4/10/2008

================== Eldarin Calendar <in Sindarin> ===================
IC time is: Midnight < About 12:44 AM >
IC day is: Orgaladhad <Trees-day>
IC date is: 44 Iavas <Autumn>
Moon phase: First Quarter <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: Thu Apr 10 10:14:57 2008
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Celebrant Path, South of the Nimrodel
The green forest floor is scattered with silver nuts; the vast trunks of the mellyrn gleam silver-grey in the shadows of their own whispering canopy. Somewhere in the deep shade east of the narrow path, the song of a swift river sifts through a veil of close-growing trees. Northward, the trail winds deeper into the mallorn forest. Southeast, the path continues, shadowing the river's course, while straight south the trees begin to fail.

A well-concealed hithlain ladder hangs near the trunk of one of the mellyrn, some distance above the ground. It looks possible to climb up to it.

Contents:
Galharth
Celeborn

Soft whisps of mist drift through the trees, dancing aimlessly in the midnight sky. High overhead, glowing pure and white, the evening stars wink silently. A soft wind blows from the east, bringing forth the scent of fall, as the world settles into a path to make ready for the winter soon to come. The borders are quiet now, save for the creak of an occasional branch or leaf disturbed by the wind.

Kneeling upon the soft earth, near a clump of brush, the Tailor Galharth inspects the tracks softly imprinted on the ground. "Rabbit..." he whispers with a furrowed brow. "Seems a good many of them this year." Stabbing the ground with the tip of his longsword, the Craftsmaster pushes himself upright to stand.

"A good sign, I would think," replies the tailor's companion, who peers past Galharth into the darkening woods. "An absence of danger, the rabbits are more prolific... rather like our own people, wouldn't you say?" Celeborn hints at a smile, "It should lead to some fine hunting in the months to come."

He takes a few steps down the worn path and pauses, his tone cautious. "So, perhaps, should we learn from our furred friends, so that we do not become the hunted. Complacency is our greatest threat these days, as we wrap ourselves in a blanket of supposed safety."

Turning as the Lord speaks, the Tailor frowns. "Where there is an abundance of food, there soon come predators." Galharth says softly. "For surely we do not hunt more with the increased supplies. We take what we need and no more." Glancing at the tracks, he seems to fall silent with thought. "Perhaps we can harvest the abundance and trade with those to the south?"

Following Celeborn along the path, he nods to the Lord's back. "The assumption of safety is one of my own faults. One of which I've tried to shore up with training so that I might defend myself if needed."

Celeborn nods, "What we need grows steadily as the years pass, and we increase our own numbers. Thankfully we have not reached a point where provisions run short, but the lean years do seem to come more frequently. Perhaps trade is not the answer, but preparing for what lies ahead, instead."

"As for our safety, I think it is something that we all should consider. So many have been born that know nothing of the hardships we have endured throughout the years. I cannot help but look ahead at our future, and compare it to our past; and so I end up unable to fully enjoy the peace that we experience here knowing that it could so easily end. We walk a dangerous path, Galharth, and too often we do it blindfolded."

Galharth nods. "Then the crafters shall take a portion of each hunt and preserve the bounty for when times are lean." Pausing his words a moment, the Craftsmaster hurries his pace so to draw closer to the Lord. "Does this visit with Mithrandir and the rangers bode ill for our land? Is this what turns your thoughts to darkness ahead?"

As the crafter walks, he glances down at his sword in hand, turning it slightly so that the starlight reflects off the polished surface. "We often allow ourselves to be sheltered by those we deem better suited to protecting our needs." he says softly as if in distant thought, "I grow in skill, but still have much to learn."

Celeborn chuckles, "We all have much still to learn, Galharth, whether it be protection of our lands, the history of our world, the fascinating creatures that live upon it, or what may seem a simple, yet maddeningly unattainable skill. Not that I think you will not gain the knowledge you seek, I just have to question why it is so important to you when you have a formidable skill, already. Your hands create, and that, I think, is a far more valuable skill than destruction."

He draws in a deep breath, and lets out a gentle sigh. "Your desire is obvious, though, so whatever the reason I cannot argue. Although I thought that my wife kept you busy enough in other pursuits."

Looking to the shadowy ground, the Tailor shrugs one shoulder. "I can not say why I desire to obtain skills with my blade, though it is not uncommon in my family, be they bard, crafter, or politician." Galharth says in a whispers that seems a song in the night. Looking up, the Craftsmaster smiles. "I am ever busy, but there is always time for distractions. I, unlike yourself have no spouse and have yet to feel the burning desire to find she who mirrors my fea."

