Elendor
A not so abandoned outpost
A party of dwarves find trouble at an old Beorning outpost
Sort Date: no date set
Location: Outpost in Ruins
Game Date: Day 15 of August 3046
IC Time: Evening
Weather: Cloudy, humid
Description: ** Real time is: Tue Apr 07 11:42:38 2009, GMT -8 **
Elendor time is: Late Afternoon (1700) on Trewsday, Day 15 of August 3046.
In the Summer sky, Tonight the moon will be waning crescent.
Outpost in Ruins
Halfway through a reconstruction effort, the Beorning people's outpost is rising from its own ashes. The wide dirt ramparts remain from before, the sturdy stone base also still suffices. But where the old fort was build from head to toe with Dwarves joinery, it appears that great logs are the choice this time around for the walls, due to their availability on the mountain's slopes, the expediency with which construction can then take, and the possible lack of Dwarven labor and guidance to effect more lasting and strong stone joinery.
Contents:
Thari
Obvious exits:
Northeast leads to Anduin Valley - West of the Carrock.
North leads to Vales of the Anduin.
Northwest leads to Vales of the Anduin.
Storage Shed leads to Storage Shed.
Headquarters leads to Headquarters.
Barracks leads to Barracks.
Southwest leads to Western Vales of Anduin.
[Frarin] Whether because of inexperience, lack of supplies, or frequent attack, the outpost here seems doomed to eternal reconstruction. Or indeed, doomed to eternal loneliness. There are signs that some work has taken place recently, but hardly more than a few tracks several weeks old already. The abandoned fort sits amidst a straggled group of trees which seem to have grown into the fort itself, and with the grey humidity of the day, it seems almost eerily surreal.
From the northeast come a small group of figures, dwarves by all appearances, making their way across the plains from the direction of the Carrock. Mail and blades glint among not a few of them. Among their numbers is Frarin. He walks with his hammer withdrawn and used as a walking stick of sorts, but his expression is not so grim as it might be this far west of the Beorning village. Indeed, the silversmith seems to be quite content with the outing, though his eyes watch the vast plains with suspicion.
[Thari(#31038)]
The weather is certainly grim, overcast and thick and hot as it's ever been. Makes one wish to be deep within a mountain, really, but here are these dwarves.
"Oh, 'tis a pity to see that lumber on top of that stonework," Thari is saying, moving closer to the outpost. "Who do you suppose built it?" Her hand runs over the joinery line of old stout stonework as the sound of pebbles shuffling is heard from somewhere. "How did they ever manage to take it down?"
Ranol arrives in the Outpost having come from the Northeast.
Ranol has arrived.
[Frarin] Frarin too puts a hand to the stonework, picking at a piece that has developed a crack. "Who knows," he says. "Do the Beornings have much talent for stonework? I shouldn't imagine. Otherwise I should say tis a dwarf's hand in this." He moves away, absently kicking at a small mountain of logs once put away for the reconstruction of the fort and now mouldering. Several of the others move about with equal interest in the old ruin as well. "Oh, even stone can be undone, given time. Perhaps the place was captured at some point and dismantled then."
[Thari(#31038)]
"Naturally it's dwarf," Thari answers Frarin. Other dwarven voices rumble here and there. "Oh, I hadn't thought of that. That the enemy would have time to dismantle it."
There's a THUNK sound which comes from the direction of the barracks and after a pause, someone calls, "Barlin? What was that, lad?"
[Frarin] "Oh mind your messing about!" Frarin calls impatiently in the direction of the thunk. "This place has been mouldering away for years, tisn't good sturdy construction, so mind where you set your feet." The silversmith looks back to Thari. "Still, tis a good location for a fort. Shame it hasn't been rebuilt properly."
[Thari(#31038)]
"Now I'm sure the lads are being perfectly careful," Thari scolds Frarin mildly. "You know, we ought to offer to rebuild it for them -- for a hefty price. That's how my papa built up his father's busi--" she is interrupted.
There's a growl from the direction of the barracks, and then a shouted, "Baruk Khazad!" followed by a shrill and piercing screech, surely not made by a dwarven throat.
Eirdis is trudging along behind the group and hurries to catch up to Frarin and Thari, eyes widening slightly. "What in Durin's name was that?" She wrinkles her nose and shifts her weight a bit, looking around nervously.
[Frarin] Frarin briefly adopts a dry look in return to Thari's reprimand, but at the burly shout and shril screech, the silversmith's smirk vanishes, replaced almost immediately by a sharp look and a jerk as he whips around in the direction of the sounds. "By the Maker! Barlin!" He hefts his war hammer up into both hands and quickly starts in the direction of the barracks, but he stops abruptly after only a step, glancing back at Thari.
[Thari(#31038)]
Thari is still trying to loosen her axe when Frarin stops. The shadows lengthening after sunset seem to move, crawling toward the dwarves like spindly crouching spiders, and some have teeth. "What?" she looks at her husband, voice urgent. "Go, go! Fight, stout son of Forli!"
Something dark is dashing toward Eirdis, watching her with yellow-green eyes, a notched blade in its hand.
Eirdis removes her battle axe from its loop at her belt and crouches into a fighting stance, teeth gritted, her emerald green eyes focused on her opponent's yellowish own. She takes a step back, muttering to Thari, "What -are- they?"
Ranol sits outside, reclining on a pile of rubble while he puffs at a pipe, his eyes on the surrounding area while the other poke about in the ruins. When he hears the sudden cry, his calm respite is over. The huskarl quickly jumps to his feet, dumping out the embers from his pipe to tuck it away, then draws his blade and moves towards where the rest have disappeared.
Perhaps he is flanking the small attack party of goblins?
[Frarin] "Take care of yourself!" Frarin shouts back gruffly at Thari, then pounds in the direction of the barracks. Several others join him, drawing blades or hammers, even as the harsh cry of iron on iron rinks from the barracks.
[Thari(#31038)]
"Goblins!" cries Thari to Eirdis. "You've seen them before!" She turns to go after Frarin and then catches sight of the beast coming after her apprentice. "Khazad ai-menu!"
The blade of Thari's axe catches the goblin on the arm just as it swings for Eirdis's head with its scimitar.
Ranol comes up behind a couple of the goblins that are harrying the barracks, and buries his blade into the back of one before it ever realizes there is trouble at it's flanking. The creature screeches loudly, shaking violently, embedded on the steel of the broadsword before the huskarl yanks his sword free. A second turns and stabs at him with a spear, but the dwarf bats the point of the weapon aside with his shield.
Eirdis ducks a moment prior to the goblin's blade comes swishing at her head. She snarls and aims a well-placed swipe at the goblin's chin, grinning fiercely as an audible snap sounds, the creature's jaw broken. "Hah! That's for my mother!" She keeps attacking, the young dwarf seemingly in a world of her own as she hacks, slashes and pounds the individual goblin into a now unrecognizable bunch of limbs and a torso. Spotting another, she slashes at its throat, getting splashed with her opponent's blood. Taking a few steps back to clear her eyes, she winces as the scimitar of this second goblin slices into her arm. The wound is not very deep, but it is long, and she gasps before charging the goblin and disembowling it.
[Frarin] Before Frarin can make the barracks, a group of goblins stream through the openings in the decrepit building like black blood, howling with delight at the sight of the rushing dwarves. Several of them are felled quickly by the dwarves in front of the silversmith, but then there are perhaps a dozen swarming into the old open ground of the fort. A short, swarthy goblin seems to lock of Frarin and with a wickery little laugh, he charges the silversmith with a heavy, curved blade. "Khazad ai-menu!" shouts Frarin, likewise aiming for the orc.
[Thari(#31038)]
Thari turns away as Eirdis seems to be handling herself quite well and runs in the direction of Frarin. "Khazaaad!" Her axe is held high, her shield before her, as the swarthy orc ducks beneath Frarin's blow and aims for the silversmith's knee. "Frarin! Too many?"
[Thari(#31038)]
The orc with the spear snarls with frustration as Ranol bats the point aside. It pulls back the weapon again and tries to slip it again beneath the Huskarl's shield, to bury it in his belly.
[Frarin] The short orc's blade very nearly rips into Frarin's knee, but the heavy metal rings with a resounding clang as he connects with the silversmith's hammer, batted away in the nick of time. Growling, Frarin punches the butt of his weapon's haft at the goblin's jaw, failing to answer Thari in the heat of the moment.
The dozen or orcs from the barracks move quickly, scampering about the group of dwarves with many a cackle. One joins his short, swarthy companion in making for Thari and Frarin. This one though carries a wicked rusty hook on the end of a long shaft, which he reaches out and swings at Thari's ankle.
Eirdis takes Thari's orc at a run and slams her axe into it's left calf, screaming at she wrenches her blade free, only to bury it in its right shoulder, nimbly climbing off the beast before it can get a hand on her, crying out as her orc, whom she's thought dead, throws its blade at her foot with its last bit of strength. The younger healer pants softly, shaking her head and yelling angrily.
Ranol steps to the side, avoiding the stabbing point of the spear. He lifts his sword up and heaves down with a heavy overhead swing, putting all of his strength into the attack.
A skinny little goblin with a cudgel slips up behind Thari, swinging wildly towards the back of her head with the weapon while he laughs gleefully. "Dwarf meat is chewy! But I'll eats it anyway!"
[Thari(#31038)]
The hook catches Thari's foot and sweeps it beneath her. She falls back just to be cracked by a cudgel. The blow rings metallic from her round helmet and she is down, on the ground and pulling her shield over her as she shakes her head, dazed.
[Thari(#31038)]
Frarin's swarthy orc gives a scream as its head is knocked back, but it is joined by another stringy example, this one with a skinner blade which is slashed at Frarin's face. "For Zid!" it shouts in a rough voice.
[Thari(#31038)]
Ranol's orc moves the haft of his spear up to parry Ranol's heavy overhand swing, but it finds out how much strength is in a dwarf's blow, for the haft snaps in two! Ranol's swing is slowed by this but still the orc is cut at the shoulder, bleeding blood that oozes black.
It doesn't cry aloud, though its eyes seem more red, and the splintered end of the spear is shoved at Ranol's face.
"Aieeheehee!" the orc with the hooked weapon laughs, joyously jumping towards Thari as she goes down. The wicked hook sweeps out for the healer's stomach.
[Mobeorn(#22365)]
Into the ruins bounds a large brown bear, which pauses to survey the scene with dark brown eyes, trying to get the picture of what is going on all at once.
[Frarin] With his hammer thrust away him, Frarin does not have time to bring it back and knock away the thrust from the second orc to come at him. Only his out-thrust is there to block the attack, where the blade digs into the back of his upper arm. But aside from the rip of cloth, the successful blow brings only the jingle of chainmail. "I'll show you Zid, you bloody coward!" the silversmith growls. He swings at the second orc, but the attack is distracted at the last moment, for Thari's plight seems suddenly to catch Frarin's eye and abruptly he aims to shoulder the orc with the cudgel at the same time as he swing his hammer.
[Ranol(#26812)] The orc with the cudgel, Grexx, laughs triumphantly when the small dwarf goes down. He jumps up and down a few times in excitement, and lifts the blunt weapon again for another meaty swing at the healer, but suddenly a heavy weight slams into him from the side. He yowls as he flies to the side from Frarin's momentum, staggering off balance towards Eirdis!
[Thari(#31038)]
Luckily the cudgel doesn't come down again. The rusty hook, however, does. Thari deflects it with her shield, only to have it bury in her thigh and half rip out again in a very deep, nasty gash.
The healer gives a primal scream of pain, then cuts it off, gritting her teeth and groaning. She swivels to the side, still on the ground, and whips out her axe to try to split the hook-orc (Znarg) from navel to groin.
Ranol grins when the spear shaft is sundered under his attack, and is lifting the sword up again for what he hopes to be the dispatching blow, but the goblin is clever. When the splintered end of the spear is shoved at his face, the huskarl instinctively squeezes his eyes closed as he tries to dodge to the side. The sharp splinters of wood scrape a gash along his cheek and temple that leaves red streaks of blood, but the dwarf doesn't fall. Instead he presses forward, swinging his blade at the orc again.
Eirdis winces and makes a mental note to use her uninjured shoulder as a battering ram next time, and snarls, bellowing at the orc and ducking low, slicing upwards with her axe, into the orc's left thigh. Hearing Thari's scream, she dashes to her mentor's side, eyes glinting muderously at the hook-orc as she circles Thari, trying to find a weak spot as she smacks her axe's head into Znarg's hook arm.
