This starts in the middle of the log - If I find the rest, I'll add it in. In the meantime enjoy one of my favorite NPCs."
Naudast is temped by Caranna, Adlannon by Hyardoel, Goerhim and Daeridro by me.
Naudast knocks softly on the wood. "You shan't worry." He spends a
moment
straightening his tunic, sweeping off any specks of dust that may have
latched onto him before turning to leave. The same jaunty tune begins
again;
along with words this time, although a little too loudly sung:
"Ruined is this mine, if it were not for me!
Linsilaur and his leather, a chore it surely seems.
But once it's done: the beams up and the ore safe and secure,
I've done my part, to have the stocky miner-dwarf reassured."
Daeridro watches Naudast brush himself carefully off and one blond
eyebrow
raises in ironic amusement. A melody floats back, mingled with the rush
of
riverwater, from where the apprentice has gone but the words are mostly
indistinguishable. Daeridro turns again to Gilrowen. "That one... I do
not
know why he chose mining, he should have been a washerwoman. But yes.
More
has been found, did you wish to inspect it perhaps?" He cocks his head
inquiringly at the jeweler.
The smile so carefully held back before now shows itself, lightening
the
severe set of her mouth, "Ah apprentices. Though," she looks over at
him and
shakes her head in commiseration, "I do not think the washers would
have
him. In any case, he is all yours Daerido and lucky I count you." A
brief
glance at the yawning darkness of the entrance and back to the miner
lessens
the smile, "Yes, if it is no trouble to you I should like to inspect
it." (Gilrowen)
Morning mist and fog are banished by the warmth and light of the sun
and the
sky that was grey but a little while ago now spreads an endless blue
arc
overhead. Many of the miners are below ground and those of the order
that
help them, but some few work at tasks here in the light of day.
Daeridro
glances around at the clearing, his light eyes landing on each busy
figure.
Nothing is out of the ordinary, and he turns towards the black entrance
and
lifts his lantern. "Come then. It has been sorted from the rock fall
and set
aside."
A dubious expression crosses her face at the invitation. "It is not yet
been
removed? I had hoped...well," she releases a sigh," then lead on and I
will
follow you." (Gilrowen)
No great skill is needed for sunlight to probe through the canopy of
leafless mellyrn -- and so it does, falling fully on a group of elves
traveling with a song upon their lips to ease the miles.
"Here, see, Alosfedhin," says the one foremost, Adlannon, "Wide and
deep
grow the roots of the trees in this land...like the beeches that grow
on the
hill just past. Though in a yen they might become miners' shafts,
alas." His
voice drops, then a calmer voice (Hyardoel's) answers, "Indeed, the
miners
use it well, aye."
And they draw nearer, approaching the edge of the treeline with silent
footfalls that attest to their craft.
There is hesitation in the voice of the jewelsmith who follows him.
Daeridro
pauses and speaks over his shoulder. "You need not fear, mellon." And
perhaps those apprentices who more often hear a bite in the tone would
be
astonished at his gentleness. "It is only a little ways within and the
rock
here has been stable for longer than I can remember." The song the
latest
apprentice sang as he left grows louder.. but no, there are different
singers coming. The miner scans the trees until the foresters come into
sight; lifting a hand in welcome, he leads the way into darkness. His
small
lantern swings before them, its welcoming yellow light glancing from
rock to
rock.
The Apprentice Forester quickens his step, light footfalls moving him
with
natural grace among the tangle of roots and fallen deitritus that
covers the
ground in a colorful carpet. Alosfedhin comes to a stop next to
Adlannon,
and crouches down to examine the roots that the more senior Forester
speaks
of. His eyes glance over the tendrils that reach down into the soil,
drawing
up the nutrients to keep the great plant alive. The edhel nods in
understanding of the bit of information imparted, and stands again,
following the group again.
"Unfortunate that they need to fell the trees, but I would think the
trees
would not mind if they serve a good purpose in their demise."
"Not /my/ trees," comes a stubborn addition from the rear of the group.
"They will not be cutting /my/ trees down. I do not care how many
timbers
are needed for the mining. Nor how well they do." With something less
than
the normal uncanny grace of the firstborn, Goerhim limps through the
forest
with his fellows. A column of sunlight turns his red hair to flame as
he
passes through it. "Hyardoel... did Caelwen speak with you?" His long
fingers are never still, caressing the bark of this tree, a twig that
hangs
low over here, picking up a golden leaf and letting it fall again...
