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Limp on Back Home

Tags: Cecilia,  Mobeorn,  Thulion,  Gildor

Short Summary: Cecilia and Mobeorn of Beorning limp back off the High Pass with the help of the elf Gildor and a stranger named "Lee" (Thulion)
Date (real-life): 2008-10-25
Scene Location: Beorning-High Pass
Time of Day: Sunset
High Pass, Western Face
The path here twists and turns about a dangerous drop. Clouds of mist loom both above and below. The footing on this cold and muddy ascent is tricky at best. The pathway leading down forks to the north into a small canyon, while it also continues westward. Above you to the east, the worst of the climb remains.
The night sky still dumps copious amounts of rain down, forming small creeks on the trail. The twilight spring air is humid and clammy.

The rain has ceased, but in its place the clouds themselves seem to have fallen upon the mountains, enveloping them in dense mists which drift, swirling slowly about the rocks in this high place. The day has been a monotony of grey mist and grey stone, the sun's progress unmarked away in the clear heavens, but now at last the light seems to be fading, and mists close in upon a little halo of golden light, a lone beacon of warmth tucked against the cliff face. A little fire has been set, only just beginning to take to the damp kindling.
Coming up the trail, a figure congeals out of the fog: a tall man, his hood cast back to reveal raven hair and keen grey eyes. Under his arm are tucked several more logs of wood. He bears these to the fireside, stooping down to lay them out, that the warmth of the blaze might dry them.

[<#23897>] Cecilia isn't looking too well. She's pale, and if she wasn't still breathing might appear to be dead for the blank expression on her unconscious face. Yet, the Beorning are a hale and hardy folk. She has several cuts from the goblin's scimitar where it found it's way through her Woodman armor; Her upper arm, her shoulder, her chest is the deepest wound. She also has a cut on her temple, and another on the back of her head where it slammed into the rock face, her strawberry blond hair soaked and matted with blood. Oh, and the arrow wound on her thigh, another small injury.

Not far from Cecilia sits Mobeorn, back in the form of a man. A jagged cut now runs across his bottom lip and up along his cheek, and the man is sitting with one knee wrapped in bandages. He has sat by this fire for most of the day, saying nothing at all, though often his gaze has gone to Cecilia in concern. Of the bear that fought the previous night, there is no sign.

Gildor moves back towards the group. The tall figure has only now removed his hood allowing the form of an elf to be seen blond haired and regal he is a gem upon his brow attached to a silver band. He makes his way towards the injured one carefully he head lowered as he moves beside the other tall man keeping vigil.

[<#23897>] Cecilia stirs finally, pushing to sit up even as she opens her eyes, a look of almost panic on her face. " Mobeorn! There's a-" She begins to say in a rush, blinking to clear her vision. Then the healer groans and slumps over again, hugging her arms against her chest, obviously in pain.

A little warily does Thulion's glance stray to the Beorning man, yet when he speaks, his voice is kind. "How fare you? And--" Just then the woman stirrs, and the Ranger's eyes fall upon her, his brows furrowing a little as she speaks. "Be at ease, miss," he says quietly. "We are safe for the moment, and are making our way to your homelands. My friend went in search of some food for us; he should return soon. Until then, it would be best if you might rest."

The Beorning man shifts, face blanching at the pain that moving his leg causes him, but he says nothing, just furrows his brows. " There's what?" he says, trying to prompt Cecilia to finish whatever it is she had started to say to him. 'We should move faster,' he then says, looking Thulion up and down. 'We are vulnerable to attack here, and Cecilia....' Well, Mobeorn doesn't finish that thought, but his face clouds. Again he looks at Thulion, suspicion growing in his eyes. 'Who are you and what brings you to our lands?'

[Gildor(#30044)] The heru turns as the lady awakens. He gives what can only be said to be a smile looking her over a quick moment. Gildor speaks in a reassuring voice accented westron. "Yes we will make it to your lands soon you will be fine and safe." the tall noldo stops here looking as another speaks searching over him curiously.

[<#23897>] The healer curls up into a ball under the cloak, speaking in a soft, wavering voice, " My head.. my head hurts.. Mobeorn, we have to go back home, get my father or my brother." Cecilia speaks with pain in her voice, sounding on the edge of breaking into tears, and she squeezes her eyes closed.

