Modest_Proposal April 8 T- Cecil Brandybuck -T Cecil slung his bow and bounded toward Dahr-Ol and Elfwyn, dodging the carnage as best he could until he reached an impasse… The still stranger! An arrow stuck from his back like a flag of crimson fletching. Ernstyr had already taken position by Dahr-Ol and so he sunk down. He compressed a pale wad of pipeweed between his thumb and forefinger and crammed the thick of it in his pipe. Then with practiced efficiency, he struck a flint until a rising thread made way to billowing white. He wiped off the excess. “A good three days’ pack, this is. It’d wake a fish off the plate. Come on, take a good long puff, now... Let it in.” He lifted the man’s head. Blood and mud ran down Cecil’s arm. The arrow had pierced clean through and kept his torso angled in the muck. There was nothing he could do, besides give the man a moment to make peace. He turned to Dahr-Ol without looking too closely. Ernstyr, by his testament, was an experienced healer and practiced in the wounds of war. But Cecil preferred not to think about it. That Dahr-Ol could die was an impossibility, like the falling of a stout tree. “As much as you like, now. Don’t make me beg...” He swiftly placed his knee behind the man’s head, feeling for signs of movement. Using my Herb-lore trait to score a basic success.
Modest_Proposal April 7 T- Cecil Brandybuck -T Cecil slung his bow and bounded toward Dahr-Ol and Elfwyn, dodging the carnage as best he could until he reached an impasse… The still stranger! An arrow stuck from his back like a flag of crimson fletching. Ernstyr had already taken position by Dahr-Ol and so he sunk down. He compressed a pale wad of pipeweed between his thumb and forefinger and crammed the thick of it in his pipe. Then with practiced efficiency, he struck a flint until a rising thread made way to billowing white. He wiped off the excess. “A good three days’ pack, this is. It’d wake a fish off a plate. Come on, take a good long puff, now... Let it in.” He lifted the man’s head. Blood and mud ran down Cecil’s arm. The arrow had pierced clean through and kept his torso angled in the muck. There was nothing he could do, besides give the man a moment to make peace. He turned to Dahr-Ol without looking too closely. Ernstyr, by his testament, was an experienced healer and practiced in the wounds of war. But Cecil preferred not to think about it. That Dahr-Ol could die was an impossibility, like the falling of a stout tree. “As much as you like, now. Don’t make me beg...” He swiftly placed his knee behind the man’s head, feeling for signs of movement. Using my Herb-lore trait to score a basic success.
