================== Eldarin Calendar <in Sindarin> ===================
IC time is: Night
IC date is: 41 Iavas <Autumn>
Moon phase: Waxing Gibbous <VISIBLE>
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: Tue Aug 07
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Near the Great Tree
You stand next to a giant Mallorn tree, the tallest in the entire world. Its silver bark is beautiful and unblemished, and the golden leaves above are as large as shields. A ladder hangs down from above, leading high up into the branches of the giant tree. Three elves stand guard at the base of the tree. A room is to the rear of the tree, around to the north.

Participants:
Galharth
Maglind
Legarwin
Mithsul
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Night speaks. It whispers in the chilly autumn wind, draws its strength from the dancing stars, takes form in the wispy clouds sketched across the moon. A song in the city below drifts up and dies away.

By the great mallorn, the three wardens are impassive and still. And a fourth joins them: this one oblivious to the first three, focusing only on the flickering longsword in his hand. He wields it, live, naked, stabbing at his own shadow cast upon the grass.

"Ah, the singing of metal through the cool air," says a voice from within the great shadow of the mallorn. However, moments later, the speaker appears, a small grin on his visage revealed by the lantern above the wardens. Legarwin steps towards Maglind but does not stand within reach of the blade. The gleam of his sapphire eyes reveal his focus being on the longsword as opposed to the wielder.

Dropping down from the Open Talan, the Tailor finds himself blinking in surprise as he walks into the strangest of sights. "Weapons drawn here?" he asks the Warden. Reaching for his waist, he lays his hand upon the hilt of his own weapon. "Am I missing something?"

Maglind pauses in mid-thrust as both Commander and Tailor appear. "No, not at all, Galharth," he manages, chuckling. "Merely training. How is my form?"

The Commander passes a focused gaze over the Warden and brings his hand to his chin in thought. "You are doing well," he replies, "but you appear to be too tense when swinging your blade. You will tire yourself out that way and allow for less dexterity." His eyes then turn to the Tailor as he asks, "Do you have any thoughts?"

Realization washes over the Tailor's face, and he nods once. "Training? In preparation for our short excursion to the Northern Border?" Wielding his own weapon, he holds it up it what has come to be his most favored grip. "Me? Thoughts on the Warden's training?" Galharth asks, clearly taken aback by the Commanders inquiry. "Um," he studders as he glances first at his own grip and then to Maglind's grip. "Perhaps he could work on how he holds the weapon. The grip should reflect that it is an extension of his arm, not so much a tool within his hand."

"Would it help?" Maglind withdraws his hand and peers at the grip. "But then one of my arms would be longer than the other. Would I not fall over?" The warden balances precariously on one foot.

"You must change you center then in order to remain balanced. Contact with your blade should not usurp your footing." From its sheath, Turmkulu is drawn forth, showing more wear than the blades of the others, singing clearly as it departs from its home. Reaching forward, Legarwin gently pushes down on the longsword of Maglind with the pressure being placed at the tip of the blade. "Find your center," the Commander instructs.

Lifting an elbow, the Tailor watches the Commander as he instructs Maglind. "It's almost a game to balance the weapon in unison with your own form." He remarks as he rounds his weapon horizontally before his body and finally extends it to the right, all the while maintaining the weapon level with the ground. As the Longsword moves, so too does Galaharth's footing. Stepping to the side, with his toe pointing in the direction of the sword, his left arm extends outwards. "I think only a dancer could place the moves with such grace."

"You know how I tread on the dancers' toes," states Maglind, blinking as he wobbles crazily under the sword. But he steadies, and he puts the other hand on his chest. "I see," he says softly. "The center is closer to the heart."

"Exactly," replies the Commander as a small grin curves his lips at the thought of dancers. "And it is from dancers that I had learned some of my skill. One of the Bards, who has since sailed West, taught me how to maintain balance and stability." As he speaks, Legarwin turns and repeats the same motion on the Clothier in forcing his blade down on that of the other's. "It may do you well to consult a dancer in reference combat."

Nodding at the Commander's words, the Tailor bends his elbow, drawing the sword close to his body, before suddenly stabbing forth. As he thrusts the weapon forward, he moves his right leg from the side forward so to add weight to the move. "Good fortune was on your side then, Commander. I've heard that such training benefited many."

