Elendor
Show and tell
Wounds are compared, poultices exchanged and the delicate subject of 'uruk-hai' skirted round
Sort Date: no date set
Location: Shaws, Shepherding Village
Game Date: January 3050
IC Time: Evening
Description: Shepherding Village
This is the home of a small, proud, and independent people who live primarily by herding sheep in the open lands south of the Great East Road. Once driven from this region by troll depredations, they have returned and appear to be prospering, perhaps because they can also profit by trade on the Great East Road.
Or rather.... we should say it /was/ the home of these people. The many sturdy houses and smaller huts clustered on a hill here have mostly been burned. Some are yet standing, more are nothing more than charred timbers. Once, they were safely ensconced behind a deep ditch and wall. The ditch is filled with the ashy ghosts of thorn bushes ... and the gate hangs crookedly, black as charcoal.
But a stone wall is being built by a group of industrious dwarves, and many of the buildings that were still standing have been repaired. The village is now a mixture of the charred, skeletons of houses, and shiny new ones.
A long, low, smoke-stained building, sprawling along the hillside below the caravanserai, appears to the south. Its thatched roof has miraculously escaped burning - though there are black patches across it. Thick lead-paned windows are dark. A group of industrious men and dwarves and a few elves are camped in the open area.
Obvious exits:
Gathering House, Caravanserai, and Great East Road
==============================================================================
| Yfelwydan Time (YST) |
==============================================================================
** Real time is: Tue May 25 15:27:44 2010, GMT -8 **
Elendor time is: Twilight on a Cloudy Highday, Day 6 of January 3050.
Note: It's nighttime out, so it's safe to wander outside.
==============================================================================
[Nurenhir(#14756)]
Building in the Shepherding Village is nearly complete. As night falls, merry lantern-lights shine through the windows of newly built, still sawdusted houses, and the camp on the village green has dwindled to mostly locals and the odd elf.
Here by the campfire, said odd elf sits upon a roughly fashioned stool, running a whetstone down the length of a longsword. It seems to be unnecessarily difficult, however, compounded by the fact that Nurenhir's arm is hanging in a sling.
The shuffling of feet is the first indication of another's approach - one who has not been seen in these parts for quite a few weeks. A crudely trimmed stick is serving Brev as a staff, and he is limping heavily. It's hard to tell beneath a few days worth of dirt, but he might be paler also. Nevertheless, there is a bag slung over one shoulder (the right). He peers down at the whetstone wielder and asks curtly, "Space for me to some water?" Then recognition comes, and the side of his mouth twitches. "They're so lacking in ingredients for stew you had to add half your arm as well, eh?"
[Nurenhir(#14756)]
Nurenhir glances about, searching for the voice, until his eyes fall upon the dishevelled Brev. "It's still here," he answers, jiggling the elbow with a wince. "You don't look too well, either." Standing to allow the other to sit, the elf reaches for a ladle. "Have some stew?"
Brev grunts. "There was the odd distraction on the road." He eyes the vacated stool suspiciously, then lowers himself down to sit on it anyway, right leg stuck out in front of him. "I'll live. Wouldn't say no to the stew. Need to change the dressings, though." He lets the bag slide down beside him and produces a little pot which he proceeds to fill from a waterskin. That done he glances up and offers drily, the corners of his mouth twitching with amusement, "I'll show you mine if you show me yours?"
[Nurenhir(#14756)]
"There have been many of these 'distractions' of late," replies Nurenhir with a laugh, negotiating the ladle with a shaky hand. A wooden bowl is set down near the fire, and the elf sits upon a rock, sighing. "Yours looks the worse," he points out hesitantly. "I will be well. The lady with the yellow hair -- I do not know her name -- tended it for me."
Brev pushes his pot to the edge of the flames, then leans over to reach for the bowl this elicits a hiss and a grimace. He is grimly silent until he has managed to straighten again, then states with a snort, "Thanks for the compliment. Didn't think I looked /that/ bad."
The mention of yellow hair brings a frown to his face. "Who? Does that strawhaired fellow - Hayfinger or whatever it was - have a woman?" He spoons up the first mouthful of stew.
