Tending to Tyrun

[Lady Edfeil]

*Sir Joseph had told her last night. As careful as he could. They had found Captain Tyrun. Her face had lighted up like the sun when hearing those words, but like a cloud barring the light his words had followed. The Captain nae did well. Nae did well at all. Even Sir Joseph, irrepressibly merry, had looked somber. There were doubts, many doubts if even the strong Captain would make it this time. The wounds simply too many, the bloodloss too severe.

Lady Edfeil had stood from her chair then, with difficulty, but with a regal dignity so seldom seen from her. And like a queen bestowing a quest upon a knight, she had told Sir Joseph to hold faith, nae to fear for indeed Tyrun would get better. He must! He had promised to learn her how to sail and he would barter with the Good Lord himself to keep that promise.

She was skilled in tending to wounds: minor cuts and bruises, or the more serious ones when nae another was about. Still, she gladly left this task to those truely schooled as a healer. As to herself... she took the rest she had promised her father and her family she would take. Too weak still to do all she wished. But the time she was nae in bed, eating, or sitting in the hall to greet the few visitors that braved the dangers, she spend in the chapel upon her knees.

A quiet, almost poignant image it was, of the frail lady kneeled upon the stone, one hand on the bannister for support. Her mind and soul one continuous prayer. Please Lord save Him. Please Lord restore Him back to health.






I went ahead and opened a thread for the healers and all others to work in, wether you're praying in the chapel, pacing in the hall, working in the infirmary or worrying in the gardens

[Rayven]

I forced my mind back to the man lying in the bed, the fight had not left him, though wounded severely, he struggle to live.

Though horrified by the kind of injuries I had never seen before, I watched as Laurestina doggedly searched and cleaned and sewed up the gaping wounds one by one.

It had been twenty- four hours since his arrival in the infirmary and still he refused any remedy to take away the pain and chose to bear the worst of it.

Yet despite his suffering he held on. Rage and hatred for the Franks had put fire in his veins, even as his blood ebbed out. But then the fire had turned to a fever, which ran like quicksilver through his frame.

Now I had been assigned the bitter task of starving his fever by withholding food, yet forcing red wine down his throat to replace his blood.

I pressed my fingers to the sides of my throbbing head.

There was a soft knock on the door and one of the maids padded in, the lamp in her hand golden in the silver dusk.

They are asking if M’lord Tyrun is better Milady

I threw a look to the still figure in the bed and shook my head.

Tell them he is the same or worse.

The maid continued: They are holding a vigil for him Milady and saying prayers around the clock. They want to know when they’ll be admitted to see him.

Tell them, when the time comes, they will know.

(('Stina…center stage..you’re on g/f *S))

((wine..wine..not wind..arrrrgh...I hate it when I make typos))

[LadyLaurestina]

It wasn’t so, this was just another of a long series of nightmares so she told her self as she lay on a cot in the corner of the infirmary, nearest the window. There was absolutely no reason for her to lying here, so why was she placed here? Certainly she would never allow herself to fall asleep while in service to her home. Well, never mind such thought, it was obvious by all the bustling of servants and the smell of smoke, and putrid smells of rotted flesh, and the unforgettable smell of blood that now permeated her nostrils and caused to her boat upright as if someone had placed a hot poker to her flesh.

After sitting up and trying to focus on the scene before her, she recalled voices, and strange sensations that somehow didn’t seem surrealistic anymore, but indeed real. Next to her on a cot laid a massive, muscular man, and standing next to him the lovely Rayven, now there was a familiar face and on the cot, who could it be? Grave concern gave way to the mutterings of lady Rayven as she suddenly realized indeed this was one she knew well, It could NOT be, her mind shrieked out “ NO. No No…. this cannot be true, this man..Tis … Tyrun!” As she opened her mouth nothing escaped but blood curdling, hair raising scream, one that she heard often from those that lost loved ones. Never had she lost her composure like this, to the point where she would be losing herself over to such an overwhelming, completely uninhibited shriek of death’s cry.

