Elendor
Captain's Return
The seemingly lifeless body of Gurtir is pulled from the River Poros, then the men of Gondor prepare for battle.
Sort Date: no date set
Location: Harondor
Game Date: February 3046
Description: Crossing of Poros, N. Bank
The cool and dry South Road cuts into the tall grass of South Ithilien to the north, and leads to a ford across the River Poros to the south. Another small dirt lane heads off to the northwest towards distant Gondor.
The Poros is wide and looks shallow enough for easy passage--though in midstream you see the remains of several wagons which disrupt the flow of the river. The ruins of what was once a great bridge lays tumbled on the banks and in the riverbed, and the remains of the bridge's foundation still sits intact on both the north and south banks. Across the river you can see, nestled in among the thin low scrub trees, are many tents and pavillions of the Narakshi tribe.
The sky is clear and the sunlight shines brightly. The late morning winter air is cool and dry around you. The moon is new.
[Gurtir(#30678)]
Rays of red and oragen cut through the nightly sky, mixing and mingling as the light of Anor shuns darkness. The waters of Poros run, ever in the age-old course, often within the boundries of Gondor, often the very boundry-- such as it is in these days.
And as life goes on in the enemy camps on each bank, with plans and plottings, the water flows unware of whatever it may carry...
[Bor(#30834)]
Bor stands on the very edge of the bank.
Sun shines, water flows, days pass, and the Knight-Captain greets them all with the same steel-eyed indifference and there is silence too.
[Morwenn(#24368)]
Life goes on indeed, and while plans and plottings are made, the healers in both camps also go about their duties. So it is that a newly-made Apprentice Healer carries two heavy buckets to the river's edge--wash water, by the look of it. She is accompanied by another of her colleagues, similarly burdened. Once there, Morwen Mormegil empties one bucket into the river and reaches for the next.
This is the first day since he returned injured that Ceredir is back on patrol, and the Master Scout now ranges the banks of the river, eyes sweeping up and down the opposite bank. He pauses for a moment, then starts walking again, his steps leading him toward the Knight Captain and the healers.
[Midhwen(#29054)] A little further behind her cousin, Midhwen reaches the river, pausing before emptying out the first bucket. "Being an apprentice is not that different from being a novice at times, is it?"
[Amrundirn(#29212)]
Close on Ceredir's wake, Carmayar Amrundirn treads quietly -- his glance on the waters, but his footfalls swift and sure none the less.
"I thought I should tell you, boy," He mutters for the scout's ears, "Your display of loyalty yestereve was commendable -- No matter the Isilrim's words."
[Morwenn(#24368)]
"Not much at all," Morwen replies a trifle ruefully as she heaves the contents of the second bucket into the river. With the water, a bit of bandage unfurls and drops. "Oh, curse it," she mutters. "I hope Lady Azrabar is not around to see that."
[Gurtir(#30678)]
From the east, much rubble is brought by Poros. Logs, branches, leaves...
A black dot in the distance.
[Midhwen(#29054)] "I shall not say a word, you may be sure of it." Smiling at her cousin, she pours the second bucket in, frowning as the debris goes past them. "Has something fallen into the river?"
[Morwenn(#24368)]
Morwen has already turned away, but when Midhwen comments, she looks back. "I suppose something must have, away east somewhere," she says, frowning. Her grey eyes sweep from the river just before her in that direction, and she frowns a little more. "What is that there?" And she turns to look instead toward the men as she points.
Startled, Ceredir looks toward the Ranger, then nods briskly. "I owe many things to the Captain, least among them ensuring that his name is not discredited in his...absence."
The women's words draw Ceredir's attention, and he peers towards the river, squinting. "Debris....but..from the fortifications they are building? A flood upstream? And something different than the rest of the debris, I think."
[Tuivegil(#13313)] Squatting upon the ground, sword bared before him, the Ranger Tuivegil hones his blade, stroking a smooth pebble up the longsword. His eyes leave his task at Morwen's words, and squint also to the east, "Time will reveal what our eyes cannot." He comments, standing.
[Gurtir(#30678)]
Indeed time will. With every passing second and each inch gained, the black dot grows into a stain on the blue waters of Poros, shaped akin to a long log.
[Morwenn(#24368)]
"Is that a... Midhwen, is that a log or a person?" Morwen squints, then steps nearer to the rushing water, picking her way over a bit of rubble from the long-fallen bridge. She sets foot in the ford, a little skirl of water moving over the tip of her boot.
[Midhwen(#29054)] Squinting to try and make out what is floating down the river, Midhwen sighs and steps back from the river's edge. "My eyes are not sharp enough at this distance."
