Moving on up...

Subject: Re: Moving on up... Wed Jan 19, 2011 11:06 am

((Kate, that was an awesome description. I could see every detail and then some. Great job!))

Subject: Moving on up... Tue Jan 18, 2011 11:27 pm

Julien regarded the wooden door before him with excitement and some trepidation, turning the keys over between salve-stained fingers. He’d been told all was in readiness, his sister had overseen the transport and placement of his belongings as soon as she’d discovered the Tower was completed, a last act before returning to the Manor for awhile.

He took a deep breath and fitted the correct key to the lock, hearing the tumblers click as it turned. The heavy door swung inward on its hinges and he stood on the threshold, taking in the sight. Light bathed the room, dancing on lit hearth and from enclosed lanterns affixed to the walls, casting all in warm welcome.

The first room was clearly his office. A good place to greet casual visitors and those in search of help who do not need more in depth services of the Healers. Everything seemed to be arranged well within the curved, semi-circular room.

To the right, a sort of high-legged cot – his examination table, cleaned and freshened after being stored for moons. Across the corner near the foot of the table sat a modesty screen, he peeked behind it to note the cushioned bench and rack with a few well made, simple, long linen tunics for patients to change into. Set into the wall behind the head of the table was a set of shelves, the base a wider, solid, smooth piece of wood for stability and affixed to brackets set into the wall to prevent tipping.

The bottommost shelves, starting at his thigh height, contained the bits and baubles given him by the Leighlinbridge tenants to help him treat the littlest patients. Stuffed and sewn animals and dolls, wooden toys, bright bits that distracted little minds from worrying about seeing the healer and kept little questing fingers from reaching higher. Above those, the shelves contained bandaging, compresses and ties. Then three shelves full of salves, tinctures and distillations, all carefully and clearly labeled, stoppered and with ledges at the edge of each shelf to prevent them from accidentally being knocked – or shaken – to the floor. He adjusted the bottles into three sections – used most, used occasionally, only as necessary. Then alphabetically within each. Blacksmiths had nothing on a healer’s sense of organization.

He quirked a half-smile at the thought.

On the top shelf, just below his eye height and behind locked doors, sat his carefully maintained and sterilized chirugeon instruments. He took the key from a cleverly hidden nail and unlocked the cabinet, checking them each carefully for nicks, tarnish or rust. The wicked blades gleamed in the firelight and he placed them carefully back before closing and relocking the door, replacing the key to its hidden spot. These he did not expect or hope to have to use in this office often. Such things were saved for the proper rooms downstairs. Yet still… better to have them on hand and prepared.

On the far right wall, to the side of the table, were his herbal stores and preparation counter. These shelves only occupied the top half, with a solid wooden base reaching floor to waist-height. A pristine slab of white marble that had been rescued from a decrepit house of worship was donated to him for an herbal counter. Here and there, evidence of his work decorated the surface. In the corner where the shelving met the wall rested the lovely new mortar and pestle the royals had gifted him for Yule. He’d already used it, but like all else here it was kept clean and well maintained. A sealed tub of tallow sat on hand to be heated for cream salves.

Small silk or gauze pouches were bundled, awaiting sachets, teas and other herbal blends to be measured in. Small, empty bottles and pots with new stoppers awaited salves and tinctures to be decanted. The rest of the ledged shelves were lined with pots and bottles of all shapes. Some were clear – full of dried and preserved herbs, roots. Others were opaque, full of those fresher plants, kept out of the light to maintain potency. Each was labeled as carefully as the prepared treatments, strictly alphabetically on the shelves.

Another locked cabinet topped this and he fetched another hidden key, unlocking and checking on the bottles and tools stored therein. In here he kept the cutting tools he received as a gift at his induction, more blades to keep clean and tended – and out of reach of panicked or angry hands. The herbs he stored here could be as dangerous as the instruments, if administered incorrectly or abused. Belladonna, hemlock, mandragora, wormwood… to name a few. Used sparingly in cases of extreme need, but he was unwilling to leave them out for just anyone to peruse. He carefully noted the levels of each and made a notation with stylus on a parchment tacked to the inside of the door, then closed and relocked it, replacing the key.

He ambled over to the hearth, noting the kettle with water in it, ready for tea or sterilizing instruments. His tiny cauldron hung from a tripod to one side. The mantle was bare of decoration, but over the hearth – hanging out of reach on the wall – was an odd sort of decoration. A box, wooden framed and wide, but shallow, with a precious pane of clear glass across the full front. Within was arranged his white ceremonial healer’s robe and the green cowl, displayed in respectful splendor for all to see. His half-smile flashed into an amused grin and he looked to the rest of his office.

