9/1/2008

================== Eldarin Calendar <in Sindarin> ===================
IC time is: Afternoon
IC day is: Orgaladhad <Trees-day>
IC date is: 24 Firith <Fading>
Moon phase: Waning Crescent <VISIBLE>
Earendil: Gil-Estel is not visible.
IC year is: Loa 20 o Yen 22, Nelandran o Endor <TA 3044>
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RL time: Mon Sep 01
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Village Crossroads
You stand at the crossroads of the Beorning township that is situated in this part of Middle-Earth. To the east lies the
forest of Mirkwood and all the wonders that lurk within. To the west lies the mighty Anduin River and beyond the soaring
peaks of the Misty Mountains jut skyward.

Sunlight streams down upon the crossroads, although the immense Oak Tree that is situated in the centre casts lengthy
shadows across the area. During the daylight hours much activity can be seen as people bustle about their duties. The Great
Bear Inn is situated on one corner of the crossroads and as always, it is open for business. Opposite the Inn are the
stables where one may keep their steeds and know that they are in safe hands. As you gaze to both the north and the south,
you can see that much more of the town lies beyond where you stand at this moment.

The sky is clear. The early evening autumn air is warm around you. The moon is waning crescent.

Contents:
Maglind
Thorhur
Cecilia
Galharth
Vernon (Played by Mobeorn)
Ostiel
=====================================================================

The sky has clouded over and the air is crisp. The sun barely peeks through the thick veil that covers it. Leaves drift off
the few trees, falling to the ground in brilliant shades of red, orange, yellow, and green. The village that the camp has
stopped in has been quiet most of the day, with few people about.

Emerging from the camp of the Galadhrim is an ellon clothed in his black cowls. At his side hangs his Longsword. His boots
crunch over the leaves. He sniffs the air, then turns.

He waits.

And soon, he is not alone: the soft sound of leaves being crushed underfoot herald the presence of another. A small bird
bursts out of the trees, twittering as it takes to the skies. Maglind looks about quizically. "The leaves are golden," the
Elf says to Thorhur, "yet they are dying."

The Knight tilts his head only slightly at the newcomer. He turns his eyes, blue sapphires, up towards the trees. "It is a
shame," he replies, watching two leaves shake themselves loose of the branch that holds them and flutter to earth, "It is a
mystery, too." His voice is mysterious, and slowly his gaze moves east...east towards Lothlorien.

"Do you wonder?" the marchwarden asks, stepping forward. "Why do they die, but the mellyrn thrive throughout the winter?
They are of different kin, as Elves are to Men, but that does not set them apart by itself."

Coughing slightly, Maglind looks about the village. "You called me? We have reached their home, so we can stay for a while
before we move on."

"Yet not so different are we from Men," The Knight murmurs, "Lies and deceit seperates us. I only hope that lies and deceit
do not seperate the mellyrn from these trees." His eyes linger for a moment longer upon the leaves, then he turns towards
Maglind.

"I erm, did indeed call you," Thorhur replies, somewhat sheepishly, "I wanted to ask you whether you could assist me in
improving my technique with the blade." His ears redden slightly, but nevertheless he removes holds his blade up, letting
the light reflect off of it.

"Trees cannot lie," Maglind says, faintly amused by the thought.

Glancing about for villagers, the marchwarden discreetly draws his own blade. "I do not know how much use I would be," he
replies hesitantly, swinging his arm a little. "Let us spar, and you can choose what to learn yourself."


The Knight's smile returns twofold and he assumes a sparring stance. The birds have ceased their chattering and the howling
wind waits with hushed breath.

His movements are a blur. He turns and brings his sword towards Maglind's shoulder, turning it towards the flat side and the
last possible moment.

Thorhur attacks Maglind with his Longsword, but he misses by a long shot.

Deftly dodging blade, flat and edge, Maglind darts for the Knight's hip with the tip of his blade -- a gentle blow, aimed to
do no more than to nick the belt.

Maglind attacks Thorhur with his Longsword, but he misses by a mile.

Thorhur moves back just in time. To him it is like a dance. He steps nimbly away from the path of Maglind's blade, then
lashes out with the flat side once more, hoping to strike the Marchwarden gently upon the stomach.