[Bor(#30834)]
Stuck in the depths of his own mind and staring out across the Poros, Bor only know seems aware that there is activity about him. His eyes go out to Morwen and he watches her as she begins to wade into the river.
[Tuivegil(#13313)] "Maybe the eyes of youth will see clearer" Tuivegil sheaths his sword, "Master Scout, what do you percieve?"
[Amrundirn(#29212)]
"Good man," is the only quiet answer Ceredir recieves, along with a brief nod.
Amrundirn's eyes too strain on the would-be log. He observes only, a furrow on his brow.
[Gurtir(#30678)]
A log or a person.
Keen eyes might discern that floats down the river is long as person would be it is dark as few trees are-- black, in fact. And something pale is at one of its edges.
"It is.." Ceredir concentrates on the flotsam, squinting and then wading into the river. He reports back its shape and size and nature, the pale edge especially puzzling to him. And then he steps in two more steps, cautiously.
[Morwenn(#24368)]
Morwen stays at the river's edge, water only just lapping over her toes. "What if it is a trick of some sort?" she asks anxiously, looking back to the men on the bank, and at her cousin Midhwen.
[Midhwen(#29054)] "Then I would recommend that you get out of the water, cousin." Still at the edge of the river, Midhwen makes no move herself.
[Gurtir(#30678)]
As the swift waters of Poros bring whatever it is bringing closer to the point where the Gondorians are stationed watching, doubts are cleared 'tis not a log, by all means. It has limbs, pale face, black hair...
Already in the water, Ceredir splashes forward at once toward the gruesome sight. "Rope!! Get rope!"
[Tuivegil(#13313)] Tuivegil unbuckles his longsword and throws off his cloak and splashes forward also, "No time for rope, we'll have to catch it." The water reaches up past his thighs as he wades to the middle of the current, leaning into the flow.
[Bor(#30834)]
There is pause in the Swansman's wont, where there is naught for the soldiers of Ithilien. He waits and watches, his mien silent.
[Morwenn(#24368)]
Nearly about to turn away, Morwen is still near enough to Ceredir to turn around and go with him into the water. But though she is tall, she is not so tall as a horse and not so tall as the Ranger, and is soon bogged down by her skirts. "Is he one of ours?" she calls to the man ahead of her, struggling against the current.
[Gurtir(#30678)]
Under the sunlight, it sparkles: the White Tree of Gondor embroidarded in silver upon the chest of the floating man.
Unbuckling his weapons belt after Tuivegil does so, Ceredir turns to toss it back toward the riverbank. This costs him a moment or more, so that the Ranger is now ahead of him, but he dives into the water to try to swim to catch up. And just as he does so, he spies the White Tree, and curses under his breath. Morwenn's question is not answered--there is no time.
[Midhwen(#29054)] "By the Valar..." Midhwen mutters under her breath as the body comes ever closer, the sigil on the front of the uniform marking the man as a member of the Hosts. Her height prohibits helping the others and she looks back towards the emcampment. "I will fetch others, with a stretcher!"
As good as her word, the apprentice healer starts running.
[Bor(#30834)]
"It is the Captain Gurtir," says Bor, his silence now broken.
He wades into the river at that.
[Gurtir(#30678)]
Though the face is covered in bruises and fresh slashes are upon the skin, pale yet bluish, a friend might acknowledge that Bor's statement is true.
Gurtir floats on the river.
[Tuivegil(#13313)] Tuivegil finds a solid place to brace himself against a large chunk of rubble, in line with the floating body. He holds a hand out to the Scout, "Brace yourself, he comes fast."
It takes Ceredir a few seconds to secure his footing, finally finding some rocks on which to get a solid stance. Then he nods to Tuivegil and keeps his eyes on Gurtir.
[Arathis(#30050)]
Mellow gait carries the Isilrim horseman unto the banks of the Poros. Some calm marks him he remains unmoving upon his mount, angling his head in rigid observation of the commotion in the waters.
At length, the Knight bids his steed hurriedly into the Poros, in direction of the body.
[Morwenn(#24368)]
Prudently, Morwen retreats to the bank, but she has seen that face. "Gurtir," she breathes, her face white. But she does not run. No, someone must be on hand to look him over at once--if he lives.
[Tuivegil(#13313)] %TLazily spinning in an eddy, the battered Captain comes within armreach of the waiting Ranger and Scout, moving with deceptive slowness.
[Amrundirn(#29212)]
Fingers flexed to grib arrow and bowstaff both Amrundirn offers Morwen a steady hand. "Calm yourself," He tells her quietly.
[Midhwen(#29054)] Returning swiftly, followed by two men carrying the stretcher, Midhwen arrives breathless at her cousin's side. "Who is-" Close enough to see the body well now, the girl's already pale skin takes on an unhealthy pallor.
