Into the Wilderness: The Angle

7/12/2008

09:51 AM

Along the Hoarwell
You are on the eastern shore of the Mitheithel river, just south of the Last Bridge. The river is fairly broad and obviously cannot be crossed except by the bridge. The banks are fairly steep, but not too steep to be wooded. Further east, great thickets of brush and bramble close in. Working your way among these would be very difficult. Across the river, the rolling plains of Cardolan stretch away for miles. But the Weather hills are visible in the northwest. The trollshaws are supposed to be north of here, but perhaps the trolls do not stay strictly to the north of the road. You had best be on your way, where ever you are going...
Contents:
Bree-Mordain Travel Camp(#25234en)
Cordelia
Obvious exits:
South and North

[+TIME] Middle-earth time is:
Mid Afternoon on Highday, Day 3 of June.
Execute the +TIMEFRAME command for year information.

Real time is: 08:53:45 MDT on Sat Jul 12 2008.

[Rhifaroth]
�
There isn't much of a trail, nor any road of any kind, so progress has slowed somewhat over rougher country. But, the land is opening up and slowly becoming less dense with wood - at least that is the illusion presented. It may all close up with thick woods again a bit further on, who can tell? But the party is pushing generally southwards away from the road. And likely, away from all but the most ardent of pursuers. But so far, there hasn't been any sign of pursuit at all, has there?
Their 'guest' has been no trouble. Put him up on the cart pony, tie him securely, check on him a few times a day. Rhifaroth has been lying against the pony's back and neck, quiet. Fever burns on in his body, but by the third day since his last escape attempt, the fever at least seems to be letting up, less high. Still, the man is mostly listless, weak.

Now darkness in this forsaken land is finding them all again. In the east the teeth of the Misty Mountains loom up, threatening, catching the last of the dying light and glowing golden, then fading into deep pinks. All about them the land grows into hues of purples and blues of dusk. Still following the river, sounds of evening wildlife is rife. Birds, frogs, and things unknown, singing to the opening of the stars in the coming night sky.

[Cordelia(#1394)] In this dark and trackless land, it has been rather futile to try to make their way once darkness falls. Still, the travelers have pressed on daily, making use of every last moment of daylight that they possibly can, from the first glints of sunup to the last dying rays of light. Now they draw rein, finding a somewhat clear area of land near the river to make camp for the night, and beginning to tend to horses, baby, and prisoner. Nightly there has been a debate--risk a fire or not?

Cordelia quietly sees to Elfaron--not adding her voice to the debate, then moves to the water to refill the water skins and see to giving the ranger water, a nightly task for her always done under watchful eyes.

[Rhifaroth]
�
Hands, almost certainly Asht's, untie the Ranger's ropes that bind him to the cart pony. Rather not wishing to be dumped hard onto the ground with his wounded shoulder, Rhifaroth does what he may to sit up, and slide off of the pony himself. Almost the man's long legs can touch the ground even when mounted, so it's mostly a case of ... standing up and swinging his leg over to get off.

But, the prisoner is disinclined to stand much, after. He is led to the middle of their little gathering and made to sit while the others do what has now become routine.

Rhifaroth is clearer headed now, fever low but persistant. He can still smell the river, and the damp earth around them. He can place Cordelia as she comes back with water by the familiar pattern of her light steps.

Nauthcel comes along the banks of the river from the north.
Nauthcel has arrived.

[Cordelia(#1394)] The decision is made, though Cordelia has no voice in it: no fire this night. The travelers are still not comfortable that they are safely away from pursuers, even though there has been no sign of them all this time. But the weather is not chill enough to require a fire at night and Asht and Addie agree not to take an unncessary risk--their arguing done in Logathig, the language of their land.

The discussion of a fire or not--and the unbroken monotonous routine of this tiresome journey--perhaps have made Asht and Addie a touch distracted? Cordelia glances to the two of them as she kneels to offer the blindfolded Dunadan some water. The expression on her face betrays nothing, but there's deep concern in the words she whispers to him. "How are you feeling?" She doesn't dare to use Sindarin to speak to him with the other two so close.

[Rhifaroth]

The prisoner has leaned over to lie on his left side, trying to ease the bandaged wound in the back of his right shoulder. For a little, he listens to the sounds of the others bickering about the fire, and to the sounds of the river wildlife around them. But then, very softly, his baritone voice starts to sing softly in the darkness. Rhifaroth normally has a good singing voice, though fever and weakness now make it thinner and shallow.

"Twas down by the riverside... I met an old woman... She was collecting seregon... and she scarce saw me coming...." It is a lilting tune, an old tune.

As Cordelia can be heard to come close and kneel near to him, Rhifaroth quiets. As expected, she offers him water and he tries to drink a little. His skin is still over warm. She gets no reply to her question for a long moment. "I've been ... better." Maybe, tinted with weak sarcasm.

[Nauthcel(#19666)]
�It is wise to not trust that safety has been found for they have still been followed for some time unbeknownst to the group. Knowing the lay of the land very well, Nauthcel has tracked the company with each turn and shift they had made. Even now, he crouches behind a large bush within somewhat close proximity to Rhifaroth and Cordelia attempting to catch the conversation. With no fire, he has become fully emerged in darkness and shadow.

[Cordelia(#1394)] A glance toward the others at the man's singing--he might draw their attention and see her speaking with Rhifaroth. And, in fact, the other two -do- look their way as the song begins, but then Rhifaroth stops singing, and Addie and Asht have other matters to attend to for setting up camp for the night, such as it is.