Thorhur attacks Maglind with his Longsword, but Maglind parries the attack with his Longsword!

What might have ended as a mild stomachache ends in a crash as blade meets blade. Passing the sword in front of his face to
inspect the edge, Maglind steps away satisfied. A faintly challenging glance is given Thorhur, ere he dashes forward again:
the blade-flat swinging towards the Knight's arm.

Maglind attacks Thorhur with his Longsword and mildly wounds him!

The gentle touch of metal upon his arm does not stop the Knight. It motivates even more rather. Stepping back from the blow,
he turns the sword towards the flat side but then swings it swiftly towards the Marchwarden's side.

If he is daunted by the challenging glance from Maglind, he does not show it.

Thorhur attacks Maglind with his Longsword, but he misses by a handspan.

Veering off to the side as the sword whistles by, the marchwarden grins and returns with an attack of his own, bringing his
blade-flat down towards the Knight's sword-hand.

Maglind attacks Thorhur with his Longsword and mildly wounds him!

The hand smarts yes, but it is not enough to hinder the Knight. Taking a more defensive stance, he turns his body slightly
before slicing through the air and bringing the blade down upon Maglind's right shoulder.

Thorhur attacks Maglind with his Longsword, but Maglind parries the attack with his Longsword!

Another clash of metal upon metal -- no doubt the peace of the afternoon is now ruined by the noise.

Swinging his blade back from his shoulder, Maglind glances behind himself, then back to Thorhur. "Why so quiet?" he wonders
aloud.

"I was putting all my concentration into my movements," The Knight replies, lowering his sword an inch or two, "Yet still it
was all in vain. You parried but never once did I hit you."

He ponders something though, for several moments, then smiles. "I suppose I learned that when you are sword fighting you
must be both offensive and defensive. If I had been both, I suppose I could have dodged more of your hits."

Cecilia approaches the elven camp, her strawberry blonde hair pulled back into a loose ponytail. She stops near where the
two elves are sparring, tucking her hands into her coat pockets while she watches.

"Yet you should not be distracted by maintaining both," the marchwarden states, letting the longsword dig into the
leaf-coated ground. "Defense is much more vulnerable than when you are shooting arrows, because the enemy has a chance to
attack you. Try to minimize your openings."

Thorhur smiles at the Marchwarden's words, taking them in. He smiles even more so when he sees Cecilia. "Good day," he says
kindly to the human, putting his Longsword at his side once more.

Cecilia gives Thorhur a friendly smile when he greets her. "Hello!" She answers cheerfully, "I came to see if you and your
traveling companions are comfortable with your visit to our village." She says, wandering closer since they seem to be done
with their practice.

More than one Beorning villager has stopped to watch this scene--in particular a tall redheaded man that comes up behind
Cecilia. There's some sort of family resemblance between him and Cecilia--perhaps their eyes or the shape of their noses.
"These the elves I'm told you're in love with," the man mutters to Cecilia.

"Indeed, we are well," Maglind replies courteously in Westron, slipping the sword quietly into its sheath beneath his cloak.
Turning as a new, unknown man approaches, the marchwarden bows politely, but looks faintly confused at the villager's
remark.

"I believe we are quite comfortable yes," Thorhur replies cheerfully, his smile never wavering even at the appearance of
Mobeorn. From behind him a rustling comes and he turns. "Knight Thorhur," a young elleth says, "You are needed within the
camp."

The Knight turns and nods to each in turn, last of all to Maglind. He mouths the words, "I'll explain later," (in response
to Mobeorn's remarks) to the Marchwarden before heading once more into the mass of tents.

"Someone is always needed somewhere," Galharth says as he approaches the gathering, pausing to watch as Thorhur departs.
Rolling his shoulders as if to work out some stiffness he offers both Maglind and Cecilia a smile. "Well met, and good
afternoon." Pausing to glance at the unknown man, his smile remains as he adds, "And well met to you sir. I am Galharth."

Cecilia turns to look at Vernon, lifting a brow. She gives him no immediate answer and instead looks back to the elves. "If
you have any questions, or concerns.. I'll be happy to help you." She continues in the friendly voice and Galharth in
particular is given a fond smile as he approaches. "Hello Galharth." The young woman greets in a sweet tone.

