8/13/2008
================== Eldarin Calendar <in Sindarin> ===================
IC time is: Morning
IC date is: 21 Iavas <Autumn>
Moon phase: Last Quarter <HIDDEN>
Earendil: Gil-Estel is not visible.
IC year is: Loa 20 o Yen 22, Nelandran o Endor <TA 3044>
----------------------------------------------------------------------
RL time: Tue Aug 12
=====================================================================

Outside the South Gate

To the west and the north lies the village of Bree, chief seat of the Bree-lands. The town is nestled under the western
flank of Bree-hill, a sizable mass against the skyline. The Great East Road crosses by a causeway into Bree, which is
surrounded by a large hedge. Where the road pierces the hedge, a wall thirty feet wide and fifteen feet high has been
erected. The stones are set well, with little mortar, but obvious care. Inset in the middle of the wall, under an arching
row of stones, is a sturdy wooden door with two windows: one high, one low.

Behind the gate and hedge, the higher slopes of Bree-hill rise up. The Road runs south from the gate, in a straight line,
before bending southeast around one of Bree-hill's 'feet'.


Contents:
Galharth
Nioniel
Maglind

=====================================================================

The morning light bubbles along the mountains to the east. Rays of bright yellow and cheerful oranges dance along the
snowcapped Mountain Ridge, all seemingly calling the elves home. A soft wind blows from the south, bringing the scent of dry
air and thirsty foliage. Does the drought still have hold the land, or have the rains come? It's hard to tell at this point.

Outside the camp, a figure stands peering at the landscape. More specific, Galharth stands staring at the decrepit building.
Curiosity dances in his gaze and he takes a step closer. Drawing his dagger, he seems to be considering something as he
glances from the dagger to the building.

Newly relieved from his watch, Maglind exits a tent, a heel of bread tucked into his mouth. Approaching Galharth's side, the
marchwarden peers curiously at the Tailor, then to the wooden buildint, but says naught.

"Looking for adventures, master Tailor?" Nioniel calls out cheerfully from behind Galharth as she exits one of the nearby
tents. Pausing, the elleth gives a brief but graceful stretch of her arms to greet the morning light. Inclining her pale
face toward the rising sun, she smiles as the warm rays caress her cheeks gently. Lowering her gaze again however, Nioniel
seems slightly troubled now by Galharth's movements: "Is something the matter?"

Glancing toward Maglind, a hint of a grin plays on her lips, but still she too falls silent now, letting her gaze drift
toward the suspicious building that has captured their attention.

Sounds pierce the Tailor's concentration, and he turns to find not only the Seamstress, but the Marchwarden as well.
"Adventure? I dare say that an abandoned building is about the extent of the adventures I care to to explore." Looking down
to the dagger in his hand he purses his lips as if considering something. "I had thought to practice tossing my dagger as
did the humans with their dart game."

Taking a bite of breakfast and chewing thoughtfully, Maglind eyes the sharp blade. "And if something is living in there?" he
asks, pointing at the somewhat-usable door. "I don't want to be chased by a Man or a Hobbit."

Nioniel's gaze passes between Galharth and Maglind twice before a smile creeps in fully. Relaxing, she places her hands on
her hips and chuckles: "Is that all it is? Target practice?" A sigh (albeit an exadurated one) escapes the seamstress and
she shakes her head gently, "And here, you had me wondering if some monster was hiding in the darkness there ... anyone can
see it is abandoned. Surely nothing lives there ... No respectable hobbit or human would dare!"

Taking hold of her cloudy blue skirt, the elleth begins strolling toward the building. "I'll prove it to you - it's
perfectly safe."

The Tailor's brow furrows slightly and he turns to peer at Nioniel. "What else might it be?" he asks in a teasing voice.
"Certainly a drake would not dare showing its hideous face in this peaceful area!" Galharth agrees loudly, though he pales
slightly as the elleth heads towards the building. "Certainly it isn't safe Nioniel! I was planning to toss my dagger there
and with my skill, there is no assurance of safety!"

"There are humans less respectable than the Rangers, Nioniel!" calls Maglind in warning, stuffing his bread into a pocket as
he runs after the elleth. Stopping after a few paces, the marchwarden turns and shrugs. "If Nioniel is going to go there,
there must be other ways to practice. What if I spar with you, as we do with swords?"

Nioniel casts a wary glance back at Galharth and Maglind. Laughing at the tailor's words, the elleth turns again to resume
her walk to the building. Waving off the marchwarden kindly, she adds over her shoulder: "I know well enough that there are
humans less noble than the Rangers ... I will be cautious - I promise."

That being said, the elleth leaves the others to their sparring and creeps up to the doorway - or what's left of a doorway
- of the building in question. A nervous ttremble passes through her, though Nioniel is trying her level best not to seem
frightened, and her shaking fingers slowly withdraw the glimmering length of her sharp sewing shears from a hidden pocket in
her skirt.

"We've already learned that there are humans with little regard." Mutters Galharth as he watches Maglind chase after
Nioniel. When he turns and makes the offer to spar, the Tailor tilts his head and holds up his dagger, "Spar with this? You
jest!"

At the creek of the doorway, the Craftmaster steps forward cautiously. "Be careful Nioniel! We're far from everything and
everyone who might help us."

"A shorter blade needs greater speed," Maglind answers to Galharth, slightly rueful. "Let us follow Nioniel, then," he
decides. "Perhaps this is inhabitable?"

The door creaks open but alas, the sun is at a poor angle to admit much, if any light. Still standing rigid and still,
Nioniel peers into the darkness before her with more fear visable in her expression than the elleth probably knows. "It
smells so musty and strange ... and a draught of cold seems to seeth from it," she whispers tensely. "I think it cannot have
been inhabitable for a very long time." Her words of course are directed at Maglind, to whom she inclines her face now,
looking away from the building.

As the Marchwarden suggests, the Craftmaster follows the Seamstress. "Had they taken greater care in its construction, then
perhaps it might be able to house whoever might wish to live here." Pausing at the doorway, Galharth wrinkles his nose with
distaste. "I'm not impressed..." he says as he enters into the building behind Nioniel.

"I tell you, we're leaving at the first warning," Maglind mutters softly, keeping his dagger near at hand as he follows the
two Elves. "Though I doubt anyone will live here -- see that dust."

A chuckle escapes Nioniel and it echoes eerily through the darkness of the building. Before she can make any reply to
Galharth however, her laughter seems to have stirred more than the air as a raspy screech and a ghostly flutter of wings
dives down past the elves heads and out of the building in a flash. The buff-coloured bird whizzes past Maglind and off into
the trees as well ... but not before a frightened scream escapes Nioniel and the elleth ducks out of the building again, off
and running.

Dust flies! Feathers fall! sawdust settled for ages on end mingle with the mess to create a shower of things undesirable!
First a screech and then a scream.... all followed by a squeek of distaste and a hurried departure from a Tailor who's main
concern seems to be to get the dust from his sleeves. Whilst Nioniel might head for the trees, Galharth heads for the tents!
Clearly dirt, dust and feathers are the victor this day!

Head jerking up at the sound, Maglind is immediately blinded by an interesting blend of dirt and feathers. He hears the
scream. He hears the shriek. Squinting about, the marchwarden, too, dashes out the door.