ࡱ>    !"#$%&'()*+,-./0123456789:;<=>?@ABCDEFGHIJKLMNOPQRSTUVWXYZ[\]^_`abcdefghijklmnopqrstuvwxyz{|}~Root Entry FX[ WordDocument CompObjns a low bough of one of the great beeches, balancing easily and peeking with wide green eyes at the gathering below through the early autumn foliage. Thranduil smiles at the young lass, even as he nods his head to his sons speech, "Indeed, well all are most heartily welcomed, and if we must feast until they all return, then even better, so say I..." His laughter booms and even the tree seem to shake with mirth as the king's merryment is evident. "Perhaps we shall feast so long and loud that some of our more wayward kin might hear our song and return before winter..." Thranduil lifts up an apple and tosses it to Elaure, even as she looks down, and the fruit seems to nearly hover... Elaure blinks in surprise at having been seen so quickly but giggles as she catches the king's missive missile. Elaure bows down upon the bough and does a minute and agile curtsey. Aldarhel follows the lofted apple upward with his eyes and smiles to see Elaure in the branches. He calls out to her, " Well, little songbird, 'ware that you don't fall from your perch before you have grown wings to fly. I don't see enough fletching on your arms to brake your fall." Thranduil stands, and stands upon his stump, towering himself, his cloak falling down to his feet and covering them so with his arms raised, one glass lifted before him, he says, "As ruler of this fair realm, fair even unto days before we came, and fair no doubt when our memory is only in the oldest of trees, I shall take the first toast. Please find wine to join me..." Casks of wine and bottles are tossed around and rolled about into the clearing, even as glass and cups are juggled through the crowd..." The young girl elf looks over at the king as he stands up, and running back toward Matrim, she says, "Maty! Maty! Is that the king?" She jumps up in down with excitement, "I'm gonna go talk to him." Legolas says, "Aye," he says and lifts a knee and places his foot on the stump in a half kneeling position, "Though I think the Feredir should complain, I think, for they are ill at ease at sitting." Aldarhel's cry momentarily attracts the attention of his fellows, who find soberiety a poor excuse for not laughing, but who quiet down as the King begins his speach. Finding no more excuse for sobreity, they make haste to alieviate the condiation. Elaure laughs and waits for the king to finish, after which she speaks in Bethteur to Aldarehel. "I am not so used to being seen until I want to be." She giggles again. Matrim smiles down at the girl, smiling, "Yep, he is the king, a very good one too." He grins, "I'm sure he'll love talking to you." A FILLED glass of wine is suddenly tossed UP into the tree by an unseen servant... Elaure crouches on the bough and sits, then swings down, as light at the feather she wears on her wrist. An unusual sight, she is wearing a dress. Legolas takes up his wine that's set infront of him by one of the serving elves and looks towards his father. Thranduil stands awaiting some settling as his folk play overlong at wine service... Aldarhel takes a proffered glass of wine from one of the fairer of the serving maids and joins the King in his toast. The maid stands by smiling at him, but as Aldarhel seems to take no note of the extra attention, she leaves after a while to continue her duties, looking slightly less cheerful. Emerging slowly from the darkness of the cave mouth is a tall figure wrapped in a cloak, his face covered. He is silent and walks slowly toward the gathering. Upon enter the standing along side her dearly beloved Matrim, Kyriana makes her way over towards the trees. Her smile is faint, though joy can cleary be seen in her eyes as she walks idly about. Nearing her favorite climbing tree, she lifts her self up slowly, being sure not to catch her skirt on the bark. Elaure pulls at the neck on her dress to straighten it. Aerian's eyes light, "I can? I can?" Not waiting for an answer, she runs off, heading for the place where Thranduil stands. Running up to him, she beams up to him, "Are you really the Aran. Maty said you werܥe# hosl,l,l  K(T /K MS Sans Serif Symbol0Courier NewTimes New RomanOOC Editor's Note: Aerian is a puppet controlled by Matrim Aldarhel is rolling a log into the glade to serve as a bench at one of the lesser tables together with several men who you recognize as foresters. They sing a simple, and often silly work song. Thranduil stands in the midst of the work, surveying it, and seeing that all is done to his satisfaction. A bowl of apples spills out into the circle, some into the firepit, cries go up as several squirrel leap in and roll away a few choice fruit. Several elvish lads run about picking up the loose apples that have fallen, tossing them high into the air, causing some commotion as apples come raining down amidst the circle. Aldarhel finishing his work, Aldarhel joins with several of the other simple laborers and sits at a rudely fashioned table near the edge of the feast. There they continue to laugh and tease one another amiably, as the food is laid on the table. Thranduil looks towards Legolas, and nods smiling even as he is lead to a great stump, where he sits, crosslegged and cushioned by a great beech behind him. Finishing his work, Aldarhel joins with several of the other simple laborers and sits at a rudely fashioned table near the edge of the feast. There they continue to laugh and tease one another amiably, as the food is laid on the table. Thranduil says, "Ah, my son is ready to eat I see, though that is quite a long knife to be waving about in close quarters..." Thranduil grins and motions to an empty log near his own seat, "Come, Green Leaf, and sit by me and celebrate the season and homecoming." Legolas enters the ring of the elves and bows his head towards Thranduil, "Aye, father, though I did not wish to risk not having a utensil to eat with! For I must admit, fo rmy sake, my hunger has grown as the day has worn on." He takes his dagger and slides it away in the sheath, "Though I see all is prepared to satisifaction." A devious smile plays across his face. The sounds of the friendly banter reach a peak from the table near the edge of the glade, as roucous laughter shakes the table and sends several of the elves sitting there, Aldarhel included, rolling off there logs and holding there sides. One elf, not laughing turns bright red. Apparantly the mirth was the result of something one of the serving maids said, as one of them walks quickly toward the hall looking as satisfied as a cat that has caught a sparrow. Squirrel chitter from the trees, hastened from their own gatherling of winter sustenance, but not too troubled. Legolas bows low, with a sweeping flourish of his hand, and with that takes his place along the side of the Elven King. A small group of elves enter the clearing, looking much like a family, though in truth aren't quite. Running ahead of the older two, a young elven girl runs about, eyes big as she looks around. The other two walk holding hands, smiling at each other or the child. As they arrive, one of them, Matrim, calls out to those gathered, "Mae govannen mellyn!" Legolas laughs and shakes his head, "I do think that most of the host has returned, though since the purpose was to celebrate the birthday I did not order them about and bid them to leave at their free will, though not alone as the road may hav ebeen dangerous. My guess is still some dwell in the land of Dale, though with word of your feast I do not suppose they shall terry long before joining us." Aldarhel seems to grow weary of the light hearted battle of wits that has sprung up about him, or else he has had the worst of it, turns on his seat and directs his attention across the glade to the father and son that are at its center. Even from this great distance, it does not take a one who knows him well to see the evidence of great couriousity in his glance. A soft rustling of leaves is heard overhead as a very small elf walke!" Thranduil smiles and looks like he might stand, cup in hand all day and even into the night.... Thranduil lifts a single finger but smiles fully to the child, nods and begins... A leaf moves, comes a bit lose on Elaure's dress. The covered figure walks to the side of the crowd and watches as the King prepares to rise. Thranduil speaks softly, yet somehow his words echo from about the woods, and even the songbirds quiet for a moment.... Elaure grimaces a tiny grimace at the dress. She is standing. Elaure raises her head and smiles. She waves to Aerian. The figure's eyes are not locked on the Aran, however. He gazes about the crowd and his eyes come to rest on the young Elaure for a long moment. Then his attention returns to the King. ---------------------- Great Stand of Beeches A great stand of beeches grows from the banks of the Taurduin river. The fully shaded road from the bridge lies straight between the trees towards a hugh cave mouth, running deep into the tree covered hillside. Along the edge of the Forest river twists a narrow, canopied path soon winding out of sight, blocked from view by the smooth gray trunks of the towering beeches. The trees are tall, healthy and obviously well cared for, awash with the rich purple of changing autumn leaves. The earth between them is cool and damp, covered with bushy undergrowth, thick, and colorful in the sharp early afternoon air. Slender shafts of sunlight pierce through the thick canopy, their dappled light falling on the ground, while the sky overhead is clear and blue.. Amidst the trees a great feast is laid, songbirds sing from the branches, and a circle of logs around a firepit look inviting as do the many beautifully dressed elves from the woods and halls of Thranduil's realm. Contents: Ceruill Elaure Legolas Aerian Kyriana Thranduil Aldarhel A Small Campsite Obvious exits: North leads to The Beeches. NorthEast leads to Cave. SouthWest leads to Bridge. NorthWest leads to Training Hall of Tirith-o-Eryn. East leads to Mal Taurduin. ---------------------- Aerian beams as Elaure waves. Jumping a bit, she waves back. Aldarhel stand together with the host, listening to the words of the King, and holding his polished wooden wine goblet in readiness for the many toasts that accompany such an event. Thranduil says, "It is autumn time, or nearly so, and though the woods seem quieting, the woodlife is still rioting, to find its way to bed and home! And in the woods the elves still sing, as song and woods are one true thing, and so I ask that you shall bring your youngest heart to celebrate, for those who have returned ere cold might remind the woods of times of old when folk did not trespass their bounds, and silence was the loudest sound." Thranduil raises his glass high, "To the woods and its folk may they always return as fall reminds us of the glory of spring before winters cost..." "To the woods!" the figure in the grey cloak calls out, and his voice is rich and like a song without singing. Aldarhel lifts his goblet high in salute and utters together with the foresters, herdsmans, and other simple folk, "The the woods!", then he drinks deeply, still examining the King with great couriousity. Thranduil raises his glass, at that and downs it fully, and laughs as the sound of elves drinking is like a rain storm... Elaure grins a huge smile, although she has no glass. She says softly, "To the greenwood the great, mother, protector of our home." Legolas casts a glance about the