Elendor

Halla to the Rescue!

Ranol is left bleeding on the path by Grishnakh, and Halla fortunately wanders by.
Sort Date: no date set
Location: The Carrock
IC Time: Evening
Description: The sun is sinking lower in the sky, sending crimson streaks across the heavens that are only a bit brighter than the red blood that Ranol is rapidly loosing from his wounds. His shoulder has stopped bleeding, but there are two deep gashes sliced through his leather chest piece that are showing little signs of reparing themselves.

The dwarf struggles to stay conscious, rolling onto his left side, trying to let his arm serve as a means of stopping the flow of his life. The orcs are gone, and his pony is laying on the ground, dying from the four arrows they buried into it.

How long has it been? How much blood has he lost? Only minutes.. but each breath feels like an eternity.

[Halla(#30997)] The roar of the river drowns out most sounds, but from somewhere to the north snatches of faint tuneless whistling can be made out, accompanied by soft footfalls. A lone figure emerges from behind a clump of bushes, the setting sun picking out coppery highlights in her braided hair. Halla has an axe slung at her belt, but walks without undue wariness -these are, after all, the Laird's lands.

Suddenly the woman stops dead and a soft, "Ugh," emerges from her half-pursed lips. She's caught sight of something - likely the pony, from the grimace of distaste on her face. Her reaction is swift - she tugs the axe from her belt and takes a single step back, looking, listening ...

The dwarf is on the ground not far from the pony, still curled on his left side. The dirt of the path is stained dark brown from blood. He has pitch black hair and beard, but his face is very pale. Ranol releases his sword and reaches with his right hand for his cloak, trying to stuff the excess fabric under the hard leather of his armor, gasping in pain.

[Halla(#30997)] There are no /sounds/ of trouble ... but then the rushing of the waters would drown out much. Halla chews thoughtfully at her lip for a long moment, before Ranol's movement catches her attention. "Bear's bloodly bollocks!" she mutters. A few long strides take her out into the open and toward where the dwarf lies, her axe hefted in her right hand. Looming over him, she crouches down to take a better look.

Ranol is in a bad way. He has his left arm deliberately pinned against the gaping wound above his hip, and blood is still flowing to coat his hand and fingers. The khazad sees someone approach and reaches for his sword, but when he tries to lift it he has little strength. He looks up to see which orc has returned to finish him off.

"You're.. not.. " Ranol's blue eyes widen in surprise. His voice is only a whisper against the rush of the river. "Please.. get my brothers.. north." He pleads, lifting his hand to point north.

[Halla(#30997)] Halla frowns at the jumble of words. Her response is lean forward further and speak slowly, as one might do to an idiot, or a child. "Can you hear me? Who did this?" Even as she asks, she reaches out her left hand to where the cloak is stuffed, trying to see the full extent of the damage.

The brown fabric is already saturated heavily with blood, even after only a few moments. When the woman reaches to pull it away, Ranol gasps in pain, drawing a shuddering breath. The wound is very deep. The scimitar hit hard enough to cut through his armor and slice a deep, long gash. He has another wound on his chest, less severe but also still bleeding.

"Orcs.. " Ranol answers after a moment. "Too much blood." He tries to push her away, his free hand having little strength as it shoves at her arm. "Go. please." The dwarf insists again, assuming his only chance of survival is if she can tell his kin at their camp. "I.. I'll pay you."

[Halla(#30997)] "Orcs?" Halla turns her head and spits as though to cleanse the filth of that name from her tongue. "These are /our/ lands!" voice is a near-growl. As Ranol pushes feebly at her arm, she drops the cloak back, bringing her hand away bloody his final words bring a scowl to her features. "Huh?" Tou think I need /paying/ to help someone?" She sounds almost insulted. "No. Going to get you out of here. Somehow." Her lips twist wryly. "Now wait." As if he'd leave.

She walks toward the riverbank, peering suspiciously into the dusk. A little later she is back with several handfuls of long flat, leaves. "Help seal the wound," she mumbles gruffly.?

Ranol closes his eyes for a moment at her words, his vision blurring again as he tries to follow her movement. He drops his hand weakly to the dusty path again, laying very still for a long moment. When he realizes she's gone, and he has no idea where, he reaches for the cloak again to try and jam the wound with the fabric once more. If nothing else this dwarf is stubbornly trying to cling to life.

The huskarl doesn't acknowledge her return. He's laying almost exactly how she left him, gasping in pain as he stares at some grass swaying in the wind.

[Halla(#30997)] Halla crouches over the dwarf again. The cloak is twitched aside and a handful of leaves stuffed there instead. "Press," she instructs, attempting to move his good arm over the deepest wound. "Need to cut this into strips." She jerks her head at the sodden cloak.

Some of the vacancy leaves Ranol's expression when Halla speaks to him. As she pulls the fabric away again he barely winces, and rolls onto his back. She presses his hand against the leaves and he holds it in place, as instructed. "Thank you.." The dwarf says weakly.