"I'm Vernon. Eriksson," the redhead steps forward, giving Galharth an appraising look. "So this the one you're sweet on,
Cecilia?" he asks, turning to the woman. "What do ya like about him?" Vernon then nods toward Maglind, as well. "You elves
always fight like that? Spar that way? You actually -win- any battles, fighting like that?" There actually might be mockery
in that.

From the camp approaches another of the eldar, Ostiel O' Cuigrithweg, a cloth-covered bowl cradled in her palms, a quiet,
generous smile lightening her countenance. She comes up beside Maglind with a light step, though her eyes are somewhat
guarded (it cannot be determined why this is so). "I thought that I might find you here, Maglind, and Thorhur as well. How
strange to just miss him." She looks to the camp, where the Knight's fading figure can yet be seen. "Ah, well. 'Tis his
loss. I have brought you sustenance."

"Galharth," Maglind says briefly, before turning slightly pink at the Man's comment. "I am by profession an archer," he
says, struggling to maintain composure as he gazes at Vernon. "If you have any doubts about us -- for we are here to aid you
in the orcs plaguing the vale -- I would be happy to prove otherwise in the next skirmish."

Taking a deep breath, the marchwarden turns just in time to see Ostiel and her bowl: an apprehensive expression covers his
once-upset face.

Narrowing his eyes at Vernon, there is a slight hint of dislike flickering in the ellon's expression before he forces a
neutral glance. "A pleasure to meet you Vernon." Galharth says flatly in the common tongue. Turning as Ostiel arrives, the
Tailor nods his head. "Good afternoon, Ostiel." he says in sindarin, in a much warmer tone.

Listening to Maglind, he nods. "Maglind's skills lie as an archer, whilst my own is with the longsword. As as he has said,
so too do I offer, should proof of our skills be needed." The Tailor says flatly as he glances at Vernon.

Cecilia twists back to look at Vernon, flashing him that disarming smile. 'Oh, Vernon.. stop it. You always tease.' She
gives him a pat on the arm, then turns her grey eyes back to Galharth. Her cheeks are faintly flushed in embarrassment,
'Don't listen to my brother, he's only joking.' Is that her heel seeking out Vernon's foot to press down upon it?
"<UNINTELLIGIBLE SPEECH>" She grumbles softly.

"What are you discussing," Ostiel inquires skeptically and generally in the elven tongue, offering the humans a wary,
unconciously proud glance. She pulls back the cloth from the bowl partially, revealing a thick stew. "Do not look at me
thusly, Maglind. I will not poison you."

"You're here to do -what-?" Vernon asks, clearly surprised by Maglind's words. "You're helping us with the beasts and
darkness in Mirkwood?" There's skepticism in his expression, but it seems to be born of true surprise and not aggresssion.
He scratches his head. "Where are you folks from again? Thranduil's folk?"

"I...ow!" Vernon starts to continue, but Cecilia is stomping down on his foot. "Cut that out!" And then, even more
surprised--"He?" Pointing to the tailor. "Saved your life?"

As Galharth glances to Cecilia, the Tailor shakes his head. 'I doubt he teases dear lady, but worry not for I've found the
sharpness of the human tongue a regular thing.' he says in common with a slight shrugs. 'It seems a defensive thing and it
bothers us not.' Glancing to Ostiel, he offers the lady a warm smile. "<Sindarin> Worry not Ostiel, they speak of the
attraction humans often have for the firstborn, and doubt for our ability to offer some defense."

Frowning he looks at Vernon, and then to Maglind. "<Sindarin> Has this been promised Maglind?" He asks softly in the elven
tongue.

"He did.. A troll almost crushed me flat with a boulder." Cecilia says, turning to look at Vernon excitedly. "Galharth was
quite brave and distracted the creature, drawing it away from me and the others in our group. He was badly injured." Then
she looks back to the elven tailor, "Did I thank you properly, Galharth? You should have dinner with my family. It's the
least I can do." She smiles at the elf, "It would be an honor for you.. my father is a Tree Skald."

"<Sindarin> Um ..." Maglind stammers politely, looking down into the bowl, "<Sindarin> I am not very hungry. Perhaps
Galharth would appreciate it?"

