================== Eldarin Calendar <in Sindarin> ===================
IC time is: Before Dawn < About 4:12 AM >
IC day is: Orithil <Moon-day>
IC date is: 53 Laer <Summer>
Moon phase: Waxing Gibbous <HIDDEN>
Earendil: Gil-Estel is not visible.
IC year is: Loa 17 o Yen 22, Nelandran o Endor <TA 3041>
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RL time: Wed Jul 18 18:24:19 2007
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Eastern Guard Platform
You stand on a wooden platform poised atop the High Green Wall. From here you have a commanding view of the roadway (try "look gates") leading up to the great Gates of the city. The gates are built between a divide in the wall, and you can cross the divide, to another platform, via a rope bridge.

Contents:
Galharth
Haldir
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The warmth of summer hangs within the air, even in the pre-dawn hours. The sky is dark, and the stars shine, but are fading as sunrise bubbles upon the eastern horizon. A silence fills the night in the last moments before day emerges. "Excuse me?" Galharth calls out as he steps up onto the platform above the gates. "I've got a cloak ready for Tolgil, is he here?"

"Tolgil is not here," calls a voice, the source being an edhel staring west, "he left for the Mar Vanwa Tyalieva a few hours ago."

Haldir turns and looks towards Galharth, one brow arcing upwards upon his face: "So soon back to your duties?"

Folding the cloak over his arm, the Tailor frowns slightly. "Ah well, I can catch him tomorrow," he mutters softly. Drawing his gaze towards Haldir, Galharth nods. "Aye, I had a few items waiting for me when I returned, and I saw little sense in waiting." A brow lifts, "And it seems that you are back to your duties as well. It seems you're quicker than I am."

"Not quicker," counters Haldir with a shrug, "just with pressing needs. I have rested, and find no need to remain idle while there is possibility of danger upon the border."

He smiles, yet, a wan, distant smile. "You might not find him here tomorrow, as the 'morrow already approaches."

"So you're going to the border?" Galharth asks with a small measure of disappointment. "I had hoped to have a moment to work on my swordsmenship before you were fully absorbed back into your duties."

Taking the cloak from his arm, he folds it and places it on a nearby chair. "Tomorrow is here I suppose. I just might leave it with word for him."

"That would be well," inclines Haldir with an unnecessary nod.

"But, nay. I will not return yet. I have yet to speak with Legarwin, and other matters guide me. In fact," muses he, "the matter of training is part of it. I am available now, if you are able."

Surprise flickers over Galharth's expression, and he nods. "I'm ready now. I am fully adjustable to your time, for your duties certainly outweight the need to repair a hole in someone's cloak."

"You might be surprise," replies Haldir, mock solemnity in his voice, "at the importance of a repaired hole in a cloak."

The marchwarden glance about, eyeing the platform and its contents, and then, with a shrug, draws his blade.

"A smaller, more confined place to spar. But that is just as well! Fangorn does not give a wide field."

Haldir wields a longsword.

"Fangorn? Few if any further times, will I be there." Galharth says as he draws his own longsword. Glancing round the Talan he calls out, "Novice with a weapon! Be wary!" Shrugging, he offers the Marchwarden a smile. "Had to offer fair warning to keep others safe."

"To be honest, a cloak is of no concern for most. In recent memory, I've had one real emergency and that was Niinaeth's split trousers."

Galharth wields a longsword

Within a few moments, the talan is empty, save for marchwarden and tailor -- the rope bridge suddenly becomes a favored place.

"This is not a first: once, another novice cut the rope! It was a disaster."

Haldir laughs, the mirth flickering a light in heavy gaze.

"I will ask naught of that situation. Some things are best left unsaid -- you can begin."

"Then prepare for disaster" Galharth teases as he brings his weapon into a comfortable position that angles from left shoulder to right hip. "While it's not likely that I'll fight in these conditions, if I ever find the nerve to leave the wood again, I certainly can see this as a test in balance."

With a quick step forward, the Tailor sweeps his longsword forward, aiming at Haldir's right thigh. "Longswords are wonderful against an equal weapon, but not against a Troll's axe. How would one train for that?"

Galharth attacks Haldir with his Longsword...
Haldir dodges Galharth's attack.

Resting lightly upon the balls of feet, even though clad in small leather boots, Haldir steps backwards and to the left, distancing himself from both Galharth and the weapon he swings: the dodge is successful.

"By practicing to the utmost. By knowing your own abilities: and that of your foe. Study the weapons. Knowledge and understanding is power."

The marchwarden further steps left, this time partially inwards, and swats out with his blade, the flat directed on a swift course towards the tailor's ribcage, upon the right side.

Haldir attacks Galharth with his Longsword!...
...and he misses!

Crystal blue eyes watch each movement made by the Marchwarden, "Indeed, and knowledge is gained through practice, training, and observation. My own strength is observation." As the Tailor speaks, he pulls back his weapon, dropping it back into a defensive position.

Silently a reaction takes place as Haldir's blade comes forth, and Galharth bends back, drawing his midsection out of range. Pulling back his own sword as he moves, he coils his arm forth into a jabbing motion, aiming for the Guard's right shoulder.

Galharth attacks Haldir with his Longsword...
Haldir dodges Galharth's attack.

Even as Galharth pulls back and coils his arm, the marchwarden is already upon the move: ducking and weaving, down and left. Leather-clad feet whisper across the floor as the Silvan avoids the jab.

"A more proper answer, however is: practice against different weapons. None in Lothlorien will wield a troll-axe as a troll does, but some wield an axe."

Haldir begins to step right, then alters, springing to the left, attempting to get behind the tailor and gain more ground upon the talan. Longsword arcs upwards again, faintly glimmering crimson in the dawn light, aiming the flat of the weapon for Galharth's hip.

