Morning finds a forest lush and verdant in midsummer, and a group of edhil gathered at the Naith. Most are armed, though fully half are not of the Order: foresters, mostly, though knowing would pick out a naturalist and a potter in their midst. Beside them, Guardsmen stand, grey-cowled each one, save for one who wears the black of the Gweth Mellyrn.
Standing back a few paces from the group gathered in Naith, Knight Dalonos waves the two Knight Bachelor's and the Squire for a moment of privacy. "We're tasked with escorting these fair folk." he says as he sweeps a hand towards the group gathered at the edge of the river Celebrant. "To the Wooded Vale." he finishes. Glancing at those present, Dalonos frowns and his sight falls upon the Squire. "With the recent sightings along the western shore, I hesitate bringing a Squire." he says flatly. "But considering the limited risk of danger escorting a few citizens, I'll permit you to use this for training. Vinyarod and Erethringil, I want you to lead the party across the river and northward. Remain flanked on either side. I and the squire will be rear guard.
Whilst the youngest of the knights lingers in a brief lean upon his bent bow, the brief gust of wind strews Erethringil's cowl from his brow... the grey fabric but languidly easing to rest upon his cloaked shoulders.Anor's shed glory filters through the forest's canopy, alighting the fair visage of this resolute edhel... though any calm repose surrenders to a gaining solemnity whilst the orders are bestowed. In return does Erethringil dip his head in soft acquiescence, though emerald eyes uncease from their gaze upon the knight throughout the lain direction. "Yes, sir..." comes the gentle song of Erethringil's voice in reply, even as the tender-year Sinda casts his lightly-hued eyes sidelong to his fellow knight errant "Would you care, mellon, if I did take the left flank?
Approaching the knight, Vinyarod bows his head to listen to the orders given. Once received the Knight Bachelor nods to the Knight and gracefully swings his bow over his shoulder to hold at ready. A clenched fist planted itself firmly on his opposite shoulder in salute to acknowledge the order. Taking a step back he glances at Erethringil. "As you wish mellon, but be aware, left flank is too the wood and you'll be a likely target should anything decide to feast this day." he says with a hint of teasing. With that he trotted into position beside the waiting group.
Goerhim's eyes dart around the group excitedly, returning again and again to rest on his beautiful cousin, Caelwen. A soft adoring glow suffuses their green depths whenever he looks at her. The sun sifts through the trees and lights up patches of his flame-colored hair. A broad smile stretches across his long narrow face while he waits for the group to head out across the river. Edging a step closer to the potter, he whispers, "Is this not exciting? I wonder if the forest looks different over there? Do you think different kinds of plants grow? I have heard there are no mallyrn trees." His soft voice grows slightly louder with each word and he almost bounces in his enthusiasm.
Arnediad listens as Knight Dalonos gives him his orders. He brings his hand to his opposite shoulder to acknowledge his orders. "Yes,sir..." he says, looking back up at the Knight.
Watching Goerhim's exuberance with a sideways glance, a mix of amusement and resignation, Hyardoel looks on with folded arms, letting the guards move about as they may. She too wears the stealth-aiding Galadhrim cloak, and today, she too is armed; but her quiver is capped, and her bow is unstrung, afterthoughts to the tools of her trade. Quietly, she remarks to another forester, "I suppose that means we get the middle," referring to the Guardsmen, though not really expecting a reply.
Caelwen grins at Goerhim, her head ducking closer as the cousins stand together like twin flames from a pair of candlesticks. "Why, you should have joined the Royal Court, so eager are you to leave here." Bright eyes dart across the river's edge again and she replies to his question, "I do hope there are different trees. I'd like to get ashes that I haven't seen before....Nay, I know the trees must be a new kind. I've seen a carving from wood beyond Lothlorien, and 'twas unlike any here." A step she takes back from this forester, and she peers across the river. "I hope we leave soon. I'm eager to be gone and back."
Moving to the river's edge, Knight Dalonos waves several stern-faced Galadhrim Guards to the shore. They speak a few private words, and the guard disappear into the thick brush along the shore. Moments later a bridge from long, gray lengths of hithlain stretches out between the east and west shore. With two strands high and one strand low, it is easy enough to cross this makeshift bridge. The Knight looks back on the group. "The bridge is ready to cross!" he calls out.
Erethringil's lips press in mirth at his compatriot's chiding, though they defer in parting as the Gwen Tarn does offer his own gentle retort "Whomever would so dare would find me a poor meal, mellon. All bone and sinew... little to nibble upon." The honeyed light reflects off the amber curve of the young bachelor knight's own bent bow as it is held aloft, the taut bowstring singing its own silent tune amid the subtle breeze cast at the border's edge.Briefly do emerald eyes then linger upon the two cousins as Erethringil does fall in step... though at the furl of the bridge the flaxen-haired Sinda lends a swifter stride, guiding him to the fore of the gathering. Soft words do strew toward Hyardoel amid passing as the fair Gwen Tarn sidles a glance "T'would be best, mellon. For the sake of safety..."
Astonishment widens Goerhim's eyes. "Royal Court? Leave Lorien??" He shakes his head frantically. "No. I only want to see what grows there." Looking up at the knight's words, he starts towards the bridge, pausing once to glance back. "Are you coming?"
Eager is Caelwen's step, and she quickly follows Goerhim to dart after Erethringil and Hyardoel. Her thumbs hook to the straps of her large, leather pack that sways limply behind her as she walks. A smile tugs her lips still, and she calls laughingly, "Aye, Goerhim, I'm coming."
Vinyarod chuckles at his fellow Bachelor. "Any pickings some would say.... still be cautious. Gest or no I'd not like to pull the jaws of a beast open to withdraw a vital part." He says as he joins the group at the bridge. He nods in agreement to Erethringil's words. It would be wise to quickly inspect the western shore before unarmed citizens set foot there.
Caelwen does not touch the ropes on either side as she leaps from the center rope to the near bank. Action following words, the apprentice Kennan seems eager to be away, and already turns upstream, a glance over her shoulder to her fellow Gwaith-I-Thien. "Do you think it's safe to go?" she calls to the Foresters, and then throws her gaze toward the Guards, a smile quirking.
