A Plan Spoken

Hall of Fire

The flickering light of the fire illuminates the room in a warm glow. The firelight plays along the polished wood of the walls, picking out highlights of the carvings of vines and flowers that decorate the Hall, and lining the many comfortable chairs in changing light. The fire burns always in this Hall, crackling from within a large hearth of marble at one end of the room. Songs in this Hall come to life, and dreams seem more real than the waking world.

The firelight gleams from the polished stone of the hearth, and glints of the metallic flecks running through the marble. Wide enough that a tall man couldn't span it with his arms outstretched, and tall enough that he could walk into it without bending. Wood, large and small, is stacked near at hand to feed the flames should the fire grow too low. Fire tools, cunningly wrought by the elven smiths in patterns of vines, are racked on the other side of the hearth. Among the tools are a number of iron mulling rods, meant for heating in the fire and then dunking into one's drink to heat it.

Flanking the great hearth are two pillars, one on either side of the fireplace. Made of the same marble as the fireplace the pillars are carved from base to crown with interlocking patterns of leaves, vines and flowers. Lit by the fire's living light, the flowers reflect back gold and orange and red. Even in deepest winter, the stone flowers bloom like living blossoms.

Telelas

A young elven male. Silver hair is bound by a band of deepest crimson, a veil of light shining silver flowing freely over his shoulders onto his back. His eyes are a mixture of intens grey and blue, changing, akin a water's surface, mirroring the light which falls upon it. And yet despite his cheerful expression, his reflection is touched by a glimpse of darkness, lingering within the misty depths of his eyes. His lips form a weak smile, edges slightly curved to add a touch of mockery.

A lean nimble frame garbed in a tunic of the darkest green, a light brown shirt worn underneath. Adorning the brown is a crest, a yellow sunburst with flames rising to a single argent star upon a sable background. More light shines in form of a skillfully crafted trinket, shaped like a pendant of transparent material, it's edges wrought with silver, weight held by a thin -- finely wrought -- thread of silver chain. And on the elf's right index finger prides another trinket. A ring made of the finest silver, masterfully wrought with alternating leaves -- the band solid - sheltering a lily in full bloom.

His trousers are of a similar brown as is his shirt. A smooth leather belt hugs his waist, on which a pouch and knife are fastened. Draped upon his shoulders flows long and free a mantle of a dim grey, hood laying restless awaiting to be used if ever needed. His boots are of a supple brown leather, making his movements as swift as gentle, if ever silent...

Lanthir

Deep, almost swirling blue eyes framed by an angular face and wreathed in a blonde mane greet you when you look upon this Quendi. He stands tall, though not overly so for one of his kind, and lean, reminding one of a gaunt wolf in the depths of winter. A smile often graces his face, with mirrored mirth in his eyes, but all at once his smile is both predatory and roguishly charming. The characteristic agility and grace of his people makes itself readily apparent in his movements; surefooted and nimble.

His garb consists of a tunic and breeches of varying shades of forest green. The cloak about his shoulders is of a dark chestnut brown, as are his well-worn boots. The clasp on his cloak, as well as his belt buckle, are both leaf-shaped and wrought of a blue-hued steel. 'Tis not uncommon for his clothing to be a bit dusty, given that his duties often keep him out of the Valley for long stints of time. A hunting knife hangs upon one side of his leather belt, and a quiver of arrows upon the other. Completing the picture is a longbow of black yew wood, carried in his hand and, often seeming a near extension of the Ethir himself.

Lindir

A tall slender figure of a female quende is before you. Odd-colored orbs of a pale ice blue sparkle from their inset upon her creamy oval face. Her eyebrows are slightly curved, tapering off to a point. A tight french braid of light blonde hair reaches her waist and is held fast by a band of black leather. Wrapped around her left arm is a circlet made of mithril in the shape of an ivy vine. Her hands are slender and smooth looking.

A somewhat loose, sleeveless tunic adorns this maiden fair. Dark blue in color, it has a V-shaped neck and silver buttons in the shape of acorns. It is loosely tucked into her tight fitting black pants. At her waist is a metal belt shaped like laurel leaves with a clasp of a sheathed sword, positioned diagonally. Her boots are made of black leather and cuffed at mid-calf. A few scuff marks can be seen on the otherwise polished leather.

Amarelei

This young elf maiden projects the very spirit of Yavanna both through her countenance and her demeanor. Her skin, though fair as that of any elleth, almost seems to give off a glow from within. A delicate nose graces the middle of her radiant face, just above full, soft lips, red in color as if stained by the juice of fresh cherries. Her inquisitive eyes mirror the last green shade of the leaves before autumn plucks them from the trees: a vibrant, yet faded hazel green, rimmed in a darker jade hue and flecked with gold. Falling down her back is a thick mane of rich earthen-brown hair, which barely allows the very tips of her pointed ears to peek through its full waves. Today it is simply bound at the nape of her neck by a small band of black leather.

