================== Eldarin Calendar <in Sindarin> ===================
IC time is: Nighttime < About 10:36 PM >
IC day is: Oranor <Sun-day>
IC date is: 17 Laer <Summer>
Moon phase: Full <VISIBLE>
Earendil: Gil-Estel shines very brightly barely above the horizon
in the western sky.
IC year is: Loa 18 o Yen 22, Nelandran o Endor <TA 3042>
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RL time: Wed Nov 07 17:32:23 2007
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Long Lawn

You stand amidst a long lawn of shining grass. It ripples in the gentle river breezes like tresses of golden hair, sprinkled too with hundreds of golden elanor flowers which radiate with the light of the sun. The eastern edge of the lawn fades into a white-stone beach, lapped upon by the deep and dark waters of the broad Anduin river which flows from the north, continuing southwards forever onto the sea. Joining the Anduin directly to the south is the Celebrant river, which hurries towards you from between the groves of Mallorns to the northwest. Northwards, the lawn is bordered by a high green wall of dense forest growth. With your sharp elven eyes, you spy a small recess in the wall, perhaps a passageway which leads through it.

Contents:
Galharth
Maglind
Ostiel
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A dark sky, speckled with brilliant sparkling stars hangs over the land. A warm summer breeze blows from the south, bringing the sweet scent of pastures from the plains across the river. Crisp clear water flows from the north. As small waves break upon the surface of the water, the starlight creates a sparkling effect that mirrors the sky above. The sound of night animals echo in the wood, adding a strange natural music into the scene. Late is the hour, and yet the folk who dwell within the land of Lothlorien are ever active.

Standing bootless, on the river shore, the Tailor Galharth removes his outer robe. Pausing he sighs happily as he looks over the water and then towards the sky. Clearly, this ellon is at peace. Turning slightly to his right, he quickly folds his outer robe and sits it on the ground beside his staff and boots. Straightening, he looks out over the water as he slowly unbuttons his shirt.

The sound of footsteps is thoroughly muted, but if Galharth were to look, perhaps he would see a slender shadow come creeping up behind him, slowly, silently, with deadly intent. The apparition smiles wickedly upon stopping just behind him, reaches out with long, white claws...and tickles the ellon's neck with great enthusiasm. How unorthodox.

Yet a third figure enters the Lawn, though his footsteps are thoroughly undectable, as he moves stealthily for no reason in particular. His cloak is folded in his hands and his boots are off as he treads the soft grass barefoot. His eyes shine anxiously and his hands are at his sides as he strides into view, coming to stop behind the two figures. He does not recognize the closer one, but the one in the river he knows all too well. However, he shrugs off a passing feeling and sits on the grass as if he is the only one there.

And the fourth, so familiar and yet gone so long from these waters. His feet crush the tender grass, coming absently to the shore. This one is Maglind, and while he might see the pale ... creature ... attacking the craftsman, he says naught.

Undoing the last button on his shirt, the silky white fabric flutters in the breeze. Crystal blue eyes grow wide as something tickles his neck, and he reaches up to swat away the seemingly excited insect. Turning as his arm reaches up, his right leg twists slightly, and he slips as the shoreline gives way into the water. For any other, the slight variation in the land would be nothing, but not so for the Tailor. Arms intent on sending the tickling insect away now windmill in search of balance.

"Ack!" Galharth gasps out as he falls back into the water. As he goes down the sight of both Ostiel, and the further audience are caught just before he slaps down into the water. A wave of droplets spay out, covering the Attendent.

"Ai!!" Ostiel squeals, voice filled with equal amounts of delight and surprise. But she is quick to shed her own gown, and with a saucy grin back at the dry pair, dives in after the Tailor, sending ripples out in all directions.

