@Arnyn
Trastion Leithor
Pelennor Fields - Jan 23rd
A stormy evening (and through the night)
As another round of thunder rumbled, Trastion found his way carefully down the stairs, holding his injured hand close to him while his other felt around in the dark, since the candle light didn’t really make it this far. It took him a while before he found his ax again, but he did, finally. Then, he looked back up the stairs, thinking. Was he was being paranoid, thinking someone might have deliberately closed that door? Perhaps so, but he preferred to have a weapon in hand, just in case. He remembered the scream, but there was clearly no one in here. And wherever the injured lady was, he could do nothing to help her now.
At least he did have a candle, he recalled. Groping in the near-dark, Trastion found his way past the objects that were littered across the floor, and around whatever was blocking its light. It turned out to be a crate, and on the other side of it, he discovered a single candle in a simple holder. It was nearly spent, and he estimated that only a few minutes remained for it. “Alright... let's see.” He muttered, first taking a glance at his hand. It was cut and bleeding, but it didn’t look too serious. It would certainly need tending to, but it wasn’t life-threatening. His main concern was whether those nails were clean or not. He didn’t have any soap though, so he’d just have to worry about that when he got back to the city. For now, he’d just have to settle for stopping the bleeding.
But there were other concerns also demanding his attention. For starters, the candle was about to go out, and he needed to find another source of light so he’d be able to see to do anything else. And then... the rain was a problem. He could hear it dimly, outside the doors. The clouds seemed to have broken loose a torrential rain that now pounded on the doors of the cellar, though the sound of the storm were muted from in here. But another sound was not muted; water pouring in from somewhere. Hearing that, he looked around for the source. Since the candle was nearly burned out, it took a moment before he found it. There was water coming in from somewhere above. Trastion frowned and looked up, and discovered that there was a pipe going up from the ceiling of the cellar, up through the ground and to the outside, presumably intended for ventilation, which he assumed was to prevent too much humidity or mold for the cellar, which was once a storage space, and to ensure that whatever foods had been stored down here would not spoil. Had there been a house over it as there had once been, this pipe would have probably been sheltered from the weather in some way. But as it was no longer sheltered by the house... there was nothing to stop the rain from entering the cellar, and it was doing so quite rapidly.
Trastion thought fast as he assessed his situation. What was his first priority? The candle was about to go out. So, that seemed highest on the list. Without light, he wouldn’t be able to see what he was doing, which would make everything else
extremely difficult. So, he began thinking frantically as he looked around to see if there were any other candles around, or perhaps something else he could use to make one. The wick on the burning candle was nearly spent, and it looked ready to fizzle out any moment. “Wax..” he muttered, glancing around, trying to think of something, anything. There was a tall shelf cabinet against one wall, and he hurriedly checked each of the shelves to see if there was anything useful on it. But there was nothing at all that could be used for a candle. “Wax.. come on, need something with wax... or oil? Oil would work, right?” He was talking to himself, but he didn't care. He began patting his pockets in a last, desperate attempt to find something.
“Aha!” He declared with triumphant grin as he suddenly remembered the tin of salve he had been using on his rash. There was beeswax in the salve! And some oil as well. Those would burn like a candle, right? He hastily dug it out of his pouch. There was still a lot of it left, too, since he had only recently had a fresh batch made up. So, it should burn for a good while. Hopefully. He just needed a wick now. “Let’s see.. a wick. Wick.. wick, wick.” He muttered thoughtfully under his breath, running a hand through his hair. Could he use a tiny strip of cloth, rolled up really tight? Or, maybe a small piece of string? But how would he stick that into the salve? No.. he needed something stiff enough to push into the waxy stuff. Something like.. a stick, perhaps? Or a small piece of straw? But straw would burn too rapidly, wouldn’t it? Not that it mattered; there wasn’t any down here. There weren't any sticks, either. Then, his gaze fell upon the crate that had been shielding the candle, and he smiled.
Taking up his ax again, Trastion carefully chipped off a sliver of wood from the edge of the wood making up the crate. Then, he took off the lid of the salve tin, and pushed the piece of wood down into the center of the salve. This being accomplished, he finally held up his ‘wick’ to the dying flame of the candle, and held his breath while waiting for it to light. And it did... just in time. As the new flame flickered into life, the other died in a tiny puff of smoke. Trastion poured the remaining melted candle wax onto the top of the salve, so it wouldn’t go to waste and would help his makeshift candle to burn longer.
