================== Eldarin Calendar <in Sindarin> ===================
IC time is: Day
IC date is: 25 Iavas <Autumn>
Moon phase: First Quarter <VISIBLE>
Earendil: Gil-Estel is not visible.
IC year is: Loa 15 o Yen 22, Nelandran o Endor <TA 3039>
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RL time: Nov 28 15:40:00 2006
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Mar Vanwa Tyalieva
A large talan about the bole of the tree with a hardwood floor and sturdy walls
(unlike most talan construction) that sport shuttered fenestrations to let air
in. The branches of the mallorn support the lofty, thatched ceiling and have
been lit with many lamps as well as golden banners to denote the season. Song
and laughter fill the night as Galadhrim gather in company. The soft lamplight
fills the talan and spills outside, as if to compete with the stars. The tables
are packed but you can spot a free table so finding a seat is no problem among
the empty tankards of drink.
Participants:
Galharth
Ostiel
Faelion
Maglind
Curulomion
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The dusky light high above trickles down a soft blend of rose and lavender hues
to Arda's welcoming atmopshere, and they bleed into the air with all the
subtlety of morning sun rays. Elves step in and out of the colors as they walk
toward the Mar Vanwa Tyalieva, seeking sweet refreshment there, hoping for a
seat in the crowded talan. Merry laughter, pleasant scent, and fresh, lively
music spill out, beckoning, calling for straglers to enter and taste.
Two such edhel squeeze into chairs at a small table, both tall and flushed from
the exertion of training. Ostiel and Belation order red wine, and wait in
strangely awkward silence, punctuated with the occasional sigh from her, and the
constant, vague eye-contact from him.
Another edhel in the bustle - scarce a thing to be noticed. Little more than a
tall form in blues and greens, Faelion weaves his way among the gathered Elves,
a glass of mead held gingerly before him. His efforts bring him to the table
occupied by Ostiel, and then very nearly into the Attendant herself as he
side-steps to avoid a veritable horde of young Laiquendi. So near to her that
when he glances down all that can be seen is the top of her head. Therefore, he
speaks to her hairline, "A fine morning, would not you say, Ostiel?" Faelion's
voice is light and merry, and the question is accompanied with a laugh as at
last he is able to remove himself to a more respectable distance.
A tall figure weaves through the crowd carrying a full glass of burgundy wine.
As he moves, his sky blue outer robe gently sweeps behind him, hindering his
forward progress. Just when he nears a table, his progress is suddenly halted.
Furrowing his brow, he turns his head to seek the cause of his sudden ancoring.
Finding the corner of his robe caught on a chair. "I'm terribly sorry..." he
begins as he turns his gaze to the occupants of the table. When he catches sight
of Ostiel he pauses. "Ostiel, how good to see you." He adds as he jerks his robe
free. Glancing up, he catches sight of another, "And Faelion. I hope you fare
well."
Ostiel does not need to look up at Faelion to recognize his scent and presence.
However, his words make her look up at him curiously. "Ah...yes, Faelion. This
morning was fine, and the 'evening' is even more so," she calmly pokes him in
the belly, punctuating the word 'evening', faint laughter dancing in her green
eyes, "However, I imagine tonight that the stars will shine brightly, as there
is no haze over the heavens. I look forward to it." Belation accepts their
drinks from the server, and places her wine before her. Galharth suddenly
appears, and Ostiel's companion smiles to him. "Ostiel, mellon, I do believe
that your chair has caught Galharth's beautiful robes. It would be a shame to
tear them." She is already making to rise.
"Evening, m'lady?" Such is Faelion's incredulous reply to Ostiel.
"Why...well...yes." He bows his head to her, his cheeks now tinged a faint rose.
Faelion happens to turn about just in time to see Galharth yank his robes free
of the chair. This sight speedily banishes any embarrassment on Faelion's part,
and no sooner do his eyes light than laughter falls abudantly from his lips.
"Why, Galharth! You're snagged. Cought up. Bound, I daresay..." The Counsel's
laughter continues for a moment longer, eventually fading out into a whisper,
and his eyes drop whistfully to his half-empty glass.