Haldir attacks Galharth with his Longsword!...
...and he hits! Ouch!

A solid slap is followed by a soft 'Ow' muttered under the Tailor's breath, and further still by a slight misstep in recovery from the blow. "Missed that one..." Galharth says, as he takes a step back in retreat.

The back step lasts less than a moment before he launches forward, lifting his blade and bringing it downwards in an aim towards what looks to be a vulnerable spot at the Marchwarden's shoulder. "While an elf might wield an axe, I doubt the ability to send anyone flying at the distance a Troll does when that strike connects."

Galharth attack Haldir with his Longsword...
Galharth's attack against Haldir mildly wounds him!

The moment the tailor steps backwards, the marchwarden begins stepping forward - only to be caught off guard as the blade slaps down upon his shoulder. He ducks, even as the weapon connects.

"True. Yet any knowledge is better than none. But before you learn more of others, learn about yourself: If you do not know yourself, you will never succeed."

From his partially crouched position, Haldir swings his weapon: the flat sweeps towards the tailor's side, between hip and ribcage. He steps forward with the blow.

Haldir attacks Galharth with his Longsword!...
...and he hits! Ouch!

The corner of Galharth's mouth rises into a smile as he manages to connect his sword to the extremely evasive Marchwarden. "I know myself, my flaws.... which are many..... and yet I can not help the overpowering desire to be helpful or to do something even in the face of overwhelming odds." Moving right, and back a step. watching Haldir's feet and his eyes, the slight smile fades with concentration.

Again he darts forward raising his sword as if to strike from above, but turning mid step, bringing the blade down into a sweeping motion towards his opponents thigh.

Galharth attack Haldir with his Longsword...
Haldir dodges Galharth's attack.

"Then know that often it is better to do naught than to give aid," comments Haldir, then quipping: "Aid unwanted is 'oft unused."

Pivoting upon his foot closest to the tailor, the marchwarden retreats partially, allowing the weapon to find the thin, crisp, morning air. He steps forward, again, attempting to further push the tailor into a corner - or, at the least, to minimize the space he has. With a quick swipe, the Silvan directs his blade towards the tailor's right shoulder.

Haldir attacks Galharth with his Longsword!...
...and he hits! Ouch!

The rope leading west twitches, disturbing the silvery-green mallorn leaves. Someone is coming across from the other guard platform.

It is Maglind, deft booted feet quickly traversing the slender rope. He would step onto the platform, but the light from a swung blade meets his eyes. The warden stands stock-still on the strand of hithlain, gaze cautiously flickering to the ground far, far below.

"With the experience gained, I've not found a moment where aid not given was better than even the poorly offered attempt." Galharth grunts as his right shoulder stings with a well placed strike. A moments hesitation is all it takes before the Tailor's expression reflects defeat. With his left hand wrapping protectively over his ribs, he lowers his Longsword and sighs. "I am lost, and in battle I'd be dead."

Frowning slightly, he eyes the Marchwarden for a moment before another draws his attention. "Maglind! Well met" he calls out, "Do you see what happens when someone is dissatisfied with a repair to a favored tunic?"

Quickly he turns his gaze back to Haldir, and offers in a lower voice, "I tease... for in defeat I have nothing more I can do."

"No," replies Haldir, not yet lending glance and attention to the newly arrived Maglind -- it seems that the rope bridge has become vacant: no doubt out of sheer boredom of the clash of marchwarden and tailor.

"You can learn. And that is the victory of defeat. Well met, Maglind."

The Silvan finally looks towards the newly arrived warden with grey, still heavy gaze, though voice betrays naught of it.

The warden pauses, feet still poised precariously on the bridge. A moment's glance studies the two longswords, gaze otherwise cast on the floor, gaze cloudy in thought. "Marchwarden, Clothier. Well met," Maglind echoes hesitantly.

"In this defeat perhaps, but not in all. On the field, defeat leads to Mandos." The Tailor says with a shiver. Turning his attention to the Warden, he nods a greeting. "Maglind did well in keeping us all out of trouble during our journey. The Order should be proud." Galharth comments to Haldir.

Long distance to Haldir: Galharth has little choice being the uruk LA ;p

Long distance to Haldir: Galharth grins and had to explain that Uruk always wear their armor.. even when going to take a pee... it's an Uruk thing... he just got nailed for half hp due to being stupid and then trying to justify it to the LA's in Mordor.

"The Order is proud," replies Haldir, inclining his head to the Warden, smile lightening glance, partially, "and will remain so. It does not lightly esteem the success of it's members."

The marchwarden falls to silence, however.

"Do not say such things, Galharth," Maglind protests weakly, ears flushing red his only embarassment. "We only fulfill what is sworn."

He, too, grows quiet, but he does not step away.

"Say what? The Truth? I can think of no less than three instances where you've kept me alive dispite my folly." Galharth counters with a directness that will not be denied. "And should we speak of Rhibi and his moments.... we'd be here till next spring." Lifting a hand and sweeping it towards the Warden, he adds. "You can not deny that you go beyond sworn duty! In your eyes and your actions, your honor is a model to be followed by all. Accept it or I shall embroider it on your cloak for all to see." Nodding once, for emphasis, the Tailor glances towards Haldir. "I thank you sir for the training,"

Taking a step towards the ladder leading down, he turns again towards Maglind. "By the way, you'll need to stop by the Weavers talan to get a new cloak... the last was ruined by the Troll and the repairs are not fitting."

"Be well, Galharth," intones Haldir as the clothier steps towards the ladder, "I will make certain Tolgil knows it is his cloak." He says nothing else, however.

"I will, Clothier, if you promise not to embroider on it," deadpans Maglind. "Farewell."

"Perhaps," Galharth mutters as he decends the ladder, quickly disappearing from sight.