================== Eldarin Calendar <in Sindarin> ===================
IC time is: Early Afternoon < About 2:39 PM >
IC day is: Oranor <Sun-day>
IC date is: 54 Echuir <Stirring>
Moon phase: Last Quarter <HIDDEN>
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 Jun 12 13:53:07 2007
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Path south of Fangorn
The Sun is still quite high in the sky and the plains and waters lay sparkling under a clear Spring sky.

You stand just south of Fangorn. This area of Rohan is relatively uninhabited, with few wanting to live near the strange forest. A faint track runs alongside the forest, heading both east and west. Grasslands stretch out in all directions, save to the north, where lies the forest.

Contents:
Galharth
Coenred
Maglind
Rhibi
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As anor moves into position for early afternoon, a spring breeze blows across the grassland, setting the grass into motion, much like waves upon water. To the north, the dark forest of Fangorn lies in silence, holding it's strange secrets within the shadows of ancient trees. In this isolated area, a small camp is set, and six cloaked figures either rest of mill about setting up the camp after a long day's travel.

From the camp, one figure sets out, moving towards the crest of a nearby hill. While he moves in silence, his cloak wavers softly in the breeze.

From that hill the plains of Westemnet are visible far and wide, and one would certainly notice the group of horsemen that approaches from the east. Green and white banners fly merrily from their spears and their numbers count near two dozen. It seems that they have not yet noticed the lone observer on the hilltop.

Searching first the north, the cloaked figure sweeps his gaze eastward. He freezes in place upon catching sight of the riders. Swiftly, he turns back towards his own camp, and issues forth a soft whistle to warn the others. "Riders!" he calls out softly in a pitch that seems more a song than a shout. Moving eastward, down the hill and to the north, Galharth settles into the grasses to watch these strange being.

The riders are still too far away to even hear his words. They disappear in a hollow, only to reappear on top of a hill in the very next moment. There they hold their pace and one of them seems to speak to the others. He then extends his arm to the west and slower than before the patrol moves on. As the descend from the hill, the riders swarm out to form a broad line.

Shifting from his hiding place as the riders formation changes, Galharth rises slightly to scan the grassland in search for the cause. Finding nothing but the gently waving grass, he lowers back into hiding. Clearly, this is no guard, or experienced person, for his own actions could possibly have been seen.

Gaerwulf, the leading scout of the patrol, a man of great experience, calls something to his fellow riders. At first is seems that this was just idle chatting, but all of a sudden, the formation turns, forming a circlet. Their pace changes as well, from a medium trot to gallop, And soon, the lone observer in the grass is surrounded by a wide circle of twenty riders. Clearly, these are men of the Mark, long beards adorn them and their shields bear the emblem of a rampant horse. "Show yourself!" Calls an aged man in the rolling, earthy speech of Rohan.

A soft gasp of surprise emits from the poorly hidden form as the circle forms around. Rising up, a slender hand reaches out from under the cloak to push back his hood to reveal a fair complexion, silver hair, and crystal blue eyes. "Friend!" he calls out in one of the few words he knows in common. Holding up his hands palms outward, he clearly hopes to present a friendly posture.

The old man nudges his steed further forward towards the stranger. His spear is slowly lowered, then a frown appears on his whithered face. "What does a lone elf do in Theoden's land?" The question is brought forth in accented Westron, while to other riders watch on.

The wind of the riders' passing stirs the grassland, revealing two things: the golden head of a man (is he really a man?) and the trained point of an arrow, stretched upon a long bowstring.

Without warning, the figure breaks from the background and cautiously approaches the circle: his arrow lies forgotten on the ground, yet the bow is still held and ready.

Galharth takes a step back as the horse moves forward. Wide eyes glance from the horse, and then to its rider. Blinking with clear confusion as to the words spoken, the clothier softly bites his lower lip. Certainly he had responded to the first words spoken, as the act of being surrounded spoke to him in universal terms, but he was clearly at a loss as to what was now being said.

Indecision flickers on his face, and then quickly it passes as the ellon places a hand upon his chest. "Galharth," he says hopefully. As he speaks, he peers past the riders and catches sight of Maglind's approach. "Can you talk to them?" he calls out in sindarian.

"Galharth?" The man does not seem to understand. The other Rohirrim shake their heads in confusion, but as the one before them adresses another, unrest ensues. Maglind is met with wary eyes, yet the spears of the horselords do not challenge him.

