Brethil's Roleplaying Logs

Inside the gates
Just inside the gates sits a small, square building made of the silvery birchs surrounding the area, providing a storage area for weaponry and tools. A packed dirt pathway leads to a courtyard to the west, where there are several small houses. Faint plumes of light grey smoke rise from their chimneys, a fragrant aroma of meats cooking filling the air. Across the path from the smaller stockade is a larger common building, with a great stone chimney at the far end. Near the path is a well-tended garden of both vegetables and herbs.

The hour is early, and the winter air is freezing, and still a small group of armed Haladin men stand at watch near the wooden stockade, or idly patrol the snow-blanketed lanes leading towards the small village gate. The morning skies are drearily overcast, and the recently risen sun offers little warmth through the thick, blanketing clouds. A cold wind blows in wild gusts over the treetops that sprawl out from the hill's slope, blowing powdery snow and at times sending frozen, leafless branches swaying.

The Beorian woodsman, Istadris, stands idly near the small gatehouse. His lean figure is bundled in a heavy cloak of deep greens and greys, and he watches the small gathering of healers and guides that has begun to gather here near Amon Obel's gate.

The snow on the ground barely crunches under the feet of an elven lady as she joins the group, silently. Elsabet is dressed lightly compared to the healers of the edain, only a light elven cloak falling over her shoulders. She shifts her healer's satchel on her shoulder and glances around at those who have arrived before her, eyes searching for any that she knows.

Her breaths shown in sharp, misty exhalations before her, Aldawin makes her way in lengthened strides to the gates from the healer cottages on Birch Row. She is wrapped a thick woolen cloak of grey-green, and another darker grey cloak covers her shoulders as well. The thick leather healer's satchel looks brimming with herbs and ointments, and sways with the hastened steps, a second larger pack also is hefted upon this same shoulder. Reaching the gates, Aldawin surveys those gathered and drops the heavier pack as she seems to search for someone in the gathering. Her glance falls upon Istadris, though she delays any greeting as she finds the Haladin woman she seeks and approaches the healer to speak lowered, urgent words to the other.

A passing Haladin guardsman halts upon nearing Istadris, and leans aside to stand against the stockade and speaks out to the cloak-clad Beorian. The Beor nods grimly before replying in hushed tones, and drawing away to approach the small party of healers gathering before the gates. His thin lips purse with seeming concern as he surveys the tiny travel party, and though his gaze is drawn towards the arriving Aldawin's familiar face, he offers no word in greeting and merely stands watching as the others prepare to leave.

Down from the snow covered pathway that leads from the courtyard comes a man dressed in roughspun woollens and a thick quilted jacket of faded brown. His strides are long and he wears an anxious look as he hurries, wringing his hands as he joins those waiting at the gates, "Do we leave now?", he asks, looking to each of them for answer, "I told my brother I would return today with a healer. Are you she?", he asks, looking intently at the Elleth.

Words continue to be exchanged between the two Edain healers, and with a grateful smile to Aldawin, the Haladin woman bids the others farewell and begins retracing her steps to Brethil Hall. With a quick glance to Elsabet, Aldawin takes up the backpack once more and crosses the lane to approach Istadris. " Good morn," she greets the woodsman with a tentative smile, uncertain of his seeming grim demeanor. "I am going with the others. Replacing one of the Haladin healer's whose son is still among the sick in the Hall. I thought it would be right of me in consideration of her." Her gaze flicks to the arrival of the Haladin scout, but she looks back to Istadris. "Why such a solemn mood?" she wonders.

Elsabet stares at the man for a moment, eyes wide and uncomprehending before she nods, glancing about at the other healers. "This whole group of healers are traveling out to a homestead near the river Sirion, if that is where your brother resides. We ought to be leaving soon, I think." She tries to sound comforting, gentle, and knowledgable, but perhaps only comes across as confused.

Istadris' attention is drawn momentarily towards the arriving guide, Haraford. His grim demeanor only seems to darken upon studying the Haladin stranger, though again he says nothing and contents himself with merely watching those readying to depart. His arms lift to clasp over his chest, though his bared hands slip beneath the folds of the heavy cloak to keep from the cold, dry winter air. "Good morn, Aldawin." Greets the Beorian simply, and in hushed, reluctant tones. "I am uncertain you should be going so soon after your own illness." He declares bluntly, as he looks now to the healer, "And in this weather." His grey eyed gaze lifts once more at Haraford's questioning words, and he heaves a frustrated sigh before gesturing to the party. "But here is your guide, and all seem ready to depart. You had best hurry."