Standing up slowly, and having only to walk a few steps she fell to her knees and placing her hands on his blood soaked bandaged head she looked up to the lady Rayven . Her lost composure now slowly returning, the knowledge that she had to do her best to heal her beloved friend there had been too much between them in friendship, and too many times he had come to her aide. Always he bestowed her with gifts that had gotten her thought some very difficult times. His laughter filled the halls with such a joyous energy, his thoughtfulness, and humor were always welcome any time day or night in their home. Now, he lay here, motionless, without even his eye patch. Taking her violet silk hanky, which he had given her, she carefully tired it around his head and left a double folded edge cover his bad eye. Looking up to Rayven , she called to Olaf for more hot water, and her healers pouch.

Olaf quickly returned from the hearth with a basin of steamy hot water, in which she took some fresh burdock leaves and ground them in her hands while sprinkling them on the waters along with yarrow, and bee balm. ((Explanations for each can be provided at a later date if questioned)) She quickly pulled off the linen bandaging and placed sage leaves directly on the open wound of the head while she cleansed his swollen and busied face, dabbed his bloody lips clean, and soaked small pieces of clean herbal water compresses for his eyes. Making sure to recover the bad eye with her violet silk scarf, as she secured another linen bandage over the open wound and over the sage leaves, she took a deep breath for now the hardest part of treating men was about to transpire.

She stood up and nodding to Rayven, asked her to please get another linen sheet as well as an infirmary gown from the cupboard. As she pulled the stiletto from the back of her neck which had been secured in her bodice she remembered well the night when the good caption had given her this most treasured knife as well as instructing her how to use it. Taking it now, she lid it under the leather waist band of his pants, and pulling the knife down through it like it was butter, only a bit crustier, hardened by the slat waters and blood. She made sure not to disrupt him in any way, nae move a single part of his bedraggled body. Opening the leather clear down to his ankles on both legs and laid back the leather… noting that there were deposits of salt not only in the leather but upon his skin as well…and bruises everywhere… was this man thrown upon the sea’s rocks or what? She asked Olaf to please pull a screen around the good captain, as now his whole body would need to be examined and washed, and anointed with oils, herbs and spices… among other things if her senses did not deceive her. Taking the stiletto again, she dared not flinch seeing the fresh blood upon his tattered and torn shirt, leaving little to remove, she dare not to pull on anything at this point but again cut off the raged linen and handed all to Olaf to toss into the fire. Seeing him bare to the skin, now she was able to see several punctures to his skin where pus and blood still oozed and as he breathed there was a mist of blood raising out of his open mouth, his breathing was labored and laying her head upon his chest noted a wheezing sound, and listening for his heart, noted it was faint. And a bit irregular. Her eyes flew open as she noted that one side of chest was also caved in slightly and there was a massive wound t his side, as if a dagger had peircered his innards, there was no question about it, he needed al the help they could muster. Pulling the sheet back over to him, she knew Rayven would return soon with fresh bedclothes and a sheet, and she hoped that a sheepskin would be brought as well. As she picked up his hand, it was sweaty and cold, but his head remained hot and sweaty, there was certainly a fight going on inside her dear friend’s body. Her eyes flew open when she saw the remains of a chain piecing the flesh of his arm, and as her fingers flew lightly across it trying to dislodge it, she realized this would be another matter which would need the attention of someone like a blacksmith. Raising her eyes heaven bound, crossed her and hurriedly covered the chain with the sheet again, and closed her eyes. She had thought there were clumps of hair missing from the captains blonde head as well, and she wondered what I Heaven’s name had all gone on while she had been lost in her own nightmare.

