================== Eldarin Calendar <in Sindarin> ===================
IC time is: Dusk < About 7:33 PM >
IC day is: Orbelain <Valar-day>
IC date is: 63 Laer <Summer>
Moon phase: Waxing Crescent <VISIBLE>
Earendil: Gil-Estel is not visible.
IC year is: Loa 18 o Yen 22, Nelandran o Endor <TA 3042>
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RL time: Fri Nov 23 08:31:21 2007
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White Road - Eastern Arc
Shimmering grey mist flows in a moat between the road and the high green wall to the west. To the east, the limbs of the towering mellyrn are thick with the summer's green leaves and silver nuts. The paved road curves to the northwest and to the southwest, and a faint trail meanders eastward between the trees into the shadows of the summer's sun kissed forest.

Contents:
Galharth
Celemir

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The light of day fades as dusk settles over the land. The soft blue sky now grows grey and the stars that herald night have yet to appear. A brisk summer wind blows from the south, bring the scent of the land at its most productive. Whispers of song drift from the city, mingling with the chirps and sounds of nature.

Into this, the soft clops of hooves sounds along the roadway. Travelers so recently gone have returned! Leading the small numbers, the Tailor Galharth hums in time with the pace of his horse.

The galloping pace of Celemir's horse ought to send the late-bird's of long summer evenings scattering to the trees but the hoof falls sound as a gentle trembling thunder on the ground and the woodland life goes largely undisturbed save for sharp-eared does rising heads from the foliage to peer at the passerby. Around the bend, a flash of silver cloak flying behind, quickly shifting back to forested greens as the returning party comes into view and the sharp eyes of the firstborn spy the traveller's faces in the far off. A cry goes up, though it too travels softly from eldar to eldar offering little chance of interception by later woken ears. "Hail, Galharth! What news from the northern march?"

Drawing his mount to a halt upon hearing the approaching sound of a faster paced animal, Galharth falls silent to watch. Narrowing his eyes, and peering into the extending shadows, the Tailor catches sight of the Guard Celemir. "Well met, Celemir," the Crafter calls back. Pausing to allow the rider to near, he offers a neutral expression. "News now passes from the North. From Varya to Legarwin, it travels fast to reach the ears of the Lord and Lady. Gildor of Mithlondhrim brings word that the High Pass is blocked," he calls out.

Celemir closes the remaining distance in a matter of moments, a firm pull at the reigns indicating to the horse that it is time to stop the great mount slowing it's thudding hooves and entering a gentle trot. He speaks now in softer notes, allowing the notes to carry lightly unforced along the warm august air. "Mithlond is concerned by the High Pass? This is no passing impediment then, the orc have remade their fortress?"

"Made or remade, I know not." Galharth says as he shifts his position atop the horse so to better view the Guard. "He brings news that folk of the Valley, and the Beornings united to attempt to bring the fortress down, but they've failed and the orc have seen victory."

Pausing to glance to the north, the Tailor sighs. "All else is in the hands of the Commander, and the Lord and Lady. It is now up to them if we will help."

As if his name calls him forth, appearing from the road that Galharth is on Legarwin moves at a quick pace. His sapphire gaze espies those who are present leading him to call out, "Mae Govannen, mellyn. Are you making your final approach into the city? The Lord and Lady may wish to speak with you. And greetings, Celemir - long has it been since our paths last crossed." Calmly does his voice ring in the warm air while he continues to stride towards the Eldar.

"Then there will be little choice." Celemir remarks with a dipping of his brow to mark his comprehension of the facts. "The High Pass is a fragile artery that links the thin shield of the Rhovanion against the east, to the west. Mithlond and Rivendell are fortress unto their own, but the ruins of Arnor are still not without peril for all the efforts of their descended sons." the old warrior sighs as he brings his own horse in line. "We have lost Kazad-dum, though in mortal spans this is beyond memory and only the dwarves pay it mind, the enemy's plans span passages of time such as our own. If he seeks to divide us by the Misty Mountains, it is folly to allow it. Isengard and Saruman the White would be all that were left and I would not wish to place all our hopes upon a single path. The Lord will certainly seek action, perhaps not in the open."

Legarwin's class draws his eyes, the man bidding the new commander a wave of greeting. "It would seem so, I had thought to take them by the secret ways if the tailors do not know them. The underbrush will suffer a little for the horses but it will save a day at least."

"Well met, Legarwin," The tailor says as the Commander arrives. But that is all that he says for a time. Galharth stares blankly as the Guards speak of things that he knows not. "Alas, I fear it best to leave you both to what you know better than I." With that the crafter continues his trek back to the city.