Haraforn looks around again at the others, noting them each with a keen eye and then he steps forward, nodding emphatically at Elsabet, "It is my brother's homestead that you'll be travelling to.", he says, "He and his family have fallen ill. Even the child! You must hurry!", he pleads, already taking a pace toward the gates, "I will show you the way."

Hastening towards the party at the gates as best he may while overburdened with no less than four large sacks, Curundil makes his way along the path towards Elsabet. As he comes closer, he casts Istadris and Aldawin a somewhat uncertain, and truth be told wary look, but says nothing. Instead, he hurries up to his cousin and asks her, "I brought the herbs and ointments and blankets you asked me to, Elsabet. Where should I put them?" In stark contrast to his glance at Istadris, Haraforn receives only a curious glance.

The anxious words of Haraforn, too, draw Aldawin's attention for a moment, though she is quick to return her gaze to Istadris, and the words that follow are steady and certain. "I am well enough, aye. The Elven healers are needed here, for they do not weary as quickly or require as much rest as the Edain. But I am well enough for this journey, and shall be returned soon." Somewhat hurried by the more agitated state of the man who worries for his family, Aldawin offers one more smile of assurance to the woodsman, opening her satchel quickly and handing him a silver-edged flask before turning to join the others. "Do not drink it all before I return," she chides with a grin. And then she turns, catching Curundil's wary look with curiousity, but joining close nearby.

"Here, hand the herbs and ointments to me," Elsabet says with a somewhat relieved smile as she turns to meet her cousin. "I'll put them in my satchel. As for the blankets ..." The elven healer trails off, glancing once more over the small group gathered. "Well, I suppose I'll carry those, too. The trail through the woods is too narrow for the wagon to come with us."

Shaking his head, Curundil replies promptly, "No, I shall carry them. You will have too much to manage if you try to take all this as well as your other things. I've brought my pack...look, the blankets wouldn't even fit in your satchel, even if it were twice as big as it were. But you can have the herbs. They're small and light." As he speaks, he sorts through the various and sundry items, and hands Elsabet a few relatively small packages.

The Beorian woodsman's keen eyes stray past Aldawin, and to where Curundil approaches with his overburdening cargo. His gaze averts quickly as he notes the other's wary look, however, and he turns reluctantly back to the Beor healer before him. "Aye, then, go." He urges, before taking the offered flask and studying it. "Ah, I will try." Istadris assures in turn, venturing a grateful smile and slipping the silvery item into his cloak before drawing a pace back and turning to walk towards the stockade. There he comes to stand, leaning his cloaked shoulder back against one of the wooden posts, to watch the departing travel party.

Haraforn's head bobs up and down again at Elsabet, "You'll have no trouble, the pathways are well travelled and though the wind blows it about, it has not snowed in a few days. What would you have me carry?", he asks, eyeing the many sacks that the Elf carries and pausing a brief second before asking, "They are light, are they? Are they just herbs in those satchels?", and he steps toward Curundil to offer him relief.

Another healer approached, grey clad, a bundle of packages in hand. "Suilaid mellyn.."is the somewhat hasty greeting, the eyes of the mithrim healer, flitting about the gathered party curiously. As her gaze alights first on Curundil and Elsabet, Alquawen makes her way swiftly over, looking to them both in askance. "Almost..missed everything" she murmurs, apologetically, eyeing the pile of blankets in Curundil's hands quietly. "Is there aught I can carry...there is still room in my satchel.."she adds, looking to Elsabet, with a slight smile.

"No, no," says Curundil to Haraforn and Alquawen's offers, trying to shove the blankets back into his bulging satchel by punching them and sitting on the satchel while he attempts to lace it closed. "It's fine. Just bulky. Are you going too, Alquawen?" he asks, looking up at the Mithrim healer with interest.

"Very well," Elsabet replies, taking the herbs and stowing them in her satchel. She brushes a dark lock out of her face, tucking it behind one ear, and falls back into silence. Her dark gray eyes remain alert, however, continuing to glance about and take in the scene. Standing near the gates and slightly away from the others, Aldawin glances back to the last-minute preparations being made. By the shuffling of her feet, she seems impatient, herself and looks away from the others to gaze out to the white-dusted trees of the forest beyond.