The broad glint of a shorn arrowhead glimmers with the light filtered past the the mottle of gold and emerald from the canopy above. At Erethringil's bidding, the shed clothyard then finds its nocking upon the silvered bowstring... though there it rests, unstrewn amid the knight errant's continued patrol. Flaxen brows then furrow upon further scrutiny of the surrounding facade, though the scrutiny relents as Erethringil ventures with the silvered song of his voice "All seems clear on this front, Vinyarod... what say you?"
Moving quickly from the bridge, Vinyarod knocks an arrow against the string of his bow and searches each potential hiding place along the bank. As the Knight Bachelor moves, long golden hair swirls over his shoulders, showing the only sign of his rapid movement. "All clear... For the moment, it appears safe. Nodding towards the Knight to relay the safety of the land, the Knight in turn waves to those waiting on the bridge. "It is safe, please let us put to the ground and go forth." Knight Dalonos says quickly.
Amusement, perhaps at a previous conversation, is just enough to soften Hyardoel's mien. 'Tis to Caelwen she speaks now, in the gentle half-whisper that is this Sinda's custom in the woods. "Safe enough, I presume. But did you not say that the beauty is worth the risk?" And she turns to Goerhim, a small frown on her face as she poses a question to him. "Do you think we can truly be done with this business today? There are only four of us here, and him." The `him' being Maniedhel, as a gesture indicates.
"Oh, aye," replies Caelwen to Hyardoel, raising up on her booted toes, and falling back again in an impatient motion. "Still, I've never been across the river ere this, and I think the other side more fair." Her bright eyes pass between Hyardoel and Goerhim, fiery brows furrowing with some concern. "Think you that this will take many days? Will you stay here?" She grins at her cousin. "Why, you'll have to tell Lothdaimoth of your stay outside of the wood. Mayhap one day you'll be as comfortable away as he and Tiinwaia are." She giggles, "We'll start mistaking you for a Raavindonserke, next."
Goerhim is having a hard time deciding what to look at, his cousin, or the trees around him; but when Hyardoel asks him a question, he wrenches his gaze away and looks at her in bewilderment. "Done today...?" he stammers. "I.. I had not thought of it." A frown wrinkles his brow as he tries to consider, and then gives up. "You will know," he says vaguely, his thoughts almost immediately re-consumed by the growth around him. So far, he sees nothing unusual, and his shoulders droop in disappointment. He wanders abstracted up the path, scanning the forest intently, and totally oblivious to anything happening around him. Even his beloved cousin's voice draws no reaction.
Moving northward along a faint trail at the rivers edge, Vinyarod pauses from time to time to carefully look around the path. The Knight led the group ahead and Erethringil guarded the left flank. It was quiet in the wood. No chatter, squeak, or for that matter no sound of movement save their own. The Knight Bachelor frowned. Something wasn't right. Glancing at the Knight he found the senior officer moving a bit slower and with short hesitant moves as if he too senses something amiss. Glancing up he spots a Talan. "We could move to the treetops, or quicken our pace." He says softly to the citizens.Sparing another quick glance at Goerhim, Hyardoel chuckles, "Yes. We must," then obeys the Knight's command to go forth.
They are shadows in the forest now, flitting across the trees. Even the kelvar are scant aware of their passing.
For countless years, this vale was a bastion of the green woods that once spread out north, east, and south. Yet today, it is no longer so. And though new growth, resilient, pushes up where there is moisture, the sunlight shines everywhere, beating down upon the ground, glinting harshly on the surface of the pool. What can stop it? The canopy is gone. No leaves stir.
Pinching the arrow's nocking betwixt his fingers, Erethringil's steps slow at the exchange of his compatriots. First to Vinyarod does the young knight errant convey a hushed tone "Alas, mellon... any concealment within this vale has long been sundered by the battle? Perhaps..." does the tender-yeared Sinda's voice trail as he strays jade eyes in scrutiny upon the scene, then of softer regard upon those in the company "... perhaps it would be best if we did escort those unarmed to a safer distance, then did proceed to assuage any concerns over the safety of this field?"
"Ooh, mellon, it is true! Look at that one!" Caelwen calls to her cousin, pointing to a fir tree on one side. Her footfall is still quick until she turns to view the Vale. Her face falls, and with slower and reverant tread, she enters along the left of the group. Her boots begin to gather the ashes of old, dead trees along the damp soles, and her head bows slightly. Barely in, she crouches, her slim fingers burying themselves in the ground.
"Yes, yes..." Goerhim replies absently. He crouches at the base of the huge tree, feeling around its roots with gentle fingers. A few minutes later, he sighs and stands up. Surveying the burned areas, he looks aghast. "I had no idea it was so bad, Hyardoel! How long do you think it will take? Will we need to remain here for long?" Dismay at the thought of remaining outside Lorien causes his face to fall ludicrously. "I will find nothing new to bring home here," he mutters under his breath as he looks over the ashy landscape.
Moving from Plains aside the Silverlode, Vinyarod frowns at the remains of the once beautiful wood that stood before the fire. Even their delicate steps which leave barely a print stirs the ash that blankets the ground. He nods in response to Erethringil's comments and watches as one of their group begins to gather. "It would be wise, yes, but it appears as if they think otherwise." He turns to the Knight with a look of expectation upon his face.
The Knight nods to the Bachelors and sweeps his hand north and then south. "Vinyarod go North, Erethringil, south. I shall stay with these fair folk as they set about to their task." Dalonos says swiftly as he too begins to search the remains of the battle field.Acknowledging the order with a bow of his head, Vinyarod clasps his bow tightly and then moves northwards. Remains of armor, blackened and destroyed in the heat of the fire, litter the ground amongst the ash of the once beautiful trees. Arriving a safe distance from the group, the Knight Bachelor begins to inspect all potential hiding places that might be used by an enemy.
Along the sides of the fields, a shadowy form slips among much of the ruin and destruction, looking for the most part like a brush of wind across the barren grass. A pair of shining eyes looks out across towards the few elves...
Caelwen kneels where she is, paying no attention to the soot that blackens her leggings. Her pack she unswings from her back, and she brings it around to her lap. Slim hands dive within, and withdraw a small, wooden shovel. She uses this to scoop up the ash near here, and once, twice, she pours this into her pack. She leaps up and walks away, eyes darting around at the earth, and stops again near the blackened stump that remains of another tree. Pack in one hand, shovel in another, she crouches.
