Elendor
Coming up roses
Why Elven shirts (and bandages) are whiter than white. (Takes place a few days before the 'Good dog' scene)
Sort Date: no date set
Location: Shaws, Shepherding Village
Game Date: September 3049
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: Sun Apr 18 14:58:27 2010, GMT -8 **
Elendor time is: Dusk on a Rainy Sterday, Day 17 of September 3049.
Note: It's daytime out, so do not leave the cover of trees!
==============================================================================
[Nurenhir(#14756)]
It is dusk. The tantalizing smells of vegetable stew and pork rise above the construction camp spread out upon the center grounds of the Shepherding Village, and though it has been the same meal for the past week, no one is inclined to complain -- it is a good, hearty meal and they are tired from the strenuous building (even more so, now that winter is approaching).
Nurenhir kneels a good distance away from the rest. He appears to be earnestly washing laundry of some sort, although his movements are still hesitant and tender upon one side, and the cloth he is scrubbing yields a stubborn, rust-red color to the water.
Brev has been working like the rest - today it was splitting planks and fashioning the timbers into new doors. These past few days he has thrown himself into the task of building with seeming fervour: his little knife is nowhere in evidence, and his dagger no more than an adornment at his hip. If he is aware of fresh injuries amongst the group, he has not enquired further. Almost one might think he has been avoiding contact.
Now, though, the footsteps that take him away from the rest lead him unwittingly toward Nurenhir. When he notices the other he blinks, and at first makes as though to avoid the Elf, but then stops, frowning. "Sure you want to be doing that?"
[Nurenhir(#14756)]
Interestingly, Nurenhir has been absent from the building effort for the past week, and neither is he to be found guarding the walls. He glances up at Brev with a smile, laying out another white strip upon some gathered rocks. "Why not, Master Brev? Bandages ought to be washed and re-used."
Brev's brow arcs up at the title, his gaze automatically shifting away before those too-bright, too-piercing eyes can meet his own and hold his thoughts in spell. In this case it's easy enough to focus his attention on the tub of stained linen. "Master nothing. Name's just Brev. And," he pauses, letting his features slide blank to careful blankness, "water needs to be boiling, to kill the rot. Though like enough your kind don't suffer from it." He cannot quite keep the hint of bitterness from his tone there, but he masks it with a shrug. "Just meant you looked not to find it easy."
[Nurenhir(#14756)]
"I had not considered that," murmurs the Elf, his pale hands pausing mid-scrub. In any case, the stain ought to be removed first -- boiling will only set it."
Nurenhir shrugs gently, wincing as he sits back. "You have a good eye -- you are a healer, then? There were various creatures who attacked while I was outside the walls. A few days, and it will heal without danger."
Brev snorts at that first remark, but any response he might have made is curtailed by the rest of the speech. "Kiern!" he mutters, shaking his head. "A few days. And for the rest of us it's more like a few weeks and a hefty dose of luck." He is silent for a moment, glancing at the other sidelong. "And I make no claims to healing powers. Just good with a knife, that's all. They don't have to be used for stabbing things. Out there," he lifts an arm in a sweeping gesture to indicate the rustling forest beyond the walls, "often a friend with a knife and a steady hand's all the heaing there is."
He lets his gaze return to the tub, this time speculatively. "Might have something to get the stain out," he volunteers after a long pause.
[Nurenhir(#14756)]
Nurenhir stares down at his washing. "It was not a very serious injury," he says finally, hesitant. "I am sorry if the ways of the Eldar seem ... strange. But only a few leaves of woundwort and a brew of valerian were necessary for this."
"Would you have something? I cannot seem to remove the stain, for it has set in the past week."
Almost unwillingly, Brev's gaze flicks up (though not quite meeting those gleaming eyes). "Spoken like a herbwife," he comments drily, corners of his mouth twisting slightly. "Sounds like /you're/ a healer."
At the other question the twist to his mouth becomes a brief grin. "Back in Bree, some merchantwoman tried to sell me the stinking stuff they use to wash clothes. Soap, she called it. Noticed it lifted stains. Often wondered if it would clean away rot, too. Never had a chance to test that, though." The terse words pause. "Want me to fetch some?"
[Nurenhir(#14756)]
"Not a healer, but one who has needed such in the past." The voice of Nurenhir is grimly amused. "I know the knife more for stabbing than surgery, though. ... If you would allow me to try this ... soap," the steward looks up, a little cautious of this curious item, "we have something like it, but it sounds quite useful..."
Brev grunts at that first remark. "Haven't we all." He pauses, one side of his mouth twisting, and adds with a defensive shrug, "I know how to stab things too. When the need arises." That said, he glances away and nods. "I'll get it." Off he strides in the direction of the camp.
