Elendor
More to the Beorning Infirmary
Mobeorn and Lith are brought to the infirmary in the dead of night.
Sort Date: no date set
Location: Northern Village - Infirmary
Game Date: Late July
IC Time: Night
Description: [Lithuigelir(#27282)]
In the dark hours of the night there was a disturbance. Several men, and at least one or two women, entered into the infirmary well before dawn. There was some hushed whispering among them, and a light, but most noticiable were the two men they carried in - at least one of which may have been a dead body. Despite the noise and disturbance, cots were shoved about over the floor and things rearranged as needful. If questions were asked, answers were not offered. Then, all but the two Beorning women departed in silence and the lantern left with them.
In the remaining few hours before day light, these two local women were not idle. One of them went off to heat water and seek bandages and clothes. The other bends first over Mobeorn, using the lantern to look over his wounds. A small knife is used to cut the man's shirt free.
[Mobeorn(#22365)] It would be hard to tell where Mobeorn's shirt begins and ends, it is so soaked with blood, and pieces of it have worked their way into the wounds he has--deep slices into his flank and along his back. The Beorning man groans loudly, having finally found some sort of sleep while waiting for help in Grimbeorn's house--but now the healers are fussing over him, moving him, making the wounds hurt. "Leave it..." he mutters, not quite conscious. "Have to tell teh Laird..."
Ranol is stirred awake by all the noise, the peace and cooling relief of the night shattered by the arrival of a new patient. He slowly pushes himself to sit up, his side wound still very tender, glancing around to see if Thari is about but the dwarf must be sleeping elsewhere this eve. Ranol settles his attention on the activity, trying to pick out what's going on in the dim light.
[Lithuigelir(#27282)]
The woman stripping the blood soaked garment from the Beorning man hushes him softly, "He knows. Be still." Her calloused hands remove the shirt, cutting it off of Mobeorn and moving him as little as possible. Not that she could lift him alone anyway.
There is a distracted glance for the other man who is at least in as bad shape. Looks to be that harper fellow, but he's either dead already or unconscious. That man's chest armour is rent and much bloodied and if Lith is breathing at all, it's shallow and too rapid to see it in the dimness.
The woman sighs and mutters about needing more light, but keeps working as best as she may on Mobeorn.
[Mobeorn(#22365)] The Beorning man grunts, wincing as the woman works, but gritting his teeth against the pain. "Weren't even many of them. Thought I had him, too--hit him good...then he found his footing and came back at me," he sighs, insisting on talking--ironic, given how the man usually -doesn't- talk. Or show up in the village that much. "The other...that harper. He live?"
Ranol is unable to see who has been brought in, but he recognizes that voice! The huskarl tries to lean forward to see better, but that sends a deep ache through his side and he doesn't push himself. Thari would have his head if he accidently undid any of the healing she's done on him. "What's happened??" He asks in his soft, rumbling voice.
[Lithuigelir(#27282)]
The woman nods her head but gives up trying to hush Mobeorn if the man wishes to mutter half coheriantly. Her hands are now bloody as she wipes what she can of clotted blood free with a scrap of Mobeorn's own shirt she has removed. There just isn't enough light in here to see to work by with only the one lantern, "Shhh... I do not know if he lives. I must get more light."
Just then the other Beorning woman returns carrying a pan of hot water with clothes and bandages over her arm, "There are more lanterns in the other room. But the sun is starting to rise."
The first woman turns and goes to find those lanterns while the second sets down the hot water pan near to Mobeorn. She catches the dwarf's question and frowns, her own hands not yet bloody, "Orcs, I'm told. But not here, not close to the village." She tries to smile a little, "Rest you."
[Elladan(#27059)] The door is cracked open and in steps the elf, Elladan. A brief look at the two wounded mortals, a wry shrug and then the son of Elrond walks up to Lithuigelir. "I will tend to this one," he speaks softly but firmly. "Have you any hot water left?" With skilled hands he begins to remove the Ranger's armour.
[Lithuigelir(#27282)]
The local woman is startled to see the elf just walk in from out of seemingly no where. She blinks several times and then stammers, "Yes. I've water here, and more heating." Her not yet bloodied hands indicate the pan of steaming water she just set down but hadn't yet soiled with any blood. She also has several clothes for cleaning and bandages she was just laying out.
