9/4/2008

================== Eldarin Calendar <in Sindarin> ===================
IC time is: Nighttime < About 11:48 PM >
IC day is: Orbelain <Valar-day>
IC date is: 32 Firith <Fading>
Moon phase: Waxing 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: Thu Sep 04 12:56:21 2008
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Galadhrim Camp
You find yourself among a party of traveling elves. Gray tents are scattered about, camouflaged and hidden discreetly among
the grass. All is quiet, and yet all seems busy, as the Quendi go about their daily camp routines with a dreamlike quality.
Some tend to the food, while others tend to the tents and other gear. The camp has no quality of permanence about it, as it
has noticably moved further on its journey each day.

Contents:
Galharth
Elladan
Ranaentaure
Mobeorn
Cecilia
=====================================================================

The cloud cover overhead is fractured, allowing occasional views of a star filled sky through the clouds. A cold breeze
blows from the north, bringing a crisp hint of winters breath to the lands. The scent is of the earth, which lends heavily
to soil and grasses. Autumn is here and now fading, but the air is refreshing. On this eve, the Galadhrim are ready to move,
waiting only for the Beorning folk that have asked to escort them south.

"The travel is short," Mutters Galharth as he looks eastward towards the human village. "And the humans are not used to
using all hours within the day."

The pale light of the stars reveals a grey figure that walks up to the group of Galadhrim with grace and determination. Long
raven hair flows over grey-cloaked shoulders as this one approaches his kin. "The days of the Secondborn are short," says he
in Sindarin and then bows to Galharth. "Mae govannen, mellyn. A lucky meeting is this, I assume you are returning from the
Congress?"

As he speaks, it becomes apparent that twenty more elves have come with him, bearing longbows and other gear of warfare.

Watching the approach of a party, and as they grow nearer, the firstborn in the lead becomes clear. A smile comes to the
Tailor's lips for the face is known among the Galadhrim. "Short and at times almost delaying when a union of our two peoples
bring us together." Galharth says as he steps closer. Pausing a moment to take note of the party accompanying the dark
haired ellon, his smile fades slightly. "Indeed, we now return from the congress, with only a few days before reaching the
dreamflower." Glancing to the south and then back to Elladan, he adds, "Your grandparents send good tidings, and they will
be glad to know that I've managed to deliver the message to two of three of their grandchildren."

Joy brightens the features of Elrond's son. "Good news from the Dreamflower are always to me. But I also take it that you
went across the High Pass as you rest here. Surely you made camp in Imladris then, is everything well there? We have been
roaming the Greenwood for months and have not heard any tidings from across the mountains since."

"We spent a few days in the Valley, and spoke with several, including your sister." Galharth says softly as he considers
what news might be said. "All seemed well, and those who attended the Congress are now safely at home." Drawing his hands
behind his back, the Craftmaster tilts his head slightly. "What other news I might have is of Bree, and creatures lurking in
the Shaws and the High Pass, but for one such as you this might seem commonplace."

At this point Mobeorn makes his way into the elven camp--he seems to be a familiar figure among them, even if some watch him
warily. "Tailor!" he calls out, spotting Galharth first and recognizing him. He makes his way there.

"Not different, I assume, from the news I have to tell of Sarn Goriwing," mutters the half elf. At the arrival of Mobeorn,
he waves briefly in greeting. "The dark fortress is buzzing with orcs," he continues in the elven tongue. "We slew some of
them, apparently a chieftain as well, but what does it matter?"

"It matters." Galharth says in a grave voice. Opening his mouth to say more, he pauses as he hears a familiar voice. "Well
met, Mobeorn!" he calls out, drawing a hand up and motioning for the Beorning to join them.

Glancing back to Elladan, he continues to speak. "For each one downed, another rises, and yet, at some point the steady flow
of the wicked will be exhausted."

'Herion, Galharth,' Mobeorn nods to both, steppign to their side. "<Sindarin> The Captain--was that the one that the dwarves
and the Beornings slew in battle?" he asks Elladan, slipping easily into the elven tongue. "<Sindarin> And we were planning
to go back into the forest with a ******* force, to seek you out, in fact. But I would hear your news and not interfere with
your discussions...if they are private, I can leave."