A little later he is back with an uneven lump of yellowish soap, clearly hacked from a larger block. He glances uncomfortably at the Elf, then kneels down by the tub. "Shall I? Given noone's tried to hack me in two lately."
[Nurenhir(#14756)]
Nurenhir looks at the bit of soap with interest, wrinkling his nose a little at the smell. "... Interesting. I do not want to burden you, but I imagine you would be much more able than I am now. Thank you, Brev." Smiling faintly at the man, though he does not attempt to meet his gaze, the Elf shuffles aside, watching the soap.
Brev reaches in and selects a piece of wet linen to rub the soap against before he starts the tedious task of scrubbing cloth against cloth. The red-stained water has soon turned cloudy, so that it is hard to see if he's making headway or not.
He works in silence for a while, but eventually breaks it by asking, "Those herbs you used - reckon you could show them to me, sometime? I know perhaps this many" - he breaks off scrubbing to hold up a hands - "that are easy to come by, plus some with .. other uses."
Perhaps to divert the Elf from that final remark, he reaches out to hold the wet cloth up to the light. "Think this looks any better?"
[Nurenhir(#14756)]
Other uses ... cooking? "I should be happy to do so," says Nurenhir, "for my own supplies are low, and I was asked by another to seek herbs of a particular sort..." The Elf's eyes light up a little as he surveys the cloth, nodding in approval. "Much better, although the smell is somewhat interesting. This soap, it is very useful. My thanks."
At Nurenhir's comment, Brev makes a noise in the back of his throat that might be a chuckle. "That was one of the least stinking ones. Who in their right minds wants to go round smelling like bloody roses?"
He rises to his feet, holding the dripping cloth at arm's length (it serves to partially screen the Elf's features from him, too). "I'll set these to dry on the bushes yonder. Empty the tub for you too, if you like. Then off to see if there's anything other than boar for supper." He pulls his mouth into a grimace though, whipcord-thin as he is after the months of labour, he's likely as glad of any of the plentiful supply of meat.
[Nurenhir(#14756)]
A smile might be seen under the rose-scented veil, a laugh heard. "Would you, Brev? I can still lift a ladle, and I owe you much. Let me see," says Nurenhir, gathering up his cloak carefully and beginning to approach the cooking-fires. "I wonder if there are still any blackberries ..."
Brev is already moving away. At the word 'owe' his shoulders tense, but then one lifts in a shrug. Perhaps something owed isn't such a bad thing ...
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: Sun Apr 18 14:58:27 2010, GMT -8 **
Elendor time is: Dusk on a Rainy Sterday, Day 17 of September 3049.
Note: It's daytime out, so do not leave the cover of trees!
==============================================================================
[Nurenhir(#14756)]
It is dusk. The tantalizing smells of vegetable stew and pork rise above the construction camp spread out upon the center grounds of the Shepherding Village, and though it has been the same meal for the past week, no one is inclined to complain -- it is a good, hearty meal and they are tired from the strenuous building (even more so, now that winter is approaching).
Nurenhir kneels a good distance away from the rest. He appears to be earnestly washing laundry of some sort, although his movements are still hesitant and tender upon one side, and the cloth he is scrubbing yields a stubborn, rust-red color to the water.
Brev has been working like the rest - today it was splitting planks and fashioning the timbers into new doors. These past few days he has thrown himself into the task of building with seeming fervour: his little knife is nowhere in evidence, and his dagger no more than an adornment at his hip. If he is aware of fresh injuries amongst the group, he has not enquired further. Almost one might think he has been avoiding contact.
Now, though, the footsteps that take him away from the rest lead him unwittingly toward Nurenhir. When he notices the other he blinks, and at first makes as though to avoid the Elf, but then stops, frowning. "Sure you want to be doing that?"
[Nurenhir(#14756)]
Interestingly, Nurenhir has been absent from the building effort for the past week, and neither is he to be found guarding the walls. He glances up at Brev with a smile, laying out another white strip upon some gathered rocks. "Why not, Master Brev? Bandages ought to be washed and re-used."
Brev's brow arcs up at the title, his gaze automatically shifting away before those too-bright, too-piercing eyes can meet his own and hold his thoughts in spell. In this case it's easy enough to focus his attention on the tub of stained linen. "Master nothing. Name's just Brev. And," he pauses, letting his features slide blank to careful blankness, "water needs to be boiling, to kill the rot. Though like enough your kind don't suffer from it." He cannot quite keep the hint of bitterness from his tone there, but he masks it with a shrug. "Just meant you looked not to find it easy."
[Nurenhir(#14756)]
"I had not considered that," murmurs the Elf, his pale hands pausing mid-scrub. In any case, the stain ought to be removed first -- boiling will only set it."