"<Sindarin> I shall try," the new stranger calls back, as he comes before the horsemen.

Shouldering a great longbow, he looks about cautiously and tries in Westron, with much gesticulation, "Travelling from afar. We go to Angrenost ... Angrenost?" Maglind glances at Galharth helplessly.

From the direction of the camp, a small figure slips up the hill. The child is as small as a human boy of 4 or 5, though his caution in moving through the grasses is greater than Galharth's. Small hands part the stems, green eyes peer through, wide with fascination as Rhibi watches the circle of riders.

"Wonderful!" The clothier replies to Maglind in their native tongue. Offering the Warden a smile of confidence, he turns his gaze back to the human. Responding to the human's effort to speak his name, Galharth nods his head in an animated fashion while patting his chest. "Galharth," he repeats. Pausing a moment, he sweeps his hand towards the man and lifts his brows expectantly. "You?" he says in common.

The horses stomp impatiently and cast their heads up and down, great, noble creatures. "Travellers, aye?" He who seems to lead the Rohirrim looks at Maglind intently, then at Galharth and he frowns mightily. "I know no place named An,... Angrenost." As one elf performs his improvised introduction though, the rider points his thumb towards his own chest and dips his head. "Coenred, son of Ceonsiht."

"<Sindarin> Are you sure?" asks Maglind, looking at the other Elf once more, before he points to himself. "Maglind."

He jabs a finger to his left. "Err... to west. Big tower under mountains. Istar lives there."

Coenred frowns some more. "To the west, big tower," he muses and looks at his fellow horsemen. "Isengard?" One of the riders, a young lad of maybe twenty winters raises his voice. "That's the only tower I know there." Coenred grunts something in reply and nods. "Must be that." He returns to the elves then and says: "The land is not safe! We found a band of orcs here and battled them. Watch your steps, I say."

There is a faint rustle among the tall grass stems at the top of the hill - the wind perhaps. But Rhibi eels along the ground, sneaking closer and closer. A shadow, he is. A blade of grass.

Falling silent as Maglind speaks, and it appears as if the human understands, Galharth smiles and turns his attention to the others in the group, peering at each horse and then its rider. Finally his gaze falls upon the human speaking, and he tilts his head trying to gain something from the words spoken.

"Their speech is so harsh," the clothier says to Maglind, in sindarian.

"Ay, Isen-gard," agrees Maglind haltingly with a vigorous nod of his head. The approaching child -- or whatever it may be -- he cannot see, nor hear as he concentrates on understanding the Westron.

"<Sindarin> They are harsh words," he whispers to Galharth, frowning. "<Sindarin> They said they battled there, and it was not safe."

"Isengard." Coenred repeats the words and points to the west, then holds his left hand high. "Tall, black tower." Then he gestures to the east and finally points to the ground. "Here have been orcs," he repeats. "Evil beasts." His gloved hands cuts vertically across his beard, where the throat would be.

The boy pauses, looking at the tall horsemen; their strange flowing beards; their bright spears and shields. Something attracts his attention and he peers from his hideout in the grass behind and to the left of Maglind, craning his neck. But it must be that he cannot see clearly enough, for he begins to creep closer. And still closer.

Catching a known word, Galharth repeats it, and adds something more, "Isen-gard, Curunr, Saurman." Speaking as they are brings forth some frustration, and the clothier takes a deep breath and releases it slowly. "This is ridiculous, how can we be expected to get anywhere with these humans?" he mutters in Sindarian.

Catching the word "evil" he pauses and frowns. "Evil?" he asks, pointing north, then east, west, and finally south. Bobbing his head slightly as he draws his shoulders up and his hands outwards as if asking a question.

At that moment, something moves behind Maglind causing the ellon to narrow his gaze in alert. Nodding to Maglind, and then to the source of the movement, he draws his cloak aside to reveal a longsword. "Something's there," he whispers in Sindarian.

"We have gone there before, and are prepared," Maglind states, bowing his head to the riders. "We need to pass through here lands."

"<Sindarin> Get back," he suddenly issues a command in his own tongue, though to whom it is addressed is unclear."

A few horses to the right of Coenred sits Regenmaer, currently attempting to surreptitiously loosen his belt, as it is drawn quite tightly across his round belly. As to this moment he has been sitting quietly, attentive, but now as Maglind reveals his sword, he blinks, hand pausing on the leather strap about his waist.

