================== Eldarin Calendar <in Sindarin> ===================
IC time is: Nighttime < About 11:43 PM >
IC day is: Ormenel <Heavens-day>
IC date is: 33 Firith <Fading>
Moon phase: Last Quarter <VISIBLE>
Earendil: Gil-Estel is not visible.
IC year is: Loa 16 o Yen 22, Nelandran o Endor <TA 3040>
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RL time: Tue Apr 24 08:54:36 2007
=====================================================================
Green Roadway at the Gates of the City - Southern Arc
Coming from the long narrow bridge, open to the sky in all its infinite variety,
and entering into the city itself is like stepping into a world of perpetual
twilight. A wall of living green skirts the deeper color of the Green Roadway
that you now stand on. Set with deep, time-worn stones of a rich emerald hue,
the roadway runs alongside the feet of the high wall of living green which
encircles the whole of the city. Enormous trees lean massive branches overhead.
Shadows puddle secretively in small hollows between the trunks, and lights gleam
invitingly from the depths of the wooded city. Perhaps a shaft of sunlight,
perhaps a silvered lamp... musical laughter echoes from tree to tree.
To the southwest, the arms of the wall overlap a few paces, forming a gap
secured by a great gate. A winding path leads up the hill, disappearing into the
leaves of the mighty mallorn trees which tower tall and powerful on this hill.
Participants:
Galharth
Rhibi
=====================================================================
Night has fallen over the elven lands of Lothlorien, bathing the forest and city
in a blanket of darkness that is accented by the stars shining in the heaven
above. Within the city delicate winged fireflies dance in time to a sweet elven
song, adding a mystical appearance to the city. The song that drifts along a
cool early winter breeze is one that tells of days gone by in a time of glory
and unsurpassed beauty.
Entering the city, Galharth seems oblivious to both sight and sound, and from
his expression, he appears deep in thought.
"But no one said I couldn't watch at the gates!"
So much for peace, for the soothing harmony of song, for the gentle evening
breezes whispering through the leaves...
For there, just at the inner base of the gate, is a young elf; arms crossed,
face scowling, voice raised in argument.
At the sound of a shout, the clothier looks up slightly, and refocuses his
thoughts and attention towards the source of the arguement. A frown appears upon
his face and his gaze rises towards the tree tops, and then back towards the
younger ellon. "It seems there are many who think to restrain you," Galharth
calls out, "Though possibly more than reasonable."
Turning his direction towards Rhibi, the crafter draws his hands behind him to
grasp in a thoughtful pose. "How are you this eve, Rhibi?"
"I /was/ fine," Rhibi says peevishly, tossing his hair out of his face and
turning his scowl towards Galharth. "I am in the city! I am not using my bow!"
This explanation seems partly directed still at the blank-faced guard who stands
blocking the way to the top of the gate. "I am allowed to help watch!"
"Did you happen to mention who gave you permission to help watch? Perhaps that
news might soften even the sternest of opponents," Galharth says as he too looks
at the guard. Shrugging his shoulders slightly, the clothier turns his back upon
the gate and peers closer at the youth.
"Do you recall my suggestion that you help me with my little net project?" the
older ellon says, turning the topic away from arguement towards the subject that
has consumed the crafter of late. "Well, it seems I do need a little help in
development, here within the city. It's not testing mind you, but it might help
the testing go smoother."
"I have /always/ been allowed to help... you do?"
"I have /always/ been allowed to help... you do?" Rhibi turns from sulking to
eager enthusiasm in a single mercurial instant. Abandoning the obstreperous
guard, he darts towards Galharth to hover at the weaver's side. "You will let me
help? What are we to do? We could test it too, I'm certain that we could!" A
sudden mischievous light sparkles in his green eyes. "Perhaps," he says
demurely, "Upon these guards!"
At the mention of testing the net upon the guards, Galharth groans slightly, and
whispers, "That's already been done. In fact, I've managed to trap one Tailor
and one Guard, each in seperate testing." Peering back towards the guard, the
clothier swallows hard and offers a smile before quickly diverting his gaze back
towards Rhibi.
"I'm having problems with the Catapult, and the aiming," he complains with a
shake of his head. "Perhaps we could work together to improve its function."
"Oh," Rhibi whispers back. He darts a swift look towards the impassive elven
guard, then grins. "Oh well," he says philosophically. "I am good at aiming," he
tells Galharth proudly. "Where shall we try? At the lawn?"
"The ideal location is the long lawn, beside the river," Galharth says with a
heavy sigh, "But inital testing of the catapult can be done on the lawn without
too much disruption." Unclasping his hands from behind his back, the clothier
extends a finger to tap upon his chin. "I need to retreive the catapult parts
from the weavers talan, but if you'd like I can meet you at the Lawn in a short
while."