Her slender frame is hugged by leather and linen of the palest grays and greens. The sleeves of a soft white undershirt cover her arms to her wrists. Over this a pale green hooded tunic clothes her to just above mid-thigh, pulled close to her figure by leather laces that run from under her left arm down to her hip. Her legs are clad in the softest gray sueded leather, clinging closely enough to her skin to leave little doubt of her femininity, but not so close as to restrict her movement. Sturdy gray boots rise to her knees: though their soles show signs of wear, they are almost always clean.

A thin leather belt hangs low on the Lhimbadhril's hips. Tucked into it is a short, functional dagger, its handle etched with a floral pattern of marvelous detail. Next to it on the belt hangs a short length of twine. Strapped to her back is a light spear, not the sort intended for use in battle. Its length is crafted largely of wood pale in color, the metal point forged by a skilled elven artisan.

The evening starts, and yet those inside might not notice or share no interest in the time of day. For hither is a room of legend, renown for it's grandeur -- whither many a tale has been told, a greater number of songs sung. Still tonight no tale nor song fills the Hall of Fire, to join the murmuring of the flames, while they perform their dance of: The Wood that be Consumed.

Nay! For most remarkable is the presence of many a forester. An uncommon sight as most of them prefer the forest and their own Cabin above the peaceful interior of the House. 'Tis not a large number, yet still enough to speak of a crowd. Groups are formed, small talk passed round. Till one quendi rises tall and paces towards the fire, glancing round warily -- the Tellenistron Telelas -- for in that custom he stands now, to speak of forester matters.

Only recently arrived in the Valley from a long quest abroad, The Ethir Lanthir comes into the Hall of Fire, still dust-covered from much travel. He quickly pours two glasses of wine, both for himself, and sits to listen to what is to be discussed regarding his guild.

The Hiril nos Olormaranwe is here in the midst of the gathering as well. Her dress is much in the manner of a forester, practical for scouting and hunting. But those who know her, or have ever seen her, know that this is none other than her normal daily wear. A wine glass filled with a dark red liquid is held in her hand as she watches her Arphadon rise. A hush falls over the room.

Dark hair windswept and fair cheeks flushed by the cool autumn's kiss, the Lhimbadhril Amarelei sweeps in from the hall. Her hurried steps, however, are quickly quieted as her gilden-green gaze is drawn to Telelas. Hushed and subtle is the manner of her movement as she slides into a chair not far from the Ethir.

Perhaps he wished not to draw attention that swiftly, for with a nervous glance the forester acknowledges the silence that falls. The breeze of voices is hushed, and eyes turn to frown. Yet Telelas shrugs, appearing still a tad uncomfortable. And careful words he speaks after clearing his throat and raise half-heartedly a hand.

As he does so, his expression changes considerably. Common merit makes haste to dwindle and be replaced with a shadow of graveness, as heavy is his voice. "Welcome and I thank each of you to be present at this hour. For those who know naught of requests to seek the Hall of Fire this night, worry not. I shall not spill any words you may not hear. This concerns a general matter, plans forged for a time that still must come. As of late the minds are stirred, danger thickens, and precautions are more frequently made. Perhaps this be one of those measures thought off to preserve what beauty and life we hold."

A faint smile he offers then, "But let me refrain to speak in more riddles and make my point. The Tauron has met with the Healers and the Istfariath, for it seems some of them have thought of a plan..."

Attentiveness and mild concern their acquaintances now in the depths of Amarelei's eyes, vibrant green with flecks of a golden hue borrowed from the autumn leaves themselves. A shallow sigh rises and falls in her linen-clad chest, and with this quiet exhalation a fine line furrows thoughtfully her fair brow. The elleth's head now inclines quizzically, her focus narrowing in on the Tellenistron.

Lanthir downs one glass and begins sipping on his other as Telelas speaks. Weary though he is, his curiosity is piqued; any local news is much appreciated with his long absence. Alert, he listens on.

The Hiril takes a short sip of the red liquid, tapping a finger upon the glass afterward. She tilts her head only a touch to the left, having heard something of this plan before. But she says nothing, merely waiting for her Arphadon to continue on his speech.

Nodding pleased to see attention remains with him, Telelas continues in a more vibrant and light voice.

