daybreak!’

He nodded to Osmod. ‘My thanks for seeing her safely back to camp. I’m wide awake now. What say you if I take the watch for now, and you catch a few winks of sleep. Be daybreak in a few hours.’

Rædwald looked to Meghan. ‘Now look at you, lass. You’re shivering in the cold.’ Rædwald took off his own cloak and wrapped it about her. He was heads taller than she was and it trailed on the ground as she walked along.

[Nogrod]

Bregoware

The gentle melody of Meghan’s reed pipe was taken up by the light breeze that alone wandered the forsaken alleys of the village. It carried it towards the hill, and with a gentle breath of wind it climbed up, to Sythric’s sleeping mind. Sythric was just passing from a light sleep to deep dreams, as the age old melody passed all his semi-conscious levels of awareness, without leaving a trace. It entered the unconscious levels of his being, bubbling like a small spring stream. It was both cool and smoothing, defying all the harsh remembrances and dark visions that had started to gather in his dreams. The melody carried him to his childhood, to love and security. To peace. He slep better than in months. He was at the arms of his mother, in the arms of a world that had no evil in it.

Sythric woke up before the others. The sun was not up yet, but it would be soon. He was full of energy and positive mind. There was no sign of yesterdays tired and gloomy Sythric. He tended Thydrë, checking carefully, that everything was all right with her. Then he took two apples and his pipe from his pack, and headed for the top of the hill in the dim light of the daybreak. As he had thought, the guard was sitting there. And to his pleasure, it was Raedwald.

Sythric sat beside his old friend, took a good bite of his apple, offering the other one to Raedwald. Then they were just silent for a moment. The sight of Scyffold surely was depressing. After his good morning, it took his spirits a bit lower. Well, he knew, he would have to face that sight before he decided to take his morningpipe up there. Sometimes it just was better to face the evil head on than trying to forget it. And the sun would be there, any minute now.

He tried to reconstruct the village out from memory, comparing it to this sight ahead of him. He thought, he spotted the town hall’s remnants, and then there was this large structure, only halfburned. He turned to Raedwald: “Do you think that big one there, quite at the center, could be Tryggr the Merchant’s villa? He sure was one of the wealthiest men around these parts of the world. But as rain falls over everyone, the good and the bad, the rich and the poor alike, so does war and it’s destruction. There is no escape from it, but resistance. And against orcs you can’t resist with gold, as you can with men. At the times of distress we are all naked, armed only by our fragile bodies to shelter one another.” He puffed yet a couple of rings from his pipe, and then offered the pipe to Raedwald. “You care for some this early?” he asked, and simultaneously heard some noises from down below. Someone seemed to have been waking up.

[Arry]

Wulfham


Brand had only slept a few hours of the past night. He had hoped they would be further along the river by now, but the incident with the cougar and the finding of the burned village had put them behind schedule. He lay awake for the most part, thinking what needed to be done before they could ride again.

The cat and her offspring had done more damage than just to his face and arm. One of the sacks of dried meats had been mauled and ruined, even though they’d hung it high from the branch of a tall tree. He had not been thinking of a hungry big cat as a predator when they’d done that. It had been easy for the animal to climb out to the sack and retrieve it. Now he filed that bit of information away for future use; though he hoped there would be no more encounters of that sort.

He was up before first light, and had stoked up their little camp fire into a good sized blaze. The river was near, and he was thinking of catching a number of fish. Split open and smoked near the fire, they would be a good source of meat for a fair number of days. He made a kettle of strong tea and enough noise to wake most of the others up at least a little.

‘What say we see if we can catch a few winter trout?’ He walked over to where Dorran sat still wrapped in his blankets, knuckling the sleep from his eyes. ‘Here! This’ll peel your eye lids open,’ he said with a little grin as he handed him a mug of tea. ‘And how about you, Leod? Think we can outwit a few of our finny friends?’

‘How about I meet you two down there?’ he pointed toward the river’s edge just east of their camp. ‘Was up early and sorted out my lines. I’ll start getting them set. The early morning rise should just be coming on. I hope a few of the fattened for winter fish will still be greedy enough to take the hook. And worse, comes to worse, we can try our luck with my small net in the eddies.’

The two nodded their heads at him, though whether it was in agreement or just an appeasement so that he would quit chattering at them so early in the day. He fetched a cup of tea for Leod, then took his leave. Curious and eager for company, the dog followed after.

[Undómë]

Bregoware

Rædwald


It was harder to see things in the distance he noted as he’d gotten older. Rædwald squinted his eyes toward the gutted, burnt out village, focusing on the central area. ‘Does look like Tryggr’s place. It had a nice, cozy little mead hall next to it as I recall. And there in that open square where the town would meet - well that was where Meghan saw the funeral pyre.’ He took a bite from the apple Sythric had given him and chewed on it thoughtfully.

‘You know, I doubt there was much left of the townspeople after the Orcs came through. I wonder who it was that took the time to honor the dead? Who else would have come through this way, do you think?’

Rædwald took the offered pipe and puffed on it contentedly for a few moments before handing it back to his companion. ‘Looks like the rest of them are beginning to wake up.’ He grinned, seeing Meghan rise from her blankets and give a mighty yawn, then rub her face in an effort to wake herself up fully.

He yelled over to her in a good natured way. ‘Bout time you got out of bed youngster! Us old soldiers be needing a cup or two of hot, strong tea, if you please. Been up early guarding you, you know . . . keeping you safe from dangers in the dark!’

She gave him an impudent look and stuck her tongue out in mock defiance; still, he noted, she picked up the kettle and took it along with her to the river. ‘Good natured little soul, that one. Smart, too. Good hand with her flock. Make some lucky fellow a good companion, I think . . . one of these days.’ He laughed out loud, thinking about how that arrangement might go. ‘Course, might be hard to tell who wears the pants in that family . . . has a mind of her own about things. Never knew her to be without an opinion on something.’

‘What say we go rustle up something to break our fast,’ he said standing up and brushing the dust from his breeches. ‘Don’t know if Osmod will want to poke around in the village or just ride by it. At any rate might be nice if we got on our way before midday.’

He saw Meghan carrying the full kettle back toward the fire. It was heavy and she carried it two handed. As she walked it banged against her shins, and even with his poorer vision he could see the look of exasperation on her face and that each step brought a muttered word or two. And he guessed that none of them would be the sort to say in polite company.

‘Good thing we don’t have milk for our tea,’ he laughed, walking along with Sythric. He raised his chin toward the struggling Meghan. ‘Else it would be curdled from the curses she’s let fly!’