"Yes!" Rhibi replies. "That lawn would be the ... oh." His face falls
ludicrously, almost. "I cannot... the upper lawn?" A return of hope, wistful and
tentative. He darts for the stairs, flying up them almost as if he himself was a
firefly, unfettered by gravity. "I shall meet you!"
=====================================================================
Lawn
Here the stairway through the mellyrn meets the top of a mighty hill, opening
out into the middle of a great lawn filled with blue and yellow flowers. At the
center of the lawn stands a great shimmering fountain which falls into a basin
of silver. From the basin flows a white stream of water out into a small brook,
which then trickles away down the hill. Further north there stands a mallorn
tree of such magnificent height that it seems to reach even to the clouds. A
path paved with white pebbles curves around the hilltop, leading west and east
from the stairs.
=====================================================================
True to his word, the clothier arrives at the Lawn a short time later. Upon his
back he carries several strange parts made of both wood and metal, including
what could almost be described as a long wooden spoon. These parts are laced
together with wide strips of leather that loops over his shoulder for carrying
ease. Passing the fountain, Galharth heads east towards the far corner of the
lawn that borders the training field.
"Rhibi!" he calls out as he drops his pack upon the ground at his feet.
A short time it may have been, but already Rhibi has wandered the entire lawn,
checking to see what is there and what is not; and climbed at last onto the
basin of the fountain. He is stretching as high as he can, balanced on his
tiptoes on the smooth silver, trying apparently, to see if he is as tall as the
leaping water.
But at his name, his head turns and he jumps down, running towards Galharth.
"Have you got it all? Is this it? How does it work? Do we put it together
first?" The boy drops to his knees beside the pack, rummaging among the
different partts.
"Whoa, too many questions, too fast." Galharth says as he unlaces the parts.
"It's all here," he adds as he lays out the two larger pieces of wood. "These,
combined, are the basic frame for the catapult." Running a finger over one of
the large pieces of wood, its length is nearly the same as the elder ellon's
height. "Thick as a fist, and wide as an arm. All other pieces connect to
these."
Carefully arranging the parts as they would go together, the clothier smiles at
Rhibi. "It should be a simple matter to construct, These three, the second
largest pieces connect the side pieces at both ends, with two cross boards fixed
at the front to suppose the arm." Pausing his instruction, he lifts a brow.
"Does this make sense?"
Rhibi watches, intently. A small frown gathers on his face as he concentrates on
picturing the separate pieces as they will be - put together and set up. "This
is the part that throws?" he asks, touching a piece of wood. "How do you make it
go?"
"When the frame is built, the spoon of the arm sits up and towards the back,
while the front is braced by these metal clamps which attach to the cross
boards." Galharth says as he strains to attach the parts described. "Then
towards the back of the frame, this cranking device is added." Scooting along
the grass upon his knees, he workes his way to the back of the catapult to
attach the crank. "The final attachment is the lever, which deploys the arm and
shoots out whatever sits within the bowl of the arm."
Gathering up the leather straps that had held the parts together, the older
ellon attaches the leather to the base of the bowl with a strange clamp. From
this clamp is a slender length of leather which he attaches to the lever, and
the thicker leather which he weaves through the frame, ultimately attaching it's
end to the crank.
"There, go ahead and test it, wind the crank which will bend the arm, and when
ready, pull the lever and it'll send the bowl forward."
"When the frame is built, the spoon of the arm sits up and towards the back,
while the front is braced by these metal clamps which attach to the cross
boards." Galharth says as he strains to attach the parts described. "Then
towards the back of the frame, this cranking device is added." Scooting along
the grass upon his knees, he workes his way to the back of the catapult to
attach the crank. "The final attachment is the lever, which deploys the arm and
shoots out whatever sits within the bowl of the arm."
Gathering up the leather straps that had held the parts together, the older
ellon attaches the leather to the base of the bowl with a strange clamp. From
this clamp is a slender length of leather which he attaches to the lever, and
the thicker leather which he weaves through the frame, ultimately attaching it's
end to the crank.
"There, go ahead and test it, wind the crank which will bend the arm, and when
ready, pull the lever and it'll send the bowl forward."
The child jumps up, pulling with all his might to crank the arm down. It would
seem far to great a task for such a slight figure; but he manages at last,
grinning fiercely the harder he has to pull. "Now?" he asks.
Standing up, and stepping back, the clothier nods. "Just step back when you hit
the lever," Grinning, he gazes at the catapult, eagerly awaiting the action.
Rhibi hesitates not at all. His grin is wider still, wider than Galharth's as he
pulls the leather and leaps away. And he stands, watching delightedly, in
complete harmony with the elder elf.
"Excellent!" exclaims the Tailor with several claps of his hands. Bending down,
he quickly inspects the arm for cracks and is clearly pleased when none are
found. "Now," Galharth says, turning his full attention towards the youth. "This
is what I need. We'll need to find something that weighs approximately the same
as the net, and I'll need you to run tests, measuring how many cranks result in
how far a distance achieved by the payload."
