Outracing the Flames RPG

[Tevildo]

Tevildo's post

Leod had been replacing bandages, stitching up cuts, and simmering herbal remedies in several small pots hanging over the firepit, when he heard Meghan calling out in a worried voice. One look at Brand told him all he needed to know. The man's face was flushed; his hair hung limp, dripping with sweat. Fever! Undoubtedly high fever. That could only mean that the wound had gone bad. There was no time to lose. For the tenth time that day, the healer silently cursed that he had let others persuade him to push his patients forward without another day of rest.

Leod had Brand remove the clothing that lay directly over the wound so they could have a better look. What he saw deeply concerned him. Red streaks radiated out from the wound. There were several deep pockets of pus.

"Alright, Brand." The healer spoke in his gentlest tone, far different than how he'd sounded on the trail earlier that day. " Your wound has flared up. We're going to have to get it cleaned and then I'll lay down a honey potion. I don't know why, but the honey seems to draw out the bad spirits and start the wound healing again. I'm afraid this may hurt a little. Just hold on and we'll be done in a minute."

First, Leod continued to talk to Brand, explaining what he was doing to him. "This will be hot, quite hot. It's water and clove oil mixed, an excellent rememdy for cleansing. Just hang on for a minute."

"Next, you'll feel some pressure. I'll be cleaning out some of the infection....nasty green and yellow stuff that will do you absolutely no good." Leod was careful to drain out all the hidden pools, soaked the wound in the clove oil mixture for some time, and finally dried it.

"One last thing," added the healer, addressing both Brand and Meghan. "This will help. The honey came from my backyard. The flowers there were amazing. It took years to figure out which ones were best to grow, but the honey the bees made from those flowers was unusually potent in the healing of wounds." With that explanation, Leod took out a bandage and placed a generous amount of honey on it before wrapping up the wound.

"Well, Master Brand, you're not going anyplace tonight. And, as for tomorrow, I am not at all sure. If necessary, I shall stay here in the woods with you and Sythric, and give you two some extra time to rest while the group goes forward. Sometimes this honey works quickly. At other times, it may take a while. But if your fever is this bad in the morning, I will personally sit on top of your chest and enlist Dorran to do the same to prevent you from going anywhere!"


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Nogrod's post

For a short while Sythric had felt somewhat energized as he had been allowed to leave that gods-forsaken sledge and stand up. Even the trouble of getting over the bog had been refreshing variation to just leaning in the sledge and getting all his parts sore and aching. Sythric would have loved to try riding after the crossing, but Leod’s gaze had been firm enough for him even to dare suggest it. And in the end, he knew that Leod was right. He wasn’t a man to ride.

Leod had stiched his wound as a first thing as they had reached the camp. Even though he was still under the spell of Leod’s painkillers, the stiching operation was extremely painful. Sythric had to bite his teeth not to yell in pain. Leod had allowed him a last sip of his wine before he started. The rest was to go on cleansing the wounds, his own to begin with. After the operation he was bandaged once again, although the bandages were the same he had before, stained with dried blood and mud. After bandaging he was hoisted to lean against a larger tree beside the fireplace so that he could follow what was going on. Fion brought him a bowl of broth and smiled encouragingly. Sythric thanked him for the broth. The smell of it made him realize his hunger. Well, this can’t be too bad, if I’m still hungry..., he thought to himself, smiling inwardly to the irony of his own thoughts against what he actually felt. Fion stood aside him as he took the first spoonful of the steaming broth. Sythric looked at him to the eyes, smiled a little and said. “Leod told you to see if I can manage this? Well, tell him that I can. You should do better by helping him with the others. I’ve been taken care of enough already for this day.”, with that he winked an eye tio Fion and nodded. Fion smiled hesitatingly, unsure of what to do, but Sythric’s nod gave him relief – and by a nod he went after Leod who was tending Vaenosa.

The easterling had been a skilled swordsman, and his blade had been truly excellent. It had cut through his leather armour like paper, breaking at least his ribs. Leod had said nothing about his organs and Sythric hadn’t wanted to ask about them. The wound started from near his armpit and went down his side almost to his waist. It was a vertical, sharp and clean cut. Like it’s been made with a carving knife! A dull orcsword would never do anything like this, no no... He suddenly remembered the last time, indeed the only time he had been really seriously injured before. It had been his second last year in the riders.

Two orcs had been coming onto him. He had parried the one to his left with his shield, intending to swing his sword against the one coming from his right. That had been a bit too ambitious move. The hit on his shield had been powerful enough to unbalance him just enough to miss his swing with the right hand. The blow to the right side of his chest had hitten him with almost full force. Had his sword not have hit the orc’s sword just ever so slightly, killing off some of its momentum, he would have been dead by that one. If that orc would have had the sword of this easterling... I wouldn’t be here to remember it.