[Tuivegil(#13313)] Tuivegil makes an overhasty grab for the Captain's body, and misses, nearly overbalancing, his hands slipping on Gurtir's wet skin. The captain's cloak snags on an underwater rock, twisting him round towards Ceredir
[Morwenn(#24368)]
Morwen takes the hand with a glance up at Amrundirn. "Thank you," she says, hazarding a smile. "I am all right. It was just a bit of a shock." She reaches her other hand out to Midhwen, blindly. "Gurtir," she says again, this time to her cousin.
Ceredir lunges, his own footing precarious as he has misjudged the distance to the Captain. But he manages to both keep his footing and grab hold of Gurtir's cloak, and he uses that to try to pull the man toward him and gain hold of his arm or leg if he can.
[Tuivegil(#13313)] The Master Scout is more successful, Gurtir's slippery body is captured and held precariously by the cloak and by one arm. Tuivegil leaps to help, making an almighty splash and grabbing hold of the Captain's legs, "Bravely done." He mutters to the scout, "Keep his head above the water." The Ranger looks up at the mounted man, calling out, "Quick, quick, can you bear him from the water?"
[Arathis(#30050)]
Waters are tossed before the path of the Knight he halts mayhap a half-dozen steps east of the floating Captain, nearer to the river's mouth. Then, from atop his mount, he barks out to the rescuers: "If he is stiff with life, then haste! Lift him, and my horse shall deliver him to the healers."
[Amrundirn(#29212)]
A nod is the Ranger Amrundirn's only reply, the bend about the corners of his mouth -- hardly a smile in turn -- vanishing quickly, as his gaze passes to the men struggling with the waters and past them, surveying the oposite bank.
[Midhwen(#29054)] Cold fingers interlace with Morwen's, but Midhwen's gaze remains upon the men in the river, fighting to bring the body to shore.
Slipping his hand under the Captain's head to lift it out of the water, Ceredir leans forward as best he can, trying to check for any signs of life. He shakes his head. "Assume he lives," he grumbles low to Tuivegil, jerking his head toward the mounted Knight to indicate they should move Gurtir's body that way.
[Arathis(#30050)]
As the rescuers near, Arathis tosses himself into the waters aside his mount, so as to better retrieve the injured man.
[Tuivegil(#13313)] A curt nod serves for a reply, and Tuivegil aids the scout in lifting Gurtir towards the horseman, getting a better hold, as he does so, on Gurtir's legs.
[Morwenn(#24368)]
Morwen frees both her hands. "Here, bring that stretcher," she calls sharply to the men bearing it. "Right down to the water's edge, if you please. Midhwen, hold the blanket ready to wrap round him as they put him down he'll be chilled and it will help until we get him into the pavilions." But the anxious way she watches the agonizingly slow progress of bring her kinsman to shore says what she will not: if he lives.
[Daerien(#21777)]
Sitting down as far distant from the camp as he can manage without engendering displeasure of his immediate superiors. Daerien stares absently into the distance. His equipment has been carefully repaired, the second hand armor has been stitched, the rents in the leather sealed with linen rope, the helmet has been padded with old rags to better fit around his smaller skull, and the blade itself has been rewrapped and the edge polished with river stones until it no longer resembles a rust saw. Even with all these preparations, the lanky introvert hardly looks the role of the soldier, nor carries himself in a way that indicates he is anything but the hunter from the wildlands of the far western hill country.
[Midhwen(#29054)] Midhwen clutches the blanket, nodding at her kinswoman's instructions. She turns to the two soldiers who carried the stretcher, "If he lives, one of you must go warn the healer's in the pavilion to prepare a cot, with braziers burning nearby."
Walking backwards in the river, Ceredir supports Gurtir's head and moves toward Arathis and his horse.
[Gurtir(#30678)]
Gurtir offers no resistance to anything...
[Arathis(#30050)]
Standing in wait, the Knight steadies his position to retrieve the body of the bloodied Captain. Thrusting a foot then into his stirrups, and grasping the reins of his steed, he labors with the aid of the rescuers to lift Gurtir securely into the front of his saddle.
Mounting Bor in turn, sitting behind the Captain, he spurs his charger to the northern banks.
[Bor(#30834)]
Bor stands in the Poros, the water rushing swiftly over his feet. His eyes go from Ceredir and Tuivegil to Arathis to Amrundirn upon the bank and to the ladies thereupon as well. There is nothing in them, only silence.
And then, but a word: "Enough."
From South, [<#28406>] A dozen Southron horns ring out. The sound of a mumakil's braying is heard in answer, for some reason or another.