His desk sat before another door, equidistant between two sets of tall bookshelves. Pegs on the wall beside the door already had his old winter cloak, his summer cloak and the clever be-pouched cloak the Duchess Luludja had given him hanging from them, as well as his always-ready travel kit. The shelves were full of books – medical, herbal, even some magical texts. Anything pertinent to his skills. He could see they had already been arranged according to content and then title. Leah was as compulsively organized as he, sometimes. A small ladder leaned against the other wall, for those higher shelves. The desk itself was clean, a small stack of blank paper sat to one side, extra styluses and a real pen with an inkpot nearby. A small, shuttered oil lantern sat unlit in a sconce fixed to the edge. He knew if he opened the desk drawers he would find his notebooks and notes stacked within, waiting for his own personal organization. Later.

He took out his set of keys and unlocked the next door. Best to keep it locked at all times, he figured. No need for the curious – or worse – to “accidentally” wander into his private quarters. And should the worst happen, someone trying to break through a locked door is the best warning system for escape. He shook his head, clearing the gloomy thoughts.

His sitting room, also lit from lanterns and the hearth in the opposite corner, was just as organized as his office – but less clinical. An old, faded, enormous Arabian rug filled most of the room, dampening some of the inevitable chill of the room. Two comfortably upholstered chairs were arranged before the hearth with footstools and a table between, another affixed lantern sconce to make reading easier.

At the far right, closed and latched doors led to what must be a balcony. Curtains were hung over the portal and left to drape to cut down on the chill more. At this end of the room was a smallish, circular wooden table with four padded, high backed chairs. A clever wrought-iron candelabra in the shape of a willow tree sat in the middle, hanging glass candleholders dangling from its “branches.” He prodded one gently, setting it swinging.

On the wall shared with the office were more shelves. Books mostly filled these, personal reading. Adventures, poetry, languages, history. Everything he could delve his mind into. Some trinkets and treasures were interspersed. In the corner, a wooden stand displayed a large piece of amber, carved with runes. He wandered over to it, contemplating the runes again, peering at his bookshelves. He really ought to translate it soon, heavens only knew what Tynkre had said. He admired it for a moment, a bit mesmerized by the play of fire within the amber. Then he sighed and looked to the next portal alcove. This held two doors, and he rubbed the bridge of his nose in confusion before opening the one closest to the room.

A privy, done much as privies are. Those things he used for toilet were in there, but still packed in their satchel. He snorted softly and shut the door, vowing to arrange that soon.

He was sure the next room was his bedroom, the door opening outward, but he was surprised by something of a closet, with another door at the end. A bench sat on one side, his clothes were hung in an open wardrobe at the other, shoes and sundries arranged for him. He looked at the bench with a slight frown, then shook his head.

“The bedroom must be the next door. They can’t mean me to sleep here.”

Through the final door, and he found this room’s hearth was shared with the sitting room. Fewer lanterns hung from the walls, and a small, curtained window peeked out at the other end. A large, curtained bed jutted out from the center of the far wall, waiting for his inevitable flying leap into it. A table with a wash basin and pitcher rested in the corner nearest the hearth, and two more comfortable chairs and a table were arranged by it. A curious ledge was built over the headboard, and sconces for candles or lanterns were on either end. Helpful if he wanted to read before bed.

On the ledge was a sealed parchment and he picked it up, eyeing it curiously. The wax had an imprint of a horse in gallop, and he smiled again, breaking it and opening the letter.

Jules,
Nice place you’ve got here. I hope everything’s arranged well enough. Except your bag of personals. Not touching it, can’t make me. Be good. See you soon.

L.

He snorted a laugh and shook his head, taking the letter with him back out to his office, shutting doors behind him and locking the one between. He stored the letter in his desk and looked around his office again.

He paused at the table, a sense of purpose coming over him, his steps drawn to it inevitably. He placed his hands on it, one at the head, one at the relative center and his eyes closed, a deep breath taken.

He let his mind wander into the earth, let the power of earth draw up into him and he breathed a few words, gently pushing the energy through his hands and over the work surface.

“Coisreacan chun leighis agus compord.” Consecrate to healing and comfort. Simple words, but words of power. He let the power flow over the table, glowing aura enveloping before being absorbed. He breathed again and lifted his hands. He repeated the process with his herbal counter, passing his hands over his instruments without actually touching.

When he was finished and all was back in order, he flexed his fingers, taking another look around the room – his room. A smile, contented and easy, rested on his lips and he passed his fingers once more over surfaces before taking up his cloak and kit, locking up behind himself. He stored his keys carefully in one of his myriad cloak pockets and set off to resume his usual rounds and duties.