================== Eldarin Calendar <in Sindarin> ===================
IC time is: Before Dawn < About 4:08 AM >
IC day is: Ormenel <Heavens-day>
IC date is: 31 Laer <Summer>
Moon phase: Waning 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: Wed Jul 11 10:22:53 2007
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Vale of Isengard: North of the Fords of Isen
This ancient road, once known as Len Angren, runs on a north-south route
connecting the Tower of Angrenost (Orthanc) to the Great West Road, which once
connected Arnor and Gondor.
Looking to your south you can see the Fords of Isen and the road running through
them and off across the Plains of Rohan. All around you are the falling ridges
of the Misty Mountains which cradle this wide plain upon which you stand. In the
distance, to the north, you can faintly see the tops of the Tower of Orthanc.
Beside the road, on which you stand, are the narrow and steep banks of the River
Isen, which is born in the mountains around you.
Contents:
Galharth
Maglind
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The shadows fade from black to grey to soft violet, and finally melt into the
daylight. Behind the camp, Maglind emerges and sighs, tossing back his hood. "At
last."
Turning, to look upon the source of the words spoken, Galharth lifts a brow. "At
last?" he questions. "I found our time in Insengard a learning experience."
Then, unexpectedly, the Tailor sighs and falls silent as he turns to look out
over the path that they will follow in the coming days.
"Of course," says Maglind cheerfully. "But there must have been times when you
yearned for home." He scans the open lands: "Are we returning the same way we
came?"
"I had hoped to be bringing something with us when we returned, even a glimmer
of information." Galharth mutters softly. "But that is not to be.." he adds in a
softe whisper. Glancing back over his shoulder, he nods his head lightly.
"Unless you have council against it, I think returning along the same path will
bring us swiftly home."
"I have no counsel," answers Maglind, lowering himself to sit on the ground.
"But on the way we came there were yrch, and trees to hide in. Here there is but
open grass. What would you rather face?"
Glancing back over the coming dawn, the crafter seems to consider the Wardens
words. "I think we've learned much on this journey. Enough so to avoid the
beasts that we faced in the beginning." He chuckles softly. "Even I've learned a
thing about hiding and holding back on impulses."
Maglind considers this, thoughtfully stroking the curve of his ever-present
longbow. "Still, I should rather face the threat of something known. And there
were the Herders to aid us. Do you think Fangorn will come again?"
"That which is expected does not always come to pass." Galharth says softly, as
he gazes out over the landscape which becomes more highlighted with each passing
moment. "We shall travel the path we came, and while I hope the herders will
reveal themself as before, I can not say with any certainty that they will."
Shrugging his shoulders lightly he once more looks over his shoulder towards
Maglind. "Perhaps they revealed themself due to our encounter with beasts? I
think it would take someone wiser than either of us to fully understand why
things occur as they do."
"Who knows the thoughts of trees?" says Maglind, standing and turning to face
the dawn. "Very well. Perhaps the orcs will have moved on."
"If they are wise, I think they would have. I can not imagine the Rohirrim
allowing their presence near their lands any more than we would." Galharth says
glancing back towards the horizon. He grows quiet for a moment, allowing the
breeze to dance around the edges of his cloak, and the sound of distant birds
dominate the sounds around them. "What did you think of Isengard?" he asks
suddenly.
"It was walled with stone," replies Maglind slowly, after a moment's breath,
"though the gardens were lovely. And Orthanc was always a-looking over the
shoulder. And the neighbors were strange. I suppose it is a watchtower, after
all."
"It was a fools thoughts that brought us here, and a fools hopes that one as
wise as Saruman would reveal something of little consequence in comparison to
all that is occuring in this world." The Tailor says with a touch of
embarrassment. "I am sorry to have dragged you so far for so little, Maglind."
"Then we are all fools," is the cheerful answer, bright gaze lent to a pair of
flapping ravens. "Nay, Galharth. I learned much. My brother will be delighted to
know, for example, that his songs are considered spells among the Dunlending."
Galharth chuckles again, shaking his head in the process. "They were a strange
folk, were they not. For the first moments of meeting them, I was almost sure
that I was to be shot."
Folding his arms over his chest, the Tailor turns and takes a step back towards
camp. "Another day awaits us, and I suppose I'd better get to the preparations
for our departure."
"Then you shall be pleased they were accurately repaid," grins Maglind suddenly.
"Come, home calls."