Sitting his wineglass upon the table, Galharth shakes his head as Ostiel begins
to rise. "Nay, there is no need to rise dear lady, I've unhooked the offending
cloth." Carefully inspecting the edge of his robe, and finding no damage, he
looks up once more and offers all a smile and a chuckle of laughter in response
to Faelion's words. "Snagged yes, but when it is by one as lovely as Ostiel, I'd
say it was something to be envied."
Ostiel stares at Faelion with what is now great interest, keen gaze becoming
more suspicious by the moment. She says naught of it though, and merely reclines
back into the chair, blushing gracefully at the compliment. "I am honored,
Galharth. For truly I am not so elegant tonight as on most. We have just been
training." Indeed, the loose tunic and dark leggings the healer wears are not
feminine fare, and her hair is pulled back into a messy tail. This only
accentuates her slim frame, but she is oblivious to this fact, and changes the
subject quickly. "How have your evenings been, mellon nins? Pleasant, I hope."
"Most envious." This Faelion speaks to his glass. "Most envious. Yes." Once
again the Counsel allows his words to taper off. A quick glance at Ostiel seems
to supply Faelion with some sense of her suspicions, and his eyes narrow almost
playfully. "Why, Ostiel, I faith you are plotting to deal me a blow or two with
your staff? Is it so? Or will you simply catch my cloak on your chair and leave
me here? Snagged. Caught up. Bound, as it were." He does his utmost to conceal
what might very well be a giggle.
Glancing over the lady's attire, the Clothier opens his mouth to speak, but he
quickly falls silent as the topic is changed. Smoothing out his robes, allowing
the soft fabric to fall to dance around his ankles, he reaches for his glass and
lifts it to his lips. After taking a sip, Galharth turns his gaze to Ostiel's
companion. "Were you training with a staff? How interesting. I've recently taken
an interest in the use of a sword, but find so few who are able to provide me
with sorely needed instruction." Before an answer is given, the Clothier turns
his gaze towards Faelion. A mixture of expressions pass over his face, starting
with a slight frown and ending with a slight tilt of a silver head and a brow
lifted in curiosity.
"Nay," Belation rumbles pleasantly, swirling his burgundy wine, "We were not
training with staff, nor sword. Ostiel refuses to fight with anything but her
bare hands. I have tried to convince her otherwise," he glances slyly at the
elleth, who rolls her eyes, "But she has remained adamant, fiesty woman. Ai!" He
reaches below the table to grasp his knee.
Ostiel smiles innocently, and replies, softly, "I do not intend to do any
fighting at all, should I possibly be able to avoid it, and my heart will not
let me heft a sword without chagrin. But surely, it is well to be prepared." As
for Faelion, Ostiel leans forward to sniff at his glass. Her nose wrinkles.
"Therefore, I have no intention of dealing a blow to you, Faelion, though I am
tempted to do so to your drink," she looks at him 'very' closely, and finally
murmurs cautiously, "What have you had, mellon nin?"
Faelion holds his glass aloft, twirling it about. "Mead. Siniathweg swears that
we've emptied a cask, my cousin and I. Nonsense, surely. It is now only
morn...evening," He corrects himself quickly, his blush returning, "And we've
been at it since...since..." Faelions eyes go wide and sheepish, and the last of
his sentence is given in an incoherent mutter.
"Alas, from speaking with the Lady Mia, I do not blame a healer their avoidance
of a weapon." Galharth says softly, leaving the topic gently. A frown appears
upon the Clothiers lips. "It seems that Faelion has been snagged, though not
immediately obvious," he says with a shake of his head. "Perhaps you've had
enough already, mellon?"
Ostiel also lets the subject lie where it has fallen, and does not bother to
glance down at it, much less pick it up. "Yes, I agree with Galharth, Faelion.
Perhaps you have had enough to drink for today." She looks about the talan for
said cousin, eyes filled with a healer's frown. As for Belation, he takes
another sip of wine, but watches the tipsy edhel closely from beneath a cloud of
pale hair.
After a moment of quiet contemplation, Faelion sets his glass down on the table.
"I think you speak true, my friends. I am a little too merry for my own good."
Folding his hands studiously behind him, Faelion lapses into a stately silence.
Ostiel's search for Faelion's cousin my yield fruit. A few tables away, sleeping
with a blissful smile on his face, is Silmandur. A half-empty glass rests just
beyond the reach of his fingers.