LIlting voices through the trees turn her head and Gilrowen follows the
miners gaze as he searches for the source of sound. But he does not
stop to
hail the newcomers, not more than a swing of his lantern and into the
darkness they are swallowed. "I did not think that I would be anxious,
Daerido." She peers ahead of her following the fitfull yellow light
that
goes on before her. Already the rock echos her voice back to her though
they
have hardly begun the descent. "Still...
At the base of the first shaft, Daeridro halts and lifts up his lamp.
The
circle of light widens and a small pile of greyish rock throws a
rainbow of
sparkles into the air. "Do not fear," he repeats. "We will go no
further
than this." Somewhere nearby, water drips.. plink.... plink....
plink....
The sound echoes strangely in the dark caverns. And looming out of the
blackness beyond them, an elf walks towards the ladder, swarms up it
and
vanishes.
Adlannon shrugs, turning first from Alosfedhin then to Goerhim, blue
eyes
following the latter as he limps with them; finally, he shakes his
head.
"They are of use to us, aye," he repeats for Alosfedhin, "though not at
once...after we fell them, they must dry as you saw in the groves, for
half
a yen or more. And then we take them here, see." Catching just the tail
end
of Daeridro's greeting, he lifts a hand in answer and moves towards the
wood
pile with a hand upon the trunks for support.
Her face pale beneath the light that sets Goerhim's hair on fire,
Hyardoel
lingers with the limping Silvan forester, her face grave as she studies
him.
"I have not spoken with your cousin in a while. Has there been need of
it?"
She catches a falling leaf in her hand as it swirls past, looking up at
the
matching golden flowers.
A halo of light rises up the wall of the cave filling it with false
gold.
"An aftermath that I had not expected this...but it will pass," she
says
taking a step nearer. Every sound is enlarged unnaturally so light
steps on
the ladder take on another quality here, she briefly watches the elf
pass
through and upwards. Kneeling before the pile, the mirdan sits back on
her
calves and takes a stone in her hand hefting it as she examines it.
Colors
lie deeply embedded in the grey sheen that sends flashes of light that
echo
like the sound here. Looking up at the miner standing over her, "Is
this the
sum of it then?"
Goerhim drags his gaze away from a nearby bush and a smile lights up
his
long face behind its frame of lank fiery hair. "She wishes to plant
something. With flowers, she said. She is making a courtyard or some
such
thing, I did not listen. She seemed afraid to consult you, though I
told her
you were one of the best." An unconscious arrogance timbers his voice;
clearly, there is no doubt in his mind that he too is one of the best.
"I
suggested plum to her. I thought she might ask your opinion as well."
His
high light voice goes on, but his eyes do not remain on the other
forester -
instead darting about the trees like a dragonfly darts from flower to
flower.
"There may be more." Daeridro stands with his lantern held high. It
sways a
little, sending the light up the wall then down again, but always
steadily
centered on Gilrowen. "The shaft is not completely cleared away, I
cannot
say what yet might lie beneath. This," he gestures towards the small
pile,
"I think came down with the cave-in. We might not have found it else."
Alosfedhin nods, and follows Adlannon over to the wood-pile. He comes
to a
stop next to the stack of bracing timbers, and picks one up. He turns
the
log over with care, as if honoring the dead tree from which the wooden
beam
comes from. "I see... It surprises me how long it takes, the process
must be
very carefully done then, I would think." He sets the timber down
again, and
is about to ask another question, when his keen ears pick up the line
of
Hyardoel's and Goerhim's discussion. A blood-red eyebrow quirks in
interest,
and he strides over to the two.
"Padon me, but do you speak of Caelwen's plans for the reflecting
garden?
Under the Dinlom mallorn?"
Hyardoel's grey eyes narrow at the mention of Caelwen, even though she
looks
into the trees. "Did she ask aught else? I would say that your thoughts
would be more than enough for what she crafts, this...reflecting
garden?"
Dark brows rise at Alosfedhin at that, and she turns to include him. "I
marked their courtyard in a state of disrepair, though I knew not what
the
Dinlym planned for it."