"Though fear not... it is not a reckless plot they have devised. More a joining of hands to lighten the load that has grown more heavy lately. For the healers, as you may be wary off, can treat little without the aid of their herbs. Herbs which not only grow in the Gardens they tend, but as well in places they do not know. Be it in forests, the Moors, the graslands near the Pass, or even hidden amongst the Cliffs. Where the Healers remain mostly inside, we as foresters venture more and further abroad to hunt and gather... or to explore."

Taking a deep breath, briefly the Tellenistron pauses, but soon he continues. "The Healers would benefit of a detailed map of sorts which offers them an overview of where which herb can be found. This way they wish to anticipate their needs, and act in time to avoid storages and reserves getting depleted."

Lanthir nods as he sips on his other glass of wine. Not that he desires to be out of the Valley again anytime soon, but the plan makes good sense. In case more follows, however, he remains silent and attentive.

The elleth in the long blue-grey hooded cloak slips quietly in, hearing animated speach from those already present. Benuial keeps towards the door, so as not to disrupt the conversation.

The Hirdan takes another sip, this one longer than the last, and finishes off the glass. A smile touches her lips as she sets the empty crystal down, but Lindir says nothing yet.

Slender hands fidget absent-mindedly with the loose-hanging leather strap of her belt as Amarelei's focus continues unwavering. And so does silence pervade in her manner, though with each word spoken by Telelas, a faraway glimmer in her eyes converges further to an elusive sparkle of understanding. Quietly she shifts in her chair.

"However!"

Raising a hand, the Tellenistron gestures for peace as he wishes to finish first his news. And silence is given, murmuring voices swiftly fading again. "Of course there are certain difficulties with this plan... The Istfariath are the ones to draw the maps, whereas the Healers will rely on the foresters to a certain extent, to show them places where herbs will thrive. We are an unwritten tome of knowledge concerning the nearby lands. To use this knowledge, with the wisdom of our Healers, enables the two groups to search for a certain herb. Foresters and healers will team up with the Istfariath, or so is the plan so far.

Yet as all of you might know, not many herbs survive the chill of winter and most can be found in spring and summer. Thus consider this speech -- one perhaps growing too lengthy -- as an update, on which more will follow. Still I spoke with the Tauron and he wishes to hear your personal reactions in good time... All of you will be of aid."

The final phrase is taken as a signal this particular speech at least is over, and thus voices rise to discuss what was just shared. The Tellenistron Telelas remains standed, folding now his arms as he frowns, awaiting if one will come forward to discuss their aid in this privately.

Finishing his second glass, Lanthir nods. Perhaps the winter will provide a brief respite, then and all this can be done with the spring thaw. Thinking to himself, he remains seated, silent.

The Hiril chuckles softly, though not loud enough for any beyond those nearest her to hear. Her icy blue eyes flash as she notes the frown upon Telelas' brow. Lindir makes her way through the crowd of foresters, like a hand parting water, and comes to stand next to the Tellenistron. "Something troubles thee?"

Benuial pushes back her hood and quietly surveys the scene...noting Telelas' frown she decides to remain silent.

Despite his earlier manner, the Hiril succeeds into startling the forester. Looking up from a thoughtful mood -- for indeed that is why his brow was bend -- a smile swiftly prides upon Telelas' lips. "Ah, mae govannen, Hiril!" greets he in a cheery voice.

"Worry not, I was mere attempting to think of the long-term consequence. For this particular campaign requires quite a few of our number... and perhaps at times we must spend weeks outside the valley, away from our precious home and..." here the Tellenistron winks, grinning visibly, "our loved ones."

A smirk touches the lips of the Hiril as she notes Telelas' merriment. "Ah yes, I can see that. We shall have to make certain that you will be around for your own wedding." Lindir laughs delightedly as she continues, "There shall be no running off to another elven home for thee."

After moments of personal though 'neath furrowed brow, Lanthir makes to rise. Still dusty from the road and obviously weary, he begins making his way to the door. Inclining his head, he gives nods of simultaneous greeting and farewell as he makes his way out of the hall of Fire.

Nodding in taciturn agreement with these last sentiments spoken, the Lhimbadhril now rises quietly beneath the murmured cover of new conversations. Fluid strides carry her now to the hearth, approaching both Hiril and Tellenistron with a subtle smile in regard. Her hands now clasped tentatively at her waist, the elleth's feet fall still when she reaches their company. Though she responds not to words spoken between the two, he soft warmth of smile is laced with a quiet joy as it broadens to Telelas.

A chuckle he shares, tapping his chin in playful thought. "Hmm, though perhaps Lorien... I have heard and seen it's beauty during Spring and Summer. O Lothlorien, her wood so golden and fair! Where I may walk beneath the care of the Lady, and find the freedom, which awaits hither!"

