Pelargir: Disgustingly Decomposed Corpses

There are words spoken beyond the room, soft voices of woman. The words are lost to all but the keenest of ears, but the tones are easily heard. Pity, mild protest and finally acceptance.

The shuffling of fabric follows for a time and then there is a knock at door, a polite pause and it opens once more. There, escorted by a pair of healers is Gweneth Bragollach. Her brow at once knits as the smell and view hits her, but her reaction is hidden behind a handkerchief of black that she holds against her mouth and nose. The healers watch the girl carefully, should she faint. One comments, \"Wicked work, this lady. This isn\'t the place for one as you.\" Regardless of their comments she steps forward, hesitantly.

\"Scout, madam\" Calarion says after a bit of a pause, nodding at each in turn, \"What brings you here this night?\"

\"The corpse, of course,\" says Daerthor, voice tinged with disgust as he peers at it. \"Though this is probably Ceredir, I still have my doubts... and hence am here to examine it once again.\"

\"Lady Bragollach,\" he greets.

Tathar is in the main room, when Gweneth is escorted past. She looks up curiously, but doesn\'t follow. She has no desire to be anywhere near that body again. But she can\'t quite hear what they are saying, so she walks a little closer, stopping outside the small quarantined area. The murmur of voices can now be heard, and she listens, frowning.

\"Yes, this corpse... something tells me it is not Ceredir, though I pray it is...\" Calarion says, his voice trailing off as he slips back into his deep contemplation.

\"Pray?\" Gweneth repeats, \"That your cousin is dead? A curious thing.\"

Gweneth edges closer to the corpse, lowering herself before it. She coughs as the smell nearly overtakes her, turning back to the men, \"A knife? Does either of you have a knife?\"

Brethir enters the halls of healing with his shoulders high and recoils in disgust as he smells the odor of the corpse

\"Cousin?\" Calarion asks grimly, \"Even if this traitor were a brother I would not consider him to still be one, yet to my knowledge he was not even my cousin before his oath-braking? Of what do you speak Lady Bragollach?

\"He is a traitor,\" says Daerthor grimly. \"He deserves to be dead. Yet I would prefer him to be alive for now, so we could wrench the name of that poison that he used on Sir Findon!\" He unsheaths a small dagger under his cloak offers it to the lady. \"Will this suffice, lady?\" he asks.

A knife? Astonishment writes itself across Tathar\'s face. Astonishment and disgust - because anything the other woman wishes to do with a knife and a corpse can\'t be good.

Brethir with curiosity says \"what would you need a knife for\"

Taking up the blade, Gweneth nods, \"I think it shall. If I have the fortitude to wield it.\"

Holding the cloth as tight as she can against her mouth she kneels over the body, poking and prodding the rubbery flesh near the ends of the exposed limbs, \"Deserves? I suppose there is much Ceredir deserves.\"

To the questions of cousin she says naught.

\"I did not know he was missing a finger,\" she frowns, lifting the still intact fingers of the left hand, \"Did you Daerthor?\"

Brethir says \"I know Ceredir he is a very smart man he most likly swam away if not killed

Calarion says, \"He would have swam, but it is a long way to swim and he may have become exausted.\"

\"The corpse is missing a finger..?\" asks Daerthor, his expressionless face now contorting into a frown of interest. \"Ceredir did indeed have a missing ring finger on his left hand. I did not notice this before.\" He steps forward, nearer to the corpse. \"Here, lady, let me hold that for you,\" he says, gesturing to the hand she is lifting.

\"Calarion, Brethir - did you know anything other identifying marks of the traitor?\"

\"None, scout,\" Calarion says shaking his head, \"I saw him very little.\"

Brethir says \"no i did not i didnt know him the best and he was always quick to escape my sight\"

Tathar lets her gaze wander while she listens, wrinkling her nose at the mention of missing fingers. She watches Findon\'s motionless form for a few minutes, then turns her attention back to the conversation beyond. Other identifying marks... If there are any that weren\'t eaten away by fish!

Brethir says, \"i know of none\"

Gweneth lets the hand fall, \"It is not important if it is known.\"

\"Only it confirms that perhaps it is in fact Ceredir,\" she pulls away from the body, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand and taking a few deep breaths, her eyes closing.