There. Now that he had a light, the ranger trainee turned his thoughts toward what the next priority should be. Heat? Water? His cut? Yes... he decided that was probably the best order to do things in. Or, perhaps not. Now that he had his light, which illuminated the cellar much better than the other had, he noticed a couple of things. First of all, that the water was already beginning to puddle on the floor, especially in the corner where the pipe was. At this rate, he guessed it would be an inch deep in less than an hour. Maybe the rain would stop soon, he told himself. Hopefully. Anyway, the second thing he noticed was that the objects littering the floor, which was what he had kicked earlier, were metal buckets. Water! He grabbed the first one he saw, checked inside to see if it looked clean, then put it under the water that was pouring in from the ventilation pipe. After there was a little water in it, he used his uninjured hand to rub around the inside of the bucket to clean out any dust or anything that he might not be able to see. After rinsing it out, he put it back on the floor to catch the water rapidly pouring in. There, the water problem was solved.. though his hand was feeling very cold now. He tucked it under his other arm, trying to warm it.
While waiting for his hand to warm up, Trastion thought of something else that was definitely a priority. One which should come
first, above all others. Investigating to see if there was another way out! Duh. Grabbing his makeshift candle, Trastion carried it carefully as he went back toward the stairs, hoping that maybe he’d be able to find something to help him now that he had a light. Instead, what he saw was that the rain was also coming in through the edges of the hatch, trickling steadily down the stone steps, and adding to the flooding happening down in the cellar. That made him frown in concern. That meant there were
two places where water was coming in, and as heavily as it seemed to be raining, it was coming in fast. Hoping maybe he'd find something useful, Trastion examined the door by the light of his candle. There were, indeed, nails protruding from the door, sticking out just enough to explain what he’d cut himself on, earlier. He frowned, but that seemed unimportant to worry about right now. At least, he knew not to be pounding or pushing on the door with his hands, now. “Hello?” He called, hopeful. He pounded the back of his ax head against the surface to try and draw attention, instead of using his hands. “Is anyone out there? Help! Let me out!”
Unfortunately, the doors appeared to be ironbound, so there was no point to him trying to chop his way out. The hinges were not accessible from this side of the door, either. There was only a small gap around the borders of the doors, by which rainwater was entering at an alarming rate. He kept up pounding on the door for a little while before deciding that it was pointless. No one was out there, right? Because it was storming. No one would be out there in this weather. Trastion let out a shaky breath and went back down the steps. His bucket was nearly full already, so he picked it up and set it on the crate, in one corner of the small wooden box. He put the candle on the opposite corner before continuing his examination of the cellar.
His search proved fruitless as far as finding a way out. The stairs seemed to be the only way, unless he was small enough to squeeze through that ventilation pipe. “Maybe if I was a mouse,” He muttered to himself, with dry amusement. So, he was stuck in here until someone came looking for him, eventually. Because someone would... right? Eryn would surely wonder why he didn’t come back to get the horses. As his stomach grumbled with a complaint, he guessed that it was probably supper time at the mess hall, and he would miss it. “I should’ve agreed to join them for supper,” He sighed, regretfully. If he had, then they’d notice a lot sooner that he was missing. With most of the rangers still away at sea training, he couldn’t think of any of the rangers who remained, who’d have any cause to notice that he was missing. He didn't really know any of them well enough for them to notice if he was there or not. What if it was too late, by the time anyone came looking for him? Even if people were looking for him right now - which he doubted - how would they know
where to look? And how long would it be before he got to eat something, for that matter? He had some snacks in his saddlebags, but alas, those were beyond his reach.
It also occurred to him that the rain would be very effective at washing away all tracks he had left, which might guide anyone toward finding him. And as far as he knew, no one had even missed him yet. All of his roommates were off at sea. So was Arnyn, Kaylin, Pele… and he didn’t know how long it would be until they returned. He wasn’t due for healer training for three more days. He wasn’t due to train with Macardil for another five days. And even if he missed those appointments… neither of them knew him well enough to realize that was an indication that he was in need of help. He took a slow, shaky breath as he tried to calm himself, mentally going over anyone else there was, who might notice. Eryn? But for tonight, she would assume that he’d come and get the horses and go straight back to the sixth, and she probably wouldn’t discover that he didn’t do that, until morning. By then... he swallowed uncomfortably at the thought of how cold it might get as the night deepened. Heat was definitely the next priority. He was starting to shiver slightly, already, and his hands were cold, especially the one he’d gotten wet.
