================== Eldarin Calendar in Sindarin ===================
IC time is: Early Afternoon About 1:15 PM
IC day is: Oranor Sun-day
IC date is: 41 Rhiw Winter
Moon phase: First Quarter VISIBLE
Earendil: Gil-Estel is not visible.
IC year is: Loa 3 o Yen 22, Nelandran o Endor TA 3027
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RL time: Mon Dec 16 13:05:21 2002
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Winery
This large structure holds thousands of casks of wine in various stages of the fermentation process. Beyond the various barrels and casks, a large wine press rests silently and broodingly in a cleared area of the room. Much activity can be found here during the harvest time.


Sunlight diffuses in whitely through open doors and windows, and kisses vintners at work even in Rhiw. Huge barrels and casks of wine sit woodenly around the room, a few being tested or checked over by edhil, some being moved about. Dust glitters like laughter in the air.

A potter peeks in through the doorway, her hair gleaming like a tongue of flame in the light. Caelwen's bright eyes leap from Vintner to Vinter, and she hesitates there.


Among his fellows, laughing and talking, one tall bare-footed elf squats down and feels at a barrel near the bottom of a stack. Tilting his head back, he grins up at the elleth nearest him. "This was the red from 2 years back.. that we have not named yet, do you remember?" For though his apprenticeship was not so very long, he has been coming to the winery for some years.


Even as fresh laughter rings clearly from the winery, a soft voice speaks from behind the cennan. "Your pardon." And Hyardoel is there, a light cloak her only concession to the winter, and it seems she some errand here as well.


And a third enters, a taller edhel, nodding to both of the ellith as he passes them. It is Iaurhanc, the master Vintner, and his deep voice booms and rolls like thunder as it crashes around the Winery. "Have we congratulated our new Journeyman Lothdaimoth yet?"


As the echoes of his deep tones fade, another sound can be heard: the high and giddy giggle of Caelwen, who winks at Hyardoel. As the Vintners begin to move with wide grins toward the new Journeyelf, she spurs herself forward to join them.


Lothdaimoth springs lightly to his feet as his kinsman's booming tones cut through and under the babble. "Aye," he says laughing. "Several times." But it seems he has no real hope of escaping the ring of elves, backed up to the barrels as he is, for dark eyes laugh at them and his hands spread wide in resignation.


Hyardoel's wan smile greets the Silvan's giddy giggle -- but Lothdaimoth speaks, and a short laugh is given now in truth. "One more must you suffer then. Elo, Lothdaimoth!" A pause, then she too joins the throng of vintners (and one cennan) slowly pressing in around the journeyman crafter.


Iaurhanc fades into the crowd, and Caelwen eagerly fits herself among them as well. An elleth reaches for Lothdaimoth's arm, an edhel is legs, and with a heave, the Minister-Vinter is aloft, more than a dozen hands keeping him securely in the air, save for a few moments now and then when it seems like someone might drop him.


Three elves are prying the lid off of a huge barrel of wine-- nigh a vat, this one is. Ah, yes-- a nice, velvety-dark red. They laugh to themselves, and the other Vintners laugh upon seeing it. Someone calls, "Lothdaimoth?? Did anyone ever teach you about how you must really gain a close relationship with the wine to succeed here?"


Jouncing about mid-air, Lothdaimoth cranes and twists, trying to lift his head enough to see what is happening. "Aiya! You will drown me!" he says in mock horror. And then more seriously, "A red? I will be all over purple and never again can Moedhim call me Caranteil..." He groans a little as his imagination brings up several substitute names that Caelwen's father might think of.


Hyardoel remains at the edge of the crowd; the Quendi who were unable to take a hold of Lothdaimoth now start to clap their hands with a familiar rousing chorus, and the forester's voice joins the song. Even as her fellows lift Lothdaimoth does she turn, already looking for the nearest stream...until the minister's next words draws her eyes to the elves preparing the barrel of wine. A chuckle, and she moves with the throng.


Caelwen claps enthusiastically with her fellow Gwaith-I-Thein, her voice raised high, as she is not one of those carrying the Minister. She skips ahead of the crowd, curls bouncing, ever glancing over her shoulder to find again Lothdaimoth. "Caranedhel!!" She cries ere she rejoins the song, and leans against the edge of the open barrel.


"To drown in wine! A lucky ending!" another voice crows over the chorus, and by now the Quendi throng has ringed the barrel entirely, though several sensibly stand back a bit. "ONE," everyone starts to chant, "TWO... THREE!!" And with another heave, the new journeyman is tossed into wine.