The Apprentice shrugs at Hyardoel and he leans against a nearby tree,
fingers playing with the bark they touch. "I met here under the tree a
few
weeks ago. She was quite enthusiastic about her plans," he grins to
himself
at the memory, "But I found my personal knowledge too limited to help
her."
Alosfedhin gestures with a tilt of his blood-haried head, "I suggested
the
elleth seek you out, Hyardoel, but she seemed... reluctant to do that."
Goerhim waves an airy uncaring hand as he comes out of the comforting
shadow
of the trees and into full daylight. "Yes, yes. My cousin Caelwen. She
does
something with the courtyard, probably it will involve clay." His eyes
turn
to green glass, lit from within, as they land upon the semi-tidy pile
of
beams waiting for be taken into the mine. Three long strides, marred
only a
little by his hitching stride, bring him to them and he crouches down
to run
an expert hand along the smoothed sides. "I would not have thought this
strong enough..." he muses, then his gaze alights on several more
stacked to
one side. "Ah. Leather. That is well... do you think it enough?" he
demands
of Adlannon abruptly. "I would not wish them to fail again." It is
unclear
which thought brings him more pain - that the mine may collapse a
second
time, or that wood might again be torn asunder and shriek its agony
beneath
the ground.
"Ah, so you have not had time to dig further." Turning it over again,
she
scratches at the rock with her fingernail holding it up to the light
held
over her by the steady hand of the miner. "Then we were in a very good
part
of the mine if this is any indication of the richness of the vein."
Rising
still requires her to put a hand to her side and she narrows her eyes a
bit
in the effort, "Do you think that we will find more?"
"I cannot tell." Daeridro stoops and lifts a chunk of ore, setting his
lantern on the ground at his feet. His other hand slides a slim pointed
hammer from his belt and he taps at the rock. A few blow and it
crumbles
into two, no three smaller pieces. "See?" he holds it out for
Gilrowen's
inspection. "It is friable, it crumbles easily. If we are to retrieve
more,
it will take much time and care." Slowly, he adds (the light shining up
from
below turns his face into a caricature of dark shadows and jutting
bones),
"It may be that this is why the roof collapsed to begin with - that the
rock
was seemed with instability and could not hold. It may not be possible
to
sink the shaft any further. We will see."
Hyardoel's eyes close briefly at the second mention of the cennan,
eventually opening to calm. "Be that as it may," she says, looking to
Alosfedhin, "It might be well to have you learn what she wishes for a
time.
What did she ask of you?"
By the logs, Adlannon's faint song fades beneath the onslaught of
Goerhim's
sudden demand. A glance towards the mine shaft darkens his manner for a
moment before he replies. "Oak takes longer to dry, I did not think
these
logs were left alone enough for it. The leather...I do not know if it
is
enough."
"It is enough." The only Sinda here, Hyardoel, cuts in abruptly, though
she
does not meet Adlannon's eyes.
Reaching for the pieces that he has broken in his hand she casts a huge
misshapen shadow that lurches across the walls, "Then it makes it all
the
more precious - I will endanger no lives to give me a plaything
Daerido."
Two of the pieces are dropped from her fingers to the pile but she
holds
onto one that she rubs and turns between her fingers considering it.
"Yet it
is so beautiful smelted." She catches the black well of his gaze
underlit by
the lantern, "You have yet to see the gem that the Master and I made
have
you? It is ...undeniably something very special this but not worth
lives. I
leave it in your hands." (Gilrowen)
"Indeed Hirdan, jewels are wonderful to gaze upon; but no match for the
joy
that can be created by that of the first-born who are alive.." Aerwaen
walks
in carefully, covetted in dust wiping off brown gloves now a faint tan
due
to work. She catches the ends of the words, looking considerably
relieved to
see her kinswoman; although an air of fear goes here for what assailed
the
Jewelsmith and even herself last time they graced the mines.
"Mae Govannen. Pardon my intrusion, but I came to see that you and your
companion were alright, my kinswoman. Would you have me as your escort?
Unless this is some matter of privacy I cannot be party to.." She
smiles
warmly at the pair, dusty face with a gleeming eye even in the
approaching
darkness that blocks out all light. She wipes her hands down the front
of
her leggings, trying to dislodge more dust, and also waiting for the
reply
given.