[Thari(#31038)]
"Gow-arr?" the unfortunate Zid repeats through his mangled jaw. He is the swarthy orc who was attacking Frarin, and back he comes! He scrabbles to the side of the silversmith and aims a blow with his blade at Frarin's neck.
And the stringy orc-- it's a female, though it's hard to tell, and her name is Dizzurt-- easily evades Frarin's distracted blow, to slice now at the silversmith's belly.
[Thari(#31038)]
"Aieeee!" Ranol's orc, Gnog, is sliced by Ranol's blade across the rib and deep into its belly! It slinks slowly backward from the Huskarl, a hand to its wound, licking its lips and watching Ranol, half-spear still in hand.
[Frarin] Half a dozen things at once seem to call for Frarin's attention and his teeth clench around a growl of frustration. He has no time to come to Thari's aid again this time, though the healer's scream earns a shout from Frarin. But then he is lifting his hammer to the defensive again. He manages to bat away Dizzurt's attack towards his stomach, but Zid's blade digs a long deep gash along the soft skin just behind and under Frarin's right ear.
A cry of pain as bloody pain shoots through Frarin's neck and he swings the spike of his hammer at Zid's stomach.
[Mobeorn(#22365)]
The bear dives headlong into a group of orcs swarming now toward the dwarves. An orc body goes flying through the air as the bear disappears beneath the goblins.
Alas, Thari does not quite split the cackling Znarg to the groin, but certainly the healer comes very close. The heavy battleaxe opens up the goblin's stomach and he falls to the ground, wreathing in pain and howling. Granted, he goes still rather quickly.
But nevermind Znarg! For now a goblin with oddly grey skin and a black war hammer takes his place, and this goblin's name is Gezr. He does not laugh like his now dead companion, but he aim the head of his hammer at the ground-ridden Thari's chest.
Ranol has blood running down his face, but the wound is mostly aesthetic save for all the small bits of wooden splinters now buried in his upper cheek. The dwarf moves forward to viciously swing at Gnog again with the sharp steel of the broadsword.
Grexx suffers a deep gash from Eirdis's axe, and the goblin tries to scramble away to rejoin his friends. Bad decision. A bear suddenly explodes within the group and Grexx takes a raking swipe to the face from the razer-sharp claws. He falls into a dying heap, screaming.
[Mobeorn(#22365)]
Grexx, though, is not about to die an easy death. Rearing on its hind legs, the bear reaches down adn with front paws grabs the screaming orc, and then hefts it into the air, aiming it toward the orc about to attack Thari--a flying missile as it were, possibly inaccurately thrown, for bears are not known for their hurling abilities, nor for accuracy.
[Ranol(#26812)] Grexx suddenly finds himself becoming AirGrexx for Beorning service. The screaming goblin flails wildly, but it is to little avail as he is launched towards Thari's assailant.
[Thari(#31038)]
Thari does manage to roll away from the war-hammer, finally, laboriously coming up on a knee, back to Frarin as if this would help protect her. An orc goes flying over her head-- well, nearly anyway, for the Thari is clipped in the crown by its knee, head jerked forward by this. Thank you, Mobeorn.
Eirdis takes a step back, surprised by the bear. She yells to her kin whilst standing over Thari protectively. "Why does Mahal hate us this day? On top of orcs and goblins we must deal with a rabid bear?!" Muttering to herself, she stumbles as Thari suddenly rises, moving towards Frarin. "Thari, please just stay still, you're in no position to fight!"
[Thari(#31038)]
Zid is done for, hefted off of the ground by Frarin's spike, which buries in his belly before flinging him, howling, away.
Dizzurt is more fortunate. A shrill scream of rage as her blade is batted down, but it close still to Frarin's stomach and, quick as a snake, the goblin attempts to disembowel the silversmith with it.
[Mobeorn(#22365)]
The bear, not even watchign to see if where it's missile has landed, now looks about, as if seeking more orcs to fling about. Its eyes settle on Eirdis, and it gives the dwarf a wide, toothy grin.
Gezr's war hammer thuds into the dirt where once lay Thari and the solemnly silent orc sneers at the healer. His yellow eyes widen for a moment as a suddenly projectile AirGrexx flies at him, but Gezr ducks and the flailing goblin flies past. Straightening, Gezr looks back to Thari with a deliberate sneer. "C'mere, dwarfie, why yeh scuttlin' away, eh?" He swings the mallet of his hammer at Thari's hip.
[Thari(#31038)]
Gnog attempts to duck beneath Ranol's blow and earns a scrape across the shoulders for the effort, but his eyes are bright and determined. He jabs the point of his half-spear up at Ranol, to try to get beneath his armor, beneath his ribs and touch the Huskarl's heart with its tip.
Eirdis ponders how shooing the bear would work, but since its kind of helping them in its rabidness, she ignores it for the moment, aiming her axe at Gezr's hands and screaming at the orc, "Scuttle THIS, scumbag!"
[Ranol(#26812)] AirGrexx smashed into a pile of ruinous rubble and lays limp, black blood slowly staining the broken masonry beneath him. His left hand slowly opens as his muscles relax and a small dirty cloth slips from his unclenching fingers... a dinner napkin..
[Thari(#31038)]
"If I'm to die today, I'm damned well not doing it lying down!" Thari shouts at Eirdis. Blood just pours down Thari's left leg with the pulse of her heartbeat. She is still struggling to arise when Gzer's hammer-swing comes. She attempts to sway away, but is not quick enough. The blow does not land as hard as Gzer meant it, but it knocks the healer toward Frarin's legs.
[Frarin] Blood runs down and paints one whole side of Frarin's neck, staining his collar and chainmail hauberk. Zid fortunately is sent flailing, but the upward sweep of the silversmith's hammer leaves his stomach exposed to Dizzurt's attempt at disembowelment. The goblin's blade connects with Frarin's gut and rips his blue surcoat. A few chainmail rings fly, but from the silversmith's muffled grunt, his hauberk seems to take most of the damage.
As soon as it does though Frarin swats the blade away as if offended. But he does not retaliate, feeling Thari drop behind him. The silversmith turns quickly, hooking his arm into Thari's elbow in an attempt to pull the healer quickly to her feet before Dizzurt can attack again.
[Mobeorn(#22365)]
SQUOOSH.
That is the sound of one bloodied dinner napkin being smooshed into the blood-oozy ground by a bear trampling across the ground, its massive back claws digging into the ground (or is that Grexx's stomach) as it runs by.
The bear roars, and not at the dinner napking, but toward Frarin. Still, other orcs are between bear and dwarves and it is likely he will be delayed.
If Gezr had hoped to celebrate his knocking Thari to the ground, he has little time to do so. For, quite rudely, one of his hands suddenly goes missing. A confused look crosses his face for a split second, then he looks up as Eirdis' axe swing by and his severed hand flops rather comically to the ground. Then with a belated howl of pain, Gezr swings his hammer with one hand, aiming the spike at Eirdis' side.
Eirdis grunts and gives Thari a slight glare, snarling when her mentor is sent sprawling next to Frarin. She barks a laugh of disdain at Gezr's now dead hand, gasping and trying to dodge the hammer, but is a second too slow. She is hit in the side and goes down, but not before aiming a rough slice at Gezr's ankle, the wind knocked out of her. She lies still for a moment, dazed, not exactly certain which way is up.
[Thari(#31038)]
Thari is lifted up by her arm and stands on one leg and a toe near Frarin. She doesn't even look at him, instead looking back toward Gzer. "THE AXES OF THE DWARVES ARE UPON YOU!" she screams at the orcs, and indeed at all of the orcs in general, red-faced as a (deep-voiced, bearded) harridan.
She attempts to walk toward the orc, but only manages a bit of a hop, so she flings at him the only projectile she has as Eirdis attacks the creature-- Thari spits at Gezr.
Ranol wears a chain shirt beneath the chest piece of his armor, and it's quite a good thing that he does. The spear shoved at him is remarkably accurate in it's jab, and Gnog might have been successful in taking down the huskarl had the dwarf not been wearing such new, well-crafted armor. The tip breaks through one link, but is halted by the surrounding rings. The steel still digs deep, and Ranol gives a cry of pain, but while it scrapes a rib rather painfully, it doesn't breach deep enough to severely hamper the Bundazanul. Again, Ranol swings at Gnog with the broadsword, growling in anger now.
[Thari(#31038)]
Dizzurt grins a set of wicked yellow-toothed teeth (is that mold growing on them?) as Frarin turns his back. She leaps foward, trying to scrape armor from his head with a flick of the tip of her notched blade
[Mobeorn(#22365)]
Barreling through the orcs between him and the dwarves, the bear now races toward Gzer. It gives some sort of rhythmic roar--probably words, but it's a bear, so....he roars. The orcs he has swept through lay sprawled, crushed or hurled to the side. Others turn tail and ran as the bear came at them.
[Thari(#31038)]
Ranol's blow is successful. Gnog is beaten to the ground, his back sliced open and ribs dented in an obscene way. The creature moans weakly, then begins scrabbling toward the Huskarl, trailing entrails, to reach toward his leg.
Gezr snorts in victory as Eirdis falls to the ground and he skips back deftly as the healer swats at him. Thari's attack is successful however, landing a splotch of spittle on the goblin's neck. But a roaring bear is rather more pressing than spittle and Gezr's jaw falls open as the bear bears down him, as bears do. His single hand swings out with his hammer again, the spike flying towards Mobeorn.
[Mobeorn(#22365)]
Spike o' Gezr hits, pulling blood from fur-covered bear flesh, but tis only a flesh wound--and it seems to just make the bear angrier. One huge claw-spiked paw now takes a hefty swat toward Gezr's head, as if to break it off at the neck. This is accompanied by a howl of rage, ear-splitting, and ground shaking.
Ranol moves in to kick at the goblin's head with the heel of his boot, then the huskarl goes on to find a new foe to deal with.
[Frarin] Frarin is not wearing his helmet, nor is he facing Dizzurt, for he manages to silently pull Thari to her feet again just as the goblin attacks the silversmith. The notched blade digs deep into Frarin's scalp, though fortunately horizontally rather than vertically. The silversmith cries out in pain as the blade slices under his hair, bleeding as only a head wound can. Half blinded as the blood quickly fills his right eye, Frarin barrels towards Dizzurt and swings the spike of his hammer at the goblin's side.
Poor Gezr. If he was confused at the sudden loss of his hand, then imagine what confuzzlement should overcome him when he is suddenly flying through the air as if he were no heavier than a small boulder. And indeed, when heads are separated from their bodies, they generally ARE no heavier than small boulders. Gezr's grey mottled body, very much unlike his head, falls soundly to the ground with a whoosh of air.
[Thari(#31038)]
Dizzurt cackles with glee, the laughter coming through her angled nose. She dances back-- his spike catches her, it's true, but it's also a glancing blow that clangs against her crude armor-- and to the side. She tries to slice in that clever blade between Frarin's beard and neck.
[Thari(#31038)]
Thari gives a growl and tries to follow after Frarin in a lame little limp-hop. Her whole left pant-leg is soaked with bright blood, but in contrast, the ruddy color of her face is going pale.
[Mobeorn(#22365)]
Having thus separated Gezr head from body, the bear turns with a grunt to assess the situation. It seems that many of the orcs are dead, and many more have fled to fight another day. But Dizzurt remains, and now the bear rumbles that way, trying to come up behind the goblin and grab it by the nape of its neck with one paw.
Eirdis continues to try to get herself right-side-up, struggling to her feet with the help of her axe haft, shuddering. "Why can't we just damn well go home now?" She yells at nobody in particular, and sees Dizzurt go for Frarin, who is helping Thari. She quickly hobbles over behind the orc and brings her axe up over her head, aiming at the beast's back. "Thari! Frarin! Baruk Khazad, Khazad ai-menu! Khazad ai-" She coughs and is cut short on her battle cry as a previously hidden goblin comes from the shadows with a dagger, slamming the short, rusty blade into the younger healer's side.
[Frarin] Blinking furiously and breathing laboured, Frarin moves just fast enough to hit Dizzurt's blade away from another successful hit. He has just enough time to wipe blood from his eye before Mobeorn suddenly fills his vision, hiding Dizzurt from view. A dazed look begins to creep into the silversmith's expression, but he shakes his head, still blinking furiously, and abruptly swings the mallet of his hammer at Eirdis' attacker's head.
[Thari(#31038)]
Dizzurt screams at the sight of Mobeorn approaching. This foe is, apparently, more daunting than wee Frarin, so the orc suddenly turns and runs, slipping beneath Mobeorn's paw and attempting to escape.
