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 right upper arm, near the shoulder, is company insignia, a Silver Ship set against the Gates of Minas Tirith, right above which is the insignia of Company Commander. On his right shoulder are the silver bars and cables of a Lieutenant's rank. 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.

Tandor:
        You look upon a boy, or perhaps a young man; it is difficult to decide which, for he seems to be somewhere on the virge of man-hood, between the stages of adolescence and adult-hood. He is tall, but not large--lanky, rather, though his sinewy muscles hold impressive definition for one so slim. Dishelved brown hair falls above his thick eyebrows, beneath which is a pair of brown eyes, not yet hardened with wisdom. No lines or wrinkles of age yet crease his face, which is sparsely covered with the beginnings of a man's stubble.
        Draped over the youth's lanky shoulders is a faded, brown tunic. The sleeves come down to his elbows where they end unhemmed, leaving bare a pair of tanned forearms and hard-worked hands. The back of the left hand wields a long scar running diagonally from his little finger to thumb, and a series of smaller scratches run parellel to this one. Leather breeches, dark brown, cover his legs. The fur, grey in colour, is left on the hide of the pants on the thighs. A pair of sturdy, well-travelled boots come to mid-shin, and are laced tightly from top to bottom.

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.
 

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Weather:            Light-snow
Time:                Mid Afternoon <about 3 PM >
Season:              Winter
Date:               Mersday - January 17, 3015

Real Time:          Fri Jul 31 13:14:01 1998
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Even in the light snow of a winter's afternoon the Guard is out and about. Men practice in the training grounds, clashing blades wooden and steel, and trying to keep their balance on the wet ground. It is an hour before the change in the watch, so there is little spare activity going on about the Barracks area.

One lone figure crosses the snow-white square from the building that houses the common soldiers, the large Barracks, to the officers' quarters across the way. His black cloak hangs from his shoulders, though he pays it no attention, as if the cold and weather were a sunny day on the ocean.

Hiking up the road towards the square, a second figure can be spotted. His cloak is speckled with droplets that form from the small snowflakes that gently shower him. Stopping a moment at the edge of the square, the traveler cranes his neck and glances about, as if deciding where to go. A single set of tracks crosses the snowy square, and the gaze of the second figure follows the footprints, until his eyes glimpse the movement of a lone body, draped in a black cloak, making for a building. The black figure's observer starts on a course to intercept the other man.

As he continues his trek across the short cobbled square, the black-clad Guardsman's eye is caught by a movement to his side. For, as the square is nigh empty, save those few Guardsmen who have come early from duty or are already making their way towards those posts further from the Barracks, the sight of a stranger on the square is cause for consideration. Slowing his pace, the young man of the Guard comes to a near stop not too far from the doorway of his destination, arms folded over his chest, and, in silence, awaiting the intercepting stranger.

This stranger whom the young guard awaits draws closer, and when, perhaps, ten paces away, shouts, "Good day, my friend!" and raises a hand in gesture of greeting, while keeping his cloak closed with the other. A snowflake lands on the greeter's nose, and he stares at it cross-eyed a moment, before moving his eyes up to the cloudy sky, as he reconsiders his greeting.

A hint of amusement passes over the Guardsman's face, flickering in his dark eyes before disapearing beneath the calmness of his demeanor. "Aye, and a good day to you, if you can turn the snow off and bring back the sun." A touch of humor lights in his face as he nods a greeting, not moving his arms from his chest. "But if you cannot do that, perhaps there is something I can help you with?"

"Yes, indeed," says the young man. "I wish to become a member of the famed guard of Minas Tirith. I have traveled all the way from my homeland of Anfalas to do so. A young guard directed me here, though, now that I am here, I do not know who I must see, or where I must see them, or what I must do there."

A small smile upturns the corners of the young Guardsman's mouth, "You wish to join the Guard, then? The lad directed you rightly, for here is where you ought be. Welcome to Minas Tirith...." he trails off, light eyebrow raised expectantly. As the snow gathers on his brow, the cloak not fully covering his head, the black-clad man motions towards the sheltered doorway a few paces away. Not waiting a moment, he takes those few steps and stands just inside the officers' quarters where he waits for the stranger to join him.

The stranger from Anfalas smiles and finishes the guard's welcome for him. "Tandor," he says, "Taldor's son." He says this as he quickly falls in step behind the other man.

