End of Stonewright's Street -- The Barracks
The end of Stonewright's Street runs right up against the side of the mountain here at this sheltered location. The long low buildings of the garrison stationed here take up most of the available space around this square, with the soldiers' quarters to the outer edge, sheltering the officers' houses from the brisk winds. The sounds of drilling and sword practice drift up from behind one of the myriad building - the commanders' voices yelling above the noise of the trampling feet. Now and again, some soldier or another dashes across the cobbled square on errand to or from the Citadel and the higher officers stationed there.

Rhiforath:
        This young man, perhaps in his late teens, stands slim at just a bit under six foot. A shock of wild black hair hangs down long over the lad's shoulders with strands falling over his pale grey eyes. His left eye sports the barest traces of a healed shiner with a bit of darkened skin yet to fade with the weeks. Otherwise his features are fair skinned and without scars, bearing high and wide cheek bones, a broad jaw and moderately pointed chin, eyes wide set and often half lidded in observing those around him.
        Sporting a newer uniform tabbard than his last, he is clothed in the typical black pants, tall riding style boots and tabbard with the Minas Tirith crest. His upper left front shoulder bears the Silver Ship of his division and his other shoulder the rank of Man at Arms. His boot knife sheath in his right boot top is empty and he does not yet carry a sword.

Analdin:
        Dark blue eyes, the color of the stormy sea, shine glacially cool from this clean shaven young man's face. Dark blond hair cut short, short to hanging just abover his ears in a clean wave, covers his head. His cheekbones are chisled and his features are sharp, though the lines of his mouth are those of one used to smiling - if only slightly. His hands, when they can be seen, are rough and large. His left hand, however, sports a black glove at all times. He is a man of muscle, espicially with strong arms. Though not extremely large, he rises to six feet and is of meduim build.
        He wears the black talbard of the Minas Tirith Guard, with the Tree embriodered in silver on the breast. Simple black trousers are tucked into boots, black and polished to a shine. Upon his shoulder is company insignia, a Silver Ship set against the Gates of Minas Tirith, along with Lieutenant's bars and Company Commander's. A longsword hangs from his belt, perhaps not old, but well forged and well used. No special adornment can be seen on it save the marks of much use. A shining helm with raven's wings sometimes adorns his head, though more often, when in the city, is nowhere to be seen.
        His posture is that of a trained soldier, though rather friendly for it. Even though black is the dominant color in his clothing, his light, almost Rohirric features give him no appearance of darkness. An air of purpose surrounds him like a light mist.

=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Weather:            Rainy
Time:                Twilight <about 8 PM >
Season:              Summer
Date:               Sunday - August 25, 3014

Real Time:          Wed Jun 10 18:40:07 1998
=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Rhiforath comes up the road, trudging along.
Rhiforath has arrived.

As the sun sets behind the mountain and the sky is captured briefly painted in an intense blue dark and rich with the rising moon just golden in the east, the flow of foot traffic with the eve is thick as pedestrians hussle to finish errands before darkness. Coming up in the thick of a smattering of guardsmen returning from a shift change, is Rhiforath.

The rain falls pattering on the cobbled street, just beginning to form puddles in the road, when those small puddles get splashed around by the bootfalls of a number of guardsmen tramping over the square. One man, however, remains still in the rain, the darkness not effecting him at all as he watches those walking around, standing just under the cover of the doorway to the officers' quarters.

Rhiforath comes up, sopping wet and looking up wistfully at the clear blue sky between the line of thunderheads that pour down on his poor head. He sighs, wipes his nose and trudges up, muttering, "Rain, rain, rain... fegh." Noticing his officer, he stops and salutes Analdin, "Evening, Sir."

Analdin glances almost lazily over at Rhiforath as he stops nearby, returning a relaxed salute, and staying mostly dry beneath the doorway. "G'evening, Rhiforath," is all he says in reply to the youth, his face stuck in a grim look as he watches many others pass by in the wetness. His uniform, it seems, is espicially polished and cleaned, almost crisp, as if it hadn't been used in a while. In contrast, the boots on his feet are somewhat scuffed.

The young man studies Analdin, looking him up and down, "I hope you are feeling well and rested, Sir. Think I could get that gear you offered and maybe you show me a few tricks, Sir?" For a moment he flashes a devious grin, eyes light, "Surely you will be loath to pass up a chance to thrash me."