Daeridro considers the jewelsmith silently, his eyes hooded and
shadowed. "I
have not seen it," he confirms. In the quiet between their voices, the
sounds of the mine seem louder - the dripping of water, the faint
knocking
of hammers, the approach of another. "I am fine, thank you." The
miner's
tone turns tart again. "I need no escort in my own tunnels." To
Gilrowen, "I
will find for you all that I may. But we will stop if there is danger
again."
The Silvan edhel's eyebrow arches in curiosity at Hyardoel's short
temperment.
"Well, the elleth-Potter (cant remember the proper elvish title) had a
rather detailed drawing of her plan. She wished a circular pool of
water,
with a tree in the center. She wanted the light to reflect off the
surface,
and help the tree grow..." He shrugs, and kneels to look at a small
sprout
poking it's way up between to sticks. "Or some thing to that effect." (Alosfedhin)
Diffident, silly, flighty.. these all have been used to describe
Goerhim at
one time or another, but the ones who used them did not see him
immersed in
his avocation. He turns abruptly to stare at Hyardoel, and there is
almost a
challenge in the light green eyes that rest so intensely on her face.
"Are
you certain? It is necessary," he sounds vaguely reluctant to admit
even
this, "I understand that they must be felled and used, but I will not
have
them tried beyond their strength and all go for naught."
"Good day to you Aerwaen. Indeed they are beautiful to look on but too
many
of us have nearly paid the highest price to bring this to light," she
hold
up the stone that scintillates in the golden light. She has difficulty
seeing Daeridro's under lit face well and takes a step nearer, in an
intense
voice lowered to keep from echoing in the shafts, "I leave the decision
to
you - nothing is worth the price that was nearly paid."
"Aerwaen do you stay or will you come out with me? I have seen enough.
Our
head miner does not need my advice that is certain." Golden highlights
and
black shadows run over her face as she bows her head once in his
direction.
"Thank you for all that have done"
Aerwaen looks between her kinswoman and that of the head-miner who is
made
apparent to her now. She nods lowly to him and replies to Gilrowen.
"Aye
Gilrowen, I will accompany you should you seek my leasure this day. To
be of
service." She looks directly at Daeridro now, speaking quietly. "Do you
require the company of anyone mellon nin? If you should, I can spare a
few
Squire's on Knight Legarwin's orders to aide you. I am not sure what
they
could aide you with, but more than happy to do so I am."
She looks to Gilrowen, then back towards where light breaks and shows
an
exit with green grasses and voices of kin beyond. "Shall we, Gilrowen?"
"She needs but one tree, gwador?" Edging to the side to see what
Alosfedhin
studies, Hyardoel leans against a nearby mallorn, her shoulders tense
as
they touch the smooth bole. "Then plum suffices, as Goerhim said. I do
not
know."
But Goerhim's latest words bring a slight crease to her forehead, and
calm
resolve leaves her with a sigh. Her glance quickly darts between the
other
three foresters, curiously flickering. "It is enough. We will examine
the
logs, if you wish." And letting her arms fall to her sides, she starts
to
stride towards the leather-wrapped pile, not glancing back.
Alosfedhin looks up at her, brushing a braid of blood-red hair out of
his
face. "Mellon... What is it that distresses you so?" he asks, nieve to
her
consternation. He glances back down at the small sprout, smiles at it
almost
lovingly, then stands and follows the others down to the pile.
"I have done nothing." Daeridro bends to pick up his lantern and once
again,
a small smile cracks his reserve. "We will find as much as we may
without
undue risk," he promises. "The Master has left me in charge at this
time."
He turns his head politely towards Aerwaen, and the smile may fade, but
it
does not vanish. "I was doing nothing beyond showing the mirdan what we
have
kept aside for her. Leave the squires to the tasks they already are
about,
it is more important that the excavation be completed in safety." He
turns
his head towards the inner workings of the mine, and then disappears
into
the darkness; his footsteps echoing behind him, and the tiny yellow
flame
flickering before.
Mercurial as ever, Goerhim drops his assertive manner in the middle of
Hyardoel's sentance and turns towards the second pile as well. Reaching
it a
step behind her, he kneels a little clumsily and reaches out to stroke
the
wood. His hand moves slowly along the grain, all but stopping here,
hurrying
there. Green eyes flutter shut and his long pale face goes distant, as
if he
is listening to something very far away. After a while, he looks up at
the
other foresters with an unexpectedly sweet smile. "I think you are
right,
Hyardoel."