[Arathis(#30050)]
And once there, Arathis calls out to those upon the bank: "With haste! Your aid!"
With this, the Knight readies to dismount and deliver the Captain's body.
[Morwenn(#24368)]
In a trice, the sodden man is wrapped in the blanket and deposited onto the stretcher. "Go," Morwen says to Midhwen, bent over her cousin with a frown between her eyes. Her pale fingers go to his neck...
...and just before the horns blow, she looks up at the men in the river. "He lives."
[Tuivegil(#13313)] With the weight of Gurtir gone, Tuivegil overbalances, spashing a couple of steps forward, but regains his balance without a fall. The beginings of a grim smile play on his lips, stilled by the horns from the Southern Bank. To Ceredir he turns "We should not tarry here." Before making his way to the Northern bank.
"No..." Ceredir frowns, first to Gurtir's apparently lifeless form, then at the sound of the horns. He hurries out of the water to retrieve his weapons.
[Amrundirn(#29212)]
Amrundirn dares a glance on the Swan-Knight as the horns blare in the south.
"What says your judgement now, Lord Isilrim?"
[Bor(#30834)]
The Captain of Amroth calls out upon the horn's respite.
"Dol Amroth answers the challenge of Alphros, claimant to Gondor's throne!" yells Bor, and there is both fury and ecstacy in his voice. He turns.
"Will the Steward's men answer this call too?"
[Daerien(#21777)]
Pushing himself to his feet and slowly wandering forward, feet kicking up small clouds of dust where his toe digs into the earth, leaving a simple trail of a three legged man down towardst he campsite, Daerien arrives on the sounding of the horn, his cloak pulled up despite the heat, a veil of silk and leather obscuring his lower face, his shaved scalp burnt almost a mahogany brown by the brutal scrubland sun. His grey eyes angry, bloodshot from the stinging of a sandstorm with his eyebrows bleached almost into invisibility as he seeks out the other scouts of Ithilien.
[Midhwen(#29054)] One of the men has already started towards the encampment, but speeds up even further at the sound of the horns. Midhwen ignores her cousin's order, waiting by her side. "Does he breathe? His heart may beat, but if his lungs are filled with water..."
[Gurtir(#30678)]
Gurtir breathes softly, yet not as faint as one might expect.
[<#32030>]
Thingalad is with the men of the Company of Ithilien. As high words are spoken, he mutters to himself and waits for the captains of Ithilien to speak up. "'Claimant' grants that ... ... ... ... ... not ......"
[Morwenn(#24368)]
"Yes. Yes, he is breathing," Morwen replies, a touch of color coming back to her face. "Take him to the pavilions," she says to the bearers. "And hurry. They need you out here."
As the soldiers run off with the stretcher, Morwen turns to look at Bor, chin lifted. Indeed, she looks in danger of doing something foolish.
[Arathis(#30050)]
Steel flurries from aside the Isilrim Knight, rising in heed of his Captain. Thus he answers the Ranger flatly, ere riding towards his fellow Swansmen: "That we enact price for this crime."
[Midhwen(#29054)] "Come, cousin." Turning to the younger woman, Midhwen nods towards the encampment. "Our skills will be needed soon enough."
Ceredir leaves a trail of water on the sand as he buckles on his sword belt and puts helm to his head, but his clothes will dry quickly in the heat of this land. "Thingalad..." he takes steps toward the man. "Gurtir..." he nods his head toward the Captain, being carried off by stretcher.
[Faramir(#28937)]
"Indeed they will," one answers to Bor, in a calm voice.
A tall figure emerges from the tent flap, and by his garb is only newly-arrived in the camp. Faramir surveys the Hostmen and Rangers present. "It is past time that I saw some of this campaign."
[Tuivegil(#13313)] A sodden ranger stands upon the bank, dripping water from his clothes, hair and beard. Tuivegil gives his head a shake, casting water left and right. He takes up his cloak and his sword again, wrapping the first about his shoulders, and buckling the second about his hips.
[Bor(#30834)]
"Lord Faramir," says Bor, intoning the Captain of the Rangers.
"I shall assemble the Knights of my Order."
And then the Swansman's sword is drawn from its scabbard. "Let us meet again upon these banks on the morrow at dawn."
[Daerien(#21777)]
Silently standing near to Ceredir as he speaks to Gurtir and flipping the leather thong that binds the blade into his scabbard and quietly stepping to one side and just waiting, if he is called upon to get involved or simply again to carry the wounded from the fields of combat if it is needed.
[Arathis(#30050)]
"Or perhaps upon the other?" interjects the Isilrim Lord, a wry laugh spilling from his lips.