The tensile bowstring sings softly amid the reluctant, albeit subtle pull from Erethringil's fingers... as the gently-sloped jaw of this delicately-visage knight tightens in reverent solemnity of the scene. Then do emerald eyes but briefly flit toward the senior knight, to whom does the junior officer but lend a soft acquiescence.Bearing a last look toward the unarmed band, Erethringil then starts his careful tread southward... the sullen eyes shed in deference to furrowed determination as scrutiny sweeps upon the remaining undergrowth. Then with a steady hush do Erethringil's boots stir the soot and ash, though little attention is given toward averting dirt. In its stead does the edhel shed apprehension, peering with intent scrutiny within the shadows surrounding the southernmost portion of the clearing.
Moving to the stump by which Goerhim stands, Hyardoel draws a spent shaft from its trunk before answering the forester's query. "If the guardsmen will suffer it." And looking to the kennan, "'Tis best we went about our task as well." Glancing at Goerhim, she starts to trace a path north along what once was the treeline. Another pair of foresters moves south.
While nothing stirred or showed of danger in this desolate land, Dalonos found the lack of movement and noise unnerving. Both Bachelor's were armed, and their skill with the bow enough to provide comfort to the Knight's mind, there was something... something dark. So not to alarm the fair folk under his guard, the Knight slowly withdrew his sword. Hard elven steel scrapped across well worn leather as he did so. Glancing north then south, Dalonos waited for some signal from the Bachelors regarding the security of their position. Gripping his sword tightly, the Knight scanned the scarred battle field for movement. He remained silent.
Goerhim nods. Tearing his glance away from the devastation around, he trots after Hyardoel, slowing as he catches up to her. Despite his intention to not be distracted, tiny bits of greenery keep drawing his attention; and pretty soon, he has fallen behind again. Darting from one side to another, he bends over first one charred limb and then the next, searching for anything that is still living.
As the elves continue to move around the various trees, the eyes move up closer and closer... now focused upon one that has grown near to him. Sniffing at the air hungrily, the creature suppresses a whine. It has not eaten in many days... and this one has fallen behind from the rest.
Caelwen upturns her face to Hyardoel, and nods slightly, "Aye, mellon, I'll work as quickly as I may." Her visage turns down again as the Foresters leave her, and she grips both the shovel and pack in one hand so she may reach for a blackened bit of branch with another. It crumbles as soon as her fingers curl about it, and she sighs. Her now sooty hand clings to the shovel, and she sets it to work again at these remains.
Silver traces along the broadhead's expanse as Erethringil casts a lingering gaze from over his shoulder, his body shifting in graceful motion amidst the gesture. "Nay... sir, I see naught but soot and ash-stained leaves. At least from this vantage the south is clear." Then does the knight errant's lips press in soft quandary as he again wanders absinthe eyes... first absently glimpsing upon the treading Goerhim, though further toward the kneeling elleth.
However, soft words then trail from Erethringil as his attention renews its focus upon the knight, to whom the fair-visaged edhel relents "Perhaps we should move our search to the east and west borders, sir? I would to cover the portions yet uninspected...?"
Eyes facing away from the circle of the group now gathering what they will, Vinyarod held his long bow tightly in one hand and used an arrow to poke through the debris with his other hand. "Nothing lives." he whispers sadly. So much was lost that day. It would take years if not centuries to recover. Turning around, he waves to towards the Knight, signaling that all north was clear.
"Yes, take to the west." the Knight says to Erethringil. "Be wary as there is much debris and many places where an enemy might hide." Turning away from the young Knight Bachelor, Dalonos returns a wave to Vinyarod with a signal to search to the east.
"I am coming," Goerhim calls abstractedly after Hyardoel. Still he lingers over the few pitiful plants that have escaped burning, engrossed in his inspection. Dirt clings to long slender fingers. He scuttles crabwise to another hint of green under the grey, and bends over it, lost to the world around him.
Hyardoel mutters as she ranges before Goerhim, several feet off; her steps take her ever closer to the brook, the only thing untouched by the blaze. Then spying a strange form at the crook of a tree, she slows. 'Tis a carcass, spared from bloating by the charring of fire. Frowning, the elleth prods the corpse with one foot, prepares to move along, then stops short: she crouches, and her head swivels back. "Goerhim...? Look at this."
Caelwen straightens again, her pack now half-filled. She presses her hand to her forehead, unused to the warmth from the summer outside of the Golden wood, and calls to her cousin, her voice echoing across the desolation, "Finding what you're looking for, mellon?" A glance thrown over her shoulder, and a wave to Erethringil in its wake, and the Kennan walks toward Goerhim.
But here, her gaze drifts to Hyardoel and she stops, face blank. Caelwen turns abruptly away from either, and jogs over the blackened ground, drifting toward a large pile of ashes -- the remains of a bush of some sort, to look at it.
"Hmm?" Goerhim looks up briefly, then back down to the plant he has unearthed from ash. A few minutes pass before he pulls himself reluctantly away. Wiping his hands down the sides of his pants, he starts to stand up. Long dirt streaks mingle with the mottled greens and browns of the fabric.
Maintaining their furrowed vigil, Erethringil continues a soft tread upon the west most periphery. Fair hair then tousles at the brim of his unfurled cowl amid a soft shake, only to follow with words that but linger as a soft sigh upon the stale air "There is naught but the scarred remains of battle, sir... despite the many crevices."
Then do pensive footfalls continue to guide Erethringil toward the northwestern portion of the the diminished forest. The tread affords the knight a passing glance toward the forlorn entourage, though a gesture does but summon a spark of warmth cross the Sinda's gentle visage. Though his hands lie occupied by faint tension upon his bow, the warmth culminates to a lingering smile toward Caelwen... before emerald eyes return to their task at hand.
Grey Wolf creeps forward, low to the ground, a blot against the ash. The opportunity presents itself. Warm meat for dinner! The elf Goerhim is but a leap and a bound away from the wolf when he launches his attack, aiming for the creature's leg.
Grey Wolf lunges at Goerhim with bare fangs!...and he hits!
Goerhim has not straigtened to his full height when a stabbing pain lances through his thigh and he is knocked over. A cry of pain bursts from his lips and he tries frantically to wriggle out from under the ravening wolf. Blood pours from the ragged gash on his leg and soaks darkly into the ash-covered ground. One scrabbling hand finds a half-burnt stick and he stabs towards the wolf's head, kicking as best he can at the same time.