The second, already blood stained Beorning woman, and older woman, comes back with two more lanterns she has already light. She also pauses when she sees the new arrival but says nothing. She merely inclines her head politely to Elladan and positions both of the new lanterns where it will aid Elladan best to see by. She then leaves a moment later to collect a last lantern. When she returns, she goes over to assist her sister with cleaning up Mobeorn as before.
[Mobeorn(#22365)] "Grishnakh, I think," Mobeorn continues to mutter on hearing Ranol's voice and the Beorning woman speak of orcs. "On the Old Forest Road...OW!" A sudden growl from the man, sharp and animal like as water meets the deep cut in his flank. He winces, muttering to himself--but not willing to curse in front of the woman. "You haven't told me if the harper lives," he then continues, as if forcing himself to talk will help take his mind off the pain.
[Lithuigelir(#27282)]
The Dunadan is in bad shape. Lith is unconscious and his bow is elsewhere... but he wears quiver case and harpcase upon his back, lying slightly on his right side. The man's chest is rent on both right and left sides and there is much blood. He has been laid out upon one of the cots, his long sword's scabbard and his thin grey cloak both touching the floor.
There is no response to Elladan's hands upon him, but the man is alive, breath shallow and rapid.
It's unlikely that the dwarf will listen to that order to rest. Ranol's face is drawn in concern, black brows furrowed as he tries to get sight of the Beorning man or the harper. "Did you fell him, Mobeorn?" The huskarl asks from his own bed, unable to climb to his feet and move closer. His own injuries are still in need of too much mending for him to be moving about.
[Lithuigelir(#27282)]
Both women are trying to tend to Mobeorn's ills. There are some kind of herbs mixed into the water, likely with antiseptic qualities to help clean the wounds. Clothes are dipped in and then hot water sued to soften and wipe away the worst of the blood.
The older woman directs the younger to go and fetch things she needs, or to pick up and hold a lantern closer. She puts a hand to Mobeorn's least damaged shoulder, "Lie still."
[Elladan(#27059)] Having removed the leather from Lithuigelir's broken body, Elladan takes quiver and harp away. Then his hands hover over the mortal's chest. Eyes closed, the elf seems to feel what damage was caused to the harper and he frowns. A cloth is taken from a nearby stool and with it, Elladan wipes the blood off the man's face.
A few gently pushes along Lithuigelir's side are made and then the elf begins to hum a wondrous tune. No words are sung but a melody of old, a song of healing that might first have been heard on the docks of Alqualonde or in the dark woods of Doriath.
[Mobeorn(#22365)] It would seem as if the shapeshifter is at last heeding the Beorning healer's words--he sighs loudly, tiredly, then weakly settles back down on the cot. That lasts all of 30 seconds--the kin of Grimbeorn are nothing if not tough and stubborn, even when bleeding to death. Which the beijabar slowly is--the wounds from the orc blades deep and bloodied, slowly weakening him bit by bit.
"Who's that?" he says, though, Head coming slightly off the pillow again at the elf song. His brows furrow, then he slumps back down, drained again.
[Lithuigelir(#27282)] The harper is out of it, never having been hurt so sorely in his fairly young life. But Lith turns his head when a cool cloth wipes blood from his face and the man mutters something, "... my lady... my harp... "
Grave indeed are the wounds to the man's chest, especially the scimitar thrust to the left side of his breast.
Hearing some sound from Mobeorn's companion, the older woman smiles and looks to Mobeorn, "I think your friend yet lives." She presses a cloth against Mobeorn's side and instructs the younger woman to hold it there firmly, to slow bleeding. Keeping her voice low, she answers Mobeorn, "It's the elf. He's tending the other."
Ranol gets no answer, but he's not about to press a badly injured man for details. He sighs in frustration at his own weakness but doesn't lay back. The elf song drifts through the room and the bed-ridden dwarf shifts his attention to Elladon, watching quietly.
[Elladan(#27059)] The elvensong continues. Elladan's eyes are still closed, his hands extended to Lithuigelir. Eventually the tune fades and Elrond's son looks upon his patient. "Your harp is safe," he speaks in the common tongue, "but what of your lady I do not know. Rest now and heal."