Thorhur stands, his eyes shining with surprise as the workings of a smile turn his lips up, but keeping a more composed demeanor the Sentinel walks forward slightly. He looks down at the Tailor, then turns his eyes to Ostiel, his cloak swishing as he lets it hang freely over his shoulder. When the Attendant goes under Thorhur crouches by the riverbank. As he does so he catches sight of Maglind from the corner of his eye and without turning away he says, "My my Warden. Did you see that? A classic trick if I do say so, but I do believe it would have caught almost anyone off their guard. How are you tonight Maglind?" Thorhur now smiles, but still tries to restrain himself from giggling.

A splash startles him from his reverie; the Warden nearly jumps as he sees Thorhur in the grass. "I am well," he says, one hand loosening from his swordhilt. "But I did not expect that Galharth has gone diving again. Does it prove that healers are the best warriors of them all?"

Blinded in the water, sinking down below the surface, even if only by a few inches, the Tailor does not see Ostiel join him in the water. Panic ensues as something bangs against him, holding him momentarily down in the water. Strange is the situation, and it only gets stranger as a curious little fish nibbles upon the Crafters ear. Spitting water, Galharth fights to gain the surface while brining his feet under himself to find purchase in the shallow shore.

Finally gaining a foot on the riverbed, the Craftmaster rises up like a demon from the water. His hair, drenched and hanging over his face and shoulders, is littered with weed, and his shirt, completely soaked, hangs open from shoulders. "Ostiel!" he growls impatiently as a hand lifts to peer towards the shore. Finding only the Guards, his eye furrows. "Ostiel?" he asks again with no small measure of confusion.

Beneath the water, Ostiel stifles a laugh, eyes sparkling with mischief as bright and merry as the lights which dance over her smooth body, fading off into the clear river. She swims closer and cocks her head, then reaches up. Her fingers close around Galharth's shirt, and with a sharp yank does she slip it off his body and into her playful clutches. Lightning fast, she wraps the shirt about the Tailor's waist and pulls back and downward, hard.

"Indeed," Thorhur says to the Warden despite the confusion in the water. "Healers know best, but who else could have gotten Galharth to go for a dive?" with a small wink he turns back to the river, waiting to assist if need be. He has thrown his cloak and longbow to the ground and his hands are already at the buttons of his shirt as he peers anxiously at the river from his place on its edge.

When the Tailor reappears Thorhur looks partially shocked at his appearance. Pointing to the water he says in a crisp tone, "She has not resurfaced yet. In case she needs assistance...well, I meant to get wet anyway." Unbuttoning quickly Thorhur pushes off into the river and with a splash he is under, his eyes searching for the Attendant.

"I doubt she does," but Maglind's words hang empty. The only one who lingers upon the shore, he steps closer -- boots are quickly shed -- and leans forward, peering hard into the waters.

Worry, confusion, and then surprise flicker over the Tailor's expression as he's pulled back down into the water. 'Aaaaiiiieeeeeeee." Galharth sceams out over Thorhur's words as the crafter is plunked back down into the water. The last sight under the starlight of the crafter is a hand reaching up through the surface of the river. Then as suddenly as he'd fallen back in, his hand is gone, and the water settles to lap gently at the shore.

Under the water, the Clothier kicks off the river bed to propel himself away from the shore. Clearly, if anyone were to have seen his move, they'd be sure that he was seeking to gain a position behind his tormentor. Taking two strokes, moving away, he pauses under water to unwrap his shirt from his waist. Sending it back towards shore, he turns to swim a few more strokes away from the shore.

Rising up in the water, only the ellon's head and nose move into the air. From there he watches what might happen next.

Ostie, for her part, sinks deeper and swims off into a different section of the water, far from the now-aware Tailor. However, the need for oxygen forces her to the water's surface as well, where she hovers in plotting thought, intense eyes and foreboding grin giving her much of the appearance of a water monster, sizing up it's prey.

Thorhur feels nothing, sees nothing, in the depths of the water. So with great anxiety he comes to the surface. Finding Galharth not too far away, he kicks in that direction, turns...and a smile comes upon his face. He has spotted Ostiel, but remains to be seen by her. Taking long quick strokes he pushes himself forward until he is but an arm's length from her. The smile on his face is evil...but in a jesting way.