[Nurenhir(#14756)]
"No, his wife is far away," muses Nurenhir, loosening the sling and inspecting his own shoulder. "I do not think she was related, but she did not seem to be of this village. Different, somehow." The elf smiles and tosses a clean roll of white cloth to Brev.
Brev, scooping up stew without so much as a thank-you, starts and reaches out a hand, somehow managing to catch the bundle of white before it can land on the muddy ground. "Kiern, can't you give a fellow time to eat?" he mutters irritably, setting the bowl aside and pushing himself up long enough to drag his stool closer. "Here, let me take a look at you. What happened there?"
After a pause he adds, "And did you have any of those fancy herbs you use? Side's healing well enough, even if it hurts like hell, but the leg was from a goblin-blade."
HEALING: Nurenhir has no critical wounds and you'd categorize his condition as good.
[Nurenhir(#14756)]
Nurenhir winces. "I am sorry," he murmurs, reaching for a satchel. "I have some of them cured and dried, but it is winter now ... you ought to treat your leg first, then. Was it poison? If it was the same pest we met, then I can say he is quite strong for an orc."
"The goblin-man," Brev answers, his gaze suddenly troubled and his expression unreadable. "From the south, it claimed." He peers at Nurenhir's shoulder, then offers a one-sided shrug. "A single poultice'd do for both. I've got some of the flag-root, though it's old - like you said, winter." He returns his attention to his own bag, and is soon busy crushing up a wizened-looking root, which he mixes with some of the hot water. "You first - if you collapse on me I'll know not to try it on myself." A faint grin tugs at his lips - clearly he has got over his fear of at least one Elf somewhat.
[Nurenhir(#14756)]
Nurenhir regards the man with an amused if wary stare. "So be it," he replies, loosening his collar to bare the shoulder, where a blade of some sort has left a precise incision that runs through to the back. "Flag-root, you said."
Brev's head dips in a nod. "Aye. Grows in wet places, has leaves like that sword you were sharpening - don't know what others call it. That's what my folk would." His words break off abruptly, and he is suddenly very busy watching his hands. "That creature - the goblin-man - did it say anything to you?"
Clearly something has perturbed him: the washing of Nurenhir's wound is not gentle. When he starts to spread on some of the root-pulp he works more carefully, though. "Aside from trying to joint you for the roasting-spit or whatever it was," he adds drily. "Looks most impressive."
HEALING: You administer aid to Nurenhir and think that he looks a little better.
[Nurenhir(#14756)]
The elf bites his lip, looking away towards the fire. "I met the same one earlier. He said something about being the 'Fighting Uruk-hai,' was planning with some others to attack the village again. But I have not seen them since. They are familiar to you?"
The wound is tended to, and Nurenhir relaxes visibly, a little color returning to his face.
Brev notes the Elf's relaxing, and offers a muttered, "Sorry. Wasn't meaning to be rough." The question is answered as he rewinds bandages and carefully slips the arm back into the sling, adjusting its height and angle. "Plenty of goblins in Dunland. Seemed different though, smaller ... I was little more than a boy, most like my memory's addled." He sounds as though it is himself he is trying to convince. "Not goblin-men." he repeats that word softly to himself. "What if-"
Whatever he is going to say is cut off abruptly, though, and instead he wipes his hand on a piece of cloth before looking down at his own leg. "Since it didn't kill you, suppose it's my turn next." Gingerly he reaches down to roll up his trews.
[Nurenhir(#14756)]
"They were abnormally large," offers Nurenhir, gazing down at the ground. "One wonders where they came from..." The elf retreats slightly, allowing Brev to tend to his own injuries.
Brev snorts to that. "From the Mountains. They always come from the Mountains. The creatures I met both spoke the Common - one even went so far as to call me neighbour. Likely the beast was lying."
He falls silent to concentrate on his injured leg, which is still swollen and purpled - the forming scar has split in a couple of places too. "Bloody mess," he mutters sourly, leaning forward to clean it. It is an awkward effort - each stretch causes a hiss or a curse, and eventually after he's daubed on the remainder of the root-paste he asks without looking round, "Couldn't give me a hand with the bandaging, could you? If I hold it here, and you wind with the good hand ..."