[Thari(#31038)]
Thari is trying to rush to get to Frarin and thus misses Eirdis's attacker. She turns quickly to see what Frarin is swinging at and falls down, landing on the knee of the wounded leg with a cry of pain.
[Mobeorn(#22365)]
"Foiled!" It's a curse growled out, but to dwarven and orc ears, it's just a growl. Dizzurt slips beneath the bear paw, but at the last second a bear leg boots out, trying to give Dizzurt a good swift kick in the hind quarters to send the orc on its way, prefereably to a bloody end, but if not, at least on its way out of the battle.
[Thari(#31038)]
Knak is grinning gleefully to himself and is attempting to pull the knife from Eirdis's side as Frarin's hammer creates a dent in his skull. The dent is so deep that as he collapses, he hangs from Frarin's hammer where it is still embedded in his temple.
[Thari(#31038)]
Dizzurt goes flying with Mobeorn's kick, but scrabbles in the air with all limbs. She only goes running faster upon landing, soon gone over a hillock.
[Frarin] Frarin grunts as his hammer connects with Knak and, indeed, disconnects Knak from himself. But the dazed look on the silversmith's face remains as he makes so sign of satisfaction at having so disabled the goblin. Instead, his hammer head drops to the ground as he releases one hand and turns around almost as if drunk. "Thari?" he grits out, stumbling towards the healer and dropping, or falling rather, to one knee. He wipes blood from his eye again. "Thari!"
[Mobeorn(#22365)]
And the bear wastes no time in scrambling after said flying orc, but Dizzurt has an airborne start and soon disappears up the hill. Bear, too, is shortly hidden by the rubble.
Several minutes later, a large Beorning man ambles down the hill, though from a different direction than that which the bear previously took. It's Mobeorn, and he walks as if out for an evening stroll among the orc-ridden hills. He smiles at the group, waving as he approaches. Blood is dripping down one arm, but that might not be noticeable in the dark.
[Thari(#31038)]
Thari's lips are peeled back from her teeth in a grimace of pain, but she rights herself enough to grab Frarin's face with both hands. She studies his eyes and wipes blood from his face. "We need to get to the Beornings, all of us."
Thari's glance goes aside briefly. "Mobeorn! Can ye get us out, lad? Get help perhaps?"
Eirdis rises from her spot on the ground again, panting heavily. Dizzy, she stumbles a bit as she limps to Thari and Frarin. "Are we all alive, then, and accounted for?" She frowns and wrinkles her nose, staring at Mobeorn, mouth open slightly. "That's... But.. How?!"
[Frarin] Frarin continues to blink rapidly when Thari grasps his head in both her hands and his breathing is heavy, but he nods, sitting back on his knee. "Aye...aye...the village," he stutters. His hand goes first to the brutal wound on his neck, then to his head, where a flap of skin is loose. It bleeds worse, but it seems that the silversmith's neck pains him more. He grimaces.
Struggling, he leans on his war hammer and attempts to push himself back to his feet. It is a sloppy movement, but he does manage it barely before reaching down for Thari. Mobeorn goes almost acknowledged aside from a dazed glance at the man.
[Mobeorn(#22365)]
"Get you out?" Mobeorn asks, frowning as he notes the dwarven injuries. "The village...well, I can't carry you all, and it's a day's walk from here. So...I can help, but you need to bandage the wounds as best you can. Used to be there was an outpost here with healers and supplies and warriors, but we've lost ground to the orcs. As you can tell."
The shapeshifter only grins toothily at Eirdis.
[Mobeorn(#22365)]
And with that, Mobeorn stoops, as if to lift Thari like a sack of potatoes over one shoulder--stooping to attempt it.
[Thari(#31038)]
Thari stands, using Frarin for balance and trying to do so only minimally. "You be gentle with yourself now, Frarin," says the shorter dwarf. "Lads!" she shouts about briskly. "Take the wounded! Back to the Carrock! We nee-- aah!" Thari is suddenly lofted into the air by Mobeorn and hangs blinking dumbly at the ground.
Eirdis still just stands there, aghast at Mobeorn. "Someone want to take my pony? I can walk, I'm not that badly in-" She winces and hisses under her breath. "Damn.. The last two blows..." She shakes her head as if to clear it of water, muttering under her breath. "So, who's riding Valkyrie, who's walking? Thari, Frarin, where d'you want me to be?"
[Frarin] Frarin's eyes widen when Thari is suddenly lifted into the air and sat upon Mobeorn's shoulder, but a few more furious blinks and his seems content for the healer to hand there. Still stumbling like a drunk, he falls to his knee again at the side of a downed goblin. He removes a long greasy rag from the corpse's head and rips it in two with fumbling fingers slowed by a loss of blood. One strip is tied about his neck, as tightly as possible without choking him. The other he ties at an angle around his head, securing the flap of skin and hair into place and hopefully staunching the flow of blood.
The silversmith struggles to his feet again with as much trouble as before and blinks furiously at Eirdis when the healer starts asking questions. "You are," Frarin says, his tone firm despite his daze. "You ride your pony, Eirdis. Up you go, you aren't walking with that knife wound. Quickly now!"
[Mobeorn(#22365)]
"You shouldn't be walking, either, with a head wound like that," Mobeorn says--and with that he stoops again, looking to wrap an arm around Frarin and haul him up onto his shoulder--stomach side down, like a sack of potatoes if he succeeds. "That's all I can carry, but I can go faster than you folk!"
Ranol returns from a perimeter sweep, looking a bit out of breath but far better than some of his companions fare. The side of his face is a bloody mess but doesn't seem to be more than superficial damage. When he sees Frarin stumbling he's about to approach to help, but Mobeorn has it in hand. Instead the huskarl moves to Eirdis's side, "I'll help you up, Eirdis. You can manage hanging on, yes? I'll lead the pony."
[Thari(#31038)]
"Eirdis, you ride," Thari orders from atop Mobeorn. Her leg is staining his shirt woefully. "Somebody watch for Frarin-- oh! Good one, Moboern, lad. Frarin, you're in no state to walk," the short healer tells him severely across Mobeorn's shoulder.
Eirdis wrinkles her nose and turns around swiftly to give Frarin a nasty retort, but in doing so, she opens up the knife wound again, gasping and gritting her teeth. Clambering onto her pony, she gives the equine a sharp nudge with her heels, hanging onto the reins. "Ranol, ride Hrappi! I'm fine, just a flesh w-wound." She shivers a bit from blood loss and shock, but otherwise seems to be keeping it together.
[Thari(#31038)]
After this lecture, Thari falls silent. Mobeorn might notice that the dwarf-healer is hanging limply now, for, face pale, she has finally lapsed into unconciousness from blood loss.
[Frarin] "Hey!" Frarin cries out as he is suddenly sweep up off his feet without warning. "I'm fine! Bloody hell, let me down, y'fool man! I'm fine walking, for Durin's sake, let me down!" Despite his slurred words, the silversmith puts up a flailing fight until he attempts to twist himself down from his perch, which wrenches hard on his neck wound. That brings a cry of pain from Frarin, and in his paused struggle he catches sight of Thari as the healer goes limp. The silversmith gasps and stops his struggles. "Thari! Fine, fine! Go, go on! Go on!"
[Mobeorn(#22365)]
"Quit your fidgeting!" Mobeorn snaps irritably at Frarin. "Your warrior here is bleeding all over me and fainted from the feel of it. The sooner you all shut up, the sooner we can make the village. And the more noise you make, the more orcs are goign to come after us. Now quit moving and let me walk." He takes off with long strides, making for a bumpy ride and not waiting for Ranol, Eirdis or the rest.
Ranol ignores Eirdis and reaches to tug the reins away from the dwarf, fully intending to do just as he said he would. He gives some orders to a couple of dwarves that approach, "You go ahead with Mobeorn.." He orders one that's mounted, then commands the other to collect up the rest of the group so they can all return together.
[Frarin] Oh the indignity! Grimacing through squinted eyes, Frarin hangs uselessly over Mobeorn's shoulder, resigned to the long walk - or ride, rather - of shame back to the village.
Eirdis trots along upon her mount, wincing with each jolt her wounds receive. She doesn't say anything, fearing for Thari and Frarin. Eventually she slumps in the saddle, unconcious and nearly falling off, somehow her feet are still in the stirrups. Her head bounces jerkily on her mount's neck, the pony fleeing with all haste from the orc scent.
Mobeorn heads northeast, leaving the Outpost behind him.
Mobeorn has left.
Eirdis heads northeast, leaving the Outpost behind her.
Eirdis has left.
Thari has left.
Infirmary
The dark of night is held at bay in this room by two small lamps carefully set upon a long table that extends along the far wall and the flickering light of the fire in a small hearth in the far right corner. The dark of night turns the large windows on either side of the door into ebon mirrors, reflecting the light sources back into the room. Along either side of one entering the room are rows of cots, some apparently occupied, judging from the shapes covered in warm blankets.
Contents:
Cecilia
Thari
Mobeorn
Obvious exits:
Back Room and Out
Eirdis arrives from outside.
Eirdis has arrived.
[Cecilia(#23897)] Another quiet, dull night in the infirmary. Where -was- Hakr to entertain the healer when things are slow? Cecilia sighs, sitting back in a chair with embroidery supplies on the table in front of her, humming softly while she works at an intricate stitching pattern on a shirt for her young nephew. She's tired, as dawn is nearly here.
[Mobeorn(#22365)]
Dawn is on its way soon, but at the moment, the village is dead quiet--even the dogs are asleep. So what is the sudden crunching of many footsteps outside the door to the infirmary and then the dull thud of feet on the steps?
The door swings open and a bloodied Mobeorn dumps two figures--more bloodied than he is--unceremoniously onto the closest empty cot.
They are orc-sized figures.
[Frarin] Orc-sized perhaps, but the groan one of them emits is decidedly un-orc-like. Frarin looks haggard and tired and his breathing comes in huffs. His face is pale, but then, he -has- just spent eight hours on Mobeorn's shoulder.
Eirdis drags himself into the infirmary, looking for the healer and assuming it the lass sitting looking bored. Well, the dwarves have brought enough casualties to keep three trained healers busy. Thank goodness one of the conscious dawrves is a healer, too, and not as badly injured as his kin. Panting heavily, the red-haired, green-eyed dwarf winces with every step he takes, having fallen off his pony once in the mad run for the village from the ruins. "Need... Wine.. Any kind of spirits will d-do, just g-give me something to s-steady meself, l-lass, an' I'll help treatin' the w-wounded." He is unusually pale from the broken ribs, the long dagger wound in his back, and the concussion.. Still, he'd rather help than lay prone on a cot amongst Men/
The other figure is still, but breathing, and this is Thari.
[<#23897>] Cecilia looks up, startled from the quiet, peaceful atmosphere as Mobeorn moves in. She gapes for a moment, then jumps to her feet. 'What happened?' The girl asks, dumping the shirt onto the table and moving swiftly to where the tall man stands. "" The healer asks with some distress in her voice.
Hakr arrives from outside.
Hakr has arrived.
Cecilia looks over at Eirdis then and sharply speaks, "Don't touch anything! Just sit on a bed if you're hurt!" One would think it was an enemy that walked in so battered and bloody. She points at one of the cots, not moving any closer to the dwarf. "I'll get you some mead."
[<#22365>] "" Mobeorn says, waving a hand dismissively, then continuing in common, 'As for why I didn't take them to their own healers, well, they seemed to close to bleeding to death for me to fuss with trying to find their camp in the dark. And they asked for our help here. So here we are. Breaks up the boredom,' he grins at the girl.
It is just before dawn, and the quiet of the village has been broken by Mobeorn arriving with two wounded dwarves carried over his shoudlers, potato-sack-like, plus Eirdis, wounded but offering to help Cecilia.
A dog now barks outside the infirmary, woken by Mobeorn's tromp of steps.
[Frarin] "Oh, sit down...Eirdis..." comes Frarin's voice abruptly, husky and laboured, but containing its familiar impatience. "You're...hurt too...lad." The silversmith rolls in his bed, pushing himself up slightly with one elbow to have a look at Thari on the cot beside him.
Eirdis bends over Thari after having slowly limped over to his cot, inspecting his fellow's wounds and murmuring quietly, but loud enough for the woman to hear, "Some fresh bandages, and I've a word of advice, lass. -Never- tell a healer to 'sit down' when their cousins are injured. All I need is a night's sleep, some strong ale and..." He winces and turns carefully to Frarin. "Please, just let me -work-, I'm no use to anyone just lying here! Besides, it takes my mind off the pain. Let me help Thari, then I'll think about sitting and being a good dwarf." He gives a slight smile to Frarin and turns back, working on Thari's more major wounds first, before gasping and doubling up, grabbing the wall for support. "Damned orcs probably broke some ribs, maybe a punctured lung.. Lass, help my cousin Frarin, whilst I fix up Th-Thari, here, would you?"