Reaching out with both hands the Sentinel grabs the Attendant's shoulders and pushes her downward, wanting to get in on the action. He does so hard, but not in a way that could hurt her. As his hands move downward his legs move forward and like a fish he disappears beneath the surface, reappears at the bank, heaves himself up, and winks at Maglind. With dripping body and hair in his eyes he grabs for both longbow and cloak...and disappears in the night at a very quick run.

From the thrashing surface of the river, it seems a leviathan has woken in wrath. Maglind moves closer, biting his lip in worry. "Galharth!" he calls, shedding cloak and belt. "Ostiel?"

Ostiel gasps underwater, inhaling a great gulp of the liquid, kicking out blindly for the surface, only to see the dripping heels of Thorhur flapping off into the distance. Sputtering and laughing at the same time, she bobs up and down, holding up her index finger to Maglind.

Remaining silent as Thorhur approaches, he watches with interest as the Sentinel changes direction to meet up with Ostiel. Chuckling softly into the water, he watches as the Attendant is dunked. Treading water, a broad smile fills his face as he watches Thorhur leave first the water and then the lawn.

Turning, he watches the spot where the Attendant was dunked, relief fills his eyes as he catchs sight of the elleth in the starlight. Turning abck to shore, he rises slightly from the water to call out in the dark. "We're fine Maglind!" He calls out as he turns to look upon the lady. "But I can't say that will remain if she tries to dunk me once more!"

All worry is cast from the ellon's face. "Oh?" Maglind calls back wickedly, edging closer to the waves. "Then both of you will be fine! You can swim after all. Dunk him, Ostiel!"

Indeed, the healer leisurely swims back over to Galharth, looking him squarely in the eye, chuckling heartily. She says nothing, nor needs to, for Maglind's advice is quickly taken. Wrapping deceptively small arms about the Tailor's shoulders in a swift motion, she pushes down, challenge written all over her dripping face.

Galharth's eyes grow wide at Maglind's words. "You encourage her!" he calls to the shore in protest. Clearly the proding is all that is needed, for the Attendent swims the distance between the two with little time. "Don't you dare....." the Tailor mutters in warning. Alas it seems this warning is not taken.

As the elleth's arm goes round his shoulder, the crafter reaches out to grasp the elleth's slender waist. "In our own rights, we have great strength Ostiel, but yours is of the fea whilst mine is moreso of the Hroa." Pausing his words as he contines to tread water, he kicks harder to resist Ostiel's attempt to dunk him under the water. The corner of his mouth turns up mischeviously and with a mighty kick of his feet, his arms flex and he lifts the elleth from the water. In a fluid motion he lifts the slender figure from the water and tosses her form so that she lands a short distance away in a showery splash.

Squee! Ostiel surfaces with a decidedly unladylike guffaw, once again making for the Tailor, treading water slowly and methodically. "That may be true. But...I'm faster than you, surely." With that she dives under the surface to grasp Galharth's legs, and tickling behind his knees, gives a quick yank.

"I said dunk him," Maglind protests, shaking his head, "not to drown him." Drawn to the water's edge, and yet unwilling to enter the depths, the warden squats on the shore and watches with a smile on his face.

Turning southwards and reaching down to grasp ahold of the elleth's devilish hands, he does not see what looms in the north. Dark, silent, and half buried in the water a water soaked log floats swiftly on a southern route. The Tailor laughs playfully each time his head rises above the surface while he struggles to free himself from the playful Attendant.

*Clunk*

The sound of wood hitting head, much like the sound of a waterlogged plank might make when smacked up against a head, echoes in the night. In that instant, Galharth falls deadly still and sinks motionless under the water.

Ostiel's eyes widen in shock as what was before a wrestling ellon becomes a dead weight in her arms. Try as she may, straining, the slim healer cannot support Galharth's wet body and rise to the surface at the same time, and so the pair begins to sink into the depths. Kicking desperately, Ostiel's laughter-drained eyes search the swirling, muddled world above for Maglind.

