|Death by Flux|
|Summary:||Death and discussions at the Flint camp.|
|Related Logs:||Flint camp stuff|
|Flint Camp, Highfield|
|Large clearing with lots of tents. A big pvaillion and multiple smaller ones, also a cook fire and the foundations of a small manor.|
|Sat 28 Dec, 289|
The Flint development is, unsurprisingly, rather lacking in activity today. The death of a child is always a tragic thing, and in so small and tight-knit a community as this one, Northerners so far from home, the loss is perhaps felt even more keenly. A few linger by the comfort of the communal fire, though conversation is minimal and hushed, amid huddled groups or pairs. Indeed, the only particularly active figure to be seen is a woman by the name of Ragny. She's a familiar enough figure in the camp, famed for managing stews and pottages from even the lacklustre fare available here. For the moment, she has paused to prod at the logs on the fire, turning them over that the other side might take hold.
Einar has been trying to keep the work going since the disease hit the camp, if only to give those still able something to do rather than sit around with nothing to focus on but the sufferings of their fellows. Today though, even he isn't pushing. Taking the opportunity of a few quieter hours he is instead writing up a copy of his notes on the progress so far, the Ashwoods have asked for a copy and if the information he's noted can help their maester, or indeed any other healer, in identifying the source of this disease, then it'll be time well spent. After that comes the stock take and list of supplies needed, although for that last bit he heads for the cookfire, seeking out the opinion of the other member of camp with training in the healing arts. "Mistress," he starts in greeting, pen and parchment still in hand, "do you have anything to add to the supply list for the Ashwoods?"
Looking up from her task, absently pushing back some grey-blonde hair from her brow with the back of one hand, Ragny musters a weary smile for the young man. She was likely a handsome woman, in her day. But the years of worry and toil, particularly in the harsher elements of home, have taken their toll on her complexion. Still, those stormy blue eyes are bright and assessing, and the common healer seems in relatively good health, all told. Lucky her. "Some tansy certainly wouldn't go amiss.. my own supplies are nearly gone and.. well, I've just not the time to go hunting the forests for more." A vague gesture encompasses the camp at large. Hungry mouths to feed versus tender stomachs to soothe. "It's the only thing that seems to work at all, in easing their pains, y'see. I don't want to beg unnecessarily from the Ashwood Lords, though." Stout, stoic and proud. Aren't they all, here?
Einar takes a moment to add it to his list before glancing back to offer the woman a faint, and hopefully encouraging smile. "Oh I wouldn't think on it as begging Mistress, Lord Aleister and Lord Anders will have sorted themselves an arrangement. Whatever is needed, be sure to let me know and the Young Lord will see to it that it's provided." His own, somewhat limited, supply bag has been restocked on that basis at least twice now by delivery drops at the barricade. He glances then in the direction of the sick and says, keeping his voice low, "I've recorded what I can of how it progresses, the symptoms and signs, what we've tried. There'll be Maesters looking it over soon enough."
A momentary smile peels back the healer's lips as she straightens, bracing her fists on her hips in a matronly manner. But the expression fades as she follows Einar's glance toward the pavillion where those most afflicted are currently resting. Suffice to say, the area doesn't have the most pleasant of odours, what with stale sweat and other, fouler aromas mingling in the air, despite the herbs kept often smouldering nearby. "A wise idea. Though I'm as mystified now as I was with the first patient, I must confess. I don't see that the water supply has been fouled.. nor the food. Yet everyone's complainin' of bellyaches and loose bowels. I can't explain it, Gods help me. All I can do is try and make them comfortable." Looking back to the young man, she chuckles wryly. "..but you know all that. Mayhaps a Maester -will- help. I'd be thankful for it, since this is plainly beyond m-.."
The wheat-haired woman trails off abruptly as her name is called from the low tent.. and with a decided lacing of panic to the tone. The source soon enough becomes clear as a girl emerges through the flap, leaving a smeared handprint of scarlet in her wake upon the fabric. Wide-eyed and pale, the teenager displays her bloodsoaked palms toward the pair, looking down at the mess, then up at them in evident shock. "My ma…" Gathering herself just enough, she has the wits to shriek for help, before stumbling back inside, where a clamour is definitely growing.
Snatching up a scrap of cloth and placing it over her mouth and nose, Ragny almost pushes her way past, heading immediately for the pavillion. "Might want to hold onto that paper a wee bit longer.."
Einar starts nodding his agreement and looks about to reply when the call rings out. Turning towards the tent he watches and listens in silence, letting the girl get out what she can before he too is reaching for a scrap of cloth, one that he's had tied loosely round his neck for days now, and pulling it over his nose and mouth. Fully aware that there's probably very little he can do that Ragny can't he follows anyway on the off chance. After all, if nothing else he can to to help then he can record the development as it progresses, rather than having to rely on memory after the fact.
Grasping a handful of her skirts and keeping them out of the way of her booted feet, Ragny bolts for the tentflap and disappears inside. Within the pavillion, those occupying the numerous low cots are all staring in one direction, some already trying weakly to clamber from their beds, others weeping pitifully into their plain woolen blankets, unable to look away. The blood-drenched teenager of a moment ago can be seen at the far end of the 'room', knelt beside, presumably, her mother with her head bowed in fervent prayer.
It's not a pretty sight and it's little wonder the other patients seem keen to flee the scene… the middle-aged woman is still on her cot, though the blankets have been flung aside, leaving her rather indecent in a simple shift. With eyes glazed and mouth slack, she thrashes and spasms upon the straw-stuffed mattress, her thighs and the sheets beneath soaked with blood and faeces. In a moment of clarity, one might be suddenly thankful for the scant protection offered by the cloth over mouth and nose - the stench has already prompted a number of the other Northerners to retch. A last shuddering motion, and the woman falls still, staring sightlessly up at the ceiling. In the moment before her daughter begins to wail her grief, all that can be heard is birdsong and the gentle hush of wind's breath through the trees beyond the fabric walls.
With nothing being left to be done for the mother, Einar leaves Ragny to do what she can cleanup wise and such and makes for the daughter instead. His prayers to his Gods are muttered as he makes his way to the far end of the tent before he reaches into his memories of the Old Gods and their teaching to offer a few words of comfort to her. Not that comforting wailing women is something he has any actual experiance at, unless his little sister when she skinned her knee as a child counts, so it's a faintly awkward hand that comes to rest briefly on her shoulder. "She is with the Gods now," he comments quietly, "when you hear the wind in the trees, she'll be with you again."
Credit where it's due, the healer doesn't hesitate - there's not even a falter in her stride as she starts bossing the other women about, heading for the still-warm corpse. With a grateful glance to Einar for taking the inconsolable teenager off her hands, Ragny stoops and gently begins drawing the sheets up and around the woman, laying them over her to conceal the horror of those last moment.. what's left, anyway. A brush of her fingertips softly closes the staring blue eyes before the sheet is draped upon the woman's slack features.
"Get her outside.." she murmurs as an aside to the young man. "Get her some fresh air before she faints. You." This goes to one of the trembling women who has approached, wringing her hands. "Go and fetch a few hands to carry her through to the clearing.. and you!" A turn of her head and she's bossing someone else. "Fetch more herbs for burning and open the pavillion sides where you're able."
Straightening now, Ragny surveys the tent at large, bracing her hands on her hips. It's likely only Einar that'd notice the wide-eyed look of fear she's doing her best to suppress. The healer is utterly out of her depth, here. "Stay in your beds, the lot of you. You ain't gonna do yourselves any good gettin' out of them til you're good and healed." Alas, for all her attempted authority, it's becoming obvious that they may never get out of them again, if the illness takes hold. A fearful glance wanders Einar's way. Now what?