Nurenhir shrugs gently, wincing as he sits back. "You have a good eye -- you are a healer, then? There were various creatures who attacked while I was outside the walls. A few days, and it will heal without danger."
Brev snorts at that first remark, but any response he might have made is curtailed by the rest of the speech. "Kiern!" he mutters, shaking his head. "A few days. And for the rest of us it's more like a few weeks and a hefty dose of luck." He is silent for a moment, glancing at the other sidelong. "And I make no claims to healing powers. Just good with a knife, that's all. They don't have to be used for stabbing things. Out there," he lifts an arm in a sweeping gesture to indicate the rustling forest beyond the walls, "often a friend with a knife and a steady hand's all the heaing there is."
He lets his gaze return to the tub, this time speculatively. "Might have something to get the stain out," he volunteers after a long pause.
[Nurenhir(#14756)]
Nurenhir stares down at his washing. "It was not a very serious injury," he says finally, hesitant. "I am sorry if the ways of the Eldar seem ... strange. But only a few leaves of woundwort and a brew of valerian were necessary for this."
"Would you have something? I cannot seem to remove the stain, for it has set in the past week."
Almost unwillingly, Brev's gaze flicks up (though not quite meeting those gleaming eyes). "Spoken like a herbwife," he comments drily, corners of his mouth twisting slightly. "Sounds like /you're/ a healer."
At the other question the twist to his mouth becomes a brief grin. "Back in Bree, some merchantwoman tried to sell me the stinking stuff they use to wash clothes. Soap, she called it. Noticed it lifted stains. Often wondered if it would clean away rot, too. Never had a chance to test that, though." The terse words pause. "Want me to fetch some?"
[Nurenhir(#14756)]
"Not a healer, but one who has needed such in the past." The voice of Nurenhir is grimly amused. "I know the knife more for stabbing than surgery, though. ... If you would allow me to try this ... soap," the steward looks up, a little cautious of this curious item, "we have something like it, but it sounds quite useful..."
Brev grunts at that first remark. "Haven't we all." He pauses, one side of his mouth twisting, and adds with a defensive shrug, "I know how to stab things too. When the need arises." That said, he glances away and nods. "I'll get it." Off he strides in the direction of the camp.
A little later he is back with an uneven lump of yellowish soap, clearly hacked from a larger block. He glances uncomfortably at the Elf, then kneels down by the tub. "Shall I? Given noone's tried to hack me in two lately."
[Nurenhir(#14756)]
Nurenhir looks at the bit of soap with interest, wrinkling his nose a little at the smell. "... Interesting. I do not want to burden you, but I imagine you would be much more able than I am now. Thank you, Brev." Smiling faintly at the man, though he does not attempt to meet his gaze, the Elf shuffles aside, watching the soap.
Brev reaches in and selects a piece of wet linen to rub the soap against before he starts the tedious task of scrubbing cloth against cloth. The red-stained water has soon turned cloudy, so that it is hard to see if he's making headway or not.
He works in silence for a while, but eventually breaks it by asking, "Those herbs you used - reckon you could show them to me, sometime? I know perhaps this many" - he breaks off scrubbing to hold up a hands - "that are easy to come by, plus some with .. other uses."
Perhaps to divert the Elf from that final remark, he reaches out to hold the wet cloth up to the light. "Think this looks any better?"
[Nurenhir(#14756)]
Other uses ... cooking? "I should be happy to do so," says Nurenhir, "for my own supplies are low, and I was asked by another to seek herbs of a particular sort..." The Elf's eyes light up a little as he surveys the cloth, nodding in approval. "Much better, although the smell is somewhat interesting. This soap, it is very useful. My thanks."
At Nurenhir's comment, Brev makes a noise in the back of his throat that might be a chuckle. "That was one of the least stinking ones. Who in their right minds wants to go round smelling like bloody roses?"
He rises to his feet, holding the dripping cloth at arm's length (it serves to partially screen the Elf's features from him, too). "I'll set these to dry on the bushes yonder. Empty the tub for you too, if you like. Then off to see if there's anything other than boar for supper." He pulls his mouth into a grimace though, whipcord-thin as he is after the months of labour, he's likely as glad of any of the plentiful supply of meat.
[Nurenhir(#14756)]
A smile might be seen under the rose-scented veil, a laugh heard. "Would you, Brev? I can still lift a ladle, and I owe you much. Let me see," says Nurenhir, gathering up his cloak carefully and beginning to approach the cooking-fires. "I wonder if there are still any blackberries ..."
Brev is already moving away. At the word 'owe' his shoulders tense, but then one lifts in a shrug. Perhaps something owed isn't such a bad thing ...
Players: Nurenhir, Brev
Located in: Dunlending | Imladhrim
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