Sinking into the depths is no new thing to Maglind's eyes. But the sound of waterlogged wood meeting a head, while no stranger to the warden, is clearly a surprise. Horror fills his young face, and tearing the heavy robe from his back -- will the tailor mourn? -- he crashes innto the water.

No rope to hold them, no log to support their weight -- does the slender ellon plan to hold the three of them with his own strength? Maglind cuts the water desperately.

The sensation of drifting along upon the gentle waters of the river seems almost a dream to the dazed ellon. Galharth's mouth opens under water to draw breath, and his form jerks slightly in protest at the strange sensation of cold wettness that seeps into his lungs. Still, the sensation is one of freedom. Coughing water into the river, he draws a second breath, and while his head pounds fierely from the contact with the log, he jerks again as he begins to resist the lack of air. Is this the last for the Tailor?

Leaning forward on the exposed roots of a great mellryn, Pelliwen gazes out from the distant treeline to the elves within the river. Chin resting in palm, the elleth's green eyes examine the pair sleepishly. Dressed in dark greens and browns that blend naturally with the surrounding foliage, the silvan is nearly invisable to the untrained eye. Only her long auburn hair seperates her from the forest. This is a particularly pleasent, quiet spot. Not today it seems, with the all the racket echoing down the riverbed. With a sour expression, she turns away from the roots and sits against the mellryn's great trunk, attention falling away from the swimmers to the vast long lawn in the opposite direction. Thoughtfully her head tilts as she watches the grass bend to the wind.

Nay, not if Ostiel has anything to do with it. Shifting so that the Tailor's head is cradled against her shoulder, she lowers her head, and in an act that frighteningly resembles past actions in these waters, presses her mouth against Galharth's, breathing precious air into his lungs. Then she turns him laboriously onto her back, dark head facing downward into blackness, and struggles to push them towards the surface, mouth tinging blue.

Walking along the lawn, Lostiriel enjoys a brief moment of quiet, sorting through her own internal musings. Oblivious to all that is happening, her eyes only barely catch a glimpse of Pelliwen and, changing her direction so that she may speak to the elleth, the Courier quickly advances upon her, calling, "Pelliwen, well met!"

Indeed, the scene might seem like seconds before. But the ellith might notice that there are neither shouts of glee nor laughter echoing from the surface.

Silent as death, Maglind reaches out through the stirred silt. One pale hand stretches toward the two -- what will it find? An arm? A leg? Nothing?

"Lostiriel!" Pelliwen exclaims, her eyes darting up to the elleth who's approch was previously unseen. The shy silvan for the moment seems excited to see Lostiriel, however as she speaks, she slowly draws her cloak around her. "Please sit.." she remarks with a smile, while a nod then indicates a comfertable place to sit. "I've been looking all over for you..". This particular elleth never encourages conversation, unusual.

Stars once in the sky seem to cluster behind the Tailor's closed eyelids. Coughing, and gasping as air is forced into his lung, water seeps from his lips as a waterfall. Still dazed, Galharth begins to fight for indeed it must be some vile beast that seeks to rob him of air. Coughing, harshly, water pours forth from his lips. Unaware of being held, nor being touched, all that happens now falls within the realm of darkness.

"Lostiriel!" Pelliwen exclaims, her eyes darting up to the elleth who's approch was previously unseen. The shy silvan for the moment seems excited to see Lostiriel, however as she speaks, she slowly draws her cloak around her. "Please sit.." she remarks with a smile, while a nod then indicates a comfertable place. "I've been looking all over for you..". This particular elleth never encourages such conversation, quite unusual.

Sitting, Lostiriel studies Pelliwen with speculation glittering in her eyes. "Well, I suppose you have something to discuss with me then?" Already predicting what it is that the elleth wishes to speak with her about, Lostiriel offers Pelliwen a warm smile, for this conversation has become familiar with the Courier as of late. "Does it perhaps have something to do with the trip that I am planning?"