The Guardsman nods, "Taldor, then. Please, come to my office. There we can speak of the matter without intervention by this cursedly cold weather." With that he turns and steps inside the officers' quarters completly, not looking to the sleeping or working officers on either side of the long walkway down the middle until he comes to a hardwood door near the back corner. The slim brass nameplate on that dark brown door reads: "Lieutenant Analdin." Opening the door, he strides inside as if he owns the place, leaving the door open and inviting behind him for Taldor.

Analdin's Office:
        Upon entering this room, you immediatly catch sight of a rather plain, wooden desk. It stands not too far from the door, leaving only enough room between itself and the entrance for a pair or so of uncomfortable-looking chairs. Situated upon the desk are many sheets of parchment, a few loose scrolls, red sealing wax, a quill pen and fountain of black ink, and a couple pieces of iron, forged into various shapes, though apparently good paperholders. A window is situated on the far wall behind the desk, allowing the sounds of the training grounds below to filter through with any light at times.
        Beneath the window, against the left wall when you enter, is a plain cot, not too unlike those in the officers' quarters, with a trunk at the foot. Against the other wall is pair of a bookshelves, rather impersonal looking, though the scrolls and books upon them are well organized - first alphabetically, then by dates. Across from the desk and pinned to the final wall is a carefully drawn map of Gondor, inked upon a thin sheet of finely tanned and bleached leather.

Tandor's eyes examine inquisitively the name plate on the door as he walks inside the room, and as the door closes behind, his eyes continue looking at it a moment, before he swivels his head, and, with an arched brow, says, "Lieutenant Analdin, is it?"

Removing his black cloak from his shoulders, polished silver insignia can be seen there on the young man's uniform. Hanging the cloak on a peg just inside the door, and taking a seat at the desk which takes up much of the room in this small office, the yet black-clad man nods quietly. "Aye, that it is. And most likely the man you'll wish to see if you are so intent on joining the Guard." Waving the youth into one of the chairs across the desk, the officer clasps his hands on the wood in front of him, "You say you come from Anfalas? Tell me, Tandor, what you have heard of the Guard then."

Sitting himself in the indicated chair, Tandor says, "I have heard only what has been said, that they are brave and strong, and that the men of the Guard of Minas Tirith are the most honourable and trustworthy in the land. And greatest of honours it would be, my dear sir, to serve with them."

A light chuckle emits from the young officer... rather young, it would seem, to even be holding such a rank as Lieutenant. "They say overmuch. These men are simply a dedicated lot, dedicated to Gondor, to the Steward, and to defending the both. Though..." he trails off, smiling faintly, "I admit, I'm rather proud of them." The smile disapears as he goes on to another subject, however. "Know you anything of what work we preform daily?"

Tandor gives a slight shrug and answers, "Only that you keep safe the city's streets and hold strong the city's gates. I cannot say I know much of the daily life of a soldier, as I was raised as but a hunter."

Analdin nods slowly a moment, looking over the man seated before him. "It can be long and arduous work. My men patrol the streets, keep watch at the Gates, and anything else they are ordered to do. Consider standing at a remote gate for a watch, or double, with no traffic to be spoken of. Nothing to hold your attention save your own thoughts... and not those too much, for your eyes must be kept on your post, in case you would be suprised. Not all we do is glory and honor bound. A Guardsman takes it as it comes." Pausing a moment, as if to consider the course of his lecture, the blond-headed officer wipes a vagrant strand of hair from his eyes before continuing. "You say you were raised as a hunter? Do you, then, know how to wield any weapons?"

Shifting himself in his chair, putting himself more erect, the young Tandor answers with a proud air. "Yes, I do. The spear is my most proficient weapon, though a good hunter is familiar with most forms of weapons to at least a very basic degree. But you also speak of long and arduous work? Many hours a hunter can spend in the wilderness, stalking his game. I believe it would be safe to say I'm rather well trained in my patience and attentiveness." The boy of a man sits back in his chair, a friendly twinkle in his eye as he says this.

The officer smiles softly at the man's pride in what he has learned, "Well then, Tandor, you may be suited for our ranks after all. Tell me, do you know your letters?" Though he asks this, he does not wait for a reply before going on to his next inquiry. "Have you any questions? For, once you have taken the oath, you are bound to the service of Gondor." As he waits for the youth to respond, Analdin ruffles through the pile of papers on one side of his desk, pulling out on in particular and setting it on the desk facing himself.

