================== Eldarin Calendar <in Sindarin> ===================
IC time is: Early Night < About 9:33 PM >
IC day is: Orithil <Moon-day>
IC date is: 23 Laer <Summer>
Moon phase: Waxing Gibbous <VISIBLE>
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: Sun Jul 08 16:11:10 2007
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Old South Road (Methedras) - Dunland <<Redvyrne County>>
You are close to the mountain peak named Methedras and you can make out greater detail in the crags and spikes of the rocks that cover the sides of it. Through this area, you can barely see your way because the road is faint and overgrown with grass. The only evidence that the road was ever here is that the grass is thinner and of a different variety from the surrounding plains. The trees are sparse off in the distance, but help to break the monotony of the horizon.

To the north stands clear sign of habitation, however - the dark bulk of Crebain Keep is visible against the night sky, guarding Dunland's borders. Pinpricks of light atop the walls wink in and out as the night guard passes.

Contents:
Galharth
Agro
Llinos
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Shadows of early evening grow deeper and darker as the last traces of the sun dip well beyond the western horizon. Further down the mountain, the warmth of summer is tempered by a soft easterly breeze which dances along the grasses of the plains and hills for as far as the eyes can see. Near the mountain peak, the air is cooler, and the grasses less abundant.

"I'm going down the mountain a short way. To allow my horse better grazing." Galharth calls out to his companions as he mounts his beast. Circling once, he nudges the animal down the hill. As he rides, the hood of his cloak falls back slightly revealing silvery blonde hair.

A stealthy shadow, a movement of the grass, but all seems still otherwise, as if the wind had unsettled the natural growth. The silver hair is like a fire in the light that the evening sky gives and a target as well. THe grass stirs, but only a hushed whisper of the wind to tickle its ear.

But suddenly there is more movement and up stands a tall figure, short compared to the elf. A bow in hand and hardly as fair a sight. The dirt smeared face houses the amber eyes that stare down the shaft of the arrow that points his way. "Who are you?" is the rough Westron that rides the air, hardly welcoming. The voice is that of a woman's, but still worn, as if years have cut into its well being.

Only moments later, up springs another hardened figure. Perhaps three or four meters to the left of the first who popped up. Shaped by the toils of a hard life, Agro's features are quite menacing. His heavy brow is creased over his eyes. Thin lips are pressed together in a harsh frown. The wind blows his dirty dark hair across his face a little, although it doesn't seem to phase the man. He himself wields a large axe, holding it with two hands. He says nothing, showing perhaps that he's not one for words. His grip tightens on the shaft of the axe as he spreads his feet out wide. There's a small noise as he lets out a grunt, but nothing more.

At the sudden appearance of a human bearing a bow, aimed towards him, the reins of the horse are drawn, bringing forth snorts of dissatisfaction from the beast, the cloaked visitor holds up a hand. "Just a visitor! Hold your weapons, for I would dislike drawing my own." Galharth calls out in westron. Another sound, perhaps nothing more than the movement of grass, cause him to turn to find yet another, wielding an axe. "Hold, and lower your weapons! I am friend!"

Too beautiful, too perfect. The amber eyes at the other end of the arrow pause, their harshness lost for a second. The woman grits her teeth suddenly as she openly studies the elf. "Leaf ears..." She says to no one in particular as her hand grips the bow tighter. There is a sadness in her gaze and then she looks to her companion for but a moment before she lowers her bow. She speaks something in her native tongue, sharp and thick before she turns on her foot and strides for the north, cutting across some of the rock outcroppings. Pausing on one, she looks back and, strapping her bow in its holder behind her and then continues on, soon dropping out of sight.

Like Llinos' own, Agro's expression seems to soften just a moment as he witnesses the elven features. He turns his head just a bit as she mutters something to him, before his gaze swiftly strikes back to the cloaked figure. As she darts off, Agro takes a bold step forward, although remains in the safety of the somewhat taller grass. "Name." He suddenly speaks, in a voice very thick and raspy. "...and purpose. Your kind is not something that is seen often on these hills." The grip on the axe is kept tight. One hand is held near the top, whilst the other near the bottom.