Cecilia sucks in a deep breath, giving Mobeorn a long, hard look, then lets out the held air in a sigh and moves to one of the supply cabinets. She begins pulling out bandages, poultices, jars, and other healing neccessities. "I just sent Cara home a little while ago, but my brother should be here soon. You can help in the meantime, Mobeorn. What happened? Goblins?" The young woman scoops up all the items she's collected and carries them back to the cot where Frarin and Thari were dumped.
The Beorning wrinkles up her nose when she sees how the dwarves are dressed, then rolls up the sleeves of her shirt with a grimace. "Just lay down, Master Dwarf, I'll get you stitched up after I see to your friend here.." She says to Frarin in a voice that's kind enough, despite the disgusted expression on her face. Eirdis is given a scowl. "This is -my- infirmary, I'm in charge! Into a bed before I have Mobeorn throw you out and you can bleed on the porch!"
She must be used to being obeyed, because she doesn't even watch to see if Eirdis listens. Instead, the healer reaches for a knife to cut away Thari's pantleg, for Ceci has -no- desire to see dwarven dangly bits.
[Hakr(#3217)] The barking dog is soon joined by the deep murmur of a man's voice outside, that of yet another person making his way up the path towards the infirmary. The door swings open again, the fisherman Hakr stepping throw with a glance cast backwards. "Oh, for the last time, be silent!" When he turns round, lopsided grin on his face, the voices reach his ears for the first time and he stops dead in his tracks, mouth still agape, but with whatever he had been preparing to say dead in his throat.
After a moment, the fisherman finds his voice again, but all traces of joviality have been replaced with blatant surprise. "What... Dwarves? What happened? Are they hurt? Was there an attack Why..." Too many questions at once - Hakr will shake his head and turn his bemused expression to Mobeorn.
[Mobeorn(#22365)]
Mobeorn, used to this torrent of words from the Beorning healer, just grunts and sinks into a chair.
"What do you mean what happened?" he answers her irritably and then grants an equally irritable look to Hakr as the fisherman arrives. "Orcs, of course. What else did they expect, poking around the ruined outpost in the middle of the night. I suppose they thought they were up to it alone, when we haven't been able to hold the orcs off there for years now, not even with the help of the elves." He sighs. "We walked all night to get back here. That one..." he nods toward Thari..."he's a bleeder. Messed up my tunic."
[Frarin] "For Durin's -sake-, Eirdis..." Frarin says gruffly, his voice growing faint for a moment. "Listen to the lass...and seat yourself." Weak as he is, it seems the silversmith is in no good mood this morning. He does, however, give a silent nod to the young woman before he sinks back into his cot. The greasy rag about his neck and head are deeply stained, but more with dry blood now.
Mobeorn's words though draw a husky growl from Frarin, who rolls his eyes towards the back of his cot. "And I...suppose you were...only up there...for an evening walk then, mm?"
Eirdis opens his mouth to give a retort and winces, grumbling under his breath to himself as he climbs into a cot and shivers, his usually swarthy face rather pale. "Oh, hush, lass, I meant no disrespect! Can't blame me for wanting to help my cousins, now can you?" He gasps, lying rigidly still so that the knife wound doesn't get any worse, or his lungs don't become more punctured. "Frarin, lad, save your breath, you'll need it to argue with when Thari wakes." He gives a wet, coughing attempt at a chuckle and glares at Mobeorn. "So much for knowing what damned -species- you're travelling with..."
[Mobeorn(#22365)]
"Species? I know exactly what species I travel with," Mobeorn grins at Eirdis. "Do you?" He winks.
"Ah, Master Dwarf," the shapeshifter continues to Frarin. "I was keeping an eye on you folk now, I was. Can't have visitors to our lands getting into trouble wtihout our coming to their aid--that woudl be downright rude."
The sun rises over the wood of Mirkwood to the east, casting the first rays of morning light on the Anduin Valley.
[<#23897>] Cecilian turns at the new voice, though it is familiar enough. "" There's a pleading note to her words, ""
She turns back to what she's doing, deftly cutting away the fabric around the gash in Thari's leg. Then the girl reaches for bandages and presses them against the wound, watching to see how quickly blood soaks through the cloth. She roots among the supplies, and before long the healer is swiftly sewing at the torn flesh. 'Do you feel dizzy, Master Frarin?' She asks, glancing up at him briefly.
Frarin rolls his eyes, but makes no jibe back at Mobeorn this time. His face is grey and haggard and he seems content to save his breath now. His eyes do, however, following the new arrival to whom Cecilia speaks in an unknown language. Only when the girl addresses Frarin direction do his eyes flick to her. The roll upward again with a sarcastic manner and he lifts a hand to prod tentatively at the cut across his scalp. Almost to himself, he mutters in reply, "You have no idea."
[<#3217>] Hakr hesitates for a moment at the healer's words, still looking at the Dwarves with a faint note of surprise. The moment passes quickly, thankfully, and he's over at Cecilia's side, peering down at the patient. "" At least this one's unconscious... Gingerly, the fisherman will begin unbuckling leather, glancing over at the healer occasionally. 'I thought they had their own healers...? I don't much relish the thought of a bunch of angry, wounded Dwarves waking up here.'
[Mobeorn(#22365)]
"Well, you are lucky I was around, that's all I can say," Mobeorn replies to Frarin, arms crossed over his chest. Doing so reveals his one bloodied arm--his own blood, separate from the streaks of dwarven blood on his shoulders, back and chest. "Else how would you have made it back here so quickly or alive at all?"
"They may have their own healers," he answers Hakr. "They asked to see ours. Though the elven healers...I hear they can do wonders. Actually, I know they can--there was that one that was here, Herion....from Hir Elrond's valley. We were lucky to have him here."
[Cecilia(#23897)] "I don't have an idea.. I need to know." Cecilia says, frowning as she looks up at Frarin again. "I have herbs I can give you to help with any swelling. Do you feel dizzy?" She asks again, trying to keep her tone gentle, but firm.
Hakr is given a grateful smile of appreciation. Cecilia had no desire to touch the vile leather. Let the man handle it. She glances to Mobeorn, scowling. "You are hurt." Is all she states, then the girl goes back to stitching Thari. She finishes with the thread and needle shortly thereafter and reaches for a poultice to press against the wound. "Ok, Hakr, lift his leg so I can bind it, please?"
[Frarin] "I've managed before," Frarin replies testily without looking at Mobeorn. He twists to look over at Thari's cot, again pushing himself on an elbow rather than twisting his neck. His expression is no longer rifled, but edgy, cautious as he watches Hakr and Cecilia. His only reply to the girl is a brief, blunt, "Yes, I'm dizzy," before he says, "How is he? Will he be alright?"
[Hakr(#3217)] "Of course... Lovely..." If lifting deadweight is hard, then lifting dense, Dwarven deadweight... Well, at least it's just a leg. With a nod, the fisherman will carefully grip the Dwarf's leg, mindful of the wound, and will elevate it slightly to make the task easier for Cecilia. A slight grimace as his hands find blood is the only sign of discomfort. "How far from the village did this all happen?"
[Mobeorn(#22365)]
"Perhaps you have, perhaps you have," Mobeorn grants the dwarf a nod. "I'll not say that your kind is not tough--I've seen it in the Old Forest when we fought."
"Where? Oh.." The shapeshifter blinks as if he had started to sleep, waking when Hakr posed his question. "The old ruined outpost, across the river and southwest. A day away, so we walked all night to get back here before they all bled to death."
Mobeorn settles into his chair, leaning back and waiting for Cecilia to tend the others--and then the shapeshifter -does- fall asleep, snoring loudly like a huge bear, too, so that the walls rattle.
Cecilia works quickly, perhaps aware of her friend's discomfort with the task he's been ordered to. She gives him a nod when she is finished, snugly tying the bandage against the poultice. She looks Thari over carefully for a moment, looking for any other signs of serious injury. "I think he will be okay. Mostly blood loss." She looks up to Frarin then, giving him a reassuring smile.
"Now, lets see about your neck. Just lay back and relax, Master Dwarf." For all her anger earlier, she has a sweet manner now. "Hakr.. you're not going fishing today? What brought you by?" She asks as more supplies are shifted over to the cot where Frarin is.
[Frarin] Despite how grey his skin has become, some slight tinge of colour does return to Frarin's face at Cecilia's assessment of Thari and he sinks back into his bed as if exhausted. He does not put up a fight when the healer comes closer to treat him. Fingers clumsy from blood loss pull at the greasy cloth wrapped about his neck.
Hakr breathes a small smile of relief as he lowers the wounded leg back down to the cot, backing off and rather unceremoniously wiping his hands on his trousers. "Well, I had thought to stop by before going out on the river. I was not expecting things to be so... Busy." Meandering over towards the healer, Hakr will stop just short, to give doctor and patient room, glancing down at the injured. "Reminds me of my own encounter with the damnable goblins... I almost pity the creature that attacks Dwarves, though..."
Cecilia grins, looking up at Hakr again. "Do you miss the excitement of battle?" She asks in a teasing voice for the fisher, reaching to help Frarin as he peels away the dirty cloth. A clean fold of bandages is pressed against the wound in replacement. The healer works with experience, chatting while she deftly tends to the wound. First a salve with some numbing property is slathered on, then she delicately stitches with a needle. "It's a shame I can't go with you today. I was looking forward to napping out on the river while you caught some dinner."
[Frarin] Frarin grimaces as his neck wound is treated and his eyes roll upwards to stare at the ceiling in silence. And although he does not look away from the ceiling, a hint of amusement turns up one corner of his mouth at Hakr's comment about dwarves.
[Hakr(#3217)] "Dinner for myself, I think..." Hakr's wry smile returns as he wanders the infirmary, apparently not interested in watching the surgery in progress. "I do not know that I could freely give fish to someone who has not even /tried/ to catch something." A small laugh signifies the jest, and he moves back towards the beds. "I think it will be some time before you can join me, though - I imagine that the Dwarves would prefer to have one of our best tending them. Maybe it will give me time to change my mind - or at least to get some extra spears and nets."
Cecilia looks over at Hakr, first with a faint pout to her features for his jest, then a smile replaces it. And is there a touch of a flush to her freckled cheeks for his compliment? "Just think that it might be you in this bed again.. I bet I would be less apt to stitch flowers onto your flesh if I remembered some nice fresh fish you caught and shared." The healer comments, though her pale grey eyes have moved back to Frarin. She finishes bandaging the neck wound, then leans in to speak in a low, serious tone.
"You have to be careful when you move. If you turn your neck too sharply, you will pull at the stitches and cause new damage. It may not hurt as much because of the salve I used, but the skin is very tender... Even for a dwarf." Cecilia says. Then she moves around to begin tending to the less serious head wound, though a glance is given for Eirdis to make certain the other dwarf isn't dead in the cot.
[Frarin] "Mmhmm," Frarin grunts, wincing when Cecilia moves onto his head wound. His eyes remain fixed on the ceiling, though, and his jaw remains clenched against the pain. He gently prods the fresh bandage about his neck, then relaxes, either too tired or too uninterested to engage in the two humans' conversation.
Hakr arches an eyebrow, looking at Cecilia's patient as if for support. "Oh? And does that mean you /will/ be stitching flowers into the flesh of your current patients? I can somehow imagine that not going over well once they have realized what you have done. History may remember you as the woman who caused the downfall of our society at the hands of the Dwarves. Cecilia Flower-Stitcher or somesuch."
[Frarin] "Oh Durin save us," comes an abrupt mutter from Frarin, or something to that effect.
Cecilia grins, biting on her lower lip as she stifle a giggle. "Don't you worry, Master Dwarf. I won't do that to you. In fact, I think I can sew this so that there won't even be a scar." She adds, and begins gently applying the same salve she used earlier to numb the area. "You'll need to lay very still, and just ignore Hakr. Some fishermen fashion themselves as rather funny. Comes from sitting out in the sun all day." Soon she is working with the same gentle precision to stitch the head wound, trying her best not to cause him further discomfort.
[Frarin] "Does it now?" Frarin says in a strained voice, though there is a hint of amusement. He remains quite still as Cecilia works, even without her urging, and if he feels any further discomfort, it is only evident in an occasion tightening of the muscles about his eyes. Otherwise, he broods in silence, maintaining his faithful watch on the ceiling.
