Hunt for the Palantíri RPG - The Barrow-Downs Discussion Forum

Lalwendë · 10-03-2004, 08:54 AM

Tarn was back at his stone hut and the fire was blazing. His damp outer clothes hung about the room, giving off steam as they dried, and a pot of stew was bubbling, ready to be served. Thynne took two wooden bowls and ladled out a serving for Tarn, who took it silently without any thanks. Beads of feverish sweat broke out on the man’s forehead. He stared into the flames as he ate, turning over the events of the previous day in his mind.

The Corsair man he had rescued had been dragged on a sled all the way back to his ship; he lived, but Tarn wanted to see if he had recovered yet. He was keen to get to the Corsair ship and learn the news but he had just woken from a much needed sleep after the hike back and he needed to eat first. Luck had been on his side after the battle, as Thynne had found not only a sled, but someone’s dropped water bottle and a spare fur. It turned out the lad had stayed with the archers and then they had directed him to search for anything of use which the elves had dropped or left behind; they could see he was not big enough for battle but that they would need supplies after the fighting was through. The water and the warmth of the extra fur had sustained Tarn during the hike home, where he could finally stop and tend to his wound.

The cut was not long, but it was deep, running laterally across his left bicep. He knew that untended, the wound could fester and sap his strength. As soon as he had got back to the hut he had boiled water while Thynne curled up in a corner and slept soundly, tired and overwrought from the battle and the march home. Before Tarn could sleep he had needed to tend to his injury. He had bathed the wound and then took some sphagnum moss and comfrey leaves and packed them around the gash in his skin, before binding it with a strip of clean woollen cloth.

He had crept into bed as a red dawn broke across the eastern sky and fallen into a deep sleep, untroubled by dreams. Now, as he ate, he remembered those he had injured and wondered if they too were sitting by warm fires or if they had succumbed to their injuries. There was no question about the elf he had felled with his harpoon. He had seen the life drain from his eyes and the blood spill from his body. He shivered a little as he thought of it, but then Thynne distracted him from his musings by opening the door and looking outside.

A cold wind blew in, making the flames in the fire shudder and Tarn winced at the icy draught as he turned his head to see what the day outside was like. Whatever the weather, and despite how he felt, he knew he could not and would not be staying in the hut today.

10-03-2004, 08:54 AM	#13
Lalwendë A Mere Boggart Join Date: Mar 2004 Location: under the bed Posts: 4,737	Tarn was back at his stone hut and the fire was blazing. His damp outer clothes hung about the room, giving off steam as they dried, and a pot of stew was bubbling, ready to be served. Thynne took two wooden bowls and ladled out a serving for Tarn, who took it silently without any thanks. Beads of feverish sweat broke out on the man’s forehead. He stared into the flames as he ate, turning over the events of the previous day in his mind. The Corsair man he had rescued had been dragged on a sled all the way back to his ship; he lived, but Tarn wanted to see if he had recovered yet. He was keen to get to the Corsair ship and learn the news but he had just woken from a much needed sleep after the hike back and he needed to eat first. Luck had been on his side after the battle, as Thynne had found not only a sled, but someone’s dropped water bottle and a spare fur. It turned out the lad had stayed with the archers and then they had directed him to search for anything of use which the elves had dropped or left behind; they could see he was not big enough for battle but that they would need supplies after the fighting was through. The water and the warmth of the extra fur had sustained Tarn during the hike home, where he could finally stop and tend to his wound. The cut was not long, but it was deep, running laterally across his left bicep. He knew that untended, the wound could fester and sap his strength. As soon as he had got back to the hut he had boiled water while Thynne curled up in a corner and slept soundly, tired and overwrought from the battle and the march home. Before Tarn could sleep he had needed to tend to his injury. He had bathed the wound and then took some sphagnum moss and comfrey leaves and packed them around the gash in his skin, before binding it with a strip of clean woollen cloth. He had crept into bed as a red dawn broke across the eastern sky and fallen into a deep sleep, untroubled by dreams. Now, as he ate, he remembered those he had injured and wondered if they too were sitting by warm fires or if they had succumbed to their injuries. There was no question about the elf he had felled with his harpoon. He had seen the life drain from his eyes and the blood spill from his body. He shivered a little as he thought of it, but then Thynne distracted him from his musings by opening the door and looking outside. A cold wind blew in, making the flames in the fire shudder and Tarn winced at the icy draught as he turned his head to see what the day outside was like. Whatever the weather, and despite how he felt, he knew he could not and would not be staying in the hut today.