HEALING: You administer aid to yourself and think that you feel a little better.
[Nurenhir(#14756)]
"Of course," says Nurenhir, caught by surprise. He leans forward, assisting with the bandage, though his gaze is clouded with worry. "If they are from the mountains ... how came they to the forest without being noticed..."
Brev does not seem particularly worried by /that/ question it is answered with a blink and a half-shrug. "Goblin-homes are to the north of my folk, south of the Road. There's an awful lot of empty lands between the two. Who'd notice?" He watches the pale elven hand winding the bandage, and does not flinch at the touch. Eventually, when it is done, he offers what is, for him, the highest form of gratitude - a muttered "Thanks."
He scrapes the last few pieces of root pulp into the flames, and fire-cleans the knife. "My own fault, this is. Figured travelling on horseback would be safer, hah! Without Mecsan I'd likely have dodged the blows, not taken them. Least he's still in one piece." Briefly the scowl that had formed on his lips softens. "Just wish I could figure out how to ride the damn beast ..."
[Nurenhir(#14756)]
"You will need a horse if you plan to travel before that leg is healed," Nurenhir grins, standing to stir the stew. "Shall I see that he is tended to? The villagers care dearly for their livestock, but horses are a different creature..."
Brev snorts to that. "Wasn't planning to travel just yet. Came here with the last supply cart, heard they were in need of carpentry again." He glances ruefully down at his leg. "Guess I won't be earning as much as I'd hoped." His mouth twists wryly. "And Mecsan's hardy enough, shouldn't need much tending - but I suspect he'd not object to it in the least. You know about horses, then?" He keeps his gaze at fire-level, doesn't strain his neck looking up at the standing Elf.
[Nurenhir(#14756)]
"A friend taught me," says the steward, shrugging. "I will go to see that he is fed and kept from the snow." With a bow of his head, Nurenhir moves slowly through the camp.
Brev starts to push himself to his feet then stops, scowl returning. He watches the Elf depart, then tidies up the last of his things. It is rather later that he limps away.
This is the home of a small, proud, and independent people who live primarily by herding sheep in the open lands south of the Great East Road. Once driven from this region by troll depredations, they have returned and appear to be prospering, perhaps because they can also profit by trade on the Great East Road.
Or rather.... we should say it /was/ the home of these people. The many sturdy houses and smaller huts clustered on a hill here have mostly been burned. Some are yet standing, more are nothing more than charred timbers. Once, they were safely ensconced behind a deep ditch and wall. The ditch is filled with the ashy ghosts of thorn bushes ... and the gate hangs crookedly, black as charcoal.
But a stone wall is being built by a group of industrious dwarves, and many of the buildings that were still standing have been repaired. The village is now a mixture of the charred, skeletons of houses, and shiny new ones.
A long, low, smoke-stained building, sprawling along the hillside below the caravanserai, appears to the south. Its thatched roof has miraculously escaped burning - though there are black patches across it. Thick lead-paned windows are dark. A group of industrious men and dwarves and a few elves are camped in the open area.
Obvious exits:
Gathering House, Caravanserai, and Great East Road
==============================================================================
| Yfelwydan Time (YST) |
==============================================================================
** Real time is: Tue May 25 15:27:44 2010, GMT -8 **
Elendor time is: Twilight on a Cloudy Highday, Day 6 of January 3050.
Note: It's nighttime out, so it's safe to wander outside.
==============================================================================
[Nurenhir(#14756)]
Building in the Shepherding Village is nearly complete. As night falls, merry lantern-lights shine through the windows of newly built, still sawdusted houses, and the camp on the village green has dwindled to mostly locals and the odd elf.
Here by the campfire, said odd elf sits upon a roughly fashioned stool, running a whetstone down the length of a longsword. It seems to be unnecessarily difficult, however, compounded by the fact that Nurenhir's arm is hanging in a sling.