It is slow, tedious, deadly work, but Ostiel, face begins to turn blue, is finally managing to gain a bit of height. However, it is not enough to save them, and she knows it, for relief floods over her in strong waves when her flailing hand comes into contact with Maglind's. Grasping onto it with frantic strength, she pulls him closer through the darkness, desperation setting in.

Pelliwen draws her cloak tighter, and offers a slight smile. "It does..". Eyes falling downward, the shy silvan falls silent for a moment. Without looking up to Losttiriel, her head tilts thoughtfully before making her simple request. "Can I come?".

Silence draws over the two as they sit together, and Lostiriel attempts to find the correct words to expression her answer. Turning to gaze upon Pelliwen, she replies, "Pelliwen, if I could see all and be assured of all, I would be more than willing to say yes. But I am not, and Maglind has warned me of the dangers of this trip. Everyone that comes along must be prepared to defend themselves, and even so, it is best to keep our group small, for the danger is real and unpredictable. Now, there are already some whose presence is a necessity, and others who have a purpose that must be served along the way. And, as much as I wish that I could give you the answer that you seek, I have recently spoken with Galharth and Earsul, and both repeated the need for caution and bringing only those who must come. I am afraid that I simply can not say yes." Looking at the elleth through eyes filled with affection, the Courier can only hope that she understands.

From the riverbank, it is apparent that all three of the elves have been underwater longer than is possible.

Something catches his hand. Maglind whirls, stretching the other arm to latch onto the two elves. Bubbles pour from his mouth, and the veins stand blue on his arm as he strains to lift his burden from Anduin's grasp, in silent desperation.

"I see..." the silvan whispers, her green eyes still directed downward. There is a long pause where Pelliwen is without any movement except for an ever increasing expression of deep dissopointment. "Fine..." she states softly, finally breaking the silence and raising to her feet. The silvan's gaze fixes on the horizen for a moment before beginning to step past Lostiriel. "No doubt your right..." she whipsers, her dissopointed eyes never making contact.

Seeing the clear disapointment on Pelliwen's face, Lostiriel sighs, adding, "I hope that you understand... Of course, I know that you really wish to go and I do understand that..." The Courier also stands, unsure as to what she can say to ease the elleth's sadness.

Lung burn, and the body simply screams for air, causing weakening struggles from one who's still too unaware to know that there is an effort to help. The touch of air upon his forhead causes his face to lead upwards towards the stars. A harsh cough and gasp follows the tilt of his head. A loud strangled cry of resistance issues forth between waterlogged lips. Is he heard?

Turning once again to face the courier, Pelliwen offers her a polite nod before stepping into the forest... This is more typical of Pelliwen than the bright greeting given moments ago. Until recently the shy silvan was rarely seen, always keeping to herself. Likely she will return to solitude, this is what she has always done when dissipointed. "Worry not." she adds, just as she vanishes behind some brush. After a moment, her flute can be heard decreasing in volume as she progresses away.

It is now or never. Ostiel's mouth opens in a silent cry of effort, and she pushes upward with all her might. Combined with Maglind's pulling, they are finally beginning to make progess, moving towards the surface at a pace that may prove to be saving, or undoing. It is too soon to tell...or perhaps too late.

Perhaps.

As Galharth breaks the surface, Maglind sinks below. His hands join to form a fine mesh, and they find, through the sand, Galharth's newly-healed leg. Pushing from below, the warden attempts to give the journey upward an extra boost.

Dazed, Galharth coughs again. As he does, he winces from a strange ache in his head. His eyes flutteras he coughs again and if not for the boost sending him upwards he'd surely fall back under the surface. Coughing again, water still spatters from his lips. With the liquid somewhat clear, he gasps the sweet air. "Diiiid'ya hitme?" he slurrs out as his eyes struggle to open.

Watching Pelliwen walk away, Lostiriel's eyes are clearly disapointed--perhaps even calculating. It is clear that the outcome of the conversation was not how she intended but, shrugging, she resolutely turns and continues her stroll until, suddenly, she hears a distant, muted cry. Running towards it, her eyes frantically search until they fall upon three figures struggling in the water. Panicking, she runs and attempts to offer her help, reaching for Maglind as she pushes toward him.