Alquawen's arrival is missed in this contemplation, though as Aldawin glances back once more towards the stockade and the woodsman standing idly there, she sees the elleth, which gives her all the more reason to edges closer to the gates and avoid the others for the moment." Aye, we should get going," she calls over her shoulder, taking the first steps upon the path that lead downward towards the hill.

Haraforn halts abruptly before the Elf and straightens stiffly, looking somewhat affronted, "Well, if you want to carry them all on your own...", he says, shaking his head, "It would be easier on you if I helped, but I won't argue about it with you.", he says, chasing the look of insult away with a broad smile as he turns for the gates which the guards have begun to open wide to allow them passage out, "I'll be leading you anyway.", he says and starts briskly over the beaten snow between the gates.

Looking slightly contrite as he catches Haraforn's affronted look just as he finishes packing, Curundil drags his pack up onto one shoulder, and hurries after the Adan, saying, "Don't be offended! I was just trying to be helpful, seeing as I'm no healer and do not know the way. I seem to have angered some of your folk of late, and I have no idea why. But know that I did not mean to offend."

Elsabet frowns slightly at Curundil's words, following after both him and Haraforn. "It's alright, Curundil," she mutters to him as she gets astride him. "Maybe he just thought you would lag behind if you tried to overload yourself."

Haraforn does not turn back but lifts a hand and waves off Curundil's apology, "No matter!", he calls lightly, hurrying on ahead of the travelling party, "Stay close! I'll lead you well!"

The deep forest seems hardly touched by the cold white hand of winter, and only shallow, scattered patches of snow cover the tangled undergrowth. Still, the air is bitterly cold, and the gusting winds howl noisily high above over the mostly leafless canopy, at times sweeping down between the towering birch, oak and pine trees that blanket this area. Though it is perhaps no later than mid-afternoon, the gloomy, enshrouding shadows of evening already hang thickly beneath the press of trees and over the narrow path leading towards the southeast.

The lonely call of an early risen night owl punctuates the silence that hangs over this region of the forest, as does the occasional rustling and whispering of brushing branches and tree boughs high overhead.

Keeping pace with the rest of the party without much difficulty, Curundil treads lightly along the path, occasionally peering from side to side in a curious manner. He has said little throughout the journey, except for a few stray comments to his cousin, seeming slightly reticent in the company of the adan, even though he has been quite close and familiar with many of the youngsters in Amon Obel up to this point.

Following on the southeasterly path through the forest comes a small party of Men and Elves, a party of healers lead by one man, dressed in simple browns. Ahead of the others, he lengthens his strides as he comes upon a bend in the path and looks over his shoulder, raising his voice loudly to those behind him, "It's not far now! Just around the bend!", he calls and heads off around the corner.

Her left hand held high to the cloak's edges near her throat, Aldawin follows close to the Haladin man who leads them. Familiar with the forest of Brethil overall--the pine, birch and oaks close-grown--she is not familiar with the path they take now and glances frequently overhead to the tangle of branches, bare and evergreen, that shelter overhead. More than one glance has been sent in the direction of Curundil upon their day's trek, but the Beor healer has stayed silent in favor of keeping apace of the others. Only now does she seem to weary under the weight of satchel and pack, though she says nothing in silence of their paces. The call of their journey's end nearing, Aldawin draws in a deep breath of gladness, and lengthens her steps to follow around the sheltered bend.

Not far down the same winding path, well hidden by the press of towering trees and shadows of the approaching evening, rests another figure. The stout Haladin woodsman, Haradir, waits with his cloaked back to one of the thick tree trunks. His gloved left hand clutches a spear close to his body, and he starts up suddenly at the sound of the approaching Haraforn's call to those behind him. With cautious, deliberate movements, the brigand turns and leans aside to peek past the trees towards the bend in the trail ahead, ready should the approaching travellers appear from around it.

Several other figures stir in the brush and shadow nearby, while yet more take positions in the trees at the other side of the path. The bend in the trail conceals these bandits well enough for now, yet the healers' party marches still towards them, and quickly near the bend in the trail ahead.

"How many reside in this house of yours, Haraforn?" Aldawin calls ahead now to the guide, shrugging the pack's strap higher over her shoulder. "I heard there were three taken ill?" She presses her lips together as she glances to the others that walk alongside, her gaze shifting upwards once more as the ice-tipped branches quake overhead with a passing gust of chill wind from winter's breath.