Holding his own wine glass, cradling the contents rather than sipping their
sweet flavor, the Clothier peers closely at Faelion. "What were you
celebrating?" he asks curiously. "Too often there are reasons to complain, so
it's good to hear a reason that brings cheer and merry making." As he speaks,
Galharth steals a slight glance in Ostiel's direction.
Ostiel does not understand the look, and therefore does not return it. She does
however, confiscate Faelion's mead, pushing it do the other end of the table.
Then she attempts to drink her own sweet wine. This, however, is before she gets
a good view of Silmandur, and starts abruptly. "Oh, dear. It seems your cousin
cannot hold his drink as well as yourself, Faelion." Standing with a sigh, she
wanders away from the table in his direction, weaving through the crowd.
Belation chuckles, shaking his head.
Very quietly indeed, Faelion stretches out a hand after Ostiel, as though to
restrain her, but too late. With a bemused shrug of his shoulders, the Counsel
slips into the now-vacant seat. He glances to Galharth before replying, "We have
had word of our kin in Mithlond." This is followed by a grin.
For his own part, Silmandur remains perfectly still, a smile frozen on his lips.
However, even as he sleeps, his hand crawls slowly towards his drink.
Quiet pads of footsteps, barely perceptible to even elvish hearing rise from the
downward ladder. Wafting inward amongst them washes the scent of the woodland;
fur and pine, ash and oak the delicate fragrances of a forest in late summer
when sap sweats from well worn bark, baked by brilliant rays of sunshine. A
specterial music gliding between, entwining with the olfactory imagery. A voice
as soft as silk brushes over the scented air, ancient lyrics in the eldest
elvish tongue sweetly whispered to the air, their quiescent veneer belaying the
resonant power that ripples beneath an almost still surface. The imagery
strengthening, the warmth of mid-day's light filling the Cottage as the crafted
scene of music and voice drifts before the senses of those who care to receive
it. And then seeping away as Celemir's golden crown emerges at the entranceway,
his silvery garb glimmering with pale silver light, reflected from the day's
fading radiance. An easy smile rests upon the ellon's pale features, lids
lowered and yet step neither faltering nor failing for the loss of sight. His
lips murmuring the final lyrical moments before the crystal eyes reveal
themselves.
Chuckling softly as the mead is removed from Faelion's reach, Galharth watchs
with amusement as Ostiel moves towards through the crowd. "Any word from distant
kin is worth celebrating." Lifting his glass, the Clothier adds, "To the word
you've received, I pray the news is good." Drawing the glass to his lips, he
sips the wine. Taking a deep breath, he releases it slowly. "It's a bit crowded
in here today, I came looking to quench my thirst, and perhaps find a nice quiet
conversation." Lifting his glass, he downs the remainder of his drink.
"Quiet, eh," Issues forth from Belation's lips, filled with wry laughter. He
gestures to an empty seat. "Then sit, mellon nin, and converse, for my companion
seems to have abandoned me for business." This is said without unpleasantness,
and indeed, he looks fondly after the elleth as well. She is now bent over
Silmandur, and without hesitation slaps his hand away from the glass, 'tsk'ing.
A few edhel nearby chuckle at the sight, for she is small, but is indeed a 'fiesty
woman'.
Accepting the invitation, the Clothier maneuvers around and joins the table.
"Obviously, I spend little time here, or I'd have known my plans to be naive."
Leaning into the table, Galharth lowers his voice and glances towards Oestiel at
work. "Healers have always inspired a healthy respect, or perhaps fear in me.
I've always wondered if it was just something unique to myself or it that
feeling was shared by others."
Belation follows Galharth's gaze over to the Cuigrithweg, who is currently
checking the dazed ellon's vitals with quiet efficiency, in no rush but seeming
to move quickly. "Aye," the soldier replies, gaze tender and thoughtful, "I can
see why you would think that, and I know many who do. They can be
very...knowing, and that can be intimidating. But I'm afraid I cannot share the
sentiment, for I know many on a deep level. Ostiel and I have waddled in diapers
together."
