================== Eldarin Calendar <in Sindarin> ===================
IC time is: Late Night < About 3:53 AM >
IC day is: Ormenel <Heavens-day>
IC date is: 36 Ethuil <Spring>
Moon phase: Waning Gibbous <HIDDEN>
Earendil: Gil-Estel is not visible.
IC year is: Loa 16 o Yen 22, Nelandran o Endor <TA 3040>
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RL time: Fri Feb 23 09:57:44 2007
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Training Field
On this wide field, boundry sticks and markers seem to rise up in a variety of patterns. Interspersed between all of these,
targets, dummies, and other devices for training stand in various levels of repair. Taking up one side of the field, an
archery range can be found. Along the opposite side, a long low hillock looking building that seems to be both a part of the
hill itself and the trees as it is built beneath grass and branch, the only entrance jutting out between two thick roots of
a tall mallorn.

Participants:
Galharth
Nauthcel
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A dark inky sky, specked with brilliant white stars lay as a blanket over the lands of Lothlorien. While the hour is late, a
sweet, melancholy song still drifts with the scents of delicate blossoms, upon the Spring breeze. A few figures move upon
the training field, moving with a rhythm similar to dancing, set to the sound of metal clanging.

Off to one side of the field, the clothier stands. Within his hand, a polished sword glimmers within the starlight. The grip
upon the blade seems confident, as if familiar, and yet, the straightness of his spine, and a slight frown betray that the
confidence as perhaps an act. Crystal blue eyes glance around the field, almost as if he's searching for someone.

Departing from the Training Building is one who has taken up temporary residence in the Golden Wood though it is not his
home. Nauthcel, waving in thanks to one who is inside, strides forth onto the field, his ashen gaze passing over the dimming
area, adjusting to the change in light. Finally, though, do his eyes come to rest on the ellon in the distance. Towards the
Clothier, the Dunadan slowly strides, calling within earshot, "Mae Govannen, Galharth. So you have come for your lesson?"
The voice is light in the cooling air, flowing in the Sindarin tongue.

Lifting a hand in greeting, Galharth calls back, "Aye, the cloak is done, and there is not time like the present in which to
learn ways to avoid cutting one's own throat whilst attempting to defend themself."%r%rA slight smile, hinting of
embarrassment, appears upon the Clothiers lips, "I appreciate that you're taking the time to teach me measure of skill." he
adds in a softer voice.

"Yet it is I who should be more appreciative for the clothing you have made," answers the Constant as he stops before the
ellon. "And it will do your land good to have another blade that can protect those less skilled." A pause enters into
Nauthcel's speech as his gaze passes over the weapon of the Eldar before he says, "Now, let us see what you already know.
Stand at the ready," instructs the Dunadan as he takes a few steps back.

Fidgeting slightly, Galharth rolls his wrist as if wielding a knitting needle into position, which remarkably sends the
Longsword into a wide arch that swings back and downward to stand at a fourty-five degree angle pointing upwards to his left
shoulder. The grip upon the handle of the blade is high, and clearly from the whittened knuckles, it reveals the Clothier's
nervousness. "Any experience I've had is "playing" around with my cousins several years back," he admits.

Nauthcel nods slowly as the position is taken remarking, "Very good. You haven chosen to take on a defensive stance that
will serve you well if you are being attacked. Now, don't let me move you." Taking a few steps forward, he extends his hand
and pushes it against the ellon's chest with an adequate amount of force.

Although his feet remain planted firmly upon the ground, the Ranger's push causes more an instinctual reaction as Galharth's
upper body turns slightly at his waist. The Clothier's right shoulder gives way, and his left shoulder moves forward.
"Sorry," the ellon mutters, "it's a habit to prevent injury when stacks of fabric bolts give way."

A frown forms upon the ellon's lips. "The force of the falling bolts of fabric are softened and rather than knock us over,
it glides off us. I fear it's a habit that will be hard to change."

"Then finding your center of balance will not only help in combat but also in your work," remarks Nauthcel as his gaze
travels to the footing of the elf. "Position your feet so that you weight is evenly distributed so that you can lean forward
and backwark and still be in balance." Once this has been accomplished, the Dunadan once again attempts to push over the
ellon.

Moving his feet to fall under his sholders, Galharth's body now presents not only his left shoulder forward, but also his
left hip. "I see what you mean," he comments with satisfaction."I can certainly sense a strength in my stance. And true, it
will help in my work." He adds with a chuckle. "A collapsing mound of fabric bolts can be rather intimidating."

Nauthcel grins at the remark made by the Clothier before he states, "I believe now you are ready to train. I want you to
work on your accuracy since many times, a fight can be ended quickly if you are able to strike in the proper areas." Bending
down, a blade of grass is picked. "Thus, blade against blade. Try to cut this in half." The piece of foliage is tossed in
the air and the Dundan steps back further.

