================== Eldarin Calendar <in Sindarin> ===================
IC time is: Midday
IC day is: Ormenel <Heavens-day>
IC date is: 10 Rhiw <Winter>
Moon phase: First Quarter <VISIBLE>
Earendil: Gil-Estel is not visible.
IC year is: Loa 17 o Yen 22, Nelandran o Endor <TA 3041>
----------------------------------------------------------------------
RL time: Wed Sep 05 2007
=====================================================================
Northern Fences of Lorien
The rolling foothills of the northwest come to and end here in this river valley, nestled up against the wide Anduin river
to your east, and the sprawling forest to your south. This region is called the Northern Fences of Lorien, for it forms the
border to the legendary Golden Wood, whose boughs you could soon be travelling beneath, should you venture any further
southward. As you look into the dense forest growth which begins only a few dozen yards into the woods, you recall the
legends which bespoke of the fateful one-way journeys creatures of evil intent undertook when they chose to desecrate that
realm...

A well-concealed hithlain ladder hangs near the trunk of one of the mellyrn, some distance above the ground. It looks
possible to climb up to it.

Contents:
Galharth
Mornakh
Calsir
Maglind
Unk
Nerggish
Durbum
=====================================================================

The light of the midday sun shines bright and fair along the fences, though no snow has filtered farther in here it dusts
the ground. The air has a nip in it, but no grey clouds block the pale sunlight. There is just the mildest breeze to stir
the air.

Two edhel emerge, one ellon and the other Calsir. Her green skirts swirl slightly as she stops moving to survey the
surroundings. "The snow is quite spectacular Galharth!" Her voice is hushed, so as not to break the stillness around her.

"Did I not tell you?" the Tailor says as he pauses just beyond the border. Sweeping a hand towards the north, his eyes
flicker with excitement. "The way the light glistens off the crisp white snow is worthy of both song and immortilization in
craft." Stepping forward to join the elleth, Galharth sweeps his cloak over his shoulder as he turns to glance at Calsir.
"Could you not create a song for sights such at this?"

Their steps are followed: behind the two Elves, a third one comes, veiled by rustling leaves and sighing breeze. Maglind is
here, against his better judgment. A longbow is in his hand, dragging a line in the powdered snow. But behind the leather
that protects his shoulder peeks a newly-changed bandage.

Unk is hunched in the underbrush, behind a bush and large tree, a score of meters of light scrub between him and the elven
folk. For the time being he is hidden, but his beady eyes focus upon the meeting of Quendi with great interest. He glances
about, as if waiting for a signal to attack.

Mornakh crawls in and hunches down behind Unk. "You see Grong?" she asks, totally ignoring the elves just beyond. She looks
from Unk to the elves and back, keeping her voice way down.

Calsir turns back toward the Tailor, her blue eyes alight with something akin to excitement. "Indeed! I had just assigned a
learner to pen a song about the wood...however this sight is most worthy of song as well." The Scholar moves forward, surely
unaware of anything that might be lurking, before bending forward. Tapered fingers clutch a fist full of the powdery snow,
bringing the mound to eye level. "Come Warden.." Turning toward Maglind, concern does flick across her features. "I do hope
this excursion is not too much for your wounds."

Unk simply gives Mornakh a look, before he shakes his head a little at her. For the moment it seems he is content to watch
the elves from the bushes, though he does draw out his scimitar, and hold it at the ready.

Glancing over his shoulder towards the Warden, the Tailor's smile fades into a glance of concern. "Are you sure you should
be out here Maglind?" Crystal blue eyes are drawn to the visible bandage. "I'm sure another could have watched over us
whilst I show Calsir the sight of the snow."

Turning back as the Scholar speaks, the crafters brow furrows as he watches her move further from the safety of the borders.
"Be cautious Calsir, while unlikely, it is possible that vile beasts still lurk in the area."

Mornakh grunts softly then turns to watch the elves. "What's they doing?" she asks Unk, obviously wanting information on the
time before she arrived.

