3/19/2008

================== Eldarin Calendar <in Sindarin> ===================
IC time is: Midnight < About 12:24 AM >
IC day is: Orgaladhad <Trees-day>
IC date is: 50 Laer <Summer>
Moon phase: New <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: Wed Mar 19 10:08:08 2008
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Shaded Lawn
A narrow length of green lawn surrounded by tall trees; the trees that spring from the midst of the lawn itself dapple the grass with the cool shade of their boughs. Thick groves of brightly-shining mellyrn line the west and south sides of the greensward, reaching for the moon with their upswept limbs, while an old birdnest rests in one of the hedges near the northward path. Overhead, spread out in all their many-splendored glory, the stars are shining.

Contents:
Galharth
Thorhur


The stars are faint tonight, dimmed as if fortelling darkness. The moon is pale, its light welcoming though. Despite the season, it is cool, and a soft breeze rustles the trees and swings the lamps that hang within the great city.

It may seem that this Lawn is empty, for nothing stirs within. However, a harp plays, the strings plucked with great care. The song is slow, but its words are nothing short of joyful.

Thoughts were endless tears were few

Their light was lit their laughter grew

And in the branches of the trees

And sang of days that are now lost

Of great halls, of merry feasts

Of joy and hunting of the beasts

But now they can only reminisce

For those days were lost, but not their bliss


Burdened with a heavy sack, the Tailor Galharth appears upon the path leading through the Shaded Lawn. While shadows lay along the edges of the tree line, the evening light shines down upon him, drawing forth a natural glow. Silvery hair flows freely over his shoulders and this continues to sway gently as he pauses his step to listen.

"It is not often a single bard idles their time upon the shaded lawn, when other gather not far away in joined verse." He calls out. "Who sits among the shadows this eve?"

"One who is incapicated," the voice replies after ending his song. For a moment, there is stillness, then a figure slowly stands, aided by his crutch. Hobbling forward into view is Thorhur, his eyes shining. "And it is good to see you," he says to Galharth, "What brings you here laden with such a heavy sack?"

A hint of concern flickers over the Tailor's expression as Thorhur comes into view. "Ah, I should have guessed, for I myself traveled no further whilst I healed from my own leg injuries." Galharth says. "Forgive me, I have yet to speak with a Carpenter, but I can promise that I'll do so as quickly as I can."

Setting the sack upon the path, the Craftsmaster tasks a step onto the lawn towards the injured Guard. "I'm bringing the Healers the linins they require." he responds with a shrug of his shoulders. "How are you this day? Better I hope?"

Ascending from the stair, Cuyan steps into the lawn. He spots the other two elves and bows. "Hello." he says.

Thorhur nods towards Galharth and says, "I am very well today. I feel as if I can move better now," he explains with a half smile.

To this new ellon Thorhur turns and smiles. "Well met," he says. "How are you this evening?"

A laugh errupts from the Tailor's lips at the sight of the Carpenter. "When the need arrises, a crafter is not far behind. Well met, Cuyan. It is indeed good to see you." Glancing towards the Sentinel, he smiles. "It is good to hear that you are better Thorhur, but let us speed the process by getting you fully mobile."

Glancing back to Cuyan, he smiles. "We've need of a staff. Can you help Thorhur with its manufacture?"

Cuyan notices that Thorhur has a crutch. "May I ask why you have a crutch?" Cuyen asks.

"Have you not heard Cuyan? Thorhur was one injured by the Troll upon the borders." Galharth says quickly before the Sentinel has the chance to speak.

"No, I did not," Cuyan states. "I am sorry for you. If there is anything I can do for you, please tell me."

Smiling, the Tailor nods. "Indeed, there is something you can do for him. He needs a staff crafted so that he can move around more easily. Can you help him with this?"

Song or speech have drawn another hither. This a maiden, tall and slender, dark of hair but dappled with starlight. Laughter flashes in her eyes, turned upon the familiar form of Galharth, and her green skirts are gathered up in hand. Quick steps she makes, breaking soon to dancing run, and drawing near falls in a graceful curtsy to the Craftsmaster. The gesture spills over to Thorhur and Cuyan, and the latter she tilts her head, laughing.

"How glad the stars, to look upon so welcome a meeting! But what is this? The night is fair and the stars bright, yet it is with such sombre tones you speak. What troubles thee all so?" Curious glance flickers from one to the next.

Thorhur takes a step towards Cuyan and smiles. "Your assistance would be most appreciated," he says in a kind tone, "And I do not doubt your abilities. A staff would help me move around with ease."