old, great trees. A smile touches his lips shortly before the rim of his glass as he toasts, "To the trees!" and over-eagerly takes a sip of the fresh wine. The young girl does as the adults, grinning and jumping a bit on her toes, even though she has no wine. Thranduil lowers his finger and looks down at the young lass even as he sits... Thranduil says, "And what is your name little squirrel?" Feasting elves begin clammoring to make small personal toasts, while others seem almost brave enough to speak out to the circle, yet haven't quite had the courage born of blood red wine, to make toasts to the host. Thranduil's finger dropping opens a flood gate of talking, "My names Aerian! Mat over there is my brother. Are you really really the Aran? Do you rule all the forest? Can I have some of that drink?" Thranduil says, "A little squirrel like you may have a chestnut full," as a servant girl hearing it manages to crack nut pour wine and serve child so quickly and gracefully that even the king is impressed." The cloaked figure watches the exchange of child and king and green eyes flash beneath the hood that covers his face. He takes steps closer to the High Seat and reaches over his shoulder, pulling the harp case from his back. Aldarhel watches the King with the child over the rim of his goblet, looking somehow remote from the merriment at the table, though he occasionally turns to give a perfunctary smile to some jest are the other. Thranduil looks over to Matrim and nods salute to the Egwador even as he entertains his younger sister. Elaure watches the king and the younger child quietly for the moment, sitting down. And then she sees the bard. Her own green eyes widen as she watches him closely. Matrim smiles, being aknowledged by his king. He quickly gives the king his best bow. Thranduil speaks softly, but as always his words seem to shiver in the blood like a thunderstorm far away, yet clearly approaching, "Tell me then, is the wine sweet? What does it remind you of? The hard leather case, which looks worse for the wear of Summer's Sun, Spring's Showers and Winter's Chill, is opened by the cloaked figure and left lying upon the grass of the clearing. The figure reaches within and produces something that flashes and shines -- a beautiful harp of silver and gold, clearly very old as no master with such craft still resides east of the Sundering Sea. Elaure stands up again, her attention rivited and her eyes bright. She starts to move nearer. Thranduil's eyes are focused at the youth, clearly entertained. Elaure begins to smile as she moves toward the bard. her eyes are shining like the sea thru green glass. The harp in hand, the figure steps through the crowd and comes to stand directly before the seat of the King, though many paces distant out of proper respect. However, his face is still covered before the king, something not entirely within the bounds of etiquette. The figure does not, however, make the mistake of addressing the King, but stands still, in the open, awaiting address. His harp shines in the light. The girl smiles as she receives a small cup. Smiling the Thranduil, she sips it. Having never drank wine before, her face makes a slight grimace, though her smile returns quickly, "That tasted funny! It made me think of..." The girl gets a thoughtful expression, not sure what to say. Thranduil looks up and sees the bard and nods but again holds up his finger, this time to the much older singer... The figure returns the nod, and remains silent, awaiting the King's leisure. One elf, already clearly in the cups, more than likely long before the feast began, mutters, "Makes me think of wine... What could be better..." Elaure looks back and forth between the king and the figure a couple of times. She is on her toe tips, an expression of indecision on her face. Thranduil says, "Well lass? Does it bring anything to mind for you?" Elaure takes a step forward. Legolas marked out the bardsmen long before his harp was drawn. He calls out to him and says, "Hail! I do see that you have a harp at the ready? Perhaps a song, or at least some music, would do, to pass the time." The figure does not even turn to look at Elaure, but he raises a hand to the young singer just as the King has raised a hand to him. 'Come no further,' the gesture says. Celwe comes along the riverbank. Celwe has arrived. The girl frowns, thinking. "It tasted like sour fruit juice." Her smile returns, and she looks around, though obviously not throught with Thranduil. She sees Legolas this time, and askes innocently, "Who's he?" Thranduil sits upon his stump, eying the young sister of Matrim even as he seems to await wisdom by the youth. Elves toast each other... Elaure stops. But her whole face is alight now with the shining of long absence amended. Thranduil smiles, "Fairly accurate appraisal, although some might have greater praise. Still it is not bad to speak truth on your first sip. Perhaps you would ask my son that question himself..." The bard nods to the Prince and then bows to him, but does not speak. He sits down in the grass, one leg bent under the other, which is steepled. Thus, he creates a nest for his harp, and there he places the glorious thing. Tomas stands off to the side Drinking some wine and watching the events unfold. Aldarhel's attention is diverted to the solomn bard by his gesture, and the motion of the king. He looks at him wonderingly, and between Elaure as well. Thranduil speaks more loudly, "Will no one toast after me? I hope there shall me some song then for this feast is in earnest, begun..." Kyriana has disconnected. Thranduil eyes seem vaguely clouded for a moment, as he looks to Eluare... Elaure grins at the king and makes an attention seeking gesture with her small hands and then indicates the seated bard in his presence. Aerians eyes widen in excitement, "Your son? Wow! Will he be king one day? Does he rule the forest too?" He girl jumps up, running over to Legolas without waiting for answers, and she begins tugging on his shirt sleeve. Like one of the musicians of old, kept voiceless in servitude to the sons of Feanor, the bard raises his hands to play. He is no minstrel, no wandering bard of renown, but a simple servant musician who keeps song ever-present at feasts and merrymaking. He has no name, no pride, no purpose but to serve and to play. Though he does this sitting in the middle of the clearing before the seat of the King, playing at his son's request. Thranduil nods, ever smiling, "Have we a guest then?" even as the songbirds begin to respond in kind to the harp and a few elves begin a delicate dance amidst the beech trees... Thranduil looks back the lass again and seeing her attention diverted makes full his eyes upon the musician. The birds sing in this music. Yes, there they are -- high above you all, their songs of life and love and war and death. Their avian tragedies and comedies are played out in this music as the harp calls up bird voices and they fill the air with sweeping, soaring music of joy. Legolas laughs and turns to Aerian, "Aye! And I know you, you are the one made of air! I am the King's son, 'tis true, though the King shall rule this land, not I, for many years." His brows furrow in misheviousness, "Still ye'd best do as I say." Elaure begins to squirm terribly, grinning as she listens to the harp. She becomes an all-over wiggle intime to the music. Thranduil looks forward and the presence of his own years seem less ominous than embracing, as his own tragedies and comedies might play out as musical to some greater force, as bird song to a king. Aerian frowns, confused, "I got to do what you say? That no fun! I already have to do what Maty says...does that mean I have to do what everyone says?" Celwe walks in from the east and does not seemed surprised by the large gathering as it is obvious the voices would carry far. He is dressed as though he has recently come back from being in the forest as his clothes are quite rumpled and dirty. He nods politely as he steps past the elves a bright smile upon his face. It looks however as if he doesn't plan to stay at the moment and he begins moving northward in the direction of the flets. Tomas is enjoying the Music of the harp and flows back and forth between conversations. To fly! To live the life of the skies! Sleeping in clouds, dining with the stars, singing lullabyes to the sun and romantic odes to the moon. These are the sensations in this music, this song played by the mysterious bard. And the song is old now, very old indeed. It is alien to all ears but one, for it is from a time long gone now. This song was played and written long ago in the home of Elu Thingol and his wife Melian. This is a song of Doriath. Elaure turns to Aerian and from her distance, shushes her, her brows drawn together, an older child playing adult. Thranduil smiles to his Feredir even as he passes, nodding with respect, several other elves look on and seem disappointed that the king's hunter does not tarry. Elaure turns back to the harper, not waiting a response. Thranduil's eyes are not so merry now, but gentle, still a core of hardwood seems in his glance, a spear lit by starlight, even as the day grows longer towards evening, a banner of power seems lit in the trees, as if a host of great warriors stands, the beech their brethren... Thranduil nods his head, his cloak covering his body, his arms crossed as he leans back into the comfort of the wood. The cloaked bard is hunched over his harp, his face still hidden, no sound escaping his lips. He seems a little person there, out in the open, but the sounds that come from his shining harp are not little. The birdsongs captured in that harp sing now of dance and merriment at the time of the autumn. It is almost clear in the music that the birds line in a circle and dance about, wing to wing. The bluejays and sparrows twirl and jig. The thrush and the hawk roll together in the noonday sun, friends at last. And the nightengale sings highest of them all in the harp-made song; of course she does, for this song was writ by one who loved the nightengale and devoted all his works to she. Her song is taken up by the others and the nightengale's theme soars up and out, the harp strings unstilled and majestic. Celwe returns the nod of the king with a respectful and duteous bow of the head. He does not, however, pause in making his way to the flets. After a few more moments he disappears among the beeches. Celwe heads towards the elven homes. Celwe has left. Elaure spreads her arms like wings! And now the song is so unreservedly and guilelessly made into a dance that it is hard not to join its swelling mission. The birds dance together in the light, dance and sing the nightengale's song, and the rhythm and the wonder of it fills the glade calling all that have legs to dance! To dance! To DANCE! Tomas wanders over towards the harp music of the cloaked figure and is somewhat curious. Elaure takes up the songs in a high little singing, so like to them that she might be a bird herself. Elaure bounces up and down with delight. Thranduil begins to sing softly, a different theme but harmonious, "When autumn fell upon the woods at Melian, Queen's own behalf, she looked and thought that it was good, the red and gold and green that bathed the meadows even as the cold of winter tried to mount attack, but laughing at the snowwhite wind, Queen Melian sent the winter back..." Thranduil laughs as Elaure laughs... "Well played Harper... Though a bit long in the tooth, it is fair for this season of