[Mobeorn(#22365)] "Grishnakh lives..." Mobeorn sighs loudly, rolling his head at last toward the dwarf to answer that question. "The Laird will have to tackle him....too much for me....road is not passable while the orcs control it...." His eyes close, the shapeshifter fighting against a wave of pain and nausea from his wounds, but he nods ever so slightly at the healer's reply to his question about the harper. "Meade...I think...honey wine for pain.."
[Lithuigelir(#27282)]
The older woman barks at the younger woman to hurry and press the cloth more firmly, "He's still loosing blood, Mirraya. Press!" Her voice is a little sour at this hour of the morning.
To Mobeorn's request, the older woman frowns, "No, Mobeorn. Alcohol thins the blood. You will bleed more. Lay still, hush now!"
[Lithuigelir(#27282)]
Whatever power Elladan's wise hands offer the man, the harper's breathing eases somewhat, slowing and not so shallow and rapid. The man turns his head again but still does not open his eyes, breath yet a little ragged. Something else is muttered but it is too low to make out even for keen elvish hearing.
Elladan opens his pouch to produce a vial filled with a clear liquid. He steps over to Mobeorn's cot and offers it to to the shapeshifter. "Drink this," he encourages him. "It will ease your pain and strengthen you. And I shall sing for you as well."
[Lithuigelir(#27282)]
Not entirely certain about the elf, the older unnamed Beorning woman gives Elladan a wary, unreadable look. But she gestures the younger girl to go and tend the other, "Get fresh hot water, Mirraya and clean up the Harper. Go, girl." She herself continues to stay by Mobeorn's side, keeping an eye on Elladan, "What's that you give him?"
[Mobeorn(#22365)] The shapeshifter's vision seems to be going in and out of focus--he stares for a long moment at Elladan, as if trying to place the elf before his vision clears enough for him to take the vial and look at it. "Owe you for the bees n hives, don't I?" he says, voice a little distant even as he drinks the vial of liquid. "That forester figured out who I was though....but...too strong...thought I had him...he laughed, told us the road is closed....over my dead body...almost..." Mobeorn's thoughts wander, the liquid, whatever it was, giving him strength but also rapidly putting him to sleep. His worst wound is a huge gash that runs along the left side of his body, nearly ripping his torso in two.
[Lithuigelir(#27282)]
The Beorning girl named Mirraya does as the older woman bids. She hurries off to wash her hands clean of Mobeorn's blood and to bring in fresh, clean, hot water with herbs to replace the now bloodied pan.
In a few minutes, she returns and carefully begins to wipe and daub at the clotted blood on Lith's pale chest. She frowns, the wounds looking frightful, but the harper is breathing a little easier and there is no longer any sign of blood seeping, now that Elrond's son has administered care.
Still, the girl looks at the Dunadan's unconscious face and asks softly to no one in particular, "Who is he?"
[Elladan(#27059)] "Lay still now." Elladan tends to Mobeorn's wounds. His pouch, seemingly a hoard of many things, is relieved of a little bag. It contains a strange powder which is then applied to the gaping wound on the Beijabar's flank before Elladan begins to tightly dress the injuries. Even while doing so, he hums his tune again.
Ranol frowns at Mobeorn's news, a deep scowl and muttered curse for Grishnakh the orc. He keeps his voice low, though, a quiet rumble. The huskarl lays back finally, his side aching from where Grishnakh's blade tasted dwarven blood prior to this night. "A traveling .. harpist.. His name is Lith." Ranol answers the girl, shifting to try and rest more comfortably.
[Lithuigelir(#27282)]
The older woman shushes Mobeorn softly yet again, patiently. She hands Elladan fresh, clean bandages as the elf works. The woman glances several times at Elladan, never having seen a man like him, so far and yet so strange to her eyes. She says nothing, assisting how she can.
[Elladan(#27059)] "And now for you, Master Dwarf," speaks Elladan as he finally leaves Mobeorn's cot. "Durin's kin is a hardy folk and I daresay you will survive this injury," he says to Ranol while inspecting the huskarl's wounds.
[<#22365>] There's a small sigh of relief from the beijabar as his wounds are bound--the attentions of the elf seem to quiet the shapeshifter's restless personality enough so that he lies reasonably still. 'Said he was a harpist..showed up in the village...' he mutters about Lith, then, strangely, perhaps, his gruff voice switches to a singsong language. ""
[Lithuigelir(#27282)]
Mirraya glances up towards Ranol as the injured dwarf answers her question. She also gives Elladan several shy glances, but she does as she has been bid. Bit by bit she washes away the thick, dark, clotted sticky blood from the unconscious man. It takes time.