He took another look around his surroundings, unsure how to deal with that problem. If he’d been stranded out in the woods or something, it wouldn’t be a problem at all. He had a firemaking kit in the pouch at his belt, and he knew how to build a fire even in most kinds of weather. But down in a cellar? He knew better than to build a fire in a place like this. He’d suffered from smoke inhalation before, and he definitely wouldn’t want to repeat that experience. Especially if he was trapped and couldn’t get out. So.. how could he stay warm? “Gotta get some heat going.. but how?” He muttered to himself, frowning in thought. His gaze focused on the tin of salve, sitting on top of the crate that had been hiding the real candle earlier. Well, he had one tiny flame, but it wasn’t enough. He’d have to figure out something more effective. His frown deepened as he idly wondered who had lit the candle? And who had screamed? And who had dripped blood on the steps? Where was the injured person?
Thinking over these questions, he paced around, his boots making quiet little splashes with every step. The entire floor was covered now, and he was well aware that he’d need to find a way to keep dry, too. To his great frustration, Trastion felt stumped about a plan for keeping himself warm and dry. And since he couldn’t think of anything to do about
that problem just yet, Trastion decided he may as well tend to his hand now, and get the bleeding stopped before he did anything else. Besides, it would protect it from getting infected… hopefully.
He had learned at a young age, being taught by his brother and several of the foresters who were employed by his family, that when you go riding anywhere, there are certain items of gear that you should carry on your person rather than on your saddle, such as his waterskin. So he had that, as well as a pouch he carried on his belt which contained a few supplies, like a fire kit, and a very small and basic medical kit. With a half-amused smile, Trastion thought about his recent training sessions with nurse Rhoswyn, and halfway wondered what she’d say about his latest injury, if he ever managed to see her again. The thought that he might
not, however, wiped the smile from his face. He used a corner of his cloak, dampened from the rainwater flowing in from the pipe, to clean the wound. Hopefully it was clean enough, and hadn’t picked up any contaminants while traveling down the pipe, especially since that would be the only source of water he had access to once his waterskin ran out. Because that was rather low by now; he’d been sipping on it all day and had expected to be able to refill it when he returned to the barracks.
Focusing on the task at hand... which was his hand... Trastion sat down on the edge of the crate as he worked on cleaning the wound as well as he could with the edge of his cloak. Next, he took out a tiny container of ointment, which he put on his cut. It wasn’t easy, since his other hand was shaking and felt stiff and clumsy from cold, but he managed not to drop anything. A small roll, made up of strips of clean bandage cloth, went around and around the wounded hand, until he had no more bandage left to use. It was just enough... barely. After tying it off, Trastion put his kit away.
Now. He
really had to figure out a solution to the heat problem.
Outside, just beyond the ironbound doors that held him inside the cellar, Trastion could hear the storm still raging, having increased in force since he went down those steps. Wind whistled fiercely in gusts, thunder rumbled and clashed, sometimes so strongly that he felt the vibrations through the ground. He imagined there was also lightning, and he could tell how much the rain was pouring down, by how much water was flowing into the cellar. He had meant to be back in the barracks by now, enjoying a cozy fireplace. And maybe a cup of chocolate or something. Instead… he was worried about freezing or drowning before morning. “Why didn’t they put in a drainage thing, too?” He grumbled, worried by how much this place might fill up. And how long would it rain, anyway? Would the temperatures drop? He figured yes, and had a fleeting concern for Gaeroch, standing out there in it. But then his focus shifted toward keeping himself alive. While not ideal for the horse to have to stay out in this weather all night, he felt sure that she’d get through it well enough. Horses were outdoor creatures, after all.
“Right, no more standing around.” Trastion declared, speaking to himself, as if he needed to hear it said aloud in order to encourage himself to act. He took an assessment of what supplies he had available to him. There were several buckets, so maybe he could use them. There was that old, dusty shelf cabinet against one wall, with an assortment of items abandoned on it. Everything was covered in thick dust and cobwebs, and if anything at all used to be edible, it wasn’t now. But it wasn’t really the things
on the shelves that he was interested in. Trastion looked through some of them, however, just in case, and began to formulate a plan. He knew not to sit directly on the cold stone floor, even if it wasn’t wet… that would sap the warmth right out of him and thus make him succumb to the cold much faster. And he couldn't keep standing. Even if he could, the water was rising and it might end up soaking through his boots if it got high enough. The crate’s surface would be too small for prolonged sitting, plus he needed the crate for a ‘table’ for his candle. So, he needed to build a platform that would give him somewhere to sit, so he would be raised above the level of the water.