falling." There is a little giggle in her voice as Elaure notes the king's song and begins to mindfully sing descants to it. The song comes to a close as the King finishes his melody, and the birds dance together and fly away. The Harper stops and rises, harp in hand and bows to the King. "I thank you, milord," is all he says. Elaure's laughter burbles up from her chest as she can hold herself no longer. She races to the harper and tackles his waist. "Master!!" Elaure hugs and hugs and hugs as she jumps up and down holding on. Thranduil says, "So returning to my realm is another long distant friend, though where is your lady, or does she hide to bring another suprise to our feast?"" The figure nearly falls over from the little Elaure projectile impacting his waist and he looks down and says quietly. "Please, Elaure...I am not your Master yet, for faceless and nameless do I come before your king." Elaure turns to the king, a delighted smile on her face, warm open without shadow, "Aranhir! This is my master! Ceruill!! You know him. He wed your ward." Thranduil frowns and looks over to Legolas with a glance, "And who is nameless before me? I fear you give up what you cannot, for I see your face, and know your name..." Elaure says, "He is my master, my teacher, and he has come to us at last, at last!!" Standing nearby, the young elf's face is in a pout, no longer talking because of Elaure's glance eariler. Still confused as to if she must do as everyone says, she continues to hold her tongue. The man then looks to the King, "She is in Mithlond, milord, and there shall she stay for some time, for there is much for her to attend there." He then takes a step forward, difficult with Elaure attached so... Elaure's excitement simply runs over everyone. Tomas seems for some reason overjoyed at the events unfolding..but does not know why. Thranduil speaks more softly but with a tinge of fierce, "Or has rumour of my absentmindedness been spread by my son, in his plot to have his father treated like mortal king, left in the woods as sacrifice as I hear the men of the east do, every 7 years..." Elaure giggles and lets go of Ceruill as he tries to move. "I come before you nameless and faceless, good King," the figure says, "Not as a slight to you or yours, or an affront to your land, but in accordance to the old ways and so as not to offend you." Thranduil says, "Ah but you are welcome here, as kin, and no stranger to come in pretend humility, and badly pretended at that." "For I am an exile," the figure says, "And I will not speak my name nor show my face lest you give me leave, milord." Thranduil says, "Exile?" Elaure's face darkens in anger as Ceruill mentions exile. Legolas does not look to know any more than the King, for he sists back and listens, holding out his glass to be refilled. The figure pauses as he speaks over the king, though hears that his humility is poorly pretended in the eyes of the lord. This does not appear to bother him, but it does bring him up short for a moment. "Indeed, Aran Thranduil. Exile. I have been banished from the land of my birth for five years by the Master of that place, Elrond Half-Elven." Rauwulf comes along the riverbank. Rauwulf has arrived. Thranduil speaks to his son, "Know you of this? I fear my sojourn in the north with your mother was merry enough but perhaps overlong. Do you know she has hunted wolves with her maids... They wear furs brilliant white through the winter, like wolves themselves... Elaure is clearly calling to mind something in the past. She says almost under her breath, "Elrond the unjust." Thranduil raises a finger at Elaure, "Speak not so foolish words Elaure..." It looks as though the figure was about to chide Elaure, but is stopped by the King's speedy retort. Legolas looks surprised at the words of the young one, though leaves the answer to his father. Thranduil says, "Elrond is of the blood of my own Sire and no fool, but his words are firm as a warriors and if he chooses to send his folk away for a short time, it is his right."" Celwe walks down the path from the beeches to the north. Celwe has arrived. Elaure's visage is clouded. "I speak but true, sir." Thranduil sighs, "I do not debate such, but spread no such word in my kingdom lest you find yourself calling me unjust for my own rights of rulership." Celwe returns to the gathering after changing his clothes into something a bit more fitting for the feast. The clothes are still quite common and just on this side of shabby they do, however, look to be very comfortable. He pauses by a large tree and looks over the crowd spinning the silver ring about his finger unconciously. Thranduil says, "Or speak them, but do not be suprised at the power of such words." Matrim walks forward slightly, as if to defend Elaure some, "There is no one who is not unjust in one way, or another, my king." "It is indeed hi right, great King, and it is a punishment I accept faithfully and without question. And so, I hope you can see why it is that I hide my face and name, though poorly it seems, until I am welcomed. For an exile must not demand welcome." This the figure says, and then, "Please, great king, I fear that I have taught Elaure too much love for -- that Elaure was taught by her Master too much love for him and not enough for the law...It is my own failing and not hers, for I am a -- he is a --" He sighs, "I am a poor master." Thranduil smiles even as Rauwulf enters, "And we have guests here, and this is no time for my folk to quarell about the rule of law... Ceruill you are welcome here lest there is reason you may speak that would give me pause to accept your name and face, though it is not mine true to offer... Elaure folds her arms across her chest, her lower lip coming out. "Well, it's what I think. My master served him kindly and well." Her eyes flash but she flashes them off to the west and not at the king. To the king, she says, "yes, sir." Aldarhel watches the King enchange words with the Bard, and turns aside to ask what is being spoken. He turns back with a frown. Thranduil says, "Songbird, you speak your heart, no flaw that, but beware what words you speak for those with the power of singing may make of the world more what they sing than what is real, and if you name one unjust in time such things may come to pass that you would wish you had not." Rauwulf, the anduiner, walks out from amongst the beeches and stops to observe the elves gathered. His expression is one of displacement but with a natural pride borne of being alone among those of a different culture. Thranduil looks and sees wine being poured again, "But let us welcome this man who shares the woods with our folk, bravely enough, for great danger are drunken elves.." "I thank you for the welcome, Aran Thranduil, and warn you only in this: that I have in my life broken the peace of the valley of Imladris, no small feat. While I assure you I shall never defy your law while your guest, nor violate the sanctity of your home, it is incumbent upon me to be honest of my crimes." A tiny smile awakens on Elaure's face, a cautious tiny smile. "No fear of that in this realm, sir." The figure says... Aerian's pout disappears as she notices Rauwulf, but still she says nothing, and turns to watch Elaure with a small pout. Elaure goes to Ceruill as softly as she can in her rather noisy dress and takes his hand gently. Legolas gives Rauwulf a nod of greeting, still remaining seated, silent beside the Elven King. His eyes, and ears, drink up the sights and sounds of the conversation. As Ceruill's story is revealed, a hardness forms in his eyes as he looks at the other. Still, after a moment, and a brief glance to the child Elaure, a smile fringes the corners of his mouth. Thranduil looks over to the man and then over to Elaure, "Well then. As unjust as I shall be, Elaure your punishment for speaking your heart is to sing a song for this guest of ours, that he may be made welcome, or atleast a toast to him, for I know it is stranger to be in this realm than many..." Thranduil nods and quietly gestures to Ceruill as if there may be discussion later but now is a time of festivity... Elaure looks up at Ceruill. "Welcome, master. You are not a bad master. Never say it. If you did wrong, as you think you did, it is gone now, and never settled in my heart." Legolas laughs, saying after the words of his father, "Aye! But I do not know which would be stranger to this one," he says with a nod to Rauwulf, "Our customs or that of the Men of Dale, for I have seen his kinsmen struggle within the Town on the Lake." Ceruill nods to the King and lowers the hood of his cloak, revealing a most merry face with curly hair and bright green eyes. After the story told, it would seem that the face beneath would be lined with care and fury, but it is not so. He seems readier to laugh than to sing -- and indeed, to judge his melodic voice, he seems prepared to sing at any moment. He takes Elaure's hand and squeezes it, smiling down at her. Thranduil smiles, "Is this true? Perhaps the honored man should tell us a tale, for I know he shall be taking one away with him, after this night..." Rauwulf bows his head in respect toward Legolas and noticing the young Aerian, flashes her a wink. Then, upon hearing that he is being spoken about he returns to observing in an interested manner. Elaure smiles at the king. "I will sing as best I can, sir. For my training has been some...interrupted..." Thranduil grins and laughs, "Interupted perhaps, but no doubt your singing was not, for I have heard birds take rests from song, but never you..." Elaure says, "And I would cede to anyone who is better with a willing heart." Elaure giggles, the laughter coming from her toes. She wrinkles her nose and covers her face with her free hand. Thranduil crosses his hands, "Legolas, my bright brilliant spear against foe, longbow, brave sharp knife of a son, do you think my order was not clear enough?" Elaure rolls her eyes up into her head thinking folding her lower lip under her upper teeth. She opens her eyes at the king as if it say, "Well I'm thinking." Celwe continues to lean against the tree, still searching over the gathering. His face seems to become a bit rueful as he stops his eyeing of the crowd. He fingers the rings upon his finger again before moving his attention to the Aran and the small group before. He watches the scene with interest, some of the sadness moving from his face. Legolas shakes his head and says with a heavy sigh, though his mouth is still held in a smile, "I do not know about this one, that does not sing upon command." He looks towards Elaure and says, "Did you not hear the King, songbird! Sing! For the bird does not practice, and sings its first note before it has proper training. It's you that forms the notes, not the instruction you seem to lament. Sing!" Elaure takes a breath and stretches out her free hand from her body. When the music comes, it is high and sweet, like the rain that comes after a long drought. Thranduil smiles at Legolas, "Indeed which would explain why our birds are so ill orchestrated. Perhaps master Ceruill could make his own penance by teaching our sparrows some harmony... Elaure opens her eyes at that remark and laughs! Several elvish lasses atleast giggling bring over a cask of wine and pour wine for the human even as another offers him fruit. They seem quite urgent in getting him inebriated... Elaure looks at the king with exaggerated and humorous 'annoyance'. "I'm trying to sing here." She giggles. Thranduil says, "Failing!" Elaure