Hakr waves a hand in mock dismissal, grunting at the healer's comments. "Listening to some of the people around here, you would think it all we had to do with our time. Never mind the food on their tables, eh? Besides..." he will offer with a shrug, turning a slow grin in Cecilia's directions "You should hear the stories this one tells on the roads - so fanciful she frightens herself with them. Dark horsemen indeed."
Elendor time is: Late Afternoon (1700) on Trewsday, Day 15 of August 3046.
In the Summer sky, Tonight the moon will be waning crescent.
Outpost in Ruins
Halfway through a reconstruction effort, the Beorning people's outpost is rising from its own ashes. The wide dirt ramparts remain from before, the sturdy stone base also still suffices. But where the old fort was build from head to toe with Dwarves joinery, it appears that great logs are the choice this time around for the walls, due to their availability on the mountain's slopes, the expediency with which construction can then take, and the possible lack of Dwarven labor and guidance to effect more lasting and strong stone joinery.
Contents:
Thari
Obvious exits:
Northeast leads to Anduin Valley - West of the Carrock.
North leads to Vales of the Anduin.
Northwest leads to Vales of the Anduin.
Storage Shed leads to Storage Shed.
Headquarters leads to Headquarters.
Barracks leads to Barracks.
Southwest leads to Western Vales of Anduin.
[Frarin] Whether because of inexperience, lack of supplies, or frequent attack, the outpost here seems doomed to eternal reconstruction. Or indeed, doomed to eternal loneliness. There are signs that some work has taken place recently, but hardly more than a few tracks several weeks old already. The abandoned fort sits amidst a straggled group of trees which seem to have grown into the fort itself, and with the grey humidity of the day, it seems almost eerily surreal.
From the northeast come a small group of figures, dwarves by all appearances, making their way across the plains from the direction of the Carrock. Mail and blades glint among not a few of them. Among their numbers is Frarin. He walks with his hammer withdrawn and used as a walking stick of sorts, but his expression is not so grim as it might be this far west of the Beorning village. Indeed, the silversmith seems to be quite content with the outing, though his eyes watch the vast plains with suspicion.
[Thari(#31038)]
The weather is certainly grim, overcast and thick and hot as it's ever been. Makes one wish to be deep within a mountain, really, but here are these dwarves.
"Oh, 'tis a pity to see that lumber on top of that stonework," Thari is saying, moving closer to the outpost. "Who do you suppose built it?" Her hand runs over the joinery line of old stout stonework as the sound of pebbles shuffling is heard from somewhere. "How did they ever manage to take it down?"
Ranol arrives in the Outpost having come from the Northeast.
Ranol has arrived.
[Frarin] Frarin too puts a hand to the stonework, picking at a piece that has developed a crack. "Who knows," he says. "Do the Beornings have much talent for stonework? I shouldn't imagine. Otherwise I should say tis a dwarf's hand in this." He moves away, absently kicking at a small mountain of logs once put away for the reconstruction of the fort and now mouldering. Several of the others move about with equal interest in the old ruin as well. "Oh, even stone can be undone, given time. Perhaps the place was captured at some point and dismantled then."
[Thari(#31038)]
"Naturally it's dwarf," Thari answers Frarin. Other dwarven voices rumble here and there. "Oh, I hadn't thought of that. That the enemy would have time to dismantle it."
There's a THUNK sound which comes from the direction of the barracks and after a pause, someone calls, "Barlin? What was that, lad?"
[Frarin] "Oh mind your messing about!" Frarin calls impatiently in the direction of the thunk. "This place has been mouldering away for years, tisn't good sturdy construction, so mind where you set your feet." The silversmith looks back to Thari. "Still, tis a good location for a fort. Shame it hasn't been rebuilt properly."
[Thari(#31038)]
"Now I'm sure the lads are being perfectly careful," Thari scolds Frarin mildly. "You know, we ought to offer to rebuild it for them -- for a hefty price. That's how my papa built up his father's busi--" she is interrupted.
There's a growl from the direction of the barracks, and then a shouted, "Baruk Khazad!" followed by a shrill and piercing screech, surely not made by a dwarven throat.
Eirdis is trudging along behind the group and hurries to catch up to Frarin and Thari, eyes widening slightly. "What in Durin's name was that?" She wrinkles her nose and shifts her weight a bit, looking around nervously.
[Frarin] Frarin briefly adopts a dry look in return to Thari's reprimand, but at the burly shout and shril screech, the silversmith's smirk vanishes, replaced almost immediately by a sharp look and a jerk as he whips around in the direction of the sounds. "By the Maker! Barlin!" He hefts his war hammer up into both hands and quickly starts in the direction of the barracks, but he stops abruptly after only a step, glancing back at Thari.
[Thari(#31038)]
Thari is still trying to loosen her axe when Frarin stops. The shadows lengthening after sunset seem to move, crawling toward the dwarves like spindly crouching spiders, and some have teeth. "What?" she looks at her husband, voice urgent. "Go, go! Fight, stout son of Forli!"
Something dark is dashing toward Eirdis, watching her with yellow-green eyes, a notched blade in its hand.
Eirdis removes her battle axe from its loop at her belt and crouches into a fighting stance, teeth gritted, her emerald green eyes focused on her opponent's yellowish own. She takes a step back, muttering to Thari, "What -are- they?"
Ranol sits outside, reclining on a pile of rubble while he puffs at a pipe, his eyes on the surrounding area while the other poke about in the ruins. When he hears the sudden cry, his calm respite is over. The huskarl quickly jumps to his feet, dumping out the embers from his pipe to tuck it away, then draws his blade and moves towards where the rest have disappeared.
Perhaps he is flanking the small attack party of goblins?
[Frarin] "Take care of yourself!" Frarin shouts back gruffly at Thari, then pounds in the direction of the barracks. Several others join him, drawing blades or hammers, even as the harsh cry of iron on iron rinks from the barracks.
[Thari(#31038)]
"Goblins!" cries Thari to Eirdis. "You've seen them before!" She turns to go after Frarin and then catches sight of the beast coming after her apprentice. "Khazad ai-menu!"
The blade of Thari's axe catches the goblin on the arm just as it swings for Eirdis's head with its scimitar.
Ranol comes up behind a couple of the goblins that are harrying the barracks, and buries his blade into the back of one before it ever realizes there is trouble at it's flanking. The creature screeches loudly, shaking violently, embedded on the steel of the broadsword before the huskarl yanks his sword free. A second turns and stabs at him with a spear, but the dwarf bats the point of the weapon aside with his shield.
Eirdis ducks a moment prior to the goblin's blade comes swishing at her head. She snarls and aims a well-placed swipe at the goblin's chin, grinning fiercely as an audible snap sounds, the creature's jaw broken. "Hah! That's for my mother!" She keeps attacking, the young dwarf seemingly in a world of her own as she hacks, slashes and pounds the individual goblin into a now unrecognizable bunch of limbs and a torso. Spotting another, she slashes at its throat, getting splashed with her opponent's blood. Taking a few steps back to clear her eyes, she winces as the scimitar of this second goblin slices into her arm. The wound is not very deep, but it is long, and she gasps before charging the goblin and disembowling it.
[Frarin] Before Frarin can make the barracks, a group of goblins stream through the openings in the decrepit building like black blood, howling with delight at the sight of the rushing dwarves. Several of them are felled quickly by the dwarves in front of the silversmith, but then there are perhaps a dozen swarming into the old open ground of the fort. A short, swarthy goblin seems to lock of Frarin and with a wickery little laugh, he charges the silversmith with a heavy, curved blade. "Khazad ai-menu!" shouts Frarin, likewise aiming for the orc.
[Thari(#31038)]
Thari turns away as Eirdis seems to be handling herself quite well and runs in the direction of Frarin. "Khazaaad!" Her axe is held high, her shield before her, as the swarthy orc ducks beneath Frarin's blow and aims for the silversmith's knee. "Frarin! Too many?"
[Thari(#31038)]
The orc with the spear snarls with frustration as Ranol bats the point aside. It pulls back the weapon again and tries to slip it again beneath the Huskarl's shield, to bury it in his belly.
[Frarin] The short orc's blade very nearly rips into Frarin's knee, but the heavy metal rings with a resounding clang as he connects with the silversmith's hammer, batted away in the nick of time. Growling, Frarin punches the butt of his weapon's haft at the goblin's jaw, failing to answer Thari in the heat of the moment.
The dozen or orcs from the barracks move quickly, scampering about the group of dwarves with many a cackle. One joins his short, swarthy companion in making for Thari and Frarin. This one though carries a wicked rusty hook on the end of a long shaft, which he reaches out and swings at Thari's ankle.
Eirdis takes Thari's orc at a run and slams her axe into it's left calf, screaming at she wrenches her blade free, only to bury it in its right shoulder, nimbly climbing off the beast before it can get a hand on her, crying out as her orc, whom she's thought dead, throws its blade at her foot with its last bit of strength. The younger healer pants softly, shaking her head and yelling angrily.
Ranol steps to the side, avoiding the stabbing point of the spear. He lifts his sword up and heaves down with a heavy overhead swing, putting all of his strength into the attack.
A skinny little goblin with a cudgel slips up behind Thari, swinging wildly towards the back of her head with the weapon while he laughs gleefully. "Dwarf meat is chewy! But I'll eats it anyway!"
[Thari(#31038)]
The hook catches Thari's foot and sweeps it beneath her. She falls back just to be cracked by a cudgel. The blow rings metallic from her round helmet and she is down, on the ground and pulling her shield over her as she shakes her head, dazed.
[Thari(#31038)]
Frarin's swarthy orc gives a scream as its head is knocked back, but it is joined by another stringy example, this one with a skinner blade which is slashed at Frarin's face. "For Zid!" it shouts in a rough voice.
[Thari(#31038)]
Ranol's orc moves the haft of his spear up to parry Ranol's heavy overhand swing, but it finds out how much strength is in a dwarf's blow, for the haft snaps in two! Ranol's swing is slowed by this but still the orc is cut at the shoulder, bleeding blood that oozes black.
It doesn't cry aloud, though its eyes seem more red, and the splintered end of the spear is shoved at Ranol's face.
"Aieeheehee!" the orc with the hooked weapon laughs, joyously jumping towards Thari as she goes down. The wicked hook sweeps out for the healer's stomach.
[Mobeorn(#22365)]
Into the ruins bounds a large brown bear, which pauses to survey the scene with dark brown eyes, trying to get the picture of what is going on all at once.
[Frarin] With his hammer thrust away him, Frarin does not have time to bring it back and knock away the thrust from the second orc to come at him. Only his out-thrust is there to block the attack, where the blade digs into the back of his upper arm. But aside from the rip of cloth, the successful blow brings only the jingle of chainmail. "I'll show you Zid, you bloody coward!" the silversmith growls. He swings at the second orc, but the attack is distracted at the last moment, for Thari's plight seems suddenly to catch Frarin's eye and abruptly he aims to shoulder the orc with the cudgel at the same time as he swing his hammer.
[Ranol(#26812)] The orc with the cudgel, Grexx, laughs triumphantly when the small dwarf goes down. He jumps up and down a few times in excitement, and lifts the blunt weapon again for another meaty swing at the healer, but suddenly a heavy weight slams into him from the side. He yowls as he flies to the side from Frarin's momentum, staggering off balance towards Eirdis!
[Thari(#31038)]
Luckily the cudgel doesn't come down again. The rusty hook, however, does. Thari deflects it with her shield, only to have it bury in her thigh and half rip out again in a very deep, nasty gash.
The healer gives a primal scream of pain, then cuts it off, gritting her teeth and groaning. She swivels to the side, still on the ground, and whips out her axe to try to split the hook-orc (Znarg) from navel to groin.
Ranol grins when the spear shaft is sundered under his attack, and is lifting the sword up again for what he hopes to be the dispatching blow, but the goblin is clever. When the splintered end of the spear is shoved at his face, the huskarl instinctively squeezes his eyes closed as he tries to dodge to the side. The sharp splinters of wood scrape a gash along his cheek and temple that leaves red streaks of blood, but the dwarf doesn't fall. Instead he presses forward, swinging his blade at the orc again.
Eirdis winces and makes a mental note to use her uninjured shoulder as a battering ram next time, and snarls, bellowing at the orc and ducking low, slicing upwards with her axe, into the orc's left thigh. Hearing Thari's scream, she dashes to her mentor's side, eyes glinting muderously at the hook-orc as she circles Thari, trying to find a weak spot as she smacks her axe's head into Znarg's hook arm.