Shaking his head, he turns and peers closely at the catapult, he pauses his
words. After a moment, he looks back towards Rhibi, "What do you suppose we
could use as a test payload? It would have to be something about half the weight
of an adult elf."
Rhibi is nearly dancing with excitement. "How much does it weigh? What shall we
use?" He looks around the smooth, neatly groomed lawn. "I am half of an elf!" he
shouts a second later. "I shall go flying through the air.. like an Eagle!" He
scrambles for the arm. "You wind it up!"
"Hold on there!" Galharth says, waving his hands to deter the younger ellon from
going airborn. "If anyone tests out the safety of edhel launching, it would be
me first, and until I can be assured of consistent deployment of a payload, it's
not going to happen." Ceasing the fluttering of his arms, he folds them tightly
across his chest as if to demonstrate a firm decision. "It has to be something
non living."
Looking around the lawn, he purses his lips. "This is going to be harder than I
thought. There has to be something that we can shoot."
Rhibi is already snuggled into the bowl. An outraged face peers over the edge.
"You don't get to go first!" he says, scandalized. "You're too heavy! You said
so yourself! Besides, you said I should help you, and we need something to
shoot." He settles back, equally determined.
A minute passes. Then another. "A rock?" offers the small voice?
"Alright, here's the deal," Galharth says with a stern look, "I'll crank it down
for a short distance, and you'd better be agile enough to do our race proud.
Flip as you begin to decend, and you should easily land upon your feet." Bending
down, he rolls the handle till it's taunt, and then one round further. A twinkle
shines in the clothier's eyes, and he winks, "Besides, it does look like fun,
and I envy you your slight weight."
Shaking his finger at the youth, he adds, "This is to be the last test with a
breathing payload. All further tests we'll have to find something to shoot while
I finish the weighting of the net."
Stepping around to the side of the catapult, he leands towards the lever,
"Ready?
Rhibi's face lights up, and he wriggles once, gleefully. "Yes!" he shouts, and
curls himself up again, waiting... the lever is pulled and he is flung into the
air, arms outstretched, hair flying. Just for a second, then he doubles into a
ball, somersaulting and making a running landing on the lawn farther down.
Laughing in sheer delight, he runs back to Galharth. "Oh, can't we do it again?"
he begs. "Wasn't I a good test? Did you see how far I went? Next time you should
pull it farther!"
"Good Form!" Galharth shouts out towards the flying youth. Laughing as Rhibi
lands and races back towards the catapult, he firmly shakes his head and takes
on a more serious expression. "No, no, no, we have to keep out heads about us if
we're going to test this thing rather than get caught up in playing." Crossing
his arms over his chest once more, he narrows his eyes. "You did want to help,
right? What I need is to have this thing tested to determine how many turns of
the crank result in how far a distance the payload is sent."
After an instant, the clothier's expression softens, "But once we're done, and
all the tests are complete, and after we have a working tool, then yes, I think
we can both set aside some playtime. How does that sound?"
The disappointment of a child, the resolution of a man. Both cross Rhibi's face
in quick succession, then he nods firmly, and looks around the lawn. "What shall
we use?" Surely there will be something of the right size, not nailed down... "I
could look in the Council Chambers," he offers after a minute of thought. "They
have lots of chairs there, I think.
"I don't actually want to break anything," Galharth says quickly, "You may hold
the favor of the elleths due to your boyish charms, but I have no such
protection."
Peering about the lawn, his eyes fall upon a small boulder which is set into the
landscape. "Perfect..." he mutters as he points towards the rock. "Give me a
hand, and we'll use that." Without waiting for Rhibi's response, the clothier
starts towards the rock. Stepping into the landscaped mixture of bushes and
flowers, he bends over and graps the boulder. Gunting harshly, he adds, "It's
the right weight, but we may have to work as a team to get the catapult loaded."
Rhibi follows, dropping to his knees beside the rock and scraping away the dirt
until it comes free; then he wraps his arms around it, and heaves in time with
Galharth's lifting. Together, they lug the boulder - which is indeed near half
the weight of an adult elf - back to the catapult.
As the two carry the boulder towards the catapult, several unwilling hijackers
drop from the underside of the rock, leaving a trail of worms and other crawling
creatures along the path. "Okay, drop it into the bowl," Galharth grunts as he
moves round so to guide their position over the bowl. "Count of three,
one....two.....three."
The large stone bounces into the bowl, and Rhibi scurries around to the lever.
"Can I pull it?" he asks, eagerly.
"Alright, Just let me crank it to see if we can duplicate the distance you
achieved on your flight." Galharth says as he turns the crank. Making the last
turn, he pauses to check the lawn. "All clear, launch when ready!" he calls out
as he takes a step back.
And Rhibi yanks at the lever, head back and eyes shining, to watch the large
rock hurtle through the air and thud into the ground some distance away.
Fade to Black