The Ranger's eyes flick back to the Beorning man, and he holds his gaze in silence for a long moment before inclining his head to Cecillia. "I wish only to see that the young woman here, and yourself, are brought home without taking further injury."

Breaking his gaze from Mobeorn, he sniffs softly, looking up and around, but the fog does not reveal much of the landscape. "Vulnerable, perhaps, but to move much more quickly along this pass would be taxing indeed upon her," His gaze drops again to the pained woman, sympathy in his grey eyes, and shaking his head, he glances towards the Elf, then back to Mobeorn. "A guard we shall set for the night, at least. There is not much else which can be done, at the moment. As for who I am, some call me Lee."

'Shh, lass,' Mobeorn says, speaking to Cecilia in Eothrik. 'We'll get you to them soon enough, but you have to bear up until them. Wouldn't want you not upholding the fine reputation Beorning women have as fighters now, would we?' He smiles a little, not unsympathetic, but certianly more used to fighting and pain and injuries.

To Thulion, the shapechanger nods, speaking Westron. 'Lee. Aye.' His voice is flat and he doesn't take his eyes off THulion for a moment, except to glance quickly to Gildor and then continue speaking to the elf while he looks at Thulion. " This one fought well," he nods with his head toward Thulion. " Yet he gives me only a short name, and tells me not who his father is or where he is from. Do you know of him? Is he trustworthy? Of late, many men have crossed our borders, not all of them to be trusted--some even posing as to fight with us, only to turn out to be dark of heart." A low growl forms in his voice as he speaks.

[<#23897>] Cecilia isn't terribly considerate of speaking Westron around foreigners under normal circumstances and at the moment the healer seems even less inclined. " The goblin.. he cut me.. I'm not a warrior.. not like my brothers. Where is my bag? My head.. I need my bag." She's rambling a bit, but pushes the cloak back and tries to sit up again, her gray eyes searching around. One arm is still held against her chest, and a couple of tears roll down her cheeks.

[<#30044>] The tall golden haired elf looks to the large man and than pans over to the other. Gildor speaks in the elven tongue this time far more normal sounding. " I do not, I haven't met him before but thus far he has fought along side us." the heru shrugs his focus is on the one they speak of as if scanning him with eyes bright of there own accord. He doesnt understand the language of the relm but steps over to the injured kneeling. 'Rest well the watchers of the sky and of the earth watch over you.'

The Ranger arches a brow slightly, glancing between the Firstborn and Mobeorn as the elvish tongue passes between them, watching their expressions, certainly noting that the Beorning man does not take his eyes off of him. Thulion offers a grave nod to the man. "You seem not to trust me, and that is wise for those who journey the wilds. I know, too," Here, he shakes his head, giving a soft, queer laugh. "That I do not present the most trustworthy of appearances." Pausing, a silent breath misting on the chill air, his expression becoming solemn once again, and he meets Mobeorn's gaze. "But I am friend to you, and those of your lands, and foe only of orc and goblin and their foul ilk. I shall help you as I may, and ask for naught in return."

Still studying Thulion, the shapechanger nods slowly to the elf's answer. " I thank you for your honesty on that." 'Aye,' Mobeorn then continues to Thulion, 'trust must be earned here, but more so by one who is not known and does not give name or heritage. Still....you did fight valiantly, and that will count for something. Despite....' His eyes flick to Cecilia, meaning unstated.

With deepening concern, Mobeorn replies to the woman, in Westron. 'Just...try to be quiet...We'll find your bag...it's somewhere, but you have to rest,' he continues. A glance is given to the other two and he drops his voice to a whisper. 'Don't know where her bag is. If it's back up the mountain, then there it will have to stay for now. I'm in no shape to retrieve it, and none of us should make that journey alone at this point.'

Cecilia draws little comfort from Mobeorn's response, a crestfallen look on her face. "My herbs.." She responds weakly, her hand moving to touch her head where a bandage was wrapped. "Who?.." She sits up more fully, wincing and looking down. For the first time the healer notes the other injuries more fully. "Who did this? Mobeorn.. I need the herbs. Please.. My head is aching. Please get my bag?" Her voice takes on a pleading note as she looks to the Beorning man.