[Thari(#31038)]
"Gow-arr?" the unfortunate Zid repeats through his mangled jaw. He is the swarthy orc who was attacking Frarin, and back he comes! He scrabbles to the side of the silversmith and aims a blow with his blade at Frarin's neck.
And the stringy orc-- it's a female, though it's hard to tell, and her name is Dizzurt-- easily evades Frarin's distracted blow, to slice now at the silversmith's belly.
[Thari(#31038)]
"Aieeee!" Ranol's orc, Gnog, is sliced by Ranol's blade across the rib and deep into its belly! It slinks slowly backward from the Huskarl, a hand to its wound, licking its lips and watching Ranol, half-spear still in hand.
[Frarin] Half a dozen things at once seem to call for Frarin's attention and his teeth clench around a growl of frustration. He has no time to come to Thari's aid again this time, though the healer's scream earns a shout from Frarin. But then he is lifting his hammer to the defensive again. He manages to bat away Dizzurt's attack towards his stomach, but Zid's blade digs a long deep gash along the soft skin just behind and under Frarin's right ear.
A cry of pain as bloody pain shoots through Frarin's neck and he swings the spike of his hammer at Zid's stomach.
[Mobeorn(#22365)]
The bear dives headlong into a group of orcs swarming now toward the dwarves. An orc body goes flying through the air as the bear disappears beneath the goblins.
Alas, Thari does not quite split the cackling Znarg to the groin, but certainly the healer comes very close. The heavy battleaxe opens up the goblin's stomach and he falls to the ground, wreathing in pain and howling. Granted, he goes still rather quickly.
But nevermind Znarg! For now a goblin with oddly grey skin and a black war hammer takes his place, and this goblin's name is Gezr. He does not laugh like his now dead companion, but he aim the head of his hammer at the ground-ridden Thari's chest.
Ranol has blood running down his face, but the wound is mostly aesthetic save for all the small bits of wooden splinters now buried in his upper cheek. The dwarf moves forward to viciously swing at Gnog again with the sharp steel of the broadsword.
Grexx suffers a deep gash from Eirdis's axe, and the goblin tries to scramble away to rejoin his friends. Bad decision. A bear suddenly explodes within the group and Grexx takes a raking swipe to the face from the razer-sharp claws. He falls into a dying heap, screaming.
[Mobeorn(#22365)]
Grexx, though, is not about to die an easy death. Rearing on its hind legs, the bear reaches down adn with front paws grabs the screaming orc, and then hefts it into the air, aiming it toward the orc about to attack Thari--a flying missile as it were, possibly inaccurately thrown, for bears are not known for their hurling abilities, nor for accuracy.
[Ranol(#26812)] Grexx suddenly finds himself becoming AirGrexx for Beorning service. The screaming goblin flails wildly, but it is to little avail as he is launched towards Thari's assailant.
[Thari(#31038)]
Thari does manage to roll away from the war-hammer, finally, laboriously coming up on a knee, back to Frarin as if this would help protect her. An orc goes flying over her head-- well, nearly anyway, for the Thari is clipped in the crown by its knee, head jerked forward by this. Thank you, Mobeorn.
Eirdis takes a step back, surprised by the bear. She yells to her kin whilst standing over Thari protectively. "Why does Mahal hate us this day? On top of orcs and goblins we must deal with a rabid bear?!" Muttering to herself, she stumbles as Thari suddenly rises, moving towards Frarin. "Thari, please just stay still, you're in no position to fight!"
[Thari(#31038)]
Zid is done for, hefted off of the ground by Frarin's spike, which buries in his belly before flinging him, howling, away.
Dizzurt is more fortunate. A shrill scream of rage as her blade is batted down, but it close still to Frarin's stomach and, quick as a snake, the goblin attempts to disembowel the silversmith with it.
[Mobeorn(#22365)]
The bear, not even watchign to see if where it's missile has landed, now looks about, as if seeking more orcs to fling about. Its eyes settle on Eirdis, and it gives the dwarf a wide, toothy grin.
Gezr's war hammer thuds into the dirt where once lay Thari and the solemnly silent orc sneers at the healer. His yellow eyes widen for a moment as a suddenly projectile AirGrexx flies at him, but Gezr ducks and the flailing goblin flies past. Straightening, Gezr looks back to Thari with a deliberate sneer. "C'mere, dwarfie, why yeh scuttlin' away, eh?" He swings the mallet of his hammer at Thari's hip.
[Thari(#31038)]
Gnog attempts to duck beneath Ranol's blow and earns a scrape across the shoulders for the effort, but his eyes are bright and determined. He jabs the point of his half-spear up at Ranol, to try to get beneath his armor, beneath his ribs and touch the Huskarl's heart with its tip.
Eirdis ponders how shooing the bear would work, but since its kind of helping them in its rabidness, she ignores it for the moment, aiming her axe at Gezr's hands and screaming at the orc, "Scuttle THIS, scumbag!"
[Ranol(#26812)] AirGrexx smashed into a pile of ruinous rubble and lays limp, black blood slowly staining the broken masonry beneath him. His left hand slowly opens as his muscles relax and a small dirty cloth slips from his unclenching fingers... a dinner napkin..
[Thari(#31038)]
"If I'm to die today, I'm damned well not doing it lying down!" Thari shouts at Eirdis. Blood just pours down Thari's left leg with the pulse of her heartbeat. She is still struggling to arise when Gzer's hammer-swing comes. She attempts to sway away, but is not quick enough. The blow does not land as hard as Gzer meant it, but it knocks the healer toward Frarin's legs.
[Frarin] Blood runs down and paints one whole side of Frarin's neck, staining his collar and chainmail hauberk. Zid fortunately is sent flailing, but the upward sweep of the silversmith's hammer leaves his stomach exposed to Dizzurt's attempt at disembowelment. The goblin's blade connects with Frarin's gut and rips his blue surcoat. A few chainmail rings fly, but from the silversmith's muffled grunt, his hauberk seems to take most of the damage.
As soon as it does though Frarin swats the blade away as if offended. But he does not retaliate, feeling Thari drop behind him. The silversmith turns quickly, hooking his arm into Thari's elbow in an attempt to pull the healer quickly to her feet before Dizzurt can attack again.
[Mobeorn(#22365)]
SQUOOSH.
That is the sound of one bloodied dinner napkin being smooshed into the blood-oozy ground by a bear trampling across the ground, its massive back claws digging into the ground (or is that Grexx's stomach) as it runs by.
The bear roars, and not at the dinner napking, but toward Frarin. Still, other orcs are between bear and dwarves and it is likely he will be delayed.
If Gezr had hoped to celebrate his knocking Thari to the ground, he has little time to do so. For, quite rudely, one of his hands suddenly goes missing. A confused look crosses his face for a split second, then he looks up as Eirdis' axe swing by and his severed hand flops rather comically to the ground. Then with a belated howl of pain, Gezr swings his hammer with one hand, aiming the spike at Eirdis' side.
Eirdis grunts and gives Thari a slight glare, snarling when her mentor is sent sprawling next to Frarin. She barks a laugh of disdain at Gezr's now dead hand, gasping and trying to dodge the hammer, but is a second too slow. She is hit in the side and goes down, but not before aiming a rough slice at Gezr's ankle, the wind knocked out of her. She lies still for a moment, dazed, not exactly certain which way is up.
[Thari(#31038)]
Thari is lifted up by her arm and stands on one leg and a toe near Frarin. She doesn't even look at him, instead looking back toward Gzer. "THE AXES OF THE DWARVES ARE UPON YOU!" she screams at the orcs, and indeed at all of the orcs in general, red-faced as a (deep-voiced, bearded) harridan.
She attempts to walk toward the orc, but only manages a bit of a hop, so she flings at him the only projectile she has as Eirdis attacks the creature-- Thari spits at Gezr.
Ranol wears a chain shirt beneath the chest piece of his armor, and it's quite a good thing that he does. The spear shoved at him is remarkably accurate in it's jab, and Gnog might have been successful in taking down the huskarl had the dwarf not been wearing such new, well-crafted armor. The tip breaks through one link, but is halted by the surrounding rings. The steel still digs deep, and Ranol gives a cry of pain, but while it scrapes a rib rather painfully, it doesn't breach deep enough to severely hamper the Bundazanul. Again, Ranol swings at Gnog with the broadsword, growling in anger now.
[Thari(#31038)]
Dizzurt grins a set of wicked yellow-toothed teeth (is that mold growing on them?) as Frarin turns his back. She leaps foward, trying to scrape armor from his head with a flick of the tip of her notched blade
[Mobeorn(#22365)]
Barreling through the orcs between him and the dwarves, the bear now races toward Gzer. It gives some sort of rhythmic roar--probably words, but it's a bear, so....he roars. The orcs he has swept through lay sprawled, crushed or hurled to the side. Others turn tail and ran as the bear came at them.
[Thari(#31038)]
Ranol's blow is successful. Gnog is beaten to the ground, his back sliced open and ribs dented in an obscene way. The creature moans weakly, then begins scrabbling toward the Huskarl, trailing entrails, to reach toward his leg.
Gezr snorts in victory as Eirdis falls to the ground and he skips back deftly as the healer swats at him. Thari's attack is successful however, landing a splotch of spittle on the goblin's neck. But a roaring bear is rather more pressing than spittle and Gezr's jaw falls open as the bear bears down him, as bears do. His single hand swings out with his hammer again, the spike flying towards Mobeorn.
[Mobeorn(#22365)]
Spike o' Gezr hits, pulling blood from fur-covered bear flesh, but tis only a flesh wound--and it seems to just make the bear angrier. One huge claw-spiked paw now takes a hefty swat toward Gezr's head, as if to break it off at the neck. This is accompanied by a howl of rage, ear-splitting, and ground shaking.
Ranol moves in to kick at the goblin's head with the heel of his boot, then the huskarl goes on to find a new foe to deal with.
[Frarin] Frarin is not wearing his helmet, nor is he facing Dizzurt, for he manages to silently pull Thari to her feet again just as the goblin attacks the silversmith. The notched blade digs deep into Frarin's scalp, though fortunately horizontally rather than vertically. The silversmith cries out in pain as the blade slices under his hair, bleeding as only a head wound can. Half blinded as the blood quickly fills his right eye, Frarin barrels towards Dizzurt and swings the spike of his hammer at the goblin's side.
Poor Gezr. If he was confused at the sudden loss of his hand, then imagine what confuzzlement should overcome him when he is suddenly flying through the air as if he were no heavier than a small boulder. And indeed, when heads are separated from their bodies, they generally ARE no heavier than small boulders. Gezr's grey mottled body, very much unlike his head, falls soundly to the ground with a whoosh of air.
[Thari(#31038)]
Dizzurt cackles with glee, the laughter coming through her angled nose. She dances back-- his spike catches her, it's true, but it's also a glancing blow that clangs against her crude armor-- and to the side. She tries to slice in that clever blade between Frarin's beard and neck.
[Thari(#31038)]
Thari gives a growl and tries to follow after Frarin in a lame little limp-hop. Her whole left pant-leg is soaked with bright blood, but in contrast, the ruddy color of her face is going pale.
[Mobeorn(#22365)]
Having thus separated Gezr head from body, the bear turns with a grunt to assess the situation. It seems that many of the orcs are dead, and many more have fled to fight another day. But Dizzurt remains, and now the bear rumbles that way, trying to come up behind the goblin and grab it by the nape of its neck with one paw.
Eirdis continues to try to get herself right-side-up, struggling to her feet with the help of her axe haft, shuddering. "Why can't we just damn well go home now?" She yells at nobody in particular, and sees Dizzurt go for Frarin, who is helping Thari. She quickly hobbles over behind the orc and brings her axe up over her head, aiming at the beast's back. "Thari! Frarin! Baruk Khazad, Khazad ai-menu! Khazad ai-" She coughs and is cut short on her battle cry as a previously hidden goblin comes from the shadows with a dagger, slamming the short, rusty blade into the younger healer's side.
[Frarin] Blinking furiously and breathing laboured, Frarin moves just fast enough to hit Dizzurt's blade away from another successful hit. He has just enough time to wipe blood from his eye before Mobeorn suddenly fills his vision, hiding Dizzurt from view. A dazed look begins to creep into the silversmith's expression, but he shakes his head, still blinking furiously, and abruptly swings the mallet of his hammer at Eirdis' attacker's head.
[Thari(#31038)]
Dizzurt screams at the sight of Mobeorn approaching. This foe is, apparently, more daunting than wee Frarin, so the orc suddenly turns and runs, slipping beneath Mobeorn's paw and attempting to escape.