Caelwen has settled herself on the ground again, fingers sifting through the ash. She slings the pack on her back and reaches both hands down when Goerhim's cry reaches her. She turns her head, then adds a scream of horror to the air and leaps to her feet. On her toes and raining ashes, her eyes dart around briefly ere her fingers grip her shovel white-knuckled, and she begins to run across the empty Vale to her cousin, face blanching.
It said that the Nandor are the most attuned to nature amongst all of the kindreds of the Eldar; and perhaps such an edhel would have sensed the beast's approach...but by Elbereth, there's no time for such musings now. Even as the kennan starts to sprint across the vale, Hyardoel springs to her feet--then hesitates, scanning the grounds around Goerhim. No cover. No weapons. Ai.
Urgency rises as any trace of gentility sheds from Erethringil's voice, instead carrying as a sharp summons in concert with the knight's speeding step. "Caelwen.... no!" Emerald eyes alight with horror as the scene spurs a gaining breath from the closing Gweth Tarn, though steadfast is his voice amid a hearkened call "Those without arms... falls back! Seek cover if you might find it. To the trees... where this beast cannot follow."
Breathless in his pursuit, Erethringil stays briefly to plant his foremost foot. However, even as the silvered string of the bow is drawn... the arrow is yet not furled. Rather, with careful aim does the broadhead's tip afix upon the grey coat of the ravenous wolf. Then in a blur of motion does the elf arrow unfurl in a swift blur.
Erethringil launches an arrow...Erethringil's arrow flies wide, doing no harm.
Grey Wolf snarls, tasting flesh and blood, twisting it's head back and forth and moving it's body in the way to avoid the pokes from the sharp stick. Another sharp stick comes flying towards the wolf, but he disregards it, continuing instead to shred at the elf's leg, deeper and deeper his fangs sink.
Another hoarse scream is ripped from Goerhim's throat as the wolf's teeth mangle his thigh. His normally pale face turns whiter and whiter at the continued loss of blood. A wave of dizziness passes over him, and the jabbing of the stick grows weaker. Suddenly, he seems to remember the knife at his belt and fumbles for it with his other hand. Finally working it free, he slashes desparately at the creature's face, hoping somehow to turn it away.
Armiel slips silently through the trees and quietly obsevers the situation. Her eyes skim over each person and finally come to rest upon the wolf itself. Her eyes narrow as she takes her bow from her back and sets an arrow to it. Attempting to get a clear shot. She moves quickly and quietly around the group, saying nothing but giving reassuring nods to those that happen to see her.
Caelwen slows, then twice her feet pound the earth in her sudden stop. Panic is in her voice as she tears her gaze from Goerhim to Erethringil, crying, "But he is beneath the beast!" Her words come too late, for the dart flies through them. She backpedals with some grace, horror-filled bright eyes on her cousin, and does draw closer to the the fir trees only slightly charred at the edge of the Vale.
The footsteps cannot be heard over the cry of the one that is being attacked. As Legarwin gets closer, he sees figures that look like many of his kin. He can see that weapons have been drawn and that one of the figures is not one of his own but a Grey Wolf like the ones he has fougt before. He quickly notices that there is a Knight here and he wields his longbow Arwin. He runs up to the Knight and does a quick salute and says, "What is happening?"
Just barely in tow of Armiel is Elywien, the other knight moving swiftly behind her, bringing up her bow as she takes in the situation as well. No nods, reassuring or otherwise are offered to those present. Seeing where Armiel moves, Elywien goes in the opposite direction as she too seeks a new angle for fire against the beast that is attacking the others. A few quick steps and she's put herself at the wolf's back, angled so a straight shot will imbed itself in the beasts side, and only a horrible twist of fate would bring its travel to do her to her fellow elf. Pulling back on her bowstring, the elleth feels the tension and releases the arrow to the wind.
Elywien launches an arrow...Elywien's arrow flies wide, doing no harm.
Erethringil's voice dips to a breathy hush as he sheds yet another arrow from his quiver... shifting footfalls guiding him in intercept between the beast and those in retreat "We... will do what we can, Caelwen. However, another unarmed target will not help him... melethril." Though emerald eyes do not dare to stray from the wolf whilst the knight errrant draws back his bow anew, the last word lent trails to silence... forlorn amid Erethringil's readied shot.
Erethringil launches an arrow...Erethringil's bowshot hits Grey Wolf, moderately wounding him.
Armiel stops suddenly and stares at the beast. With a quick movement she pulls back on the string and releases the arrow. She quickly moves again to a different angle and takes another arrow from her quiver.
Armiel launches an arrow...Armiel's bowshot hits Elywien, moderately wounding her.
Grey Wolf howls in pain! The bowshot sends the arrow deep into it's shoulder, making the wolf let go of the leg and twist around to try and pull the arrow out. Unable to do such, he whips around and seeks another target, or perhaps the same one, as the blood from the elf is calling to it... nostrils flaring, muzzle dripping with blood and gore...
Legarwin stops following the Knight grabs an arrow from his quiver and nocks it on the string. He aims at the wolf and is careful with the shot not to it any around it. He remembers all of his training and lets his fingers slip off the string and letting the arrow fly.
Legarwin launches an arrow...Legarwin's bowshot hits Grey Wolf, lightly wounding him.
A hiss, and an arrow hurtles past.
Shaking herself, Hyardoel takes a step back, eyes trained upon the sight of flailing arms and crimson earth. As another shot speeds to its mark this time, she too makes for the trees, towards Caelwen.
Goerhim's head falls back limply, his face white as death. The stick falls from his nerveless grasp, rolling a little ways from his body. When the wolf releases his leg, he revives slightly, and makes another effort to drag himself away. He doesn't get very far before collapsing again, his knife still clasped limply in his other hand.
A sudden and quite fierce pain shoots up Elywien's leg as a poorly fired arrow imbeds itself towards her upper thigh. The jolt of it dropping the Knight down to one knee, she does not pay much heed to the slender shaft that protrudes from her leg, merely forces herself to focus on the attack at hand.
In moments of pain such as these, the Knight focuses her mind on what she is doing, putting emphasis on each motion, reaching back and seizing an arrow, nocking it, aiming and compensating for factors beyond her control and then firing. In Elywien's mind its almost as if slow motion, but in real time it is quick and precise, the dire situation of Goerhim driving her to move faster.
Elywien launches an arrow...Elywien's bowshot hits Grey Wolf, badly wounding him.
The color drains from Armiel's face as she sees her own arrow strike one of her own. Taking a breath she fires off another arrow and then slings her bow back over her shoulder and makes a few slight advancements on the wolf, with her hand on the hilt of her sword.
