================== Eldarin Calendar <in Sindarin> ===================
IC time is: Dawn < About 6:39 AM >
IC day is: Oranor <Sun-day>
IC date is: 37 Echuir <Stirring>
Moon phase: Full <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: Mon Oct 08 20:13:09 2007
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Potter's Shop
A large canvas-covered table dominates the middle of this room. To the left as you enter is a long countertop, covered with a gleaming silvery metal and filled with drawers below. A pot of white lilies is set to flourish atop the counter. An immense barrel of water and shelves filled with ceramic pieces in various states are set at the far side from the entrance. A fine layer of soft tan dust covers everything, even the walls. Built into one corner of the room is a large kiln for the hardening of the pottery and drying and curing of the special inks and glazes used.

Contents:
Galharth
Pelliwen
Goerhim
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The air smells curiously of rain and sun-baked soil at the same time. Heat burns from the kiln, sending out fingers to touch and hiss against the skin. The slowly-cooling pottery inside sends out a tck-tck-tick sound, and with the heat comes the sense of birth, of fawns unfolding long legs like grass shoots, of the tip of a newborn mallorn piercing the clean earth above it.

Goerhim is in here, his skin lightly sheening with the heat. He leans against his staff beside the table and looks blankly around at the shelves.

A soft hum is heard well before dawn's light creates the shadow of figure moving into the entrance of the pottery. Silken robes, embroidered with delicate designs, swish as the Tailor enters. Tucked akwardly under one arm is a ledger. Pausing at the entrance, the silver haired Crafter peers about. Catching sight of Goerhim, he smiles. "Well met, Forester. How goes the morn?" Galharth asks.

Pelliwen has always been the sort to do her own thing. Often with little consideration of those around her. Over time wardens and teachers alike have attempted to curtail this sort of behavior with little success. She is still young. This is another one of those times. For she enters the Pottery Shop playing at her flute, bright and loud. Likely as loud possible from the crudely constructed instrument. Paying little heed to those already withen, she walks down the rows of pottery. Her eyes examining the wares as she plays enthusiastically.

Goerhim turns around half a breath before the hum or the music could be heard, and is looking up as the two enter. "Fair enough, fair enough. Just thinking about my cousin. Here now, though, mellon, my Adar tells me you're the new Craftsmaster! Good job there! Did Aegraum say a farewell? Haven't seen much of him in a while." His voice weaves beneath Pelliwen's piping notes.

On the tail of his greeting comes forth the music, and Galharth turns to watch the young elleth wander. "If you need help, mellon, please let someone know!" He calls out over the sound of the flute. He hesitates a moment before returning his attention to the Forester.

"Aegraum? Alas, he's retired for the time being and appears to be seeking a quieter lifestyle." A fond smile appears upon the Tailor's lips and he seems to take a moment to reflect some private thought. Focusing once more upon Goerhim, he adds, "Do not count him out, for like his retirement from the Guard, it is very likely that he will return with a new skill to master."

Pelliwen leans forward and examines a bright orange bowl, her green eyes look it vigoriously while her fingers continue to play away at her wooden flute. The hollow sounds of which seeming especially loud within this enclosed area. Her attention is held by the object for a moment, before continuing her walk around the stop. Paying little attention to the pair conversing, she continues to play a bright energetic tune.

"Mmn, yes, and I'm sure you'll do fine. Bit less distant probably too," Goerhim's voice raises and lowers in time with Pelliwen's music. "No offense to Master Aegraum, of course," he hastens to add, "Proud ellon there. Good to be proud for him. But I need to be getting on. Well-met, Master." He half-bows to Galharth and leaves.

"There are many differences between Aegraum and myself," chuckles Galharth, "Most notably his relationship to the Lord and Lady." Nodding his head towards the Forester, he pauses to watch the ellon leave. Then, suddenly, just before Goerhim is out of sight, the Tailor calls out, "When you have a moment, I'd like to talk to you..." Althought the words are spoken, there is nothing that confirms that they'd been heard.

Turning now towards the music making elleth, the Crafter tilts his head to listen. After a moment, he moves forward, so that he might be heard. "Excuse me, are you a bard in training?" he asks politely.

Music coming to an abrupt stop, the young silvan turns to look up at Galharth, her bright green eyes wide upon him. "I have concidered that very thought Warden.." she replys with a smile. "I was hoping to speak with Calriel on such things. Alas I have not seen her recently."

Galharth frowns at Pelliwen's words, and he takes a few steps forward to draw nearer. "Why do you call me Warden?" He asks gently, "I hold no such honor." Shrugging his shoulders slightly, the Crafter turns to inspect several plates that are clearly ready to be distributed somewhere within the wood.

Turning to look upon the elleth as she speaks the Master Bards name, the corner of his mouth rises, "A masters lot is not always an easy one. Perhaps Calsir could help you as well."

Entering the shop, Lostiriel's eyes glance around, falling upon those also gathered. A smile lights up her face and she looks first at Pelliwen and then at Galharth, saying, "I was right. I did hear noise coming from here." She surveys the shop in which she is standing, gaze moving from the table to the countertop, genuine interest written upon her face. Then, turning back to Pelliwen and Galharth, she adds, "And well met."

Turning at the sound of a gentle voice, Galharth turns and smiles brightly. "Well met, Lostiriel! Perhaps you, of all folk I know, would be privy to Calriel's schedule." He nods towards Pelliwen, "She would like to know.

