[Nogrod]

Tevildo's post


Immediately after eating, Dorran had pulled out his bedroll and gone off to the far side of camp to try and get a few hours of sleep as the healer had suggested. He had expected to lie on the ground with eyes wide open as disturbing images from the day's events flitted through his mind. What actually happened was different. One moment the young man was lying quietly and watching the others from a distance, some of whom were talking, others eating, while still others rested or slept. The next moment he was sound asleep, remembering and seeing nothing till several hours later when he was woken by Leod.

Dorran went over and sat down next to Sythric just as the healer had suggested. He bathed the injured man's head with a cool rag and kept a close eye on his chest and face to make sure he was breathing normally. Leod had said that Sythric might begin to come to and that Dorran should feed him a special potion if that happened. But so far there were no signs of that.

Dorran was so occupied with his duties that he thankfully forgot to think about the earlier battle or even his own killing of the Easterling. Sythric had been sleeping comfortably for some time when Dorran noticed that the wounded man was beginning to show some signs of movement. His eyelids were still closed, but his hands and legs changed position, and he even tried to roll over once. Surely this must be what Leod had expected, Dorran mused happily, thinking that Sythric would soon recover. The young man ran over to the coals and looked at the pot brewing there. The medicine seemed a bit thick to drink so Dorran added some water to it and then poured some into a flagon.

Dorran bent over to smell the concoction, and a sharp fishy odor assailed his nose. Curious to see what the brew tasted like, he popped a finger inside the flagon and then brought it to his lips to lick. That was his first mistake. The stuff tasted utterly awful. Ugh! He was glad he did not have to drink that horrible liquid. He felt a little guilty trying to feed it to Sythric, but if this was what was needed for him to get well, the poor patient would just have to suffer! After all, Leod was a healer and he must know what he was doing.

He tried to pour the potion carefully to Sythric's mouth. At that instant, Sythric's eyes opened, he gave a deep groan, and struggled to try and sit up. Dorran reached over and mumbled, "You'll have to drink this. Leod says so if you want to get well".
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Nogrod's post


Sythric came out from the void gradually, passing from nowhere to a light sleep. There were vivid images in his mind now. He was wrestling on the ground with an orc on top of him. This was years and years ago, but still more clear as the present. He had his knife in his right hand, trying to make for the throat of the orc – but his hand was firmly gripped from the wrist by the orc. His left hand had the same grip over the orc’s other hand – armed with a dagger, trying to make it’s way to his throat as well. That match of wills and brutal power seemed to go on forever. He sensed the terrible smell of the panting breath just to his nose. The orc was sweating those stinking drops that were raining down all over his face. It was the foulest smell he had ever encountered.

Eventually he had managed to kick the orc off-balance – forcing it to make a balancing move- and freeing his right hand. He had stabbed the orc to its chest, simultaneously pulling the blade upwards backhanded. The orc had let a dull howl, and he felt the thick and warm orc-blood spraying all over his face, some of it entering his wide open mouth.

He spitted the thick and warm liquid out from his mouth, all his muscles tense, as he dashed to a sitting position, ready to fight for his life. At the moment, he felt the agonizing pain in his left side. Then came the soothing voice of Dorran – a bit shaken voice it was, as he had suddenly acted so violently – but it was familiar enough to make Sythric calm down. "You'll have to drink this. Leod says so if you want to get well,". Pictures of the evening rushed through his mind now: the rain of arrows, the easterling chieftain hitting him, Vaenosa being run after by an easterling, Dorran and Meghan clinging to each other in front of the easterling lord... He was coming back to the world here and now.

He drank Leod’s potion – as foul as it tasted – but then again, few really efficient medicines tasted good. Dorran had took hold of his shoulder, assisting him with the flagon with his other hand. He took Dorran by the shoulder with his right hand, and quietly managed to ask, what had happen. Dorran told him his version of the battle, and Sythric listened to it passively, having no energy to actively to engage in the discussion – or being able to understand more than half of it. But then one thing sprang to his mind. Raedwald was dead! He started crying violently – increasing the pain on his side. Dorran tried to calm him, but it was of no avail. Sythric bursted to tears and was shaking all over. Finally he managed to balance himself to quietly whisper to Dorran: “Raedwald... We must bury him... With all the honours we can give him.” Dorran took a firm hold of Sythric, taking him in his arms, and letting the man cry to his shoulder.

Finally Sythric calmed down a bit, and asked, whether Leod had came up with some even fouler potions for him to drink. As Dorran denied it, he smiled weakly. “All that doesn’t kill you, makes you stronger. Believe me with this. I don’t know what happened up on the hilltop before I arrived – or sometimes after that – but when I had a grasp of the situation, I could see, that you had been brave and courageous! You should be proud of yourself, Dorran. You are a good man: seeing an easterling soldier – or lord – the first time, is frightful, but you had heart enough to fight!”

Sythric was slowly leaning backwards to his resting position. “You’re a good lad, Dorran – a good man you are...”, he said, and then falled back to the bliss of the unconscious.