At the entrance of this elleth, the Sentinel turns and waves. "Mae govannen," he says kindly, and after a pause, speaks again. "Sombre tones...we have just been speaking of injuries and whatnot."

Cuyan starts towards the stair. " I will start on your staff, and try to get it to you without delay." He bows and with that, leaves.

As Thorhur speaks with the Carpenter, Galharth turns towards yet another entering the Lawn. A smile springs up upon the Tailor's lips as he takes in the fair features of the elleth Nalas. "Somber beginings perhaps, but with such company that is certain to change."

Too soon does Cuyan leave, bringing forth a frown to the Craftsmasters expression. "I will check with you later regarding the staff!" he calls out after the Apprentices retreating form. Shaking his head, he looks back to the Sentinel. "I'll see that you get the staff quickly. Since I myself have been in your situation, I know its importance."

"Ah!" Nalas cries, turning now to Thorhur. Wide her eyes, and filled with pity, "Alas that you were wounded, mellon! One of the foul things that dares linger near the Celebrant? I beheld a troll there, a great and ghastly thing." Indeed, her slender form is wracked by a sudden shuddering.

"But 'tis as Galharth has said. Such company must needs turn merry, and mayhap we can lighten your burden." A step back is taken, both ellyn coming under Nalas' gaze, and once more musical laughter pours from her lips, "Care you to sit upon the grass for the ease of your leg? An it please you, we might sit upon a bed of moss and sing fair songs for the mellyrn?" To Galharth now, "Play you any instrument, Galharth? Or do my passtimes not agree with you? Some other thing might be found..." Perplexity clouds her brow, true anxiety that all might not please.

Thorhur chuckles. "Music is one of the only things I have found to be a comfort," he says, picking his small harp from off the ground. "In times like these nothing comforts me more than to sing and play songs of ages past."

Turning to Galharth, he furrows his brow. "I have known you to be one who is good with your hands," he says, "But do you play an instrument? Perhaps the harp or the flute? For, I think you would make quite an excellent musician." Smiling to the craftsmaster, he strums a lone note on his harp and sits in the grass again, rubbing his leg.

"I too recall your exposure to the beast that injured both Thorhur and Maglind, Nalas." Galharth says with a lowered tone that hints of being drawn into reviewing the memory. "All present held some means to defend themself, and you happening into the conflict brough me such fear." He releases a soft breath of relief. "I am most glad that you escaped harm."

Concern, memory of fear, fade from the Tailor's face as a laugh errupts from his lips. "I am indeed good with my hands, and I've a great love to listen to the sweet cords that are often heard, but nay, I play nothing musical unless one considers the sweet tappings of my knitting needles as an instrument." Pausing, he looks to the harp in the Sentinel's hands. "Do play Thorhur, and sing if it would please you Nalas. I'd enjoy the mingling of the sounds."

Smiles wreath Nalas' countenance, bright as a morning in spring, and with doe-like grace she sits at Thorhur's side. Her knees are drawn up 'neath her chin, the hems of her gown drawn back that her toes might nestle in the grass. "Knitting needles have we none here, though I should like to hear their music!" Merry words fall back to rumination, long memory reaching back even to the oldest lays of the Elves - images of them seem set within her eyes, falling back from Lorien to Beleriand long-lost, recalled only in song and shared remembrance.

At the last she settles upon one, its import great to her, as among many of the Eldar. Some there are who might remember Amlin her mother, singing with longing of the Morning Star in whose glory she was born. This sorrow lingers also upon Nalas, made full and fair by even the whispers of one so beloved.

Thus does she sing, her voice achingly sweet,:

"The leaves were long, the grass was green,

The hemlock-umbels tall and fair,

And in the glade a light was seen

Of stars in shadow shimmering.

Tinuviel was dancing there

To music of a pipe unseen,

And light of stars was on her hair

And in her raiment glimmering."

Turwaithiel had been passing in quiet a quick pase when the sounds of music caught her ear. She paused for a second taking it in before commning closer. She had places to be but at the moment she could not think of a task that would not wait for a while as she drew closer. Quietly so as not to interupt she made a space for herself.

Thorhur, picking up on the song, begins strumming upon the harp slowly. When Nalas reaches the last of the verse, he picks it up again with a smile. His voice is soft, but flowing like the water, and he sings this song quietly. It is one of his favorites, taught to him long ago in his youth.

There Beren came from mountains cold

And lost he wandered under leaves

And where the Elven river rolled

He walked alone and sorrowing

He peered between the hemlock-leaves

And saw in wonder flowers of gold

Upon her mantle and her sleeves

Her hair like shadow following.