A quiet snort comes from Unk as Mornakh asks another question, "Standing around, being elfs. Go ask them questions if you
want know." he replies in a near whisper.

"I can manage," mumbles Maglind, brushing aside the undergrowth. "Just don't make me shoot. Keep close to shelter."

Brows furrowing thoughtfully, the warden eyes the copse of trees from which their previous attackers had come. "And don't go
over there. I feel uneasy just looking at that."

Mornakh grunts back. "You sees me with axe. You wants trouble?" she asks, glaring at Unk.

"Don't make you shoot?" Galharth repeats as he turns to face the Warden. "If you are unable to shoot your bow, then
certainly you shouldn't be out here." Glancing towards the crop of trees, the Tailor narrows his eyes. "Is it memory of the
other day, or is it something more?" Staring several moments more, he shakes his head. "If you feel uneasy, then maybe we
should return. I defer to your judgement, Maglind."

Obediantly the Dancer starts to move back toward the saftey of the trees, however she stops short to look at something.
There amid the dusting of snow grows a startling patch of color, a solitary snow crocus struggles to keep its purplish
bloom. Calsir kneels down to brush even more snow aside away from the small flower before smiling brightly and once more
starts back toward her companions. "I agree with Galharth, if you feel it is not safe we can return."

Durbum moves in silently sneaking from position to position from behind the other orcs and the scout camp. He looks to the
distance, and keeps his distance for the moment moving in very slowly. This warrior looks on to see a few of the same elves
that he had shot at not long ago, he finnaly reaches the others though he is a bit further away from them as he is working a
bit independantly.

Unk snorts, "Go use axe on elf. Else it soon be named OrcCleaver." He glances over his shoulder as Durbum arrives, then nods
once, and pops out of the bushes with a roar. He starts to charge for the trio of elves, apparently not too worried of
Mornakh or Durbum are following him.

Mornakh wrinkles her nose at Unk as he starts up. She moves to a new spot, far from where he charged. "He gives spot away,"
she grumbles under her breath, reaching for her axe. She fingers its handle and waits for an opportune moment.

"I can shoot," Maglind insists halfheartedly. "But it will be hard with the aiming."

He glances up at the sun. "Anyway, it's noon. The enemy, if they're here, should be taking their naps about this time..."

A roar and a movement catches his eye, and he spins to face the oncoming, bow drawn despite his earlier disclaimers. "You
again! You who hurt Lostiriel!"

Durbum shakes his head as the orc rushes at the elves in the day light "Fool!" he says under his breath, but knows that he
cannot simply allow the orc to be slaughter there numbers arent the most in this scout camp as it is, this orc prizes his
own neck. He reaches behind him and straps his black bow. He hopes to have the same luck with this as he did the last
encounter hit and than flee.

Calsir stops as she first hears the roar coming from behind then Maglind's exclamation. The color drained further from her
already porcelain features when she turns to behold the beast that is charging towards them. Turning, golden curls streaming
behind as the Dancer begins to retreat back toward the forest. Though her slippered feet surely must know every knot and
hole in the forest proper's floor, here is unfamiliar terrain. A few missteps slow the normally lithe Dancer down as she
tries to retreat.

The roar is followed by a surprised scream. Fear flickers in the Tailor's eyes, and he clamps his mouth tightly from the
scream as he reaches over his waist to wield his longsword. "Run Calsir!" he calls out while taking several steps back. As
he moves, his gaze focuses upon the Uruk. Finding recognition as the Warden shouts, the backwards retreat ends.

"Maglind?" The crafter calls out as he shifts into a defensive position with his weapon at ready. "The call is yours to
retreat or to put this beast out of its misery."

Mornakh pulls her axe from its place on her back. "I's gets ready in case," she grumbles under her breath. She glares darkly
at the elf group and the lone fool of an orc.

Unk does not seem to be doing too badly for himself as he's gotten one elf to scream, and another to go scampering off. He
ignores the words of Maglind as he gets within range, and then notices that neither of the orcs that had been with him have
followed him. In the moment of decision it seems he opts for the attack, and takes a swing at Galarth with his scimitar.