Dropping the tip of his blade, and bringing his elbow high, the Clothier sweeps the edge of his blade upwards. "This is like
cutting a delicate ribbon," he comments as he divides the grass into two, adding, "though to be honest, my weapon of choice
for a task such as that is a tailors blade.' Retracing the path the blade had just taken, Galharth returns to his original
position.

"Objects, however small and delicate are much like my work." the ellon admits, "It is against something that breaths that I
find an inability to compare to what I do each day. Ribbon, fabric, findings of all sorts, have no similarity to flesh and
bone that would oppose me." Tilting his head, he asks, "Am I making much sense?"

"Ribbon nor fabric can think like a living being can," acknowledges the Ranger after the grass is split. "Thus, I wish for
you to attack me and I will do my best to block your attempts. Keep in mind that your balance is critical." Nauthcel draws
Lothwin from its place of slumber and lifts the blade into the defensive position. "Begin."

Galharth blinks and asks, "Attack?" Glancing towards another pair off in the distance, the Clothier sees someone take a
swing at his partner. "Forgive me should I actually manage to strike you in any way.....It seems so rude to just take a
swing..." he says with hesitation.

With an unexpected suddennes, the ellon suddenly swats out with his blade as if attempting to take out an anoying fly rather
than to actually use the weapon's sharp edge.

"To swing at one who is unarmed is one story but to attack one who is equipped is another," replies Nauthcel to the
uncertainty of the ellon. As the blade is swung at him, the Ranger sidesteps causing no harm to be done to him which the
Clothier had feared doing. "When you are attacking, choose a point on the opponent and focus only on that specific mark. Try
again." The Constant steps his feet, ready for the next maneuver.

Frowning slightly, the Clothier narrows his gaze and concentrates upon the Ranger's form. "Appearances can be deceiving,
mellon. Just because a well suited individual stands before you, it does not always mean that they wish you harm." A crystal
blue gaze peers intently upon the rangers forehead, and drops to the human's chest for an instant before returning his gaze
to Nauthcel's throat. "I know not my own instincts for they've never been tested, but I tell you this," he says firmly as he
leans slightly forward, "I sense no ill will from you...."

With his words uttered, Galharth releases his arm forward, swinging the longsword downwards and from left to right as if to
aim at his opponents neck. "Forgive me..." me mutters with true fear of doing another harm.

Though the Clothier does not land his intended mark, the blade does make contact with the raised arm of the Ranger. A sound
thump can be heard as metal collides with leather revealing the hidden bracer. "Very good. Now, choose another point of
contact." The Constant readies himself, raising Lothwin into a defensive position.

Galharth cringes at the sound of his blade making contact with the Rangers armor. "Perhaps if I felt threatened," the ellon
says as his gaze sweeps quickly over the Rangers form. "Then I'd be more inclined to let loose some measure of agression,
which is surely required for this sort of activity..."

As the Clothiers gaze flickers over the Rangers knees, his blade follows suit, striking out with a measure of hesitation. "I
swear the attack upon one considered friend is as painful as being attacked!" He calls out as the weapon sweeps forward to
strike.

The Ranger lets out a laugh as he blocks the swing, steel clashing against steel. "I take no offense to be hit while we
train. This is one of the best ways to prepare yourself for combat." Nauthcel grips Lothwin with a trained hand as he says,
"One final time. And this time, do not let yourself worry if you will do me harm."

"I fear I'm not cut of the mold that might feel free to injure another." Galharth says with a firmness that reveal sincerity
of his claim. "But reason tells me that I must attempt to do something or risk putting not only myself but others in
danger."

Reaching forward with his left hand, he adds a dual grip to his weapon. "The decision is no longer mine!" he hisses out as
he sweeps the longsword from right to left, in what might be considered an effort to divide the Ranger at his waist.

The blade of the ellon only sings through the air as Nauthcel springs away from the swing. Returning Lothwin to its sheath,
Nauthcel approaches Galharth saying, "You have done very well for having not trained in some time. Mayhap one of the other
guards, such as Haldir, can train you once I have departed from the Woods. Do you have any questions about swordmanship?" A
grin curves the lips of the Dunadan as he speaks calmly.

"I question much about swordsmanship, as it's not a real desire beyond an intent to keep myself and others around me safe."
Galharth says as he stares at his weapon with a frown. "Sad are the times that require one such as myself to lift a device
of death."

Shrugging his shoulders, the clothier glances towards the ranger, and a shadow of a smile appears. "None, the less, I thank
you. I will have your cloak sent at sunrise tomorrow, with my thanks.

With a bow of his head towards the human, the ellon steps back. "For now, I have an interview with a firstborn regarding a
story that needs inclusion onto my quilt."

With that, Galharth turns to depart.