"Your kin resides in this land," replies Elladan, "and they have no love for the Shadow. If the travelling elves do not mind
it, I would ask you to stay and speak with us, young Mobeorn."

"I do not mind one bit," Galharth says quickly. "It is a common problem, so let there be no secrets among those that might
join to bring the shadow to an end." Quickly glancing around, as if to seek someone out, the Tailor looks almost
disappointed that his search is in vain. "I had hoped to find one within our guard that might know more of our plans to work
alongside the Beorning people." Sighing softly he smiles. "Ah well, at least I'm of the court so what is shared is sure to
reach the ears of those who might need it."

"Then I'll stay and listen," Mobeorn nods, back to Westron for the moment. "Though I've not much to add. The tailor here is
a better spinner of tales. And aye, I can carry word of our plans back to Grimbeorn. He has designated me to speak for him
on this." With that he falls silent to listen.

"I would think you have much more to add than we do," Galharth says to Mobeorn. "For we have only heard of the need of
additional help, and both of you...." he says pausing to sweep a hand towards Elladan, "Have faced the evil that lurks
within the forest." Pausing to press his lips tightly, he seems to consider something before continuing to speak. "Though,
from what we have been told, it seems the same dark force that passed by our lands to the south. It was good news indeed to
hear that the Troll Grot was likely killed."

"That is indeed good news," rejoices Elladan, if only briefly. "Trolls are a common pest on both sides of the mountains and
it seems that the Dark Lord has sent reinforcements north to the mountains of the Greenwood. I do not like this development,
so I wonder if my brother and I should come with you and hold council with our grandparents," he speaks to the tailor.

A tall figure in a forest-camouflage-patterned cloak emerges from a tent nearby the little knot of elves and Beorning
engaged in conversation. Ranaentaure looks from Galharth to the unfamiliar face near him and pauses, perhaps intending to
meet this stranger, when his eyes fall on Mobeorn. Just as quickly he averts his eyes, and stands there near the tent he
just emerged from as if he could avoid notice by just not moving any further.

"The enemy itself has sent reinforcements north?" Mobeorn now blinks at Elladan. "How many reinforcements and to what end?"
Out of the corner of his eye, Mobeorn glimpses movement. He turns toward Ranaentaure, blinks once or twice, then smiles.
"The arrow's out!" he calls, seemingly not at all angry about it.

"Indeed, the one eyed beast took great delight in bringing pain and suffering to many from our lands, myself included."
Galharth says with a slight shutter. Recovering quickly, his expression takes on a note of concern. "Indeed, if a shadow
grows in strength and size, then it might quickly overshadow what the peoples of the Mirkwood and its neighbours can manage.
A council with your grandparents might well determine if a more formal course of action is required."

Catching sight of Ranaentaure, he lifts a brow and quickly glances to Mobeorn. Concern flickers only a moment before the
human makes mention of the arrow in a calm tone. "We're allies, and perhaps an arrangement can be made so that Mobeorn might
also join in on the council which Elladan speaks."

Ranaentaure's eyes lift to Mobeorn so he can offer a slim smile and an appreciative nod of his head in answer to the
congenial greeting. "Very kind of you," he says, and then steps forward to add himself to the little group, looking from one
to the next curiously.

"We're allies...." Mobeorn shrugs to Ranaentaure. "As the tailor here says. And...well, since you folk better know exactly
what I am, there haven't been problems now, have there?" He smiles at that, Galharth's words drawing his attention.

"An arrangement? Grandparents?" He scratches his chin. "I don't catch what you mean."

Peering intently at Mobeorn, the Tailor takes a step closer. Tilting his head one way and then then other, he muses softly
as he seems to be considering his next words. "As I've said before, those who venture into our land are often lost and not
seen again, but would you, Mobeorn, enter these lands if I were to promise you safe passage even if you would be a guarded
guest?"

Elladan tilts his head and looks at Galharth with surprise as the tailor offers a passage into the Golden Wood to the
Beorning. His look is questioning, yet he remains quiet.

Ranaentaure's eyes turn sidewise on Galharth as the offer is presented to Mobeorn, but the hunter holds his tongue and
stands silent listening to the others talk.