Ai! Air! Ostiel gasps violently as her body turns out from beneath the Tailor and breaks surface at last, and for a slow second she inhales, mind clearing. Then it is time for action. Grabbing Galharth with trembling arms, she steers him towards the shore, all the while searching for Maglind with her eyes. "Come on, Maglind." Lostiriel's approach is noted with a faint sob. "Quickly! Assist Maglind in reaching the surface!"

Push upon something, and it will return with equal force. This is what Maglind learns, as he is propelled back underwater. A hand breaks the current in an ungainly struggle -- bubbles burst upon surface -- and his head bursts from the river, crowned in a floppy shining halo.

Coughing again, mingled in with gasps for air, the dazed and confused ellon, struggles in the unfamiliar situation. Silvery hair shines under the starlight, but on this eve it is tinted a crimson red from the point in which the log had struck the Tailor's head. "Whydyahitme" he slurrs in a jumble of words that might or might not be understood. Clearly from his half awake expression, Galharth's confused.

"Shh...shh." Ostiel whispers breathlessly as they flop as one onto the shore. She immediately grabs her gown from nearby and, after a quick inspection, lays it firmly against Galharth's seeping head wound, entire body shaking with fading adrenaline. Turning her head, she looks back for Maglind.

Doing her best to try and aid the struggling Maglind, Lostiriel reaches out, attempting to grasp him so that she can work on pulling him back to shore. Even as she attempts to do this, her eyes glance frantically toward Ostiel and Galharth, and she is horrified by the sight of what appears to be blood. Forcing her attention back to Maglind, she increases her efforts at helping him.

The river is reluctant to release him. Flailing wildly with flagging limbs, Maglind manages to catch the hand of Lostiriel.

His arm droops, and his head tilts forward: now limp, he should not be as heavy to pull to shore.

Peering at the Attendant, through eyes that are clearly confused, Galharth frowns. "Color o river, snot good. Nimrodel color suit better." His words are senseless, but place a strain on his air starved lungs, and he falls into a fit of coughs. Curling onto his side, away from Ostiel, he winces at the pain to his head. Again he gasps and when next he half opens his eyes he catches sight of Maglind reaching forth to catch Lostiriel's hand. "Diving gan, Manglin?" he spits out with great difficulty. With those words, his eyes sink shut and he falls into sleep.

Securing a tight grip upon Maglind, Lostiriel fights to hold him up above water even as she struggles against the river, fighting to pull him to safety. And slowly, but with increasing success, the Courier manages to drag him closer and closer to the bank. Her gaze again goes to the shore, judging how much further her shaking legs will be forced to carry them, and sees the two forms already collapsed upon the river's shore. With a last, desperate pull, she attempts to drag Maglind the rest of the way to safety.

"No." Ostiel whispers, shaking the Tailor fervently, but it no use. He is fast asleep. She herself looks ready pass out from exhaustion, but stubbornly turns back to assist Lostiriel in pulling Maglind those final, crucial inches. "Mellon nin," she murmurs, "I need you to get help as soon as he is to safety. Tell whoever you find to bring blankets and bandages, and a carrier."

With the help of Lostiriel, Maglind washes onto the bank. His hand falls, clawing the white stones of the shore; his back heaves. For the moment he merely lies there, forming streams and rivulets on the bank.

The river is once again cheated.

With the help of Ostiel, Lostiriel finally arrives on shore where she sags to the ground for a moment, worry filling her eyes as she looks from Maglind to Galharth. Confusion as to what could have happened to cause this event only begins to surface before it is pushed aside by her own fear over both Galharth and Maglind's condition. Then, spurred by Ostiel's words, Lostiriel rises and, newly determined, quickly disapears as she runs off to find help.

As for Ostiel she merely lies on her back for a long moment, staring up at the stars. A feeling of malice creeps over her, but with the strength of the eldar the Cuigrithweg shakes it off, shuddering. Then, weary, she pushes up to a crouch, and sees to her companions.