As she knelt back on the floor, she spoke softly to the captain as if in prayer… * Tyrun Tryun, ah do come back to us now. Thee are in the infirmary and are nae yet healed. We have much to do, ….” Placing her hand back over the bandage of his head and waiting for the Olaf and Lady Rayven to return she took a few moment to pray for her good friend. Ready she was and willing for the next step, as now his body needed a good cleansing, but she wanted to make sure there were ready and willing hands available should he stir and try to move or frail about. Olaf was a mighty strong man and lady Rayven’s tender touch would be much needed as both of them would need to wash his as quickly as possible. On both knees she now raised up his good arm, noticing the other might need amputation, and pressed it to her lips while she prayed.

Looking to a guard, she believed it to be Sergeant Alan, she asked of him “ please no visitors at his time for the captain unless they be family or a loved one such as a certain lady, but nae, nae…no one is to see him like this and tis critical that he be kept quiet. Please pass on the word that all should continue to pray.” * Bowing her head she thank him profusely*

[Dream Loxley]

(( *Applauds and smiles* Poor Mister Tyrun! ))

[Lady Edfeil]

The quiet vigil was continued through day and night. Members of the family, servants, aye even visitors... many of them participated, simply going to the chapel and taking their turn. The prayers went up continuously and without an end.

Edfeil prayed to Brigid of Island, Patron Saint of travellers and sailors asking the maiden to intercede on Captain Tyruns behalf, begged Saint BRendan the navigator for his help, to Saint Michael himself, and of course to the Blessed Mother. Captain Tyrun always had great courtesy towards the ladies, surely such would please her.

Oh please... please nae take him from us. We need him here still, so much. While words of prayer and littany escaped her lips, that thought continually went up to heavens in one, endless plea. Bartering in a way that would make the Captain proud she promised masses, prayers, fasting, devotions... if they would but give him back...

[Sir Joseph]

((Laur yer post was magnificent…smiles*….Hopefully I can keep pace… )) (( I still aint figgerred out how to say Im a member in these posts... anyone help?)
Pacing back and forth, …. within the library.. tense apprehension, worry, the anguish of nae knowins iffen Tyrun shall live… propelling mah feets without thought. Nae realizing I be walkins Back and forth…. Back and forth…….

A slender chance of Tyruns noble survival lingers, hangs in the balance. Back and forth the pendulum of life and death precariously swings on it’s mysterious hinge...

Thinkins of past events, mah mind condenses all that as appenned… werds I ave spoken, thoughts I aves concealed, as well as shared…………
. he be a good friend, I fear ill winds aves filled es sails.... my thoughts he shall live and show up... but reality coerces me te pass ill feeling thoughts thru mah ead.... *clenches es large fist as he thinks of es norse friend at the hands of the franks
I aves seen em in scrapes afore. and somehow, someway he always manages te pull thru.. I opes es divine providence donnae abandons he now... Chuckling as I think of whats I tells the ladies that aves nae had the blessing, the good fortune te meet the great man, Captain Tyrun…. *mah eyes glass o’er… the somber mood instantly pushed aside..."Iffen ye lays eyes upon Tyrun, donnae be frightened by es grotesquely hideous features... He be a noble man inside... Tyrun hath a way te feather es werds within a ladies ear.. I always had hoped he twould enlighten meself te accomplish such…" smiling as I remember so fondly teasing mah good friend… Ow, he claimed te be an angel…and has the audacity te wear it upon es tags…

My thoughts at finding him…
….. the large man held within the confines of the stretcher appeared familiar…. By the gawds! TYRUN!!! Racing te the side of the stretcher then taking a knee… Tyrun…. Mah eyes glass o’er…. What aves they done te ye? My words fall upon deaf ears…

Es wounds looking severe, eye patch missing, the mighty chest rising very little with each strained pull of labored breathing, spotting the drops of blood crusted on es lips, the mist of red as he exhales…placing a comforting hand upon es shoulder… taking a deep breath.. fighting back tears fer mah friend…We shall get ye healthy once again, Tyrun
.. Nae afore aves I seen such countless critical wounds…. Tis a miracle he still be alive Startled by Horatio’s concern as he races o’er te the cart … Ortex bounds backward two paces…Gripping the reins tighter and squeezing with mah thighs.. Whoa boy!… Horatio , Please! as fast as ye can…RUN!!! .Knowins Horatio’s well traveled eyes hath nae afore seen so many critical wounds allowing someone te still posess life
Again werry coats mah features as I attempt to shake off the horrific thought of.. IF… If Tyrun lives…….


