3/10/2008

================== Eldarin Calendar <in Sindarin> ===================
IC time is: Nighttime < About 10:44 PM >
IC day is: Orgilion <Stars-day>
IC date is: 23 Laer <Summer>
Moon phase: Waxing Crescent <VISIBLE>
Earendil: Gil-Estel is not visible.
IC year is: Loa 19 o Yen 22, Nelandran o Endor <TA 3043>
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RL time: Mon Mar 10 09:34:49 2008
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Golden Roadway - Southwestern Arc - Fragrant Arches
You stand along the Southwestern arc of the Golden Roadway, deep in a copse of mellyrn. All about you, tall trees rise; grey ropes and bridges hang between them in an intricate web of interconnecting flets. Strings of creeping vines cross over head. All through the summer brilliant red trumpet flowers dot their lengths. To the northwest, a gently sloping staircase descends down the hill through the trees to another level of the city.

Towards the center of the hill, cut from its side, a small path leads through a gate of white wood and intricate carvings. Beyond them, the forest floor has been planted with thick green grass. The trees are thinner and several wide shady clearings can be glimpsed.

Contents:
Galharth
Maglind
Thorhur


Starlight filters through the thick summer canopy as the foliage flutters in the warm breeze. Deep within the fragrant arches, the scents of exotic flowers mingle with the fragrances of the roses that grow in the nearby gardens. Song is light this eve, with a pair of voices singing of eternal love.

Into this, the Craftsmaster wanders. As he walks, his hands are out before him and he seems to be counting something as he touches the tip of one finger and mutters something, then moves on to the next.

Behind the Tailor, there is a rustle. Quiet as a dropping leaf, a dark shape follows Galharth through the flower-scented trees. One hand reaches out, gloved but bare-armed, to tap upon his shoulder.

A third figure, barefoot he is, stands near one of the mellyrn. He leans against it with his eyes in the sky and hands folded. Quietly he hums something and taps his foot, but does not speak, even when he spots Maglind coming up behind Galharth.

The touch upon his shoulder whilst deep in concentration sets the Tailor into a spin. Literally. Turning quickly, Galharth's hair and clothing flies upwards and around his form. "Whhhhaat?" he mutters in surprise with wide eyes. Both hair and clothing waves softly as they settle into place, just as his eyes narrow and the look of shock turns to one of being disturbed. "Maglind, I was in the middle of listing my tasks for tomorrow, and now I'll have to start anew." He says flatly as he looks over the other's form.

A frown appears, and the Clothier furrows his brow. "I see that Nioniel hasn't caught up with you to get you the uniform you need. Perhaps you should go to the Weavers Talan to pick them up?" On his last words, his gaze wanders past Maglind and he nods to Thorhur. "Well met, Thorhur," he calls out.

"Ah! I'm sorry!" the pale-haired ellon cries, shrinking away from the Tailor. "If I could, I would remember them for you. Or compose a song listing them all."

Scratching his neck awkwardly, he waves to Thorhur. "Galharth ... I don't know if they are finished yet, but I need to make for the border today. Is there an old set in the weaver's talan you could perhaps lend me? The yrch would laugh if I wore a robe for patients."

Thorhur approaches the pair with a wave. "Well met both of you," he says warmly. After a pause, his hand goes to the folds his cloak as he asks, "Are the orcs still on the borders? I would very much love to down a couple."

"Lend you?" Galharth asks with a frown. "We've many uniforms premade for those just starting within the Order, so there is always something available for times such as these." Shaking his head and folding his arms over his chest he looks to Thorhur and then to Maglind. "You're station as a Warden, and all veterans of the Guard, for that matter, we hand Tailor your uniforms specific to your shape and form." Looking down then back up, he adds, "Forgive me for not mentioning this before."

Again, he looks back and forth between the two Guard and his face reflects concern. "It is good that you speak of the borders Thorhur. I had hoped to catch one or both of you and head to check on our situation with the Orc. The Foresters need to get to work on helping the trees, and we can not begin diving on the ship until the area is clear." Pausing his words, he glances at the two again, with his gaze falling upon Maglind. "I was hoping that you'd go with me to inspect the situation."