lowers her eyes and takes a breath to control herself. Ceruill puts his hand on Elaure's shoulder. Thranduil's laughter becomes a storm and nuts seem to fall from the trees even as the squirrel uproar at the shaking of the leaves... Thranduil quiets down after a moment and leans forward, "No dear, I am sorry, I am overproud of my folk and our singers, but I know you have power in your heart today, so sing it and we shall be well pleased..." Elaure begins to giggle..and giggle...as if she were bing tickled...She says through her giggles. "Stop it!" Altho it is clear she does not care.. Rauwulf gives a smile as he accepts the wine and fruit eagerly. "This is a mug?" he asks as he holds up the drink and inspects it then stops himself. "I mean it is a fine... ah..." Elaure takes another breath and lowers her eyes, closing them. Elaure raises her voice. "Leaves are green and leaves are red bowing on the boughs o'erhead Circle circle seasons life singing laughter sorrow strife Circle secret circle wise truth the music Singer tries To hear the whisper of the song in the leaves in night and long Changeless changing leaves amaze whisper never count the days Now and past and future all same and same a single call Circle circle seasons life singing laughter sorrow strife Truth the music great and small same and same the circle's call!" As she sings she raises her chin up to the boughs, her eyes filled with love. Legolas stands, and takes his glass of wine. As Elaure begins to sing, he takes a sip, and as though enchanted by the song, wanders off. Before long, he turns to give a bow to his King, and then makes his way amongst the people; lost in thought, or perhaps ensnared in one. His eyes do focus to the east. Before long, he sits upon the edge of the gathering, leaning his back against the tree. To Rauwulf, he says with a low voice in passing, "Your kinsmen do soon come for you," and leaves it at that not stopping for further conversation. Elaure stops the song and a breeze moves the leaves overhead, those that are still clinging. "It's a short song. I'm a short singer." She looks at the king and then Ceruill rather apologetically. Elaure says, "I'm just a little girl yet." An eldalie of indeterminant youthfulness, probably female, with a heart-shaped face and lithe, quick form, a spirit nearly, whose every movement seems a dance. Her fair and light complexion shines as silver in the light of the moon and the pale flames in her cheeks enliven. Her hair, honey-golden-red is soft and wild and cut off slightly short for an elf, uneven, like a faery's. Around her small wrist is a thin thong from which hangs a single feather of a peregrine falcon. Her eyes: fierce green it seems at first, sparkling with the light of mirth, but then she smiles and you discover that the eyes are not truly green, but gold about the edges and deep blue near the pupils, the two colors shading together into green, varigated jewels. Her exceptionally small stature might indicate that she is quite young, perhaps even a child. Elaure makes a little shrug before she folds her hand at her waist for a bow. Tomas snickering at the comment that Elaure just made and almost seems lost in thought after that. Elaure sees the prince leaving then and makes a little curtsey to his back. Thranduil nods in the direction of his wandering son, shaking his head affectionately, yet a sternness to his eyes seems troubling. Ceruill laughs and smiles tpo Elaure. "It is well!" Celwe's eyes wander to each of the group that is before the king and his eyes seem to settle for a moment on the human that is among them. He looks puzzled as watches but with the first note of the childs voice his face brightens and a smile forms upon his lips. Elaure's eyes brighten as she turns to her master's praise. Faintly, her cheeks grow rosey. Thranduil smiles and suddenly seems to truly notice the hunter has returned, "Feredir Celwe! Welcome back to my woods!" Suddenly the sound of galloping hooves uopn the bridge echoes through the cheerful entourage. A white mare appears, running wildly into the clearing, chased by one guard who is still unable to stop it. The human warrior watches as Legolas wanders by him. He looks at the ground with a blank stare then raises his eyes toward the crowd of elves. Any who are observing notice a glint of sorrow within the eyes of Rauwulf. Thranduil some squirrels who have been bravely attempting to corall a large pile of nuts from the feasting elves store, scamper off as they are nearly crushed by the passing steed. Elaure jumps out of the way instinctively. Thranduil frowns and stands, his guards immediately at his side, yet expressions calm as they await order. Aldarhel leaps from the table and runs to aid the guard check the wayward mare before it causes mischief in its fright. Elaure calls out. "Don't chase her. She'll only run more." Ceruill lets his hand drop from Elaure's shoulder and steps back into the trees behind him after picking up his harp case. He melts into the woods in his Lorien cloak. Matrim frowns, instantly losing the smile on his face. Glancing around, the spear that was on his back is in his hands and held ready in case of trouble. He looks toward Thranduil for orders. Celwe straightens his posture and bows in the kings direction. "Aye, Aran, I am always glad to be able to return. Perhaps it is because I spend so much time away, but I have a notion that I would feel the same were I to step across the bridge only for a moment." Elaure misses her master's departure watching the animal. Thranduil waves calmly, "There seems to be a missing thing, where is your rider, good steed..." Elaure goes to the food area for an apple. She begins softly singing as she approaches the mare with her hand extended, apple armed. Whatever the wisdom of Elaure's words, Aldarhel moves confidently in front of the charging steed, heedless of what risk this might entail. The steed is suddenly quite aware of the lone elf , and rears and turns to find a new direction to run. The mare finially slows, still galloping lightly about the clearing, obviously recognizing a few of it's inhabitants. Breathing heavily, it seems worn as if it has been running for it's life. It stops finially to arch it's neck foreward to Elaure. Elaure stands still and sings softly. Thranduil nods as he watches the young singer, while his guard slowly move outward towards the bridge, the kings quiet gesture almost lost amidst the wildness of the moment... Thranduil speaks calmly, but there is concern and some sadness in his tongue, as he has seen riderless horses return home before, "Indeed, this one seems almost as homesick as you, Celwe... Immediately after Celwe's response to the king he looks over at the wild mare. He looks at the horse for only a moment before recognizing it as Qinefer's. He begins moving towards the Elaure and the horse rather quickly and as he nears remembers the words of the child and tries to slow his stride in order not to scare the horse. Elaure offers the apple and sings-speaks to the mare, "There now what now how now who now are you now and whose now too now.." The mare eyes the apple, then fixes it's gaze upon Elaure's face, apparently trusting the child. She was obviously spooked by something, and is generally tame: this can be obvious as she tenderly takes the apple from Elaure's hand. Elaure moves in to stroke the horse's neck..slowly..freezing if the mare looks as if to spook. Silky's eyes shift as Celwe approaches, and she steps toward his, nuzzling one of his pockets as if expecting another treat. It's ribs still heave from the exhaustion of running, but it's general demeanor has calmed considerably. The mare makes no move of threat toward the child, but instead lets her calmly run her fingers through it's mane. Elaure peeks around the mare's smooth and lovely head at the king. Her brow knits a little. "I don't know who she belongs to." Thranduil nods gently to the girl and crosses his arms together, his gaze now to Celwe... Elaure looks around, then turns around, her eyes searching. She frowns a little and looks into the wood before returning her attention to the gathering. Matrim calmly watches the woods, looking towards Thranduil every now and then for any orders. Celwe's begin to show worry as the horse approaches him and he gently rubs Silky's forehead. He asks the horse, almost expecting it to answer, "Where is Qinefer?" He looks the horse over and then looks to the king and the others assembled around. 'It is Qinefer's horse. I was expecting to see her here tonight but she did not show. I've no idea where she could be as I haven't been in the realm for quite some time." Birdcalls can be heard to the south and through the woods along the river though. Thranduil says, "Then I fear your duty takes you across that bridge once again..." The mare's eyes almost seem to express concern as she again nuzzles Celwe's shoulder, their darkness again filled with slight fear. Aldarhel frowns watching the horse and the two standing near it, understanding little, but hearing the name Qinefer repeated many times. Some might wonder at his concern, as he and the healer have never had the warmest of relationships, to speak in the mildest tones. Thranduil seems resigned, "Atleast to see if the trail may be followed for this steed's rider is precious to my house and realm...." Tomas concerned look at what Celwe's words could mean. Matrim frowns more, hearing the Aran's words. He steps forward slightly, obviously wanting to go with any who leave to search, though saying nothing. Thranduil raises his hand tiredly, "Raise a small group to seek out the rider, and spread word to our warders to be wary..." "I will assist if you wish it, lord Tranduil," Rauwulf offers and steps up swiftly toward the King of the elves. Elaure steps away from the horse, absently rubbing her small hand on her leaf-dress. the leaves tear a little. "Oh dear." She looks up to see if anyone notices then back down when it seems no on does. Matrim nods to the human, though the decision isn't his, and steps forward as well, "If my lord wills it, I will acompany the Feredir" Elaure bites her lower lip and tries to poke the dress back into the hole surrupticiously. Thranduil looks to the man, "It is my hunters choice whom will assist him... I do not wish you endangered as my guest, for I would be held responsible rightly if you were harmed in my service." Celwe nods, "Aye, if she is in trouble she can't be very far. The horse would not have approached in such a state unless whatever it was that frightened it had happened recently." He is not currently worried about the preciousness of the rider to the king's realm he is instead worried about the rider's preciousness to his heart's realm. He quickly moves toward the the flets once again, obviously going for his pack and his weapons. Before disappearing into the beeched he calls to Matrim, "If you can, assemble any guard you can find and meet me on the bridge." Elaure steps up to the king her face eager. "Sir, _I_ can help. I am going to be a feredir when I get bigger and I am good t finding things!" Elaure says, "I will be the best one because no one loves the king more than I do!" ---------------------- Great Stand of Beeches A great stand of beeches grows from the banks of the Taurduin river. The fully shaded road from the bridge lies straight between the trees towards a hugh cave mouth, running deep into the tree covered hillside. Along the edge of the Forest river twists a narrow, canopied path soon