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Envinyatar · 11-26-2005, 03:56 AM

Orëmir, help me!

Lindir was slipping away. No, not slipping . . . it was as if he were being tugged through the slim door between life and death. Ordinarily, Orëmir would have slid gently into the Elf’s mind and eased his worried thoughts, giving what support he could to help the dying Elf accept the inevitable reality. This time though, he shouted NO! as strongly as his mind and spirit could muster.

Physically, Lindir should not be passing on. He’d been injured, but not critically. Given time and rest his body should mend. The descent into death was not inevitable from physical causes. And yet, the stricken Elf’s mind had gone black and there had been the panicked image of the long dark tunnel preceding it.

Orëmir drew his pack nearer and fetched out his wooden medicine box. In his long years as a healer, there was one preparation he had used very infrequently, fewer times than the fingers on one hand. It was a Southron healer, in fact, that had acquainted him with its use – mainly for bringing round those who had been tortured in body and mind so that they might face another round of questioning. Orëmir had found its properties somewhat useful in reviving stricken Elves and men when it was necessary that they be awake, alert, and able to move themselves for a short period of time, especially in order to remove them from a dangerous situation.

The decoction, though, had its drawbacks. While it invigorated the mind and body, giving the person some semblance of normality, it could not be predicted how long the effects would last. And two of his patients had been driven even deeper into collapse when the effects had worn off. Several of those he’d used it on had given no warning that the decoction was wearing off; they had simply dropped to the ground – and one of them had died. Another, though, had done well enough on it that he had been able to take a series of three doses before he had collapsed completely.

There was no way to know how Lindir might fare. And no other alternative. Should he hesitate, Lindir would be gone forever. Orëmir pulled off the stopper to the narrow-necked bottle and pulling down Lindir’s lower lip, he let fall a single, small drop of the grey, oily liquid between the Elf’s cheek and gum.

Now came the waiting . . . and hope that he had not done in his friend for good . . .

11-26-2005, 03:56 AM	#158
Envinyatar Quill Revenant Join Date: Jan 2003 Location: Wandering through the Downs..... Posts: 849	Orëmir, help me! Lindir was slipping away. No, not slipping . . . it was as if he were being tugged through the slim door between life and death. Ordinarily, Orëmir would have slid gently into the Elf’s mind and eased his worried thoughts, giving what support he could to help the dying Elf accept the inevitable reality. This time though, he shouted NO! as strongly as his mind and spirit could muster. Physically, Lindir should not be passing on. He’d been injured, but not critically. Given time and rest his body should mend. The descent into death was not inevitable from physical causes. And yet, the stricken Elf’s mind had gone black and there had been the panicked image of the long dark tunnel preceding it. Orëmir drew his pack nearer and fetched out his wooden medicine box. In his long years as a healer, there was one preparation he had used very infrequently, fewer times than the fingers on one hand. It was a Southron healer, in fact, that had acquainted him with its use – mainly for bringing round those who had been tortured in body and mind so that they might face another round of questioning. Orëmir had found its properties somewhat useful in reviving stricken Elves and men when it was necessary that they be awake, alert, and able to move themselves for a short period of time, especially in order to remove them from a dangerous situation. The decoction, though, had its drawbacks. While it invigorated the mind and body, giving the person some semblance of normality, it could not be predicted how long the effects would last. And two of his patients had been driven even deeper into collapse when the effects had worn off. Several of those he’d used it on had given no warning that the decoction was wearing off; they had simply dropped to the ground – and one of them had died. Another, though, had done well enough on it that he had been able to take a series of three doses before he had collapsed completely. There was no way to know how Lindir might fare. And no other alternative. Should he hesitate, Lindir would be gone forever. Orëmir pulled off the stopper to the narrow-necked bottle and pulling down Lindir’s lower lip, he let fall a single, small drop of the grey, oily liquid between the Elf’s cheek and gum. Now came the waiting . . . and hope that he had not done in his friend for good . . .