LOCATION: Forlond: Othlon Amrun - South

You come upon the verge of the Eastern Districts of Forlond. The Street of the Sunrise, Othlon Amrun, runs arrow straight to the north and south. On either side, ornate buildings march along, most of them homes, but a few appear to be shops of one sort or another. Along the western side, however, a great hall looms up high with gilded eaves. From the grey, cobblestone walkway, highly ornate stairs lead up to a leaf-shaped door. A sign written in silvery angerthas proclaims it to be, Herth Talagand. To the north, only a few blocks away, you see an intersection.

Contents:
Aurennar
Marazon

Over the western rooftops lingers a last sliver of gold, but in the east the sky is already dimmed to a blend of blue and violet, and one might espy the shadowy moon on his way in pursuit. The city street, lit with lamplight from many windows and still busy at this cold and windy evening hour, is aflutter in cloaks.

To the side of the rise of steps to the Starshine Inn, a man and elf hold conversation. ". . . though Rysha left at just this hour that day, saying that she would not wait for you any longer."

"I think I remember this day" Marazon quielty replies, his hand tight around the long scrolls he carries. And the expresssion of the dunedain darkens visibly, likes the sky does above. "And a few days later she had an accident just here" he waves a weak hand to the street before the stable... "I have no news since."

Along the street a young woman comes walking, cloak clasped tightly about her in an attempt to keep out the wind's chill, wisps of dark hair that have escaped their braid streaming in her face. She heads towards the Inn, stopping abruptly as she spies the two shadowy figures engaged in conversation upon the steps. After hesitating for a few moments, she eventually plucks up the courage to approach, saying politely in Adunaic, "Good evening, sirs."

"I have heard that," Aurennar answers, looking to Marazon, "though I would know much less than do you. But perhaps I should not ask. But. . ." He turns to regard the new voice, halts a moment, then offers a light bow. "Good evening."

Adunaic flows from the lips of the seaman with skill and fluentness, the gravity of his talk having removed the smile gloating smile he usually sports when speaking to elves in such tongue. "She fell from this window.. I couldnt catch her in time" Marazon whispers as another presence he feels coming.

"Gimilphel.. milady.. how do you fare ?" he asks now recognizing her. "Milady, this is the sir Aurennar, she is the one who came when Rysha..." he precises.

As Gimilphel steps within reach of the circle of light cast from a lantern, the identity of the two men suddenly becomes apparent. Her eyes widen ever so slightly as she gazes on the Elf, but she manages a tremulous smile and a quick nervous bob of the head. With Marazon, her manner is somewhat less formal. "I'm well, thank you," she answers him. "You also, I hope?" Looking from one figure to the other, she says with a worried frown, "You were talking about Rysha?" Her young face is suddenly grave again.

Aurennar nods once. "We were speaking of her. . . in passing. And I gather that you are familiar with the matter. Although, if this is something between you, then I should be on my way. . ."

"No stay master Aurennar... You seemed curious, I think Gimilphel can ... It seems not" Marazon brielfy chuckles at the maid question and shifts on his feet toward her. "I am indeed, as for Rysha... Alas I have little news, and of the last she was still comatose... I didnt even see the lady Galenrien about."

Gimilphel shakes her head at once in response to Aurennar. "Oh no, sir - it is I who is disturbing you, not the other way round. Please don't go because of me."

Looking at Marazon, she says coldly, "Galenrien has been tending Rysha, of course. Well, mostly ..." She trails off, looking a little embarrassed. "And I have no new news for you, I'm afraid," she continues. "But Galenrien and the Elves here tend her with all the care they can muster. Master Yulion thinks she will live - 'the spirit burns strong within her', he said," - her voice becomes more haughty, her enunciation more precise as she repeats the Elven healer's exact words - "but as to whether she will ever walk again ..." She trails off, shaking her head and spreading her hands wide in a questioning gesture.

A momentary frown touches the elf's face, and he shakes his head. "Such things happen where people are. . . But if there is question, I guess, then there is still hope, and she is young besides. I wonder if there is any help that one might offer on her behalf."

The grey lingers on Marazon face at Gimilphel's words and his mask seems to close a bit more. "I didnt see any of them since." Marazon sighs soundly and flaps his arms "I wish I ahd bee quicker to prevent her fall.. I'll visit her when she will be awaken.. Or tomorrow to see her awaken.." he says and nods to Aurennar, pensive "I wish we could do something indeed.. I wish... I'll see you tomorrow Gimilphel, good night both" he finishes and walks off, visibly contrite about something.

Gimilphel looks surprised at Marazon's sudden departure, but she tries to anwer Aurennar's question. "I don't know ... Are you a healer, then, sir? I haven't seen you in the Healer's Halls, but then I am only the most junior of apprentices and don't know anything. Your kind always seem so wise..." She sighs perhaps a little enviously.

Aurennar pauses, glancing after Marazon. "Oh, no. . . though to healers I do owe a certain debt. It does not seem so right that one should leave the healers alone to their work without some kind of aid. But I am not from this city, even -- upon a visit, rather, and maybe soon to return."