winding out of sight, blocked from view by the smooth gray trunks of the towering beeches. The trees are tall, healthy and obviously well cared for, awash with the rich purple of changing autumn leaves. The earth between them is cool and damp, covered with bushy undergrowth, thick, and colorful in the chilly early evening air. Slender shafts of sunlight pierce through the thick canopy, their dappled light falling on the ground, while the sky overhead is clear and blue.. Amidst the trees a great feast is laid, songbirds sing from the branches, and a circle of logs around a firepit look inviting as do the many beautifully dressed elves from the woods and halls of Thranduil's realm. Contents: Silky Qinefer Rauwulf Celwe Elaure Aerian Thranduil Tomas Aldarhel A Small Campsite Obvious exits: North leads to The Beeches. NorthEast leads to Cave. SouthWest leads to Bridge. NorthWest leads to Training Hall of Tirith-o-Eryn. East leads to Mal Taurduin. ----------------------- Elaure grins hopefully. Thranduil shakes his head, "I will not have my entire realm wandering into danger. Only those as who may bear arms with confidence shall seek out, for strange rumour has been brought through the wood and I will not lose my folk from incaution... Thranduil sighs, "Your words are gentle, and so should you be, not taking on warriors tasks lest we lose your voice even before it has fully blossomed. Thranduil gestures, "The rest of you shall continue the feast, until you tire." Matrim nods to the departing Feredir, and hurries off toward the hall of the Tirith-o-Eryn. A few moments pass before he returns, followed by a small group of gwain, egwador, and pengwador, but not many. All are armed, and ready to go. "I am a freeman without ties to any man or beast," Rauwulf insists with frustration yet with a measure of respect. "Where I go and what I do is of my own accord. You have free reign to dispose of my skills and my talents as you need them for I give them freely." Tomas looking down at his hands and not seeing a warriors hands he feels somehow useless. Elaure bites her lip thinking. Her tongue comes out a little in her intent. When the king speaks his will, however, she frowns, watching the preparations. She lets out a sigh. "As you wish, sir. But I really really _could_ do it. Even though I am little." Thranduil nods, "Well spoken. I know your folk are brave, and your offer is generous. Your path is your own to make. Make it wisely and none shall be the worse for it even if sorrow be in it. Thranduil turns to Elaure, "I know you could, but there are others who cannot sing. Would you take away their own duties, earned over long service, bravely and stalwart?" Celwe returns quickly wearing his chain and spear in hand. He looks at the small group Matrim has collected and nods approvingly. He approaches the king and bows before him, "Aran, if it is your wish I would like to bring along the small group of Tirith as we know not what to expect." Thranduil raises a final cup, "I fear this feast ends strangely, but we shall hope it is well" Thranduil nods to Celwe, and begins marching back to the throne room, "Take who you need, And allow this man to join you if he is able..." Thranduil goes Out Of Character. Thranduil has left. Elaure glances at RAuwulf a little narrowly, but with some glint of new-found respect, and then turns to the king to answer. "No sir. " Rauwulf nods in excited gratitude toward the King and takes up his place a little awkwardly with the departing elves. Elaure sighs softly and follows since she is not given leave to go with the rescuers. Elaure walks the tunnel towards the magical gate of the wood elves.. Elaure has left. Celwe nods to the king and replies, "Thank you my lord." With that he rises and turns to face the small group of elves and the human. He looks the human up and down and asks him, "Have you any weapons of your own? You may be needing them." Silky raises it's head from where it had previously been nibbling at some grass, and looks around expectantly at the group. Rauwulf nods to Celwe. "I will wear armour and take up spear," he says. Rauwulf disappears into the woods. Matrim looks quickly over those he had gathered. Mostly gwain, with three or four egwador and pengwador, it'll have to do. He looks over to Celwe for orders. Tomas watches everybody coming and going and wounders not if he can do anything..cause he knows he is not able, but if he is getting in the way. so he walks over towards a stump and starts playing with his small flute, and tries his best to stay out of the way. Rauwulf returns from the woods bearing spear and the wooden grieves and arm-guards of his people. The sun sets over Mirkwood and the stars paint the forest in silvers. Celwe looks at the group gathered and begins speaking to them, an obvious note of distress in his voice. "Now then, Qinefer seems to be missing and we've no way of knowing if she is in any danger. But, from the look of her horse it seems that way to me." He pauses for a moment then adds, "Most of you know just as much as anyone else which means we don'w know very much. It'll be quite dark in the wood so keep and eye on the edain." He looks over at the human, "I'm sorry, I haven't had a chance to learn your name." "Rauwulf," the anduiner declares quietly, his spear pointed toward the ground. Tret walks in slowly, looking around the stand at the gathering of Quendi and a human. He stops near a group of beeches and leans against one, listening, but trying to keep out of eye sight. Each quende is armed, the tables laden with food long forgotten. They face Celwe, listening intently to his words. A white mare grazes nearby, budging closer and closer to the spread of fruits, unnoticed. Tomas is sitting on a Stump...staying out of the way, and has his flute in hand. Celwe does not wait for the human to respond but continues to speak, this time directly to him. "The forest will be very dark. I do not know how well your eyes are acquainted with the forest and night but if you get separated from the others just wait for one of us to find you. Understand?" Celwe doesn't seem to thrilled having the human along but tolerates it because of the king's wishes. Rauwulf makes no response other than a nod of courtesy. Tret listens intently, not sure of the goings on, but planning on finding out. He takes a few steps closer and stops again to listen. Celwe nods, "Good." He turns to face the goup again as his very informal briefing continues. "I know it will be hard finding any sign in the dark but if it begins to get to difficult we will set up camp and wait for daylight. Instead of looking for sign of Qinefer it would be best to try and follow the trail of the horse since it will surely have left more sign of it's passage and, with any luck, that will ead us back to Qinefer." He pauses again for a moment before asking, "Does anyone not understand or have any questions?" Tret walks a little closer and nods to Celwe, stating bluntly, "What's going on?" He can tell it is not good, but does not yet know exactly what it is. Matrim shakes his head as Celwe asks the question, before turning to tell the others to get ready to leave. Celwe turns to look at the newly approaching elf. He replies quickly that Qinefer is missing and that they have no time to speak of it. He is not intentionally meaning to be rude but he has more important things on his mind than explaining the situation again. Tret gasps as he hears the news and immeditaly volunteers to go along with them, wanting to help in any way possible. Celwe shakes his head and looks back at Tret, "I greatly appreciate your offer mellon but I believe we have enough to help at the moment." He begins walking towards the bridge and motions for the rest to follow. Matrim turns to the awaiting guards, and then turns to follow Celwe. The guards follow as well, and they all hold their weapons at ready as they approach the bridge. Tret stands there for a second then follows, "But mellon!" He says, "I wish to help. Qinefer was my first friend here...my best friend." Celwe shakes his head once again and replies, "I do apologize mellon." Before crossing the bridge and moving out of sight. Celwe heads towards the Taurdain and walks upon the bridge. Celwe has left. "But..." Tret says, then sighs. Matrim looks at Tret as he passes, but says nothing. ------ You walk upon the bridge that stretches over the Taurdain. You are LEAVING THE LANDS OF THE NDAEDELDHRIM now be aware of that. Bridge The fast flowing Forest river blocks all other noises but a tickling sound of merry laughter somewhere in the distance. A lone star sparkles for a moment between the clouds, a welcome and bright diamond in the dark night. Contents: Celwe Elven watchpost Obvious exits: Amon Thranduil and Mirkwood ------ Rauwulf walks from the wide path under the beech trees to the northeast and onto the bridge crossing the Taurdain. Rauwulf has arrived. Rauwulf hurries behind the patrol of elves. Celwe crosses the bridge and gives a short, " Well met." and a nod to the guards at the bridge. Celwe continues across the bridge, listening to the guards' footsteps behind him. He steps off the wooden bridge and onto the soft, spongy, ground. He pauses to make sure everyone is near before heading towards the edge of the forest. Matrim follows after the feredir, as do the other guards. He sends a glance toward the human, watching to make sure he follows. Celwe crosses the bridge and disapears into the forest. Celwe has left. You cross the bridge and head into the forest. ------ Narrow path It could be illusion, but it seems as if the forest is thinning out a little. To the east and north, tall and proud beeches slowly replace the sick gnarled trunks of the ancient oaks, which grow thick in the haunted forest, Taur-e-Ndaedelos. You can hear the merry chuckling of a stream to the northeast, sounding refreshing in the air of this sharp autumn's nighttime. The night is very black but you can mark out the cool and damp path ahead of you. A thicket to the west of you seems impassable, thorny bushes and towering twisted oaks, strangled by the ivy, creeping around the trunks and branches. A lone star sparkles for a moment between the clouds, a welcomed diamond in the dark night, but dissapears again as the boughs block the sight to the sky. You notice a gap between the trees to the NorthEast Contents: Celwe Obvious exits: West and SouthEast ------ Rauwulf comes out of the forest and starts to cross the bridge. Rauwulf has arrived. -----------------------The weather around Amon Thranduil---------- The moon shows from time to time in this autumn night and the air seems to carry a creeping darkness from Dol Guldur. It is mild thonight night under the overcast sky. ------------------------------------------------------------------ "I have found the trail," Rauwulf's voice disturbs the darkness. The Highpass guide kneels before the path with his spear along the ground. "To the southeast. That is where your horse fled from." Celwe bows his head, intently looking for the trail of his beloved. His head snaps up when he hears the northman state that he has found the trail. A smile forms upon his lips, though in the dark it is all but impossible to see. Rauwulf rises and takes up his spear. He nods confidently and points toward the southeast. "The trail moves that way." Celwe quickly walks over to where Rauwulf kneels and sinks down beside him. He looks at the torn turf and nods nods curtly, all remnants of his smile gone. "Aye then...let us follow. And let us be quick