Armiel launches an arrow...Armiel's bowshot hits Grey Wolf, moderately wounding him.
More arrows! One slices through but two more stick into the wolf. Fury erupts! Eyes blazing red, he launches himself at the first elf he can see that is standing up, leaving the other for dead.
Grey Wolf lunges at Legarwin with bare fangs! Grey Wolf badly wounds him! Legarwin's bow is knocked out of his hand!
Thrice Caelwen steps backwards, until her spine is pressed to the bole of a half-burned fir tree with the branches above plucking at her curls. Wide eyes only on Goerhim, her lips move soundlessly. Her own pallid skin grows paler with each passing moment, every muscle tense. As the beast releases her cousin, she steps forward twice again, and though she seems not to notice Hyardoel, her tight words are meant for this forester, "Why does no one draw near to pull him away?" A sooty hand presses against her mouth.
Erethringil's teeth grit tight whilst another arrow is born upon the silvered string. Then does bowsong carry in cacophony with its brethren... though tis not all which sheds from the resolute edhel. Rather, as a warded glance is lent toward the two fleeing ellith... the sudden roar of anger from the bloodied beast returns Erethringil's ire, though his breath does suddenly falter at the sudden lunge toward Legarwin. Ever does Erethringil begin to draw an arrow anew whilst his first still sails, his tread still purposefully placing him as an obstacle between the unarmed duo.
Erethringil launches an arrow...Erethringil's bowshot hits Elywien, moderately wounding her.
Legarwin flies back from the force of the attack. He feels the pain again go through him. He remembers the last time he was attacked. His bow flies out of his hand. He cannot stand up with the wolf on top of him. He can smell the fowl breath breathing on him.
Armiel continues to advance while pulling her sword from it's hilt. She moves very quickly now, as she sees the wolf attack another edhel. She makes a desperate swing, hoping to at least get the beast's attention. She also remembers this situation before but is not left much time to think as she finally reaches the creature.
Armiel attacks Grey Wolf with her Longsword, but she misses by a handspan.
Another sharp pain races to Elywien's head, this time from her her arm as an arrow whizzes by and clips her arm. Blood flowing from it, the knight murmurs something under her breath as she nocks just another arrow, though much more slowly, it should be noted. Still going through her well practiced motion, Elywien is more reluctant to fire this time as Armiel has gotten in close to the wolf. Not rushing, Elywien waits a moment...then a moment longer, centering herself on the shot she will take..and then does.
Elywien launches an arrow...Elywien's bowshot hits Erethringil, badly wounding him.
Grey Wolf snarls and scrambles around, too many targets! He goes again for the one whose blood he's just tasted.
Grey Wolf lunges at Legarwin with bare fangs!Grey Wolf's attack misses Legarwin.
Erethringil's voice begins to unfurl as another nock crooks upon the bowstring "They are cleared! The ellith have fell back... we mi..." however, any further intended words part in a sharp gasp as a broadhead bites at Erethringil's fore thigh. Pain seizes the fair Sinda's visage whilst crimson blossoms upon the fabric of his breeches... though in spite does he maintain his footing.
Blinking back the dampness from his eyes, in silent shudder is yet another arrow drawn to its nocking point... gently cradled at his jaw for a split second... before grey fletching steals swiftly through the air.
Erethringil launches an arrow...Erethringil's arrow flies wide, doing no harm.
In a swift gasp does Erethringil then falls to his knee... the tremble from his hand causing the arrow to fly astray.
"I don't know!" Eyes wild with barely reined-in panic cut to Caelwen as Hyardoel spins to face the growing melee, rocking forward on her toes then down again. "Where are the others?" Tension is evident in the set of her jaw as she sets herself, half-crouched, near the kennan.
Legarwin rolls out of the way of the attack and behind cover. On his way he grabs his longbow and tries with all his might to get another arrow and to shoot it at the wolf. He manages to get one and fires it at the wolf.
Legarwin picks up a Longbow.Legarwin wields his powerful longbow Arwin with much grace and ease and holds it tightly in his left hand.Legarwin launches an arrow...Legarwin's bowshot hits Grey Wolf, moderately wounding him.
Armiel wastes no time lifting her sword once again for another attempt to get the attention of the beast. She watches as Legarwin rolls out of the gaping jaws of the creature. She then brings the sword bearing down again with hopes of actually doing some damage.
Armiel attacks Grey Wolf with her Longsword and moderately wounds him!
Elywien's expression is pulled into a frown as she sees just how poor that shot went. Being grazed in the arm set her off more than she would have thought. She considers the prospects of using her sword....then thinks better of it and remains with her bow. At least with Erethringil down on the ground, the Knight is less-likely to hit him again, she thinks as she prepares her next and likely final shot. Waiting as Armiel moves in and slashes him, Elywien waits until the other Knight has backed away before loosing her arrow.
Elywien launches an arrow...Elywien's bowshot hits Grey Wolf, badly wounding him.
Grey Wolf is out of it's mind with fury right now, frothing at the mouth. Arrows embedding more and more into it's hide. The one who is slicing at it garners it's attention and he lunges in desperation.
Grey Wolf lunges at Armiel with bare fangs!Grey Wolf moderately wounds her!
Though it but takes a breath to muster a steady to his raised bow, Erethringil keeps to his kneel... whilst again nocking another fletched clothyard. Dampness then touches the knight errant's brow as he again draws his bow, the bent stave held at angle amid a readied shot.
Erethringil launches an arrow...Erethringil's bowshot hits Grey Wolf, severely wounding him.
"Nay!" cries Caelwen, her voice loud in the empty space. She darts closer, and hesitates, away from the sheltering canopy of the half-burned fir tree. A low, whimpering sound is made in her throat, and tears do now paint her sooty face. She seems poised at the edge of darting toward Erethringil, but finally falls to her knees, sobbing with a face half-turned to Hyardoel, "Do you think him dead already?"
Relieved as her arrow finds its home in the wolf's flesh, Elywien looks down to herself and reaches hesistantly for the arrow still imbedded in her leg. Her thoughts of removing it herself are interupted as she hears the wolf snarl and looks up in time to see it lunge at Armiel. Relieved as Erethringil's arrow lands on the beast, Elywien nocks another arrow to her bow and waiting for a brief reprieve from the pain in her body, sends her own to join it.