"Go on," says Adlannon, waving the others forward, "three will fare as
well
as four will do." He flicks a glance to Goerhim and Alosfedhin, then
disappears around the other side of the pile. A song weaves through the
timbers as he works.
Hyardoel nods, though she touches too the wood to confirm it: and
gradually,
her eyes close, and her shoulders relax, fingers moving in a different
rhythm than Goerhim's. If she remembers Alosfedhin's words, she gives
no
sign, merely stepping aside for him...then she looks down, her bright
gaze
returning from a distance with a sober answering smile for Goerhim.
"Does it
know it spends its last days in the sunlight?" she muses, head bowed
towards
the logs as though listening to a song that lingers still.
Alosfedhin walks over to the woodpile and watches Goerhim almost
comunicate
with the fallen trees. He chuckles quietly and picks one of the timbers
up,
once more looking at it. The forester holds the length of wood near
it's
midpoint, as if trying to balance it evenly. "Ending up underground....
For
something as pedestrian as roof supports." He looks over at the
crouching
forester, "Tis a shame, is it not?"
"It is eager," Goerhim says, turning his face down towards the wood.
Fondness creeps into the corners of his smile, and he pats the beam
lovingly. "Eager to be used... oak is like that. It thinks it is the
strongest of all and can endure forever, and it wants always to prove
it."
His voice seems filled with dreams even in the middle of bright day.
Hyardoel nods as the dream in the spring-bright grass stirs a memory of
youth and glad things. Her voice is mild, "Beneath these roof supports
work
miners to retrieve ore, gwador, and the jewelsmiths smelt it for their
craft." Bemusement clouds her features at the thought of edhil
underground,
but the shake of her head as she steps from the logs names their work
not a
shame at the last. She turns to Goerhim and quietly adds, "It has
proved
that, aye, but I still cannot fathom why it does not stand tall in its
pride...they are stubborn, and they twist and bend their boughs. What
of
those new trees you work with?"
The young Eryndir glances from the woodpile to Hyardoel, absorbing her
wisdom readily. "I guess so, and the timbers serve the purpose well.
Strong
wood saves lives, no?" He looks down at the pile of timbers, then back
at
the mine. "And after all... The ore and iron from the mines, arm our
soldiers, and they protect the trees too. So it's all cyclical."
Alosfedhin
nods at his logic, pleased by his reasoning.
"Their wood is softer," Goerhim says musingly, still sliding his hand
down
the grain of the wood again and again. A bird trills over his head and
he
looks up, red hair falling away from his face. "It does not lose its
leaves.. if those spiny things might be named 'leaf'. They grow swiftly
as
well. I will not know of all their character for many yeni to come." He
glances over at Alosfedhin and nods approvingly. "Yes. You begin to
understand, all returns in the end to the trees. I wonder..." but his
voice
trails off and what he wonders is left unspoken.
Alosfedhin nods at his fellow tree-tenders, and looks off into the
forest.
"Pardon me mellyn, but I have a task which I have just remembered." He
bows,
smiles, and jogs off.
"The trees are what bind us to this land, in the end. Their whispers
and our
songs beneath their boughs..." Hyardoel looks down at Goerhim once
more,
wondering as she shakes her head. "I would like to see them again, if
you
would allow it." And her bright glance transfers to Alosfedhin,
regarding
him silently for now. "Fare you well."
Goerhim's face brightens immeasurably and he springs to his feet.
"Certainly! You must come and see them, they grow very well." The beams
left
behind are forgotten, clearly they will do well enough, all his thought
now
is for his newest treasures. The limp that still mars his walk does
little
to slow him down as he turns towards the forest. "They like the sun;
where
there is little light, the lower branches brown and die. But still
there is
life, for the tops are green as if they are crowned." Half in shade,
half in
sun, he pauses to look back then continues his enthusiastic regailing.
"But
I planted some all in sun, a little apart and they wear a robe of
leaves all
over."
"Not like yew, then," says Hyardoel, answering the other forester after
a
last lingering look at the logs, "I am glad it does not seem they'll be
more
stubborn than the oak. We will know after another yen is past...ah, and
we
are done here. Shall we go?" But Goerhim is already heading slowly into
the
forest -- and bowing her head with a sudden smile, Hyardoel strides
after
the other tauron.