================== Eldarin Calendar <in Sindarin> ===================
IC time is: Midnight < About 1:26 AM >
IC day is: Orithil <Moon-day>
IC date is: 41 Ethuil <Spring>
Moon phase: First Quarter <HIDDEN>
Earendil: Gil-Estel is not visible.
IC year is: Loa 17 o Yen 22, Nelandran o Endor <TA 3041>
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RL time: Tue Jun 26 17:28:58 2007
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Orthanc: High Council Chamber, Second Level
A great council room of white marble walls flecked with gold and silver. High ceilinged, this windowless hall is lit by candles and braziers enough to shower every corner, the walls themselves aiding in the distribution of light by reflecting the beams as needed. A long table is stood at the centre, carved from a single block of ebony and trimmed with flowing script of silver. Each high-backed chair is marked with a single rune. Many other tables, desks and chairs lie beside this central piece of furniture.

On the wall just behind the master's chair can be found a prominent map of Isengard and its surrounding regions while at its sides, smaller maps detail specific regions as well as depicting a more general view of the known countries of Middle-earth.

Contents:
Galharth
Niinaeth
Maglind
Saruman
Kylin
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Darkness as black as the tower hangs over Isengard. Within the blackness the sparkle of stars reflect over the land. The tower resists the light of the stars as it's matted surface offers no surface that might allow a mirrored effect. While not seen, a wind rushing in from the mountains is heard as it sweeps through the circle around Orthanc. Outside the rimwall, the laughter is heard, as visitors to the town surrounding Curunir's home relish in the night life offered at the Boar's Inn.

All that exists outside the tower is quickly forgotten as a small party enters through the main entrance, following a defined path. Invited in, Niinaeth, Maglind, and Galharth, walk softly over the polished floor, in search of their host.

"Where is he?" asks Maglind, a small and noticeably uncloaked figure reflected against the smooth floor. He peers about curiously, eyes flowing over the runes and not reading them.

Their host stands in greeting, arms at his sides in open invitation for those who enter his chamber. A serene expression resides on his face, with his mouth just tipped upwards in a welcoming smile. When the elves enter, clearly seeking him out, Saruman steps forward, away from the white of the wall he'd been standing against. Arms sweeping wide, he beckons them forward. "Come, friends. Come and make yourselves comfortable," he instructs them, indicating the table and many chairs.

Walking lightly, leaving no impression, nor causing any sound, Galharth pauses to glance around the room, before peering carefully at their host. "You are most generous, Curunir. It was kind of you to see us." Pausing a moment more to look upon Saruman, the clothier bows his head respectfully before moving to a nearby chair.

Placing a hand upon the back of the chair, he waits as the others in his party enter.

Saying nothing, Maglind also bows his head, glinting pale and gold in the flame-light. With both hands, he pulls out another chair, but waits to sit.

Not far behind the others comes one of golden hair. Her gentle features mark her clearly as one of compassion. Unlike Galharth, Niinaeth does not speak. She dare not utter a word to the white wizard. It is a low bow of her head and the closing of emerald eyes that speak for the lady as she too stands behind a chair, her elegant ivory finger laced together in front of her.

"The pleasure and honour is mine alone," Curunir assures his guests. He remains standing, looking from one quendi to the next as they begin sitting. Towards Maglind and Niinaeth he turns, nodding his head towards the chair when the guests remains standing. "Please, sit. You have come a great distance to see me, I'll not have you standing longer than necessary. May I offer you food and drink?"

Pulling the chair, the clothier pauses a moment to shake his head. "Thank you, but I am in need of nothing, but perhaps a word of wisdom or a moment of knowledge." His gaze flickers to the others in his party, and his right brow lifts slightly. "Though, I can not speak for the others in regards to refreshments."

"There is no need, sir," replies the other ellon awkwardly, slipping into his seat. "I too come with only a request for wisdom."

"While I thank you for the offer, I must decline as well." Nervous she is, as Niinaeth twists her fingers together. At last she pulls the chair back softly, but still does not sit. Questions lie deep with in the aged eyes as she watches Saruman closely, curious yet afraid.

"Wisdom?" asks the wizard, looking from one to the other. "Knowledge?" He nods his head once, slowly, acknowledging their request. Still, with not all of his guests sitting, the host stands. "I shall offer the best that I can," he finally admits. "Tell me. What troubles you that you would come so far in search of wisdom?"