But the sun is coming up outside and the lantern light slowly becomes less needful. Things are starting to look less grim.
The girl begins to apply bandages to the Harper's chest, doing what she is able without being able to lift the man by herself. The older woman comes over to assist her and oversee the wrapping. "We'll make poultrices up for both of them. But for now, once we finish up here, we need let them rest, first."
Ranol lifts his brows as Elladan approaches, speaking in a polite tone, "Save your efforts for those two, Master Elf.. My condition is not so severe as theirs." He has no recourse as the elf examines his injuries, though. Beneath the bandages he has his own deep gashes from the orc's scimitar, one along his left side that is particularly severe. He's stitched up, but on a road of a long, slow, recovery.
[Lithuigelir(#27282)]
Both of the women look up as Mobeorn slips into a sing-song tongue they do not know. They glance at each other, but the older woman hushes the younger before Mirraya might say a word. They each begin to pick up bloodied shirts, moving armour and weapons that belong to the man out of the way, taking things to the other room.
The older woman quietly gives orders, lanterns extinguished, extra bandages taken and put back, pans of bloody water disposed of...
[<#27059>] "" replies Elladan in the same melodic speech. Then, shifting back to the Common, he returns his attention to Ranol. Powder and dressings are applied over here as well and again Elladan sings his ancient tune.
Ranol lets the elf work, giving up his polite protests. The song is so soothing that even the hardy dwarf is lured into an easier calm, some of his worry easing away as the music relaxes him. He murmurs his thanks, growing sleepy as his body tries to pull him back into the interupted rest.
[Lithuigelir(#27282)]
The older woman keeps an eye on Elladan's minstrations, but she does nothing to hinder him. She goes about her business tidying things up, then sends the younger girl out with Lith's leather armour, "That is offensive. Go wash it off and then cover it with a blanket so no one has to see or smell it." She wrinkles up her nose, "Leather!" She says, offended.
[Lithuigelir(#27282)]
The younger girl doesn't even want to touch it, sad that some animal gave up it's life to be made into this thing that the Harper had been wearing. That man, now that she pauses to look him over more carefully, also wears a leather belt, leather boots... probably eats meat!
Horrified, she hurries out but tries her best not to touch the jerkin more than she must.
In the dark hours of the night there was a disturbance. Several men, and at least one or two women, entered into the infirmary well before dawn. There was some hushed whispering among them, and a light, but most noticiable were the two men they carried in - at least one of which may have been a dead body. Despite the noise and disturbance, cots were shoved about over the floor and things rearranged as needful. If questions were asked, answers were not offered. Then, all but the two Beorning women departed in silence and the lantern left with them.
In the remaining few hours before day light, these two local women were not idle. One of them went off to heat water and seek bandages and clothes. The other bends first over Mobeorn, using the lantern to look over his wounds. A small knife is used to cut the man's shirt free.
[Mobeorn(#22365)] It would be hard to tell where Mobeorn's shirt begins and ends, it is so soaked with blood, and pieces of it have worked their way into the wounds he has--deep slices into his flank and along his back. The Beorning man groans loudly, having finally found some sort of sleep while waiting for help in Grimbeorn's house--but now the healers are fussing over him, moving him, making the wounds hurt. "Leave it..." he mutters, not quite conscious. "Have to tell teh Laird..."
Ranol is stirred awake by all the noise, the peace and cooling relief of the night shattered by the arrival of a new patient. He slowly pushes himself to sit up, his side wound still very tender, glancing around to see if Thari is about but the dwarf must be sleeping elsewhere this eve. Ranol settles his attention on the activity, trying to pick out what's going on in the dim light.
[Lithuigelir(#27282)]
The woman stripping the blood soaked garment from the Beorning man hushes him softly, "He knows. Be still." Her calloused hands remove the shirt, cutting it off of Mobeorn and moving him as little as possible. Not that she could lift him alone anyway.
There is a distracted glance for the other man who is at least in as bad shape. Looks to be that harper fellow, but he's either dead already or unconscious. That man's chest armour is rent and much bloodied and if Lith is breathing at all, it's shallow and too rapid to see it in the dimness.
The woman sighs and mutters about needing more light, but keeps working as best as she may on Mobeorn.