Einar glances across to Ragny as she starts to take charge of the situation and gives her a short nod to indicate that he's understood and will do just that. His first attempt, to simply mutter the suggestion to the lass falls on deaf ears, or is ignored in favour of her grief, either way nothing comes of it. His second attempt, placing a hand on each of her upper arms and gently guiding her first back and then up onto her feet is more successful and he's just starting to guide her back towards the flap through which they had entered when he catches Ragny's look.
Pausing a moment to straighten up and square his shoulders a fraction he takes one of his hands from the girl and places it in turn on the healer's shoulder before saying loud enough for others in the tent to hear, "Carry on Mistress, you're doing a fine job for us here." It's not perhaps the most inspiring of speeches ever, but then he flashes her a look which he hopes says clearly enough 'I'll talk to you outside later'.
It's not lengthy or pretty, but the speech seems to do its job. Pressing her lips firmly together, Ragny returns a nod, then turns her attention to the newly-arrived men who have come to bear the body off to the pyre. The teenage girl, still sobbing, clutches a hand in Einar's tunic and leans against his side, barely seeming aware of being led outside at all.
Emerging from the healer's pavillion, preceded by a sudden flurry of activity and a gut-wrenching sobbing, come Einar Flint and a young girl, a teenager. Her plain clothing is saturated with drying blood that doesn't appear to be her own. While others hurry to the tent, namely some stout looking men hastening after a woman presumably sent to fetch them, this odd pair seem intent on getting away from it. The young man seems to be doing his best, but the mousy youth seems beyond comforting; weeping uncontrollably with her slight form pressed against his side and a one hand clutched in his tunic for support.
Those lingering near the fire exchange worried glances over their bowls of pottage. What's happened now?
After what had proven to be an early night for the Fenster lady when she had fallen asleep by the fire, she had awoken early in preparation of the day ahead. The fact that she woke in a rather all-too-familiar tent belonging to the Sheriff of Highfield had not escaped her attention either. Thankfully she had woken alone. With her bags having been thoroughly checked through, a parchment already half covered with ideas and a book looking worn from the pages being turned and turned again as the lady compares symptoms to known ailments. The cloth over her face is still tied firmly in place in what is probably a vain attempt to prevent sickness for herself, she hears the sobbing and alights from the tent, already taking her bag in hand as she rushes out, her cloak around her shoulders. Taking just a moment to get a handle on the scene before her, Bella looks towards the other tents around. After seeing no one else coming out, she rushes headlong into the fray, towards Lord Einar and the sobbing girl.
Einar also has a cloth tied over the lower part of his face, although he tugs it down to hang loosely round his neck once he's out of the sick pavillion. It's slow progress, as he's half carrying the lass it seems, but they do make their way steadily towards the seating near the cookfire. Noticing Arabella's approach when they're about half way there he offers her the briefest of nods in greeting, not perhaps up to the expected standards of proper society, but he does rather have is hands full at the moment.
Already in the background there's further activity to the rear of the pavillion - a lifeless, shrouded figure being hefted out through the open canvas flaps of the tent by the two men summoned moments ago. They hasten off toward a small clearing, set away from the camp proper. It's where the pyre is. Well, that may offer some sort of explanation to the noblewoman for all this chaos.
Stumbling alongside Einar, the girl barely seems to look where she's putting her feet, let alone where she's being led. Up close, there's blood all over her hands and arms, too, not just on her simple woolen dress. Whoever has passed this morning, it plainly wasn't peaceful or serene.
Sickness knows no station. Out here, Bella is just another healer and the return nod she gives him hopefully conveys the lack of proprieties she is taking as well. "Wait.." Glancing between the nobleman and the girl then the pavilion where the shrouded figure is being removed. Cautiously she approaches though hesitantly remaining a few steps back. So much blood.. "What happened?" Not looking at the girl then, her gaze resting on the lord, needing an answer before she made any suggestions. Well, maybe one. "She should clean up before going around the others. We do not want a panic or.. worse. Especially if it is transferred through.." Blood. And the commoner was all over the nobleman. "Why not get her washed up just to be safe?" Besides, who would want the blood of a loved one on them for any extended time anyway?
"Her mother," Einar replies, with a glance back to the tent, "it's too soon to say." By which he means he's not going to speculate until Mistress Ragny rejoins him, she was dealing with the unfortunate woman after all, he just got the daughter to try and console. Making it to a log by the fire he gently sets her down, although she needs a few moment's worth of encouragement to disentangle her fingers from his clothing. Keeping a hand in what he hopes is a reassuring position on her shoulder he then turns back to Arabella to properly answer her. "Not a bad plan," although obviously, that’s not something he can do himself, still, there are womenfolk around camp who can. Turning to call one of them over he relays the suggestion of a wash and fresh clothes before turning the lass over to her care.
Watching the girl with a sympathetic expression, Bella realizes there is little she can do for her at the moment other than offer her condolences, but she decides to save that for a later time as well. Instead, she looks at Einar. "I am Bella Fenster, Bella works as well as anything else out here." The offer made, she looks towards the tent. "Is Mistress Ragny in there then?" Having heard the name the day before from the father of the previous victim who had succumbed to the sickness. "If you would excuse me.." Another tender glance given to the lass as she is turned over to the care of others. "I would like a word with her."
As the girl is led away, still sobbing softly, by the woman Einar called, another figure approaches the pair of nobles, wiping off her hands on her skirts having freshly washed them. Taking in the sight of the bloodied teenager being ushered away, the middle-aged woman then makes a beeline for Einar, worry etched across her face. Waving off a few others who try to intercept her, no doubt with questions she doesn't care to answer, Ragny pushes back a few wisps of hair from her brow with one forearm, coming to a standstill and forming a triangle with the Lord and Lady. The latter is given a swift glance and nod of respect, though as they've not met yet the healer addresses the young man instead. "I've done what I can. But folks're starting to panic. Can't say I blame them, after that." True enough, she's visibly ashen. She's only a common healer, after all.
Einar nods again as Arabella introduces herself, although he does remember her from the Grove's boar hunt. "Einar Flint," he offers in return, clasping his hands behind his back in an attempt to remind himself not to move or touch anything until he's had a chance to wash them, and probably change his tunic too. As the lady mentions the healer he starts to say that she'll be out soon, but it seems the older woman has beaten him to it and so he simply nods in greeting to her as she arrives, then gets the introductions over and done with. "Lady Arabella Fenster, Mistress Ragny." He figures they can sort out prefered terms of address themselves. Turning back then the flint woman he listens carefully to what she says and then nods slowly, "I'll see what I can do shortly, probably better sooner rather than later, and I'll see if we have an ale cask somewhere. The proper stuff, not the small beer, cracking one of them might work to keep their minds of things for awhile at least." It'd worked during the long, damp sieges on Harlaw.
Arabella cannot help but watch as the girl is being led away, her heart going out to her. To lose her mother… With a shallow breath, she looks back to the healer, eyes sad but alert, nose and mouth still covered by the cloth for whatever good that would do. Still, it is something to make her at least feel a little more protected. "I admire your tenacity, Mistress Ragny. I am sure it has to be disheartening when there is nothing that seems to work. I wonder though.. I have been reading through my books.." Certain the commoner had been too, but just needing to offer it. "Have you any ideas on what could be happening? So many ailments have the same symptoms, I wondered if you had narrowed it down to anything in particular, such as dysentery.. or sulfur poisoning.. cholera." (not really sure of the names of them back then) At the introductions, the Fenster does indeed remember him, her smile warms her eyes considerably at the recollection. "I apologize for not recognizing you sooner." Though as her name is given to Mistress Ragny she offers a small shake of her head. "Bella would be sufficient just now, thank you."