Glancing from Niinaeth to Maglind as he settles in his seat, the Tailor fidgets slightly. "While no matter troubles us, there is one that breeds curiosity." Placing his elbows upon the table and drawing his hands together with his fingers laced, the clothier purses his lips slightly. "We've discovered a ship sunken in the depths of the Anduin south of Lothlorien. It appears to be elven made, with a figurehead of such beauty it's...." he pauses to collect his thoughts, "it's breathtaking."

Tilting his head slightly, he peers at Curunir, "I had hopes that you might know something of this ship as our own folk have no memory of it's passing."

"The wood is old even in our years, but not rotten," offers Maglind, crossing his arms over his chest. "The figurehead," the warden nods to Galharth, "it is carven."

"A ship sunken in the depths of the Anduin," repeats Curunir, though his words end in a questioning lilt. With Niinaeth still standing, the wizard does as well, though he glances from one guest to the other in turn. "It is a ship of elven make, yet so old that none of your kind have memory of its passing." He stares across the room, towards a windowless wall as if searching through his memory for just such a ship.

Nodding his head towards Maglind once, the clothier unlaces his hands as he begins to speak. Raising a hand, he sweeps it round in mid air as if running along the curve of the figureheads skull and over her shoulders, "What we know is through the figurehead. Her head delicately shaped, high cheekbones, and long well defined hair. From those who have seen her, she appears as if she were Noldor." Pausing, he drops his hands to the table as he turns his attention back to Curunir, "We've spoken with several, including the Lady Galadriel, and none remember a ship such as this, nor it's sinking, so we suspect that it occured in ages past, perhaps as far back as the first age."

Smiling, and lifting his head with interest, he peers at the ancient eyes of their host, "I realize it is a stretch, but I thought perhaps you might know something, or at least something to point us to in order to gain some information on the ship."

"Or, perhaps, its sinking was not documented." Maglind glances at Galharth. "Could it be possible, sir, that the Nandor were sailing ere the Sindar came?"

Dust covered from long days on the road, Kylin enters the High Council Chamber nodding to one of the guards that allowed him entry. Tiredness sits heavily in his eyes and it takes him a moment to look up and spot the visitors as well as the Master of Orthanc. Halfway to where the group is he stops and clasps his hands behind his back and nods to Saruman.

The host, still standing beside his chair, resumes his unblinking gaze towards the far wall. The continued words of the elves are acknolwedged, one might assume, by the slight incline of his head when each piece of information is revealed to him. Kylin's entrance, it might seem, is unnoticed by the White Wizard, for his words are offered only to the elves. "It is probable I know the very ship of which you speak, but 'ere I speak of it I would prefer to consult the ancient scrolls." At last he pulls his gaze from the unchanging wall to turn towards Kylin. "Kylin," he says simply.

Watching as the human enters, Galharth offers no expression, but that faulters with the mention of the new arrival's name. His eyes flicker to Maglind and then to Niinaeth, and then back to Curunir. Rising from his chair, the clothier bows his head respectfully. "That's understandable, and indeed a reflection of your wisdom," he says softly.

Looking up, he lifts a brow. "Should your time be limited, I, Galharth," he says pausing to sweep a hand towards the others, "Maglind, or Niinaeth, would be glad to search the scrolls if you point us towards them."

"Kylin," repeats Maglind with silent lips, and he watches the human distrustfully, before his gaze flickers pleasantly back to the wizard.

Still standing as he was, hands clasped behind his back, Kylin bows his head to Saruman. "My Lord," he says softly but the design of the room carries his voice to all as if he were standing right next to each.

A tip of his head in the direction of the visitors and in fine Sindarin "It seems that we have guest. I do hope that I have not interrupted..." Though his voice trails off he makes no move to leave and stands firmly in the middle of the hall and a smile of sorts creep upon his face.

Though still he looks towards the human, the quendi's suggestion is not altogether dismissed out of hand. Calmly, he seems to ponder it a long moment before, at last, responding: "While your offer of assistance is certainly appreciated, it is unnecessary. You are my guests. You have come seeking my wisdom and knowledge, not that of my books." His next words are spoken to Kylin. "You interrupt us not, Kylin; you are always welcome here. It seems as if an age has passed since last we spoke."

"A welcome guest does not over burden their host," Galharth says gently with an air of sincerity, "Our time is idle, and your tomes and scrolls would be a welcome opportunity to gain insight and understanding to a world outside our own." A hand rises up and he places it upon his chest as he continues to speak. "As you well know, the edhel crave knowledge and you sir hold much that even we have had no opportunity to see or experience."