Celeborn raises an eyebrow as he looks sidelong at the tailor, "You think my Lady is a distraction to me?" A hint of a smile tugs at the corner of his mouth, "Perhaps. Though I think she is far more an inspiration. For her, I would move mountains... or, at least wish that I had the power to make it happen."

There is a bouyancy to Celeborn's next few steps, as talk of Galadriel so often affects the poor ellon, but he is quick to sober as his eyes turn to the tailor. "I know your lineage, Galharth, and familial history or not, you do them proud as you are. Say it is for your own benefit, the desire simply to learn and I will leave the matter alone. But say it is for what is expected of you by others..." He simply shakes his head.

"Call it what you will, it still brings thoughts from a single pursuit to one diverted for another." Galharth says with a soft chuckle. Pausing his step, the Craftsmaster looks to the sky, and through the wisps of mist, to the stars above. "The desire to grow and learn comes from within, and I can not say the true source, for in fact, it confuses me." Looking down, towards Celeborn, confusion ripples gently in the clothiers expression. "It is as if I have reached a moment within my own life where I am more than I once was, and still strive for what I can be. There is no name to be placed upon this unfulfilled vision before me, and yet I feel a compulsion to push forth to better myself." Tilting his head, he adds, "Do I make any sense, for when I hear it aloud, it sounds almost strange."

Celeborn's smile is gentle, almost amused. "You make sense, Galharth; indeed, you do." He stops along the path and draws his sword, looking down the length of the blade before turning to the tailor. "We are, all of us, growing each and every day, striving to be more than we were yesterday. Do any of us know what drives us forth?" He shakes his head, "Not really. But I think the day we do not feel that force within us is the day we turn our eyes to the West and begin thinking of what lies out there, beyond our selves. And so, for my effort in keeping my wife happily clothed by one of such skill, raise your weapon and let us practice at that which you hope to someday master."

Backing up a few steps, the Tailor's weapon rises to a defensive position from shoulder to hip. "The desire for perfection is at times far and above the love of life itself at times. It is a failing carried by all within my Guild. For myself, finding perfection is an easy thing when I have the honor to create garments for one such as your wife."

"It almost seems unfair that any flaws a gown might have is overshadowed by Galadriel's stunning beauty." Laughing as he presses forth suddenly, in offensive, Galharth rises his blade and brings it down at an angle as if to strike at the Lord's shoulder.

Galharth attacks Celeborn with his Longsword...
Celeborn dodges Galharth's attack.

Celeborn steps aside to allow Galharth's sword to pass by, a smile hovering on his lips, "Did you seek to distract me with such wanton flattery of my Lady fair? A good try, but it will not work this time. I know her as well as she knows herself, as I am known by her. I am well aware of her flaws, but still see only the perfection."

He steps forward and gives a casual flick of his hand, whisking the blade towards the tailor's shoulder in a mimick of Galharth's own strike.

Celeborn attacks Galharth with his Longsword!...
...and Galharth blocks his attack with his shield!

"The Lady has flaws?" Galharth says as his weapon sweeps the air, and continues round and back into position as would the blades of a windmill, "Surely sir, it is now you who seek to distract me with mutterings such as that." With narrowed eyes, the Tailor watches the Lord's movement and as it seems he's ready to strike, the Craftsmaster dips low and graps a fallen branch of fist sized thickness. Holding it up before him, the Ancient one's weapon strikes soundly against the wood.

Saved from the strike by the branch, he grunts with effort as his own weapon coils back and then forward as if to strike the Lord's sword arm.

Galharth attacks Celeborn with his Longsword...
Galharth's attack against Celeborn mildly wounds him!

Where once Galharth stood, now a space filled with leaves and a branch that repels Celeborn's blade! What is worse, and proven so by the suprised expression on the Lord's face, the floral tailor strikes back and lands a stinging blow to his knuckles. Taking a step back, he lets out a laugh, "Remind me not to underestimate you, Galharth! You have learned far more than you admit to, but you can't hide that you are getting better. The helpless tailor, is it, who so desperately wants to do his part? I say he is far more ready than the Squires who daily join the ranks. You ask me to make a fighter of you? I think it has already happened, with little aid on my part. You have been practicing, have you not?"