"M'lady." Remembering herself in light of the fresh introduction, Ragny bobs a clumsy curtsey toward the young woman. There's a touch of curiosity, though, truth be told. A noblewoman? Here? She's not even a Flint relation, is she? The name's not familiar, at any rate. Oh well. Any port in a storm. Nodding her approval to Einar's notion of distracting those in the camp, the healer then settles her attention fully upon Bella, listening carefully.
"I'm no Maester, nor chiurgeon, m'lady.." she begins, with no discomfort at the admission. "But I've heard tales of what can afflict whole armies, and lay more'n half of 'em down inside of a week. I think you know of what I speak." Glancing about herself, the woman frowns a little and edges closer, softening her tone to little above a whisper. "The woman was complainin' of the very same things as all the others who've taken ill. Stomach pain. Sickness. Loose bowels. And now ever'one in that pavillion.." She nods fractionally toward the long and low healers tent. "..just seen how she passed. Thrashin' in her own blood and.. foulness." Her eyes, crinkled at the corners with age and crow's feet, search Arabella's own clear and youthful ones, hoping she doesn't need to say aloud what she thinks this may be. "Please, m'lady.. I.. I know of no cure, if my guess be right." There's a quiet desperation to the woman's words. Folk such as these rely on those better educated. Worldly nobles. They'll make everything alright. Won't they?
We've seen sign of foulness in neither the water nor food," Einar answers to Bella, keeping his voice low so it shouldn't carry beyond the three of them. "If you haven't already read them then please avail yourself of my notes, although they'l need to be updated for this latest… development." He almost brings his hands forward then to produce said notes and hand them over, but thankfully he remembers in time and keeps them well out of the way. "If you wouldn't mind though, I'd like to take a lookover what you have with you? See what can be found within?" He'sheard Ragny's prognosis, but it isnt going to stop he being hopeful, or at least appearing so for the sake of the hundred or so souls in his care.
There has just been another death, this one quite bloody and messy. Bella heard the ruckus and had left her tent and is standing and talking with Lord Einar Flint and Mistress Ragny, the healer for them. The news she has just been given is not good. How could someone fix what was not able to be fixed? The quiet desperation is acknowledged by a falsely reassuring look, though the thoughts rampant in her head at the moment are dire indeed. "I.. do, unfortunately know of what you speak of. Those afflicted must immediately be quarantined off from those who show no symptoms and those who show none must be watched, carefully monitored." With a cautious look, Bella looks back to Einar. "Go wash…" The command is not a command at all, more of a plea. The stark fear inside her almost showing itself just then before she manages to pull herself together.
Just as realisation seems to dawn upon Arabella, who's vastly better qualified than poor Ragny in judging the illness here, shouts and screams rise once more from the healing pavillion a short distance away. Turning sharply to look in that direction, the middle-aged woman then glances between the two nobles she has been speaking with, setting her jaw to keep her lip from quivering. "I.. I've already been in there the best part of a week, m'lady. I'll continue in my duties. But please.." She almost reaches for Bella's hand, before remembering herself and wringing her own together in fearful supplication. "..do what you can out here. And send word to our Young Lord Anders?" With wide eyes, this plea is settled upon the unfortunate Einar's shoulders. He's the only one of them who ventured here.
With that, the world-worn healer turns and, holding her head high, rushes for the tent. The screaming, at least, seems to have abated. Yet somehow, the heavy silence in its wake is all the more ominous. After a moment, she disappears inside.
The flap to Daryl's tent opens, and out peers a clothed face, eyes narrowing as he looks out over the camp. "…Ugh." He grunts, probably feeling the copious amounts of wine he consumed the night before. Irregardless, that head disappears back into the tent for a few seconds. Then he emerges in much more dramatic and striding fashion, passing by the ashes of the fire from the night before. Surprisingly enough, he looks quite well, not even hungover. He likely does this a lot. The Ashwood strides towards the three, moving to step up to them and offer small nods, only keeping his distance a couple paces. "…Everything alright?" A look and nod to Lord Einar, even if his face is mostly covered, his armor still denotes him as an Ashwood deputy. He peers towards the screams then. And Ragny before his gaze moves sharply to Erik.
Erik had been up earlier and had taken a meal of the provision they brought from Highfield, not daring to try to the food here or even hunt the surrounding wildlife. Dried jerky and water seems to be on par and the young knight had taken in the meal without complaints, most likely because it has only been day one. He had then taken upon to do a bit of a walkabout around the encampment, almost like a sentry patrolling but instead of focusing his eyes out into the wilderness, the Jast Knight's eyes are focused in, as if looking to see just how many may 'look' sick. The scream though does grab hold of his attention sharply and his slow, circular route stops, instead he makes a sharp detour and makes his way closer to the source though he does attempt to try to avoid any of the Flints.
"We are doing so already," Einar answers to Bella, nodding briefly in the direction of the large pavillion containing the sick. In other circumstances he might be annoyed that she is not the first new comer to the situation to suggest such basic measures long after they were already implemented, but as it is, he's now more concerned about the fact that the two women seem to have an idea on what this might be while he is still in the dark.
As the screams start up again and Ragny leaves he turns to Bella once more and says quietly, yet firmly, "name it." Daryl is given a brief nod but only that for now as he keeps his attention on the Fenster. He's itching though to go and aid where he can, but he wants that answer first.
Arabella closes her eyes, turning her head away to hide what is surely conveyed as weakness. So many sick with so much death to follow, no matter what any of them did. Once the healer is out of earshot, Bella turns to look at Daryl, the resignation in her eyes as she offers just a miniscule shake of her head. No, things are definitely not alright and they more than likely would never be again. "The sick.. any with symptoms, any symptoms at all must be quarantined. Others who have been exposed must be quarantined somewhere else, until they show symptoms. And lastly, the rest of us.. we will go nowhere until we find out if we show symptoms." Looking towards the pavilion, her voice is a whisper, "Gods save us all."
“My apologies, Lord Einar, of course you have.. of course. It is just.. I can do nothing and I feel as if just saying it would help. Forgive me, I meant no slight towards you. There is.. nothing we can do. Those with symptoms will die." Not wanting to create a panic within the camp at large, any more than there is already, Bella leans in to whisper to Einar.
Arabella whispers: There is no cure for the Bloody flux beyond prevention.
Those who are still milling about in the main area of the camp, having paused, startled, at the fresh bout of cacophony from the set-aside pavillion, now murmur quietly amongst themselves. Several are eyeing the small gathering of nobles near the cookfire, though mostly with curiosity rather than displeasure or suspicion. If the nobility are here, then soon things will be set right, isn't that so?
Clearing his throat, with a fist lightly placed to his lips in polite mannerism, one man makes to approach the young lady and her companions. More than likely, he's mustered the courage to ask outright what's going on, or to offer his aid.
Soon, the hiss of an arrow pierces the area, almost whistling as it archs far away from the camp, and lands in the dirt with a thunk. Daryl just looks towards Bella then, nodding. "Yes, that is how one normally would handle containment measures. Were you not aware it would be like this, M'lady?" Still his eyes show a little compassion for her before he moves to start towards that arrow. A pause at Bella's final words, A look to Einar, "From what you have seen…Has anyone naturally fought the illness off? Broke the fever and cough?" He doesn't really stop for the answer…Perhaps he doesn't want to hear it. The Deputy peers at the newly arrived man, "…He's sick, be careful." He moves towards that arrow, crouching as he observes it, and pulls a message off the shaft of the arrow. "Sheriff! A message! Nayland group trying to come through, they have a healer as well as provisions. Shall we send the healer through?"