The pain and anguish, the weight upon mah eart I felt avins te splain te Lady Beren and Edie jest ow much in a bad way Tyrun be…...... the look in mah eyes grave… remeberins ow the great barrel chest of Tyrun hardly swelled when he took a labored breath.. his exhales, mists of blood... Edie..... pauses ... ye should ..... ummmmm......"prepare" yeself..
her pained reply, the quiver in her voice as it trembled…: Prepare? He shall nae die, shall he? He CAN nae die! He must learn me how to sail! He said he would!
. "Princess... es wounds..... I aves nae seen so many critical wounds and one still posess life.... tis our strength and faith that shall keeps em alive".... doubting mah own werds as I envision es wounds.... trying te appear confident... ..... "tis in the hands of the healers and the heavens Edie..., hope be small, but we shall aves faith".... Looks te Lady Beren and solemnly nods

Back and forth I pace and think……….
.The way she looked at meself…the convincing stern tone… placing both hands on the armrests of her chair. Standing is an effort, that is visible upon her features, but she keeps my gaze. In this one moment, she manages to look indeed like royalty born when she states* He WILL live.
rising from mah seat as her frail frame tries te rise... her inner strength and regal manner.. the tone of confidence reassures meself... Aye Edie..... looks te the heavens with pleading eyes.... mouths the werds...... jest once fer mah friend…

not paying attention to mah pacing back and forth…. Trippins o’er the leg of a chair startles me from mah thoughts,…No longer being capable of jest pacing.. opens the door of the library and walks towards the infirmary…

Keeping mah large frame out of the doorway.. slowly…. Quietly… opening the door jest a crack… leaning mah ead in and peeking……Lookins inside the room….needing te know. jest ow Tyrun fares…

Spotting a drawn curtain .. detecting the soft sillouhette of Laurestina , seeing she still be hard at werk… her hand raising te her brow as she wipes the back of er arm against er forehead, then immediately goes back te fixins and sewing
…
Rut Oh… Immediately pullin mah ead back.. bending a knee and placing the sole of one boot on the wall behind me as I lean…
It be Olaf with Tyruns torn and bloodied clothing exiting the infirmary..Lookin em in the eyes.. Olaf? He speaks nae a werd, jest looks te the heavens.. he spots the hurt and pain in mah eyes…Aye, SirJ, Tyrun breathes….. but. Barely… Lady Rayven now walkins down the hall with her arms cradling fresh clean linens…
hardly capable of spotting her eyes above them… Pushing off the wall… holding open mah arms te unburden she from the cumbersome amount of linens… Hoping ta gawd she hands em to me.. so’s I can get in the infirmary and see up close , jest ow Tyrun be… Knowing full well Princess wont be abouts te scold me fer beings in the infirmary cause she be in the chapel.. praying fer our friend…. An ow I shall aves a fine excuse, iffen someow she catches me in ere ….

Grins with hope as I extend my arms further te Rayven,,., Please Rayven.. allows me te help yeself…

[Dream Loxley]

(( Thought I had explained ;D When you load the page...see where it says Welcome Guest......login or register. Click register and complete the form. Then whenever you visit again simply click login and your name will come up as being online. Then you can use the message system and leave private messages for people. Good luck ))

[Tyrun the Norseman]

((This would have happened a few posts up the line...))

As a young man, Tyrun the Norseman had spent a few years living in the stone caverns of a large Dwarf-clan. They had taught him many useful things, and he toiled hard under their guidance. Afterwards, he had spent many years fighting and striving under conditions which would send a smarter man off to find a warm blanket and a hot hearth-fire...such is life on the northern seas.

