9/3/2008

================== Eldarin Calendar <in Sindarin> ===================
IC time is: Nighttime < About 10:29 PM >
IC day is: Orgaladhad <Trees-day>
IC date is: 30 Firith <Fading>
Moon phase: New <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: Wed Sep 03 20:29:53 2008
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Anduin East Bank
The roaring river passes by to the west, though it widens here across unerodable rock, and compared to the mighty maelstrom it becomes as it travels further south in the distance, it is shallow enough that the waters can be forded. In the middle of the river there is a huge, flat topped rock approximately sixty feet high which breaks the current. The startings of a village begins along the road that leads from the ford to the east. The road is scored with the marks of feet and hooves. To the north and south the village rises into a thriving community.

Daylight shines down on the west-east road, warming the road and land with the light it sheds. People can be heard milling about in the village to the north and south.

The murky sky is overcast and dreary. The midday autumn air is warm and slightly humid around you. The moon is not visible.

Contents:
Galharth
Mobeorn
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Night has fallen, and the sky is shielded by a heavy layer of clouds that has laid overhead for the past few days. In the
evening the humans have fallen quiet, but the elves are active. Tents are dismantled, horses are burdened with camp objects,
and fires are doused. It is a time of activity, for the firstborn that live to the south travel south and away from the land
of the bears.

In the confusion that seems prevalant, the Tailor Galharth moves slowly though the camp, taking note of acivity and items
packed. Clearly his own efforts are done and he now seems to be seeking to help others.

At least one human, or seemingly human, moves also through this night--Mobeorn comes down toward the elven
camp and the river bank, walking from the direction of the village. Perhaps the elves here recognize him by now? He moves
through the camp's edges, looking for a familiar face, it might seem.

Pausing his progression through the camp, the Tailor looks upon the advancing human. Indeed, many now recognize this figure.
Some are wary of him due to his peculiar skills, and other lift hands to greet him. Alas, this elven company holds many
personalities and all react differently.

One among those who greet Mobeorn is Galharth, and he raises his hand warmly. "Well met and good eve, Mobeorn." He calls
out.

"Galharth!" Mobeorn grins as he spots the tailor. The shapeshifter doesn't seem to notice any wary glances
given to him--more than likely he is used to it, perhaps. "I was looking for your Captain...can't seem to spot him..." He
scratches his head briefly. "Are you elves always up at night like this? Sleep through the day?"

Looking right and then left, the Tailor frowns. "Maglind? I have no idea where he's gotten off to at the moment. I would
think he's off with the advance guard to assure that we have a clear path for our departure." Galharth says with a smile as
he moves closer to the Beorning. Laughing at the man's last words, the Tailor shakes his head. "Sleep, as you might call it
is for the injured, but the rest of us move in our pursuits day and into night." Halting his words and looking to the sky,
the Craftmaster sighs softly as he looks to the clouds above. "The night is a favored time, but with the absence of the
stars, our night is much like our days."

"Your departure, yes...I spoke to Maglind about that the other day, in fact. I offered to send some of my
folk down with you all to escort you, and then your guards would return back with us and head into the forest..." He glances
at the tailor. "Don't suppose you'd know much about that, though..."

Frowning deeply, the Craftmaster shakes his head. "Alas, I know little of the Guards plans. They worry little of my lace and
buttons, and I do not concern myself with their efforts." Sweeping his hand towards the camp, Galharth looks out over the
preparing firstborn and sighs softly. "We pack now, and will leave before Anor's rise in the morning. If you've arranged
with Maglind to travel with us, then you are welcome indeed."

"Lace and buttons?" Mobeorn can't help but laugh at that, but it might seem to at least be good natured,
not vindictive. He grins at the tailor, raising a hand to slap the elf on the back, even, then hesitates.

"Ah..right..your guards. Well, the Laird decided that he'll send me and a few of our folk with you all. And then we can
travel back together into Mirkwood and the threat there. Though...well you don't expect us to go -into- your lands, do you?"

"Worry not, for once we are near, there is little worry that we'll be met and escorted the remainder of the way home."
Galharth says with a chuckle. "In fact we're bound to be met by more than normal for we've been gone so long."

Tilting his head, the Tailor frowns. "Do you suppose there would be some need of an additional sword? I long to return home,
and yet I'd not see Maglind venture north alone if he needs me."

"You?!" Mobeorn takes no pain to hide his surprise. "I thought you worry about lace and buttons, Tailor.
Why would you want to venture into the dark woods with us? Last time I was there, I was nearly killed. Damn close to it?" He
peers at the elf. "I wouldn't think you'd be the sort to look for that kind of adventure."

Offering the human a glance that offers no hint of emotion, Galharth replies. "I seek no adventure, and in fact prefer the
calmness of a crafters life, but I'll not see a friend face dangers if I am wanted at his side." Shrugging his shoulders,
gently favoring his left after all the days since the troll attack, the Tailor peers intently at the Human. "Certainly our
combined forces will face anything that might linger in the Mirkwood, though you know better than any what lies there now.
Do you suspect a trap?"

"Suit yourself," Mobeorn shrugs. "I'm not about to turn down an extra sword, and besides, if your guard
agrees to it, then it's none of my business. STrange...I can't figure your kind out."

The shapeshifter isn't afraid to meet the elf's eyes, though after a while his own gaze drifts off toward the mountains and
then toward the forest. "Let me tell you something, tailor. If you deal with the enemy as often as I have...and I haven't
been at it long, even...then you suspect traps everywhere."

"I'll speak with Maglind before we reach our borders and leave the decision to him." Galharth says with a slight upturning
of his lips. "He's an odd one, and I can not speak his mind. Time will tell, I'm sure."

Frowning as talk turns to enemies, the Craftmaster folds his arms over his chest. "I think it a fair thing to say that we've
all faced more than we've desired, and the waves coming forth from the east grow more intense and persistent than we wish."
Turning now to the southeast, a distant darkness looms even in the night. "Has anyone been sent by a different route to the
Dale lands and the men living there? Perhaps they can aid us from the east whilst a force presses on the eastern front."

"You'll have time to speak of it, that's for certain," Mobeorn nods. "If I'm remembering right, it's at
least five days from here to the ford at the Gladden River...and that's if you're traveling at top speed the whole time. As
for Thranduil's folk...I would think your kind would know more of that than we do. There's a way through the forest to that
elven kingdom, to the north of here, but the path is dangerous. We don't tread it."

"I know nothing of Thranduil's realm, and it is long past that our peoples have mingled." Galharth says with a shrug.
Laughing suddenly the Tailor shakes his head. "How very unhelpful I must seem at times." Shaking his head and drawing his
arms behind his back he looks to the others moving about in preparation. "It is only now that I see how distracted and
scattered I must seem in matters of battle and war. I do hope that Maglind has done a better job assuring you of our intents
and capabilities."

Shaking his head, Moberon laughs. "A little scattered, yes. But...I'll talk to your guard instead, when
there is time. You won't leave without my folk?" he then asks, frowning at the preparations in the elven camp. "They're not
used to leaving in the middle of the night, but I'll wake them and bring them down here shortly. Or rather, I'll pull them
away from their mugs of mead, more likely."

Mobeorn already begins to head toward the village again.