Erik continues to approach the source of where the scream had shattered the quiet though he does notice the small group of nobles, Arabella, Daryl, and Einar. His eyes narrow when he sees one of the Flints approaching but he does not see the condition of the man, being farther away. He does trust his Deputy to have that situation in hand, or the Flint noble. For now, the Sheriff of Highfield will continue on his current course, as the scream was no natural thing.
Einar straightens a little at Bella's words, dropping his own voice as he replies perhaps a little shortly. "Lady Fenster, I appreciate your willingness to come here and offer your help but I will not have such talk in this camp. If you can not remain positive in outlook then I'd ask you to keep away from and not converse with my people here. They have enough to deal with already without robbing them of their hope and faith that they can get through this." Holding a brief hand up to halt the approaching man he turns to Daryl and offers his own response, even if it was unasked for, "if they're prepared for the fact that they won't be allowed to leave until this is done, then let them come. Make sure they're fully informed though." That said he turns to take the few steps towards the commoner,pulling the cloth up over his mouth as he does so before raising an eyebrow slightly to ask what he's needing.
A message of confirmation is loosed back towards the barricade, a few moments pass…
"Beggin' y'pardon, m'lord.." begins the man, seeming surprised but not unduly upset at being signalled to halt. Those highborn ladies of the Riverlands don't always like having strangers near them, he knows that much. "It's just.. we were wonderin' if there's somethin' we ought to be doin'. With work bein' halted an' all." His rheumy eyes wander the group, before settling back on Einar expectantly. The bevy of men in the background are watching with interest, probably having chosen this man as their spokesperson.
As for Erik? The perfectly common-sense approach made by Highfield's handsome Sheriff toward the healer's tent is put to an abrupt halt, one would expect, as the entry-flap is flung open. Launching herself through the gap, a young woman emerges, still clad only in a plain chemise which is saturated with sweat. As is her long dark hair. She's probably rather a fetching creature, normally.. but not so in this moment. Her clumsy path places her directly in front of Erik, an unfortunate last-minute trip sending her windmilling, wild-eyed toward him.
Word has been brought back to the Nayland convoy that they are permitted past, but only the healer. Said healer is busily ensuring that the food and supplies graciously prepared by House Nayland are being brought up toward the encampment with all due haste. Bearing the presence of utmost confidence, Visenya Goodbrook, nee Nayland strides forward, her bright blue eyes searching for one in command, or at least the closest thing to it. Though still shrouded in complete black, her clothing is far more simple, almost common. The best way to travel and heal the possibly dying. A black cloth has been tied about her neck with an easy adjustment to lift it up to cover her nose and mouth if necessary.
"Of course, Lord Ashwood, I understand that is how it is normally done. Again, I apologize, I just.." Not going into the explanation again, Bella watches him just a moment. In lieu of answering though, about anyone fighting it off naturally, she answers the more urgent message of more coming. "Only if they…" Drifting off though as Einar answers.
When the commoner approaches them, looking a little sick himself, a frown appears, almost an accusation as she looks towards Daryl then Einar. A question in her eyes. If they have all been contained, why is this one roaming around? With the words of the Flint lord, she respectfully nods. "Yes, my Lord." Though she would not ever speak around the Flint people as she had with Einar, since he had asked her to name it. She had.. along with the treatment or lack thereof.
Again, her heart goes out to the Flint people as a whole and with the cloth over her face, she nods politely to the man, warmth in her eyes, careful to conceal the clawing dread inside her as she tries to convey encouragement to all those watching the group.
Daryl takes the note and balls it up, moving to toss the note into the fire from last night, for later usage of something to burn. He eyes the Flint and commoner, then Bella, feeling the distance between them was suitable enough. He anticipates the Nayland aid, and starts to head to help retrieve those supplies, knowing full well that the guards from the barricade wouldn't just walk into the camp. He comes to a halt, his green eyes widening a touch, facial features covered mostly by the cloth over his face. "…M'lady…?" Is all he offers, keeping his distance for the moment, "-You're-…" He clears his throat, dips his head a touch. "Follow me with the materials. Probably better for now that I do not touch them." He moves to step away, his eyes screaming 'what the hell…' why he has his face turned.
The sudden change of the tent has Erik immediately halting his progress towards it and the appearance of the girl alarms the young knight. "You, stay back!" He warns the girl who is looking apparently lost in her uncertain steps and while doing so, the Jast Knight himself is slowly taking a step back, then two. If the girl was a knife wielding Ironborn, he would have acted swiftly, or a charging boar. However, the girl is just a girl, one of the Flints perhaps and even someone like the Jast Knight would hesitate in cutting her down. As Sheriff, he knows it would it would only cause a riot here in the camp and diplomatic issues for his Lord. With all these thoughts shooting through his head, his actions are delayed and distracted to the point that the young noble's heel catches a small clump of dirt. This pitches him backwards, causing Erik to fall on his back and of course, the girl's trip sends her falling onto him. Fuck me! Is the thought as he watches the sickly girl fall towards him.
Einar eyes the men a moment before settling back on the man who'd approached. "We're running short on wood," he states matter of factly, even though supplies are certainly not terrible lacking, "A group should go into the woods, and bring back what is needed can for the fires tonight. Don't stray too far though, there's wildlife aplenty out there. Once thats done that I'll need a couple of you to help sort the supplies the Naylands are bringing and the rest can start helping with the food preparations." For the man himself though, there are different instructions, ones it's harder to give, "I need you though to go help Mistress Ragny." He glances towards the tent, hoping that he's wrong and that the man has just been doing something physical, but he'll leave that to the healer herself to judge.
Contained. Nothing was contained here. Glancing over to the other nobles since Einar seemed to have the man in hand at least, Bella looks over just in time to see the girl almost fall on Erik. "Contain them. Please, Lord Einar. For their own good." For everyone's. Without further thought beyond that, she rushes towards him with hurried steps, thoughts all jumbled in her mind. The poor girl. Watching her fall then become still, she can only assume the worst. Think positive? How? There was so much chaos! So much chaos and very little control going on. Why?
Visenya's attention has been on the transportation of supplies, halting one of the guards long enough to retrieve a satchel laden with different herbs and pre-made concoctions to assist in a variety of issues. From this, she pulls a roll of parchment free, starting to count and walk at the same time. Best to ensure that everything is still in order. But seeing Daryl makes her eyes widen a little. "I…" She instead clears her throat and offers a polite smile. "Visenya for the duration, Deputy," she replies. "I am here in the capacity of healer, not Lady." She snaps the parchment shut and offers it toward the Ashwood. "A listing of what we brought." The Goodbrook is just far enough away that she is not actively aware of what is happening elsewhere.
Erik is silent for a moment as he sees the girl fall over to the side, his gazed locked towards hers as he watches the life of the sick girl slowly float away, watching her take her last breath. Lucky for her, the last image she has before her death is a rather handsome knight, one she could take to with her as she makes her trip with the Stranger. Sense eventually returns to the Jast Knight and he quickly rolls away to put a bit more distance between himself and the girl before rising to his feet and calling out, "Healer!" He does eventually see Arabella running towards him and holds up a hand, "Hold, Lady Arabella. This one has already passed but we must still be careful." Plus, he doesn't want her to get too close to him, just in case the sick girl was close enough to pass whatever sickness she had onto him.