But then his mood does change, for surely he jests. Eyes glimmer as Telelas looks down and finds the ring that is on his finger. "Though indeed it's beauty is not as golden as is the one I found here... in the Valley. So I would grieve to be asked to be away from her for both spring and summer..."

More words he does not speak, remarking the arrival of the elleth. Tilting his gaze Telelas nods a greeting, frowning a curious brow. "Ah, mellon, I see you have something to ask or to discuss?"

The Hiril parts her lips to speak, but does not as the Tellenistron focuses his attention upon Amarelei. This can be discussed later if need be.

"I only intended to offer what services I can, however humble they may be," Amarelei intones in her quiet alto. The young forester's eyes flicker with a quiet ambition only now finding its initiative. "Though I know little of the many lands beyond the valley, perhaps my knowledge as a gardner may be put to use?"

Lindir feels her shirt being tugged upon and turns around, looking down upon one of the Mirdan. A whispering is exchanged and she glances back at the Tellenistron and the elleth. "I fear there is something I need to attend to. Tenn' enomentielva, mellon." With that, she is gone.

Benuial finds a seat and takes out parchment, ink and pen and begins to write....as if oblivious to the conversation of the other Quendi.....though she glances up frequently. After a few moments she leaves her writing and steps closer to the warmth of the fire. Benuial observes the dwinling gathering before timidy greeting those remaining "Ah mae govannen, mellyn...Tis serious talk, and i fear that I can add nothing to discussion of such matters...." The elleth's words trail off into silence as she stares into the flames.

As the Hiril announces her departure, briefly Telelas looks up to nod. But then his attention turns towards the elleth, and her kind offer. A most amiable expression the Tellenistron offers, curtly inclining his head. "You form a good example, Amarelei-mellon, to step up and volunteer for a plan that lacks still most of it's details. But your offer is noted and rest assured when there is need, you will be the first asked to aid in preperations and the organizing of groups. Indeed the knowledge of a gardener is invaluable, as you will know under what circumstance a herb will grow or not. Or whither to find the correct soils that some herbs require. The library holds many books which describe in detail the layers of the lands. Perhaps when plans are more concrete there can be a gathering in the library to search for more information that may be of help."

And as another speaks, Telelas looks up nodding a greeting to Benuial. "Not too serious, mellon, worry not. And surely those with an interest to learn more of the nearest lands will find it a joy and privilige to be part of the groups that will be send out if this plan will commence."

Benuial turns on hearing the reasuring reply "I do not worry as such..." giving a small smile she adds "if you require the skill of a poet or artist, I would gladly assist you in your task..." Here the eleth's gaze turns to her feet as she looks slightly self conscious, having spoken.

The timbre of her initial question tentative at best, Amarelei's voice finds its lilt once more in her farewell to the Hiril Lindir. Though not long does the elf maiden follow the Lady's departure before her attention is once more returned to her fellow forester, pausing along the way as the clouds of her determined curiosity part once more to regard Benuial with a disarming smile.

Her words to Telelas indeed retain some of their spirit. "Then indeed I shall keep an ear tuned to any word of plans made. I trust we will hear from you again before long then?"

"The task is still long from being performed, mellon." replies Telelas in a kind voice, but then he chuckles, "Still I shall keep your offer in mind. It might be fun to have a poet to words what is done in a nice verse or melody. Perhaps 'tis not a much heroic deed, but still one most honorable."

With ease the forester shifts his attention to the other elleth, her words visibly considered. And firmly he nods ere glancing towards the door. "Yes, mellon, when there is more news, you and the others who offered their aid will hear of it. When there are tasks to be divided the call will be uttered. Yet even now other duties remain, so I must bid farewell." Tilting his gaze, the Tellenistron raises his voice a final time, "Those with questions are asked to seek me or the Tauron. We are best informed in what is the part of the foresters in this whole. Or speak with the Herbmistress... Eliniell. Thank you for coming, but I fear daily duties call me away this very moment... Expect more meetings to be held later when more is known."

And with that Telelas turns to depart.

The quiet glindis turns her eye back to the dancing flames...possibly seeing words written therein. Benuial laughs quietly at Telelas comment and offers an almost inaudible "Namarie".

Mellow and understated is the quiet melody of Amarelei's voice, just as a comparable serenity settles upon her fine features. "I will, and thank you. A good evening, to you mellon," she calls after the departing Telelas.

The elleth returns to her writing....folds up the parchment and adds...as an after thought..."I must leave.."

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