Cordelia gives a little sigh of relief, then pours some of the water into one hand--hidden from view of Asht and Addie--and carefully tries to clean the man's face. "You don't feel so feverish anymore," she notes. There's careful control in her voice, as if she fights to sound neutral. "And the wounds didn't fester." Again said with the same control, the volume of her speech neither soft nor loud--she is trying to not draw the attention of Asht and Addie, likely, by just sounding normal. Then, eyes flick to the others for a moment--and seeing them occupied she whispers quickly. "Once your shoulder heals I suspect they will bind your hands behind your back again."

[Rhifaroth]
�
Cordelia's words almost seem a little distant. The prone man can feel the water and her hand upon the skin of his face, hear her voice, but he doesn't seem to care. Third time poisoned by that foul, black b*tch and the man is wearing thin. Softly, he mouths a few more words of the old song, knowing full well that Addie will almost certainly tell him to shut up, or Asht will come and kick him some more.

"I listened awhile... to the song she was singing... Endure, O' endure... the Free and Faithful...."

There is no other reply for Cordelia. Rhifaroth lies listless, too many days unable to keep down broth or even water, with the retching the poison has inflicted upon him.

Cordelia falls silent, her mouth drawing into a frown. More water is poured into her hand to clean Rhifaroth's face, then she sets the water skin down. "Rhifaroth," she says quietly, and there is desperation and complete despair in her voice. Her hand edges to the dagger at her belt. There is a way out of this unending nightmare of darkness. It would only take one stroke. Her hand hesitates.

[Rhifaroth]
�
The other two's bickering has let up for a moment. Perhaps they listen to the man's faint wisp of old song. But as the 'Free and Faithful' part comes along, it can't be tolerated! Not in this group! There are shouts and threats made in the direction of Cordelia and Rhifaroth. Loud and sudden enough to startle the horses!

Bitter muttering between the Mordain man and woman. The two of them seem to be engaged in a quiet argument in their own tongue.

[<#19666>]
�In the darkness, the visage of Nauthcel saddens in hearing of the wounds that Rhifaroth has taken. Yet, he remains still knowing that to attempt to a rescue would be folly. It is then that the bickering begins and, at the same time, a soft winds blows by. A small grin curves the Ranger's lips as an idea seems to spur. Turning his ashen as to Rhifaroth, he focuses on the man as he begins to sing almost inaudibly in the Elven tongue, " You shall find peace....you shall find rest....you shall rest your head....and let the pain be less. Be at peace old friend...and worry not now...for morning shall come....and renewed vigor to thou...." As the Constant sings, he himself seems to fade into a slight trance of peace.

[Rhifaroth]
�
Listless with weakness and blindfolded, the bound man is unaware of Cordelia's actions though he hears her say his name with concern, dimly. Unaware that she is perhaps considering killing him - and by doing so, herself as well - out of pity and maybe even shame.

The wind sighs, the river faintly laps unseen in the darkness. The trees whisper... the other man and woman bicker. But beneath it all there is something more. Like soft, unseen threads reaching out through sound, felt even if not wholly heard.

Breathing eases in the damaged throat, the fevered chest. It is easy to slip into sleep after a painful, jouncing ride all day without break. The mind wishes to slip, slide away ... to think of two infant children, playing upon an old rug, before the hearth. A golden haired woman filling the house with the scent of baking. It is far from here.

[Cordelia(#1394)] Deep in despair and seeing no way out, Cordelia has very slowly pulled the dagger from its scabbard. She moves as if in a dream, her breathing shallow, her motions slow and deliberate. Eyes upon the man's throat. Just one quick cut, deep enough, and it will end for him. Her own torment that would follow she does not focus on now--her thoughts center on freeing the man from this hell she has gotten him into.

Almost Cordelia's hand is at Rhifaroth's throat, her hand steady though her breath is increasingly ragged. And then there is a soft sighing on the wind, and...something... It's in the air at her next shallow breath, giving pause to her movements, doubt to her mind. There's a soft light that gently pokes through the desperation that darkens her mind. Her hand hold steady, not moving--the blade ready to cut, so near, yet hidden, too, from Asht and Addie. She can't move.

[<#19666>]
�And the song goes on as Nauthcel sings, " Lose not hope....though little there may be....for there are others calling to you....waiting for you to be free. Let your strength not fail now...let it build in this need....trust in yourself...and in the blessings of Manwe." The Ranger puts forth his will as if attempting to give his strength to Rhifaroth.

[Combat Function Library(#15)] Nauthcel examines the injuries on Rhifaroth.
HEALING: Nauthcel examines you for injuries...

[Rhifaroth]
�
The poisoned, injured man has fallen deep into sleep. A more restful sleep than Rhifaroth has had since they stopped drugging him with Acelen's horse medicine. Cordelia's knife might even be pressing against his already cut up, rope raw, bruised throat but the Dunadan doesn't know it. The man's dreaming mind is back in Archet, or perhaps the Valley... with his family. With loved ones and friends, distant from this awful place. A far more comforting, cheering place to be.� Warmth and laughter, elvish singing...

The bickering has stopped. The night is quiet, but for the soft sounds of the river, the trees, frogs singing, summer insects chirping and buzzing around them, and the underscore of barely audible Elvish song.

It's almost a pleasant night, of a sudden.
[Combat Function Library(#15)] Nauthcel tends to the injuries on Rhifaroth.
HEALING: Nauthcel attempts to treat your wounds...

[Cordelia(#1394)] At Rhifaroth's side, Cordelia's hand falters, the dagger dropping into the dirt with hardly a sound. Her mind seems to reel in confusion as the wind itself sings to her, the words somehow reaching her mind. The girl is too young--and has spent too much time studying the elven tongue--for songs such as this not to affect her at her very core. This one does, reaching down to pull up the one spot of goodness in the girl, so that hot tears of confusion roll down her face, likely dripping onto Rhifaroth. Carefully, she hides her confusion and tears from the others, then finishing tending to the man and the rest of her tasks.