Daryl peers about, now a bit on guard that he is escorting the currently not infected Visenya, one hand rested on the handle of his blade. He watches as the girl falls beside Erik, his body tensing, ready to run for aid…But…When the girl goes limp…He just drops his head some, finally looking over the parchment as he nods his head, a glance back towards the Goodbrook, "Stay close. We have yet to contain the sick entirely." He indicates a spot to drop the supplies, "Leave them here for now. Speak to Lady Fenster and she can get you caught up on the illness itself." A look towards that dead girl again, a shake of his head. "…I'm glad your here, Visenya. But part of me wishes you hadn't come." He outstretches his arms to indicate around them a little, "Welcome to the Flint camp." The dead people and constant sounds of coughing make it seem more like something out of a horror story.
With the cloth still up over his face, and having not yet had the chance to wash his hands since the last death, so shortly before, Einar makes his way over towards Erik and the girl. Agreeing with Erik he offers a brief "stay back," to Bella, "there's nothing more you can do for her." If Erik wants to back away from him or not he'll leave fir him to decide but before he reaches the body he turns back to the man by the fire and beckons him over. The two of them should be able to move the corpse between them to the pyre in the small neighbouring clearing.
Visenya turns swiftly to see the end of the commotion, her expression growing far more grim on the sight of the dead girl. But sadly, death is not a new thing in the eyes of the Goodbrook. "I will be sure to speak with her and see what can be done to best utilize all of our skills," she says quietly. A brief smile quirks her lips as she glances in Daryl's direction. "How could I stay away if I possibly had the skills to offer assistance?" she replies. "Especially for my mother's kin."
With the girl already dead, it was indeed too late. And there would be more no matter how positive of an outlook Einar demanded of her. With a knowing look, after being told to halt, Arabella does stop, though her eyes plead with Erik. "It is bad, Ser Erik," her voice soft, meant only for him, though probably Einar could hear since he had followed. "Wash up, touch no one and please.. wear the cloth over your face. The treatment is.." Casting a wary look again at Einer before she looks at Erik again not seeking another reprimand from the Flint noble, she finishes her sentence, "prevention. That is the only thing that works for it. I want so badly to offer better, comforting words, I want to help, it kills me that I can do nothing but name it. Truly it does.."
"That is admirable." The deputy compliments of Visenya, nodding a touch and masking a small smile behind that cloth, "Lets see an end to this soon." While his words are encouraging, just a single night in the encampment has weighed on any cheeriness he may have left to provide. "Lets check this out." Daryl steps towards the group, looking towards the tent the woman emerged from, "We'll have to make sure that's taken care of too, no?" Then a look to Erik, "Lets talk, when you have a chance." A wary look around the encampment then.
When Einar goes to move the body with assistance, Erik watches the process from the side though he does let the Flint know, "I'm not sure if this is in your notes but the girl, when she died, she started bleeding from the mouth." He then turns his eyes back to Arabella as the girl begins giving instructions on how to perhaps stay uninfected, the young knight only nodding in return. The problem is, they can prevent and avoid as much as they want, but they still need the healers to get to the source of the infection and find a way to cure it. Erik looks to his Deputy and nods his head, showing that he has time now.
"Not so much admirable as necessary," Visenya replies in a mere whisper to Daryl before she departs from his side to approach Arabella. "Lady Fenster?" she inquires politely, her voice calm and hopefully reassuring. "My Lady, I am here to offer you assistance. My name is Visenya and I came with a Nayland convoy to bring supplies and aid," she explains gently. "Tell me what you know so far."
"What we need to do is to contain everyone in three classifications. The sick, showing any symptoms, the ones exposed and the ones less exposed. That is the only treatment." Bella inputs almost sternly. As the Nayland approaches, the Fenster turns and offers her a warm smile, stepping off to the side with her for just a moment. "The disease is the Bloody flux." Careful to keep her voice low so no one else other than the nobility can hear. "There is no cure, only prevention. Though I want the Flints to have hope.. I want them to keep living. I wish not to have them upset if this is to be their final hours."
Daryl casts a look to the two women present, perhaps just checking to see if they're doing okay…Mostly the younger Fenster. He takes a few steps away, waiting for Erik to follow so he can speak to him with in some semblance of privacy, though does keep his distance from the Sheriff even a little bit. Whatever he's saying to the Jast, he seems passionate about, gesticulating with pointing fingers and the occasional outstretched hand, finally a small shrug. Then the Deputy is silent, waiting for a response. As he looks towards Arabella, his eyes do show a bit of worry, then a meaningful look to Erik. "It -has- to be us."
"There is no cure yet, My Lady," Visenya offers with a gentle smile. "We will do what we can to treat and heal, but save that, whatever possible to prevent the spread and ease the pain they may suffer through." Her eyes drift back in the direction of the fallen girl. "Do they oft show signs of confusion and clumsiness before they pass?" she asks. "It makes it dangerous in spreading the disease."
What Erik is hearing from his Deputy causes the young knight to frown, eyes turning to glance towards the others towards the encampment. His words are kept low but now low enough where he has to lean in to whisper to Daryl, just in case. There is a look of resignation on the Jast Knight before he nods his head, apparently in agreement with the Ashwood Lord's words. "We will need more men then though I would not wish to bring more of ours in from Highfield." That would only potentially infect more and give a higher chance to spread the disease. "The Flint, we need to talk to him and let him know what needs to be done."
"There is no cure yet, my lady. Please, during the duration," the Fenster allows, following the lead she had given Einar and the Mistress Ragna earlier, "call me Bella, it would be much easier than titles and complete names." Though she does look over at the consulting noblemen then, wondering what the conversation was all about. As the lady goes back to check the supplies, she walks over and looks a little furtively between the two. "You should have the ones not exposed so much to be guards, ensuring everyone stays safely within their boundaries."
Daryl nods his agreement, balling a fist and clanking it against the sheriff's leather chest armor, he whispers a few more words and then looks towards the Flint, eyes settling on the northerner for a few moments. "Lord Einar!" His call carries, and then a look to Erik, "I think each of us should escort a healer, as they'll do best at determining true symptoms. We handle the rest. Best to wear gloves for that part." Under that cloth of his, he bites his lip a touch.
"Indeed, though the enemy we combat cannot be seen, we will still act as proper escorts for the Ladies. Because how this ends is in their hands, we must keep them safe, because it may not just be the disease that assails us." But panicked or angry peasantry. Erik's words are clear and he turns to see where the Flint noble may be, "When Lord Einar is available, we should speak to him at once."
Bella looks between the two of them. "We will try for a cure, I want that more than anything." Though after a previous talk with both her brother and another, she knows there is rarely such thing as a happy ending. Though there is no control in her private life, there could be some semblance of it here and with a determined look, she nods in approval. "I agree, we should all have an escort, though I think Lord Einar has been very exposed and should possibly not be so closely in proximity to ones that are less exposed." Recalling the blood on him when he had come from the tent before the healer earlier in the morning.
Visenya swipes the bits of dirt and grass from her skirts as she finally finishes a complete accounting of her supplies. Everything is there and it can all possibly be of help. "If we go for informalities, Bella, call me Vis," she offers to the Fenster with a smile. "Have no fear, with the two of us working together, we are assuredly going to have everyone cured and on their way home again in a matter of days." Confidence. Best to show it, even in a moment that truly frightens you. Her eyes only show the former, beating back all of the fear she feels into a small corner where it cannot possibly cause her a problem.
Daryl nods his head a touch to the Sheriff, "…Just something to keep in the back of your mind." The Ashwood swaggers back towards the ladies then, looking at the tent the woman jumped out of shortly before death. He puts on a pair of gloves, withdrawing them from a compartment on his belt. Moving to approach the tent carefully, he lifts the flap, keeping his head back as he peers inside. "Who do you want to pair with?" He asks the Sheriff, though his tone suggests he already has an idea who. There's a nod towards Bella then, a look to Erik, "Indeed, we should be careful around them." As Visenya returns, emerald hues follow her a few moments, however its hard to discern his expression, and he starts looking back into the tent then.