Picking up his pace slightly as Haraforn speaks, Curundil moves to catch up with the guide, obviously with the intention of asking the Adan a question about their journey and it's imminent end. However, when Aldawin speaks, he shuts his mouth, clearly deferring to the healer, whose question is more relevant than his own, letting the soft crunch of snow under his footsteps be the loudest of the noises he makes as he walks almost alongside Haraforn.

Moving quickly along the path, Haraforn continues to call back to the others, "Three, yes!", he answers Aldawin quickly, "My brother, his young wife--a poor, delicate thing,", he says, shaking his head sadly, "And their babe who was not born more than a few months ago. My brother will be grateful to you for coming.", he says, his back to the company, though Curundil has now caught up with him, and his eyes slip toward the trees on either side as he walks the bend of the path and then on to its straighter course before it bends out of sight to the southeast again, "I don't know how we'll be able to repay you for the kindness.", he adds, looking to the spot where lies hidden the stout woodsman, giving him the barest of nods, slowing his pace to allow the others to catch up.

The faintest trace of movement amidst the deepening gloom that hangs over the trees upon the right side of the path betrays Haradir's place of hiding as the travellers march around the bend in the trail. The brigand's head dips, as if in response to the guide's subtle signal, and he lifts the spear at his side to clutch it readily in both hands. Still, he remains in hiding, as do the other bandits who lie in wait--hidden in the brush around him and at the other side of the trail. Several lift arrows to their bows, though none dare rise yet to reveal themselves, while the approaching healers and their guide walk still some dozen yards away.

Having been watching Haraforn closely while listening to him describe his family, Curundil's eyes naturally drift in the direction where Haraforn looks once he's done speaking. Slowing his pace imperceptibly as he notices the hidden woodsman, Curundil looks about him at the bend in the road, then asks Haraforn curiously, "Are these all your family too, Haraforn? Why are they hiding?" As always, the young elf speaks loudly, gesturing about at the hidden bandits as he speaks, never having been one to show much discretion. Or for that matter, healthy suspicion.

Aldawin frowns at the news of an infant afflicted, her brows working a furrow over the lowering eyes. She glances towards Haraforn once again, sparing Curundil a look as well. "Then it is well that we are here so soon. One so young as a babe needs special care in this illness--" The steps of the Haladin slowed, she soon catches up to him, though Curundil's observation of the hidden man--which she quite missed--is given proper alarm as the Beor healer turns to glance quickly about the bend they travel.

Only a step away but with his back to the Elf, Haraforn's eyes widen at Curundil's innocent comment and he spins around to face him, the friendly, smiling look gone to be replaced with a sneer and in his hand appears a long sinister blade, "That's right, that's my family. They've come to welcome you.", he snarls as suddenly tries to reach out for the Elf with one hand and with the other lifts his weapon, swinging the heavy handle visciously at his head to bring him down.

Though hidden, perhaps, from the travellers' sight, Haradir's gruff expression twists with a confused, astonished scowl at Curundil's innocently spoken words. His mouth falls agape, and for a brief moment, it seems the brigand is much too puzzled to make any move. Seeing Haraforn's brusque, abrupt attack pushes him to action, however, and he springs hurriedly out from behind the thick tree trunk and unto the snow-spattered path. "Halt now, all!" He calls out in a thickly-accented sindarin, as he lifts the spear readily in both hands and points its tip in the healers' general direction.

Dry, mostly leafless foliage rustles and shifts with movement as Haradir calls those words, and a good few handfuls of strange, rough-looking men begin to emerge from both sides of the path, still a short distance ahead of the travellers. Several of the bandits wield spears or axes, though the clear majority aim drawn bows at Curundil, Aldawin, Alquawen, and those accompanying them.

Taken completely by surprise at Haraforn's sudden change in expression, Curundil's hand has barely reached the hilt of his sword when the adan suddenly produces a weapon and swings it at him. Hampered by his bulky pack, the young elf is not quick enough to avoid the blow, which connects heavily against his temple, bringin g him crashing to the ground where he twitches once, then lies still.

Drawing to a sudden halt, smoothness of gait swiftly curbed as the procession slows Alquawen looks to the Beorian healer at her side. Though not especially pleased, that the convelescing, Aldawin has come along , the sinda maid offers her a slight smile, while eyes scan the trail ahead. It is at this moment, that the flash of steel enters her vision and watching as the blade bears down on the young squire's head, she gives a sharp cry. One hand clutching fast the satchel in her hands, and paling with no weapon of her own, to lend aid , she brings the leather case overhead in an attempted block at incoming arrows, while eyes dart frantically to the healers behind them.

