================== Eldarin Calendar <in Sindarin> ===================
IC time is: Before Dawn < About 4:17 AM >
IC day is: Ormenel <Heavens-day>
IC date is: 28 Echuir <Stirring>
Moon phase: First Quarter <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: Fri Oct 05 19:26:03 2007
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Hall of the Crafters
As you ascend the final few steps of the spiral stair and step upon the talan, you realize that, every bit as massive as the mallorn that supports it, the Hall of the Crafters is truly a marvel. The wide flet of smooth, well-trodden oak spreads about the lower canopy of the tree. Near the trunk of the tree sits a large, octagonal table of gold-inlayed cherry with chairs pulled around. Upon the table is a large silver salver holding a crystal decanter surrounded by ceramic wine mugs. To the rear of the talan, and partially isolated by long, heavy tapestries suspended from the branches above, sits a large desk with a high-backed chair, a cabinet with many small shelves for papers and reports, and a few smaller chairs for discussions.

To the front of the main area of the talan are padded, and in some cases covered, display cabinets filled with a great variety of goods and products produced by the crafters.

Contents:
Galharth
Lostiriel
Goerhim
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A thin line of light bubbles upon the eastern horizon as anor prepares to bring forth the coming day. The breeze blows from the south, and with it the fresh scent of newly blooming leaves. While spring is nearly begun to unfold, winter still lingers in the northern most reaches of the land. The hour is quiet, and few voices echo in song.

On this morning, in the hours before dawn, a single ellon sits at the octogon table in the Hall of Crafters. Before him there are several ledgers. "Hmmmmm," Galharth softly muses as he bend over the table to inspect several figures in the ledger. Silvery hair falls forth, framing the written words as he leans forth.

Ascending the last of the steps to the talan, Lostiriel pauses for a moment to allow her gaze to reach out and fasten on the early light just starting to ignite over the horizon. The breeze gently tousles her hair and brings forth a flush to her cheeks, and on this early morning, her eyes shimmer brightly in the mixture of shadow and the first touch of light. She breathes deeply and a smile touches her face as she stands still for a moment, enjoying the time of change as night begins to relinquish to day.

Turning toward the sounds coming from the table, Lostiriel's gaze lands upon Galharth. She pauses for a moment, watching him look over the ledger, and hesitates for a moment. Then, pushing forward, she calls, "Galharth, well met!"

Looking up from his work, his expression brightens remarkably upon catching sight of the Courier. "Well met indeed, mellon. What a pleasant surprise to find you in these halls at the break of dawn." Leaning back in his chair, and pushing away the ledger, the Craftmaster sweeps a hand towards a vacant chair. "Feel free to join me if you've the time."

Pausing he tilts his head slightly, "Unless of course you've come for an appointment. I wouldn't want to keep you."

Walking closer, Lostiriel shakes her head, replying, "Actually, I'd love to join you." She offers him a soft smile, "I've just been enjoying this early morning. Dawn is always an interesting time when everything is held in between-between dark and light, night and morning." As she takes a seat, she glances at the ledger. "Are you working on something?"

Reaching over the ledgers, Galharth grasps the decanter of wine. Holding it up, he lifts his brow, "Would you care for some?" he asks. Reaching for one ceramic mug, he pours a half measure for himself. "It's rather good. Do you recall the barrel Earsul gave me? He's showing quite a bit of talent."

A tapping ascends, gradually becoming louder as it nears. The stair shows a flash of copper, followed by an awkwardly-climbing elf. Goerhim's actual footsteps are silent, but he limps and leans on his staff as he goes.

With the forester's glance into the talan, he straightens. His gait becomes much more stiff but with a slightly less noticable limp.

"I do remember, and I also remember its divine scent." Lostiriel pushes forward her mug and inquires, "So what is it that has you about before dawn?" She looks at him through her grey-blue eyes, waiting in interest for his response when the sound of another draws her attention. Turning her head, she faces Goerhim and offers a smile of greeting. "Well met. It would appear that many are venturing out on this early morning."

At the sound of tapping, the Tailor turns towards the sound. Catching sight of the Forester, Galharth lifts his head higher. "Well met, mellon, come take a rest and join us for a sip or two of wine." he calls out. "There is always room at the table."

"Reviews of the raw materials and product inventory," he says as he pours a mug of wine for the Courier. Offering it to her with a smile, he immediately reaches for another mug with the expectation to offer some to Goerhim. "It reminds me to ask about your brother." the Crafter says to Lostiriel, "Is he well?"

Goerhim's eyes return to the pair, settling on Lostiriel perhaps a little longer, and his path curves toward them slowly. "All right then, a sip. No making comments on the shirt mind you," he adds, though nothing looks to be wrong with the said garment. His step is stil quite stiff, his back very straight, mimicking the poise that should come naturally to an elf.

Taking a sip from her mug, Lostiriel looks at the ledger again and says with a grin, "Ah...fascinating. As to my brother, he is very well, although I see little of him as of late." A tiny furrow works its way into her smooth brow, and for a moment she seems troubled. Then, shaking her head, Lostiriel says, "Brothers are a troublesome lot." She chuckles softly and then answers Goerhim, "This wine is worthy of more than a sip. You are right about Earsul, Galharth, there is clearly progress being made."

Galharth laughs softly. "I make no comments upon clothing at this hour of the morning, of that I can assure you," he says while he pours the third mug of wine. Leaning forward to place the vessel in front of the nearest empty space at the table. "Later might be different, so be sure to be back to your Forest tasks before I fully get into full swing."

Taking his own mug and settling back into his chair, the Tailor glances from one to the other as he lifts his mug. "To good wine, and cleaver Firstborn, clearly sucess belongs to the early riser," he offers in a short toast.

Goerhim gives a short burst of loud laughter at Lothiriel's comment about brothers before easing sideways into the offered chair. He lifts his mug to the toast and drinks.

"Ai, my last shirt finally ripped." He twists around his sleeve, and there at the elbow is a threadbare patch that has torn through in a long strip. "I came into the city to have it mended, and I must visit my family while I am in the city, but I can't come before my mother with a ripped shirt. Something about setting an example for my own brother, who spends half of his life covered in mud and who knows what else. Insects likely."

Lifting her mug and smiling at the toast, Lostiriel takes another drink of her wine and listens as the conversation continues. She laughs softly at Goerhim's comment and shakes her head. "Insects? Surely not!" Finishing off her wine, she sits for a moment, watching as the light continues to grow over the horizon. For a moment, she is content to simply sit and enjoy the moment, but she must reluctantly stand and say, "Unfortunately, I must be getting on my way. It was good talking to both of you, however, and getting to greet the day with you." She nods to Goerhim and says, "I hope that you get your shirt mended in time." Then turning to Galharth, she offers a parting smile, "Goodbye for now, Galharth, although I am sure I shall see you again soon." Then, with a wave and farewell glance, she swiftly walks away.

While savoring the wine before swallowing, Galharth narrows his eyes to inspect the shirt from a distance. Reluctantly, he sits down his mug and reaches for the nearest ledger. Flipping the pages, the Tailor pauses on the fourth page. "We've got a number of shirts in storage in the Weavers Talan, you can pick up a new one and leave your other for mending. I think Maglind's mother is in the Talan now if you wish to go get it." Closing the ledger and reaching for another, he nods towards Lostiriel, "He speaks of Rhibi I believe, so indeed he speaks the truth."

Disappointment flickers over the crafters face at the Couriers announcement. "Ah well, I suppose I do need to get back to work anyway, it's been a pleasure to visit with the both of you." With that he pulls another ledger closer.