Returning to the ladies with Daryl, Erik almost balks at the other noble's question at the thought of having to pair up with a Nayland. However, he doesn't come out and say that as it would be a tad inappropriate and insulting. So instead, the Jast Knight looks at the ladies before saying, "Up to you, Lord Daryl." He then looks to Arabella as she shares her concerns when they rejoin the group, "Lord Einar will not be escorting us, he has his own duties to attend to. But we will need to speak with him to ensure that this all proceeds smoothly and quickly."
Somewhat less experienced in concealing her emotions, Bella is doing her best. With a confidence she is far from feeling, the Fenster offers a smile to the Goodbrook. "Vis it is then, thank you." Though a worried glance is cast towards the tent, the worry is not for herself, but for the Flints. And for… Her eyes drift to the Jast Knight.. the others. When it is clear there is going to be a pairing up, she looks towards the Ashwood then the Jast, trying carefully to keep her expression neutral, keeping silent to let them decide.
"Have no fear, Ashwoods, I mean you no harm," Visenya replies dryly, eyes rolling. "I come here and risk the possibility of my own death for the betterment of relations within the Cape and to attempt to ward off the disease that plagues my Mother's kin." Her arms tighten about her slender waist, hugging herself to ward off a cold only she can feel. "What better possibility of peace than a Nayland and Ashwood working together?" But she huffs since no one wants to work with her. "Point me in a direction, Bella, and I will examine these people myself. I have no need for escort." And to prove her point, she starts rolling up the black sleeves to reveal her slender arms toned from physical exertion, but a very pale contrast to the darkness of her dress.
Daryl crouches down to observe the tent, moving to take out any sheets or other things that the disease could still linger on. He hauls such things a ways away, piling it to be tossed into the fire where they burned the bodies. Stepping back towards the group, he looks to Erik, "You’re with Arabella then. Keep an extra eye on her because I too promised Alric her safety." His tone is casual, nodding to them both before his gaze settles on the Goodbrook. "I will be with Visenya." He moves to step a few strides closer to her, head tilting to catch the woman's gaze, "You -will- be escorted." He says firmly, "Keep in mind your still on Ashwood land, and we have jurisdiction here. We appreciate the help but you will be playing by our rules." She can almost sense the wide grin under his cloth." A head tilt towards the tent, "There's sick in there if you want to prod about and examine the disease more. But we should likely wash first, no?" A look to Bella, as if to say 'Thats smart right?' He indicates their fire place, " I can get some hot water going, and have some soap to apply."
Visenya's look to Daryl is at once challenging and full of amusement. "My apologies, Ashwood," she replies. "I would of course never do anything to jeopardize my standing within the law here." She lifts her hands to swiftly pull her hair back into a tight bun, knotting it off with a precise movement. "Hot water and soap would be greatly appreciated. We must prevent the spread by whatever means necessary."
"Your godsdamned right you wouldn't," The Ashwood's tone is just as amused, but his expression still unreadable from the rudimentary plague mask, "Follow me." The Deputy moves to stride in his typical confident manner towards the fire pit, where logs and tinder he had gathered from waking up half drunk for his guard shift lay. He starts setting the logs down within the pit, followed by smaller twigs and tinder. "Have a seat, if you'd like." Longer, thicker logs have been set around it for something to sit on. As Daryl grabs flint, he starts striking together, muscles in his arms flexing and straining with each strike of the fire starter. Eventually a spark catches, and he lifts his rag just enough to lightly blow on the growing orange, encouraging the fire to grow. "…How've you been?" He offers softly.
Visenya rolls her eyes but seats herself on the edge of a log, hands clasped together, pressed between her knees. "I was pleased to return home to Stonebridge," she replies. "And even more pleased that we might finally have a quiet moment before the next crisis, but it seems as though that is not possible." Her eyes narrow faintly for just a moment. "And yourself?"
"Well," Daryl manages a small chuckle, exhaling some more until the fire grows and catches to the logs, the fire starting. He leans back, rising and looking down at her, "…I was hoping for much the similar, a small break to catch my breath, but…" He looks over the encampment then, "It seems the gods saw it fit to test me further. Both with this…And still my personal issues persist." He moves to one of the tents they have not far from the fire, fetching a pot of water and reappearing, "Its already boiled, just have to warm it." He sets in on a spit of sorts that holds it securely over the fire. Then he retrieves some soap, lightly tossing it the woman's way. "No rest for the wicked." A chuckle.
With the body of the young lass safely delivered to the pyre in the next clearing, Einar takes the opportunity to sent the man he'd been with to see Ragny and returned to his own tent to both wash and change. It then takes only a few moments to add the days developments to his notes before he steps back put into the campsite at large to look for Bella. He'd promised her them to read after all.
Bella has just come from looking inside the pavilion. Not that she had entered, she had just peered inside. Any who look up as she looks in will see a warmth in her eyes and she will whisper words of encouragement before turning back. So many cots, so many sick. What she would give to be able to perform the miracles they all expected of her. So much weight rested on her shoulders and she was adamant about doing something positive. As she steps back, she notices the approaching Flint and walks to meet him, away from the tents.
Erik is playing the proper escort for Arabella, more worried about anyone who is sick or may be sick straying too close to the noblewoman. It appears that it is his job to try to prevent her from succumbing to the same sickness, so that she can continue to try to find a solution to this disease.
"It is a shame that this had to happen," Visenya murmurs, shaking her head. "These people did not deserve this. Even you Ashwoods did not deserve to have this happen on your lands. I fear what the extreme answers will be should we fail to find a cure." A frown curves her lips downward. "I am sorry that you continue to struggle with… difficulties, Daryl. But perhaps in the wake of this, you will find some clarity."
With several weeks worth of notes and observations, Einar figures that maybe sitting down somewhere to go through them might be advantagious. There are a few dry logs set a little away from the cookfire and so he gestures towards them, "shall we sit?"
Daryl uses a stick to poke and prod the fire, shifting a couple logs and such so the fire burns more evenly. He just raises a hand at her final reassurances, "You mistake me, I do not want any pity. I like to believe everything happens for a reason…And these trials will too pass, no matter what pains they may bring." There's that dogged determination again…But now it sounds like he's saying it to convince himself. "Cure or not. This will be handled." He reaches to collect the pot of water then, letting some dribble onto his hand. There's a small recoil but he nods. "It's warm." He pours some in his hands before moving to grab the soap. A look towards the others then, and he lathers some soap on his hands, offering the water to Visenya. He remains silent now.
Bella had almost forgotten Erik was there right along with her. Turning her head, she offers him a private, dismal look. "I want to save the world.." she confesses softly to him. "Every single on of them." Shaking off the moment, she looks towards Einar and the confidence is firmly back in place as she nods to his suggestion. "Yes, please, thank you." Sounding like a regular manners book. The Fenster walks quietly beside him, already reaching for the notes. If he could so openly care for his people despite the sickness, then who was she to do otherwise? "I apologize for earlier, Lord Einar. With the healers we have now, we should be able to come up with a remedy to save them. All of them." Lowering her cloth so he can see her dedication to finding a cure.
Einar passes the leather folder over as it's reached for. It contains two seperate sets of notes, on top is an overview of symptoms, actions taken and results seen where as the second, larger set is a day by day account of the happenings in camp from which the overview has been composed. Allowing the lady to sit first he shakes his head slightly "thank you, but I think it's probably I who should be apologising. It's been just Mistress Ragny and myself for a while now and we've had time to settle into a way of working. What with your arrival and the sudden escalation of the symptoms it has been a rather stressful few days."