Her gaze trained to the crowding woodland surrounding, Aldawin is not given view of the quick attack upon Curundil by their guide until the hand of the Adan is already lifting the weapon in attack. "No--" the words are fair stopped in her throat as the forest seemingly moves around them and others emerge out from the their hidden places onto the path. In as deft a movement, both pack and satchel are shrugged to the ground, though the short sword at the healer's side is only half-drawn before she sees the weapons so readily aimed at her. "What trickery is this!" The healer utters, her grip whitening about the leather-wrapped handle, her glare trained upon one of the bandits that stands at-the -ready before going to the fallen edhel.

Haradir's astonished eyes widen upon seeing Curundil collapse to the ground from Haraforn's swift blow. "Hold up, I say!" He growls, as he rushes towards the "guide's" side, the spear held levelly now, "Hold, curse you all!" The Haladin brigand glares challengingly at the nearest of the healers, Aldawin and Alquawen, and holds his weapon readily at his chest while using his left foot to nudge at the fallen elf. "This one we take for our own!" He declares, even as several of the other bandits advance slowly upon the travellers. "Give us what valuables you have, and leave!" Orders the ruffian, "Or see more of your own litter the path..."

Glowering as Haradir prods at Curundil with his foot, Aldawin--still gripping the handle of the short sword at her side--steps two paces forward towards the fallen elf, her grey eyes blazing with anger. "You cannot take him," she insists. "Such a blow has most likely injured him gravely. And what makes you think that a group of healers have anything of value." Shivering slightly with anger, the Beor healer roots her gaze to Haradir, as unpleasant a task as it is.

Hitting the Elf hard with the handle of his knife, Haraforn follows him as he falls lifeless to the ground. Not content with just one blow, he leans over him and lifts his weapon again, using the hilt he undertakes to deliver another hard rap on the Elf's temple, muttering, "Stupid Elf.", still kneeling as Haradir comes to his side, "Hold nothin'.", he scoffs at his fellow, pointing his knife down accusingly at Curundil, "That Elf gave us away. He better have something good on him besides that sword.", he says, eyeing him over, "Shall I search him?"

Though still visibly paled, feet stepping slightly behind the Beorian healer, Alquawen looks towards the Haladin "guide" and his companion, eyes darkening. "He will need to be tended...What good will he be to you?" is the quiet question, though the tone raises in anger, as another blow is laid upon the edhel. The pale countenance flinches visibly. "Are your men so brave that they dare to incur the wrath of Aran Finrod Felagund..?" she asks , levelling a hard stare at Haraforn, as he speaks.

Haradir's already foul features darken with an irritable scowl as Haraforn takes another shot at the already unconscious Curundil. "Idiot!" He spits out in Halethian, drawing a quick step aside and aiming a swift blow at the other bandit's hip left shoulder with the swung butt of his spear's shaft, "We'll need that one alive!" His venomous glare turns back to Aldawin, and again the spear's tip rises in his grip. "We take him, or we take another of you." He growls, now in Sindarin once more and looking to Alquawen, "And we care not for Felagund's wrath..." A quick, threatening step forward, and Haradir comes to stand just beyond the reach of Aldawin's short blade, but within reach of his longer spear. "Now, put down your weapons, all, and all you've brought. You will return to the hill, and tell them that I shall release Curundil in exchange for my brother, who is now imprisoned there by the warden's men."

Realisation widens the Beor healer's eyes as Haradir speaks of the captured 'brother.' Her teeth grit, working a flexing ridge as the corners of her mouth downturn with the command. Swallowing hard, and keeping her gaze fixed on the bandits' leader, the healer utters, "I will not do one whit until you let me look him," she says.

Haraforn falls back with a sharp cry as Haradir butts him with his spear and he reaches to rub at his bruised shoulder as he sits back up. Glaring at his companion but arguing no more, he bends over the Elf lying in the snow and starts to go through his pockets and satchels with quick, nimble fingers. Coming upon a small crystal, he gives it only a glance before stuffing it back inside and reaching for the sword that still lies in its hilt, "I'll unburden you of that, friend.", he says quietly to the unconscious Elf, slipping off the belt and scabbard that hold it.

