======================= The King's Reckoning ========================
IC time is: < About 10:11 AM >
IC day is: Alduya
IC date is: 27 Cermie
Moon phase: Waning Gibbous
IC year is: 3184 S.A.
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RL time: Wed Jun 06 17:32:46 2001
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LOCATION: Healing House: Garden Porch
Visible from the path and even from the park in some places where the
cypress tress do not block it, this porch is raised up three steps made of
wooden planks, as is the deck itself. Covered by a wooden trellis, the
potted flowers and plants here thrive in a lazy mix of sun's rays and
shade. Ivy grows along the trellis, making this a pleasant place to relax,
no doubt favored by both healers and those healing here as well. A few
chairs are scattered about the sides of the deck along with one or two
small tables. Northward where the path leads back through the park, one can
step down onto it, but if one faces north, the double doors stand, for
those who would enter.
Contents:
Marazon
Obvious exits:
Double Doors leads to Healing House: Hall.
Path leads to Umbar, New Town: Healing Houses.
=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
[Marazon:] A clear and sultry morning is bathing the town of Umbar, busy
like the hive it is. Far, above the sea, clouds rises in unprobable tower
of alabaster and silver heralding perhaps of a storm to break later during
the day. Sweat froms a thin and gleaming layer on Marazon bows as he climbs
up the road to the Healing houses once again. They're opened, all the
windows and doors, allowing fresh air to circulate through the building.
[Barzag:] The courtyard to the Houses is busy at this hour; servants are
occupied in cleaning and airing the buildings, two shaking out the dust
from a large rug at this moment. Figures climb up and down the hill that
leads to the cypress-clad building; bringing in supplies, or perhaps
seeking the advice of a healer.
Amongst the bustle, two shabbily dressed figures shorter than most of the
rest thread their way slowly, one leaning heavily on the other for support.
It seems that the other passers by move swiftly out of their path.
[Marazon:] Marazon briskly reach the lowest step of the porch stairs. There
he looks around, hoping to hear this familiar voice snapping order at
apprentice, instead of this he realizes he is in the way of some people
seeking healing. "Please" he says, sidestepping without turning to the
Rhevain he didnt acknowledged. "I am sorry" he says, his voie trailing on
the end as his eyes catch them. He frowns.
[Barzag:] The taller of the two Rhevain stops dead, holding out a hand as
if to keep the seaman away. On closer inspection it can be seen that the
fellow has a malformed lip, though this is doubtless not the reason why he
seeks out the healers. For a moment, he regards Marazon calmly with amber
eyes, then tries to speak, pronouncing the Adunaic words with effort.
''Need healer,'' he announces, looking at his companion as he adds, ''much
heat - sickness...''. He shakes his head before switching to his own
tongue, and saying, " he has the wound fever" as if this will
explain everything.
On looking closer, it can be seen that his shorter companion is flushed of
face and shivering violently despite the heat; beads of sweat trickle down
his brow. His right arm is crudely bandaged in a filthy-looking rag, his
left arm draped around his comrade's shoulder.
[Marazon:] Marazon 's eyes glqnces on the strqngely twisted face of the
rhevain who spoke to his companion. "Dont use this tongue, we're in Umbar
here man." he cuts qnd nods "I can see" and his nose wrinkles once "And
smell, seems me infected.... Hurry inside.... hurry..." he says, and steps
back to let them room. "Someone will take care of him"
[Barzag:] The taller Rhevain bristles at the seaman's abrupt tone, but
begins to climb the wooden steps of the porch, which creak under their
burden. His companion is muttering under his breath in his own tongue.
Their progress is slow, and as the taller Rhevain passes Marazon, he says,
face twisted in what might be a sneer or merely the result of his
deformity, "Why I no speak Rhevain?" he asks. "Try to use Go-Hilleg words,
but know only some - Go-Hilleg no wish to teach more."
[Marazon:] "Here is a city of Men" Marazon says, hi arm sweeping over
Umbar. And for a second he doesnt look at him. "They're jealous... they're
lazy too." Marazon grins, being closer to truth surely. "Where did you
learn our tongue.
The pale waning gibbous moon drops below the horizon.
[Barzag:] The tall Hillman frowns as he listens to Marazon's speech; it is
obvious that he has not understood it fully, though the stubborn glint in
his eyes suggests that the part about the 'city of Men', at least, was
comprehended. Seizing on what words he did understand, the Hillman answers,
"In Winter Camp there is one - trader - who speak Go-Hilleg words. I te-"
he halts, corrects himself, "no, I learn, his words." The last part of this
speech drifts back to Marazon from the top of the porch as the Hillmen
enter the Healing Houses proper.
[Marazon:] "Adunaic or dunadan" Marazon corrects him, "Not Gohileg" he
sighs and shakes briefly his head. "Now" he adds as a little crowd is
getting around them cursing about sailors and rhevain who block the way.
