Outracing the Flames RPG

[Undómë]

‘Begging your pardon, ma’am.’ Meghan stepped quietly up near to Nevtaliel’s side. She spoke in a low voice, not wanting to interrupt the talk between Haekánoion and Osmod. She reached out a hand as if to pluck at the Elven lady’s sleeve, then thought better of it. She did not wish to offend by placing her rough skinned, dirt-stained hand on the Elf-fabric.

‘My . . . friend . . . is very ill. Will you come see him first?’ Meghan motioned to where Brand lay. ‘He has a wound in his left shoulder, a deep wound from an Easterling’s blade. Leod has done as best he might with it. But still it festers and he’s run high fevers.’ She swallowed her fright that he might die, trying to give the Elvish healer a picture of how he had been and how he was now. ‘But he’s gone all cold now. And barely breathing. And where he used to open his eyes at times, now they are closed mostly.’ Her voice broke a little as she went on. ‘Sometimes they do flutter open . . . but it’s as if he stares far off to someplace I can’t see . . . someplace where I no longer am.’

‘Please . . . come see to him.’ Her hand reached out and briefly touched the Elvish woman’s arm.

‘Shall I fetch you something . . . warm water, clean rags? Whatever you might need, I can get them for you . . .’

[Child of the 7th Age]

Nevtaliel looked gently at Undómë and smiled, "I will be glad to do what I can. I am no worker of magic, but perhaps I can do something to help." The Elf could not help but notice the dark rings under the woman's eyes and the strained look on her face. She obviously cared deeply for the young man whose wounds she had tended, who now lay silent and huddled on the ground.

Kneeling down beside the injured man, the Elf glanced over at the woman, "There is something you may do for me, but first you must tell me your name and the name of the young man who lies before me."

Upon hearing the response, she handed the girl a small packet of herbs, "Meghan, be very careful with this. I have but six leaves and all are precious, since this herb does not grow in these parts. It comes from Gondor and places even further distant. Since your healer now sits with the others who are injured and tends their wounds, you will need to help me with Brand and the other man who is most seriously injured."

She then went on to explain, "You must place one leaf in a small pot over the fire, grind it into tiny pieces, and stir the pieces into the water. Heat the mixture until the brew is steaming. Then, bring the pot back to me and do the same with a second leaf. I think I will need at least two for Brand, and two for your other friend so you must make four pots in all. And while you are working with the herbs, send someone else back with a bowl of warm water and clean rags. The others in camp will not need such strong remedies. We will wait till later to tend to their wounds."

"Go now, while I remove Brand's bandage and have a closer look at the wound. Hurry back as quickly as you can. I fear there is little time."

[Tevildo]

Dorran

Dorran was about to join the younger Elves and a few of his own companions who were constructing a cairn for Vaenosa's body. But just as he was prepared to leave camp with the others to search for large stones, he ran into Meghan who whispered a request in his ear. Dorran ran to fetch a bowl of hot water and and secure a number of clean rags and bandages from Leod's satchel. Then he hurried back to where the Elvish healer knelt beside Brand's body, offering her the water and the cloths.

"Ma'm, begging your pardon, but I hope you will try and do what you can. He is a good and decent man. He's really been the heart of our group, and there's no way we would have made it this far without Brand." He looked curiously over at Nevtaliel and gathering all his courage asked, "Do you think that you will be able to save him?"

[Undómë]

Meghan was careful to follow the Elven woman’s instructions about the leaves. As she stirred each one carefully into their own little pots of water, she sniffed at the fingers with which she’d crushed them. There was a sharp, clean smell that lingered on her fingertips . . . a deep smell, redolent of the sort one gets when a storm is about to break over the fields and the air is heavy, pregnant with the scent of promised rain. The aroma lifted her spirit a little, giving her some small measure of hope.

She left two of the pots of leaf-brew near the fire to keep warm, instructing Incana not to let anyone touch them until the Elven healer called for them. The other two she hurried back with to Nevtaliel, careful not to spill a single precious drop.

As she neared where the Elven woman knelt down by Brand, she heard Dorran’s question. ‘Do you think that you will be able to save him?’ Meghan’s breath caught in her chest as she stopped short, fearing what the healer might say in response.