"Do I bring my sword to the next dance gathering, then?" wonders Maglind with a grin, as he watches the others' swordplay. One hand rests absently on the polished pommel of his own weapon.

As Mithsul walks purposefully across the lawn, his foot steps making not a sound but his stride is one of someone with a goal in mind. His mien is set firm, but observant enough to where he slows as he nears the group practicing with swords. Leafy green eyes fall upon the tailor, a nod of acknowledgement is given to him, and then to the others, however soon his full attention is focused upon the commander. "Commander Legarwin." His tone is more of a statement, a way of calling attention to himself, rather then a command or even request.

"Yes, I was fortunate to be able to learn that which improves my skills in a different way." As he is called, the Commander turns and sets his eyes on the ellon whom speaks to him. His blade is lowered as he says, "Mae Govannen. Is there something that I may be able to help you with?" His voice his kind and light in the cool air.

Dropping his form, the clothier chuckles openly at the Wardens suggestion. "Such thoughts you have Maglind. Bring your weapon, and you're sure to dance alone."

Catching sight of Mithsul, Galharth raises his left hand in greeting. "Well met, my friend." he calls out before falling silent so to allow the Commander to gain the answer requested.

Maglind shakes his head sadly. "I was jesting. Look, Galharth. There is the guard I was speaking of earlier. Perhaps we should ask him?" he proposes quietly to the tailor.

Mithsul straightens minisculely, only the most observant could tell the faint tightening of muscles as he draws himself to his full hieght of six feet three inches. Though his body is lithe and agile looking, to those who knew him knew his long forays through the woods has toned his muscles. "You can be an elusive edhel at times Commander. I have been looking for you." Stopping, the Aderthad sinda paused to look around briefly before turning his attention back toward the commander. "I was hoping to be able to discuss joining the ranks of the Order." That being said he turns and greets the clothier with a returning wave. "Well met indeed Galharth." His thickly lashed eyes remains just a few seconds longer upon Galharth then absolutely necassary before returning his focus to Legarwin.

The Commander continues to hold a small grin at the words from the ellon. "Well, I have been abroad in the woods as duty calls. Rarely do I enter the City unless there is need for me or I wish to monitor the training fields," he replies. After a moment, his lips relax as he says, "By what desire to you wish to defend these borders?"

"Indeed, especially since you've set the departure for two days time." Galharth comments in agreement as he sweeps his weapon down, forward and then upwards as if cutting under a defensive block. As Mithsul requests to join the order, the Tailor's brows lift and he leans a head towards the Warden. "Good fortune is found this day. If the Commander grants his wish, perhaps you can get a new Sentinel assigned under your command."

"Indeed," says Maglind, swiftly moving into an offensive position opposite the Tailor. Keeping an eye and an ear on the Commander, he questions, "On guard, Galharth?"

Thoughtfully Mithsul steps back a pace, his own lips pursing as he deliberates upon his response. Slowly he answers, seeming to be quite aware of his answers, "There are many reasons that I desire to defend our borders. The first and formost is the simple desire to keep all that I love and hold dear safe. The second, as you know my father, his father, going back generations have served faithfully upon our borders." Pausing, Mithsul looks upward toward the night sky, reflecting perhaps on history lessons or simply enjoying the view. "I know that my father would prefer me to follow my mother's path of peace and join the Glirdain. However, for anyone's dream of peace to continue we must have those who stand ready to defend that way of life."

"You're the Guard, Maglind, what...." Galharth says, turning his attention from the Commander to his friend. A frown immediately appears upon his lips. "You mean to dual with me? Is this safe?" For an instant, a shadow of fear flickers in the Tailor's eyes. Hesitantly, he turns and pulls himself into a ready stance. "Take your chance, and I'll do the same with you. I'm guarded and at ready, so the first strike falls to you, Maglind."

Legarwin nods slowly to the ellon taking in the answer. After a pause in which thought passes over the Commander's visage he asks, "And how do you believe this blade can be used to obtain the peace that this world once had?" The Aderthad extends his longsword which gleams in the light of the elven-lantern.