Elywien launches an arrow...Elywien's bowshot hits Grey Wolf, severely wounding him.
Legarwin sees the next victom to the wolf. He grabs another arrow from his quiver and nocks it noting that his quiver is getting empty. He pulls the string back and lets the arrow fly.
Legarwin launches an arrow...Legarwin's bowshot hits Grey Wolf, mortally wounding him.
Armiel cringes as she doesn't move away from the wolf fast enough and it's teeth end up embedded in her leg. Blood pours from beneath the jaws of the creature. Her eyes now blaze with fury and pain. She lifts her sword once again and swings it down at the wolf hoping not to amputate her leg in the process.
Unaware now of the fight going on around him, Goerhim lies unmoving. The fingers curled around the knife have relaxed. His body is so still, it can't even be told if he is breathing or not. Copper-red hair tangles around his pallid face.
Grey Wolf is hit from all sides and then, the sword sweeps the wolf's head off! The body falls to the ground, lifeless, as the head rolls in the ash.
A drawn breath surges past Erethringil's lips as he fights in rise... the bow aiding the wounded knight's travail as he brave as swift an approach as he might toward the most dire victim. His hair now damp and stained by the stirred ash, emerald eyes fight past the fury of dust... with intent to draw toward the felled Goerhim.
Legarwin shows the hint of a smile as the wolf is defeated. He looks around and sees that many have been injured including himself. He is not bad though and walks up to the one in the center that lays lifeless. He calls out, "We need to get the injured to the Field hospital. I shall go ahead and make preparations."
Caelwen launches from the earth, darting forward. The Silvan maid's flight is full-bore, and she passes Erethringil with a straying glance before stumbling to the ground beside Goerhim. With a sobbing, weeping breath, she presses one hand to her cousin's forehead, and another below his chest as she attempts to roll his body over.
Elywien swiftly snatches the arrow from her longbow, replacing the arrow in the quiver upon her back with one hand, and setting the bow across her back with the other.
Armiel falls backwards landing flat on her back. She lies quiet for a minutes as her cloak becomes saturated with blood and ash. An expression of relief crosses her face and she finally sits up and struggles to her feet. She wipes her blade clean on a piece of clean cloak and begins to walk from the clearing silently, limping slightly.
The danger gone at least for the moment, Elywien looks down to the arrow in her thigh while she slides her bow across her back. Reaching down and grasping it, she pulls it from her leg in a swift movement and immediately clamps her hand down to the bleeding wound.
Hyardoel straightens, though movement is arrested for a while as something catches on an overhanging branch: the yew stave on her back, still unstrung. She freezes for a moment, and it is with slower tread that she follows after Caelwen and Erethringil.
Goerhim's arm flops loosely as Caelwen heaves at his body, rolling the twisted figure completely onto his back. Slack lips fall partly open and perhaps the faintest hint of a moan emerges from them. Or maybe it is just the sigh of the wind.
Though jade eyes stray in pensive regard toward the those stricken, a moment's relief floods Erethringil's visage whilst his surveyance of the others still conscious. However, any trace of levity fails as Erethringil draws the few steps closer toward both cousins. Then does an steady hand softly seek Caelwen's shoulder... whilst he himself does again defer to his injured leg in a precarious kneel.
However, though words might be sought to offer... first does a soft swallow sounds from the bachelor knight. His fair visage stained from the blood and pitch of battle, absinthe eyes then softly stray toward Caelwen as he relents softly "Melethril... we must tend to him if there is..." however, the offering but trails in deference to the mournful scene.
Armiel stops and turns looking at the others...sighing she returns and lifts Georhim, putting one of his arms over her shoulder. "It is no good to leave him here.. let us make haste" Her voice is a mixture of sadness and obvious irritation." She beckons Caelwen with a wave of her hand "Help me here."
Caelwen's voice is high with panic, "But I know naught of healer's-craft! Do you, melethron?" She grips the ashen hem of her short skirt and wipes it timidly at Goerhim's thigh. Lower comes her voice now, soft and strained, "There is so much blood. Will he live yet?" Terrified eyes raise briefly to Erethringil, and her cool, dirty hand strokes Goerhim's cheek.
She pulls away when Armiel draws closer, a relief at having another control the situation. Standing, she lifts Goerhim's other arm behind her neck, her own arm drawn behind his back.
"We are not yet done..." comes Hyardoel's reflexive protest upon hearing the Gweth Mellyrn's words...yet the forester's speech holds no force. She stops, then acquiesces with a nod of her head.
Caelwen lifts her cousin as best she may, and begins to carry him away with Armiel's help.
Goerhim hangs limply between Armiel and Caelwen, as they carry him off.
A fair elven form glides around the Field Hospital, finishing up the day's activities and putting everything in order. She checks through the trunks and pots, making sure her herbs are waiting safely to be used, and checks the water supply. Making sure the elves that lay there are comfortable and peaceful, she readies to leave. A relatively easy day today has been, considering no foul battles had been fought, and no wounded to take care of, yet... (Caristia)
A rustling is heard and Armiel stumbles in limping and half carrying a very badly wounded figure. He is bleeding quite badly and Armiel herself is soaked in quit a large amount of blood. Some of it dry now and some quite fresh. "We have injured...a wolf was just around the border." Her face is covered in streaks of dirt and blood. Her tone is warisome and not at all pleasant.
Caelwen walks in, more steady than the injured knight, though her face is showing some strain. She carries this figure as well, and her eyes draw to Caristia, "Mellon! This one needs your hand first." She slowly begins to lower her cousin toward a mat.
With his pallor ashen upon entry, Erethringil finally surrenders to a heavy lean upon a near mallorn... steadying himself with a lean upon his bow. Soft breathes steady the hushed knight errant's furrow... though worry is not cast toward himself upon the respite, not his wound, but rather toward the forlorn Caelwen who does hover near her heavily-stricken cousin.
Goerhim's head hangs, its only motion that which comes from being carried by Cael and Armiel. Shut eyes and slack lips in a deathly pale face show that he is close to death. His horribly mangled thigh still oozes blood, surprisingly since he has lost so much.
Later than many, many of the others does Elywien come limping into the field hospital. Blood flows down her leg at quite a decent speed, and her right hand is pressed to the arrow wound on her left arm. Despite it all, Elywien doesn't seem to be too upset as she looks about.