The shuffling of feet is the first indication of another's approach - one who has not been seen in these parts for quite a few weeks. A crudely trimmed stick is serving Brev as a staff, and he is limping heavily. It's hard to tell beneath a few days worth of dirt, but he might be paler also. Nevertheless, there is a bag slung over one shoulder (the right). He peers down at the whetstone wielder and asks curtly, "Space for me to some water?" Then recognition comes, and the side of his mouth twitches. "They're so lacking in ingredients for stew you had to add half your arm as well, eh?"
[Nurenhir(#14756)]
Nurenhir glances about, searching for the voice, until his eyes fall upon the dishevelled Brev. "It's still here," he answers, jiggling the elbow with a wince. "You don't look too well, either." Standing to allow the other to sit, the elf reaches for a ladle. "Have some stew?"
Brev grunts. "There was the odd distraction on the road." He eyes the vacated stool suspiciously, then lowers himself down to sit on it anyway, right leg stuck out in front of him. "I'll live. Wouldn't say no to the stew. Need to change the dressings, though." He lets the bag slide down beside him and produces a little pot which he proceeds to fill from a waterskin. That done he glances up and offers drily, the corners of his mouth twitching with amusement, "I'll show you mine if you show me yours?"
[Nurenhir(#14756)]
"There have been many of these 'distractions' of late," replies Nurenhir with a laugh, negotiating the ladle with a shaky hand. A wooden bowl is set down near the fire, and the elf sits upon a rock, sighing. "Yours looks the worse," he points out hesitantly. "I will be well. The lady with the yellow hair -- I do not know her name -- tended it for me."
Brev pushes his pot to the edge of the flames, then leans over to reach for the bowl this elicits a hiss and a grimace. He is grimly silent until he has managed to straighten again, then states with a snort, "Thanks for the compliment. Didn't think I looked /that/ bad."
The mention of yellow hair brings a frown to his face. "Who? Does that strawhaired fellow - Hayfinger or whatever it was - have a woman?" He spoons up the first mouthful of stew.
[Nurenhir(#14756)]
"No, his wife is far away," muses Nurenhir, loosening the sling and inspecting his own shoulder. "I do not think she was related, but she did not seem to be of this village. Different, somehow." The elf smiles and tosses a clean roll of white cloth to Brev.
Brev, scooping up stew without so much as a thank-you, starts and reaches out a hand, somehow managing to catch the bundle of white before it can land on the muddy ground. "Kiern, can't you give a fellow time to eat?" he mutters irritably, setting the bowl aside and pushing himself up long enough to drag his stool closer. "Here, let me take a look at you. What happened there?"
After a pause he adds, "And did you have any of those fancy herbs you use? Side's healing well enough, even if it hurts like hell, but the leg was from a goblin-blade."
HEALING: Nurenhir has no critical wounds and you'd categorize his condition as good.
[Nurenhir(#14756)]
Nurenhir winces. "I am sorry," he murmurs, reaching for a satchel. "I have some of them cured and dried, but it is winter now ... you ought to treat your leg first, then. Was it poison? If it was the same pest we met, then I can say he is quite strong for an orc."
"The goblin-man," Brev answers, his gaze suddenly troubled and his expression unreadable. "From the south, it claimed." He peers at Nurenhir's shoulder, then offers a one-sided shrug. "A single poultice'd do for both. I've got some of the flag-root, though it's old - like you said, winter." He returns his attention to his own bag, and is soon busy crushing up a wizened-looking root, which he mixes with some of the hot water. "You first - if you collapse on me I'll know not to try it on myself." A faint grin tugs at his lips - clearly he has got over his fear of at least one Elf somewhat.
[Nurenhir(#14756)]
Nurenhir regards the man with an amused if wary stare. "So be it," he replies, loosening his collar to bare the shoulder, where a blade of some sort has left a precise incision that runs through to the back. "Flag-root, you said."
Brev's head dips in a nod. "Aye. Grows in wet places, has leaves like that sword you were sharpening - don't know what others call it. That's what my folk would." His words break off abruptly, and he is suddenly very busy watching his hands. "That creature - the goblin-man - did it say anything to you?"