Letting the satchel drop from her tight grip, Alquawen complies with Haradir's instruction, though the green eyes do not lift from the Haladin's face. "He..will need tending..or he shall be of no use to you.."she murmurs, eyes drifting to the prostrate form of the edhel ,troubled. "If..you must have him...let one of us tend him..." A brief pause, as she swallows, gazing upon the men with apprenhension in her green eyes. "I..I am bound by oath to not bear weapons..."

Haradir stares with obvious reluctance upon Aldawin, his gaze lingering particularly on the seemingly keen and deadly blade she holds so readily in her grasp. With a quick, cautious step back, however, he dips his head to acknowledge her request. "Fine, have you a look at him." He utters, glancing then to Alquawen and again nodding, "Both of you. But be quick about it, or we shall see that one of you does not return to the hill." The bandit's spear remains gripped steadily in his gloved hands, its tip held at chest height as he points towards the Beorian healer once more. "Leave your sword behind. There, upon the ground." He instructs gruffly, before gesturing to Haraforn with a nod of his head, "Take her weapon, and go search their bags."

Haraforn rises with Curundil's sword in hand, paying little more attention to the Elf as he looks over the weapon, "Very fine, very fine indeed.", he says appreciately, going on to sling its belt over his shoulder, wincing as it hits upon the spot where Haradir beat him. Nodding to the instruction, he starts forward a few steps, "Aye lass, give it over now and be nice about it.", he says, smiling, "Hilt first if you don't mind! I like my arms where they are.", he adds quickly, reaching out for it.

"You will not have this weapon, dogs," Aldawin returns with vehemence and glaring to both. Even as it is spoken, the healer's eyes are glassy yet burn still with anger. And freeing the short sword's tip from the sheath, she takes a quick pace back. "I will not yield what is mine from Dorthonion to the likes of you."

Hardly waiting while Haraforn, disarms Aldawin, though a hard stare is cast towards Haradir, Alquawen moves quickly towards Curundil. "I shall..need a few leaves from my satchel.."she murmurs, still keeping the leather bag about her waist, as the keen gaze examines critically the young edhel's head, hands gently pressing upon his temples. A furrow marks her brow, and the frown upon her lips is tempered only by the relief in her eyes. The blow is not as grievious as it had seemed. Busy applying, crushed leaves, to his temples and rubbing the herbs against the bruise, she is oblivious to any other presence save the wounded edhel before her.

Haradir's cold-burned brow furrows at Aldawin's defiant words, and again he draws a step nearer to her, the spear level with her chest. "Give the weapon up, lass." He urges through clenched teeth, though seeminly reconsiders his action, for he instead turns back to where Curundil lies. A quick step backwards, and he comes to stand beside the fallen elf and the healer who begins to attend to him. "If not for your sake, give the weapon up for the sake of your companions." Threatens the bandit, while lowering his weapon to indicate Alquawen where she kneels, seemingly oblivious to his threat.

Haraforn freezes before Aldawin, withdrawing his hand and narrowing his smiling eyes upon her as his companion turns upon their companion with his sword, "Give it up and we'll be quietly on our way.", he says, hungrily eyeing her weapon, "Is a sword worth so much? Would you die for it?", he asks.

Eyes lifting, even though her hands continue applying the herbs to the edhel's temples gently, Alquawen swallows, nervously. A slight cant of her head, brings her eye to eye with the drawn blade, lowered above her and she gazes towards Aldawin, questioningly. A twitch of the lips betrays further apprehension as she turns, and concentrates, with some difficulty on the form of the noldo in her care.

Swallowing again as the spear Haradir holds is raised to her chest, the hot tears collecting in her eyes, Aldawin looks to Alquawen now, her defiance a withered strength in the face of the others' threats. "Curse you dogs! You shall not have it long," she hisses under her breath. Her hand trembles as the sword is given, hilt-first, over to Haraforn, though as the motion is made the healer accompanies the weapon's surrender by spitting at the face of the guide.

The spear clutched in Haradir's gloved hands lifts slightly, and his grip upon the weapon eases slightly as Aldawin hands her sword so reluctantly to the bandit 'guide'. "Oh, no, lass..." He utters, however, shocked as she spits suddenly at Haraforn's face, "Should not do that." With a disatisfied shake of his head, he lifts his left hand away from the weapon he holds and raises it in gestures to the other. "Hold steady, Har." He urges, and at once he glances over his shoulder to the remaining bandits who stand with bows trained still upon the healers and their escorts. "I bid you go swiftly now, back to the hill." He instructs, glancing back down upon Alquawen, "You as well, healer, or else remain here to keep us company. It is your decision, though you must decide swiftly."