'Sensible' is not a word generally used to describe Caelwen, and she gets sprayed with crimson droplets at this, though she still leans forward eagerly and does not seem to mind.


Crimson droplets might be an understatement, for the no-longer apprentice doubles up in mid air, sending a reddish purple wave soaring over the surrounding throng. The surface of the liquid roils wildly as the sudden hole punched through it fills again, and then calms to stillness. Then streaming, drenched and purple, Lothdaimoth stands up. Chest high in the dark red wine, his face streaked with rivules of liquid. Black hair is plastered to his skull and white teeth gleam fantastically in his suddenly darkened face. "Drink anyone?" he asks chuckling after a few seconds of silence. "All I need is a few glasses - there is plenty of wine..."


Several squeals or gasps are wrung from the less prudent elves as a wave of red wine splashes over chests or feet. "Of course!" someone laughs, as ceramic cups are already being passed around by grinning vintners.


Caelwen, dyed red from shoulder to belly, leans her elbows on the edge of the barrell and informs Lothdaimoth soberly, "You look delicious." Giggles are kept hidden behind her teeth.


Fwoosh! The red wave crests and hits the planks with a splash, darkening the old stains upon the oaken floor. Bare feet and booted somehow avoid the worst of it, moving around to congratulate the vintner in a dance that little muddies the winery's floor. "I think I might drink only the whites for a while." Hyardoel's tones are still calm as she speaks this, though faint amusement flashes in her eyes.


Mug after mug is dipped into the wine surrounding Lothdaimoth, and passed back to willing hands. From a little ways away, Hyardoel's comment is never-the-less heard and he sends a flash of teeth her direction. "Are you certain, mellon? It is a very good vintage?" His tone is light and teasing. Then Caelwen catches his eye and the vintner transfers his grin to her. "I am," he informs her loftily, lifting a dripping mug and pouring a slow thin stream out over her head.


Caelwen is still grinning a bit moonily at the purple edhel, and grins only wider as he approaches with a mug. This is all shattered by a loud squeal when he pours wine into her curls, red rivulets curling over the curves of her face and dripping off her chin. "Loth/dai/moth!" she scolds with mock ferocity. "Now I'll have to go rinse off." She sticks her tongue out at him, thinks better of it and licks wine from her face, then winks once ere darting out of the winery.


Crimson liquid spreads across the floor of the winery, sparkling in the afternoon sun. So too does this same wine spread in mugs from hand to hand, and elves raise their cups to Lothdaimoth in celebration. And a brief shake of the head from Hyardoel greets Lothdaimoth's flashed grin: once for the cup that she accepts from a vintner and again for the cennan's sudden plight. "Indeed, it is so." And in a moment she has drunk from his wine.


No more hands with empty mugs are waving at him, and Lothdaimoth claims the last for himself, lifting it high in response before downing the contents. Then he looks about him slightly at a loss, his thoughts almost audible - how to get out without tipping the barrel over entirely? Finally, with a shrug and a grin, he tosses the empty cup to someone, puts both hands on the shoulders of those nearby and lofts himself from the sloshing wine. A new spray of purple decorates those closest, but he is out.


A final cheer rises at Lothdaimoth's sudden gesture, then the crowd of thein starts to disperse. Belated congratulations reach Lothdaimoth now and again as some move about the casks once more.


Setting down her mug upon a barrel, Hyardoel approaches through the ever-widening gap in the ring. So far, she has managed to avoid the worst of the splashing: the light spray at the hem of her cloak stands in contrast to Lothdaimoth's dripping form. "A fairer end by far than mine," she remarks, folding her arms as she speaks.


Lothdaimoth moves somewhat squishily, cloth pulling away from his skin with audible squelches and further dripping. Wringing out his long hair, the puddle around his feet widens redly. "Really?" he asks with interest and looks down at himself dolefully. "I wonder if the color will ever come out, or if I have suddenly acquired a new suit of clothing..."


With tilted head she studies now the minister's clothes, the almost-blackness of what once was green and grey. The faintest smile lingers on her still. "It seems but seemly for a gwinthaer to have such garb. And mayhap we will meet in drier times, but for the moment I've an errand with your fellow vintners here. Namarie." Her parting nod is pleasant, then she turns towards the winepress with her voice already rising in a greeting.


Contenting himself with a nod and a murmured farewell, Lothdaimoth looks around the large room and then heads towards the door and sunshine and clean water to wash in.