Now Gimilphel looks really amazed. "Not from this city?" she murmurs in evident surprise, before recovering her composure. "Indeed, sir, the healers work is an important one, and I'm sure all aid is welcome." She gives a little frown, as if not quite sure what the Elf meant. Gazing up at him again, she queries, "From where do you come, then, if it's not rude to ask?"

"To the south, against the Bay of Belfalas, the haven of Edhellond. Is that an answer you would take? I have been in this city for only a year, and still its ways are somewhat foreign to me." He thinks, then smiles slightly. "Though this is not the time to tell the story of my life, is it? Where were you going before you gave your greeting, lady?"

"Edhellond? Why, that's not so far from Umbar," Gimilphel states, her initial awe of the stranger dissipating somewhat with time. "I've heard it said that ships do make the crossing from time to time, when our Governor permits it." She blushes, and murmurs, "And I've been talking far too much. I'm sorry, sir." She looks down at the ground, the flush rising in her face visible even in the wan light of the lamps. Eventually she raises her eyes again, and says, "I was just returning to the inn where we from Umbar are staying - I had been down at the Healers' Halls."

"There is no need to be sorry," Aurennar answers haltingly, looking to her with some concern. "Only, I do not want to keep you out in the cold and darkness, lady. If you wish to go on, do. . . or else stay a while at the inn just here, where there might be those of your city to accompany you."

"Yes, it does seem to be getting colder," Gimilphel agrees, glancing up at the clouds now scudding across the stars, though she shows no signs of moving this instant. "And I'm sure you also have other errands, sir." She manages a tiny smile.

Aurennar laughs lightly. "In truth, none that must be done now, and I would invite you for supper, save that perhaps you would be more comfortable in other company -- or at least suffer less grief from those who feel that we should not mingle so much."

Gimilphel's eyes widen a little. "It's just that we are so different. Your kind know so much - to you we must seem like little children." She shakes her head ruefully. "I've been trying to study while I'm here, but the more I learn, the less feel I know." She sighs. "And thank you for the offer, sir," she pauses in thought, then continues, "but I couldn't take up any more of your time. Though I do hope we meet again sometime ..." She gives an eager smile.

Aurennar gives a smile at the first, but does not answer it. "Be assured that learning seems the same to all of us, no matter how plenty time might be. But I shall say thank you and farewell, now, until our next meeting."

"Goodbye to you, sir," Gimilphel says in reply, finding herself bobbing a small curtsey. With a last farewell nod towards the tall Elf, she turns away.

Participants:

AURENNAR

A flowing black cloak falls down a slight elven figure, his kindred silvan, clasped at the neck by a dim copper brooch shaped as swan's wing. A dull and unadorned circlet of the same copper hue rests on his brow, from which dark brown hair with a few solitary streaks of grey fall to shoulder-length.

Beneath the cloak, his clothes are a paler grey, the cloth neither rough nor fine, worn by weather. About his waist is a woven belt, its buckle crafted of embossed copper. Long trousers, black with a few discolored smears, reach to the ankles, and brown hide boots complete his attire.

He is not tall, and his complexion is darker than the wont of the elven-folk, slightly ruddy in hue, but a cloudless blue are his eyes, intense as the midday sun.

MARAZON

Standing well his two rangas is the man before you. He isnt in his teens anymore and still his main features keeps an air of lasting youthHis dark hair is cut medium long, and is often in a mess, still the wind seems to have no hold on the steadiness of the light blue glance of the dunadan. He usually doesnt wear any beard and keep it shaven but at times, in fact often, a black veil covers his chin and cheek. His fair skin is lightly tan at least his face and hands which arent fragile at the first look. Flat cheek bones and a somewhat straight and thin nose marks his face. Despite his height and build, he carries himself with a certain nimbleness and a sure foot.

A shiny shirt of black silk, ample sleeved and broided with red and purple, tin thred of gold, silver and green are embroidered on his chest in branch of Oiolare, the evergreen tree of Numenor only Uinendili sport. Gold buckled leather tighten around his wraist. The shirt hangs very low on his knees and fashion leather boots mounts to mid calf. What is seen of his legs is covered by some tight material of sable. Clasped asymetrically on his right shoulder, a long cape of light red nearly pink, cutting and contrasting with the dark gear he wears underneath.

GIMILPHEL

Before you is a young woman of Numenorean race, her height perhaps just slightly below average. Green eyes sparkle in a heart-shaped face, framed by dark hair that is normally tied back in a long braid. Her skin is pale, save for the faint rosy flush of her cheeks, which deepens when she is embarrassed - a state of affairs wont to happen far more often than she would like. She wears a dress of deep blue material, whose soft folds hang loosely about her slender form. The design is plain save for delicate embroidery at neckline and hemline in threads of silvery white, shaped to represent stars. Her earnest expression and wide eyes lend her an air of youthful innocence.