Galharth glances from Ostiel to Belation, and back to Ostiel again, all in a
matter of moments. Then, as if the words finally sink in, laughter rings out
from the Clothiers lips. A hand goes to the ellon's stomach, and a his eyes
water in amuzement. "I suppose if you look at things from that perspective, the
intimidation flies right out the window." Reaching up, he wipes the moisture
from his eyes. "Myself, I fear I'll continue to be intimidated." Another bout of
laughter rings out, and he half snorts in an effort to contain himself, "Unless
of course someone attempts to diaper me along with one of those intimidating
Healers."
A quiet song passes under the talan, accompanied by the step of light foot upon
ladder. The remaining daylight from outside is blotted out by a thin figure
standing in the entrance.
Maglind hesitates, looking out at the crowded tables with tilted head.
Belation laughs as well, and loudly, deep voice ringing out and causing a few
heads to turn in curiosity, and a bit of annoyance. He ignores them all, and
wipes away tears of mirth. "Aye, but don't tell her I told you. She'd have my
head." As if she overheard, Ostiel's head comes up and turns in their direction,
filled with interest. Belation returns the look, his own simultaneously tender
and mischievious. The healer's eyes narrow, but she lets it go, and asks a
nearby waiter for a glass of water. Though Maglind is near her, she has not yet
seen him.
"You must see inside others, as they do, to truly understand how a healer works.
But I have had millenium to decipher her inner workings, and my meldir is also a
healer." Belation takes another drink of wine, and looks back to Galharth, thick
forearm muscles flexing in time with his sips.
"There's a seat here!" Galharth calls out helpfully as he catches sight of
Maglind in the crowd. Offering Ostiel an innocent glance as she looks back at
them, the Clothier chuckles softly. "I try to avoid looking into others," he
admits as he looks down into his empty glass. "I find my own inner workings to
be quite complicated and since I have my hands fully deciphering my own thoughts
and feelings, I have little time to do the same for another."
Maglind sits down quite heavily, with a little sigh as he sips from another's
wine glass (he does not seem to notice). For now he merely listens to the
conversation surrounding him, swishing and staring at the red liquid within the
cup.
"That is true for the majority of us, but healers, I suppose, are a rare breed.
I am very proud to call two of them my kin, in all but name." Belation trails
off as Maglind joins them, and inclines his head politely to the Sentinel. "Maglind.
Mae Govannen." As for the edhel drinking Ostiel's wine, well, Belation smiles to
himself and says naught.
Contary to his words, Galharth's smile and mirth sours with concern as he
watches their new companion's demeanor. "Is everything alright?" the Clothier
asks quietly while he leans towards the center of the table.
Pausing briefly, he looks up to catch Siniathweg's attention. Two fingers
extend, followed by the lifting of an empty glass. Silently indicating an order
for two glasses of wine.
"Eh? Yes, yes, of course," says Maglind with a start, "as soon as this taste of
... paint leaves my tongue." He gives Belation a polite nod, then tilts his head
again to drain Ostiel's glass.
"Paint," comes a distinctively feminine voice from behind the Sentinel, filled
with faint amusement. Ostiel intercepts Siniathweg, laying a hand upon his
shoulder. "Make that three please, and one of them white. Thank you, mellon nin."
That said, she pulls up another chair. Far off in the distance, Faelion's cousin
sips at the cup of water, cheeks flushed with wine and chagrin.
"Paint?" Galharth echoes. "I don't understand."
Within moments, Siniathweg arrives with a tray containing three glasses of wine.
With cool efficiency, two glasses of wine are set before both the Clothier and
the Sentinel, and a glass of white is set before Ostiel.
"Thank you." Galharth says softly as he reaches for his wine.
"Paint, yes. Thank you," blushes Maglind, sipping carefully from his glass. "I
was assigned to repaint the archery targets. Yet he with whom I worked played a
little... prank. Nothing more, nothing more."
"Prank?" Belation questions, taking a long gulp of wine, "That sounds very
interesting indeed." He licks a droplet of red off his chin, and raises a thick,
blond eyebrow.
Ostiel thanks Siniathweg with a wide smile, and takes a sip of her wine.
"Perfection, as always." The server beams, and bows before moving away.
"Are you going to report the prank?" Galharth asks as he lifts his wine to his
lips. "Certainly games while performing a duty seem inappropriate at best."
