================== Eldarin Calendar <in Sindarin> ===================
IC time is: Midnight < About 12:43 AM >
IC day is: Oranor <Sun-day>
IC date is: 30 Echuir <Stirring>
Moon phase: Waning Crescent <VISIBLE>
Earendil: Gil-Estel is not visible.
IC year is: Loa 16 o Yen 22, Nelandran o Endor <TA 3040>
----------------------------------------------------------------------
RL time: Mon Jun 04 09:14:31 2007
=====================================================================
Long Lawn

You stand amidst a long lawn of shining grass. It ripples in the gentle river breezes like tresses of golden hair, sprinkled too with hundreds of golden elanor flowers which radiate with the light of the sun. The eastern edge of the lawn fades into a white-stone beach, lapped upon by the deep and dark waters of the broad Anduin river which flows from the north, continuing southwards forever onto the sea. Joining the Anduin directly to the south is the Celebrant river, which hurries towards you from between the groves of Mallorns to the northwest. Northwards, the lawn is bordered by a high green wall of dense forest growth. With your sharp elven eyes, you spy a small recess in the wall, perhaps a passageway which leads through it.

Contents:
Galharth
Rhibi

Niinaeth


Anor's glory reflects upon the still waters of the Anduin, creating an almost mirror like effect. With the light a warmth seeps over the landscape, bringing a hint of winters end. In the late morning light, several edhel move about the rivers edge as they finalize construction of a simple winch. Carpenters speak softly to eachother, bringing forth a technical discussion that rivals the songs of the bards. Indeed, their words are almost magical for the object of their craft sits sturdy and magestic within the river's water.

Standing nearby, the clothier Galharth watches. "Will it hold?" he calls out to his fellow crafters, receiving not a word in reply, but a glare. Lifting a hand, the Tailor chuckles. "Sorry, I should know better. Guess I need to get ready to dive then." And in reply, one of the carpenters nods.

Among the workers, a small child wanders, his face alight with curiousity and interest. And questions. What is that? What is this for? Are you going to use this? How does that work? The elder elves generally smile indulgently and answer him. Finally, Rhibi circulates past Galharth, stopping and chattering as if this was his whole intention. "Will you go within it? And it will have air for you to breathe under the water? I want to try!"

"Hold on there," Galharth mutters as the whirlwind, commonly known as Rhibi, enters his focus. "The winch will be used to haul up that which we find. In this case, it's the ships figurehead, and hopefully it'll be up by today's end." Pausing, he sweeps a hand forward to point out a net and a length of rope. "I'll be swimming down, holding my breath, and wrapping the figurehead up for transport to the surface. No air, just lots of trips up and down."

"Oh," the boy says, disappointedly. Then he brightens. "I can help!" he says eagerly. "I can dive!"

Galharth falls quiet for several moments after the younger ellon's words. His jaw tightens in consideration, and his eyes narrow as if inspecting the younger form. "Maglind almost drown on his first attempt to dive. It is not a game such as with the catapult." the clothier says firmly. "And while you fancy yourself more experienced and capable, I can only approve of your help if you agree to do as I ask...." he pauses before adding, "at least this time."

The child nods eagerly. "I will do /just/ as you say!" he avers.

Again the clothier falls silent, and it almost appears as if a battle is taking place within his thoughts. "Alright," he finally says as he shrugs his shoulders while pushing off his outer robe. "As it happens, I need the help and an extra pair of hands will cut the number of trips to the surface by at least a third."

After removing and neatly folding both his outer robe and his shirt, Galharth plops down to sit upon the grass. From his seated position, he tugs off his boots. "Well? Go on get ready. The day is perfect for a dive."

Get ready. Rhibi looks at Galharth blankly for a second, then his face clears. He copies the elder, stripping to the skin. Well, sort of copies. His clothing remains in a huddled heap, unfolded. Only his precious bow and arrows are carefully set to one side. "I am ready!" he crows. "What shall I do?"

Dressed only in trousers, the clothier rises to his feet and pads softly over the grass to the net. Bending, he rises up with a coil of rope, that looks to be half the size of the rope attached to the net. After adjusting the coils, he offers the rope to Rhibi. "Here. You'll need to hold it with one hand, or perhaps loop it over your shoulder. It's needed to secure the net over the figurehead."

Nodding to the net and larger rope, Galharth says, "I'll take that down with me." Glancing towards the river, he continues to speak. "From the winch, the dive point rests a short distance out. When I dive, you wait a few moments and dive down after me. We'll bring down the rope, then come back up for air, and down again." Looking back to Rhibi, he tilts his head. "It'll be boring. Swiming up and down with little progress in between. Are you sure you're up for this?"

"Of course I am!" Rhibi says indignantly. He grasps the heavy rope, wrapping it around his slender shoulder, and starting for the river.

