LOCATION: Forlond: Othlon Amrun - South

You come upon the verge of the Eastern Districts of Forlond. The Street of the Sunrise, Othlon Amrun, runs arrow straight to the north and south. On either side, ornate buildings march along, most of them homes, but a few appear to be shops of one sort or another. Along the western side, however, a great hall looms up high with gilded eaves. From the grey, cobblestone walkway, highly ornate stairs lead up to a leaf-shaped door. A sign written in silvery angerthas proclaims it to be, Herth Talagand. To the north, only a few blocks away, you see an intersection.

Contents:

Rysha
Marazon

[What has gone before: Rysha has fallen from the roof of the stable building, and now lies unconcious on the street. Marazon, who was with her, has rushed to her side.]

Outside the gilded doors leading to the Starshine Inn, a young woman stands, leaning against one of the ornate pillars that support its roof. She seems content merely to observe the street, glancing up and down at the decorative buildings, the doves that strut upon the golden eaves ... At this time of day the street is still fairly quiet, but a few passers-by - tall, proud Elves, mainly - are bathed in the light of the early-morning sun

Hearing a sudden commotion nearby, the girl turns her head, and her peaceful expression turns to one of concern as she starts to run briskly towards the source of the disturbance.

"Healer" Marazon shouts as he kneels beside the limp body of Rysha; watching for nay odd angels her lithe limbs could do. Brushing locks of hair from her face a bit cold, dismay struck him and hs stands, shouting after the few elves around in adunaic "Dont stay here, she need an healer... Ah if Galenrien was here... Curse my folly" he closes his fist, unable to unload is rage but there.

Gimilphel reaches the prone form, and the distraught Dunadan standing beside her. As Marazon speaks, Gimilphel's eyes widen in recognition, and for a moment there is a hint of hostility in her gaze, before she blurts out, "Galenrien's not here. She went to visit the Lord Yulion in the Healer's Hall. I don't know-" She takes a deep breath, and more calmly says, "I will do what I can to help, until one of the master healers can be summoned." She kneels on the ground and carefully begins to examine the unconscious Rysha, noting the bloodstained clothing, the woman's rapid, shallow breathing. "What happened?" she asks without looking up.

"Lord Yulion..." Marazon voice rings with a tone thick of wonder and worry, no not worry, jealousy.. "Who is ..." and he halts the blood slowly soaking Rysha cloth making his face pale. "She fell from the roof above, what does she have, Galenrien must see her" and his frown born as the other man name was uttered disapear suddenly. "Can you move her, I'll help you.. I owe her this I guess.. Dont let her so, she is a kind lass."

Gently Gimilphel reaches out to feel the pulse in Rysha's neck, before turning her attention to the woman's broken body. At last she looks up at Marazon, frowning in worry. "Her arm's broken," she says flatly in reply to his panicked questions, pointing to where one of the woman's limbs lies twisted at an awkward angle beneath her body. "But apart from that - I just don't know. With a fall that severe, it's likely that she has internal injuries." She gestures towards the spots of blood staining the front of Rysha's blouse. "It could make things even worse to move her ..." She trails off, obviously pondering what to do next. She looks round at the small but growing crowd of onlookers, and says with an obvious effort at calm, "Could someone send to the Healer's Hall, please? Tell them it's urgent," hoping that at least one person there understands Adunaic.

"I will go, I know where it is.. and I am sure the best will come for her with me" Marazon says and stands, no hint of guilt in his glance just worry and sadness. "Ask people in the inn to bring you blankets and all needed, I wont be long... I wont be long" he says and enters the stables, him who hates horses.

Gimilphel's gaze follows Marazon as he makes to depart, but hers is tinged with suspicion. "No," she says, "I think you should wait here with me." One Elf, a tall, thin fellow with keen grey eyes, has already moved towards the stables, and she directs her next words to him. "You are going to fetch a healer? My thanks." She adds in a venomous tone to Marazon, who is standing by the stable's open door, "You seem very keen to leave. This woman fell, you said? Or was it rather that you pushed her?" She swallows before saying in a near-whisper, "I do not know whether she will live."