[Mobeorn(#22365)] The Beorning man grunts, wincing as the woman works, but gritting his teeth against the pain. "Weren't even many of them. Thought I had him, too--hit him good...then he found his footing and came back at me," he sighs, insisting on talking--ironic, given how the man usually -doesn't- talk. Or show up in the village that much. "The other...that harper. He live?"
Ranol is unable to see who has been brought in, but he recognizes that voice! The huskarl tries to lean forward to see better, but that sends a deep ache through his side and he doesn't push himself. Thari would have his head if he accidently undid any of the healing she's done on him. "What's happened??" He asks in his soft, rumbling voice.
[Lithuigelir(#27282)]
The woman nods her head but gives up trying to hush Mobeorn if the man wishes to mutter half coheriantly. Her hands are now bloody as she wipes what she can of clotted blood free with a scrap of Mobeorn's own shirt she has removed. There just isn't enough light in here to see to work by with only the one lantern, "Shhh... I do not know if he lives. I must get more light."
Just then the other Beorning woman returns carrying a pan of hot water with clothes and bandages over her arm, "There are more lanterns in the other room. But the sun is starting to rise."
The first woman turns and goes to find those lanterns while the second sets down the hot water pan near to Mobeorn. She catches the dwarf's question and frowns, her own hands not yet bloody, "Orcs, I'm told. But not here, not close to the village." She tries to smile a little, "Rest you."
[Elladan(#27059)] The door is cracked open and in steps the elf, Elladan. A brief look at the two wounded mortals, a wry shrug and then the son of Elrond walks up to Lithuigelir. "I will tend to this one," he speaks softly but firmly. "Have you any hot water left?" With skilled hands he begins to remove the Ranger's armour.
[Lithuigelir(#27282)]
The local woman is startled to see the elf just walk in from out of seemingly no where. She blinks several times and then stammers, "Yes. I've water here, and more heating." Her not yet bloodied hands indicate the pan of steaming water she just set down but hadn't yet soiled with any blood. She also has several clothes for cleaning and bandages she was just laying out.
The second, already blood stained Beorning woman, and older woman, comes back with two more lanterns she has already light. She also pauses when she sees the new arrival but says nothing. She merely inclines her head politely to Elladan and positions both of the new lanterns where it will aid Elladan best to see by. She then leaves a moment later to collect a last lantern. When she returns, she goes over to assist her sister with cleaning up Mobeorn as before.
[Mobeorn(#22365)] "Grishnakh, I think," Mobeorn continues to mutter on hearing Ranol's voice and the Beorning woman speak of orcs. "On the Old Forest Road...OW!" A sudden growl from the man, sharp and animal like as water meets the deep cut in his flank. He winces, muttering to himself--but not willing to curse in front of the woman. "You haven't told me if the harper lives," he then continues, as if forcing himself to talk will help take his mind off the pain.
[Lithuigelir(#27282)]
The Dunadan is in bad shape. Lith is unconscious and his bow is elsewhere... but he wears quiver case and harpcase upon his back, lying slightly on his right side. The man's chest is rent on both right and left sides and there is much blood. He has been laid out upon one of the cots, his long sword's scabbard and his thin grey cloak both touching the floor.
There is no response to Elladan's hands upon him, but the man is alive, breath shallow and rapid.
It's unlikely that the dwarf will listen to that order to rest. Ranol's face is drawn in concern, black brows furrowed as he tries to get sight of the Beorning man or the harper. "Did you fell him, Mobeorn?" The huskarl asks from his own bed, unable to climb to his feet and move closer. His own injuries are still in need of too much mending for him to be moving about.
[Lithuigelir(#27282)]
Both women are trying to tend to Mobeorn's ills. There are some kind of herbs mixed into the water, likely with antiseptic qualities to help clean the wounds. Clothes are dipped in and then hot water sued to soften and wipe away the worst of the blood.
The older woman directs the younger to go and fetch things she needs, or to pick up and hold a lantern closer. She puts a hand to Mobeorn's least damaged shoulder, "Lie still."
[Elladan(#27059)] Having removed the leather from Lithuigelir's broken body, Elladan takes quiver and harp away. Then his hands hover over the mortal's chest. Eyes closed, the elf seems to feel what damage was caused to the harper and he frowns. A cloth is taken from a nearby stool and with it, Elladan wipes the blood off the man's face.