These things had forged Tyrun into the man he was today. They had molded his personality, and given him the knowledge by which he succeeded in life. But, most importantly, especially at this moment, these experiences had bestowed upon him an incredible toughness and resilience, and given him a deep-seated and dogged instinct to fight...to struggle ...even when the odds seemed hopeless.

((That's why Tyrun ain't dead yet! ))

.................................................................................................................................

As he was being carried back to Windstorm, his eyes opened. He stared at the sky for a long time, jostling gently in his stretcher, trying to remember what was happening. Am I dead now? No, I can't be...there's too much to do yet...I won't go now... When he finally got his bearings, he bellowed. Or, at least...he tried to. His voice came out weak and raspy. Still, it was enough to attract the attention of those who bore him.

"The lad. Where is he?" Tyrun now recognized the face of his old friend...the knight's expression was one of deep worry. The Norseman shook his head a little, as if to assure everybody that he'd be fine...that this was nothing to worry about at all. He would have smiled, but he was in too much pain.

"Oh, Joseph...hello...fancy meeting you here, hey?" He coughed a bit, sending a trickle of blood down across his cheek. "The lad...you must help him. A Frank he is, but not an enemy." There was a long pause as Tyrun gathered his strength. "He is a good man...saved me from the sea...don't let him come to harm. I won't abide it...if he was hurt..."

As he spoke, Tyrun reached up and clasped his friend's hand...to Joseph's surprise, the grip was far stronger than it should have been. Perhaps there was some hope, after all.

The Norseman maintained his grip all the way to Windstorm...staring up at the clouds, his breathing ragged...I don't feel like sleeping just now, and by god, I won't! A man don't hafta sleep if he ain't in the mood.

Tyrun's view darkened when they passed under the great gates of Windstorm...and he saw no more, for his eyes had finally closed. His grip on Joseph's hand had weakened, but he still held on...

[Tyrun the Norseman]

((Eugh! Gruesome! If Tyrun was awake, he'd probably decide never to fight again! *L* Although, I don't think his wounds would be infected. Even though it has been several days since the battle post...in "game time," it hasn't been that long since he fell into the sea. Tyrun will be very grateful of Rayven's strategy of "force-feeding" him red wine...heh...isn't that like force-feeding red meat to a dog?))

His breathing was shallow and slow, but still steady, as he lay in his infirmary bed. His face was pale, and he didn't move at all. But then, Laurestina screamed in horror at his plight.

Tyrun's eyes snapped open wide, and he thrashed around a bit. But he was too weak, and nothing came of it. When he looked about at his surroundings, the realization hit him, that he was in the Windstorm infirmary. Why am I here? Why can't I sit up? Then, the memories returned, and he gazed about.

Laurestina! Why was she looking so worried? Tyrun's voice was barely a whisper. "Hey, sweetheart, no need to fret...remember...I'm stubborn as a dozen mules, and tougher than boot-leather...I'll be alright."

Then, his blue eye spotted Rayven. "Oh, hullo, Ray...don't let Lauri cut anything useful offa me...these sawbones healers...always in a hurry to amputate...heh." He coughed. "I like yer hair that way....looks nice..."

He rambled on, his voice growing weaker. "Where is everybody? Battling still? Time to stop. Be sure to tell my crews...yes, tell them I am fine. Surrounded by...pretty lasses...rewards of battle and all. Make sure the lad isn't harmed, no, he is a good man...can't succumb to hatred...tis foolishness..."

Tyrun continued to speak, but his voice became slurred and confused. He muttered on for awhile longer, until drifting again into unconsciousness. He didn't flinch as his wounds were stitched...he had experienced that many times in the past.

[Rayven]

If Tyrun lives it would be due to Laurestina, I thought as I made my way down the corridor towards the infirmary, my arms filled with freshly cleaned linens.

I saw a sturdy figure lurking in the corridor, his hand on the handle of the door to the infirmary and for a moment my heart jumped, then I recognized the face as that of Sir Joseph and gave him a wee smile as I skirted around him and pushed opened the door, slipping in and closing it gently behind me. (Good try Joseph *L)

The smell of blood and pus rose from his bed. Tyrun grumbled anxiously in his sleep.