about it." He rises quickly and makes a few soft chirping noises, indicating to the members of the tirith to gather together. As he waits for them to assemble he stairs thoughtfully in the direction of the horses trail. Matrim nods, and gesturing to the guards, they are all gathered in together. Looking to Celwe, he says, "Do you wish for any to go forward ahead as scouts, Feredir?" Celwe nods, "Aye, Rauwulf, you, and myself will go ahead perhaps a few miles. Bring one from the group, preferably a pengwador." He begins moving southward, motioning for those he mentioned to follow. Rauwulf dissapears between the trees to the southeast. Rauwulf has left. Matrim nods, and turns to the group. Pointing to one of the few pengwador who were gathered, he tells the others to follow shortly. ------ Narrow path It could be illusion, but it seems as if the forest is thinning out a little. To the east and north, tall and proud beeches slowly replace the sick gnarled trunks of the ancient oaks, which grow thick in the haunted forest, Taur-e-Ndaedelos. You can hear the merry chuckling of a stream to the northeast, sounding refreshing in the air of this chilly autumn's midnight. The night is very black but you can mark out the cool and damp path ahead of you. A thicket to the west of you seems impassable, thorny bushes and towering twisted oaks, strangled by the ivy, creeping around the trunks and branches. A lone star sparkles for a moment between the clouds, a welcomed diamond in the dark night, but dissapears again as the boughs block the sight to the sky. You notice a gap between the trees to the NorthEast Contents: Celwe Obvious exits: West and SouthEast You find a way between the trees to the southeast. Cliff bottom The forest trail fades quickly here before an imposing coal-black granite wall, a huge and sheer cliff towering far out of the range of sight. And sight as well is difficult here, the air seeming darker, and even thicker than the rest of the forest. The trees about move with dark shadows, making small rustling noises, strands of thick, silken material hang all about, almost invisible in the thick, dank air. No sign can be seen of the weather above the pressing tree cover. The cool and damp gives a little beneath your feet, though why can't be deserned. Contents: Horde of Spiders Obvious exits: NorthWest, East, and SouthWest **** ARB NOTICE!! THE BEASTS HERE ARE CONTROLLED BY PLAYERS!! ACT IC HERE AND ROLEPLAY!! **** OOC Editor's Note: The Pengwador in this section of RP was played by Matrim ------ Celwe turns to the group and tells them to wait until they are summoned and to stay put. He looks at Matrim and says, "I don't want them stumbling in at an inopportune moment. Geolograeg paces back towards the hanging Qinefer, extending a horned leg to set her in motion once again now that her swaying has ceased. Her sleeping sisters gurble and bubble quietly. She herself hisssssses to herself about juicy snacks. Qinefer whimpers softly, hanging in a cocoon upside down from one of the trees. She gasps for breath, her nose and mouth covered by webbing, and cringes as the motion makes her feel increasingly nauseous. Celwe listens carefully as he approaches down the trail with three others. He looks about the forest and it seems to be unnaturally quite. He quickly but silently removes the leather cover of his spearblade and holds the weapon at the eady. Unsure of what to expect. The anduiner peers about the darkness, barely able to discern the shapes of the elves beside him. His muscular frame shudders involuntarily as he soon recognises the stench and sounds that surround them. "Great Bear..." he whispers a gasp. "Spiders." Geolograeg is too self-absorbed to notice any other noises. Matrim glares at the darkness, trying to see through it. Holding his spear before him, he moves forward with the others, searching for the spiders he knows is there. The pengwador beside him figures her bow, an arrow notched and ready to fly. Celwe nods slowly to the human. He does not however reply to him, instead he presses a finger to his lips indicating for the man to be quiet. He continues down the trail a few more paces before pausing the group. He stares intently down the trail and hopes to catch a glimpse of something that will give him more information about the situation. Qinefer whimpers again quietly, knowing any noise she makes only uses her precious air but not caring at the same moment, preferring to suffocate than at the spider's disposal. Geolograeg 'paws' at Qinefer, slavering and slobbering over her, coveting the meal-that-is-to-be. Qinefer screams out in disgust as the spider slobbers over her, the stench as overwhelming as the moisture. The noise is muffled through the tight wrapping, however. Geolograeg hisses sharply, "Now now, there, don't bruise yourself. You have hung on too long! Maybe you are tough underneath, eh? Maybe you need some more necter... Rauwulf slinks stealthfully behind a tree beside Celwe. He glances at the elf momentarily, excitement sweating from his face. The guide waves his spearhead at the spiders and draws his thumb across his throat. Celwe lifts his head suddenly as he hears the muffled scream of his beloved further down the trail. He quickly moves forward. Stepping off the trail to the right as the path nears its end. He peers somewhat calmly out into the clearing before the dark wall. He gasps softly as he notices a rather large spider hovering over a white elf-sized object. Venom gathers at the mouth of the hulking mass of spider as she moves to bite an exposed part of Qinefer. Matrim follos quickly after Celwe, the pengwador at his side in turn following him. Approaching the Feredir, he hisses, seeing the spider, and what it guards. He puts his hand up and motions for the pengwador to aim her bow, and then he looks to Celwe, waiting the order to fire. A skulking hulking bulk of yellow-grey. Luminous multifaceted eyes focus on you, catching what little light there is and scattering it in a dazzling prismatic display. Wiry black hairs cover the bulbous heaving body. Eight powerful legs propel this horrid contribution to sentient life forward. Poison drip-drops from her fangs and her spinnerette's quiver with anticipated spinning . . . As the poison is transferred into Qinefer she screams again, still muffled. Her body trembles, then grows still as it has a tranquilizing effect upon her small build. Celwe turns to give Matrim a dreadful look, He whispers forcefully. "Tell her to put that bow down. I'm not going to take the chance of hitting Qinefer." He frowns at Matrim and then at the Pengwador. His head snaps back at the sound of another muffled scream. He whispers again, "If we can get them away from her then the Pengwador can fire." Matrim nods, shaking his head to the pengwador. She lowers the bow, a frown on her face which she directs toward the spider. Matrim turns back to watch the beast, before quietly asking, "The thing won't move away. If it thinks something else is here, it will only guard her even more closely." Celwe turns again and brings the three close togther. He begins whispering directions to them pointing every now and then. "I'm going to crawl out and act as if I'm wounded. That should bring her over to me. It seems as if all the others are sleeping so I'm hoping it will be the one that guards Qinefer to come after me. I won't have any weapons so when she get close to me, shoot her with the bows. I will then try to run and grab Qinefer if at all possible. If not, we'll have to fight them all. Matrim, how good are you with a bow?" Matrim nods to Celwe's words, before answering. "Good enough to shoot something that isn't moving, but in this darkness....I would probably one of us before hitting one of those beasts." He touches his spear, "This is what I am skilled in." Rauwulf turns to the elves, his voice hushed to near silence. "You will not make it," he says sternly. "I will confront the spider. I will be distracting enough. You grab the cacooned." Matrim hisses, "No! It'll wake the others human!" Celwe nods, "Aye, I don't want any of you getting too close. Especially you Rauwulf, the king would be greatly displeased." He pauses for a moment. "Once she is hit I'm sure she won't be worried about me. Just make sure that Pengwador finds her mark." Geolograeg gurgles sleepily, setting herself in a massive pile before the prey, eyes dimming slightly in the darkness, the bulk pulsing obscenely. Celwe sets his spear down next to him and makes sure his chain is fastened securely. He goves the others a look that asks them if they are ready. Matrim nods, looking to the pengwador for a moment. Turning back he says, "I do not know in this darkness, but if the bow fails, I may be able to sacifice my spear to a throw, and stand a good chance of hitting." Geolograeg burgles and gurgles, her bubbling troubling. Celwe gets no definate response and and asks them, "Are you three ready? I definatly want to come back from this in one piece. Matrim nods. Rauwulf nods once. Matrim puts his hand back up, and the pengwador raises her bow again. Pulling the string on the bow back slowly and quietly, she sights down the arrow to aim straight at the spider, and waits for the order to fire. A strong breeze rustles the treetops, as well as causes the cocoon to rock back and forth, occassionally making it strike the trunk of the tree from which it is hung. There is no response from Qinefer, however, the poison evidentially taking effect. Celwe takes a deep breath and turns to face the clearing. He sidesteps away from the other three and comes out of the forest a few yards to their right. He is down on his hands and knees and begins to groan loudly as if in great pain. He winces and begins pulling himself closer to the spiders acting unaware of their presence. Geolograeg rustles in some arcane arachnid dream, resettling herslef, legs poking out from her body like branches of some forlorn dead tree. Celwe continues groaning, even louder than before. He continues moving closer crawling as if in great pain. He coughs loudly, trying to make it as wet and fatal sounding as possible. Geolograeg continues to sleep soundly, perhaps drained and complacent that the prey will remain docile. Celwe raises his head in order to get a better view of the spiders. They seem to be fast asleep and he quickly begins crawling silently towards Qinefer. As he approaches the tree where she hangs he slows down considerably. He pauses a moment before continuing. Celwe rises next to the tree and looks sadly up at Qinefer. He reaches for a dagger in his boot and stands with Qinefer's waist against his shoulder. He wraps one arm around her and uses the other to cut the webbing that suspends her. With a soft snap the ropey substance breaks and Qinefer kinda folds over Celwe's shoulder. He quickly looks around then begins a fast stride to the spot in the forest where the others await. There is still no response from the cocooned figure: she is either overtaken by the poison or has already left the realm of life. Her body is lightweight in Celwe's arms, allowing him to easily keep his swift stride. Matrim smiles, and motions for the pengwador to lower her bow. She does so, though she leaves the arrow notched. Motioning toward Celwe, Matrim begins to edge back from the spiders. Rauwulf keeps watch on the spiders as Celwe returns with the cocooned elf. One of the sleeping spiders stirs slightly, reminding all that the danger has not been left behind quite yet. the cocoon remains still upon Celwe's