Cecilia approaches the group. Who can say where she was? Off collecting herbs if the bunch of weeds and twigs in her hand
are any guess. The young woman kneels down next to her pack, carefully tucking her find safely away. She glances up at the
group and offers a pleasant smile but doesn't interupt whatever discussion is taking place.

"Safe passage? In and out of the woods to the south?" Mobeorn stares at Galharth as if the elf has two heads. "You're
offering me this and saying that the sorce...erm...lady of your lands will let me leave if I enter with you and am guarded?
And what of those Beornings who come with me to make up a force enough to protect us all when we return?" Here his glance
falls on the weed-gathering Cecilia. "Our healer, for one, who should rightly be with the group..."

Leaving off looking at Galharth, the Beorning shapechanger turns toward Elladan. "What do you make of this? Is the threat
important enough to risk such a journey and a meeting?"

"I cannot speak for you and your folk," replies Elladan, "I for one have been facing such risks for many centuries, I am
wont to it. We will go with you." The latter sentence is spoken to Galharth again.

Catching Elladan's look, Galharth lifts his head slightly as he returns his gaze to Mobeorn. "At the first sight of the
forest to the south, you and any who you might need to accompany you will bound and hooded and bound so that you can not see
and can set off any traps .... for seeing and touching will surely lead to your ruin and loss. Those needed for your return
will be left with supplimental guard until the council is done. The fewer placed in peril the better....." As the Tailor
speaks, his voice is low and almost songlike as he seems to be painting a picture of real danger deep in the dark southern
wood. Once blindfolded, and bound, A guard will be set as your guide, so to keep you upon the path and to keep you from
dangers that lay for the unwanted."

Tilting his head and nodding to Elladan, he looks to Mobeorn and to Cecilia beyond. "Will you lay aside your fears to aid in
a matter for your own peoples safety?"

Cecilia finishes with packing up her bag, then pays closer attention to what Mobeorn and the elves are saying. Her grays
eyes widen in surprise, "<Eothrik> *** ***** ** ***** **** *** ***** ** *** *****?!" The young woman speaks with some alarm,
her eyes shifting to the elves, then back to the Beorning man. "<Eothrik> ***? I ******* ** **** **** ********* **** *******
*** *****? ** *** ***** **** **** *** ***** *****! **** **-" Perhaps she realizes she's speaking in her native tongue,
because her next question is adjusted to Westron. 'What is all this talk about?'

"What all this talk is about," Mobeorn answers the woman healer calmly, using the Common Tongue, "is that the enemy is right
on the borders of our lands. Sending reinforcements--so that no matter how many we kill, more will overrun us, it seems. And
Herion..." here he nods toward Elladan, "has suggested a council to formulate a plan--because we can't hold them off alone.
For that..." Mobeorn looks up to Galharth, "I will risk a trip to those woods and trust that I will return. You don't have
to go, Cecilia."

Lifting a lazy eye from his snooze, Oisin glances at Mobeorn. "A trip to the woods, is it? " he grunts and settles himself
into an upright sitting position. "I trust yer won't be looking for mushrooms then? "

"Very well," Galharth says to Mobeorn, pausing his words only a moment to peer at Oisin and shake his head. "I'll arrange
for the passage for a few to be escorted so to participate in this council." Taking a step towards his packed horse, the
Tailor pauses and draws close to the Human. "Be wary, mellon, for should you change as we know you can, the promise might
well be lost regardless of the reason for your change."

With that said, the Tailor moves away to make preparations.

Cecilia grows quiet, her gaze dropping to her belongings again as she says nothing in response to Mobeorn's declaration.
Carefully she adjusts the arrows in her quiver, straightening them all to lay the same way neatly.

"Then we are settled," declares Elladan. "Our archers will come along and provide cover for the party, although I expect
less evil on our road than there might have been before. The dark things have flocked in the northern Greenwood and
Thranduil's guards might soon have to deal with them," he mutters darkly. Then he nods at those present and walks back to
the bowyers who had come with him.

The tailor's words seem to bother Mobeorn greatly, for he frowns suddenly and stares after Galharth. "We will speak more of
this later, then. I'll not have a promise to me broken when you know full well who and what I am. Though I _can_ control it,
too." But the meeting in the camp has broken up, it seems, and Mobeorn now turns away to deal with other matters.