Grinning, Galharth bends down and quickly retrieves his own burden. After shifting the rope coil over his shoulder, and tucking the cumbersome net under his arm, he follows Rhibi into the river. Silence falls over the clothiers mood as he swims out to an unmarked area in line with the winch. "Here," he mutters while he kicks his feet in an effort to remain upon the surface. "Be careful of the river grass and weeds, and if you hit bottom, the silt will blind us till the current takes it away."

"See you at the bottom!" With that, the crafter gulps air and ducks beneath the surface, offering a quick view of his bare feet as he dives towards the bottom.

Rhibi's head is nearly lost in the swirling water, but those on shore have ceased their work - or looked up from it - to keep a careful eye on his progress. The boy bobs near where Galharth had disappeared, then doubles over and vanishes as well. And every hand is still until he reappears, gasping for breath triumphantly.

Following Rhibi to the surface, the clothier pauses a moment to brush the wet hair from his face. "Did you see it? The figure head? Such a beauty she is. It's almost comparable in fairness to the Lady herself..." Chuckling softly, he grins. "I imagine that's hard to see with a net plopped on her head and I don't know if you had the chance to see it before I netted her."

Galharth's breaths are ragged, and his excitement is visible. "Okay, now we spread out the net and if our air holds, I'll need you to begin wrapping the length of rope you brought down. This time, we dive together. Alright?"

"I... thought there.... would be.... gems!" Rhibi shouts back, between the little wavelets that splash his face. His hands paddle and his feet kick, and still the entire complement of elves watch him intently. If he shows any signs of distress, he will have a legion of rescuers. "Wrap it... around the ... net?" the child asks.

Treading water, Galharth shakes his head. "We don't know what else lays on the river bed. For the moment, we're working to bring up the figurehead in hopes to identify the ship." Pursing his lips, and tightening his jaw, the clothier watches the younger ellon carefully. "Yes," he says softly, "Maybe one or two more dives to secure the figurehead, and then I want you to head back to shore so you can join the others on the winch. I trust you and know that you'll be able to lend the strength needed to bring it up."

Again, the crafter gulps air, and raising his hand out of the water he points downwards before diving beneath the waters. Upon reaching the bottom he swims round the figurehead, smoothing out the net over it's surface.

Rebellion scowls across Rhibi's face until Galharth's final words. For a minute, he eyes the weaver suspiciously, then he nods (as best he can, bobbing up and down and treading water). The elder elf dives once more, and Rhibi follows, looping the rope a few times around the net before shooting upwards again.

Kicking his feet to return to the surface, he faulters as his eyes rest upon the figureheads face beneath the net. A few bubbles escape his lips and he once more is kicking to reach the surface. Rising to the surface, he gasps for air as he tilts his head back in the water. "Once more should do it, and I'll double check the work when you swim towards the winch."

Breathing heavy from the exertion, Galharth smiles. "Maybe next time we dive we can search for interesting items from the ship." Chuckling softly, he gulps several mouthfuls of air and dives back down to finalize the position of the net.

The current tugs at the child and he strokes a few times to get back in place, then upends and follows Galharth down for the last time. This time. He too is tiring, and he cannot remain underwater so long this time, but he manages to twist the rope around again before floating to the surface.

Tugging on the rope encircling the figurehead, and double checking the net to be sure it wasn't putting pressure on any particular point, the clothier looks up towards the surface as Rhibi moves upwards. Underwater, a frown appears upon his tightly clamped mouth. Pushing off from a piece of wood, Galharth kicks upwards, reaching the surface in time with the younger ellon."Hard work," he mutters as he eyes the boy, "But I do thank you for the help." Pausing, and resting as he treads water, he asks, "You okay to make it to shore?"

Rhibi nods again, tired but game. "I can do it," he asserts. "Are you coming too?"

"I'll follow shortly. I've got to attach the main lifting rope, and double check our work to prevent damage." Nodding towards the shore, he shouts out, "ONE LAST CHECK, RHIBI IS RETURNING TO SHORE!" In the distance, a Carpenter nods. Turning his focus back towards the younger ellon, Galharth smiles. "They'll watch for you."

Gulping air deeply, the clothier disappears once more, kicking hard towards the captured figurehead. Tugging on the ropes and the net as he swirls in the current around her, he nods to himself with satisfaction. Reaching for the large coil, he loops an end around the figurehead's waist. After tying it tightly, he grabs the other end and pushes off for the surface.

But the boy waits a little while longer, peering beneath the surface with his hands cupped around his face to watch. As Galharth takes hold of the rope, Rhibi turns and eels through the water towards the shore, splashing up onto the green grass. "Now we will pull it up!" he shouts excitedly, as he waits for his fellow diver to bring the rope.

Reaching the shore, Galharth passes off the rope end to one of the Carpenters. As his fellow crafters weave the rope through the winch, the clothier plops down upon the grass to rest. "She'll be quite a prize if we can bring her up." he mutters to himself. Turning his gaze to Rhibi, he grins, "And if we're lucky, she'll reveal where she hides her hidden treasure, be it knowledge or gems."