"If you must have him....then I will stay..to tend him." is the sinda maid's quiet reply, the green eyes focuses only briefly on the band leader, resolutely. Removing the cloak from her shoulders, to prop the noldo's head up slightly, Alquawen gives a glance towards the others of her kin and the Beorian, Aldawin. The quiet gaze then flits to the spear wielding men and , bowing her head, the last words are uttered softly, though audible enough to be heard. "I..will stay."

Haraforn goes to reach for Aldawin sword only to have her spit hit him square on the face. Shutting his eyes tight and drawing in a long breath to control the anger that wells up inside him, he lifts his hand and slowly wipes it away, looking back to Haradir, "You ought to let me return the favour at least before you let her go.", he says, turning back to the woman as he sucks up his lips and spits back at her. "It's only fair.", he utters blackly, "Keep your damn sword then. I'll come for it later."

Haradir glares irritably at Haraforn once more, and steps forward to snatch the healer's sword from her offering hand. "Go ready the boats." He barks to the other bandit, before turning back to where Curundil lies with Alquawen by his side. "You wish to stay with him, now?" He questions with a deep frown and a shake of his head, "I'll be damned." The Haladin brigand paces quickly to where one of the bowmen stands, and hands the Beor's shortsword to her before again looking to Aldawin. "Lass, take your companions and leave now." He commands, gesturing back down the narrow trail. "And take her as well." He adds with a nod to Alquawen, "I've had enough of this."

Shuddering in reflex as Haraforn spits back at her, Aldawin catches the other's returned 'gesture' upon her left cheek, raising her gaze in the same glare back to the 'guide.' She flinches as the sword is snatched from her hand by Haradir, watching as the blade is given to another for safekeeping. Glancing warily between Haradir and Haraforn, the Beor healer reaches up to finally wipe the spit from her face as she speaks to the elleth. "Alquawen, you cannot stay with these men. Come.." And she motions with her hand. Noting the elf's hesitance, she leans forward to tug at her shoulder, saying in a lowered whisper. "Come, let us return to the Hill. They will not long be free after this."

Haraforn stares coolly at Aldawin, rubbing at his face with the back of his sleeve and watching as Haradir steps forward to retrieve her sword, ordering him off to prepare the boats. With a grunt he turns about, shifting the elven sword that hangs from his shoulde as he trudges past Alquawen where she leans over Curundil. Off down the trail he quickly goes before slipping into the gloom of the trees.

Hands still rubbing the leaves against the edhel's temples, lips pressed tightfly together, Alquawen gives a heavy sigh. "Ai Elbereth..protect you mellon" is the soft whisper, her head lowered over the unconcious noldo, sorrowfully, and though unwilling, and reluctantly, she allows Aldawin to draw her from the young squire's side. "Please....see that his wound is rubbed with these leaves..when he awakes" she murmurs, looking to Haradir, quietly, the troubled gaze releasing the noldo from her gaze. She swallows , the green eyes swirling with heavy thought as she rises and comes to the Beorian Aldawin's side.

Haradir calls immediately for two of his fellows, who put down their weapons and hurry to the fallen elf's side once Alquawen rises and steps away. The two brigands grasp Curundil by the legs and shoulders and lift him, not particularly gently, from the ground. "Take him to the boats, then!" Barks Haradir, before looking once again to the healers. "Leave us your leaves, then, lady..." He commands, while gazing sharply to the elven healer, "And I shall see that your companion gets them." With the spear held once more readily before him, the Haladin brigand moves to stand at the edge of the path a few mere paces from Aldawin and Alquawen. "Go, then!" He grunts, pointing towards the northeast, "And remember the news I charge you with carrying! The elven lad is not returned until my brother, Harfner, is brought to this very spot."

Her mouth set in a grim line of determination, Aldawin looks regretfully at the still form of Curundil before turning one more defiant glare to Haradir, witholding the words she would utter to the man and turning them instead in a whisper to Alquawen. "May Morgoth take them." Steel grey eyes are turned next to the narrow path the leads through the deep gloom of approaching twilight towards the Hill, and in heavy step the healer treads the way forward, soon turning the bend to be lost from view.