The words cracks like a whip in Marazon ears and he halts even as an elf mounted exits the stables, nodding to Gimilphel. "I didnt hear you lass" he turns and closes his fists marching back at her. And his voice booms "How dare you accuse me ? I speak truth... Heal her instead of trying to look past your nose, it's as short as your wits" he retorts and kneels beside Rysha.

Gimilphel angrily looks towards Marazon. "You speak nothing," she retorts with the brashness of youth, before returning her attention to Rysha. "You still have not said how this woman came to fall. But it is not I you will need to tell." She shrugs. "And do you not think I would heal her if I could?" Now her face twists in anguish, the animosity of only moments ago falling away as she looks on Rysha's prone form. The young healer-in-training reaches out a hand towards Rysha's shoulder, as if to turn her, stops ...

The injured woman's pallor is increasing, her breathing seems now to be even shallower. After a long pause, Gimilphel raises her head again, and says in an entirely different tone of voice, "I remember Galenrien talking about tending a man thrown from his horse, one whose injuries were severe. She said they were able to move him by keeping him flat, on a wooden board ... Is there anything we can use in the stables?" She rises to her feet without looking at Marazon.

"She lost her balance, her foot hooked a beam.." Marazon explains, his anger dropping as well as indeed Rysha grows the palest now. "She is so young.. I cant help you alot, we didnt discuss of healing with Galenrien.." he sighs and his gaze kindles a bit at the past. "The man thrown of his horse was me Gimilphel, and look I am still alive... She will be well.. if only Galen..." he bites his lips.

Rysha's body appears almost lifeless, and she shows no sign of recovering consciousness. Now Gimilphel's face is a mask of worry. "But I fear - " she begins, then breaks off. "You are right. Galenrien is a master healeress, and some of the Elven Healers are even more skilled. Perhaps they will be able to help her." Gimilphel shakes her head ruefully even as she speaks, and sounds unconvinced. "Now, should we try to bring her to the Healing Houses, or await a Healer's arrival...?" She looks up measuringly at Marazon, her earlier anger at him gone, to be replaced by a hint of curiosity - perhaps because of the revelation that he was the very patient Galenrien had spoken about?

"I was never a good rider" he adds to fill the blank that followed his revelation. "Let carry her, we'll need a board to slip her on and we will caryy her on so... She may have more bone broken indeed." Marazon sighs and turns back his gaze from the face of Gimilphel to Rysha. "Time is precious, she cant bleed endlessly..."

Gimilphel nods. "I fear that this woman may be bleeding inside also," she answers Marazon, before muttering, obviously to herself, "I shouldn't discuss such matters. Galenrien would say so." Entering the stables, she begins to root around for a loose board that they could use as a makeshift stretcher, keeping a wary eye on the horses - she is obviously no expert in the beasts herself. "What about this?" She tugs at the broken remains of a door.

"Possible, Galenrien never told me in detail what she and the others healer did, I knew her barely then." Marazon says, as past memories pour. "Set the board near her, on her side, we'll lift her as little as possible and you'll shift the board under her.."

Gimilphel nods in response to Marazon's words. "That's how it /should/ work," she murmurs thoughtfully, as she drags the heavy board forward, before laying it down beside the prone Rysha. The small knot of onlookers is now beginning to disperse, but Gimilphel recognizes one of the Inn staff, a porter that she knows has some Adunaic. Addressing the Elf directly, she gestures towards the injured woman. "We need some help. We must move this woman very slowly and carefully - if you please..." Perhaps she realizes how ludicrous it is that a young human maiden should think to give orders to ancient Elves, for her cheeks suddenly flush crimson. "That is, if you don't mind," she murmurs, the confident manner of only moments ago fading to be replaced by uncertainty. She waits now for Marazon to direct the whole procedure

The elf seems not at all hindered or offended and takes place at the head while Marazon lifts the wraist of th emaiden delicately. "slip it under, I fear to hurt her more" Marazon shouts and a droplet of cold sweat rols along his temple to his neck.