Glancing towards his fellow travelers, he glances towards Kylin and then to Curunir, "Perhaps Kylin could supervise us in our exploration of your library," he suggests.

Shaking his head ever so slightly, Maglind glances at the clothier and briefly touches his elbow to the other's arm: Do not intrude upon the host.

"Indeed it has been, My Lord...the better part of a year," Kylin replies with a slight shrug of his shoulders.

"Not many," does the man start with as he turns his eyes to the elves "have access to much of M'Lord's library. I have seen the ancient tomes and scrolls and many are so old they are nigh to falling apart. I am sure," Kylin smiles " that you could understand the precautions."

There is a slight pause and brows rise as he turns his gaze to Saruman "If M'Lord would wish, if I were directed as to what is in need of searching, I could quickly find it if it is to be found...that is if M'Lord would wish me to. I can do things faster alone than many can do with hands that know not where to be placed."

Around the eddge of the door peeks a small head. Bright green eyes take in every detail of the room, skipping over the elves - they can be seen at any time, any day, but a wizard's tower! Rhibi stays mouse-quiet, none of his slender figure visible except half of his head.

"Again, your offer for assistance is appreciated, but it is as Kylin says," the wizard tells the elf. "My library is my sanctuary, and while I am certain you would do no deliberate harm, there are times it comes unintentional." His words are softly spoken, yet he speaks with a different tone than he had before, a tone which does not encourage disagreement while still being polite. More gently now, Curunir speaks to his loyal servant. "Later. Later we shall search it together, but for now perhaps we should enjoy the company our guests offer."

Falling silent, the clothier frowns and peers suspiciously from Curunir to the human Kylin. "Your generosity is appreciated," Galharth says softly. Closing his mouth tightly, his jaw quivers with unspoken disappointment. Pushing back his chair, he takes a step away from the table. As he turns towards the door, he spies something. "Rhibi?"

The eyes vanish, pulled abruptly away from the door's opening. But then... somehow... the child slips, falling in a sprawl across the room. He slides across the slick floor, gathering a few chairs, and ending in a crumpled tangle - knocking over the chair that Curunir himsself stands beside. Wide eyes peer upwards. Uh oh.

Maglind nods politely to the wizard, calmly turning to the doorway: his blue eyes are darting and anxious.

And an exasperated sigh escapes his lips as he follows the child's path.

Brows still rise as he watches the young elf. A smile or maybe a smirk comes to the man before he bows "I shall get the servants to bring wine and a quick bite, M'Lord."

Kylin's hands fall to his side then pat his chest which sends up a small cloud of dust "As well as clean up."

A bow "M'Lord," he says to Saruman before he turns to the elves "Guests...." then he eyes the smaller elf sprawled on the floor "And maybe I can find something to keep idle hands out of mischief as well."

The wizard opens his mouth as if to speak again, but at just that moment his chair is knocked aside and were it not for the staff he holds he would surely have found himself in a crumpled heap beside the child. Instead, standing, he peers down. Way down to the floor. His lips twitch with the smile that he can't quite control, and with a slight wave of his right hand, he dismisses his servant. "Aye, Kylin, that would be wise."

Surprise registers upon Galharth's expression, "I'm so sorry," he says quickly as he skirts around his chair to reach the child's side. "He was likely curious...." Reaching out a hand towards Rhibi, he glares down at the youth with a very stern gaze. "Perhaps we should go..." he adds, looking towards the others for confirmation.

"Come, Rhibi," is all the warden Maglind says, unshaken except for the force with which he pushes away his chair. "We apologize," says the Elf to the wizard and his servant. "But we thank you for your time and hospitality."

Rhibi is scrambling already to his feet, or trying to. "I'm sorry!" he wails. "I only wanted to see." But somehow the chair legs tangle around his, and he falls again; his hand reaching for Galharth's. "And now he'll /never/ tell me," he mourns, not quite under his breath.

His fingers clasp the weaver's and he is up, finally. "I'm sorry," he says again, darting an almost frightened glance at Saruman before scuttling towards the door.

Rhibi is scrambling already to his feet, or trying to. "I'm sorry!" he wails. "I only wanted to see." But somehow the chair legs tangle around his, and he falls again; his hand reaching for Galharth's. "And now he'll /never/ tell me," he mourns, not quite under his breath.

His fingers clasp the weaver's and he is up, finally. "I'm sorry," he says again, darting an almost frightened glance at Saruman before scuttling towards the door. (re)