"There is no excuse for that," Thulion sighs heavily at the Beorning's unsaid meaning, looking apologetically towards the young woman. "I judged my skill wrongly, and she took hurt because of it. I am sorry," he says earnestly towards Cecillia, "It shall not happen again." Rising then, he steps around the fire, closer to the cliff-face where the stones are.. well, not dry, but merely damp, instead of fully wet. "Your bag is here," he lifts the woman's bag from amid a small pile of packs, and turning, comes beside her, kneeling down and offering it to her. "We are no healers, my friend and I, but we did what we might to stop the bleeding." He offers her a slightly sheepish smile. "It was not a skill that came easy to me, so I learned little of it. But if there is aught that I might do to help you now, you have but to ask."

"Ah.." Mobeorn's sigh of relief is loud, and some of the suspicion in his eyes eases. "Thank you," he directs his words to Thulion. "We'd never hear the end of it if you hadn't think to bring that." Another grimace from the man as he tries to shift his leg again. "You know..." he studies Thulion..."You ought to take up the harp. Don't you think so, Cecilia?"

Cecilia looks relieved when Thulion pulls out the satchel, a cloth bag with intricate embroidery on it. She opens it, still wincing as her head throbs. "Water.. please." The healer's hands work in a fumbling fashion, having a hard time concentrating as she pulls out several rolls of clean bandages, setting them aside and digging deeper through the bag. "Harp? Like Harper.. Lith.. He was so nice." She says, momentarily distracted as she glances over at Mobeorn with a smile.

"The harp?" Thulion gives a soft, amused snort, and glances down at his calloused hands. His gaze, however, flickers up again at 'Lith', glancing off the Elf questioningly, though he looks away quickly, standing and walking back to the pile of packs. "I am not certain that would suit me, either. The difficulty in keeping it in tune, for one thing, while travelling in all manner of weather." Stooping, he fishes around for a while, then returns with a water-skin to kneel at Cecillia's side, offering it to her. "You... ah... have a friend who does play one, then?" He looks between both man and woman, the question directed at neither in particular.

"Like Harper, yes," Mobeoron nods. "Friend of ours who traveled with a harp. Played in pubs for a living. When last we saw him, he was at Hir Elro....Oh!" Mobeorn's words are interrupted by a half cry, half growl as Thulion pulls out a waterskin. "Not that!" he hisses, looking at the skin as if it is filth. "She must have a water bag somewhere...." The shapechanger frowns, searching around but not finding what he seeks.

Cecilia has looked down again, searching through the bag with one hand while the other is pressed to her head. She stops after a moment, making a whimpering sound as she closes her eyes again. Mobeorn's sudden cry jerks her head up and her gray eyes look horrified at what Thulion almost offered. She shrinks back from the ranger, hugging her arms to her chest again. "Not that.." She whispers in echo of Mobeorn, disgust in her voice.

At Mobeorn's outburst, Thulion looks suddenly down at his hand, as though expecting to find something /other/ than a perfectly innocent water-skin there. "This..? What--" He blinks, his brows crease, but though clearly confused, the offense this object causes is certainly not lost on him. He turns swiftly back around, putting it away out of sight amid the packs. "If it was with her things, it should be--," he murmurs, resuming his rummaging. "Ah," Pushing aside a rolled up cloak, there is a fine water bag, blessedly devoid of anything even resembling leather. "Forgive me," he says as he returns, yet again, to Cecillia. "I... did not know that... well, that it offended you so." Still, he blinks curiously between them.

"That'll do," Mobeorn rumbles as the ranger finds Cecilia's waterskin. "You've not been to Beorning before, have you? Or met the Laird--Grimbeorn?" he asks the man, peering closely at him, as if there is something more to his question.

Cecilia relaxes when Thulion takes away the offending object, and pulls out what looks like a bundle wrapped in wide flat leaves. Slowly she unwinds them, still seeming to have a hard time at things and frequently pausing. It turns out to be a smaller cloth bag, and inside are lots of little drawstring pouches of herbs, all embroidered and different colors. She finds the one she wants and looks up when Thulion offers the less blasphemous water. "Thank you.." Her words are strained, and her gaze doesn't linger on him.

Clumsily she works open the pouch and plucks out some kind of dried leaf. She puts it in her mouth and then drinks some water, wrinkling her nose at the taste but chewing it up and swallowing. Then she pulls out another of the leaves. "For Mobeorn.." It's held out to Thulion.