Turning to Laurestina I asked how he’s been, as she gently peeled the dressing from his wounds.

Much the same she answered, her hands taking a fresh linen from the top of the pile in my hands.

She gestured angrily at Tyrun’s wounds. Inflamed blotches of flesh marked the chest, legs and eye.

The same ____ or worse. We’re making no headway here it seems, none at all she sighed as she pressed the clean dressing to the wounds.

I followed the line of her troubled gaze. At the top of his leg, a long sword slash cut deep into his groin, severing tendon and bone. Around the wound, the mangled flesh throbbed purple-red, oozing with decay.

I helped her press the last dressing into place, and then laid two fingers on his eyelids gently till the low murmurings ceased and he fell back into a deep sleep.

I reached for a cloth, wiping my hands with great deliberation, and turned to face Laurestina.

Sir Joseph is standing vigil outside, I don't think he's left since we brought Tyrun in last evening. Shall we let him in?

((Smiles at Tyrun…relax..you are in good hands. I promise not to let her cut anything....vital..*L))

[LadyLaurestina]

As she knelt on the floor beside Tyrun’s cot holding his arm in a relaxed position. Aways mindful to keeping her ear open for any more mumblings from her treasured friend. So consumed by the fever from his infected wound, she listened with a reassured concern, but nae tried to reason with him. As there was no question about it, when she looked up at Rayven laden with a stack of fresh linens, a look of forbodding, about her delicate features. She listened to the new healer, and took note of the way she frowned when she uncovered Tyrun. Both gasped softly at the visible rotted flesh of the large wound. There it lie, open and exposed, there would be no question about it, the rotten flesh must be removed. The clean flesh needed to be sewed up after the pus had drained.

She had noticed for some time now a presence of someone behind the screen from where she had been working on the captain. Inclining her head to the side and listening carefully, she though she head a familiar voice speak to Rayven a few minutes ago, but she assumed it was a guard that was present and taking note of who entered and moved about in the confines of the blessed infirmary. . Raising from her kneeling position, she looked to Rayven and asked:

“ Would thee please help me cleanse the entire body of the captain from the salt and dried body fluids that have built up upon his chest, groin and legs…? ‘ I am sure of one thing my lady, the salt be a disinfectant of sorts and has probably saved the captain from grievous infection, but the one to his side it most definitely our first priority, though I be keeping a watch upon his vitals, his breathing and her heart. “

As she looked lady Raven she thought she once again heard the sound of a boot sliding upon the infirmary stonewall, and she tip toes to the edge of the curtain and peeked out only to see Sir Joseph. Immediately she spoke, though low and softly her words were hastily spoke out of concern for her patient, and forgot for the time being any feelings that sir Joseph was experiencing himself. She shouted for Sergeant Alan, but he seemed to be nowhere in sight or earshot, so she spoke softly but protectively of her patient.

“ Sir, what is it that thee are doing here, don’t thee have something better to do such as protect the castle from whatever it is that has caused so many injuries and even death? ”

she stopped her litany short when her eyes searched his face, his eyes and his demeanor. It was written all over him that remorsefulness and grave concern had consumed him. She knew then that he was not here to poke fun of his friend, and was proably feling guilty now of all the taunting he had did to him when he described Tyron’s grotesquely hideous features to the ladies. Nor did she expect him to say anything about Tyron’s angel, that he so proudly displayed for all to see. She took care now not to add insult to injury, as she knew Sir Joseph must be feeling like many others, but even more grievously, for indeed Tyrun had been his dear friend and partner in business transactions as well as in tomfoolery. There was no question about it, he was desperately seeking a way to be of assistance. When she spoke to him again, her words were kinder, and more gentile in nature.
"Pray tell sir Joseph, perhaps thee can be of some assistance, for I was just about to cut the dead flesh from the stomach and side of our dear friend, and it would be appreciated if thee can come to our aide, just in case he wakes and struggles to get away from the knife. Thee will have Olaf to aide thee as well, and between the two of thee perhaps thee can keep him still while Rayven and I do our work?"
* With a slide smile she then questioned him*

" Perhaps thee would wash his genitals for us, as we, being ladies and all do nae know quite what to do in that area.’ “ Please then, do come in?" As she extended her arm and pointed to the cot, she would wait for his reply.