Seeing Turwaithiel, for Thorhur sees everything, he nods slowly at her and smiles warmly, but says nothing.

Drawn by the presence of another, the Tailor turns and catches sight of the Weaponsmith Turwaithiel. Nodding his head slightly, he acknowledges her presence whilst not disturbing the delicate weave of song and harp. Turning back to look upon the bards, his eyes close half so that his mind's eye mingles with sound.

"If one listens," he whispers with lips barely moving, "The words bring forth images, much like the songs of the crafters bring forth an image into reality...." For an instant, he seems to be drawn into the song.

Indeed, to those who listen the edges of this glade shimmer, turned into the fair woods of Neldoreth, and upon the edges of hearing comes the sound of a river running. There are figures amongst the trees, shadows of those that walked the earth so long ago.

Nalas is lost, hearing nothing and seeing nothing but what their song has summoned. Turwaithiel goes unhailed and Galharth's words unanswered, but to each does her haunting voice hold out its misty vision.

"Enchantment healed his weary feet

That over hills were doomed to roam;

And forth he hastened strong and fleet

And grasped at moonbeams glistening.

Through woven woods in Elvenhome

She lightly fled on dancing feet,

And left him lonely still to roam

In the silent forest listening."

Turwaithiel joined the rest of the little gather in listening. Indeed the focus on the music was something that could almost be felt. She took the time to simply in the moment. True there where other worries but at the moment they seemed to belong some where else. At the edge of her mind she was aware that this was only a short reprive from them but at this moemnt it didn't matter. Right now everything was as it should be.

It takes several moments for the eyes of the Sentinel to adjust, for a moment it seemed he was in Neldoreth. It was if he could see the two, Beren and Luthien, dancing under the trees...

When at last he comes to, he turns to Nalas and asks, "My dear elleth? I hate to interupt the song, but I was hoping to continue repose in the halls of the Laiquendi Talan at the consent of the healers. Would you mind walking me?"

Standing up, Thorhur turns to everyone. "Goodbye everyone, see you soon."

The vision fades, trembling and fading away. But the song lingers, even if only as a lingering whisper to pull at the heart and seek to draw the mind back. For a moment it holds Nalas in thrall, but with a toss of her dark hair she laughs, and so breaks the spell.

"I should like nothing better." Up she rises, unfolding as a flower in spring, and reaches down to bear up Thorhur's harp for him. Her words now are for Galharth, "If only it were that you had your knitting needles, then the song need not have ended. Still, there is music in the night. Navaer." And with Thorhur she exits the glade, winking at Turwaithiel as she passes.

As the song seems to pause, and Thorhur speaks, the Tailor's eyes open wide. Disorientated for a moment more he shakes his head lightly as if to throw off the dream. "Thank you, that was lovely," Galharth says as the two edhel depart.

Waiting a moment more as they fade from view, the Craftsmaster turns to Turwaithiel. "It's been some days since last we spoke. How goes your labors?"

Turwaithiel blinks for a moment. "They go well enough. Truth be told I was on my to them before I came across this. But it was lovely enough that I do not regret stopping for a time." And it was ture enough she had planned to get at least some work done on it. But it seemed that it could wait for a bit longer. It was pleasent enough here and while it needed to be finished the needed was not pressing.

"Song is a powerful thing," Galharth says with a smile. "The Bards use is pleasant, even if different than our own use. It is a remarkable tool." Pausing the Tailor's head tilts slightly as he peers intently at the Apprentice. "Tell me, have you studied song yet with any of your masters?"

Turwaithiel pauses for a moment to gather her thoughs. "I have however music is not one of my talents. My skill level may be passable but there is a reason I am not a bard. And for that I think the whole of the wood thanks me. But that was lovely, my lack of musical talent is enough to cause hours of pain to my poor mother."

Galharth laughs full and loud. "I am far from holding any talent claimed by the Bards, but the songs of creation are not the same." Smiling patiently as his laughter fades, the Craftsmaster sighs and seems to consider his words. "When you make something, do you not form a picture in your mind? It is from this that the song of creation begins." Eyeing Turwaithiel carefully, he lifts a brow. "Have you tried this?"

Turwaithiel nods. "Of course and you are right they are two different things. But then their song is their art. Not to say that it not the same for all of us. But it is the end creation. It is easy enough to look at an object and not think of all that went into making it. It is not a good pratice to fall into the habit of. When things simply become things they have lost something of theirselves I think."