[Halla(#30997)] "Huh? Can't have you bleeding to death, wouldn't be tidy." Halla attempts a wink, then concentrates on using the blade of her axe to tear the cloak into long rough-edged strips. By the time she's through both axe-blade and her hands are crimson, but she doesn't seem to notice. She grunts as she tries to roll Ranol over again so she can slide a makeshift bandage round his torso before knotting it. That should slow the bleeding, anyway," she comments as she surveys her handiwork, which certainly wouldn't win any tailoring prizes.

Ranol grunts as she rolls him over, but doesn't protest. His hands and arms are stained dark from all the blood, and he tries to push against the ground, lifting himself a bit so that she can more easily wrap the strips of cloth. "Thari.. take the.. " He cranes his neck to look towards the dead beast and sighs, laying limp on the ground.

[Halla(#30997)] Halla follows the direction of Ranol's glance. "It's all right, the beast's out of pain now," she tells him, perhaps miscontruing his mumbling of the name 'Thari'. "Now ..." Her features knot into a scowl as she stares down at the dwarf, then round at the deepening dusk. "Can you bear any weight at all, or should I cut pulling-poles? Not sure I'd carry you far unaided." The forester-woman may be strong, but Ranol must easily weigh more than she.

Ranol is quiet for a moment, taking several slow, shallow, breaths. "Think I can.. " He pushes against the ground again, wincing and gritting his teeth, his black beard collecting a lot of dirt as he slowly shoves himself up.

[Halla(#30997)] "Good." Halla utters only that single gruff word before she sticks her axe in her belt and reaches out both arms to help the wounded dwarf, her left one under his good shoulder to take his weight while her right hand steadies him. The tall woman is almost bent double. "Lets see if we can get you as far as the Carrock at least, safer'n staying out here," she grunts. "That blood'll draw things."

Ranol tries not to lean on her too heavily, but when she first helps him up to his feet he almost topples again as dizziness washes over him. He presses his left hand against the wound at his side and the pain helps him to focus his mind again. He steadies himself, then nods. "Okay.. Thari's at Carrock." The first few steps are agonizing, but the huskarl is stubborn and keeps moving.

[Halla(#30997)] "Just take it easy," Halla tries to reassure, though she's scowling from the effort of staying bent in this awkward position. She tries to take as much of the dwarf's weight as possible as they stumble slowly into the gloom. "If we can't find your friend, I'll get help from the village. Goblins'd not dare the Carrock." For a moment a flicker of pride shows on her scowl-contorted features.

Ranol says nothing more for a long time. It's a horridly slow pace that the dwarf moves at, but his face is ashen and it's likely that he's still moving only with willpower. Perhaps after a mile or so the dwarf finally speaks, "Rest.. please.. "

[Halla(#30997)] Halla glances round uneasily - the sun is now no more than a faint red glow on the horizon. Twilight has come, and it is deepening. "Rest for a few moments then," she agrees at last, guiding the dwarf to a place where they'll have their backs to the river and their faces to whatever might be out there. "I'll get you a drink of water. And then-" She stops, swallows then sets her jaw. "I'll carry you. Somehow. Till we're in sight of the Carrock. Then I can go and fetch help."

Ranol settles down with a rumbling sigh of relief, his eyes closed for a long time as he breathes slowly, a grave expression on his face. "No.." He says at last. "Go for help. You can't carry me. It's too much." It's the most lucid he's been. Either the shock has passed or it's just finally setting in. "I'll be okay. They let me live."

[Halla(#30997)] "They - what?" Halla is but a few steps away, but the water she'd dipped from the river splashes back through her fingers as she cocks her head, startled. Frowning, she tries again - and makes it back to Ranol with her cupped hands full of cold, clear water. The river has washed the blood from her hands. "Drink, then tell me. Why did they let you live?" The words are guttural, harsh, hinting at suppressed anger.

Ranol drinks the offered water, almost choking on it as the sudden liquid on his dry throat makes him cough. He takes a moment to recover, then nods weakly. "They.. had a message.. " The huskarl is starting to get that glassy look to his blue eyes again. Now that he's not moving his body is trying to focus on saving itself.

[Halla(#30997)] Twilight lies on the Anduin Vale - a twilight fast deepening into night. The Great River rushes over its stony bed, and the noise of its passing fills the air. Almost it drowns out the murmurings of two voices, a brusque-sounding alto and a deeper masculine one that seems somehow ragged. In the near-darkness those two hunched shapes near the river's edge might almost be rocks. Almost.

Halla eyes Ranol, and shakes the last drops of water from her hand before fumbling with the ties of the rolled-up cloak slung at her back. "What message?" Her voice is near-growl.

Ranol is sitting against a mossed-over log, one of the dark shapes in the night. He struggles to remember what the orc said, trying to fight the exhaustion that's threatening to pull him unconscious. "A message.. something about a true god.. goblin filth.."