"I would not think to pity you, Ashwood," Visenya replies, shaking her head. "I sympathize with your pains, but do not mistake it for pity. Pity is reserved for the weak and defenseless, unable to cater to their own needs. I have no doubt that you can care for yourself, and for those around you." Her smile is grim as she rises to take first the water and wet her hands before procuring the soap and working up a lather. "Rumors have been circulating for a time, but truly, how long has the disease been growing here?" she asks. She twists to watch the others coming and going.
With a quick glance to Erik, Bella smiles, easily read with the cloth lowered. "I can do anything I set my mind to,right? My own happiness.." Taking a seat beside Einar, she collects the leather folder and opens it, looking up at his own apology. "These are your people, my lord. People you have worked beside, cared for.." Her expression is friendly, unassuming for the moment. "I was out of place, and for that, for what I said, I offer my apologies. Already I have been reading in my tomes about different things. I make no promises but I can offer you the same hope I have.. The hope that there is something we can do to save them. We can, together. All of us. Nothing is impossible.." With a quick flash of a determined grin, she goes back to reading the well graphed notes, impressed by his accounts.
Daryl nods his head in response to Visenya's statements. "As are you. I'm glad to have…Your expertise here." After a bit more washing up the deputy stands straight, eyeing the Sheriff, Bella and Einar. "Should we join them then?" A pause as emerald eyes are cast over Visenya once more, a fresh cloth set over his face, "To be honest, you'd have to ask the Flint to get the most accurate reply…We mostly weren't in their business until this sickness took hold." The Ashwood offers a hand to help her up, staring towards the Jast and catching his gaze a moment to offer a solemn nod.
In an effort to avoid derailing the discussion of the illness and how to fight it with endless rounds of apologies, Einar simply nods his acknowledgement. It also has the benefit of hopefully not distracting her so much from her reading. "Everything we've tried is in there," he explains, along with the results and any pertinent observations." That said, he falls silent again to let her read, prepared to answer any questions or queries she might have.
Visenya lets her hands warm in the water provided as she rinses the suds of soap away from her skin. They are dried swiftly before she looks up at Daryl, meeting his eyes as she reaches out a hand to very gentlely place her fingers in his. It's a light touch, almost not even there as she rights herself and looks towards the others. There's a mixture of relief and fear as she studies the Flint in their company. Fear is not a common sight for the Goodbrook woman but she wears it plainly now as she gives only a silent nod and strides across, heading directly for the Flint man, completely ignoring Arabella and Erik for the moment.
There are a lot of notes to read through and her attention is well and truly caught by the contents of the leather folder, only briefly glancing up to look at Einar when assures her all of their findings are inside the folder. When he falls silent again, she nods, then goes back to her reading, mentally cataloging everything for use later should she find the need. Bella reads on for quite awhile, looking up again to Einar. "It all looks so grim from here."
While Einar's brain helpfully comments 'if you think thats grim, try spending time inside that pavillion' his mouth is quick enough on the uptake not to pass it on, instead he simply nods slowly. "We were hoping it would start to burn itself out, but with this new development," the deaths that is, "I don't think we're going to be that lucky. We'll find something though, they make us out of stern stuff up North, and we have the Gods, both Old and New with us." He doesn't note that from what he recalls, bloody flux takes 3 out over every 4, for while that means there's a chance for 25 or so of them, it does rather condemn the others and he's determined not to start thinking like that. Thankfully Visenya's approach distracts him then and he stands as is polite, he vaguely recognises her and since he knows she was part of the Nayland delegation it only takes a moment before he places her at Ander's and Corrie's wedding. He's not entirely sure which of Lady Anathema's daughters she is though, given the passage of time, so he greets with a simple "Cousin."
Daryl slows as he reaches the group, always remaining just a tad ways back then one normally would to initiate conversation. Perhaps not as patient, the Deputy watches as Bella reads the notes then looks up to the lot of them. A look to Erik, his eyes enough to portray a message of 'Now?' his brow elevated only a little, before his gaze settles on Einar. "M'lord. Do you have a moment?" The Deputy glances at Visenya as the Flint makes his hello, before distancing himself some, now looking like he could wait all the time in the world for the Flint to join him, eyes set elsewhere with the occasional glance to Erik.
"Cousin," is Visenya's somewhat relieved response. "I hope that you have thus far managed to avoid illness." Her face is grim, but pale features lined with pure determination. "I came when I heard of the recent deaths, praying they were not faces that I knew from childhood. My Mother has been worried but could not come herself." Her smile wavers slightly. "We… we will find a cure. Of this I am certain. And I do hope that it comes before too many lives are forfeit." But she steps back to allow Daryl easier access. "I hope that we will have a chance to catch up and you can tell me more of how this started…"
When Daryl approaches with Visenya, Erik catches the look and nods his head in agreement as he moves away from Arabella though only to approach Einar with his Deputy. Letting the Ashwood noble take the lead for now, the Sheriff of Highfield remains quiet to see if Einar would be willing to discuss some plans with them.
"Give me a moment," Einar replies to Daryl, wanting to get the newly arrived healers up to speed as quickly as possible. Turning back to Visenya he nods as she talks then offers a hopefully reassuring, "the rest of the family remain at Highfield, what with the twins and all." That and he's personally argued for them to stay, not wanting to risk the Young Lord's life, or that of his wife, even if she is just about the best healer he knows. "I heard word first a little over a month ago, when I came back from Kingsgrove. Since then all my observations, and those of Mistress Ragny, have been recorded in there," he points to the notes that Arabella has. He'll let her read it through though, before asking her if she has any questions, moving a few paces towards the sheriff and his deputy to see what they want to discuss.
Bella glances up again from her notes, realizing the two were talking and were cousins. A smile is offered the both of them before she looks back down at the notes. Still, her bit of cloth is lowered from her face, having simply forgotten to raise it again as she had been speaking with the nobleman. "Your notes are well kept and informative.." Finally managing to pull herself out of the reading of them and offer the leather folder to Visenya. "I will share.. sorry. I meant not to keep them all to myself."
Daryl pauses only a moment before he observes the distance, nodding to Einar his understanding. He folds his arms, eyes on the tents around, flitting his gaze from one to another as if trying to determine how many there is, or the best way to approach them. As Einar approaches, he speaks softly, though not at a whisper to the Flint. "While the healers devise a way to find a cure, its our job to make sure this illness can't spread any further. That one woman running out of the tent is a danger, no matter how tragic." Daryl looks to Erik, continuing, "The sick will have to better guarded, to ensure that no more instances of accidental infection occur." A clearing of his throat, "Besides that…We need to make a sweep of the entire encampment…Have our healers determine who is showing symptoms and who is not, escorted by Ser Erik and myself…and have them placed accordingly…Every tent, every worker…We can't let anything slip past." His mask hides his grim expression, and he looks to the Sheriff to back him up.
When the Flint noble finally joins them, Erik remains quiet to allow Daryl to speak of the plan they have come up with, his eyes focused on the man from the north to most likely gauge his reaction. When his Deputy finally finishes, the Jast Knight takes up where the other man left off. "For that, we will most likely need more men and I do not wish to call in men from Highfield, as it would only increase the possibility of infecting more people. If you have men who are able, they will most likely do a better job than mine as they know these people and would personally care for their well being. But this needs to be done or the illness will run rampant in this camp, infecting not just each other but our healers, and us. No one will be leaving this place alive if people are not properly split up so proper care can be administered."