Stiffening at the words 'leaf ears', Galharth mutters something softly within the folds of his cloak. Watching the female's retreat, the ellon reaches up to push back his hood to fully reveal his face and fair features. Silver hair glistens under the growing light of the stars and moon, and he turns towards the axe wielder with a stern expression. "I am Galharth, and my purpose is my own, known to myself and Curunir alone."

Tilting his head for a moment, he peers at the human, and then with the motion as swift as the wind, he dismounts his horse. "I have given you my, name, now I ask the same of you..."

As Galharth reveals not only the rest of his hair, but his entire face, Agro takes a swift breath. His once look of harshness upon the elf quickly turns to one of surprise. As if he's somehow proven himself by the show of dexterity as he dismounts, Agro drops to a knee, dipping his head. This of course, leaves him buried within the grass quite a bit! The bottom of his axe is pressed down to the ground. "Forgive me, Galharth. I did not know that it was an Elf who bordered on these harsh mountains. I thought perhaps you one of the blonde-mained men in disguise." As he rises from his knee, the axe is kept in his arms. Granted, it's not held in a threatening position now! "I am Agro. Proud member of the Bear clan." As he looks at Galharth, he seems to.. Well, stare. As if looking upon the very features of a God. "Stories have been told of your kind, and I have heard many. Yet this is the first time I have looked upon one such as you."

Stepping forward with an expression of concern, Galharth furrows his brow. "Are you alright? Did you fall?" Taking another step he offers the human a hand, "Do you need help rising?" His questions are issued forth with sincere compassion. And then, as if suddenly realizing the humans position, a smile grows at the corner of his mouth. "I can only wonder at the stories told by the second born of the first born. But for I, I am a crafter, and there are few stories told of the wonders of my craft." His smile grows broader. "I'm a Tailor."

"Tailor?" Agro queries, again sounding surprised at this turn of events. "Clothes, you make?" With a swift movement, Agro swings the axe around so that it sits in a fastened strap upon his back. "What brings you to the wilderness that is Dunland, Galharth the Tailor?" He does sound curious, as if still not completely believing what is before his grey eyes. "I doubt there are many threads of your kind that can be found here in the rugged." As if living proof of that, he gestures to his own worn leather armor. It's old, battered and tattered. His voice, although still heavy and gruff, does not carry the same harshness that it did before. "And there are two of you here, you said?"

"I did not say how many are in my party," Galharth says flatly, offering nothing of his group. "And my purpose in these lands is only a visit resulting from curiosity gained while visiting Curunir.... the one humans call Saruman."

Looking north towards the lights of the distant signs of life, he shakes his head. "I wondered about your people, and how they live." Frowning slightly, he looks back to the human. "When you and that woman thought me one of the Rohirrim, would you have fought me? Why?"

As Galharth flatly refuses to tell how many are in his group, Agro gets down into an almost tense position. Reminded that he is infact, talking to a stranger. "Saruman..." Agro murmurs, although says nothing about him. "Then wonder no more, leaf-eared one. Know this only. In these mountaints, in these lands. Every day is a fight to survive. We are hardened by the environment. Not only are we attacked by Orcs from the mountains, but by the blond-mained ones too." There's a pause, as he shakes his head. "I would have slaughtered you," Agro scowls, his harshness returning to tone once again. "The story is long, and I do not have all the wisdom to give it. Nor the time. Pray that you are not one, otherwise you would be by now already dead."

Emotions flicker upon the ellon's expression and within his eyes, yet he remains silent to the words spoken. A few minutes of silence passes after Agro speaks his last words, and finally Galharth replies. "I have found," he says softly with an air wisdom, or perhaps superiority often found within the firstborn, "that humans can find cause to fight among themself when a true enemy could easily be dispatched with cooperation." Turning towards his horse, he swings swiftly up into the saddle. "I wish you well Agro of the Bear Clan, and I thank you for some insight into the life of your peoples. Farewell."

With that the crafter turns and pushes his horse forward up the mountain where he disappears into the night.

Agro's eyes narrow at that. Fists clench, although loosen as he begins to ride away. With a small movement though, he ducks back into the grass, going back on his hunt. He doesn't say anything more to the Elf. Just lets him be.