Unk attacks Galharth with his Scimitar!...
...and he misses!

"We retreat!" Maglind answers as assertively as he can, but the shout comes out of his mouth as a squeak. Nevertheless ... a
target appears in front of him. But Galharth has a longsword, and Calsir does not: the warden whistles shrilly like a bird,
and a ladder tumbles from the branches above.

The warden stands there for a moment, caught in the agony of indecision, and then he spins on his heel and runs to that dark
copse of trees. A hidden enemy is a worse threat...

The still hidden orc archer is waiting and picking his moment, but his wickedness gets the better of him. Durbum takes aim
at the one whom he stood toe to toe with but was unable to fight as all had pulled back, and himself only covering the get
away. He pulls a black wretched looking arrow, and places it to the string. He pulls back taking aim at maglind and letting
his arrow fly

Durbum launches an arrow...
Durbum's arrow flies wide, doing no harm.

Stepping swiftly to the left, the Tailor turns towards the charging beast, swinging his longsword outwards with an aim
towards Unk's shoulder. As the delicately carved blade launches forth, it catches the light and almost seems to sparkle as
it launches forth.

"Take to the ladder Calsir! Flee and we'll follow!" Galharth calls out as he moves forward with his strike.

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

Mornakh moves forward, blinking in the light. She grumbles and heads away from Unk but toward the elves. She swings her axe
toward the one who tries to attack Unk. She grunts, merely trying to scare both orc and elf and, hopefully hurt the elf in
the process.

Mornakh attacks Galharth with her Battle Axe!...
...and she hits! Ouch! Galharth is badly injured!

The sun is not Unk's friend. He squints a little as he steps aside from the flashing of Galharth's swing, and seems ready to
attack again when Mornakh's axe slices through the air at the firstborn. This, leaves Unk with the option of pursuit or
retreat. He decides upon pursuit, and starts to chase after the bowman with a loud roar.

The arrow whistles overhead, scratching into the dirt. "Your aim is poor!" Maglind yells, quick steps taking him toward the
copse of trees. "Come again at night!"

He draws his bow with a slight wince -- ignores it, and ignores the orc chasing after him for the moment: a grey-fletched
arrow is on the string. And then it is gone, speeding like an angry bird, into the darkness of the trees.

Maglind launches an arrow...
Maglind's arrow flies wide, doing no harm.

Calsir reaches the ladder and starts to scramble up the rungs. Hand over hand, one foot after the other, guilded lashes
close against the sight below. Reaching the top of the platform Calsir hefts a bow that some guard had left behind. Aiming
down toward the beast with the axe the Dancer attempts to shoot the foul being.

Calsir launches an arrow...
Calsir's arrow flies wide, doing no harm.

His first shot going wide, he mutters angrily under his breath. The taunts only make him more resolute. Durbum pulls another
arrow from his back looking to at it to see that it's straight. The warrior puts it to the string, and pulls it back. Though
another archer catches his attention as he looks up. He takes aim at the lady elf, drawing back the string back to capacity,
and letting the arrow fly.

Durbum launches an arrow...
Durbum's arrow flies wide, doing no harm.

Missing his target, the Tailor does not see the second Uruk. His concentration is so great upon the beast that sets forth to
move towards Maglind that the blinding pain as it strikes across his back brings forth a scream of agony. Breaking forth
through chainmail and digging into flesh, the wound burns.

Stumbling forth, Galharth's weapon digs into the ground. Biting his lip, he looks back enough to learn that the weapon that
found its mark was an axe. Muttering silently, he stumbles towards the ladder, clearly looking for retreat. "What is this
with axes," he gasps in pain. Gripping the ladder he pauses long enough to look for his companions. "Retreat is called...."

The pause in Maglind's retreat to fire at Durbum gives Unk just enough time to fall upon him. He swings his weapon across
his body at the elf, with a loud grunt.