[Thari(#31038)]
Thari is trying to rush to get to Frarin and thus misses Eirdis's attacker. She turns quickly to see what Frarin is swinging at and falls down, landing on the knee of the wounded leg with a cry of pain.
[Mobeorn(#22365)]
"Foiled!" It's a curse growled out, but to dwarven and orc ears, it's just a growl. Dizzurt slips beneath the bear paw, but at the last second a bear leg boots out, trying to give Dizzurt a good swift kick in the hind quarters to send the orc on its way, prefereably to a bloody end, but if not, at least on its way out of the battle.
[Thari(#31038)]
Knak is grinning gleefully to himself and is attempting to pull the knife from Eirdis's side as Frarin's hammer creates a dent in his skull. The dent is so deep that as he collapses, he hangs from Frarin's hammer where it is still embedded in his temple.
[Thari(#31038)]
Dizzurt goes flying with Mobeorn's kick, but scrabbles in the air with all limbs. She only goes running faster upon landing, soon gone over a hillock.
[Frarin] Frarin grunts as his hammer connects with Knak and, indeed, disconnects Knak from himself. But the dazed look on the silversmith's face remains as he makes so sign of satisfaction at having so disabled the goblin. Instead, his hammer head drops to the ground as he releases one hand and turns around almost as if drunk. "Thari?" he grits out, stumbling towards the healer and dropping, or falling rather, to one knee. He wipes blood from his eye again. "Thari!"
[Mobeorn(#22365)]
And the bear wastes no time in scrambling after said flying orc, but Dizzurt has an airborne start and soon disappears up the hill. Bear, too, is shortly hidden by the rubble.
Several minutes later, a large Beorning man ambles down the hill, though from a different direction than that which the bear previously took. It's Mobeorn, and he walks as if out for an evening stroll among the orc-ridden hills. He smiles at the group, waving as he approaches. Blood is dripping down one arm, but that might not be noticeable in the dark.
[Thari(#31038)]
Thari's lips are peeled back from her teeth in a grimace of pain, but she rights herself enough to grab Frarin's face with both hands. She studies his eyes and wipes blood from his face. "We need to get to the Beornings, all of us."
Thari's glance goes aside briefly. "Mobeorn! Can ye get us out, lad? Get help perhaps?"
Eirdis rises from her spot on the ground again, panting heavily. Dizzy, she stumbles a bit as she limps to Thari and Frarin. "Are we all alive, then, and accounted for?" She frowns and wrinkles her nose, staring at Mobeorn, mouth open slightly. "That's... But.. How?!"
[Frarin] Frarin continues to blink rapidly when Thari grasps his head in both her hands and his breathing is heavy, but he nods, sitting back on his knee. "Aye...aye...the village," he stutters. His hand goes first to the brutal wound on his neck, then to his head, where a flap of skin is loose. It bleeds worse, but it seems that the silversmith's neck pains him more. He grimaces.
Struggling, he leans on his war hammer and attempts to push himself back to his feet. It is a sloppy movement, but he does manage it barely before reaching down for Thari. Mobeorn goes almost acknowledged aside from a dazed glance at the man.
[Mobeorn(#22365)]
"Get you out?" Mobeorn asks, frowning as he notes the dwarven injuries. "The village...well, I can't carry you all, and it's a day's walk from here. So...I can help, but you need to bandage the wounds as best you can. Used to be there was an outpost here with healers and supplies and warriors, but we've lost ground to the orcs. As you can tell."
The shapeshifter only grins toothily at Eirdis.
[Mobeorn(#22365)]
And with that, Mobeorn stoops, as if to lift Thari like a sack of potatoes over one shoulder--stooping to attempt it.
[Thari(#31038)]
Thari stands, using Frarin for balance and trying to do so only minimally. "You be gentle with yourself now, Frarin," says the shorter dwarf. "Lads!" she shouts about briskly. "Take the wounded! Back to the Carrock! We nee-- aah!" Thari is suddenly lofted into the air by Mobeorn and hangs blinking dumbly at the ground.
Eirdis still just stands there, aghast at Mobeorn. "Someone want to take my pony? I can walk, I'm not that badly in-" She winces and hisses under her breath. "Damn.. The last two blows..." She shakes her head as if to clear it of water, muttering under her breath. "So, who's riding Valkyrie, who's walking? Thari, Frarin, where d'you want me to be?"
[Frarin] Frarin's eyes widen when Thari is suddenly lifted into the air and sat upon Mobeorn's shoulder, but a few more furious blinks and his seems content for the healer to hand there. Still stumbling like a drunk, he falls to his knee again at the side of a downed goblin. He removes a long greasy rag from the corpse's head and rips it in two with fumbling fingers slowed by a loss of blood. One strip is tied about his neck, as tightly as possible without choking him. The other he ties at an angle around his head, securing the flap of skin and hair into place and hopefully staunching the flow of blood.
The silversmith struggles to his feet again with as much trouble as before and blinks furiously at Eirdis when the healer starts asking questions. "You are," Frarin says, his tone firm despite his daze. "You ride your pony, Eirdis. Up you go, you aren't walking with that knife wound. Quickly now!"
[Mobeorn(#22365)]
"You shouldn't be walking, either, with a head wound like that," Mobeorn says--and with that he stoops again, looking to wrap an arm around Frarin and haul him up onto his shoulder--stomach side down, like a sack of potatoes if he succeeds. "That's all I can carry, but I can go faster than you folk!"
Ranol returns from a perimeter sweep, looking a bit out of breath but far better than some of his companions fare. The side of his face is a bloody mess but doesn't seem to be more than superficial damage. When he sees Frarin stumbling he's about to approach to help, but Mobeorn has it in hand. Instead the huskarl moves to Eirdis's side, "I'll help you up, Eirdis. You can manage hanging on, yes? I'll lead the pony."
[Thari(#31038)]
"Eirdis, you ride," Thari orders from atop Mobeorn. Her leg is staining his shirt woefully. "Somebody watch for Frarin-- oh! Good one, Moboern, lad. Frarin, you're in no state to walk," the short healer tells him severely across Mobeorn's shoulder.
Eirdis wrinkles her nose and turns around swiftly to give Frarin a nasty retort, but in doing so, she opens up the knife wound again, gasping and gritting her teeth. Clambering onto her pony, she gives the equine a sharp nudge with her heels, hanging onto the reins. "Ranol, ride Hrappi! I'm fine, just a flesh w-wound." She shivers a bit from blood loss and shock, but otherwise seems to be keeping it together.
[Thari(#31038)]
After this lecture, Thari falls silent. Mobeorn might notice that the dwarf-healer is hanging limply now, for, face pale, she has finally lapsed into unconciousness from blood loss.
[Frarin] "Hey!" Frarin cries out as he is suddenly sweep up off his feet without warning. "I'm fine! Bloody hell, let me down, y'fool man! I'm fine walking, for Durin's sake, let me down!" Despite his slurred words, the silversmith puts up a flailing fight until he attempts to twist himself down from his perch, which wrenches hard on his neck wound. That brings a cry of pain from Frarin, and in his paused struggle he catches sight of Thari as the healer goes limp. The silversmith gasps and stops his struggles. "Thari! Fine, fine! Go, go on! Go on!"
[Mobeorn(#22365)]
"Quit your fidgeting!" Mobeorn snaps irritably at Frarin. "Your warrior here is bleeding all over me and fainted from the feel of it. The sooner you all shut up, the sooner we can make the village. And the more noise you make, the more orcs are goign to come after us. Now quit moving and let me walk." He takes off with long strides, making for a bumpy ride and not waiting for Ranol, Eirdis or the rest.
Ranol ignores Eirdis and reaches to tug the reins away from the dwarf, fully intending to do just as he said he would. He gives some orders to a couple of dwarves that approach, "You go ahead with Mobeorn.." He orders one that's mounted, then commands the other to collect up the rest of the group so they can all return together.
[Frarin] Oh the indignity! Grimacing through squinted eyes, Frarin hangs uselessly over Mobeorn's shoulder, resigned to the long walk - or ride, rather - of shame back to the village.
Eirdis trots along upon her mount, wincing with each jolt her wounds receive. She doesn't say anything, fearing for Thari and Frarin. Eventually she slumps in the saddle, unconcious and nearly falling off, somehow her feet are still in the stirrups. Her head bounces jerkily on her mount's neck, the pony fleeing with all haste from the orc scent.
Mobeorn heads northeast, leaving the Outpost behind him.
Mobeorn has left.
Eirdis heads northeast, leaving the Outpost behind her.
Eirdis has left.
Thari has left.
Infirmary
The dark of night is held at bay in this room by two small lamps carefully set upon a long table that extends along the far wall and the flickering light of the fire in a small hearth in the far right corner. The dark of night turns the large windows on either side of the door into ebon mirrors, reflecting the light sources back into the room. Along either side of one entering the room are rows of cots, some apparently occupied, judging from the shapes covered in warm blankets.
Contents:
Cecilia
Thari
Mobeorn
Obvious exits:
Back Room and Out
Eirdis arrives from outside.
Eirdis has arrived.
[Cecilia(#23897)] Another quiet, dull night in the infirmary. Where -was- Hakr to entertain the healer when things are slow? Cecilia sighs, sitting back in a chair with embroidery supplies on the table in front of her, humming softly while she works at an intricate stitching pattern on a shirt for her young nephew. She's tired, as dawn is nearly here.
[Mobeorn(#22365)]
Dawn is on its way soon, but at the moment, the village is dead quiet--even the dogs are asleep. So what is the sudden crunching of many footsteps outside the door to the infirmary and then the dull thud of feet on the steps?
The door swings open and a bloodied Mobeorn dumps two figures--more bloodied than he is--unceremoniously onto the closest empty cot.
They are orc-sized figures.
[Frarin] Orc-sized perhaps, but the groan one of them emits is decidedly un-orc-like. Frarin looks haggard and tired and his breathing comes in huffs. His face is pale, but then, he -has- just spent eight hours on Mobeorn's shoulder.
Eirdis drags himself into the infirmary, looking for the healer and assuming it the lass sitting looking bored. Well, the dwarves have brought enough casualties to keep three trained healers busy. Thank goodness one of the conscious dawrves is a healer, too, and not as badly injured as his kin. Panting heavily, the red-haired, green-eyed dwarf winces with every step he takes, having fallen off his pony once in the mad run for the village from the ruins. "Need... Wine.. Any kind of spirits will d-do, just g-give me something to s-steady meself, l-lass, an' I'll help treatin' the w-wounded." He is unusually pale from the broken ribs, the long dagger wound in his back, and the concussion.. Still, he'd rather help than lay prone on a cot amongst Men/
The other figure is still, but breathing, and this is Thari.
[<#23897>] Cecilia looks up, startled from the quiet, peaceful atmosphere as Mobeorn moves in. She gapes for a moment, then jumps to her feet. 'What happened?' The girl asks, dumping the shirt onto the table and moving swiftly to where the tall man stands. "
Hakr arrives from outside.
Hakr has arrived.
Cecilia looks over at Eirdis then and sharply speaks, "Don't touch anything! Just sit on a bed if you're hurt!" One would think it was an enemy that walked in so battered and bloody. She points at one of the cots, not moving any closer to the dwarf. "I'll get you some mead."
[<#22365>] "
It is just before dawn, and the quiet of the village has been broken by Mobeorn arriving with two wounded dwarves carried over his shoudlers, potato-sack-like, plus Eirdis, wounded but offering to help Cecilia.
A dog now barks outside the infirmary, woken by Mobeorn's tromp of steps.
[Frarin] "Oh, sit down...Eirdis..." comes Frarin's voice abruptly, husky and laboured, but containing its familiar impatience. "You're...hurt too...lad." The silversmith rolls in his bed, pushing himself up slightly with one elbow to have a look at Thari on the cot beside him.
Eirdis bends over Thari after having slowly limped over to his cot, inspecting his fellow's wounds and murmuring quietly, but loud enough for the woman to hear, "Some fresh bandages, and I've a word of advice, lass. -Never- tell a healer to 'sit down' when their cousins are injured. All I need is a night's sleep, some strong ale and..." He winces and turns carefully to Frarin. "Please, just let me -work-, I'm no use to anyone just lying here! Besides, it takes my mind off the pain. Let me help Thari, then I'll think about sitting and being a good dwarf." He gives a slight smile to Frarin and turns back, working on Thari's more major wounds first, before gasping and doubling up, grabbing the wall for support. "Damned orcs probably broke some ribs, maybe a punctured lung.. Lass, help my cousin Frarin, whilst I fix up Th-Thari, here, would you?"