A few gently pushes along Lithuigelir's side are made and then the elf begins to hum a wondrous tune. No words are sung but a melody of old, a song of healing that might first have been heard on the docks of Alqualonde or in the dark woods of Doriath.
[Mobeorn(#22365)] It would seem as if the shapeshifter is at last heeding the Beorning healer's words--he sighs loudly, tiredly, then weakly settles back down on the cot. That lasts all of 30 seconds--the kin of Grimbeorn are nothing if not tough and stubborn, even when bleeding to death. Which the beijabar slowly is--the wounds from the orc blades deep and bloodied, slowly weakening him bit by bit.
"Who's that?" he says, though, Head coming slightly off the pillow again at the elf song. His brows furrow, then he slumps back down, drained again.
[Lithuigelir(#27282)] The harper is out of it, never having been hurt so sorely in his fairly young life. But Lith turns his head when a cool cloth wipes blood from his face and the man mutters something, "... my lady... my harp... "
Grave indeed are the wounds to the man's chest, especially the scimitar thrust to the left side of his breast.
Hearing some sound from Mobeorn's companion, the older woman smiles and looks to Mobeorn, "I think your friend yet lives." She presses a cloth against Mobeorn's side and instructs the younger woman to hold it there firmly, to slow bleeding. Keeping her voice low, she answers Mobeorn, "It's the elf. He's tending the other."
Ranol gets no answer, but he's not about to press a badly injured man for details. He sighs in frustration at his own weakness but doesn't lay back. The elf song drifts through the room and the bed-ridden dwarf shifts his attention to Elladon, watching quietly.
[Elladan(#27059)] The elvensong continues. Elladan's eyes are still closed, his hands extended to Lithuigelir. Eventually the tune fades and Elrond's son looks upon his patient. "Your harp is safe," he speaks in the common tongue, "but what of your lady I do not know. Rest now and heal."
[Mobeorn(#22365)] "Grishnakh lives..." Mobeorn sighs loudly, rolling his head at last toward the dwarf to answer that question. "The Laird will have to tackle him....too much for me....road is not passable while the orcs control it...." His eyes close, the shapeshifter fighting against a wave of pain and nausea from his wounds, but he nods ever so slightly at the healer's reply to his question about the harper. "Meade...I think...honey wine for pain.."
[Lithuigelir(#27282)]
The older woman barks at the younger woman to hurry and press the cloth more firmly, "He's still loosing blood, Mirraya. Press!" Her voice is a little sour at this hour of the morning.
To Mobeorn's request, the older woman frowns, "No, Mobeorn. Alcohol thins the blood. You will bleed more. Lay still, hush now!"
[Lithuigelir(#27282)]
Whatever power Elladan's wise hands offer the man, the harper's breathing eases somewhat, slowing and not so shallow and rapid. The man turns his head again but still does not open his eyes, breath yet a little ragged. Something else is muttered but it is too low to make out even for keen elvish hearing.
Elladan opens his pouch to produce a vial filled with a clear liquid. He steps over to Mobeorn's cot and offers it to to the shapeshifter. "Drink this," he encourages him. "It will ease your pain and strengthen you. And I shall sing for you as well."
[Lithuigelir(#27282)]
Not entirely certain about the elf, the older unnamed Beorning woman gives Elladan a wary, unreadable look. But she gestures the younger girl to go and tend the other, "Get fresh hot water, Mirraya and clean up the Harper. Go, girl." She herself continues to stay by Mobeorn's side, keeping an eye on Elladan, "What's that you give him?"
[Mobeorn(#22365)] The shapeshifter's vision seems to be going in and out of focus--he stares for a long moment at Elladan, as if trying to place the elf before his vision clears enough for him to take the vial and look at it. "Owe you for the bees n hives, don't I?" he says, voice a little distant even as he drinks the vial of liquid. "That forester figured out who I was though....but...too strong...thought I had him...he laughed, told us the road is closed....over my dead body...almost..." Mobeorn's thoughts wander, the liquid, whatever it was, giving him strength but also rapidly putting him to sleep. His worst wound is a huge gash that runs along the left side of his body, nearly ripping his torso in two.
[Lithuigelir(#27282)]
The Beorning girl named Mirraya does as the older woman bids. She hurries off to wash her hands clean of Mobeorn's blood and to bring in fresh, clean, hot water with herbs to replace the now bloodied pan.