Unk attacks Maglind with his Scimitar and moderately wounds him!

Mornakh grunts and turns toward Calsir. She frowns, but turns back to Galharth, eyes narrowing. She looks after Unk who is
chasing another elf and shakes her head. She turns back to the one she wounded and readies to deal another blow. She takes a
step and brings the axe toward the elf, aiming to kill.

Mornakh attacks Galharth with her Battle Axe!...
...and she misses!

Notching another arrow in her bow, the Dancer does not pull the string back, instead she drops to her stomach. This perhaps
saved some injury for the arrow of another thunks itself into a tree over her head. One arm is snaked down toward the Tailor
at the ladder, tapered fingers stretching to their fullest length to try and offer help to the wounded ellon. Blue eyes,
fear readily evident and the gentle smile that is so often upon her lips is chased away by pinched features. "Come
Galharth!" Her sindarin words slip fluidly between her lips. As the monster rears and attempts to attack again the Dance
rears to her knees and aims once more.

Calsir launches an arrow...
Calsir's bowshot hits Mornakh, badly wounding her.

"Your aim is very poor," calls Maglind again to Durbum, in his halting Westron. Another arrow jumps readily from his string,
in a rustle of feathers.

It is then that Unk's scimitar finds the securely wrapped bandages of the warden's arm, tearing old wounds anew. Wide eyes
widen; his mouth opens wordlessly and closes again. "Go away," he growls thickly, trying to sidestep this new attacker. "I
don't have time for you." Or, perhaps, skill.

Maglind launches an arrow...
Maglind's bowshot hits Durbum, moderately wounding him.

Mornakh howls as the arrow sticks into her side. She yanks it out, spewing blood all over. Ignoring the pain, she turns
toward Calsir and charges, moving to strike. "If I miss..." she mumbles then raises her axe to deal a blow.

Mornakh attacks Calsir with her Battle Axe and badly wounds her!

Wounded and bleeding, the Tailor's turn towards Maglind gives him the time and warning needed to dodge the axe aimed to
bring him down. Wincing at the movement, he scrambles up the ladder towards the safety of the treetops. Upon reaching the
talan above, he lays down with his eyes shut and his teeth clenched. After a moment, he calls out to the last remaining
edhel. "Maglind! Retreat!"

Unk seems a bit surprised as Maglind does not fire an arrow at him. Standing mere feet away and swinging his scimitar about
in his general direction. If the orc had any sense of fair play, he probably would have left Maglind alone, but instead, he
attempts another attack upon the battered elf.

Durbum hidden in the trees he knows that his position will be soon given away by his arrow fire, but is unprepared as he is
hit the arrow sticks into his leg fairly deeply blood flows from this wound. He lots out a howl in pain, but is able to
bring his focus back "Gah we'll see." He grabs another arrow and changes his stance to make sure his balance wont be off. He
places it in the bowstring and takes aim at the elf who fired the shot at him. After a moment of this he releases his shot.

Durbum launches an arrow...
Durbum's arrow flies wide, doing no harm.

As her arrow hits the monster, Calsir stands and moves back hoping to be able to assist the tailor as he ascends. Her eyes
move back and forth, between the Tailor and the beast that is shooting arrows, thinking that as long as the one with the axe
did not attempt to follow that would be where the danger would come from. This proved to be folly, for shortly after teh
Tailor reaches safty a sharp pain slices her lower calf wtih a odd metallic thud follwoing that. Falling to her knees, the
Dancer gasps. Looking as blood flows from a gash in her leg to the axe that fell back to the ground, her own borrowed bow
fallibng from numb fingers. Crawling toward the tailor, hopefully out of range, Calsir sits upward. "Maglind! Hurry!"

Another arrow flies overhead. But Maglind sidesteps the blow easily, even with blood flowing down his right arm. "I don't
have time," he repeats evenly, with gritted teeth. "Leave."

The warden attempts to dash past Unk, toward the safety of his home.

