Shadow of Hope XXVIII
Kurn gave a slow blink and shift of attention toward the boisterous warrior. His eyes opened and surveyed the man, Kurn’s disapproval of the boasting tempered by the blood that adorned the man’s greatsword. Kurn turned to Cheskith, in step with the return to Erellia’s shelter, and shrugged, glad that the conflict had ended and showing he cared little for such calls made in its wake.
Kurn reached the shelter and put the riding saddle under its canopy. He caught the eye of Haron and was briefly amused at the open amazement in Haron’s eyes that Kurn was on his feet after such an engagement, though Kurn knew he looked a poor sight. “One of the pack horses is now for riding again.” Kurn tipped his head toward the recovered saddle. He looked up and down Haron as if checking the boy for injury from several paces distance, and was relieved to see he had suffered none. He gave an acknowledging glance to the others of Erellia’s party, sparing no smile but glad they were all well nevertheless.
He made no presumption to request anything of Erellia or Katarina. Realizing what they were about, he knew there were others much worse wounded. Kurn would survive without further attentions required. He crouched at the edge of the shelter and with cupped hands he lifted semi-muddy water several times to his face, scrubbing the blood clear. He was pleased to realize his nose, mouth, and jaw no longer felt like they’d taken the business end of a warhammer. He repeated the scrubbing to get the worst of the gore from his attire.
The falling rain would wash the mud clear shortly enough, and to that end, he stepped back from the shelter and looked in the direction he had seen Zulian riding. Kurn caught sight of her, still on her horse, speaking to Rôhn further up the line of engagement. Though he could not hear her words, her searching gaze was clear as she looked up and down the gathered town.
Kurn raised his arm, his hand high and two fingers extended, two fingers curled to call her attention. If she caught sight of him he would turn his hand to gesture for her to approach, then point to the shelter Erellia had erected.
Borlak took up a position that gave him a clear vantage over the fields, paying particular attention to where the rest of his party were and what they were doing.
Marcus wiped his forehead and lowered his shield. Looking out over the carnage of the raid his eyes grew dark with a past memory coming into his eyes for a moment, then passing. He could see that most of the wounds were from arrows, though there were some sword injuries. He bandaged one of the locals and was about to move to another when he saw that the militia had things well in hand. They seemed to have had enough practice to make it almost routine. Seeing that he was no longer needed to save the living, Marcus offered a prayer for the dead and thanks for his deliverance from harm before heading back to the tent.
Katarina quickly retied her horse up in camp, then grabbed her backpack and rummaged through it, turning the same treatment upon her saddlebags. She started to reload her backpack with everything she felt was needed for healing out in the field. She then strapped on her loaded potion belt.
She first started by tending the wounds of those within the camp, using simple first-aid unless a rather nasty wound needed healing prayers or perhaps a potion.
With Kurn tended to, Cheskith headed in the other direction – toward the rider and the struggling form of Rôhn as he wrestled with his embedded weapon. The rider, or so it seemed from the exchanges that were occurring, was known to Erellia – which made her less of a concern, but the Dwarf’s battle-presence may have left him with wounds that needed tending as well.
“Need you treatment for cuts and strains?” the Lizardman asked of the Dwarf as he drew near, “You were engaged with the enemy, and may have taken some, I think?”
Rôhn looked up at Zulian first as he dislodged his sword and sheathed it, still bloody, into the scabbard strapped to his back. “Back toward the shelter last I saw her,” he responded, nodding his head in that general direction. He eyed the body laying over her saddle and picked up his warhammer from the mud.
Rôhn looked up at Cheskith and appraised his limbs and torso. He held up a palm and shook his head, as if to indicate that he needed no assistance. He pointed back to the shelter and waited for Cheskith to head in that direction before taking up along side him.
Almost as quickly as Rôhn gave indication of Erellia’s whereabouts, the Elven blooded rider set heels to her mount and made for the shelter only a short distance to the north.
Amidst the scattered wounded and dead in the trampled muck, the scalemail clad warrior hovered over the workings of another figure who appeared to be tending the wounded. This robed figure bore the trappings of the clergy, and along with several other locals administering aid, the needy are adroitly managed despite the inclement and chaotic conditions. Several of the sturdier unwounded begin stacking the fallen raiders in what would surely become a pyre once the weather breaks. All in all, this appeared to be a drill with which the locals have become quite accustomed.
“Lady!” the rider shouted from horseback when she reached the shelter, “I found Vanris, but I don’t believe he’s in any condition to accompany us.”
Erellia moved toward the rider at the summons and put her hands upon the inert figure across the saddle. With several quick flips of her pale hand, Erellia motioned for those nearby to assist her in lifting the individual off of the horse. It was quite apparent to even those with the scantest of healing ability that the grisly way the man’s head lolled on his neck as he was lifted showed clear indication that little could be done for this departed soul.
“Oh, by the gods,” Erellia said as she assisted in gently placing the corpse on the ground, “What have you done you wily, old fool?” Erellia’s hands worked at loosening the bindings of the Calishite man who appeared to have been nearing his fifth decade. No other injuries were openly visible on the body, but the ringed bruise around the throat told tale enough.
“Zulian, tell me what happened,” Erellia said to the woman still on horseback.
Zulian was clearly of partial Elven descent and although her pale eyes and milk chocolate colored skin would hint at a Drow heritage, her jet black hair and slightly firmer build served to question that bloodline. Although attractive in her own right, the unusual amalgam of traits gives her an unsettling appearance, and her bearing does little to soften that edge. The sheath of a scimitar is rested along the side of her finely crafted leather armor and a shortspear was affixed to her riding saddle.
“I know little,” Zulian responded, meeting the gaze of all those present, “I was circling the perimeter as you instructed, searching for any potential hazards. I came across yon band of raiders preparing their attack on the local merchants. When I approached to investigate, I saw Vanris hanging from a tree in their midst.”
Zulian shifted a little uncomfortably in the saddle, but continued her tale.
“I couldn’t tell if he was still alive at that distance, so I acted in hopes that he was only recently hung,” she stated simply, “The bandits were not very pleased to see me cut him down and ride off. The rest,” she nodded at the aftermath, “Is quite evident.”
Marcus went to the corpse and examined the body, looking for any signs of life. Reminding himself that Erellia had described the man at his feet as wily, his examination was thorough. There were many ways a man could fake his death to get out of a bad situation.
Katarina moved over to the mounted newcomer, helping to unburden the corpse and set him gently on the ground. She sighed softly and passed her hand over his staring eyes to close them while whispering a brief prayer over him.
As she stood up, she noted the blood on the newcomer’s mount, her eyes followed the blood to a bit of fletching sticking out of Zulian’s thigh. Katarina made a surprised sound in the back of her throat and bent closer, to examine the wound. “Zulian, you have an arrow through you and into your mount. The arrow went so far that all I can see is some fletching. We must get this arrow out and treat that wound before it can fester. Your horse should be tended as well.”