Gimilphel watches, frowning, and carefully eases the board forward as Marazon instructs, as gently as possible lest she jar a trailing limb. Indeed, what can be seen of Rysha's injured arm is not a pretty sight. The unconscious woman does not stir - probably a mercy, but the worry lines deepen on Gimilphel's young face. "Now ..." she says with a sigh. "I can help you carry her ..." Her words trail off as she is pushed gently aside by the Elven porter, who reaches out to lift one end of the board.

And Marazon lifts the other end, "Just lead us to the healer, with some luck we'll cross Galenrien path while we go there" he says, the idea of meeting her not to displease him even under such circumstances. "We follow you, take care she dont fall again" he adds with wry humor.

Gimilphel steps forward to gaze at Rysha as teh stretcher-bearers move off - the injured woman's face is now a deathly grey. With a soft exclamation, Gimilphel fumbles with the clasp of her cloak, eventually tugging it free so that she can spread the garment over Rysha as a blanket. "You were with this woman when she fell," she says to Marazon. "You can tell the healers the whole tale.. And if you meet Galenrien ..." She shrugs and regards the seaman with a curious expression that seems to waver between mistrust and sympathy. "May the Valar favour us all today," she whispers, looking to Rysha's still form.

PARTICIPANTS:

GIMILPHEL

Before you is a young woman of Numenorean race, her height perhaps just slightly below average. Green eyes sparkle in a heart-shaped face, framed by dark hair that is normally tied back in a long braid. Her skin is pale, save for the faint rosy flush of her cheeks, which deepens when she is embarrassed - a state of affairs wont to happen far more often than she would like. She wears a dress of deep blue material, whose soft folds hang loosely about her slender form. The design is plain save for delicate embroidery at neckline and hemline in threads of silvery white, shaped to represent stars. Her earnest expression and wide eyes lend her an air of youthful innocence.

MARAZON

Standing well his two rangas is the man before you. He isnt in his teens anymore and still his main features keeps an air of lasting youthHis dark hair is cut medium long, and is often in a mess, still the wind seems to have no hold on the steadiness of the light blue glance of the dunadan. He usually doesnt wear any beard and keep it shaven but at times, in fact often, a black veil covers his chin and cheek. His fair skin is lightly tan at least his face and hands which arent fragile at the first look. Flat cheek bones and a somewhat straight and thin nose marks his face. Despite his height and build, he carries himself with a certain nimbleness and a sure foot.

A shiny shirt of black silk, ample sleeved and broided with red and purple, tin thred of gold, silver and green are embroidered on his chest in branch of Oiolare, the evergreen tree of Numenor only Uinendili sport. Gold buckled leather tighten around his wraist. The shirt hangs very low on his knees and fashion leather boots mounts to mid calf. What is seen of his legs is covered by some tight material of sable. Clasped asymetrically on his right shoulder, a long cape of light red nearly pink, cutting and contrasting with the dark gear he wears underneath.

RYSHA (object)

Length of fair height for one of her age and with a body of elegant proportion is the youthful maiden Rysha. Normally a look of energy would be present with this one, but instead only a pale and ghastly face is surmiseable. Her eyes closed, her chest barely rising and falling with shattered breaths and her beating heart barely able to pump the blood about her body.

Dressed is she in a simple outfit of shirt and pant. Her blouse an off-white with small stains of red where a small flow of blood has dampened it. Its sleeves and neck are wide, being tightened together with a narrow cord of a darker colour. On her lower body is a pair of working pants; slightly faded in at the knees from the constant wear at the joint. Only a few extra articles dangle from her, unusual for her style. A black belt, thinner than most that soldiers would wield but still strong none-the-less, a small belt pouch where a small tinkering noise eminates from the tiny components that rattle about within and a thin cord tying her long hair back at the nape of her neck. Adorning her feet is a pair of leather boots, more suited for travel than of style.