"Heed, Captain! At your word."
The cool and dry South Road cuts into the tall grass of South Ithilien to the north, and leads to a ford across the River Poros to the south. Another small dirt lane heads off to the northwest towards distant Gondor.
The Poros is wide and looks shallow enough for easy passage--though in midstream you see the remains of several wagons which disrupt the flow of the river. The ruins of what was once a great bridge lays tumbled on the banks and in the riverbed, and the remains of the bridge's foundation still sits intact on both the north and south banks. Across the river you can see, nestled in among the thin low scrub trees, are many tents and pavillions of the Narakshi tribe.
The sky is clear and the sunlight shines brightly. The late morning winter air is cool and dry around you. The moon is new.
[Gurtir(#30678)]
Rays of red and oragen cut through the nightly sky, mixing and mingling as the light of Anor shuns darkness. The waters of Poros run, ever in the age-old course, often within the boundries of Gondor, often the very boundry-- such as it is in these days.
And as life goes on in the enemy camps on each bank, with plans and plottings, the water flows unware of whatever it may carry...
[Bor(#30834)]
Bor stands on the very edge of the bank.
Sun shines, water flows, days pass, and the Knight-Captain greets them all with the same steel-eyed indifference and there is silence too.
[Morwenn(#24368)]
Life goes on indeed, and while plans and plottings are made, the healers in both camps also go about their duties. So it is that a newly-made Apprentice Healer carries two heavy buckets to the river's edge--wash water, by the look of it. She is accompanied by another of her colleagues, similarly burdened. Once there, Morwen Mormegil empties one bucket into the river and reaches for the next.
This is the first day since he returned injured that Ceredir is back on patrol, and the Master Scout now ranges the banks of the river, eyes sweeping up and down the opposite bank. He pauses for a moment, then starts walking again, his steps leading him toward the Knight Captain and the healers.
[Midhwen(#29054)] A little further behind her cousin, Midhwen reaches the river, pausing before emptying out the first bucket. "Being an apprentice is not that different from being a novice at times, is it?"
[Amrundirn(#29212)]
Close on Ceredir's wake, Carmayar Amrundirn treads quietly -- his glance on the waters, but his footfalls swift and sure none the less.
"I thought I should tell you, boy," He mutters for the scout's ears, "Your display of loyalty yestereve was commendable -- No matter the Isilrim's words."
[Morwenn(#24368)]
"Not much at all," Morwen replies a trifle ruefully as she heaves the contents of the second bucket into the river. With the water, a bit of bandage unfurls and drops. "Oh, curse it," she mutters. "I hope Lady Azrabar is not around to see that."
[Gurtir(#30678)]
From the east, much rubble is brought by Poros. Logs, branches, leaves...
A black dot in the distance.
[Midhwen(#29054)] "I shall not say a word, you may be sure of it." Smiling at her cousin, she pours the second bucket in, frowning as the debris goes past them. "Has something fallen into the river?"
[Morwenn(#24368)]
Morwen has already turned away, but when Midhwen comments, she looks back. "I suppose something must have, away east somewhere," she says, frowning. Her grey eyes sweep from the river just before her in that direction, and she frowns a little more. "What is that there?" And she turns to look instead toward the men as she points.
Startled, Ceredir looks toward the Ranger, then nods briskly. "I owe many things to the Captain, least among them ensuring that his name is not discredited in his...absence."
The women's words draw Ceredir's attention, and he peers towards the river, squinting. "Debris....but..from the fortifications they are building? A flood upstream? And something different than the rest of the debris, I think."
[Tuivegil(#13313)] Squatting upon the ground, sword bared before him, the Ranger Tuivegil hones his blade, stroking a smooth pebble up the longsword. His eyes leave his task at Morwen's words, and squint also to the east, "Time will reveal what our eyes cannot." He comments, standing.
[Gurtir(#30678)]
Indeed time will. With every passing second and each inch gained, the black dot grows into a stain on the blue waters of Poros, shaped akin to a long log.
[Morwenn(#24368)]
"Is that a... Midhwen, is that a log or a person?" Morwen squints, then steps nearer to the rushing water, picking her way over a bit of rubble from the long-fallen bridge. She sets foot in the ford, a little skirl of water moving over the tip of her boot.
[Midhwen(#29054)] Squinting to try and make out what is floating down the river, Midhwen sighs and steps back from the river's edge. "My eyes are not sharp enough at this distance."
[Bor(#30834)]
Stuck in the depths of his own mind and staring out across the Poros, Bor only know seems aware that there is activity about him. His eyes go out to Morwen and he watches her as she begins to wade into the river.