The orcswords are mainly heavy and dull. For someone wearing any quality armour they basically produce concussion-like hits – if they come through. Sythric had broken some ribs back then too and had some internal bleeding, but his armour was not penetrated and the bleeding had ceased early enough for him to survive. After the battle he had been taken to the nearest town in a carriage with other woundeds. Then he had laid a full week in bed, not being allowed to even stand up. It had taken another week before he was given a permission to try riding.

Now it seems a bit different. This surely is worse than that one, and we dont have even a cart to carry myself and Brand. And how about Vaenosa? How is she faring? Then he heard Meghan calling for Leod in distressed voice. As he looked to the other side of the fireplace, he saw pale and sweating Brand sitting, Meghan holding him with an agonized look. Leod rushed to them and started tearing Brand’s shirt off, looking very worried indeed. Oh Brand! I hope you are not going to die! You are a good man!, for a while Sythric just stared towards the fire blank-minded. We’re not going to ride anywhere tomorrow, you and I, he kind of addressed Brand in his thoughts. But maybe some of us can, and send a cart to us then? He took another sip of the broth, deeply in his thoughts that seemed to move ever so slowly. But could we make it here until you come back, for it would take several days at best – or would you come here just to pick up our corpses...?

[Undómë]

‘No need to call Dorran, Master Leod.’ Meghan sat down cross-legged on the ground beside Brand. She leaned forward and adjusted a cool cloth the healer had placed on Brand’s head since the chill he had been experiencing now gave way to a raging fever.

If you’ll bring us some broth and tea . . . oh, with your honey in it, just a little please. I’ll see what I can get into him. Me, too if you please,’ she finished off giving him a smile.

Turning her attention back to Brand, she leaned forward resting her right elbow on her knee. Her hand cupped her chin as she rocked just a little back and forth, thinking. ‘You know, I think I only got up to my eleventh year on the farm in Bregoware . . . the last time we talked . . . remember?’ She thought she heard a groan from him, though she could not tell whether it was from pain or the anticipation of listening to the seemingly never empty treasury of stories from her childhood.

Someone had come up and set a big bowl of broth thick with some minced meat from what the others were eating. And their mugs had been filled with sweet tea. Meghan propped Brand’s head and shoulders up on a couple of rolled blankets and spooned a little of each into his mouth, ordering him to swallow. ‘Don’t make me do like I’ve done for my goats sometimes when they’re off their feed, sick with something, and getting weaker.’ She gave him another spoonful of broth. ‘I’m sure you’ve used it on your sheep,eh? Tube down the throat to the tummy . . .’

‘Good, good. I see you’re swallowing well now.’ She took a few spoonfuls of broth herself and a big gulp of the sweetened tea. After a fair period of him sipping at the tea and broth, she let him rest. ‘I’d offer you a bite of this dried meat,’ she said taking a slender piece of smoked goat from the inner pocket of her vest. ‘But it’s rock hard and I think you’d be asleep before you got it to where you could swallow it.’

Meghan wiped his face with the cloth from his forehead. He seemed to be dropping into a restful sleep. His breathing had evened out, and he did not seem quite as hot. She spooned the remainder of the broth into her own mouth, speaking low to him, in a sing-songy, remembering sort of manner between the spoonfuls.

‘When I was eleven, I helped my brother deliver our first set of twin kids. It was a mild winter; I remember that. And the first soft breath of Spring was just blowing across the new grass, just sprung up. You know, how it is, Brand. The smell of the first trees in blossom was sweet in the air . . .’

[Arry]

Brand frowned as the smell of blossoms drifted into his consciousness.

But it is nearly winter. . . I’m sure of that . . . there should be no apple blossoms, only the scent of coming cold on the wind . . .

His brow smoothed out as he recognized the source of the voice. Meghan’s voice. That’s what had prompted his recollection . . . Brand smiled and relaxed beneath his blankets.

At the edges of his hearing the sounds of the camp crept in. Leod’s voice and the shuffle of his steps as he moved carefully from wounded to wounded. In the distance came the soft voices of Dorran and Athwen. Fion’s soft laugh rang out . . . a moment of ease. A woman’s low voice asked questions of Leod . . . Vaenosa, perhaps. Someone’s boots crunched against the ground. A purposeful step. Osmod, he thought.