"Indeed, you speak the truth on that." Galharth says with a nod. "It is a practice taken up by the second born of this world, and to some extent our own kind have forgotten the true art of creation." Stooping slightly to retrieve the sack of linins discarded earlier, the Tailor looks down towards the bulging bag. "For some items, I feel no great loss for neglecting the song, but for things intended to last an eternity it must be practiced or lost." Taking a step back onto the path, he eyes the Weaponsmith. "Most, if not all of your products are intended to last, so you are among those fully expected to embrace creation."

Turwaithiel can not not help her self for giving a small smirk. "Yes, it would not be a good thing to have a weapon that did not last. Not that we should not want beautifull and long lasting clothing for example but rarely will one come to any sort of injury if their clothing does not last. Weapons must be as well made as they possible can be."

"Weapons and Armor both," Galharth says with a smile. Taking a step as if to continue along the path towards the Healing Talan, the Craftsmaster suddenly stops. "Oh," he says, turning to fully face the Apprentice. "It is my understanding that the Lord Celeborn is looking to speak with a metalsmith. While not exactly related to weapons or armor, it is work with metals that you are more than familiar with. Have you heard of his needs?"

Turwaithiel shakes her head. " I have not. But it has been a few days since last I spoke with him. Do you know what it is or shall have to treck though the wood in an effort to find out?"

"Some weeks past, I spoke with Earsul regarding awards for some of our more daring citizens." Galharth says as he lowers his sack of linins to the ground once more. "He in turn to the matter to the Lord and Lady, who now ponder the extent of such a thing." Tilting his head, he fowns slightly, as if consumed by thought. "It is with this that the Lord Celeborn needs a crafter who understand the shaping of metal." Focusing his gaze, he looks directly into the Weaponsmiths eyes. "I think you could help him. If you are willing."

Turwaithiel "It does seem that I could. It does not seem like a bad idea in light of recent events. As I have said the problem is in finding the right place and time to speak of this matter. I will however try and locate those who will be involved. There has been much daring of late."

"Both of late, and in the recent past. There are several worthy of acknowledgement," Galharth says with a nod. "Perhaps considering the Lord's heavy attendance to so many items, we should consider correspondence in the written form." The Tailor says as he lifts a finger to tap upon his chin.

Turwaithiel thinks for a moment. "Yes, now that I think about it, that may well be thebest way. It would be easier for every one involved. There would be no waiting for a moment of free time and it could be read at leasure and not interrupt an otherwise busy day."

"I shall suggest such a thing to either the Lord or the Lady, and either gain approval or refusal." Galharth says as his hand lowers to his side. "There is no great loss in suggesting the matter that benefits those who so willingly placed others above themselves." Smiling now, the Tailors draws his hands behind his back. "What pleasant inspiration our meeting has become. And...." he says with a pause, "I've another matter in which I'd like to present a personal request. I'd like my dagger adored with the same scroll work as appears upon my longsword."

Turwaithiel nods. "Of course it should be simple enough to do, all I would need to do is get a good look at the scroll work. It may take a few extra day depending on the complexity of the work. But I do not think that it should cause that much of a delay. Speaking of have you decided when you are going back down there?"

"I shall have to meet you in the shops, for I don't carry my longsword in the city, save for the times I'm seeking an opportunity to train." Galharth says as he looks to the south to where the Crafting shops lay. "The work was done by a jewelsmith, but he himself admitted to little knowledge in the workings of weapons." Turning back to look upon Turwaithiel, his smile remains. "It is beautiful work, and I expect no less from you with my dagger."

Drawing the dagger, he offers it to the elleth by the hilt. "It is a simple weapon, without design. So in a sense, it is a blank page that needs to be designed."

Turwaithiel takes it and give it a good look over. "yes I see what you mean. I the blade looks wide enough that there should be enough room for engraving. The exact shape of the engraving is going to depend on the amount that has to fit on the blade." She returns the the dagger. "Again with out seeing the amount of desgin that will be on there I can only guess. But I think that a wrapping pattern may be the best. It is certianally the one that will allow for the most to e used on the blade itself."

Offering a grin, the Tailor shrugs his shoulders. "I favor the fancy, and the more embelishments the better." Galharth says. "It is this with my clothing, so it seems natural that it would be so with my weapons."

Reaching out his hand to gather the weapon he smiles. "I shall leave this with you when we meet in the shops, but for now, I had hoped to gain some training with the Warden Maglind."

Turwaithiel "That is a good idea, such things can never hurt. In times like these it is oftern a very good thing. Now if you well excuse me there are things that need to be done and I have put them off to long I fear."