Clearly something has perturbed him: the washing of Nurenhir's wound is not gentle. When he starts to spread on some of the root-pulp he works more carefully, though. "Aside from trying to joint you for the roasting-spit or whatever it was," he adds drily. "Looks most impressive."
HEALING: You administer aid to Nurenhir and think that he looks a little better.
[Nurenhir(#14756)]
The elf bites his lip, looking away towards the fire. "I met the same one earlier. He said something about being the 'Fighting Uruk-hai,' was planning with some others to attack the village again. But I have not seen them since. They are familiar to you?"
The wound is tended to, and Nurenhir relaxes visibly, a little color returning to his face.
Brev notes the Elf's relaxing, and offers a muttered, "Sorry. Wasn't meaning to be rough." The question is answered as he rewinds bandages and carefully slips the arm back into the sling, adjusting its height and angle. "Plenty of goblins in Dunland. Seemed different though, smaller ... I was little more than a boy, most like my memory's addled." He sounds as though it is himself he is trying to convince. "Not goblin-men." he repeats that word softly to himself. "What if-"
Whatever he is going to say is cut off abruptly, though, and instead he wipes his hand on a piece of cloth before looking down at his own leg. "Since it didn't kill you, suppose it's my turn next." Gingerly he reaches down to roll up his trews.
[Nurenhir(#14756)]
"They were abnormally large," offers Nurenhir, gazing down at the ground. "One wonders where they came from..." The elf retreats slightly, allowing Brev to tend to his own injuries.
Brev snorts to that. "From the Mountains. They always come from the Mountains. The creatures I met both spoke the Common - one even went so far as to call me neighbour. Likely the beast was lying."
He falls silent to concentrate on his injured leg, which is still swollen and purpled - the forming scar has split in a couple of places too. "Bloody mess," he mutters sourly, leaning forward to clean it. It is an awkward effort - each stretch causes a hiss or a curse, and eventually after he's daubed on the remainder of the root-paste he asks without looking round, "Couldn't give me a hand with the bandaging, could you? If I hold it here, and you wind with the good hand ..."
HEALING: You administer aid to yourself and think that you feel a little better.
[Nurenhir(#14756)]
"Of course," says Nurenhir, caught by surprise. He leans forward, assisting with the bandage, though his gaze is clouded with worry. "If they are from the mountains ... how came they to the forest without being noticed..."
Brev does not seem particularly worried by /that/ question it is answered with a blink and a half-shrug. "Goblin-homes are to the north of my folk, south of the Road. There's an awful lot of empty lands between the two. Who'd notice?" He watches the pale elven hand winding the bandage, and does not flinch at the touch. Eventually, when it is done, he offers what is, for him, the highest form of gratitude - a muttered "Thanks."
He scrapes the last few pieces of root pulp into the flames, and fire-cleans the knife. "My own fault, this is. Figured travelling on horseback would be safer, hah! Without Mecsan I'd likely have dodged the blows, not taken them. Least he's still in one piece." Briefly the scowl that had formed on his lips softens. "Just wish I could figure out how to ride the damn beast ..."
[Nurenhir(#14756)]
"You will need a horse if you plan to travel before that leg is healed," Nurenhir grins, standing to stir the stew. "Shall I see that he is tended to? The villagers care dearly for their livestock, but horses are a different creature..."
Brev snorts to that. "Wasn't planning to travel just yet. Came here with the last supply cart, heard they were in need of carpentry again." He glances ruefully down at his leg. "Guess I won't be earning as much as I'd hoped." His mouth twists wryly. "And Mecsan's hardy enough, shouldn't need much tending - but I suspect he'd not object to it in the least. You know about horses, then?" He keeps his gaze at fire-level, doesn't strain his neck looking up at the standing Elf.
[Nurenhir(#14756)]
"A friend taught me," says the steward, shrugging. "I will go to see that he is fed and kept from the snow." With a bow of his head, Nurenhir moves slowly through the camp.
Brev starts to push himself to his feet then stops, scowl returning. He watches the Elf depart, then tidies up the last of his things. It is rather later that he limps away.
Players: Nurenhir, Brev
Located in: Dunlending | Imladhrim
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