'Mobeorn told us of the threat to the Anduin Vale,' the elven marchwarden says, looking back at Vernon. 'Where we are is our
own knowledge, but know that should the orcs cross the Anduin, we would share a danger.' Looking back at Galharth, he raises
an eyebrow. "<Sindarin> I have not given my word, but this problem concerns us too."

"Elves..." Vernon mutters at Maglind's answer, somewhat displeased. Still, his eyes widen at Cecilia--the man doesn't want
to believe what she has told him. But believe it he must, because he now turns to Galharth again, frowning. "This is true,
what she says? You risked your own life to save my sister's?"

Ostiel smirks at Maglind, shaking her head. "<Sindarin>I'll return it to the pot, Maglind, where someone can appreciate it.
Good eve." She inclines her head politely in farewell to the others before turning to make her way back to the camp.

'Thank me?' Galharth asks in confusion, 'Of course you did, for was it not you that aided in my healing? Certainlty that is
thanks enough.' Pressing his lips together in consideration, 'Though I would not dismiss an invitation to dinner, for that
would be rude and I am far from rude.'

Turning to Maglind, the pressed lips frown deeply. "<Sindarin> What promised you offer to aid these people would likely be
considered an extension from the lord and lady, and neither would deny what you decided." Turning to Vernon, the Tailor nods
his head. 'I did, and for others in our camp. We traveled with many non combatants, and there was no choice.' Frowning, he
pauses his word in consideration as Ostiel speaks. "<Sindarin> Ostiel? Are you alright?" The Craftmaster asks quickly in
concern, taking a step towards the healer.

Cecilia gives Galharth a delighted smile, grinning as she often does when things turn out how she likes. Her gaze strays to
the elven healer, but has no idea what the woman has spoken. "I will see to the arrangements. It might be a day or two. I'll
let you know." She turns back to her brother, resting her hand on his arm. "I'm going to see your wife, Dagur said she spoke
of back pains. She says the baby kicks a lot.. must be a boy that takes after you." She says with a smirk, then gives a tug.
"Come with me." She implores, trying to drag Vernon away with her.

"<Sindarin> I did not mean to offend her," Maglind says hesitantly, looking back at the healer. With a sigh, he turns back
to the Beornings.

"Oh...all right," Vernon nods reluctantly to his sister. "I will see you at dinner, then, sir," he does manage to say to
Galharth as Cecilia drags him away. He's still looking at the tailor in some surprise, though.

It's at about this time that Mobeorn can be seen strolling over toward the elven camp, lifting a hand in greeting as he
nears.

It with a touch of surprise (only a touch) that Ostiel turns back to Galharth, a ready smile on her face that does not quite
reach her eyes. "I am well, thank you," she replies softly, elven words coming out in a private tone. To Maglind she offers
a apologetic smile. " Forgive me, mellon nin. It was not my intention to take offense. I spoke in jest."

Nodding towards Vernon, the Tailor glances towards Cecilia and Vernon as they depart. 'I look forward to the dinner!' he
calls out after the departing Beornings. Looking back to Maglind and then Ostiel, Galharth presses his lips together in
uncertainty. "<Sindarin> Would you like me to escort you back to the camp, Ostiel?"

"<Sindarin> If I may make amends, I will eat the soup," Maglind says to Ostiel uncertainly, fidgeting with the hem of his
cloak.

The presence of another seems to ease him, his shoulders relaxing as he raises a hand in reply to Mobeorn's greeting.

Ostiel shakes her head, laughing lightly. "You do not have to eat anything you do not desire to, Maglind. I am truly not
offended." She tucks the bowl against her side, shrugging lightly at Galharth's offer, as if she doesn't not care. Her smile
to him is carefully constructed, however, as is the offered arm. "You may," she says quietly in Sindarin, "if that is your
wish."

"Is something wrong?" Mobeorn asks as he comes within speaking distance, his eyes on Maglind first. "You seemed a bit tense
there." He sniffs teh air, though, head (and nose) turning briefly toward Ostiel, and his eyes lighting up just briefly.

"My wishes are many, Ostiel," Galharth says with a half smile, though he closes the distance between himself and the elleth.
"I suppose it would be nice to escort you back to the camp, and should you grow tired of my company I'll leave you safely in
your tent."