shoulder, but he can now feel a very slight stirring as the maiden enclosed breaths shallowly. Celwe carries Qinefer into the wood and gently sets her down. He is still carrying the small dagger and he begins cutting the webbing away from her body, careful not to cut her in the process. Once he has finished he looks up at the others, "I believe we shall be going. I'll send a patrol through here when we get back to see if they can't take care of those spiders for us." He touches Qinefer's face tenderly and he adds with a catch in his voice, "Let us return to the Hill." The face that Celwe sees in poorly colored and still except for her lashes, which flutter slightly on occassion. A random bruise is visible upon her arms and shoulders as she lies still upon the ground, now freed from the sticky ropes. Matrim nods to Celwe's words, and speaks quietly with the Pengwador with him. Nodding, she watches the spider as Matrim bends down to speak with Celwe, "Sir?...I will carry her, if you need me too. We need to return quickly, though, and I suggest we move now." He casts a glance at the sleeping spiders. Celwe picks up the light maiden and shakes his head at Matrim, "No, I believe I can handle her myself. At least for now." He begins moving toward the other group of tirith to the northwest. Matrim nods, and motions for the Pengwador to follow. The two follow quickly behind Celwe, and spoting Rauwulf, he motions for the human to follow as well. Rauwulf brings up the rear, ever conscious of the prevading darkness and the gurgling slumber of the spiders until he can hear them no more... Celwe tries to make his way through the forest but finds it blocked by webs. His efforts slowly begin to clear a way, however. A way opens up where Celwe was making his way though the forest. Qinefer plunges into the forest... Qinefer has left. You go deeper into the forest; there doesn't appear to be any webs in the way... though a sense of being trapped slowly invades every part of your body. ------ Just west of here rises an wall of tall, dark trees, the inpenetrable edge of Mirkwood forest, once the bright and beautiful Greenwood the Great. The path here travels east and west, seeming broad and well cared for to the former and rarely travelled in the latter direction. It is cool and damp under your feet, and the dawn air under the looming eaves of the forest is chilly. The path drops down a small steep bank to the south as the Taurduin emerges from the forest, its waters laughing cheerfully as they chase their way around the southerly bend in their course. There are a few lights glittering in the darkness far to the to the east, and laughter and merry songs drift through the cold night to your ears. A lone star sparkles for a moment on the eastern sky, but dissapears soon again into the clouds. Contents: Celwe Qinefer Obvious exits: East, West, South, and North ------ Rauwulf has arrived. Celwe moves east through the forest. He pauses every now and then, making sure that everyone is following. Celwe passes the guards and walks east. Celwe has left. Rauwulf continues to follow. Qinefer passes the guards and walks east. Qinefer has left. Rauwulf passes the guards and walks east. Rauwulf has left. ------ You take the path eastwards, towards Celebannon. Meadow outside Celebannon The path runs through a small field here, nestled between the small community of Celebannon to the east and the foreboding darkness of Mirkwood to the west. Nearby, the Taurduin emerges from the forest and bends southwards, bright leaves swirling in its cold currents. Flickering to the east are the lights of the small village, while to the west, the darkness that surrounds you grows even deeper as the path comes up to the edge of the forest. The air is cold tonight, and the restless rustle of the autumn beeze on the dry grass drowns out the calls of all but the loudest of night birds. A lone star sparkles for a moment on the eastern sky, but dissapears soon again into the clouds. Contents: Rauwulf Qinefer Celwe Obvious exits: West and East ------ As Celwe moves east he gently shifts Qinefer so she is less of a strain on him. Rauwulf lowers the spear and stands at ease. Celwe pays no attention to the others now as he is sure they recognize where they are at. He calls back to Matrim and says, "Make sure that the human and the Tirith get back to the Hill. I'll be at the healer's lodge if you need me." With that he set off at an even quicker pace and begins heading west. ------ Healer's Lodge You find yourself in a small, but comfortable lodge of living bushes, vines, limbs, and bark. The floor is carpeted with animal furs. In one corner is a large stack of ancient scrolls and books. Along one wall are shelves laden with bottles and jars of herbs and colored liquids, beneath which there is a workbench. Sitting upon the bench are a mortar and pestle, as well as smooth wooden bowls of various sizes. In the center of the floor is a small cooking pot hanging over a stone fireplace. Few candles light up the room and chase away the dark night shades, flickering with a warm light that seems to have live of its own. Carved into the hearth stone of the fireplace you read these words: My sleep is dreaming. My dreaming is meditation. My meditation is Mastery of Wisdom, the wisdom of all that was, is, and shall be. You realize that you are in the lodge of the healers of Amon Thranduil, menders of bodies and spirits, guardians to all who pass through this door. You can +inspect/list here. Contents: Celwe Qinefer Golodho Coioniel Healer's Log Obvious exits: Infirmary leads to Infirmary. Out leads to Oak Grove. If you require immediate assistance, please have Estelloth in the infirmary SUMMON a healer. ------ Celwe calls sharply for Estelloth and she comes through the door from the infirmary. She holds the door as Celwe brings her in to lie on a bed. Celwe steps quietly into the infirmary. Celwe has left. Qinefer steps quietly into the infirmary. Qinefer has left. Kyriana has arrived. ------ You enter a warm and inviting room, the infirmary of the Eryn Galen. The floor is covered in thick animal furs, and the aroma of drying herbs fills the room with a comforting fresh scent. Light occasionally glints off the glass doors of several large cabinets and the rows and rows of jars that they hold. There are several large beds in the room, each with a fluffy mattress of goosedown and spread with a light woollen blanket and beautiful quilt to guard patients against the crisp autumn air. Candles glow brightly from their wall sconces, their flickering light casting restless shadows on the walls. In the center of the room, a low fire burns cheerfully in its stone fireplace, a few kettles of water ever hanging ready over its flames. <+inspect is in effect here> Contents: Kyriana Qinefer Celwe The healers apprentice, Estelloth Obvious exits: Out OOC Editor's Note: Estelloth is played by Qinefer ------ Estelloth moves quickly to the counter, mixing a vial marked 'Mustard Seed' into a pitcher of boiling water. She soaks a cloth into the mixture and applies it to Qinefer's wound, extracting and poison not yet into the Arphedor's bloodstream. Celwe moves to the nearest bed and sets Qinefer down gently. He pulls a nearby wicker chair next to the bed and sits down on it. He reaches out and holds her hand gently, looking up at Estelloth expectantly. The apprentice creates a poulice around Qinefer's arm where she was bitten, looking to Celwe. Her eyes are filled with shock and questions, but she concentrates on the treatment at this moment. The apprentice then returns to the counter, extracting a few leaves of the herb labeled 'Comfrey' and 'Penstemon'. She places these strong herbs carefully to Qinefer's tongue, watching her face desparately for some sort of reaction. After several long, excruciating moments Celwe feels Qinefer's fingers flex in his hand, her eyelashes flickering slightly. Celwe looks from the face of the apprentice then back to Qinefer. He squeezes her hand and holds the somewhat soft, clammy flesh to his cheek. The warmth of the sun reminds you of the grace of Yavanna in this precious grove. Estelloth breaths deeply and moves to the side, allowing Celwe to remain directly beside Qinefer even as the apprentice scans her body for other wounds. She frowns slightly at the random scrapes and bruises upon the Arphedor's pale skin. Celwe smiles brightly at Qinefer's awakening and he leans over her to kiss her cheek tenderly. A few tears run down the feredir's own cheeks and they fall onto hers. Qinefer's eyes finially open, but they stare directly up to the ceiling as she expects to see nothing pleasant. Gradually she regains feeling in her body as the herbs w ork their wonders, and she realizes she is no longer wrapped in the spider's sticky cords. Estelloth watches Qinefer intently, obviously slightly nervous to have such an important person under her care: the one who taught her all that she knows. As the eyes open she fights the urge to move closer, instead allowing Celwe his space. Celwe sits back in the chair and brings Qinefer's hand to his lips and kisses each of her delicate fingers. The few tears that were present are gone but his eyes are still glassy and moist. He leans over to her again and whispers to her, "I love you melisse." Qinefer struggles slightly, blinking at the sound of the voice as if still in a daze,hoping that this is not some sort of cruel dream. She slowly moves her neck so that her eyes gaze at Celwe, and then her own violet gems cloud with tears of relief. In disbelief and through tears Qinefer murmers weakly, "M.. melinde? Celwe?" Her vision is cloudy from the strong herbs, the spider's poison, and her tears, but she can still make out the appearance of his shining face. Celwe smiles down at Qinefer and attempts to wipe her tears from her face with his thumb. He replies to her softly and gently, "Aye, it is me love. You're safe now...back home." Qinefer's eyes refuse to break the gaze with Celwe's and she whispers in a barely qudible voice, "How.. when.. you found me?" The words are a jumble of confusion, her mind not working correctly just yet. Celwe shakes his head, "I'll explain later, my love. You need your rest now, should sleep." Qinefer murmers softly, "You.. aren't hurt?" She tries to lift her head to inspect, but barely has enough control of the muscle to lift it an inch from the pillow. Celwe shakes his head again, "No, I'm fine." He places his hand just above her forehead and kisses it softly. He speaks a bit more forceful this time however, "Qinefer, you must sleep." He looks up at Estolloth expecting her to back him up. Estelloth smiles in relief after witnessing the conversation and nods quietly, "Aye.. Arphedor, ye know ye must rest to get the poison from your system.." Qinefer nods slightly, reluctantly, and whispers to Celwe, her eyes memorizing his face as they always do, "You.. will stay?" Her hand squeezes his delicately with the same difficulty it took to attempt raising her head, which is evident in her expression. Celwe nods, "Aye I will, love." He raises her hand to kiss it once again and adds, "I shall be here when you wake." Qinefer's eyes quickly close, tears of relief continuing to roll down her discolored cheeks even as she nods off into a deep, healing slumber. Bring it nightmares or pleasant dreams of her future, the sleep is still comfortable. Celwe sighs softly and leans back in the chair, his hand still holding Qinefer's. He closes his eyes and before long drifts into a restful meditation