Post by Josserand de Nateuil on Sept 9, 2004 7:58:34 GMT -5
What a predicament had he come into, Chevallier Josserand thought as he sat in a cell of the Windstorm dungeons together with two of the surviving men of the Frankish assault force. These two, as well as those others in the dungeons, were his men now. He was responsible for them now that Manassier had been killed on the battle field, and what kind of leader he was. Pah, leader or not, noble or not, none of his protestations that he was of noble birth and did not deserve to be locked up like this and thus not being able to look after his men properly.
Now he sat here, with Hargund and Robertin, wondering what fate would afford them next.
Thankfully, a woman came by soon, supposedly a healer, going from cell to cell to see if any of the men needed her services as a healer. None of the survivors were that badly hurt though. Apart from some scratches all were moderately well off. Josserand himself had received a rather nasty, deep cut to his right arm, rendering it without much feeling and ability to move.
The lady healer who had come look after them had brought some salve and bandages, Hargund helped Josserand with applying both to his injured arm. He hoped it would keep the wound from getting infected, although any type of hygene was quite difficult under dungeon conditions.
As evening dawned, the last rays of sunlight pouring through the tiny opening in the cell wall serving as a kind of window, Josserand sat on the floor, on some muddied hay, holding his arm, and wondering what the future would bring.
Now he sat here, with Hargund and Robertin, wondering what fate would afford them next.
Thankfully, a woman came by soon, supposedly a healer, going from cell to cell to see if any of the men needed her services as a healer. None of the survivors were that badly hurt though. Apart from some scratches all were moderately well off. Josserand himself had received a rather nasty, deep cut to his right arm, rendering it without much feeling and ability to move.
The lady healer who had come look after them had brought some salve and bandages, Hargund helped Josserand with applying both to his injured arm. He hoped it would keep the wound from getting infected, although any type of hygene was quite difficult under dungeon conditions.
As evening dawned, the last rays of sunlight pouring through the tiny opening in the cell wall serving as a kind of window, Josserand sat on the floor, on some muddied hay, holding his arm, and wondering what the future would bring.