Analdin mutters something beneath his breath, casting a glare at the young man, "As well and rested as a man can get, Rhiforath," he says shortly, "given...." Trailing off, he shakes his head, motioning with a wave to the number of others outside, "I take it you're off duty now?" he questions, changing the subject.

Rhiforath nods, watching his Lieutenant cautiously, "I am, Sir. Just off street patrol with Private Fennel." The youth tucks his hands into the small of his back, standing relaxed and dripping wet. He does not have his cloak in the warm rain and ignores it. "I learned a little from Ravenwyr, but I hadn't long to practice... well, before things went sour. I admittedly have little skill."

The rain drips down off the roof of the building, falling in small droplets on the young officer's head, not enough to become annoying, but enough to dampen his hair. He wipes a vagrant strang of light bangs from his face with a flick of his hand across his forehead, tilting his head slightly as he does so. The expression on his face doesn't become any less sour, yet he gives quiet, short affirmative, "I don't see why not," and nods towards his office, "Step inside, out of the wet. I'll be back shortly."

The younger man only nods and steps under the eave to wait for Analdin, pale grey eyes looking out on his grey world.

Rhiforath is standing with a stiff back as another, older man of the guard speaks to the youth. There seems to be hot words between them though the older man speaks too low to overhear. Seeing the Lietenant coming, the older man, a Corporal, nudges Rhif hard on the shoulder in parting and walks away, heading down the street and almost instantly swallowed up in the traffic. Rhiforath clenches his jaw and has his eyes narrowed, saying nothing.

With a sigh, the young man shakes his head at himself and mutters something unpleasant, then skims fingers through his sodden hair. Seeing the return of his Officer, he stands up straighter and waits, a perfectly neutral look upon his face.

Analdin returns after a few long minutes, a bundle over his shoulder and a frown deepening on his face as he sees the older man speaking roughly to Rhiforath. Eyeing the Corporal's back as he walks away, the young officer raises a light brow at the youth, inviting an explination as he lifts the bulky bundle off his shoulder with the ease of a smith, and stepping out of the doorway. The rain seems to not phase him any more than the dryness of the doorway as he gets out of the way, allowing others to enter and leave without having to go around him.

Rhiforath offers no explanation as he isn't pushed and only smiles a fake smile without it touching his eyes. "Shall we then, Sir? I think I've rather developed a temper to work out." Without waiting he turns on his heal and begins to walk towards the training grounds.

Analdin doesn't say a word as he carries the bundle down towards the training grounds, his frown only deepending and the unpleasant look on his face growing more so. His temper seems to not have improved much over the last couple weeks of inactivity.

Rhiforath heads into the training grounds.
Rhiforath has left.

You pass through the walls into the training grounds.
Training Ground
The training grounds spread out in a semicircle, rimmed on the sides by a wall, and bordered in the back by the towering Mount Mindolluin which rises above until it melts into the clouds. The open grounds offer a stark contrast to the stone cobbled streets of Minas Tirith- here dirt cakes the ground, muffling the footsteps of the soldiers of the city as they train. Frequent drills and large troop maneuvers are held in the grounds with the sounds of clanging metal ringing out onto the adjacent street as guardsmen cross swords in mock combat.

Rhiforath enters the silent and abandoned grounds... no one else caring at this hour of the day to practice arms in the rain. He huffs a breath and turns around, looking at the gear, "OK... so, what do we have, Sir?" He stands, waiting to be told what he must do.

Overhead thunder rumbles faintly but there is no lightning. The rain seems to have let up, the front passing as the sky darkens.

Analdin sets the bundle down, opening it, and motions at the gear within with a quick wave, "Just standard issue, Private. Go ahead, pick it up, lets see if it fits right." The rain letting up causes him to glance up at the sky, casting it a questioning look, as if he were asking it to go either way, rain or clear, just be constant. Futily.

Rhiforath shrugs and bends down to draw out the first thing he finds... then sets it down again and unbuckles his belt, rolling the wet leather up snugly and setting it onto one of the benches. Then off comes the tabbard until he's down to a long sleeved black undershirt. Only then is it truely apparent how slim, no... skinny, he is. The youth can't be much more than arms, legs and bones. Rhif folds the tabbard and tosses it after the belt.

Still mostly dry, the leather gleams dully from it's last oiling. Rhiforath picks it up and turns it about, looking at it and trying to figure out how to put it on. Finally he undoes some of the straps and pulls it on over his head. Tightening it, it's clearly a bit large and loose on him, but likely the best they can do until he gains weight.