"Gladly," Maglind replies readily, "for the task the Commander gave me was the same. If the rumors from the Sentinels are true, then the yrch seem to have grown scarce around the northern borders. It is a good sign."

Thorhur grumbles at this. "I did not kill a single one," he says angrily, "And now things will become monotonous on the borders once again." For a moment, the sentinel pauses, then continues to nobody in particular, "It's odd isn't it? When the borders are empty, there's a mixed feeling of relief but also of boredom because there is nothing to do, but when the borders are finally infested, you wish that they weren't."

"The vine of information woven by the Sentinels is not always true," Galharth warns with a flicker of a glance towards Thorhur. "But it is good of the Commander to send a Warden to check upon the Orc so that diving can resume. I will have to remember to thank him, when I see him next." Turning his gaze fully upon Thorhur now, the Tailor frowns. "Boredom? How can you say such things when you have your duties as a guard, and those of a Bard?" Clicking his tongue against the inside of his cheek, the Clothier shakes his head. "There ar times I've got so many things to do, I find myself having to list them by their priorities."

"That is ... vaguely what Commander Legarwin told me," Maglind says, uneasily fiddling with the edge of his borrowed robe.

"Of course there are tasks to do, even when the borders are peaceful," the ellon adds merrily, glancing at Thorhur. "Telain to sweep, cloaks to wash, cells to clean..."

"Well, I suppose there is but one way to see whether the stories of us sentinels are really true," Thorhur says with a furrowed brow to Galharth, "Even though I haven't lied about the borders in many a long year. I will go there myself and see what the situation is," he continues. "I will be back in due time with an official report, but until then, good day." With a wave and a half smile Thorhur then departs for the borders at a brisk pace.

"I see," Galharth says as he draws his hands behind his back, and a frown overtakes his expression. "Will I be in the way then? Should I go with you to the Borders? I wouldn't want to interfer in any taskings that the Commander has given you, Maglind."

Turning as Thorhur speaks, the Clothier falls silent as the opportunity to reply leaves with the Sentinel's departure. Musing softly, he shakes his head and turns back to Maglind. "I don't suppose he realizes that the Sentinels that gossip are normally the younger ones, and he is long past that stage."

"Nothing of the sort, Galharth," assures the guard, maintaining a serious expression. "Your presence is always welcome, for you seem to be more deadly than I am."

"Well past," Maglind agrees, looking down the path Thorhur has left, "and should his skill match his eagerness to defend, I am sure he will excel."

Snorting softly, and offering a look of disagreement, the Tailor draws his hands up to grasp the edge of his robe. "While I don't exactly scream at the sight of the beasts anymore, but I'd hardly say I'm more deadly than a trained Warden." Looking after the path in which Thorhur had taken, Galharth sighs softly. "From what I've seen, it won't be long until he's made a Warden himself."

"Perhaps," Maglind muses quietly, "when we reach the borders, we will call each other by different names. I do not know."

Turning to the tailor, he asks, "Do you think I could borrow a tunic and some trousers that fit? These robes are much too baggy."

"I'm no Guard, mellon," Galharth says with a laugh. "So I see no sense in calling each other by a different name. In the end, we're the same Warden and Tailor."

With the request for clothing, the Tailor sobers and nods. "Let us go to the Weavers Talan then, and we'll find you a basic uniform issued to the new members of the Guard." Pausing, he holds up one finger. "But I do warn you, it won't be as comfortable as what you might have grown used to. This is, as I've said, a basic uniform."

"It is only until I visit Nioniel," says the guard, walking slowly away. "And as for names -- I would tell, but I should not like to embarrass myself."

With a shy yet knowing smile, Maglind disappears down the path without waiting for Galharth to follow.

Following Maglind along the path, he calls out, "Have no worry, Maglind. I shall be more than happy to provide all the embarrassment you can manage. Now and into the future." His words fade as he moves, and soon he too disappears from sight.

Snorting softly, and offering a look of disagreement, the Tailor draws his hands up to grasp the edge of his robe. "While I don't exactly scream at the sight of the beasts anymore, but I'd hardly say I'm more deadly than a trained Warden." Looking after the path in which Thorhur had taken, Galharth sighs softly. "From what I've seen, it won't be long until he's made a Warden himself."