Maglind pauses. "Then I will use the flat, or pull away the blade before it can strike. I wish to do no harm, but an enemy on the field may do otherwise."

Swallowing, hand trembling with concentration, the warden darts forward at the Tailor's elbow, polished blade sweeping moonlight forward.

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

"No I do not." Mithsul's reply was quick and firm, yet he continues to explain at a more leisurely pace. "Not by itself in any sense. But without those who do not fear to use such blade in defense of their ideas and way of life, then peace is meaningless under the bootheels of their enemies."

"I hope you use the flat of your blade," mutters the Tailor as he adjusts his feet, "I've seen enough of the Healers Talan in these past weeks so do indeed watch your strikes."

Moving his arm out of the range of the advancing blade, Galharth steps forward and brings his own longsword into a dropping sweep towards the Warden's hip. With a clenched jaw, the clothier aims to strike Maglind's hip.

Galharth attacks Maglind with his Longsword...
Galharth attacks against Maglind mildly wounds him!

The longsword falls, bruising the grey cloth, but the warden steps away unharmed. "I do hope you are well now. I had tried to come visit," at this Maglind lunges forward again, in a wobbly, flattened arc towards the arm, "but the forest fiercely holds its guards."

Maglind attacks Galharth with his Longsword!...
...and Galharth parry's Maglind's attack with his Longsword!

The Commander gives another understanding nod at the philosophy of the ellon. His eyes once again pass over the Aderthad as if evaluating him. Finally, he replies, "Your intentions are clear and your passion is understandable. As such, I wish to welcome you into the Order as a Sentinel. May you do well in following the paths of your elders." The words of Legarwin are simple and yet contain a sense of authority.

"Duty comes first." Galharth says firmly as he shifts his sword to block the Warden's attack. Metal strikes against metal at just the moment that the Order receives a new Guard. "Well met, Sentinel!" He calls out as he pushes against his weapon to break contact. Stepping to the side, he swings his blade once more to strike, aiming to smack his weapon against Maglind's side.

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

Smiling Mithsul gave his first hesitant salute to the commander, something he no-doubtedly seen his father, and his grandfather do many times over to their superiors. "I thank you Commander Legarwin." With that Mithsul staps back once more to observe in silence.

"You are welcome though you duties have just begun," says Legarwin as the ellon departs and his eyes turn to the duelers. "Seek out your opponent's weakness and use it against him. Even his strength may be turned into a flaw." He then goes quiet as he continues to watch.

A few sparks fly from the parry, quickly trampled by moving feet as Maglind dances. "Ai," says the warden, rubbing his side ruefully, "but duty unguided leads to folly. As you and I know."

Maglind pokes at Galharth's hip, more hesitantly this time.

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

Winching slightly as Maglind's strike finds its mark, the clothier frowns. "Indeed, we've learned much that could be titled folly in recent months." Galharth says with a persistent set to his jaw.

Stepping back and reaffirming his stance. Bearing forth a neutral expression, the crafter suddenly takes a step to the side, turns swiftly on the tip of his boot, and sweeps his weapon outwards to strike, aiming to hit the Warden's shoulder.

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

Maglind flinches as the sword cuts through his sleeve, and he steps back slightly. "Not completely," he says, moving into the defensive. "Who knows how long the river has had its secrets?"

"Much longer than I've been alive, I'm sure." Galharth says as he steps back. Nodding his head towards the cut sleeve, his looks into the Warden's face. "Sorry about that, stop by the Weavers talan later, and I'll be glad to fix that for you."

Tucking the weapon back at his waist, he glances between the Legarwin and Maglind. "If you don't mind, I'm not quite ready to put forth an agressive attitude in my training."

Maglind lowers his own blade, putting one hand calmly to his arm. "I understand. I hope I haven't demanded too much." The warden sheathes the sword and stands sheepishly on the path.

"Does it not wear on you?" Galharth asks with tension hinted in his voice. Taking a step towards the Lawn, he shakes his head. "Alas, perhaps I need a little rest." he says offering a smile. "I'll see you tomorrow so we can finish the details of our trip."

With that, the clothier departs, leaving the Guard to their duties.