8/10/2007
Logfile from Elendor.


The night sky is clouded, the stars hiding their lusterous lights from the edhel down below. A light snow falls around the camp of the Galadhrim, the cold forming small ice crystals upon the surfaces of long dormant items. The air is chilled, and thankfully only a small breeze blows, lifting the sparse leaves of nearby trees. All is silent, not even a stray sound of the eagle in flight pierces the heavy air.

Standing near the camp, his cloak swirling softly whenever a breeze passes by, Mithsul stands looking off toward the mountain peaks. White flakes of snow catch and stand starkly out upon his dark braid. His bow is in his hand, as well as the leather armament adorns his lithe body. Green eyes still spark, even when the sentinel seems so solemn.

Thorhur sprints forward up the path and finds himself near the Galadhrim Camp. Looking around, he shivers, pulling his cloak around him. Finally, he catches sight of a figure in the distance. Even in the dark he can tell it is Mithsul. Approaching him cautiously he says in a hushed voice, "Here you are, I was hoping to find you before nightfall!"

Walking around the camp with is head turned up into the sky, Galharth lifts his arms to catch the snowflakes as they fall. "Ah, what beauty! The first snow! Fresh, pure, and beauty beyond compare." The clothier says with a light tone to his voice.

Lowering his head, he peers at Mithsul and smiles. "If there is anything within the Wood I miss, I'd have to say it's the snow."

In what has now become a habitual position, Lostiriel stands silently with cloak wrapped tightly about her and hood pulled up over her long golden waves. Tiny flakes of snow fall and stick to her as grey eyes survey her surroundings, and an almost imperceptible shiver passes through Lostiriel's body, though whether or not it is due to the cold is difficult to say. Her attention is turned to the sound of Thorhur's voice for a moment, and she studies both him and Mithsul in the darkness. Then, as Galharth's voice rings out, full of light and joy, a smile breaks her serious expression and she, too, moves over to join the little group.

From above comes the soft sound of gentle wings. Silver white and gray feathers capturing the light as piercing black eyes settle on the Crafter. In his beak he carries a silver object, shaped of a mellryn leaf and bearing the mark of the Royal Court. Upon landing the creature is quick to drop the object at the feet of crafter, taking time to nip at his foot before finding shelter again in the trees.

Turning his gaze from the lofty peaks toward the sprinting sentinel, dark lashes widen slightly. "Thorhur," His voice is not quite as hushed as the other guard's as he greets him with impassive tones. A glance is given back toward the way Thorhur had come before he continues to address the edhel. "You missed your mark considerablly friend." This last is said with a ghost of a smile.

"Snow is indeed a merry weather, when it is held in check, Galharth. If we were to have snow in Lothlorien then we would also sacrifice the blooms of flowers for a season." Lifting a hand not holding his bow he waves a silent greeting to Lostiriel before saying to the group in general. "Fortune favors us so far, that we can concentrate on such novelties as snow and not on beasts. May that remain true."

Thorhur, smiling at Mithsul's remarks, nods in agreement, and then turns to Galharth. "Ah, Galharth, if only you knew how much grief snow caused me when I was a child." This is said with a smile, then Thorhur turns to Lostiriel. "Hello elleth." Then, his expression serious once more, he turns to Galharth and continues. "I was patrolling the Northern borders, when one of the Marchwardens sent for me and told me that I should find you and join you. It was strange, but he did not give a reason for this. Anyway, I left before sunset and was hoping to reach you sooner."

Turning quickly, the Clothier's brow rises with surprise. "Thorhur? I thought you'd be assigned to the borders. What are you doing here?" Closing his mouth to listen to the Sentinel's words, he nods once and bends to pick up the silver Mallorn leaf. Peering at it curiously he turns it over several times, taking note of the Royal Court emblem. Prefect? Shaking his head, he looks back towards teh Sentinel. "Ah, alright. You'll need to find Maglind to report in, I imagine." With the remainder of what the Guard says, a slight frown appears upon Galharth's face. "How can snow cause grief?"

Returning Mithsul's wave, Lostiriel nods to both Thorhur and Galharth. "Indeed, snow? I should think that snow, at least, is one thing we need not worry about causing grief." Her voice is quiet and light, and her lips turn upward to form a smile as she gently teases Thorhur. "And so I agree with Mithsul. I hope that we are left to concentrate on something as 'grievous' as snow."

Mithsul bows abruptly before turning to enter one of the nearby tents

"Well Galharth, when you were a child did you ever throw snowballs at your friends?" Thorhur asks. "I was always the target of snowballs," Thorhur says, a smile spreading on his face. Then his tone changes to seriousness. "Do you think we'll be attacked tonight?"

Galharth looks at Thorhur with a blank expression. "Mia would be the one tossing snowballs. And if I were you, I'd watch your back for she could very well be aiming at you as we speak," the clothier says flatly. Suddenly his blank expression faulters and he chuckles softly. "It reminds me that I should watch as well."

"Attack? Heaven's no. We'll not have any trouble on this trip. We're not far from the border, and it's quiet as can be. Have faith!"

Thorhur, smiling weakly with some of his uneasiness gone, looks back in the direction of Lorien. "I guess you are right," he says weakly. "It's just that the yrch have been coming closer to the borders, and if you look at the path we are on now," he motions to the path below him. "it seems to be heavily traveled."

Smiling as the conversation continues, Lostiriel listens to Galharth's reassurance, and nods. "Indeed, that is what I hope for." Then, turning, she heads back for the tents.

"Do not worry, Lostiriel," Galharth calls out with reassurance. "The Guards are with us, and that alone should bring forth comfort."

Turning towards the Sentinel, he tilts his head. "They may be close, and the tracks might reflect activity, but we're quiet, and move with little attention being drawn. Hold no worry. I'm sure it's safe. It's as I told Lostiriel, the Guards are here and that alone will likely prevent attack."

"Yes, I suppose," Thorhur mutters and puts the conversation at rest. "Anyway, how did the retrieval go? Did you collect the catapult yet?" As he says this he turns this head towards the sky, where the sun is starting to rise.

"Nay, not yet. It lays to the East a few miles." Galharth says as he pauses to glance towards the east. "We'll likely complete the journey tomorrow. From there, we'll collect the parts and return." Looking back to the Sentinel, he smiles. "Simple and easy. I'm sure this time we'll not have problems."

Thorhur looks puzzled. "What problems troubled you last time, for I am sure the Order could take on a troll, but if all the yrchs of Moria were there as well it would be different."

"When the catapult was tested, the troll was a bit more powerful than expected." Galharth explains softly as he once more turns to the east, "And when we went to retrive the catapult, the Warg and it's rider was a bit over zealous in it's efforts to seperate our heads from our bodies." Shrugging his shoulders, he turns back to face the Sentinel. "Ah well, this third trip should be the simplest of them all."

With that the clothier steps towards the camp in search of rest before the final leg of their journey to the remains of the catapult.

Thorhur continues to stare blankly at the horizon tinged with color, then he stretches. He walks into the camp, enters a tent, and falls fast asleep.