Returning to the cot, she prepared the knife for cutting away the decaying skin and then letting the wound drain before it could be stitched up. His head though could be stitched up now as the bleeding had subsided somewhat, as she unwrapped the dressing and flung the bloody sage leaves in a nearby bucket, she once again washed his head, and left the violet silk scarf over his eye, while she prepared to thread flax through the bone needle. Just as she started to pull the needle through the skin, pulling it taunt, she noted a grayness filling in the features of the captains face, and his lips turned a bit blue…. Out of instinct and not knowing what else to do she placed her mouth over his open lips and softly puffed in her air into his mouth and realized it was coming out of his nose, so handing over the needle and flax to Rayven she plugged his nose with her free hand and once again began to push air into his chest…. She did this until she felt him tremble…and as she removed her mouth from his, out came a spray of blood and green pus, which she quickly wiped from his chin and lips.

Looking down once, more she could see the pink color of the sea sunset fill his cheeks. Looking to Rayven, perhaps Mi lady, while I stitch his head, thee may begin to wash his body and with the help of sir Joseph thee can both remove all traces of the salt and grime that are upon his lower extremities. Calling Olaf for more hot water, asked him to add more healing herbs to the water. As he carried over the basin, she was a bit perplexed to see both Rayven and sir Joseph looking at her a bit taken back, and she nonchantly kept on making very tiny stitches upon the brow and upper forehead of the Captain. Once finished, she tied the knot securely and moved her gentle fingers to the wound upon his stomach and ribs… Knowing this could wake anyone from the dead, she called to Olaf and then to Sir Joseph,
“Please hold our dear Tyrun still?” Now!’

While taking care not to move him, she let out a deep sigh as she took the stiletto and swiftly cut away the rotten skin surrounding the gaping wound. She worked in haste, much like a butcher removing bits of rancid fat from a pig. Waiting for Rayven and sir Joseph if he was able, to finish the bathing process. She took a big pad of linen and pressed it into the deep wound. She would make sure to keep changing it on each of the half hours around the clock until the blood flowed clear, and then she would hasten to stitch him up. She turned her attentions to his arm and looking to sir Joseph and Olaf, her own eyes looked to them pleading, as she spoke is a whisper…

“ Do either of thee know how we are to remove this chain from his arm, and if it is nae to amputated, we need to remove it as soon as possible before I can begin to work upon it.?"

The remaining pieced skin seemed to be looking healthy enough, though a few stitches in each puncture wound would be needed, but other than that, things were under control. Rising and pulling up a stool she took a huddled position close to the captains head and watched as he breathed in and out, making sure he didn’t stop again.

Looking to Rayven, and then sir Joseph while she called out to Olaf, “ Please do nae stray to far Mi dear lad, for it will take all of us to hold thee captain down should he decide to trash about.

[Sir Joseph]

As lady Rayven, somehow locates a way to “ignores” meself and skirt around me… she closes the door as mah mouth is held speechless and agape… buh….. buh….watching the door close….Hmph!
( it was such a Guhhreat try!, and there are such things as paybacks as you will witness..)