Daerthor sighs. \"It pushes us closer to certainty, and yet, we cannot reach that confirmation we seek,\" he says. \"Not unless, by some miracle, his facial features become recognizable.\"

A concerned look now goes to the lady. \"I think we have observed as much as we are able to today,\" he says. \"Shall we all get some fresh air?\" With that, he moves towards the exit of the quarantine area unknowingly, closer to Tathar.

Calarion laughs slightly, \"I doubt we can hope for the face to clear... at the state it is in it could be anyone and we would not know.\"

A waft of fetid air swirls as Daerthor moves, some of it escaping to the outer room, and Tathar steps back. The man within speaks of leaving for fresher air as well, and she moves farther - out of the way.

\"No, but water please,\" Gweneth replies, \"I have more to check.\"

Starting at the neck, she plunges the blade into the skin, goo leaking out of the new wound. Cutting down the side of the shoulder and down the arm, she coughs, \"Which... which....\" as she cuts away at rotten skin and muscle.

Calarion coughs as the putrid air reaches his nose, \"Excuse me, my lady, but I may need to step outside.\" he makes for the door.

Nodding, Daerthor steps out of the room, asking a nearby healer for some water. While he is waiting, he casts an eye over the occupants in the room, his gaze lingering on the Knight Findon. Just then, he sees Tathar.

\"Lady Tathar,\" he says. \"Are you here to view the corpse again?\" A small, half-hearted smile curls at the corner of his mouth.

The healer brings the cup of water. Daerthor takes it, thanking her, and nods to Tathar, before returning into the quarantine area. He hands the cup to Gweneth, but stops short as she cuts the corpse\'s arm. \"What is /that/?\"

\"Ugh, no.\" Tathar says emphatically. \"Once was enough.\" She follows his gaze back to the knight, a little sadness in her eyes. \"Excuse me,\" she says, as the healer starts to turn away, \"Could I have some water also, please?\"

Coughing as she drops the cloth to use her hands to pull away the flesh from the bone, tears in her eyes, she manages some politeness yet, \"Please, sir, could you leave me and close the door? I feel I shall embarrass myself soon. Have my lady in waiting fetch me a coverup. Please sir?\" she nearly begs as the flesh rips away from the bone.

\"But I -- but --\" Daerthor\'s sounds of protest at a lady alone with a corpse trail off as he remembers this lady\'s position. \"I will be in the other room or the garden, should you need me, lady.\" He bows slightly, and leaves the lady to her own devices.

Outside the room, his face contorted in disgust at the thought of the lady\'s investigations, the Scout conveys the request to Gweneth\'s lady in waiting.

As soon as the door is closed, there is the sound of retching from within. Several minutes later, complete with cries of disgust and more reteching, there is silenced followed by a call from inside, \"I am finished. Please allow my lady in when she arrives.\"

And the maid is there, a dress, looking to be freshly purchased from the stalls, in one arm, a bucket and cloth in the other. She curtsies to the group and knocks on the door. It opens and she slips inside. Yet more minutes past, and the door opens once more. Eyes red and bleary, hair not quite in place, and in a gown that needs to be tailored a bit tighter is Gweneth.

\"I will have other servants come to clean and retrieve the body. It is that of Ceredir, born Bragollach and thus now under the care of my family.\"

\"What?\" asks Daerthor in surprise. \"But how - how did you know?\" The words tumble out before he can stop them.

Relief, that is the main expression on Tathar\'s face. There is pity also mixed with sadness. And curiosity. \"But...\" she begins, then stops as Daerthor asks the question she also had.

\"His arm, broken at a young age, was a story told to me in our conversations. This body has the same mend in the bone, in the same position as Ceredir. This cannot be forged, it is he,\" Gweneth states with finality.

\"Please Daerthor, Ceredir has long been an embarrassment to our family, and now his revenge is complete. What better way to shame his family than a cowards end such as this, a taint to our long and illustrious bloodline and deeds. It will take a thousand of my uncles to erase the stain he has caused our family. For that, we wish the publicize him no more. He will be buried at Tirith Cobas in an unmarked grave and forgotten save as a lesson to others. Until then, please notify those in your order and others that Ceredir the Traitor is dead.\"

Daerthor looks down at the floor for a moment, his expression unidentifiable, before looking up at Gweneth again. \"Yes, lady. I will do as you say.\" His voice is a confusing mix of emotions - happiness that the traitor is dead, frustration at the manner of his death, and a tinge of pity for the lady of a proud, noble family.

Tathar turns pale as she pictures how Gweneth discovered that the amr bone was broken, and without waiting to say anything more, she turns and hurries from the room.