Nodding his head towards Maglind's glass, the Clothier lifts his brow. "Is the
taste gone, or will you need something stronger?"
"The taste is gone now, thank Valar," says Maglind, setting down his glass with
a small sigh.
"And no, I will not. It shall be considered an unfortunate ... mishap, switching
a paint-flask with one of drink."
Dusk...time for some to just begin thier day, when most others are preparing to
end it. It is also dinnertime so the place is crowded but it seems that does not
bother the one who comes now, not this time. Curulomion ascends from below,
greeted by whispers and sidelong glances...as he always is, for his dark,
brooding aura preceeds him. He enters and at once goes for foodo; a bowl of beef
stew, some bread and some fruit pastries for dessert. His drink of choice is
wine, rich crimson caranyulda by the bottle. So with his tray ready he pauses,
debating as to where to sit and conspicuous in his standing there with his tall
height and his midnight-hued clothing.
"Are you saying that someone made you drink 'paint'," Ostiel asks with concern,
though she leans back and crosses both legs, appearance casual. "How much did
you imbibe? And what type of paint was it?" Healer's instinct's kicking in, she
begins to examine the Sentinel with her gaze, albeit very subtly. As such, she
does not notice Curulomion right away. When her eyes fall up him, however, her
face lights up. Beckoning with her fingers, the healer smiles. Belation drains
his glass, and looks outside, at the sky.
"Only one thirsty gulp. And it was only the plain white paint used for
whitewashing targets." Maglind turns in his chair. "I shall be fine, Ostiel."
"Curulomion! Join us, mellon?"
"I'll admit, I wouldn't be as generous as you." Galharth says firmly as he sips
his wine. Over the rim of his glass, he catches sight of another familiar face.
"Curulomion!" he calls out over the noise within the Mar. Glancing to his
companions, he lifts a brow. "Mind if I invite another to the table?"
Curulomion notices Ostiel's smile and secretly wonders if she can tell her
attempt at fea-healing was only a partial success...and if he should, as her
patient, tell her. It had been a valiant effort...but he had been too long
alone, the wounds too old by the time they were tended. At Maglind's call the
darkling, burning gaze fixes on the young elf...and almost as quickly does that
gaze swivel to Galharth. "You wish me at your table?" he intones in his grim,
grave tones...though there is the faintest hint of surprise evident in those
tones.
A tall, slim figure emerges from the curtain, stepping into the shelter of the
talan. It is Daerlach. FIngering the sphere at his neck, he swivels his head,
glancing towards the various tables. He begins walking, in no particular
direction. He then notices his teacher, Curulomion, sitting at one of the tables
with some others. He says nothin,g but beginsheading that way.
"Nay," Belation murmurs, "I do not mind, for I must away. My shift approaches."
He rises, towering over the gathered companions. "May the rest of your evening
be fair, mellons. Ostiel, I will see you tomorrow?"
"Yes, tomorrow," she replies pleasantly, and he kisses her hand gallantly. Her
laughing eyes say she is not fooled. He knows this as well, and cannot help
chuckling. "Farewell then." That said, he strides toward the door, straight back
dissappearing into the crowd, but blond head clearly visible.
Ostiel does know Curulomion's current state, for he is indeed her patient, and
she has learned to read him. However, she gives naught away of her own thought
or feelings on the matter, and merely beckons again, pleasantly.
"Nay," Belation murmurs, "I do not mind, for I must away. My shift approaches."
He rises, towering over the gathered companions. "May the rest of your evening
be fair, mellons. Ostiel, I will see you tomorrow?"
"Yes, tomorrow," she replies pleasantly, and he kisses her hand gallantly. Her
laughing eyes say she is not fooled. He knows this as well, and cannot help
chuckling. "Farewell then." That said, he strides toward the door, straight back
dissappearing into the crowd, but blond head clearly visible.
Ostiel does know Curulomion's current state, for he is indeed her patient, and
she has learned to read him. However, she gives naught away of her own thought
or feelings on the matter, and merely smiles again, pleasantly.