"<Sindarin> Get back," he suddenly issues a command in his own tongue, though to whom it is addressed is unclear."

Rhibi's eyes are fixed on one of the riders, and though Maglind speaks, the child appears not to hear. He snakes a little closer, then gently, so gently moves aside a clump of grass so that he can see. Both eyes stare in fascination at Regenmaer.

Coenred glances at Maglind and nods. Turning to the riders he wonders in Rohirric: "He mentioned the White Wizard, did he not? Remember the tournament at Isengard, there were elves as well. I do think we can let them pass." Some of them mutter and shake their hands, other wag their hands and all in all it seems that the patroll is not sure how to deal with these strangers.

The arrival of Rhibi, or at least Maglind's command to him go not unnoticed though, for Gaerwulf peers in that very direction, hefting his spear.

"Ah," Regenmaer sighs softly, belt now comfortably fitting about his wide girth. He settles back in the saddle, looking about at his undecided peers with a blank expression. This may be because this Sperewigend is undecided...or perhaps it is because a shiver is abruptly traveling the length of his spine, a rather distracting phenomenon.

"<Sindarin> Back!" the warden commands again, smooth tenor and patience already worn thin with translation. "<Sindarin> Return to the camp. You can look at them later," he whispers to the grass."

And then he straightens, and looks awkwardly at the riders.

This time, the command brings a reaction. And from the grass nearly underneath the horses' hooves, there is a stirring. A rustle as of some small beast burrowing. Unseen, Rhibi's face hardens rebelliously, but then he backs away. Obedient, if unwilling.

Gaerwulf's horse dances nervously and the long spear is eventually poked down into the grass. Yet as the rider draws it back, nothing seems to have been hit. "What is it?" Coenred asks his scout. "Don't know," snarls the other, angrily. "It's gone!"

Shaking his head, Galharth allows the folds of his cloak to cover the hilt of his blade. "That boy will be the death of us all," he mutters in Sindarian, adding "I count myself fortunate that it was you charged with his behavior."

Looking back towards Coenred, he offers an apologetic expression, "Rhibi, boy, ours." He says with a shrug.

"Curious. Harmless," says Maglind quickly, though sweat is beading upon his face. "<Sindarin> If he is hurt, I shall be flayed."

Again he looks up expectantly at the mounted Men.

Coenred stares at Galharth with a blank expression on his face. "They travel with children," he utters finally, meant for his fellows rather than for the elves.

Children. Regenmaer turns, as best as he can, to look behind him, but upon seeing nothing but grass blushes, and sits upright once more. Steeling his face, he attempts to appear informed and serious.

"Isen-gard," the clothier says, pointing towards the west. Pausing a moment he drops his hand and looks towards Coenred. "Evil?" Galharth asks again, unaware of what the humans are saying. Again he points in the four directions and offers a questioning glance.

Long distance to Maglind: Galharth nods. He should have advanced in age at a minimum of 12 years, bringing him to the age of 20... he would appear as an adult. I was wrong at saying he was RPing around 100... he looks like an adult and acts like a kid.

"<Sindarin> There have been yrch near here," Maglind explains to the other Elf. He shakes his head, yellow and cropped short, and looks up at the Rohirrim. "Orc from the mountains? So far away."

"We know not whence they came," mutters Coenred. "We slew a few of them a fortnight ago, and even in winter we chased one into the wood." His arm extends to the north, where the dense Fangorn forest can be seen at the horizon. "And," he adds, "strange thing have happened in the Westmark. Livestock was killed, slaughtered without reason. Cows, sheep, horses, too!"

"Slaughtered," echoes the Elf with a longbow. "We are sorry. But if they come we shall shoot them. If we can pass through your land."

"<Sindarin> Do we continue?" asks Maglind of Galharth with the slightest hint of hesitation in his voice.

"We've come this far, it makes little sense to return now." Galharth says to Maglind in Sindarin. Glancing at the human, he adds, "Ask him the direction of the latest sightings of evil. At the very least we could avoid it." Then, as if grasped by inspiration, he steps forward towards the Warden. "Ask him if he and his fellows would be able to travel with us till we reach Isengard."

All spoken in his native tongue, the clothier offers several glances towards the humans as he speaks. "Suggest that it be a friendly gesture between allies."