Waiting a few minutes fer her te be occupied…..
Once again… Quietly turning the latch and verra slowly opening the door a crack as I lean mah ead and peek ..
This tyme Laurestina catches me as I somehow without knowins worked my way inte the infirmary.. Hearing her exhausted, yet stern voice, as she shouts fer the sergeant… Knowins he nae be abouts… Then terning her attentions te meself….. trying te answer her queries,…
“Ummmm.. errr.. Twas jest tryins te find out ow Tyrun fares is all Laurestina…mah voice somber with a grave look in mah eyes… Whispering te ye.. “Ow does our friend fare, Laur?
“I shall do mah best te confine Tyrun Laur… but… as te washing”? Arches a brow.. “Ummm, I thinkins that be somethins you healers are trained upon.. and I aves nae formal training”…. *Stammering, squirming tryin so hard to get outta this* (( knows yer enjoying this far far way too much …Also, werryin what I aves let meself in for))

Mah eyes as they behold Tyrun bulge wide, aghast in horror… yet pensive in a state of sorrow and werry fer mah friend.. Es wounds now cleansed and stitched …the grotesque empty eye socket now covered… Admiring the fine handiwork Laurestina hath performed..
Watching as Laurestina suddenly becomes pale, spotting her leaning o’er and breathing the air from er lungs inte Tyrun…. Seeins es large barrel chest once again swell with air.. her dainty hands delicately pinched o’er es nose, as I watch in fascination, spotting the color return te Tyruns cheeks and face….

As Laurestina pulls away…Spotting the untold stitches, the fresh wounds about es face surely te leave more repulsive scars…. and I thoughts he twas hideously grotesque afore? Shakes mah ead.. Speaks nothing..
Snapped from mah thoughts by the urgent commanding tone of Laurestina te hold em still…. Placing both of mah large hands , one upon each shoulder as, Olaf gripped es hands…. Feeling the too cool clammy touch of es skin.. then once er twice stir in agony as the dressings twas changed… Nae avins te employ much strength te keeps em still..

Lookin te Laurestina when she again queries iffen I aves tyme te “wash” the captain. “Laur., I must hold em down.. perhaps tis more suitable te request of Rayven”…
Eyes immediately gaze back te Tyrun lying there es body black and purple, bruise upon bruise darkening. Looks te Laurestina as she mentions the schackles imbedded in Tyruns wrist, lookins at em closely.
“A large tweasers Laur?” (thinkins needle nose pliers but dunno iffen they was in practice back then)). “Iffen the wound be such it can nae be closed with stitching… I once seen after a battle a healer burnt a wound te seals its letching of blood. Perhaps such a method twould be the only way te stop the bleeding after the manacle chunks twas removed? A pike hot as coals twas used when I seens it accomplished”

(Oh yoo hoo, missy Rayven? ….” Payback Tyme”… grins adorably.. shouldda let me in. cause, as ya see Im in there anyways ,. Now, aint I? Impish grin)))…..
Looks down and watches Lady Rayven blushing profusely closing her eyes as she begins te carefully wash the lower parts of Tyrun.
Meself remaining at es shoulders, attentive te es every toss, moan and tern as per Laurestinas distinct instructions te sees te it he remains still…
Fer a fleeting moment glancing towards Rayven from Tyruns shoulders…Spotting her delicate hands slide lower, then lower still….Her careful delicate hands circling in a steady pattern clinging to a wet linen, changing it often….Then detecting Rayven taking a long paused breath.. soon again her hands moving, tenderly rubbing, while gently scrubbing… Lifting something and washing all around it.. fer a brief second I spots Tyruns anatomy….. Almost breakin inte a grin as I realize jest ow charmed I truly be (Dies laffin sorry bro, I jest hadta, either that or the healers did indeed do some “serious” cutting back….))

[Tyrun the Norseman]

((At this point, I must say this...

Tyrun has been in the ocean for a few hours. Of course, there will be some "shrinkage," Joseph!...you wise-ass! *L*

Otherwise, Tyrun isn't so badly off...))

[Rayven]

((Falling off my chair laughing at this mornings postings. Joseph, you are in soooooooo much trouble. 'Stina, girlfriend, buddy of mine..we got to talk. *L Will e-mail you later. Tyrun, you..you..just behave..*L))

[Tyrun the Norseman]

((I always behave. Always.))