[Child of the 7th Age]

Nevtaliel smiled at Dorran, now kneeling beside her, and gazed pointedly over his shoulder at Meghan, who had approached bearing pots in her hands. With a sigh the Elf conceded, "I hope it may be so, but I can not promise. We must first bathe Brand's wound in this mixture and then place the second pot close by that he may smell its goodness. Sometimes, the sweetness of the herb works immediately, and a patient will wake up, almost as though cured of the illness or wound. Other times, signs of healing come very slowly after many hours. And sometimes, I am afraid, the injury or sickness has spread too far and, no matter what we do, there is no healing, not even with the kingsfoil, at least not within the bounds of Arda."

"But do not show me such long, worried faces. These will not help your friend. This herb and my own skill are important, but they can not do the job alone. Your faith and belief in Brand are just as important. There is much in the hearts of Elves and Men we do not understand. Perhaps even as your friend lies stricken, seemingly asleep, waging a battle against the dark shadows, he can sense your support and love, and it encourages him to fight on. My people call this estel. All other hope fades away; you stand on the edge of a great chasm with no other place to turn. It seems nothing in Arda can help, yet you refuse to give in. This is the kind of hope you must nurture in your heart."

With those words, Nevtaliel turned away for a minute. Looking out into the night, she whispered a soft plea to Estë, the healer of the Valar who dresses in grey, to bring peace to the wounded and afflicted, and all those who walked within this camp. Then the Elf bathed and dressed Brand's wounds and placed the pot of sweet-smelling herbs close by that he might draw in their goodness. Finishing with her job, she stood up and instructed Meghan to keep watch over Brand, while she went over to help Leod with Sythric.

[Arry]

For what seemed an endless space of time Brand followed after Vaenosa. Her footsteps faded beneath the long rows of leafless trees; her figure disappeared in the interwoven shadows of the branches. Someone had called to him, touched his arm as if to make him turn. He had pulled away. And when he looked back there was no one to be seen.

It was the breezes in this dark land that made him pause. They bore on their airs an enticing scent. A clean, sweet scent that made him turn, reminding him of all that was good and bright in his life; all that was graceful.

A face from the old stories his great-grandfather told loomed over him. She was tall and beautiful in form. The day’s light backlit her fair features, throwing them into soft shadows, and he could feel her hands working at his wound. Gently, firmly.

He could hear her soft-spoken words as she gave instruction to others, too, who were at his side. He thought to turn, to look at them, but the Elven woman’s presence caught and held his full attention.

Then she stood up, and just as quickly as she had come, slipped away from him. The scent she’d brought lingered about him, undiminished. Someone else slipped down beside him; other hands adjusted his covers. A familiar touch stroked the side of his face as another’s words slid into his thoughts.

‘Brand!’ he heard his name called.

His throat was quite parched and it was with some difficulty he rasped out a few words. ‘I’m here. I’m here. Just let me sleep for a while . . .’

[Tevildo]

Leod leapt up and hurried towards the Elven healer, lowering his voice to speak privately with her. "Thank goodness you are here, Nevtaliel. I am at my wits end with Sythric. At least with Brand, I understood what ailed him, even though my herbs were powerless to heal his wounds."

"For the most part, it appears that Sythric's wound is healing. Only there is still one area of redness. Let me show you. But, in truth, it is not the wound that worries me the most. Sythric has been slipping in and out of conciousness for the past two days. I have heard him mutter to himself as if wrestling with a great demon in dreams. Yet I do not understand why this should be so, since his fever is not high."

He led Nevtaliel over to where Sythric was still on his knees, leaning against a great stone and embracing it with his hands. Sythric's cheek was pressed against its jagged surface. He was breathing heavily but slowly. There was a fresh blood stain on his jerkin, although only a spot or two. What was more upsetting was that Sythric's eyes were wide open, yet he seemed oblivious to all that was going on about him.

"I don't understand," mumbled Leod. "He is conscious and awake, yet it is as if something tugs at his mind and pulls him down into dark shadows. He stares out at the camp but sees none of us. Still, in another minute or two, he will pull himself out of this state and begin to talk and act much more normally, though very tired and in considerable pain."

"I have never seen a man act like this. Can you tell me what is wrong?"