In a few minutes, she returns and carefully begins to wipe and daub at the clotted blood on Lith's pale chest. She frowns, the wounds looking frightful, but the harper is breathing a little easier and there is no longer any sign of blood seeping, now that Elrond's son has administered care.
Still, the girl looks at the Dunadan's unconscious face and asks softly to no one in particular, "Who is he?"
[Elladan(#27059)] "Lay still now." Elladan tends to Mobeorn's wounds. His pouch, seemingly a hoard of many things, is relieved of a little bag. It contains a strange powder which is then applied to the gaping wound on the Beijabar's flank before Elladan begins to tightly dress the injuries. Even while doing so, he hums his tune again.
Ranol frowns at Mobeorn's news, a deep scowl and muttered curse for Grishnakh the orc. He keeps his voice low, though, a quiet rumble. The huskarl lays back finally, his side aching from where Grishnakh's blade tasted dwarven blood prior to this night. "A traveling .. harpist.. His name is Lith." Ranol answers the girl, shifting to try and rest more comfortably.
[Lithuigelir(#27282)]
The older woman shushes Mobeorn softly yet again, patiently. She hands Elladan fresh, clean bandages as the elf works. The woman glances several times at Elladan, never having seen a man like him, so far and yet so strange to her eyes. She says nothing, assisting how she can.
[Elladan(#27059)] "And now for you, Master Dwarf," speaks Elladan as he finally leaves Mobeorn's cot. "Durin's kin is a hardy folk and I daresay you will survive this injury," he says to Ranol while inspecting the huskarl's wounds.
[<#22365>] There's a small sigh of relief from the beijabar as his wounds are bound--the attentions of the elf seem to quiet the shapeshifter's restless personality enough so that he lies reasonably still. 'Said he was a harpist..showed up in the village...' he mutters about Lith, then, strangely, perhaps, his gruff voice switches to a singsong language. "
[Lithuigelir(#27282)]
Mirraya glances up towards Ranol as the injured dwarf answers her question. She also gives Elladan several shy glances, but she does as she has been bid. Bit by bit she washes away the thick, dark, clotted sticky blood from the unconscious man. It takes time.
But the sun is coming up outside and the lantern light slowly becomes less needful. Things are starting to look less grim.
The girl begins to apply bandages to the Harper's chest, doing what she is able without being able to lift the man by herself. The older woman comes over to assist her and oversee the wrapping. "We'll make poultrices up for both of them. But for now, once we finish up here, we need let them rest, first."
Ranol lifts his brows as Elladan approaches, speaking in a polite tone, "Save your efforts for those two, Master Elf.. My condition is not so severe as theirs." He has no recourse as the elf examines his injuries, though. Beneath the bandages he has his own deep gashes from the orc's scimitar, one along his left side that is particularly severe. He's stitched up, but on a road of a long, slow, recovery.
[Lithuigelir(#27282)]
Both of the women look up as Mobeorn slips into a sing-song tongue they do not know. They glance at each other, but the older woman hushes the younger before Mirraya might say a word. They each begin to pick up bloodied shirts, moving armour and weapons that belong to the man out of the way, taking things to the other room.
The older woman quietly gives orders, lanterns extinguished, extra bandages taken and put back, pans of bloody water disposed of...
[<#27059>] "
Ranol lets the elf work, giving up his polite protests. The song is so soothing that even the hardy dwarf is lured into an easier calm, some of his worry easing away as the music relaxes him. He murmurs his thanks, growing sleepy as his body tries to pull him back into the interupted rest.
[Lithuigelir(#27282)]
The older woman keeps an eye on Elladan's minstrations, but she does nothing to hinder him. She goes about her business tidying things up, then sends the younger girl out with Lith's leather armour, "That is offensive. Go wash it off and then cover it with a blanket so no one has to see or smell it." She wrinkles up her nose, "Leather!" She says, offended.
[Lithuigelir(#27282)]
The younger girl doesn't even want to touch it, sad that some animal gave up it's life to be made into this thing that the Harper had been wearing. That man, now that she pauses to look him over more carefully, also wears a leather belt, leather boots... probably eats meat!
Horrified, she hurries out but tries her best not to touch the jerkin more than she must.
Players: Lithuigelir, Elladan, Ranol, Mobeorn