He steps forward and stabs at the leaves, aiming for an edge so as not to accidentally pierce Galharth badly.

Celeborn attacks Galharth with his Longsword!...
...and he hits! Ouch!

"I practice when I can," Galharth admits as he draws back his blade, "But not nearly what I might have known had I started training earlier in my life. I can hold my own, this is true, but not so with the more rugged of the beasts who attack this land."

With the jab, the Tailor gunts as the tip of the Lord's blade pierces delicate fabric and tender flesh of an arm. Tiny beads of deep red color the sliced fabric.

"You wound me, sir," he says as his expresion turns to concentration. Moving forth, lowering his blade, and tossing the branch to the side, the Clothier swats smartly at the Lord's hip.

Galharth attacks Celeborn with his Longsword...
Your attack against Celeborn mildly wounds him!



"I think we are doing our fair share of injuring one another." Celeborn replies with a grim smile, as Galharth's blade grazes his hip. It doesn't slice, but is sure to raise a fair-sized bruise. "In case you have not noticed, the last time we sparred you landed one strike, and you have now hit me thrice. And I, myself, have been considered a fairly rugged beast by many, and you are most definately holding your own. I do not think it is skill you lack, but confidence."

He takes a step back, pausing for a moment to size up his opponent, and then turns with sword held neatly tucked in until the last moment, when he strikes out at the tailor's side with the flat of the blade.

Celeborn attacks Galharth with his Longsword!...
...and he misses!

"My confidence is indeed lacking, for I'm often told that my ego outweights my station. Once heard from more than one mouth, it becomes a matter of concern." Galharth says flatly, as if revealing something distasteful. "The very fact that I've been brought nearly to death on several occasions, all for a lack of ability to defend myself or those with me, hint that the opinions voiced are indeed correct."

As the Lord moves, so too does the Tailor. Delicately embroidered robes swirl outwards from his body as he steps forward, sidesteps, and turns to avoid Celeborn's strike by a mere whisper of air. For any who might watch the two edhel, it would seem a well planned dance, for the grace and execution of both is nothing short of beautiful.

Stepping back, and lowering both his blade and his head respectfully, the Craftsmaster pauses. "Perhaps it's best if we end now before any real damage is done, for we'd both receive sharp lectures for clothing sliced and flesh bruised." Looking up, he offers a smile. "I thank you Lord Celeborn, for both your words and the training."

Celeborn shakes his head as he resheathes away his sword, "Perhaps I am out of touch with what happens around me, for I was unaware that even now there are those who would pridefully lord title or position over another. I had thought we lived in a time and place where anyone could be anything they desired, regardless of supposed rank or status. Apparently, I was wrong."

He turns with concerned brow to the tailor, "Now, this does not mean that I support a novice running recklessly ahead of what his or her skill allows, but as I have stated before, you are better skilled than the Squires we allow to patrol our borders." He gives a hint of a shrug, "Regardless, I do not think you will have to worry over much about that now. Whatever your prior knowledge may have been, you have surpassed it now. As a vote of confidence, since it is what you lack, have you yet noted that we are here searching for a mine along our border... alone? I have asked for no other protection, and feel secure in knowing that should there be trouble, we are more than enough to handle it. True, we are not crossing the foothills, but I dare say that I would not hesitate to travel there with such an accomplished swordsman." He reaches out to the tailor and claps him soundly on the shoulder.

A half smile forms upon the Tailor's lips. "Was it not you that suggested that you needed none to travel your borders? I seem to recall that you allowed me to come not to lend aid in defense, but to allow me to satisfy my curiosity over the sight for the forge." Standing upright now, the tailor resheaths his weapon. As he does, he glances around. "Is this not too far outside the protected realm for our smiths to safely operate?"

"Well..." Celeborn takes a deep breath, "Perhaps I misrepresented the location. A little. We would need to expand our patrols to cover a wider area, and perhaps create another outpost. The truth is that nothing can ever be guaranteed about our safety, and we need always be watchful and on guard. Had I doubted your skill, I would have insisted on the Commander's presence." He glances skyward at the towering trees, and cannot help but allow a smile to pass his lips. "We still have a bit further to travel."

"Fair enough," Galharth says as he moves a few steps along the path towards the south. Turning to glance at the Lord, he tilts his head. "Which direction would you have us look?"

As the pair walk down the worn path, the conversation meanders. It is not long before their voices fade along with their shadowy forms among the trees.