A tall, slim figure emerges from the curtain, stepping into the shelter of the
talan. It is Daerlach. FIngering the sphere at his neck, he swivels his head,
glancing towards the various tables. He begins walking, in no particular
direction. He then notices his teacher, Curulomion, standing near one of the
tables. He says nothing,g but begins heading that way.
"Ware the paint," calls Maglind over the crowd, tilting his chair back rather
precariously.
"Of course we wish it, Curulomion," says the sentinel brightly, pausing to hide
a cough or two in the crook of his elbow. "Come sit, come sit."
"Enjoy your eve, Belation." the Clothier says as the Guard departs. Turning his
gaze back to Curulomion, Garharth nods. "Of course we wish you're company. Come
join us." He says sweeping a hand towards the now empty spot which Belation had
just vacated.
Curulomion heads forwards with his tray somewhat hesitantly, but neat and deft
at picking his way through the crowd...and the whispered murmurs that follow
him. He has long grown used to them but that did not mean they did not rankle.
Finally he stands beside Beltaine's now-empty chair and, after a few moments'
consideration lowers himself into it with his tray before him. He is not slow in
uncorking his bottle and pouring himself a goblet of wine. "Had I known I was to
have company I would have procured more wine," he says drily. "But normally
people prefer that I eat alone and let them enjoy their dinners." A raised eye
catches sight of Daerlach, his young student, and he nods to the ellon though
that nod could be anything from a simple acknowledgement of prescence to an
invitation to join the crowd at the table. What goes on behind those cold,
distant eyes is anyone's guess.
"That is alright, mellon," Ostiel intones quietly, looking back to Faelion's
cousin with a twitching mouth, "There is wine to be had, and in abundance." She
also spots Daerlach, and nods to him with a kind expression. "Mae Govannen,
mellon nin. How is your evening progressing?"
Shaking his head as Curulomion joins the table, a soft chuckle sounds. "Clearly
those at this table are not your average /people/, for indeed I'd think your
company, however moody you might be from time to time, is interesting and
welcome." says Galharth as he lifts his glass in salute. Catching sight of
Daerlach, he nods his head in greeting. "I think perhaps we need to test exactly
how abundant wine is within this establishment. What say all of you to ordering
a few bottles to share?" Glancing to Maglind, he adds with a smile, "Paint free
variety, of course."
Glancing towards his teacher, Daerlach returns the nod, gray eyes also saying
nothing of his emotions. His hands fall to his sides. Hearing Ostiel's remark,
he turns toward her. "Mae Govannen," he replies."I fair well, tahnk you.'
Glancing toward the table's other occupants, he takes a step forward. "Would
anyone mind if i took a seat?"
"I am glad," chuckles Maglind, putting hand briefly to stomach, "but I will not
drink too much. I have no wish to become like him." He jerks his head at the
newly-sober cousin of Faelion.
"And yes, you are welcome to sit."
Nodding towards Faelion's cousin, a twinkle flickers within Galharth's eyes. "I
believe that Faelion mentioned the downing of a cask to reach the point they're
at. We should be quite safe with a few bottles."
Turning his gaze to the new arrival, the Clothier nods. "I agree, please feel
free to join us." he says to Daerlach.
"I also will not consume too much, for I have work to do after this. But perhaps
I will order a bottle of this white, for it is fine." As if to prove her point,
Ostiel holds out her half-empty goblet to Galharth, the crystalline liquid
sparkling within.
Curulomion looks up from a spoonful of stew. "This is getting to be a crowded
table. I am not sure I have room to breathe here," he comments, used to having a
table to himself. "But if I am wanted here then here I shall remain. A few more
bottles to share among us does sound good. I have mine and I prefer caranyulda
so you may have white without fear of me getting into it."
Obliging the elves' requests, Daerlach pulls up a chair, taking a seat. He
glances once more to his teacher, bestowing on him a small smile. He glances to
the others, and at the goblet filled tray. "I think i might like a little drink,
also," he says, taking a goblet and pouring a small measure of crystal-colored
wine into it.
"I would suggest the culyave. It is most excellent this year --" Maglind
represses another cough, and quite suddenly puts one hand on stomach, one hand
over mouth.
"It seems I cannot stay. Excuse me," he chokes rather quickly, pushing his chair
back with a screech. He shoves through the crowd, bent nearly double.