Unk is brushed past as Maglind charges to safety, and for just a moment it seems Unk considers the chance of chasing after
him. In the end, the orc turns and jogs back in the direction from whence he came, not at all bothered by the outcome of the
skirmish.

Mornakh runs to pick up her axe and heft it in her hands. She moves herself toward the ladder. She growls up at the elves
and moves to Durbum's side. "Unk charge too soon," she grunts. "Wes had chance if dark." She grumbles lightly and turns to
watch the place where the elves fled.

Durbum misses again, and only shakes his head and gives this up as a bad job. He looks to his leg and the arrow sticking
from it. growling he grips his bow tight and with a sickening sound he yanks the arrow free from his leg violently. This
being done he turns back towards the camp trying to retreat back without being seen.

Opening his eyes, and taking a breath, the Tailor rolls over and draws himself to his knees. "Move along the rope bridge
Calsir, if you are able." Wincing sharply, Galharth tucks his blade at his waist and limps towards the northern escape.
Covered by a deep golden canopy, the rope bridge is invisible to those upon the ground. Moving stiffly, he offers Calsir the
opportunity to move towards safety first.

Unk keeps to himself as he marches back to the scout camp. He wipes the blood of Maglind off of his scimitar, and returns it
to his belt.

Mornakh licks her battle axe as she moves back to camp. She spits toward where the skirmish was and moves as quietly as
possible away.

=====================================================================
Field Hospital
You are in a small clearing cut into the thickets. All about you, the bushes and trees grow thick and unwavering, blocking
out most of the sunlight and dimming the atmosphere. Despite the lack of sunlight or moonlight, the clearing gives of a
calm, quiet, secure feeling. Here is where the Cuigrithweg have made their Field Hospital. Several woven mats are laid about
on the ground in neat rows and a pair of small chests rest at the north side of the Hospital. High above the mats, a large
tarp is strung to provide some shelter on the off chance that it should rain.

Contents:
Galharth
Maglind
Calsir
Lostiriel
=====================================================================

The sun has set.

In the west, it is a dying glow of fiery colors, fading into grey. The half moon already hangs in the sky, sending
flickering beams through the canopy of trees.

A lamp burns in the roots of a tree. Light falls upon the mats: some empty, others occupied. It falls upon the stark white
bandages of Maglind, as he wraps and rewraps the cloth about his arm and bare shoulder.

Sitting cross legged, and leaning forward with is elbows resting on his knees, the bare chested Tailor patiently waits as an
Attendant inspects the stitched wound upon his back. Red flaming flesh borders the neat row of stitches and the red headed
elleth carefully traces the wound.

"Already it looks better." The Attendant says softly as completes her inspection. Without waiting for comment she begins to
apply a crisp white bandage.

"How are you bandage supplies holding up?" Galharth mutters softly.

"Our supplies are sufficient." the elleth says softly. "Thank you for that."

Lashes fluttering against slightly pale skin, save for the blue-black bruise that covers nearly all of the right side of her
face, Lostiriel slowly opens her eyes as she wakes, wincing as she shifts. Hearing the sound of movement, Lostiriel looks
about her, eyes falling on Maglind and Galharth. She studies them for a moment, then asks in confusion, "What happened?" Her
hand rests on her ribs as she sits up, a slight groan escaping her lips. "You're more injured than the last time I saw the
two of you."

"... tore my new cloak," mutters Maglind bitterly, watching dark blood seep through his shoulder. "No appreciation for
fashion ... I'm sorry, Galharth."

The warden turns with some effort, not daring to move his arm. "You should lie down, Lostiriel," he offers gently. "We went
out to see the snow, and met some more yrch. I suppose we lost."

"Lost is an understatement," Galharth grumbles softly. "I never saw the second beast."

"There, now rest Tailor," the Attendant says softly as she rises to her feet and moves away.

Falling silent, the crafter nods his thanks to the Attendant, and watches her move away.

Returning his gaze to the Warden, his concern is clearly written upon his face. "The attacks are becoming too frequent. I
sense that there is something soon to occur."