Cecilia sucks in a deep breath, giving Mobeorn a long, hard look, then lets out the held air in a sigh and moves to one of the supply cabinets. She begins pulling out bandages, poultices, jars, and other healing neccessities. "I just sent Cara home a little while ago, but my brother should be here soon. You can help in the meantime, Mobeorn. What happened? Goblins?" The young woman scoops up all the items she's collected and carries them back to the cot where Frarin and Thari were dumped.
The Beorning wrinkles up her nose when she sees how the dwarves are dressed, then rolls up the sleeves of her shirt with a grimace. "Just lay down, Master Dwarf, I'll get you stitched up after I see to your friend here.." She says to Frarin in a voice that's kind enough, despite the disgusted expression on her face. Eirdis is given a scowl. "This is -my- infirmary, I'm in charge! Into a bed before I have Mobeorn throw you out and you can bleed on the porch!"
She must be used to being obeyed, because she doesn't even watch to see if Eirdis listens. Instead, the healer reaches for a knife to cut away Thari's pantleg, for Ceci has -no- desire to see dwarven dangly bits.
[Hakr(#3217)] The barking dog is soon joined by the deep murmur of a man's voice outside, that of yet another person making his way up the path towards the infirmary. The door swings open again, the fisherman Hakr stepping throw with a glance cast backwards. "Oh, for the last time, be silent!" When he turns round, lopsided grin on his face, the voices reach his ears for the first time and he stops dead in his tracks, mouth still agape, but with whatever he had been preparing to say dead in his throat.
After a moment, the fisherman finds his voice again, but all traces of joviality have been replaced with blatant surprise. "What... Dwarves? What happened? Are they hurt? Was there an attack Why..." Too many questions at once - Hakr will shake his head and turn his bemused expression to Mobeorn.
[Mobeorn(#22365)]
Mobeorn, used to this torrent of words from the Beorning healer, just grunts and sinks into a chair.
"What do you mean what happened?" he answers her irritably and then grants an equally irritable look to Hakr as the fisherman arrives. "Orcs, of course. What else did they expect, poking around the ruined outpost in the middle of the night. I suppose they thought they were up to it alone, when we haven't been able to hold the orcs off there for years now, not even with the help of the elves." He sighs. "We walked all night to get back here. That one..." he nods toward Thari..."he's a bleeder. Messed up my tunic."
[Frarin] "For Durin's -sake-, Eirdis..." Frarin says gruffly, his voice growing faint for a moment. "Listen to the lass...and seat yourself." Weak as he is, it seems the silversmith is in no good mood this morning. He does, however, give a silent nod to the young woman before he sinks back into his cot. The greasy rag about his neck and head are deeply stained, but more with dry blood now.
Mobeorn's words though draw a husky growl from Frarin, who rolls his eyes towards the back of his cot. "And I...suppose you were...only up there...for an evening walk then, mm?"
Eirdis opens his mouth to give a retort and winces, grumbling under his breath to himself as he climbs into a cot and shivers, his usually swarthy face rather pale. "Oh, hush, lass, I meant no disrespect! Can't blame me for wanting to help my cousins, now can you?" He gasps, lying rigidly still so that the knife wound doesn't get any worse, or his lungs don't become more punctured. "Frarin, lad, save your breath, you'll need it to argue with when Thari wakes." He gives a wet, coughing attempt at a chuckle and glares at Mobeorn. "So much for knowing what damned -species- you're travelling with..."
[Mobeorn(#22365)]
"Species? I know exactly what species I travel with," Mobeorn grins at Eirdis. "Do you?" He winks.
"Ah, Master Dwarf," the shapeshifter continues to Frarin. "I was keeping an eye on you folk now, I was. Can't have visitors to our lands getting into trouble wtihout our coming to their aid--that woudl be downright rude."
The sun rises over the wood of Mirkwood to the east, casting the first rays of morning light on the Anduin Valley.
[<#23897>] Cecilian turns at the new voice, though it is familiar enough. "
She turns back to what she's doing, deftly cutting away the fabric around the gash in Thari's leg. Then the girl reaches for bandages and presses them against the wound, watching to see how quickly blood soaks through the cloth. She roots among the supplies, and before long the healer is swiftly sewing at the torn flesh. 'Do you feel dizzy, Master Frarin?' She asks, glancing up at him briefly.
Frarin rolls his eyes, but makes no jibe back at Mobeorn this time. His face is grey and haggard and he seems content to save his breath now. His eyes do, however, following the new arrival to whom Cecilia speaks in an unknown language. Only when the girl addresses Frarin direction do his eyes flick to her. The roll upward again with a sarcastic manner and he lifts a hand to prod tentatively at the cut across his scalp. Almost to himself, he mutters in reply, "You have no idea."
[<#3217>] Hakr hesitates for a moment at the healer's words, still looking at the Dwarves with a faint note of surprise. The moment passes quickly, thankfully, and he's over at Cecilia's side, peering down at the patient. "
[Mobeorn(#22365)]
"Well, you are lucky I was around, that's all I can say," Mobeorn replies to Frarin, arms crossed over his chest. Doing so reveals his one bloodied arm--his own blood, separate from the streaks of dwarven blood on his shoulders, back and chest. "Else how would you have made it back here so quickly or alive at all?"
"They may have their own healers," he answers Hakr. "They asked to see ours. Though the elven healers...I hear they can do wonders. Actually, I know they can--there was that one that was here, Herion....from Hir Elrond's valley. We were lucky to have him here."
[Cecilia(#23897)] "I don't have an idea.. I need to know." Cecilia says, frowning as she looks up at Frarin again. "I have herbs I can give you to help with any swelling. Do you feel dizzy?" She asks again, trying to keep her tone gentle, but firm.
Hakr is given a grateful smile of appreciation. Cecilia had no desire to touch the vile leather. Let the man handle it. She glances to Mobeorn, scowling. "You are hurt." Is all she states, then the girl goes back to stitching Thari. She finishes with the thread and needle shortly thereafter and reaches for a poultice to press against the wound. "Ok, Hakr, lift his leg so I can bind it, please?"
[Frarin] "I've managed before," Frarin replies testily without looking at Mobeorn. He twists to look over at Thari's cot, again pushing himself on an elbow rather than twisting his neck. His expression is no longer rifled, but edgy, cautious as he watches Hakr and Cecilia. His only reply to the girl is a brief, blunt, "Yes, I'm dizzy," before he says, "How is he? Will he be alright?"
[Hakr(#3217)] "Of course... Lovely..." If lifting deadweight is hard, then lifting dense, Dwarven deadweight... Well, at least it's just a leg. With a nod, the fisherman will carefully grip the Dwarf's leg, mindful of the wound, and will elevate it slightly to make the task easier for Cecilia. A slight grimace as his hands find blood is the only sign of discomfort. "How far from the village did this all happen?"
[Mobeorn(#22365)]
"Perhaps you have, perhaps you have," Mobeorn grants the dwarf a nod. "I'll not say that your kind is not tough--I've seen it in the Old Forest when we fought."
"Where? Oh.." The shapeshifter blinks as if he had started to sleep, waking when Hakr posed his question. "The old ruined outpost, across the river and southwest. A day away, so we walked all night to get back here before they all bled to death."
Mobeorn settles into his chair, leaning back and waiting for Cecilia to tend the others--and then the shapeshifter -does- fall asleep, snoring loudly like a huge bear, too, so that the walls rattle.
Cecilia works quickly, perhaps aware of her friend's discomfort with the task he's been ordered to. She gives him a nod when she is finished, snugly tying the bandage against the poultice. She looks Thari over carefully for a moment, looking for any other signs of serious injury. "I think he will be okay. Mostly blood loss." She looks up to Frarin then, giving him a reassuring smile.
"Now, lets see about your neck. Just lay back and relax, Master Dwarf." For all her anger earlier, she has a sweet manner now. "Hakr.. you're not going fishing today? What brought you by?" She asks as more supplies are shifted over to the cot where Frarin is.
[Frarin] Despite how grey his skin has become, some slight tinge of colour does return to Frarin's face at Cecilia's assessment of Thari and he sinks back into his bed as if exhausted. He does not put up a fight when the healer comes closer to treat him. Fingers clumsy from blood loss pull at the greasy cloth wrapped about his neck.
Hakr breathes a small smile of relief as he lowers the wounded leg back down to the cot, backing off and rather unceremoniously wiping his hands on his trousers. "Well, I had thought to stop by before going out on the river. I was not expecting things to be so... Busy." Meandering over towards the healer, Hakr will stop just short, to give doctor and patient room, glancing down at the injured. "Reminds me of my own encounter with the damnable goblins... I almost pity the creature that attacks Dwarves, though..."
Cecilia grins, looking up at Hakr again. "Do you miss the excitement of battle?" She asks in a teasing voice for the fisher, reaching to help Frarin as he peels away the dirty cloth. A clean fold of bandages is pressed against the wound in replacement. The healer works with experience, chatting while she deftly tends to the wound. First a salve with some numbing property is slathered on, then she delicately stitches with a needle. "It's a shame I can't go with you today. I was looking forward to napping out on the river while you caught some dinner."
[Frarin] Frarin grimaces as his neck wound is treated and his eyes roll upwards to stare at the ceiling in silence. And although he does not look away from the ceiling, a hint of amusement turns up one corner of his mouth at Hakr's comment about dwarves.
[Hakr(#3217)] "Dinner for myself, I think..." Hakr's wry smile returns as he wanders the infirmary, apparently not interested in watching the surgery in progress. "I do not know that I could freely give fish to someone who has not even /tried/ to catch something." A small laugh signifies the jest, and he moves back towards the beds. "I think it will be some time before you can join me, though - I imagine that the Dwarves would prefer to have one of our best tending them. Maybe it will give me time to change my mind - or at least to get some extra spears and nets."
Cecilia looks over at Hakr, first with a faint pout to her features for his jest, then a smile replaces it. And is there a touch of a flush to her freckled cheeks for his compliment? "Just think that it might be you in this bed again.. I bet I would be less apt to stitch flowers onto your flesh if I remembered some nice fresh fish you caught and shared." The healer comments, though her pale grey eyes have moved back to Frarin. She finishes bandaging the neck wound, then leans in to speak in a low, serious tone.
"You have to be careful when you move. If you turn your neck too sharply, you will pull at the stitches and cause new damage. It may not hurt as much because of the salve I used, but the skin is very tender... Even for a dwarf." Cecilia says. Then she moves around to begin tending to the less serious head wound, though a glance is given for Eirdis to make certain the other dwarf isn't dead in the cot.
[Frarin] "Mmhmm," Frarin grunts, wincing when Cecilia moves onto his head wound. His eyes remain fixed on the ceiling, though, and his jaw remains clenched against the pain. He gently prods the fresh bandage about his neck, then relaxes, either too tired or too uninterested to engage in the two humans' conversation.
Hakr arches an eyebrow, looking at Cecilia's patient as if for support. "Oh? And does that mean you /will/ be stitching flowers into the flesh of your current patients? I can somehow imagine that not going over well once they have realized what you have done. History may remember you as the woman who caused the downfall of our society at the hands of the Dwarves. Cecilia Flower-Stitcher or somesuch."
[Frarin] "Oh Durin save us," comes an abrupt mutter from Frarin, or something to that effect.
Cecilia grins, biting on her lower lip as she stifle a giggle. "Don't you worry, Master Dwarf. I won't do that to you. In fact, I think I can sew this so that there won't even be a scar." She adds, and begins gently applying the same salve she used earlier to numb the area. "You'll need to lay very still, and just ignore Hakr. Some fishermen fashion themselves as rather funny. Comes from sitting out in the sun all day." Soon she is working with the same gentle precision to stitch the head wound, trying her best not to cause him further discomfort.
[Frarin] "Does it now?" Frarin says in a strained voice, though there is a hint of amusement. He remains quite still as Cecilia works, even without her urging, and if he feels any further discomfort, it is only evident in an occasion tightening of the muscles about his eyes. Otherwise, he broods in silence, maintaining his faithful watch on the ceiling.
Hakr waves a hand in mock dismissal, grunting at the healer's comments. "Listening to some of the people around here, you would think it all we had to do with our time. Never mind the food on their tables, eh? Besides..." he will offer with a shrug, turning a slow grin in Cecilia's directions "You should hear the stories this one tells on the roads - so fanciful she frightens herself with them. Dark horsemen indeed."
Players: Mobeorn, Thari, Ranol, Frarin, Eirdis, Cecilia, Hakr