of his own. Finially, slowly, the blood that had rushed to her head from being hung upside down for so long begins to return to it's proper places, and her lungs fill with the clean fresh air it was deprived of during her time in the spider's dank cocoon. Estelloth moves to Qinefer's other side, carefully checking the poulice upon her arm to ensure it is tight enough to keep any poison residure from reaching Qinefer's blood. She shakes her head in silent disblief at the Arphedor's condition. The apprentice finially allows herself to sink into one of the other chairs, watching Qinefer's face become peaceful, then allowing her gaze to shift to Celwe, smiling softly at his obvious concern and dedication. -END OF FIRST PART OF LOG- -BEGINNING OF SECOND LOG- OOC Editor's Note: Several days later. ------ Infirmary You enter a warm and inviting room, the infirmary of the Eryn Galen. The floor is covered in thick animal furs, and the aroma of drying herbs fills the room with a comforting fresh scent. Light occasionally glints off the glass doors of several large cabinets and the rows and rows of jars that they hold. There are several large beds in the room, each with a fluffy mattress of goosedown and spread with a light woollen blanket and beautiful quilt to guard patients against the crisp autumn air. Candles glow brightly from their wall sconces, their flickering light casting restless shadows on the walls. In the center of the room, a low fire burns cheerfully in its stone fireplace, a few kettles of water ever hanging ready over its flames. <+inspect is in effect here> Contents: Qinefer The healers apprentice, Estelloth Obvious exits: Out ------ Qinefer is lying upon the bed, a pained expression on her face. With her eyes open their violet pupils can be noticed as filled with sadness and slight fear, making the pain seem less physical and more of mental anguish. Quietly entering the room, the young Egwador known as Matrim glances at the figure on the bed. A slightly sad smile on his face, he move forward to stand beside the bed before saying quietly, "Mae govannen mellon...how do you feel?" Qinefer is trembling slightly and then when you speak she seems to wake from a daze, saying softly, "I am better, mellon.. How fare ye?" She pulls the covers up around her body protectively even though the temperature is rather warm. Matrim frowns slightly at his friend's discomfort. He tries to smile though, and says, "I am well enough, though knowing a friend is in pain makes me a bit worrisome, to tell truth. Were you injured badly?" He asks the last a bit hestantly. Qinefer tilts her head slightly, thinking about your question for a moment before replying in a quietly weak voice, "Nay truly, mellon.. though I must admit my arm hurts.. most of the poison was worked away, though.." Qinefer continues to ramble, almost more to herself than to you, "I wondered what was happening when they wrapped me and had nay bitten me.. I suppose they wished to taunt me before adding the poison to my system. I merely remember being bitten..vaugely." Matrim nods a bit grimly, before glancing around a bit for a place to sit, and then sitting. Listening to Qinefer's words, his frown returns. Speaking once more, he says, "Have you heard of the rescue yet? It is a story to be told, for Feredir Celwe showed much bravery in it." The warmth of the sun reminds you of the grace of Yavanna in this precious grove. Qinefer's eyes furrow in curiosity and whispers, "Nay.. he refused to speak of it.. and preferred not to hear the details of my capture." She lowers her face slightly as if ashamed to have caused so much danger upon he rmellyn. Kyriana has connected. Matrim's smile returns, and his voice takes on a friendly tone, "He is probably only worried Qinefer. Who could blame him for not wishing to dwell on the memory? He put himself in grave danger, all the time worried for you." Noticing Qinefer lowering her face he says, "And do not be ashamed, for all of us get into trouble one time or another. I myself have caused trouble through the years." Qinefer shakes her head and whispers, "Ye are new to the details of my life, mellon. I trust ye know not of my encounter with the trolls, or with the orch? Again and again I foolishly fall into mischief and Celwe is left to risk himself to pull me from it." Matrim smiles, shaking his head a bit, "Maybe so, maybe so, but it is not right to place the blame on yourself. I have done much of what you have mentioned myself, though I had others with me. I caused much trouble," he pauses here a bit,"for my sister Lothiril in the Laketown. Other incidents. But I do not blame myself. Never do that." Loose strands of hair hanging idly about her eyes, and a concerned look in her face, Kyriana enters the infirmary. Seeing Matrim, she lowers her hood and calls out softly, "Mae Govannen, Matrim." Her steps light, she makes her way over to the resting Qinefer, and kneels down beside the bed. Taking the injured healer's hand, she asks softly, "Are you alright, mellon?" Qinefer manages a weak smile and merely shrugs to Matrim's comment, looking now to Kyriana, "Aye, mellon. I shall survive, as Estelloth is getting to be a wonderful Coithonial." She glances to the apprentice, then back to her mellyn. Matrim smiles as Kyriana enters, and the love in his eyes is plainly visible. Leaning back a bit, he allows her to greet Qinefer, smiling as the two talk for a moment. Glancing at the apprentice as Qinefer does, he smiles, stating, "I know nothing of the Coithonial, in truth, except that they can heal many things, but I myself believe she shall be one of the best. She has treated me more times than I would like to remember." Qinefer nods in agreement to Matrim, casting another approving smile toward the apprentice. Her eyes flash between Matrim and Kyriana, easily picking up the union between the two. In a quiet voice she requests of Matrim, "Please do tell me of the rescue though.." "How did ye even know of my plight?" Kyriana chuckles slightly at Matrim's comments, and brushes a bit of hair out of her face. "Indeed, she has, Matrim. But I would not know, and I do not intend to find out any time soon." Listening quietly to Qinefer for a moment, she nods her head in reply. "Yes, do tell us of the rescue. I am sure it is and interesting story." Qinefer speaks up as if the thought just occured to her, "Should I perhaps speak firs tof how the situation came to be?" Matrim nods his head at Qinefer's request, his face becoming serious. "It was during the festival hosted by Aran Thranduil that we learned of your plight. Near the end, as many were preparing to leave, a house galloped into the area. It was Celwe who identified it as your horse." Looking to Kyriana as if hoping he will not go through what Celwe had, he continues, "We quickly gathered a few guards, and followed the horses tracks into the forest. The group that went ahead to scout included Celwe, myself, the edain know as Rauwulf, and a pengwador." He pauses, to see if there are any questions. Qinefer shakes her head slightly, "So she who got me into the mess was the one who saved my life.. how odd. What I have to say is brief.. let me catch you up on the events that happened before Silky reached the feast.. I was riding Silky around a bit outside of Laketown, searching for Celwe as we were to journey home together. It was dusk, and something spooked her.. she darted into the forest before I could control her... Kyriana nods slowly, a frown on her voice. "Do go ahead, Qinefer. I am anxious to know how this all occured." "By the time I calmed her we were in the center of the Mirkwood, and night was falling. I knew that I must hurry homeward, and attempted to find my way. I instead found my way into a clearing surrounded by webs.." She pauses to take a breath. Qinefer speaks quickly, obviously somewhat upset to relive this experience by telling the tale, but at the same time needing to speak of it. "Silky began to act up again, and while trying to soothe her I heard a voice taunting from above.. hissing.. " Her nose wrinkles and she whispers, "It was then that I smelled the foul creatures.. I released Silky's rein and tried to run.. but they dropped from the trees, surrounding me. I attempted to convince them that I was not alone, but it failed.." Matrim frowns, remembering the foul things, "Creatures such as those...spiders...should be destroyed. Their evil polutes the forest." Qinefer cringes and closes her eyes as she finishes, "The next thing I knew I was being wrapped, and then hung upside down from a tree. They.." Tears well up in her eyes, "They did not bite me at that moment but instead swung me about like a plaything." Qinefer nods to Matrim, whispering, "Their scent made me nearly as ill as the motion did.. I could not breath for their stench.. and they had wrapped over me mouth and nose, so I could nay make but hardly a sound.." The Arphedor finishes, whispering, "I passed out.. then woke up to more of their taunting. Finially one of the viscious creatures plunged it's teeth into my arm... and the next I knew I was here." Qinefer says, "I would have made that one long pose but I can only type 3 1/4 lines at once.. crappy server:/" Matrim nods, his smile not yet returning, "And now I will tell you how you got here. The four I mentioned before came upon the beasts, as most were sleeping. One was near you at that time. I had almost ordered the Pengwador with me to kill it, except that Celwe warned me of the dangers of hitting you. Instead, he put himself in direct danger." He pauses, before continuing, "Leaving his spear behind, he crawled forward acting as if injured, to draw the spider off so that the Pengwador could fire her bow safely. Luckily, the spider had gone to sleep before noticing him. Seeing that it was so, he moved forward and cut you down himself with his dagger." Taking a breath, he says, "We returned quickly after that, and soon I believe we march again to kill the beasts." Qinefer listens intently to Matrim, her eyes widening as she hears of Celwe's dangerous sacrifice. She blinks several times, then gazes down to her blankets, twirling them in her hands, asking quietly, "Was I awake when the spider was near?" He nods, "Aye. We saw the foul thing bite." Qinefer winces at the memory of being bitten, and then her thoughts stray to how that must have made her mellyn, and even worse, her melinde feel. She says softly, "Before that moment I had only bruises.. if only they had waited a few moments to bite.." She adds, "Though if they were to bite one I prefer it was me rather than one of ye." Matrim shakes his head, "I know what you are thinking. It may have been worse though. I do not like that you were not bitten, but if you were not, the thing may not have went to sleep, and we would have been forced to fight. I do not believe we would have come out without a few wounded, and even the death of one of our mellyn." A sad look on her face, Kyriana lets go of Qinefer's soft hand, and stans behind Matrim's chair. Smoothing his ruffled hair idly, she smiles at Qinefer, "Indeed, Celwe was very brave, from what I can tell from hearing just now." Cocking her head, she looks down at her melinde, and sighs. "Aye, that would have been a sad happening, especially were it one of our finest, such as you or Celwe." Qinefer looks up to Matrim and says sharply before catching herself, "Ye know not what I am thinking. None do." She pauses and sighs wearily, "Forgive me mellon... I.." 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