Caelwen steps away to give more room around Goerhim's bed, her eyes closing painfully tight of a sudden. She forces them open, new tears tripping along the ashes on her face, and near-runs toward Erethringil. Her trembling hand grips his upper arm, and she raises on tiptoes to murmer near his ear, voice trembling, "Are you well, ... ...? ... ... ... your ...." She lowers herself, and her eyes stray again to Goerhim, biting her lip as she shakes.
Armiel lays Goerhim down on a bed and nods to the others "I will be fine..good luck to you all." With that the irritable Knight begins to hobble out of the tent, grumbling something under her breath and sighing.
Though stained is the soft smile upon Erethringil's lips, a lowered hand relents a gentle squeeze to Caelwen's arm. "Go... melethril, I shall be alright. Tend to your cousin... mine is but a wound of the flesh that shall heal with proper binding." Absinthe eyes to linger briefly upon Caelwen's own tear-shed visage... before his hold then falls away.
Caelwen's tear-bright and uncertain gaze lingers on Erethringil's face a moment, then she does turn away and stride again to her cousin's bed. A tired kneel is made, and the Kennan leans toward Goerhim's face, her sooty hand stroking his brow. "Goerhim, mellon, do you hear me yet?"
Caristia stands at the entrance to the Field Hospital, watching to ragged procession of injured elves enter her domain. One by one, she goes around to each patient and bearer, and asks of the problem. First, she goes to her closest patient, Erethringil. "Mellon," she says softly, "What injuries have you?" She listens intently, nods some, and speaks again. "I fear that another has harsher wounds than thee, Erethringil, and so I pardon my seeming ignorance of your wounds. I must tend to the others. But first, go lay down upon a mat. It shall help conserve your strength." She bows her head, and turning gracefully, heads over to the elleth standing alone. "Mellon, come and lay down! Your wounds seem great and many." She leads the elleth across the field hospital, laying her down upon a mat. "I have others to tend to as well, so I need to bear those for but a moment longer. I shall return very soon, indeed," she says, concern in her voice, as she stands. Calling over a young attendant, she whispers a few words of command, and the attendant runs off for supplies. Finally she makes it over to the edhel laying flat on one of the mats.First looking to Caelwen, not wanting to bother the patient, she asks softly, "What is his ailment, mellon?" Again, she listens. As the attendant returns, she takes the water-logged cloth and hands it to Caelwen. "Wipe him off, mellon, for that must be done before anything else." Turning to her attendant in wait, she orders for her to go and wash another off. She herself, goes to dab away the dirt and grime from Elywien's wounds, before getting up to start really helping the injured. All throughout, she sings, a melody of hope and love rising to the star-lit heavens.
Caelwen's shaking hand catches the soaked cloth, and she looks with some doubt at Goerhim's gored thigh. She timidly speaks, "It seems his leg is near..." she swallows and glances away, eyes closing a brief moment, "...chewed through. 'Twas a wolf." She presses the cloth to her cousin's wounds, barely patting at it. A loud whisper is lent toward Caristia, "Will he yet live? I have not seen his eyes open since late morn."
Unheeding, uncaring, Goerhim lies on the pallet. Slow bleeding continues to seep out from under the makeshift bandage. His chest slowly rises and falls with each shallow, barely perceptible breath. Indeed, it is not always obvious that he is still breathing. The skin on his face is chalky and damp and he makes no response of any kind to anything done to him. If it weren't for the spreading stain on his leg, and the intermittent breaths, he might be thought dead already.
Caristia fairly runs across the Field Hospital, her step almost a hurried dance. Fingers flying to open a lock on a medium-sized chest, she flings open the top and searches through its contents. Many bottles, small boxes and baskets are stored in here, each with a different label. This is the herb chest, the one Caristia oft uses in her arts. She snatches up a good-sized basket to her left, and piles in it the desired ingredients: a small, long basket marked, "Yarrow;" a box marked, "Boneset;" a bottle marked, "Dormidera;" and a bottle marked, "Woundwort." Closing the trunk, she carefully totes over her precious herbs to where the patients lie. Setting it on the soft earth, she quickly gets back up and calls for her attendant. This time, all can hear her words: "Get me a stack of white linen bandages, two earthenware pots, firewood, one glass, several spoons, and one small dish." She goes around and collects the now-dirtied washcloths and tosses them into a bin several feet away.As the attendant returns, Caristia heads to her little workstation and begins spinning up concoctions of many types. First setting the wood down in a pile, she realizes she had forgotten something. Once more summoning her attendant, she bids her to bring her flint and dried matter. Next she herself gets several jugs of fresh water, pouring some into the glass in front of her. She opens the small bottle labeled, "Dormidera" and pours some into a spoon, then adding the powder to the glass. Stirring it quickly, she hands it to Caelwen. "Have him dirnk this," she commands, before pouring yet more water into the two pots. Each pour is measured almost to the drop, measurements kept inside her head. She opens the container marked "Yarrow" and takes out a bottle of mixed colors. She measures out three spoonfuls of this powder into a pot, then sets the pot onto the fire that her attendant had already lit and set a pot-holder over. She waits until it boils, and stirs it occasionally. Taking the pot off of the heat, she sets it quickly down onto the cool grass.
Caelwen drapes the cloth over her lap, and looks askance at her cousin's pale face. "But mellon! He is not awake...how is he to drink it?" Glass in hand now, her gaze lowers to his wide wound again, and swallows, face blanching. "May we not...stop the bleeding, somehow?"
Now taking the other pot of water, the Healer opens the small container marked in large letters, "Boneset." Opening it, she fills a spoon twice and dumps the contents into the pot. Setting the pot on the fire, she next opens the bottle marked, "Woundwort." Taking this, she walks over to Caelwen. "Mellon, this will stop the bleeding." She slowly pours a small amount into her hand, then sprinkles it all throughout the large wound, singing softly, calling out to the flesh and blood itself. Within seconds, the blood begins to ooze slower, before stopping altogether. "The drink is to ease the pain, Caelwen. We need to find some way for him to drink it..." she says, pausing in her song. She is not idle however, and returns to her concoction in the pot over the fire. Quickly, she calls her attendant over.
Caelwen moves closer to Goerhim's head, and eases her hand behind his neck. She slowly lifts this, and works herself closer, setting her legs beneath Goerhim so that he may lay on her lap. Still a hand clutches at the cup as the Kennan looks at the forester's face, "Do I then...pour it in his mouth, Caristia?"