"Nay, I have not," answers Thulion to with a glance towards Mobeorn, taking the leaf carefully in the palm of his hand and reaching for the water bag. Rising, he bears these to the Beorning man. "My travels have kept me mostly well to the West of here, though I have come so far as the Misty Mountains from time to time, when need required it." Offering these to the man, the Ranger once more meets the Beorning's eye, his brow furrowing a little, but he does not retreat from the intensity of that stare. "I will abide by your ways, though, as best as I am able while in your lands. If it is custom to meet the Laird before travelling freely there, then gladly shall I do so."

Mobeorn eyes the leaf dubiously, sniffing at it before he puts it in his mouth and starts chewing. "If you stay in these lands, it is only with the Laird's leave, whether or not he meets you. Though many travelers also pass our way, as well, but mostly dwarves and elves. Few, if any men, make the trip these days, and fewer still with no purpose to their journeys." Again he eyes Thulion with suspicion. "What is it that brings you here? And what land do you call your home?"

[Cecilia(#23897)] Cecilia scoops her herbs back into the bag, then lays down, half of the supplies still spread around her but her face is drawn in pain again. She closes her eyes, waiting for the throbbing to ease with a pinched expression. "I need my father.." She murmurs, tone pleading again.

"All the wide lands to the west have been my home," answers the Ranger, stepping away and easing to a seat upon the ground, stretching out his legs, tugging his cloak about himself. He leans forward, and sets another log upon the crackling blaze, even as the night deepens about them. "Some foolhardy folk were headed for this pass, and so I journeyed with them, offering what protection my blade might afford. The foul creatures which haunt these passes heard of their coming, too, it would seem." For a moment, Thulion's gaze flickers with firelight, then he sighs, and looking towards Mobeorn, dips his head solemnly. "I would seek his leave, then, for I wish to cause no trouble in your lands."

"They're troublemakers and fools and had no right to come to the pass and set up their operations here," Mobeorn snarls, his temper flaring suddenly. "Setting up mining here...of the all the idiotic things to do. Not paying a toll for corssing the pass, not so much as asking the leave of the Laird. Stirring up trouble with the orcs that our folk had to pay for. If I see any of them around here again...." He doesn't finish that thought, but his voice is becoming more and more rough, the words harder to understand and there is something suddenly feral to his tone.

Cecilia lays quietly, her eyes still closed. After a time it may become obvious that the healer has fallen asleep again. One arm is still wrapped around her chest, but whatever the herb was that she took it has given her a more relaxed expression, at the very least, the pain numbed.

"Idiotic fools, yes," agrees the Ranger wearily, his brow furrowing a hair as Mobeorn's temper rises, some concern in his glance as it flicks over the Beorning man. "But people nonetheless." He insists quietly, then looks back to the fire with a heavy sigh. "I daresay most... who lived, at any rate... have learned their lesson well."

"They're not your kin?" Mobeorn asks, giving the ranger a hard look--that dangerous rumble still in the Beorning's voice. "And aye, people they still are, but some have darkness in their hearts. As for these lands, my home...I will bring you to the Laird..." But then the shapechanger sighs, anger leaving his tone, replaced by frustration. "Or more likely, you can help me limp there, it might seem."

"Nay, not my kin," answers Thulion promptly with a shake of his head, gaze flickering to meet the Beorning's hard stare briefly, before returning to the fire. "Yet I would not cost those good and whole of heart in allowing those... less so.. to lead them into danger unprotected." The light is truly gone now, the blackness closing in about them. Looking up, the Ranger heaves a sigh, then climbs to his feet. "Take some rest now," he says with a smile to the Beorning. "I shall keep watch."

The man's words might seem to confuse Mobeorn for a moment, for his head tilts and he blinks more than once, then shakes his head. "Noone is ever unprotected on this pass, sir. Though many of my kind and our people give their lives to keep it open against the enemy." He gives the man another look, squinting for a moment, then nods. "All right. I'm hoping my knee heals soon enough." With that, Mobeorn lies back against a rock nearby and looks into the fire, thinking a long while before he falls asleep.

Date added: 2008-10-26 11:34:37    Hits: 80
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