[Tuivegil(#13313)] "Maybe the eyes of youth will see clearer" Tuivegil sheaths his sword, "Master Scout, what do you percieve?"
[Amrundirn(#29212)]
"Good man," is the only quiet answer Ceredir recieves, along with a brief nod.
Amrundirn's eyes too strain on the would-be log. He observes only, a furrow on his brow.
[Gurtir(#30678)]
A log or a person.
Keen eyes might discern that floats down the river is long as person would be it is dark as few trees are-- black, in fact. And something pale is at one of its edges.
"It is.." Ceredir concentrates on the flotsam, squinting and then wading into the river. He reports back its shape and size and nature, the pale edge especially puzzling to him. And then he steps in two more steps, cautiously.
[Morwenn(#24368)]
Morwen stays at the river's edge, water only just lapping over her toes. "What if it is a trick of some sort?" she asks anxiously, looking back to the men on the bank, and at her cousin Midhwen.
[Midhwen(#29054)] "Then I would recommend that you get out of the water, cousin." Still at the edge of the river, Midhwen makes no move herself.
[Gurtir(#30678)]
As the swift waters of Poros bring whatever it is bringing closer to the point where the Gondorians are stationed watching, doubts are cleared 'tis not a log, by all means. It has limbs, pale face, black hair...
Already in the water, Ceredir splashes forward at once toward the gruesome sight. "Rope!! Get rope!"
[Tuivegil(#13313)] Tuivegil unbuckles his longsword and throws off his cloak and splashes forward also, "No time for rope, we'll have to catch it." The water reaches up past his thighs as he wades to the middle of the current, leaning into the flow.
[Bor(#30834)]
There is pause in the Swansman's wont, where there is naught for the soldiers of Ithilien. He waits and watches, his mien silent.
[Morwenn(#24368)]
Nearly about to turn away, Morwen is still near enough to Ceredir to turn around and go with him into the water. But though she is tall, she is not so tall as a horse and not so tall as the Ranger, and is soon bogged down by her skirts. "Is he one of ours?" she calls to the man ahead of her, struggling against the current.
[Gurtir(#30678)]
Under the sunlight, it sparkles: the White Tree of Gondor embroidarded in silver upon the chest of the floating man.
Unbuckling his weapons belt after Tuivegil does so, Ceredir turns to toss it back toward the riverbank. This costs him a moment or more, so that the Ranger is now ahead of him, but he dives into the water to try to swim to catch up. And just as he does so, he spies the White Tree, and curses under his breath. Morwenn's question is not answered--there is no time.
[Midhwen(#29054)] "By the Valar..." Midhwen mutters under her breath as the body comes ever closer, the sigil on the front of the uniform marking the man as a member of the Hosts. Her height prohibits helping the others and she looks back towards the emcampment. "I will fetch others, with a stretcher!"
As good as her word, the apprentice healer starts running.
[Bor(#30834)]
"It is the Captain Gurtir," says Bor, his silence now broken.
He wades into the river at that.
[Gurtir(#30678)]
Though the face is covered in bruises and fresh slashes are upon the skin, pale yet bluish, a friend might acknowledge that Bor's statement is true.
Gurtir floats on the river.
[Tuivegil(#13313)] Tuivegil finds a solid place to brace himself against a large chunk of rubble, in line with the floating body. He holds a hand out to the Scout, "Brace yourself, he comes fast."
It takes Ceredir a few seconds to secure his footing, finally finding some rocks on which to get a solid stance. Then he nods to Tuivegil and keeps his eyes on Gurtir.
[Arathis(#30050)]
Mellow gait carries the Isilrim horseman unto the banks of the Poros. Some calm marks him he remains unmoving upon his mount, angling his head in rigid observation of the commotion in the waters.
At length, the Knight bids his steed hurriedly into the Poros, in direction of the body.
[Morwenn(#24368)]
Prudently, Morwen retreats to the bank, but she has seen that face. "Gurtir," she breathes, her face white. But she does not run. No, someone must be on hand to look him over at once--if he lives.
[Tuivegil(#13313)] %TLazily spinning in an eddy, the battered Captain comes within armreach of the waiting Ranger and Scout, moving with deceptive slowness.
[Amrundirn(#29212)]
Fingers flexed to grib arrow and bowstaff both Amrundirn offers Morwen a steady hand. "Calm yourself," He tells her quietly.
[Midhwen(#29054)] Returning swiftly, followed by two men carrying the stretcher, Midhwen arrives breathless at her cousin's side. "Who is-" Close enough to see the body well now, the girl's already pale skin takes on an unhealthy pallor.