Rhif screws up his face looking at the shield and helm, "Do I have to carry those too?"

Rhiforath removes his tunic. After putting on the protective padding layer he fastens his Studded Leather Armor into place before putting his tunic back on.

Analdin watches in silence as the young man dons the armor, arms folded over his chest, eyes measuring. Though he appears somewhat disapointed as the armor turns out to be big on the youth, he shrugs, and says quietly, "Best we could find for you, Rhiforath. I think we'll have to put some meat on those bones of yours before anything we have handy will fit. As for those," he nods towards the shield and helm, "I would think it might be a good idea. Or maybe you'd like to end up looking like you did when you returned from your... absence after training as well?" A touch of an amused smile lights in his bright blue eyes, but his face doesn't see it.

Rhiforath bites back his acidic comment and sighs, releasing a long breath. He nods and picks up the rest, doning the helm with a commical look and holding the shield akwardly, "Do I blunden with this," He shakes the shield, "Or do you I get a blade as well, Sir?"

Analdin takes a step over towards the young man, shaking his head quietly, "You'll get a blade. I wanted to see if the rest fit before I gave it to you. Wouldn't do to have a man with steel but nothing to protect himself against that of others." The corners of his mouth turn up slightly in what apears to be something bordering on a grim smile. He reaches down into the leather of the bundle, pulling out something else wrapped in leather, blending in with the sack, and hands it to the young man, "That should do you well enough."

As the young man finishes the strap to secure the helm on beneath his chin he reaches out for the last, presumably a sword. He watches Analdin carefully as though expecting a dirty trick to make a fool of him....

Holding the leather-wrapped, blade-looking object out to the Rhiforath, Analdin takes a step back, waiting for the young man to take it, the smile fading from his lips at his hesitation.

Still cautious his hand settles firmly on the object and takes it, still watching Analdin for sudden moves. When the other lets go if it he steps back two steps to provide a 'circle of safety' as he has been taught, only then dropping his eyes to the prize to uncover it... and slip it smoothly from it's scabbard just a few inches, inspecting it. Finally he draws it all out and holds it, feeling the balance and making absent note of the several nicks he'll have to work out with honing. Very, very faintly a smile, a real smile, softens his thin face.

Rhiforath silently slides his dark blade out of the scabbard on his back.

Analdin watches the young man closely, stepping back as well as the youth draws it, a worried look touching his face. But as nothing completly out of the ordinary happens, and Rhiforath draws the blade keeping all his fingers, the Lieutenant retakes that step forward, still out of range of the sword, but closer. "I hope it meets with your approval," he says dryly, watching with amusement Rhiforath's reaction to the sword.

Still holding that very faint smile, Rhif's eyes flicker back up to Analdin's, "Oh, yes, quiet so, Sir. I'll hone it up good and clean it, taking great care of it so it will serve me well. My life will only depend on it." He looks it over once more, it's simple unadorned cruciform shape and elegance beautiful to his young eyes. Quietly he resheaths it and looks to his officer, "Sir, will you show me to use it? I know knives, but... " Rhif shrugs, "I have only seen others do the dance. I want to know it too."

"I can show you a bit," Analdin says, glancing up at the sky once more, as if trying to decide whether or not the weather's going to cooperate and be nice. "I suppose. Though I work I should be getting cought up on..." He trails off, shaking his head, and then shakes his head, "But nevermind. Hold it up,I want to see your grip before we do anything else."

Rhiforath silently slides his dark blade out of the scabbard on his back.

Carefully the young mand redraws it and turns so that the blade is angled away from Analdin but his right hand grip clearly seen. He looks at the other man, "Is this right?"

Examining the young man's hand on the hilt of the sword closely, the officer doesn't say a word as he does so, "Looks good," is all he mutters, nodiing quietly, and straightening back a step or too. His gaze flickers to the building housing his officer, a worried look crossing his face as he sees a figure standing outside, "I fear, Rhiforath, that I have someone to meet with... Another time, perhaps, I can show you something."

Rhiforath simply nods and resheathes the blade, anxious to go and work on it. He glances after to see who has gained Analdin's attention but returns to his own thoughts, "Thank you, Sir. I appriciate your time."

Analdin nods, attention already in the not-quite-here stage. "Good night, Private," he says, turning on his heel and striding quickly out of the training grounds.