On the shelves, he found some rusty horseshoes, and ceramic pots and things that looked cracked or broken, and a few other seemingly useless items. He set everything aside for now, so that every shelf ended up cleared of its clutter. Then he used the back of his ax to knock the first shelf board free from its cabinet, and set that aside, then proceeded to do the same with the rest of the shelves. There were five boards in total, and he was pretty sure that should be just about enough for what he needed. Hopefully. His hands were feeling a little clumsy, and he dropped his ax a couple of times, which made him have to reach into the water to pick it up. He paused frequently to tuck his cold hands under his armpits, trying to warm them. The bandage on his other hand meant that he couldn’t even rub his hands together, but he did blow on them, trying to use his breath to warm them.
The buckets, fortunately, seemed to all be the same size. He guessed them to be roughly a foot tall, maybe a bit less. Ten, eleven inches, probably. As long as the water didn’t get higher than that, it would be enough. The only problem he found was, there were only a total of five, and he was already using one of them to hold his water. He thought about that for a moment, then nodded as he arrived at a solution. He took aside three of the boards and laid them side by side, with one end resting on the bottom step of the stairs. Then, he set three of the buckets on the floor, and slid one under each of the boards’ other end. Unfortunately, the step was a few inches shorter than the buckets, and he quickly realized that the water coming down the steps from the door was going to flow over the end of the boards that rested on the steps, and therefore could get him wet. He frowned, deciding that probably wasn’t the best idea after all. So, what could he do, instead?
He sighed, then slid everything back toward the center of the floor, and took away one of the boards, using two more buckets to prop up the other end of the two boards. But that was going to be too narrow of a platform for him. He could manage, of course, but it was definitely not going to be easy to sit on that for an extended period. One more board should make it wide enough, but he had no more buckets. He frowned as he considered this problem, then tilted his head thoughtfully as an idea came to him. He carefully moved both of the boards slightly apart, until there was about the space of another board between them. Roughly an inch was revealed of the buckets on the inner edge, while the rest was covered by the two boards. Carefully, he laid the third board down between the other two, so that the inch or so of exposed buckets served to support the third board, so that both of the outer boards shared with the center one.
Trastion stepped back and examined his work, thoughtful. Now, he had a platform on which to rest, which would not only keep him above the level of the water, but would also keep him from having to sit on the stone floor or steps. But would it hold up under his weight? He decided he’d better test it out, because he wasn’t certain how sturdy it would be with the boards having to share the bucket space. He carefully sat down and started moving his legs onto the board, but the boards wobbled, then the buckets tipped inward, and he yelped as he tumbled into the floor. “Ugh!” He groaned, hastily getting back up. Now his back was wet. Shivering, he resisted the temptation to kick at the boards and buckets in frustration.
Instead, he decided to try flipping the buckets up-side-down, and redid the entire thing like that, so that the ‘legs’ of his platform would have a wider base and hopefully be sturdier. But alas, the top of the buckets flared out so much that that he couldn’t get them close enough for the boards to share the bottoms of the buckets. He sighed and tucked both hands under his arms, trying to think. The water had risen a bit further by now, and he was worried it might start to seep in through his boots soon. He stepped up onto the bottom step, surveying his supplies. What could he do?
His gaze swept from the buckets and boards to the crate, and realized that the buckets and crate were the same height, exactly. Maybe that was the solution? He considered that, then nodded to himself and decided to give it a try. So, he rearranged his setup to have the crate supporting two of the boards, with an upside-down bucket next to the crate, to support the third board. Then, on the other end, three buckets supported each of the boards. He positioned it all as close to the stairs as he could get it, so that if someone did come and rescue him, he wouldn’t have to wade through the flooded cellar to get to the stairs. Lastly, just in case, he set a couple of those ceramic pots underneath the middle of the boards to serve as a support, since he wasn’t sure how sturdy the boards might be. This time, he tested it by pressing on the platform with his hands to see how sturdy it felt. Only once he had found it to be suitably stable, did he then sit down to test it further. Yes, this would work! He let out a shaky breath of relief. Finally, his platform was a success!