[Tuivegil(#13313)] Tuivegil makes an overhasty grab for the Captain's body, and misses, nearly overbalancing, his hands slipping on Gurtir's wet skin. The captain's cloak snags on an underwater rock, twisting him round towards Ceredir
[Morwenn(#24368)]
Morwen takes the hand with a glance up at Amrundirn. "Thank you," she says, hazarding a smile. "I am all right. It was just a bit of a shock." She reaches her other hand out to Midhwen, blindly. "Gurtir," she says again, this time to her cousin.
Ceredir lunges, his own footing precarious as he has misjudged the distance to the Captain. But he manages to both keep his footing and grab hold of Gurtir's cloak, and he uses that to try to pull the man toward him and gain hold of his arm or leg if he can.
[Tuivegil(#13313)] The Master Scout is more successful, Gurtir's slippery body is captured and held precariously by the cloak and by one arm. Tuivegil leaps to help, making an almighty splash and grabbing hold of the Captain's legs, "Bravely done." He mutters to the scout, "Keep his head above the water." The Ranger looks up at the mounted man, calling out, "Quick, quick, can you bear him from the water?"
[Arathis(#30050)]
Waters are tossed before the path of the Knight he halts mayhap a half-dozen steps east of the floating Captain, nearer to the river's mouth. Then, from atop his mount, he barks out to the rescuers: "If he is stiff with life, then haste! Lift him, and my horse shall deliver him to the healers."
[Amrundirn(#29212)]
A nod is the Ranger Amrundirn's only reply, the bend about the corners of his mouth -- hardly a smile in turn -- vanishing quickly, as his gaze passes to the men struggling with the waters and past them, surveying the oposite bank.
[Midhwen(#29054)] Cold fingers interlace with Morwen's, but Midhwen's gaze remains upon the men in the river, fighting to bring the body to shore.
Slipping his hand under the Captain's head to lift it out of the water, Ceredir leans forward as best he can, trying to check for any signs of life. He shakes his head. "Assume he lives," he grumbles low to Tuivegil, jerking his head toward the mounted Knight to indicate they should move Gurtir's body that way.
[Arathis(#30050)]
As the rescuers near, Arathis tosses himself into the waters aside his mount, so as to better retrieve the injured man.
[Tuivegil(#13313)] A curt nod serves for a reply, and Tuivegil aids the scout in lifting Gurtir towards the horseman, getting a better hold, as he does so, on Gurtir's legs.
[Morwenn(#24368)]
Morwen frees both her hands. "Here, bring that stretcher," she calls sharply to the men bearing it. "Right down to the water's edge, if you please. Midhwen, hold the blanket ready to wrap round him as they put him down he'll be chilled and it will help until we get him into the pavilions." But the anxious way she watches the agonizingly slow progress of bring her kinsman to shore says what she will not: if he lives.
[Daerien(#21777)]
Sitting down as far distant from the camp as he can manage without engendering displeasure of his immediate superiors. Daerien stares absently into the distance. His equipment has been carefully repaired, the second hand armor has been stitched, the rents in the leather sealed with linen rope, the helmet has been padded with old rags to better fit around his smaller skull, and the blade itself has been rewrapped and the edge polished with river stones until it no longer resembles a rust saw. Even with all these preparations, the lanky introvert hardly looks the role of the soldier, nor carries himself in a way that indicates he is anything but the hunter from the wildlands of the far western hill country.
[Midhwen(#29054)] Midhwen clutches the blanket, nodding at her kinswoman's instructions. She turns to the two soldiers who carried the stretcher, "If he lives, one of you must go warn the healer's in the pavilion to prepare a cot, with braziers burning nearby."
Walking backwards in the river, Ceredir supports Gurtir's head and moves toward Arathis and his horse.
[Gurtir(#30678)]
Gurtir offers no resistance to anything...
[Arathis(#30050)]
Standing in wait, the Knight steadies his position to retrieve the body of the bloodied Captain. Thrusting a foot then into his stirrups, and grasping the reins of his steed, he labors with the aid of the rescuers to lift Gurtir securely into the front of his saddle.
Mounting Bor in turn, sitting behind the Captain, he spurs his charger to the northern banks.
[Bor(#30834)]
Bor stands in the Poros, the water rushing swiftly over his feet. His eyes go from Ceredir and Tuivegil to Arathis to Amrundirn upon the bank and to the ladies thereupon as well. There is nothing in them, only silence.
And then, but a word: "Enough."
From South, [<#28406>] A dozen Southron horns ring out. The sound of a mumakil's braying is heard in answer, for some reason or another.
[Arathis(#30050)]
And once there, Arathis calls out to those upon the bank: "With haste! Your aid!"
With this, the Knight readies to dismount and deliver the Captain's body.