"We're ready," one of the Carpenters says. Nodding towards the crafters and then to Rhibi, his grin grows. "Bring her up," he says softly as his focus remains upon the boy.

The elves gather, taking hold of rope and winch and beginning to hoist. Rhibi squirrels his way to the very front, where he can both help to turn the winch and watch the glittering surface of the water.

Watching the operation from his silent perch, Galharth sucks in his lower lip to chew upon as the rope grows taunt. Water shimmers over the ropes surface, and the winch groans as elven strength sets itself against the remains that lay upon the river bed. Shivering slightly, he draws in a deep breath as the tight rope seems to snap and grow lax for a moment. "The rope has either broken, or the figurehead is loose." he calls out, as his focus moves from the rope to those who work the winch. Catching sight of the eager youth, brings a twinkle to Galharth's eyes. "Keep it up Rhibi, we'll know something soon!"

Something ripples upon the surface of the river. The water almosts appears to be boiling. "Here it comes!" Galharth calls out.

Moving into the water, Galharth peers curiously at the rising river disturbance. With his right hand, he motions others to enter the water so that they might capture the netted figurehead as it draws near the shore. "Keep going!"

There are plenty of people pulling. Rhibi leaps forward at Galharth's motioning hand and wades into the river, reaching for the net. "Pull hard!" he adds his high voice to the crafter's.

As Rhibi reaches for a handhold on the net, Galharth follows suit. "We did it!" He says with excitement. Several other hands join in, and while those at the winch are working the rope, those in the water are gaining control of the netted figurehead. "Hold the winch!" the clothier says as he reaches for the knot that will remove the rope. As the knot slips, so too does the crafter. Slipping in the mud, he shoulder raps harshly against the figurehead and he goes under for a moment.

The boy, in his over-eagerness to Help, lets go of the net and reaches for Galharth - to pull him back up. But somehow, inexplicably, his hand gets tangled in the rope weave and he falls too, dangling for a second by one arm.

Rising back up to the surface, Galharth coughs and spurts water. "Wincing slightly at the strain to his shoulder, he peers over in time to catch sight of Rhibi's dilema. "Grab him!" the clothier calls out. Thankfully the distance to the shore is short, so concern is present but not pressing.

As the water gives way to shore, he grasps the net and picks up the weight of the figurehead, as does the others straining with the effort.

But Rhibi has gained his balance in an instant, the rush of the moment over-riding his perplexed wonder as to how he fell. He pulls his hand from the net and backs up, cheering every move of those carrying the heavy figure ashore.

Trudging up the shore, in a way leading the procession, the figurehead is brought to the surface in what might be several ages. "Sit her here." he mutters with a voice heavily strained with effort. Panting with strain, he dips to lower the net encased figure onto her back. "Careful, careful...." he whispers softly as his finger touch the elven face though the net. "Rhibi, help me cut away the net." He calls out with excitement.

And the boy is there, a knife twinkling in his hand, slashing at the ropes.

Accepting a knife from some unknown source, the clothier joins the younger ellon in his cutting motion. Carefully he reveals the figures face and upper body. Pausing, in a strange captured expression, his crystal blue eyes look upon the figure with awe. To describe the wooden figure, carved by whatever talented hands of old would offer a limited opinion. Indeed the figure is one so lovely that it takes the breath from a solidly grounded ellon such as the Tailor. "She is beautiful" he whispers as he looks upon the figurehead.

The figurehead is one of ancient carving, which reveals lifelike details that are almost haunting. While water worn, her face is smooth and shimmers of a delicate nature with high cheekbones, sophisticated arching of her brows, full lips set into a seductive pout, and leaf-like ears set into a crown of swirling curls of waist length hair. Her eyes peer forward, intense and noble though whatever paint that might have been is long erased in time. A long elegant neck swoops down to slender shoulders and high breasts, all hidden beneath carved garments of elven design. Her beauty is unmistakable. She is a mystery which has moved through ages.

*****************************************************************
Ships Figurehead
The figurehead is one of ancient carving, which reveals lifelike details that are almost haunting. While water worn, her face is smooth and shimmers of a delicate nature with high cheekbones, sophisticated arching of her brows, full lips set into a seductive pout, and leaf-like ears set into a crown of swirling curls of waist length hair. Her eyes peer forward, intense and noble though whatever paint that might have been is long erased in time. A long elegant neck swoops down to slender shoulders and high breasts, all hidden beneath carved garments of elven design. Her beauty is unmistakable. She is a mystery which has moved through ages.
*****************************************************************

Rhibi's knife slows, then stops. And he stares at the carving, then reaches out with tentative fingertips to trace the curve of the wood. Almost mesmerized, his stroking fingers cease moving as well, but remain in contact with the carving.