Before she is able to respond to Galharth, Pelliwen's attention turns to Lostiriel. "Hello Courier.." she says with a polite smile, her crudely constructed flute held tightly in her hands. When not playing this flute, the young silvan is always quite quiet, thus she says nothing more. She merely stands pleasently watching the pair begin to converse.

Tilting her head to the side as she consider's Galharth's words, Lostiriel studies Pelliwen thoughtfully. "In truth, I have seen little of Calriel as of late. She is ever busy, it seems, for I have sadly been missing her company recently. I wish I could tell you more..." Growing silent for a moment, she then asks, "Is it anything urgent?"

Listening to Lostiriel speak, he turns to Pelliwen, waiting for her to speak. "Oh, and Pelliwen, I still would like some insight into why you call me Warden." Galharth says softly.

"No courier." she replys respectfully, a warm smile following the quiet elleth's response. It is strange, when Pelliwen plays her flute she is open and energetic. But when in conversation, she is the exact opposite. Looking on Lostiriel warmly, her attention is taken by Galharth. She replys to him neveriously, her hands fittling with her crude flute, which is pressed close to her heart. "I apologise Galharth, I see you with Maglind often, and the other Wardens. No disrespect was intended.".

"Ah, well then I hope you are able to speak with her soon," Lostiriel replies to Pelliwen. As she listens to the exchange between the elleth and Galharth, Lostiriel's expression grows curious. As she understands the confusion that had taken place, she looks to Galharth with sparkling eyes, a smile lifting the corner of her lips. She remains silent, however, merely watching the tailor with a thoughtful gaze.

Removing a hand from his staff and raising it defensively, Galharth shakes his head. "Nay, no offense was taken, and perhaps I better understand now. I am no Warden, I'm the Craftmaster." Turning to listen as Lostiriel speaks, he smiles, "T'is a sad day when a Craftmaster, a Prefect, and a Courier, can offer no help. I'm sorry Pelliwen." Tilting his head, he glances at the flute, "Although, should you like to construct a new flute, we've a number of intrument makers that would be glad to teach you the craft."

"I made this when I was a little elleth.." she says with a frown. "It may not be well constructed, nor does it have a pleasent tone or good feel. I shall play it till time takes it away.". Opening her hands, the elleth looks down to the extremely worn flute resting on her palms. "I fear it has little time left, Ostiel says I should enjoy it while I can.."

"Indeed, who knew we were so useless?" Lostiriel teases in response to Galharth's statement. As Pelliwen speaks, she nods. "Well then, perhaps you could learn to make a newer one. If you have the skills to play, it would be a shame to not be able to express them fully." Aimlessly walking over to the countertop, the courier slides her hand across its surface, looking at the dust that collects on her fingertips. She attempts to blow it away, but causes herself to sneeze in the process. "Dusty," she mumbles needlessly.

Watching Lostiriel, the Tailor chuckles softly. "Some crafts are dirtier than others." Looking around he smiles, "The Potters shop and the Forges are likely the dirtiest of them all." Glancing at the elleths his smile holds firmly as he continues to speak, "Should you like to try your hand, there are a number of skilled crafters that would be glad to offer an introduction."

A slight smile is flashed at Galharth, than another to Lostiriel. Her eyes dart downward as the ellon continues to speak. Offering no reply, Pelliwen stands quietly, cluthing her flute in her hands. Her brown cloak hanging still from her shoulders, nearly touching the ground.

Laughing, Lostiriel holds up her dust-covered palm and says, "I did try my hand, and look at it!" She wipes her hand on her cloak and then rubs her nose, grinning. "But it was a lovely suggestion."

"Indeed, there is nothing quite so satisfying as watching something emerge from a raw state." Galharth says. Glancing from one to the other, his eyes sparkle with excitement as he speaks, "Imagine a simple piece of wood, carved with a blade made here within the wood. Delicate hands musing over the placement of hollows and holes, and in the end...." he pauses for drama, while turning to look at Pelliwen, "....a flute, carved by the hand of one who is passionate for the sounds that come forth."

Glancing to Lostiriel, the Tailor smiles. "Such passions have been known to cause folks to leave safety in search of shiny buttons...."

"I suppose so Galharth..." she replys simply, her eyes darting up from the ground. Then to the exit. "May I leave?".. It is obvious that the young silvan is ready to leave. Conversation often brings this out of her. Not an unfamiliar sight.

Laughing, Lostiriel looks to Pelliwen and urges, "Hurry, cover your ears. Such passions have indeed been known to do strange things..." She winks at Galharth and adds, "In all seriousness, you really should consider it. You may find great satisfaction it it." She steps aside so that Pelliwen can exit, a little smile still playing about the corners of her lips.

Chuckling softly at Lostiriel's words, the Craftmaster turns towards the exit. "Perhaps I need to get going as well. I've a number of rounds to make before Anor fully rises." Looking as Pelliwen departs, the Tailor looks back to the Courier and bows his head. "Be well mellon, I shall see you another day. With that, the crafter turns and departs.

Pelliwen fleeing a social gathering, a common sight. Without any more words she steps away, likely to pay her flute in some hidden nook deep in the forests alone. Pelliwen is gone, her music begins to play almost as soon as she leaves the sight of those within the bakery. Her hollow, dull, slightly out of key tone is unmistakeable. Somehow, through a great deal of time spent, she has made something of this poor construction.