"Oh dear," Ostiel murmurs, rising quickly, "Excuse me as well. Here," she shoves
the wine glass onto the table, and follows after Maglind, overtaking him without
effort. Beginning to clear a path, the healer whispers, "Why don't we go to the
healing talan, hmm?"
Curulomion arches an eyebrow at Maglind's antics and decicdes it is better to
just sit still and not interfere. "I know I said I was feeling a little
cramped...but I did not wish for someone else to become ill in order toclear me
space." He does return to dinner, inscrutable as ever, save for a slight light
in his eyes that could be wistfulness
The sentinel coughs in reply. "I am /sure/ the paint was harmless..." Maglind
says faintly, but obeys Ostiel nevertheless.
Galharth seems almost surprised as the table clears out. "He was given paint to
drink as a prank," he explains about Maglind as he watches first the Sentinel
leave and then the Attendant. "It seems that mixing paint and wine is a poor
choice."
"I hope you feel better quickly!" the Clothier calls out.
Shrugging his shoulders, the confused ellon turns to glance at Curulomion. "Now
that was strange."
Curulomion nods to Galharth. "That was strange indeed. Paint to drink. I have
heard of young initiates to the jewelcraft being made to drink everclear...we
use it as a jewel-cleaner but it is drinkable...as a jest or initiation. One
which I was, fortunately, spared. I have heard that it has a truly vile taste as
well as being exceedingly potent."
"Nonsense." And that is all Ostiel says.
"I still think it should be reported, if only to prevent such antics from being
repeated." Galharth says with a shrug of his shoulders, "But then, it seems I
hold differing opinions on many issues." Lifting his wine to his lips, the
Clothier takes a long sip. "How have you been Curulomion? It has been some weeks
since we've last seen eachother."
Curulomion arches an eyebrow. "Of course it should be reported," he affirms.
"Such pranking should not be tolerated." His tones are firm and graver than
usual. "I have been well, Galharth. As well as I can be. A minor flare up last
week but I am back to my usual state of health now. I trust the day finds you
well?"
"If I am to understand correctly, the prankster is safe from being reported. I
know not why, but the choice and decision is Maglind's to make." Taking a deep
breath, the Clothier glances in the direction that the Sentinel and the Healer
had taken. "I am well, thank you for asking." Galharth replies as he turns to
glance at Curulomion. "And I'm glad to hear that this day finds you in good
health. And how is your lady? I've not seen her either."
Curulomion shakes his head slowly at Galharth's news about the prankster. "Elnara
is in excellent spirits. She is very excited about the wedding and is now
thinking about changing the design of the dresss she will be wearing. That is
due to a gift Atto left for me to give to my bride. It is a circlet of silver
and diamonds and so she tells me she will be styling her hair differently than
she had intended so the design of the gown must needs be changed. To what she
has not told me and I understand nothing of such matters."
A brow lifts at the mention of the gown's design. "I shall have to seek her out
to discuss the changes. It's a good thing we met at this time, because I was
going to begin cutting the pieces to the dress later this week."
Tilting his head, he eyes the Jewelsmith carefully. "How much longer do we have
until your wedding? I ask because I'd like to have the garments completed at
least two weeks prior to the wedding day."
Curulomion cocks his head. "We have not set an exact date yet, Galharth." So
formal, never using a friendly term like 'mellon'. "But it will be after the
Bardic Congress...after we have returned here. Probably within a few days to a
week after our return. I do not think I will be able to restrain her longer than
a week. She is very excited, as I said. She is young and still remarkably free
of heart. I am older and grimmer and so tend to do things more slowly...but I
have learned that in some ways there is no restraining her. This is one, so I
give in to her wishes and let her have the wedding sooner, as opposed to later.
Though I would much rather prefer later."
Sipping his wine, Galharth seems to consider the Jewelsmith's words for several
long moments. "Perhaps you will both compliment and learn from eachother." he
says with a distant voice. "In the end, perhaps you will soften while she takes
on some of your strength." Shrugging his shoulders, the Clothier rises to his
feet. "I fear that I've taken longer here than I had expected, and work awaits
me."
Bowing lightly he steps away from the table. "Have a good evening Curulomion. Be
well." With that the silver haired ellon departs.