[Morwenn(#24368)]
In a trice, the sodden man is wrapped in the blanket and deposited onto the stretcher. "Go," Morwen says to Midhwen, bent over her cousin with a frown between her eyes. Her pale fingers go to his neck...
...and just before the horns blow, she looks up at the men in the river. "He lives."
[Tuivegil(#13313)] With the weight of Gurtir gone, Tuivegil overbalances, spashing a couple of steps forward, but regains his balance without a fall. The beginings of a grim smile play on his lips, stilled by the horns from the Southern Bank. To Ceredir he turns "We should not tarry here." Before making his way to the Northern bank.
"No..." Ceredir frowns, first to Gurtir's apparently lifeless form, then at the sound of the horns. He hurries out of the water to retrieve his weapons.
[Amrundirn(#29212)]
Amrundirn dares a glance on the Swan-Knight as the horns blare in the south.
"What says your judgement now, Lord Isilrim?"
[Bor(#30834)]
The Captain of Amroth calls out upon the horn's respite.
"Dol Amroth answers the challenge of Alphros, claimant to Gondor's throne!" yells Bor, and there is both fury and ecstacy in his voice. He turns.
"Will the Steward's men answer this call too?"
[Daerien(#21777)]
Pushing himself to his feet and slowly wandering forward, feet kicking up small clouds of dust where his toe digs into the earth, leaving a simple trail of a three legged man down towardst he campsite, Daerien arrives on the sounding of the horn, his cloak pulled up despite the heat, a veil of silk and leather obscuring his lower face, his shaved scalp burnt almost a mahogany brown by the brutal scrubland sun. His grey eyes angry, bloodshot from the stinging of a sandstorm with his eyebrows bleached almost into invisibility as he seeks out the other scouts of Ithilien.
[Midhwen(#29054)] One of the men has already started towards the encampment, but speeds up even further at the sound of the horns. Midhwen ignores her cousin's order, waiting by her side. "Does he breathe? His heart may beat, but if his lungs are filled with water..."
[Gurtir(#30678)]
Gurtir breathes softly, yet not as faint as one might expect.
[<#32030>]
Thingalad is with the men of the Company of Ithilien. As high words are spoken, he mutters to himself and waits for the captains of Ithilien to speak up. "'Claimant' grants that ... ... ... ... ... not ......"
[Morwenn(#24368)]
"Yes. Yes, he is breathing," Morwen replies, a touch of color coming back to her face. "Take him to the pavilions," she says to the bearers. "And hurry. They need you out here."
As the soldiers run off with the stretcher, Morwen turns to look at Bor, chin lifted. Indeed, she looks in danger of doing something foolish.
[Arathis(#30050)]
Steel flurries from aside the Isilrim Knight, rising in heed of his Captain. Thus he answers the Ranger flatly, ere riding towards his fellow Swansmen: "That we enact price for this crime."
[Midhwen(#29054)] "Come, cousin." Turning to the younger woman, Midhwen nods towards the encampment. "Our skills will be needed soon enough."
Ceredir leaves a trail of water on the sand as he buckles on his sword belt and puts helm to his head, but his clothes will dry quickly in the heat of this land. "Thingalad..." he takes steps toward the man. "Gurtir..." he nods his head toward the Captain, being carried off by stretcher.
[Faramir(#28937)]
"Indeed they will," one answers to Bor, in a calm voice.
A tall figure emerges from the tent flap, and by his garb is only newly-arrived in the camp. Faramir surveys the Hostmen and Rangers present. "It is past time that I saw some of this campaign."
[Tuivegil(#13313)] A sodden ranger stands upon the bank, dripping water from his clothes, hair and beard. Tuivegil gives his head a shake, casting water left and right. He takes up his cloak and his sword again, wrapping the first about his shoulders, and buckling the second about his hips.
[Bor(#30834)]
"Lord Faramir," says Bor, intoning the Captain of the Rangers.
"I shall assemble the Knights of my Order."
And then the Swansman's sword is drawn from its scabbard. "Let us meet again upon these banks on the morrow at dawn."
[Daerien(#21777)]
Silently standing near to Ceredir as he speaks to Gurtir and flipping the leather thong that binds the blade into his scabbard and quietly stepping to one side and just waiting, if he is called upon to get involved or simply again to carry the wounded from the fields of combat if it is needed.
[Arathis(#30050)]
"Or perhaps upon the other?" interjects the Isilrim Lord, a wry laugh spilling from his lips.
"Heed, Captain! At your word."
Players: Gurtir,Bor,Arathis,Daerien,Ceredir,Tuivegil,Faramir,Midhwen,Morwenn,Thingalad,Amrundirn