From a distance came the nickering of the horses. For a moment he thought he might get up and see to Lady. But the effort of getting up was too much; he settled back in. Incana would most likely be taking care of the horses. They were in good hands. Eostre, too, perhaps.

Meghan’s voice insinuated itself against the background sounds, drawing back his attention. The scent of apple blossoms blew in again on the breeze of her words.

It had been a struggle, the birth of the two kids . . . she was eleven . . . he could see her thin, sturdy little body bent carefully over the one her brother had handed her . . .

[Tevildo]

Leod plopped down on the ground and stretched out his legs on a spot not far from where Brand was sleeping. He was having trouble sleeping. The healer had been working ever since they'd arrived in camp, and every joint in his body felt as if it had been fed through a giant meat grinder. Leod softly chided himself. What kind of a healer can I be, if I can't heal myself? But even the sharp pain in his knees was preferable to the more serious problem that continued to plague his mind.

A simple healer, he reflected, could only do so much. He would not have confided to the others, but Leod was beginning to fear that he did not have the skills or potions to help Sythric and Brand pull through and regain their health. He could see that both their wounds were beginning to fester. He'd applied the honey paste to each, when he'd changed their bandages, but had not told anyone else how serious the situation was.

If the men were lucky, the wounds would clear quickly, and healing would begin. If not,..... Leod did not even want to think about the "if not", not here in the middle of the woods where no other help was forthcoming. They had come too far and survived too much to consider the alternative. With both Brand and Sythric unable to offer leadership, it was important that he keep his head clear and try to put a good face on things.

Leod glanced over at Meghan. She was still near Brand, occasionally checking on him and offering words of encouragement. Leod could not help but chuckle. "Mistress, you have a tongue on you," the older man quipped. "But you also have a way with people. You would make a good healer." This was the highest compliment that Leod could offer to any living thing. Then he nodded over towards Sythric. "I need to rest a spell. If you could stay awake, I would be much obliged. Could you keep an eye on Sythric as well as Brand? If you see any change in how they look, please wake me at once. Don't stop and ask if you should. Just do it. Don't worry. I will be up in an hour or two. I learned that knack long ago. But someone will have to sit with them meanwhile. I am afraid night often brings the worst..... "

The healer swallowed the rest of his words, afraid he had said too much, pulled up his blankets and drifted off to sleep.

[Farael]

As night fell, it was time for rest. Yet almost none of the riders could find any. Osmod had volunteered for the first watch, even though it was a watch only in name for there were many of them who were still awake. Leod had gone to get some sleep and Meghan was looking over Sythric and Brand who seemed to be injured the most. It would be something to consider the following morning, yet Osmod had other things to worry about. He had heard some of the tells Sythric and Ræwald had shared by the bonfire when they thought all of the rest were asleep and he wondered how it would be like to be a rider of The Mark. Visions of glory and fame ran through Osmod’s mind as he walked to the fire to get a cup of hot tea. He imagined himself sitting tall on his mount, his armour shining on the sun as he and his fellow riders charged against hordes of orcs –and were victorious. Absently he reached for the kettle, dreaming now about the time he would gain recognition in the field of battle and as a proof of his prowess he’d leave the head of an orc impaled on his spear as a warning to any other of those foul beasts that may follow.

Yet this orc’s head was hot. Burning hot. So hot Osmod could not help to let out a cry, as he found himself dragged back to reality and the fact that he had been holding on to the kettle, and not by the handle. Cursing at his lapse of attention he emptied half of his water-skin on his scorched fingers. For a moment he tried to act as if he was alright, yet the pain on his hand was just too much to bear. Feeling embarrassed and ashamed, he walked over to Leod who seemed to be at least partially awake and asked for a little help with his burns. He did not even hear what the healer replied, embarrassed as he was.

[Undómë]

Meghan looked up at Osmod’s cursing. She frowned, watching him pour water over his hand. ‘What on earth has he done to himself?’ she wondered as he passed by where she sat with Brand; she had missed his unfortunate encounter with the hot kettle.

Brand was asleep, his face relaxed, breathing even. She put the palm of her hand against his forehead, noting it had grown cooler. Meghan chewed at the corner of her bottom lips considering whether he would stay asleep. She glanced over at Sythric, he seemed comfortable, too, for the moment. Chancing that her charges would not do something foolish, Meghan stood up and hurried to where Osmod stood talking low to Leod.

‘Oh, Osmod! That must hurt horribly!’ she said taking his burned hand in her own. Meghan glanced up from her inspection of the blistered fingers and reddened palm to his face. In the wavering light of the fire she could see his cheeks were a little crimsoned; though it seemed not from the pain. She could see the hand did indeed hurt him but he seemed to be holding back the pain well.