Alright. That was a start, but now he needed a tent, or some sort of enclosed space, so that he could contain as much of his own body heat as possible. As well as the candle’s heat. For, as small as it was, it would help a little, at least. Mentally, he thanked Duinion for having shown him several ways to build a shelter while out in the woods. Before going to the Tirdinen for training, he’d thought he knew plenty about survival and such. Because he’d always carried a tent along with him whenever he went camping, or when he was on the run, Trastion had never had to worry about that part of things before. He made a mental note to thank Duinion for that knowledge… if he ever got to see him again.
For the moment, he turned to the remaining two boards. These, he stood upright, leaning them carefully together so that they formed an upside-down V. But it would need some way to be secured. So, for the moment, he leaned them against the wall and dug out a bit of string from his pouch. With his ax, Trastion carefully put some notches into the sides of each board, on the ends that would be at the top. Then, he wound his string around the two boards, binding them together. The string fit into the notches, so it wouldn’t slide free from the boards. With that being done, Trastion placed his V carefully over his platform, with the widest part resting on the ends of the boards, with the point centered over his platform. He took a moment to check how sturdy it was, then took off his cloak and draped it around the frame of his shelter. But, when he tried to adjust the opening of his 'tent', the cloak slid off and he only barely caught it in time before it landed in the water.
Frowning, Trastion arranged it back like he wanted it, then considered for a moment on how to make it stay put. Soon, he had an idea and smiled faintly. He grabbed one of those rusty horseshoes and fitted it over the point where the two boards joined, using the curved metal to hold the hood of his cloak in place. Then he used a few more of those, to weight the bottom edges of the cloak down around the platform, spread out as much as it could, and hoped that the weight of the horseshoes would make sure that the cloak stayed where he wanted it to be. Fortunately, he’d worn a cloak today that was designed for rain resistance, so it ought to work quite well for holding heat in, right?
So now, he had a makeshift tent. He just hoped it would work like he thought it would. He was shivering a lot by now, and his boots were already slightly soaked. He was quite glad to finally be able to crawl in at last. He brought his candle into the tent with him, hoping that it’s little flame would help to add warmth in addition to his body heat. Thus, his small tent would create a little pocket of warmer air. One last horseshoe served to hold the ‘door’ closed, by weighing both corners down together, trying to prevent there from being too much of a gap. Now, he just had to wait… and hope that the temperatures wouldn’t cool down very much more. And that someone came looking for him soon.
He waited for a while, and gradually began to warm up slightly. The tent was working, he thought with relief. His hands warmed enough that they didn’t feel stiff and clumsy now. He took off his boots, and his feet began to warm, too. It wasn’t long before there was a noticeable difference in the temperature inside his tent, compared to outside. Eventually, he was no longer shivering. But he couldn’t stretch out comfortably, having to keep his legs folded up close to him, either sitting cross-legged, or hugging his knees close to him. He would have done some sort of exercise to warm up further, like sit-ups, but there wasn’t room to do that and still keep all of him inside his tent.
He wasn’t sure how long he had been waiting before he began to notice that the storm seemed to have ended. He no longer heard the wind and thunder, although it did sound like it was still raining. He peeked cautiously out from his tent and saw that the water level in the basement had managed to come up over the top of the bottom step, but not much higher. Hopefully, it wouldn’t get any higher than that. His stomach grumbled for the umpteenth time, and he took a small sip of water, finishing what was left in his waterskin. Well… at least he still had what was in that bucket, though he was reluctant to drink it until it was really a necessity.
Time dragged on, and Trastion grew worried as he noticed that his ‘candle’ was getting low on fuel. The salve was almost gone. He took his knife out, using the point to gently scrape the edges of the container and push whatever was left toward the low-burning wick, helping it to last just a little bit longer. Eventually, however, it ran out entirely, and Trastion was left in the dark. His legs were feeling cramped, and he wanted to reposition but he was afraid to move around too much, lest he cause some of his warmer air to escape and let cold air in. So, he tried to sit still to keep from jostling the cloak and make any gaps in the walls. Gradually, as time wore on, the small amount of warmth that had come from the candle, slowly but surely escaped. And while the air in his tent was still noticeable warmer than outside the tent, it wasn’t quite enough to keep him from beginning to shiver again. The temperature outside the tent felt like it had dropped. He began to consider whether it would be worthwhile to stretch out, do some sit-ups, and then curl up again and hope that the heat generated from his exercise might boost the warmth inside his tent again. He wondered how much time had passed. He felt really sleepy, and yawned. He wondered whether it was morning yet, and if anyone had begun looking for him yet. Hopefully, he wouldn’t have to wait much longer…
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