Beads of sweat form on Galena's brow as she hurries about the tasks given her. Once more hearing the Healer's call, she rushes to her side, bells tinkling softly. "Yes, Ma'am? Would you like me to make a tubing?" If one looked to the maiden's delicate hand, they could see that she holds a long, supple reed.
Although the bleeding has finally been stanched, the enormous ragged wound in Goerhim's leg looks no better. Strips of flesh have been shredded from the bone, which gleams whitely here and there. Still unconcious, there is no resistance when Caelwen lifts his head and lays it in her lap.
Caristia looks up at the question of Caelwen, and walks over calmly. She begins singing again, this time stronger, more willful, almost commanding; yet sweet. She kneels beside the prone Goerhim, and sets her hand upon his cheek, Her song becomes softer and softer, until it completely dies down. "He is in much pain, Caelwen, and wishes not to wake up just yet. I feel his spirit within him when I call out." Looking over to Galena, her attendant, she nods. "It will be the only way he will drink." She carresses him softly before returning to her pots. Still singing softly, she oozes some of the first concotion out of the pot, onto a clean white strip of linen. Next she walks slowly over to Elywien, the maiden she had talked with earlier, careful not to spill the hot poultice on herself. She leans over, and speaks softly in a singsong voice to the injured Knight. "This will be very warm, but it will prevent infection and help to close the wound." She applies the bandage to the wound on her left arm, wrapping it around, the poultice in itself help to secure the bandage. Next she returns to her station, pours some more of the concoction out, and applies it to the leg wound. "Now rest, mellon, and I will ease your pain," Caristia sings softly, kindly, in hope and reassurance to the elleth.
Galena sets about her task, the soft light catching her golden tresses in a magical way. Her eyes hold light and music as she joins her voice to the winds in a soothing call to Yavanna. The sparkling violet of her gown flows about her as she moves to retrieve parchment to form a funnel. Returning to the Goerhim side, the elleth kneels and looks to Caelwen. "Tilt his head back just a bit and open his mouth."
And so Caelwen, with a dubious eye to Caristia, lifts her cousin's fiery-tressed head higher. The cup is brought to his lips, and she pours the drink in slowly, brows furrowed as a bit spills in a thin stream from the corner of his mouth.
Red hair falls into Goerhim's face as his head is tilted still more. But the liquid Caelwen pours simply pools in his unresponsive mouth and dribbles out again; none of it finding its way down his throat.
Galena reaches out with a fast hand and an angry eye. "No! You mustn't do that! It wil choke the patient and could strangle him to death!" The maiden looks her friend in the eye and ceases her tirade. "I am sorry. Please, let me handle this. You have had enough to deal with today."
Caelwen snatches her hand away, and bursts into tears. She thrusts the cup at Galena, then leans over and kisses Goerhim's brow ere gingerly easing away and laying his head on the mat. She stands, weariness tracing her figure, and speaks, voice broken, "I'm sure you will care for him well," ere she flees the field hospital.
Taking the cup from the elleth's hand, Galena offers a concerned smile. "You seem very unsettled. Perhaps you should go visit my father and get some Balsalm tea." Galena then turns back to the wounded edhel and continues her song of healing as she lays the cup on the ground beside her knee. Tilting his head back just so, she begins inserting the long, hollow reed carefully.
Once the tubing is correctly inserted into Goerhim's esophagus, Galena motions to a nearby attendant. "Hold this in place while I form a funnel." Her hands work quickly as she pulls a piece of parchment from the pouch at her belt and makes it into a funnel. She gently places it into the top of the tubing and reaches for the cup. Pouring the concoction slowly, Galena monitors the patient's response.
Emerald eyes look up at the sound of harsh words, an eyebrow raised in question of the circumstance. The Healer knows, however, but her rebuke is unspoken. A sigh escapes her lips, but she continues singing, louder now and more pronounced. She gets up for another glass, and pours, at last, the second concoction, this of Boneset, into it. She carries the glass over to Elywien and bids her drink it. To this cup she had added some of the Woundwort, and so she says to the maiden, "This shall help your wounds to help with speed and in the right, and will help ease the pain you surely feel." Caristia sings, summoning Yavanna to heal this Knight, to relax her spirit, to calm her soul. She continues this song, this form of prayer, as she returns to Goerhim.Next she takes another clean linen cloth and dips it into the mixture, soaking it deep into the fibers. This she takes over to the deep wound on his leg, and wraps it around after she doubles it over. Voice sweeter than that of a songbird pleads with Yavanna, asking her to heal this wound, so that use of the leg may be restored. She also reaches deep down into Goerhim's spirit, calling him to come back, to fight for both his leg and his life. As her song slowly ebbs away, she turns to look at Galena. "Is he taking it well?"
Galena nods to the Healer. "I am pleased. I think he will survive, his fea is strong. Yet, the leg..." Her eyes stray to the mangled appendage and worry feeds itself into her visage.
Although his head is being manhandled this way and that, Goerhim still shows no sign of responding. Completely senseless, while the liquid is poured down the tube in his throat, he does seem to hear the faint sound of a melody somewhere in the blackness that surrounds him. Although his body still gives no sign of returning consciousness, in his spirit, he begins to sluggishly follow the song. His fea is almost too weary even for this small amount of effort however.
As sunlight once more touches the Field Hospital, peace returns with a vengence. Birds sing, welcoming the day, and the spirit of Caristia grows renewed and stronger. She pours the last of the water into the pot of Yarrow, making a tea of sorts. She pours it into the abandoned glass, and asks Galena to once more run it through the tube. Now that her job is done, the patients asleep or unconscious for one reason or another, she rests. All have been cared for and given the best of treatments, and both her job and that of her attendants has been relieved considerably. After a pause, she begins the process of picking up, first dousing the smoldering fire, second closing up all of her containers and bottles. She next puts the containers first into her larger basket, and then into the chest which rightfully holds them. Dumping the carry-basket to the left of the chest, Caristia makes her way back to her workplace. Carefully grasping hold of the two pots, after setting the two glasses in them respectively, she takes them over to the side, ready for cleansing before another use. Finally, she picks up the used firewood, and hurls it deep into the forest, to compost. Sending a fresh attendant that had just arrived to wash the dirtied cloths and utensils, including the spoons, she dismisses the other attendants back to their homes. Curling up on an empty mat, Caristia rests, her fea calmed, her hora tired, and her voice, resting, at last.