‘Let me get your salves and such and your rolls of bandage, Leod,’ she went on, turning her attention to the healer. ‘And a little cool water . . . yes? . . . to clean the burn.’

‘Don’t worry, Osmod,’ she said. ‘We . . . well, that is, Leod, I mean, will soon get you fixed up.’

Meghan was glad the night hid her own reddened cheeks as she went to fetch Leod’s supplies. Don’t let Leod’s words swell your head, girl! she chided herself as she hurried along.

[Tevildo]

The young man lowered his lanky frame to the ground, offering his injured hand to the healer. Seeing the sheepish look that was spreading quickly over Osmod's face, Leod said nothing more that might increase the lad's embarassment, but merely nodded gruffly to Meghan to run and fetch his supplies.

Leod carefully inspected Osmod's fingers and palm, and then told the young man to sit for some time with his hand in a pot of cold water, explaining that it would take away some of the sting. After that, Leod called Osmod back again and put on some salve and a bandage, adding a word of explanation. "By the morning you should be feeling much better. It's not a bad burn. You should be left with a blister or two but hopefully nothing more than that. Best thing you can do now is sleep. I'll take a look at the dressing in the morning. Still, you might want to be careful not to reinjure it. Hold your reins in your other hand when you ride tomorrow and, a day or two from now, you'll probably forget this ever happened."

As Osmod headed off in the direction of his bedroll, Leod spoke to Meghan. "This doesn't look to be a night when I'm meant to get much sleep. Of course, you're welcome to help out if you want but you might want to think about getting some sleep yourself in an hour or so. I am going off on my own, not far from camp, to find some herbs that I badly need but I expect to be back very shortly to relieve you. Still, until I return, I would appreciate if you would tend to the injured. I don't like leaving camp at a time like this, but unfortunately I have no choice. And you do seem to have a way with tending to the sick." With that Leod stood up to gather his things, being careful to take along a stave and knife in case he ran into something unexpected, however unlikely that might me. He also carried a small lighted torch so that he could see the pathway more clearly.

Back home in his village, Leod often made a practice of going out after dark to gather herbs that he needed. There were certain types of plants that were actually easier to find by night than day, especially various lichens growing on rotted wood that were reputed to be excellent in dressing wounds. During the day, these humble grey plants would melt into their surroundings but at night some would give off an eerie luminescence. Perhaps it wasn't the wisest thing to be going out on his own, but Leod desperately needed more medications to help care for Brand and Sythric. The woods seemed quiet. He did not want to rob sleep from anyone else by insisting that they go with him. Everyone was too tired, and several were injured. He was the healer, and it was his responsibility to have the herbs and potions that would give both Sythric and Brand the best chance of staying alive. With that thought uppermost in his mind, Leod grabbed a sack, threw on his cloak, and with the briefest nod to Meghan strode out of camp. No one followed him and in a short time he had cut across the country, going far off the path, in search of the precious lichens.

[Arry]

Brand wakened briefly to see Leod bandaging someone’s hand. Osmod! Had there been another skirmish? No . . . some other mishap had happened. His gaze traveled round the little camp. All seemed peaceful enough. A number of the group were settled in around the fire, talking quietly; some were getting their own bedrolls put out for the night.

Meghan it appeared had finished checking on Vaenosa and was just now adjusting the blankets on Sythric. He saw her glance toward Osmod and then away. Brand raised himself on one elbow watching as she retrieved her blankets and looked about for somewhere to lay them out. She looked tired.

A twinge of guilt poked him. She had had little sleep the previous night from her watch on him. And she would be just as watchful tonight if he gave her reason to. He settled down again beneath his blankets and closed his eyes, smoothing out his face and breathing slowly as if resting peacefully.

He saw her settling in, less than an arm’s reach from where he lay. Brand smiled as she turned on her side and pulled the covers about her. He intended she sleep well this night, at least on his account. He would give her no trouble.

His fever still coursed through him, he could feel the heat of it filling the small spaces between his body and his own blanket. And the small movement he had made just to look about made his shoulder feel as if red hot pokers were being plunged though the flesh and bone. He clenched his jaw stifling a gasp as he tried to settle into a position of comfort. And such a position seemed very hard to find.

’Twill be a long night, boyo . . . he rasped to himself, pressing his right hand against the bandage on his left shoulder. Put your thoughts elsewhere than this infernal pain . . . remember one of the old tales great-granda used to tell you . . . the one about the Elves . . . and how they looked, so tall and shining upon their silver dappled horses . . . grey eyes glinting from their fair faces in the moonlight . . .