[Frarin(#31050)] The dwarves are descended from the mountains, but the land they now tread is by no means any less treacherous. Mirkwood lurks barely a stone's throw to the east and when a dwarf, and huskarl no less, goes missing, people take notice. Nightime is no time to be wandering alone.

And yet that is exactly what Frarin is doing this moment, though he is perhaps justified in that he searches for Ranol son of Ranor. The silversmith comes alone and clad in light summer raiment, but he carries a muted lantern slung close to the ground, and his eyes search the trail for signs of the missing guard.

[Halla(#30997)] Halla grunts in agreement with Ranol's last words. "Goblin filth." She spits. She has pulled her cloak free now, and she shakes it out before trying to spread it over the injured dwarf. Thus occupied, she does not at first notice the pinprick of Frarin's lantern, and when she does lift her head she blinks and rubs her eyes. "Thought I saw something ..." she murmurs, her right hand twitching towards her axe.

Ranol has no response. He's sagging back against the log, his eyes barely open into slits now. His breathing is weak, but he's still alive and he has Halla to thank for that.

[Halla(#30997)] When Halla's words are met by silence she eyes her companion. "Come on now, don't die on me. Dwarves are troublesome enough as it is, without giving them /another/ reason to pick fights with Grimbeorn's folk." Her tone is light, an attempt at jocular - but her fingers have found her axe and she slides it from her belt. Just in case that distant light is in the hands of an unfriend.
"Your name..?" Ranol asks into the silence, unaware of the potential danger she's so focused upon. But then, he voice has degraded to such a soft rumble that it may not even be heard over the river.

[Frarin(#31050)] The light appears again, this time with one side of the square lantern fully unclothed, for Frarin has found the tracks he seeks. Pony hooves, evenly spaced as if having traversed at an easy pace. He is followed them even as the low hum of voices reaches him and he pauses, blue war hammer already coming free of its iron loop on his belt. The silversmith pauses...One voice sounds vaguely familiar, if weak.

"Ranol?" comes Frarin's short bark, voice wary, lantern again covered as the hammer is held at the ready.

[Halla(#30997)] "Hmm? Hall-" The Beorning woman's murmur breaks off at the sudden shout, and she springs to her feet, axe held before her as she squints toward the place where the lantern was last seen. "Who goes there?" she demands in a hoarse alto.

Ranol perks up at his name, at least in so much as his eyes drifting open again. "Frarin.." He says softly, but has no strength left to move.

[Frarin(#31050)] The lantern is not entirely blacked out by the cloth over it, but it is moved behind Frarin as the dwarf attempts to place the voice. It is not a known one, and certainly does not sound friendly. He inches forward through the darkness as quietly as possible, but his boots still grind on the loose pebbles and soil. "State your name and business first," he barks back defensively. He does not shout as loud as he can, but any who have had dealings with dwarves in the past might recognise the rumbling, demanding voice as belonging to one.

[Halla(#30997)] Halla scowls at the newcomer's tone. But Ranol beside her seems to be trying say something ... hunkering down (but keeping her grip on her axe) she murmurs in his ear, "Dwarf, another of your kind comes. Friend or foe? Is this the Thari you seek?" Frarin's words receive no answer from her yet.

"Friend.." Ranol answers softly. "All are friend.." His eyes are drifting closed again, his face white behind the black beard.

[Frarin(#31050)] Frarin says nothing more when he receives no reply this time, perhaps suspecting whoever it is he addresses is attempting to place his position by his voice. He begins to circle around to the left of where he believes the unknown voice is, keeping as quiet as possible.

[Halla(#30997)] Halla tilts her head to hear Ranol's murmurings, risks a quick glance to assess his condition, and then seems to come to a decision. "Are you Thari? There's a wounded dwarf here, he needs a healer." The words are called out in the direction in which she last saw the lantern-light.

Halla picks up Studded Leather Helmet.

[Frarin(#31050)] Frarin pauses as he moves, the ends of his mustache blowing out faintly as he hears Halla's reply at last. Could that be a trap? Certainly the voice does not SOUND like an orc's. "No," the silversmith calls back. "I am called Frarin." He is silent a moment longer as a decision is reached. For a time only the rushing of the nearby Anduin can be heard, but then a sudden muffled light pierces the darkness fifty feet or so from Halla and Ranol as Frarin holds up his lantern to show himself.

Ranol is unresponsive again, the constant flow of the river too soothing a sound for the huskarl to resist. It lulls him, making his already sluggish mind sleepy.

[Halla(#30997)] There is silence as Halla peers at the figure revealed by the lantern, broken by a relieved sigh. "Over here." Her voice is a little louder now. "We can carry him between us. I've tried to stop the bleeding, but he needs a healer." As the preparations are being made to move Ranol, she adds one last quiet postscript under her breath. "And I need to tell Grimbeorn."

Players: Halla, Ranol, Frarin
Located in: Beorning | Erebor