"Go inside, your friend is in need of care." he sighs and turns to one of
the men, "What ? I cant talk to one man without having you cackling in my
back ?"
[Barzag:] "Adunic" repeats the tall Hillman slowly, trying to pronounce the
strange-sounding word as Marazon did. He opens his mouth as if to say
something more, but at that moment his companion gives a moan. Turning away
from Marazon - and from the crowd of jeering onlookers - the Hillman guides
his companion through the double doors and into the relative calm of the
Houses of Healing.
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Healing House: Hall
This hall has many windows, all along it's long length. At the fore near
the door there is an entryway of sorts. A few chairs there are and a desk
near the wall. A wide arch separates this entry from the rest of the hall,
and it is high. For the ceiling itseif is high, with lanterns mounted on
the walls on all sides, lighting the hall at night, and brightly. On one
side of the large room, a door leads to the Infirmary. To the right side a
door leads to the offices of the healers and one more door there is, but it
is at the far end of the hall. That door leads out to the herb gardens.
Indeed as one gets close, a large window looks outs into the gardens.
Contents:
Gilron
Zimrelen Healess, Door Ward
Obvious exits:
Far Door leads to Healing House: Herb Gardens.
Right Door leads to Healing House: Healers' Offices.
Double Doors leads to Healing House: Garden Porch.
ZIMRELEN A studious looking woman, with dark grey eyes and silvering hair
sits at the desk in the entry area. Her head is down, and her nose seems
buried in parchments. If you want her attention perhaps you should ask her
a question. She usually answers to her name.
[Zimrelen:] Zimrelen looks up from her parchment and manages a weak smile
for you before looking back down to her work. Perhaps she feels if you need
her, you will say so.
[Barzag:] Blinking as his eyes adjust from the bright sunlight outside to
the dimness of the high-ceilinged hall, the Hillman notices a
silvery-haired woman sitting at the large desk in the entranceway. She does
not look up from her work again, and the Hillman eventually moves forward
to touch her arm lightly.
She withdraws it as if burnt and looks up with a frown.
The Hillman haltingly begins to explain himself. The woman listens
patiently, a hand moving briefly to cover her mouth as the injured man
shifts position and a sickly odour wafts across the room, then nods and
points towards one side of the hall. "Wait in line," she says briskly,
repeating herself more slowly when he sees the puzzlement on the Hillman's
face.
Sighing as he sees the queue of others requiring attention, the tall
Hillman nevertheless replies "I thank you," in the clearest Adunaic he can
manage, before leading his companion across the room, and settling down to
wait for a healer.
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Participants:
MARAZON
Fair skinned, tow headed and blue eyed, this dunedain stands a little
inches above the commone height of a Numeneroan. He is strongly built,
moving with ease, be him armored or not. His nose is strong and long, his
chin, free of any beard, volunteer and a hint of sadness bless the arching
of his blonde eyebrow.
Small plates of steel closely sewn on flexible leather cover his chest and
limbs. Each is a little mirror in itself and reflect the light, living
kaleidoscope on the body of the seaman. A jeweled belt, wearing the
insignias of the Sea Kings, supports along with a broad baldric of dark
leather, the heavy scabbard of a not less heavy broadsword. High boots
designed not for riding but for long walk on the slippy deck of ships reach
as far as his knees, where the steel armor halts. Often he wears a finely
wocen cloak of deep indigo wool around his shoulder, covering his chest and
hanging behind him to his back knee while letting his neck free and often,
a cold and threathening bow wrought in black steel is in his hand.
BARZAG
At first glance this man appears a normal specimen of the Hill-Folk. He is
tall for his kind, perhaps about six feet in height, and his shoulders are
slightly hunched in the manner of one who spends much of the time looking
downward. His skin is swarthy, weather-beaten from long days spent
outdoors, his build rugged. From the man's slightly stooped posture, you
deduce that he is used to carrying heavy loads. His feet are encased in
crude leather moccasins, worn and scuffed. He wears trousers of some coarse
greyish material, although it is hard to tell whether this is the cloth's
original colour or the result of fading. There is a tear across one knee
that has been inexpertly mended. A mass of unruly dark hair hangs loose
about his shoulders, brushing the top of his tunic, which is of a soft,
supple leather; it has been subject to prolonged wear, judging by the shiny
patches and ingrained creases, and surely cannot last for much longer.
Your gaze wanders upwards, towards this man's face - and halts, for therein
lies the reason for the distrust and fear he inspires in many. His chin is
hidden by a short, dark beard, carefully trimmed. But his upper lip, upon
which only a few sparse bristles grow, is cloven in the manner of a beast,
and twisted slightly so that his mouth appears to be set in a perpetual
sneer. Above this, his nose is long and straight; amber eyes generally
regard the observer coolly from beneath lowering black brows. Were it not
for the wrongness of his mouth, he might even be considered handsome, but
his disfigurement prevents this.
(
geocities.com/halwynofdale)