Einar keeps his voice low as well, even if there is no one else apparent around to hear. "We've about 40 separated so far," he states simply, nodding towards the large pavillion as he does so, "leaving just over half of us seemingly clear. A new sweep with fresh eyes is a good idea though and should probably done as soon as the ladies are caught up." He glances back to where they're reading before telling the men, "there's myself and Mistress Ragny who have training, so that makes four of us now unless either of yourselves also do?" Erik's suggestion of using the hale men to guard the sick gets several moment's of silent consideration before he turns to say, "I can fully appreciate your desire to keep the number of Highfield men present down, but these are craftsmen and their families, not trained soldiers. They'll stand for a while, keep to whatever system we set in place, but when their mother, their brother, their child is taken ill? I can not say that any of them will not let one slip, take mercy on their kinfolk, break the line. Especially if the deaths continue as they have. We had none for five weeks but now with the lad a couple of days ago and now two this morning. We can only hold the panic so long. Those inside will panic and those out may be tempted to break."
Hearing only the mixture of the masculine voices, Bella is busy reading, her attention on the material at hand, flipping through the pages, sharing what she has read with the noblewoman. As she continues on, she looks towards the men again, not resting on any in particular before going back to the notes. A hand drifts to her forehead where she gently massages away a pain that is quickly forming there at the stress they are all under.
"See that's what I was afraid of." Daryl confirms with a frown, looking between Erik and Einar then as the Flint speaks of when families will be split, wifes from husbands, brother from sister. The Ashwood eyes Erik, "…We may not have much a choice. And as far as panic goes, we'll have to inform them that this is the only way we'll be able to come up with a viable cure." A frown, slight sigh at the prospect, "Your call, Sheriff. If…They were to panic, it could get out of control." He's not letting any possibility go unsaid. There's a glance back at Bella.
Erik's expression darkens as Einar shares what he has been afraid of, what Daryl was also afraid of, "Lord Einar, we need to impress upon your people the severity of the situation they are in." Right now he keeps his voice low, so that only the three of them can hear and that it doesn't carry further in case one of the common Flint peasants catch wind of their conversation. "I had hoped that because their families are at risk, that they would be more passionate about protecting them, protecting this camp as a whole." There is a pause before the Jast Knight continues, revealing the other alternative, "Otherwise I will have to order men from Highfield, armed and armored, to make sure that there is order. That the sick remain penned up with the sick, and those who are not are kept under harsh guard. I do not want to do that but if I have to, for the safety of Highfield and those who have not been infected yet, I will. To allow the current situation to continue, that we cannot."
"They are aware of the severity Lord Erik, never doubt that," Einar replies, expression grim. "For now, they will hold, and with the arrival of others from outside I'm hoping that moral will improve, despite the losses. You serve as an important reminder that the rest of Westeros has not forgotten them. I simply can not tell you how long that will last as that will depend on this disease and how fast it progresses." A quick glance is given round camp and he shrugs faintly, "You might be wise to make plans to move more of your men up to the barricade at least, in case it goes badly. I think though, that if any break, they'll head North, for home, which means they should miss Highfield, but I understand you being adverse to risking it."
"Usually symptoms present themselves within three days or so to the affected." Bella pipes in, showing she has been listening after all. "I want to try things.. nothing that would hurt them, but hopefully alleviate their symptoms at the very least." Some of them.. "I just want to get with the other healers if possible and have a meeting, see what they think as well."
Daryl nods some then, looking between the two men and raising a brow, "So use Lord Einar's men for now? Have..Guards set at each containment area?" A look towards Erik, "…When should we conduct a sweep to ensure every case is accounted for?" At Arabella's suggestion, "I know a good amount of herbalism, and can find and obtain just about whatever you need, but I am no healer." At the mention of alleviating symptoms he nods his head in agreement, "At the very least…We can ease their pain. No one should have to pass like that woman did." The deputy looks to Arabella then, making sure she has her cloth covering her face. If not? He'll tug his as a reminder.
Just as Bella happens to look over at Daryl, he tugs on his face cloth and she grins, hurriedly pulling hers back into place, winking playfully as a sort of thanks for the reminder thing. A quick look at Einar has her pondering, though she just lets go anything she would have said immediately and once the cloth is back, she goes back to looking through the parchments of all the records Einar and the other healer had been keeping here for the past several weeks. Only once more does she look up and her gaze settles then on the Jast knight for a brief moment.
Though hearing that the Flints here would flee north and not towards Highfield should be at least good news, Erik shakes his head at Einar, "That would mean the north would be affected by this sickness, Lord Einar. I wish to contain this here." The Sheriff then turns back to his Deputy, "I want a message sent to our men to have them prepare themselves for a stay of a few days out here, to bring their kits and some horses. Once they have made camp at the barricade, I will give them further instructions for containment." He then looks back to Einar, considering the sweep that needs to be done, "Since this is the Flint camp, Lord Einar should lead the sweep, not us, but we will accompany him. The Flints may accept this heightened security and separation better if we were not in charge of it." Seeing if the Flint noble has any objections.
Einar glances over his shoulder to Arabella as she speaks, "that'd be the three of us," a brief nod to Visenya to indicate her in the mix, "and Mistress Ragny then. I should imagine that as soon as she'll be back out soon enough." He could of course go to the pavillion and get her, were it urgent, but he's inclinded to think that letting her work is the best option for now. Although as Daryl admits to some training as well, he smiles faintly and nods towards the Ashwood, "and him it seems. The sweap though, that I'd do as soon as we can get it organised without it looking like a panis reaction on our part. Say in an hour or so?" That'll give those that want or need a chance to look over the notes and have a quick discussion. Erik just gets a brief nod as he finds himself agreeing with the man's points.
"An hour is good." Daryl agrees, nodding and listening to Einar now that the sweep has been handed over to him. "And I will help medically as best as I can." Green hues shift to Erik, A quick nod. "Make sure to wash up if you haven't." He indicates the fire with a tilt of his head where clean water and soap are. Bella's wink deters any grief she would've gotten for having her mask down, and he returns it in kind before nodding to the men and moving to step for the tents near the fire, where they slept last night.
With plans made again and a suggestion for him, Erik nods his head to Daryl as he suggests washing, "I guess I best do so… That girl got damn close to me, I thought I was done for." With a smirk and a shake of his head, he mutters, "The gallant Ser Erik, slain by an invisible disease." Now that would be a dreadful thought, "I'll get some food in me as well. If there are no other concerns or questions, I guess I will leave you two to your tasks."
Just listening and reading is informative all on its own. Standing, the young nobelwoman stretches, having been seated on the log for quite sometime. Offering the notes to Visenya, Bella steps around the log, looking towards the tents. "I should wash up too. Would you like me to gather you all a meal so we can eat before the inspections?" Offering to the nobility in general, none in specific.
Einar has nothing in particular to add to Erik or Daryl so he simply nods to the pair of them and then turns back to Bella and Viseyna. "I should go get a plan sorted for the sweep, I'll leave those with you for now but if you have any questions then I'll be in my tent, or I'm sure Mistress Ragny will be about as well." That said he offers them both a polite nod before he turns and makes for the canvas that has been his ome for the past month.
With a nod in thanks, Visenya takes the notes from Arabella, frowning as she begins to look through them. "So much information and yet so little that we truly know about this illness." She sighs, looking back toward the others present in their little group. "Thank you, Bella, but I am alright for the time being." To Einar, she offers a smile. "Thank you, cousin. I will be sure to call on you if necessary."
Daryl shakes his head, chuckling a bit at the mention of death by illness. "That would be a terrible ending to the story. Can't be having that." The Deputy gives him space to pass. Hues shift to Arabella and he nods and half shrugs, "Haven't eaten yet. Probably a good idea." Einar to gets a little dip of his head in farewell. The Deputy looks at the two observing notes, and then turns, wandering off a couple steps as he starts eyeing the tents about again, arms folded casually.