Settling back, Lostiriel exhales slowly, then replies, "More? This is rediculous!" She examines both Maglind and Galharth
closer, "It does seem that you did not come out of the battle as well this time." She closes her eyes again for a moment,
muttering, "I have decided that I am not meant for combat. Pain like this..." She grins slightly, though, nearly chuckling
but stopping due to the tender nature of her side. "What is to be done about this? These attacks... It is strange, there are
so many."

"They were expecting us, I think," Maglind says, letting out a careful sigh. "The guards are all watching the west-marches.
I think it is best that we remain hidden next time: perhaps they will lose interest and go away."

"Perhaps the Guards can remain hidden, but I will remain far from the borders." Galharth says firmly. "I left the wood for a
short distance to show a friend the beauty of the northern snows. I carried with me confidence, and now that is gone."

Taking a deep breath and releasing it slowly, he looks towards the ground. "I've enough to do. I need not add target dummy
to my list of duties."

"I agree with you Galharth," Lostiriel sighs. She falls silent for a time, looking out at nothing, her eyes not truly seeing
anything before her. Then, offering a tremulous smile, she remarks, "And anyway, I've had quite enough excitement to last me
for awhile. I shall now look to my duties and our project, Galharth, and find enough excitement there."

"What confidence is there outside the borders of Lothlorien?"

Maglind spreads his unhurt hand in a wide, blind gesture, lowering hooded eyes to the ground. "I must apologize to both of
you. This is no place for a courier, Galharth, Lostiriel. Next time I will go back alone."

"There is none," Galharth replies to Maglind's comment on confidence. Opening his mouth to say something, the Tailor narrows
his eyes and peers at the Warden. "No place for Courier? I am no Courier. Does this mean that it /is/ a place for a
Prelate?" Looking up and down the injured Gaurd, he adds, "And with your injuries, I would say it's no place for you
either."

Turning towards Lostiriel, he nods once. "Perhaps there will come a time where we think our research is boring, but for the
time, as you've said, there is enough excitement there."

Lowering her eyes, Lostiriel does not comment on the exchange taking place between Maglind and Galharth, but says instead,
"Well, I do not think I would ever consider our research boring. In fact, I had started on it right before all this took
place," she waves to her injuries good-naturedly. "And I was making some good progress on it, too." She looks up again and
gives Maglind and Galharth a warm smile, though it is fleeting, for she reaches up to touch her face. "Oh... I have to
remember to not show facial emotion..." She does not smile again at this, but her grey-blue eyes sparkle in mirth, for
despite it all, her spirits are never dampened for long.

"It's quite an inhospitable place," murmurs Maglind, turning his attention pointedly upon his arm. "Perhaps you could ask
one of the attendants to help you with your work, or at least bring it to you."

Lifting a brow towards Lostiriel's words, Galharth lets a few moments pass before he responds. "You've made progress?
Certainly you've done more than I have." Offering the elleth a smile, he shakes his head. "And there is no need to withhold
your emotions when with friends. It is during negotiations that your openness might cause a failing in your attempts."

Nodding towards Maglind, he chuckles softly. "If I'm kept too long, I will ask...... nay, I might beg for items to stitch,
but for the moment I think I would do well with rest." With that the Tailor moves towards his cot. Settling down upon it, he
eyes the others. "For now, I could do with a little sleep." With that said, the crafter closes his eyes in an attempt to
drift off to sleep.

Nodding at Galharth's words, Lostiriel replies, "If only my sore face would allow emotion..." She leans further back and her
lashes begin once more fluttering down upon her cheeks. "Sleep...yes that sounds lovely..." Lostiriel's eyes close fully and
soon her soft breathing reveals that she has fallen into a deep sleep.

"Sleep...." Maglind smiles weakly at the two, stooping gently to loop a sling over his head. The warden stands up, tossing
aside the sheets, and he retreats to a tree-trunk nearby, watching and healing in darkness.