The youth seems unsure of what to reply to first, caught off-guard by the onslaught of questions. He stammers somewhat, hastily speaking to keep up with the officer's seeming hurry. "My letters? Not particularly well... only what my father has taught me, which, for a hunter, is sufficient to get by. Though if need be, or even if it is not necessary, I would wish to learn them." He seems to be finished speaking, but then quickly adds, "Oh, um, no. No questions." The young hunter sits back in his chair, rubbing his chin between thumb and forefinger, his eyes focused on the empty space directly before them.

With a final nod, the Lieutenant casts a soft, if rather small, smile at the youth. In fact, what smile touches his face seems to shine more in his dark blue eyes than the rest of his face. "'Tis of no real importance, just satisfying my curiousity, Tandor." Suddenly, however, he draws his blade from its sheath and holds it up parallel to the length of the desk. He does this with only his left hand on the hilt, and it remains steady. "Then, my young friend, if you will stand, place your sword hand in the air," he raises his right hand in demonstration as he speaks, "Your other on the flat of the blade, and repeat after me." He waits to begin the oath until the young man is ready.

Tandor stands, allowing his cloak, never removed, fall from his shoulders and remain on the chair. He clears his throat as he raises his right hand and places his left on the young officer's sword. The boy's eyes glance quickly from the scars on the back of the left hand to the soldier's eyes. But after a moment, he shifts his feet slightly and then stands erect, resuming the air of dignity he met the lieutenant with.

Shifting his feet on the floor so as to better be able to balance the blade steady beneath the young recruit's hand, Analdin speaks slowly, each word measured and clear. "Here do I swear fealty and service to Gondor and to the Lord and Steward of the realm. To speak and to be silent, to do and to let be, to come and to go, in need or in plenty, in time of peace or war, in living or dying, from this hour henceforth until my Lord release me or death take me or the world end. So say I, <your name>, son of <your father's name>, of <place you're from>."

Tandor repeats the oath in a voice of confidence and pride, "Here do I swear fealty and service to Gondor and to the Lord and Steward of the realm. To speak and to be silent, to do and to let be, to come and to go, in need or in plenty, in time of peace or war, in living or dying, from this hour henceforth until my Lord release me or death take me or the world end. So say I, Tandor, son of Taldor, of Anfalas."

Analdin nods quietly and with approval at Tandor's words. Making a quick motion with his hand that what repeating needed to be done is finished, the young officer continues solemnly. "And this do I hear, Analdin, son of Aldaric, Lieutenant of the Company of the Silver Ship of the Minas Tirith Guard, a servant and represenative of the Lord Steward, Denethor. We shall not forget it, nor fail to reward that which is given: fealty with love, valour with honour, oathbreaking with vengance." His words said, the Lieutenant resheaths his sword in a fluid motion, the sound of it scraping smoothly into its sheath echoing through the small office. Taking his seat once more, he writes shortly on the piece of parchment before him. Turning it around and sliding it across the desk, Analdin points with his quill to a line before handing the writing tool to the youth, "Sign or make your mark here, Tandor."

Tandor receives the quill from his lieutenant, and slowly, with great care, forms a thick, dark rune, the Sindarin "T".

Watching intently as the new Guardsman pens his mark, the officer nods with finality. "Welcome to the Minas Tirith Guard, Tandor son of Taldor. Or.. Private Tandor, as it should be now. And to the Company of the Silver Ship as well. I'm your Lieutenant, if 'tis any comfort." A bright, almost mischevious twinkle lights in his eyes. "Go ahead on to the barracks, if you'd like, and pick yourself out a bunk. Make sure it's not one already inhabited, though. I've known a couple good recruits to come away bruised from being careless about that. Report to Acting Corporal Mathirion in the morning to get your duty assignment, you'll find him easily enough, or he'll find you. I hope the former." Pausing once more to consider his words and catch his breath, the Lieutenant nods once more before continuing. "Is there anything else you'd like to ask?"

Gathering up his cloak, the new soldier hesitates to consider the lieutenant's question. "Yes, sir, there is. Might I inquire about equipment? Uniform, armour, weapons, and such?"

"Ah, yes. The quartermaster's office is just inside the barracks. He will issue you a uniform, if you tell him I sent you. For that matter..." Analdin falls silent for a few long moments, scratching a few short words onto a spare piece of parchment. His penmanship isn't exactly beautiful, but is readable. Setting the quill aside, he hands the paper to the youth, "Give that to him and he will help you find a bunk as well. As for armor and weapons, you can train with the spares we have on the training ground until I see fit to issue you your own. When you will recieve it depends on how well you use what is given for your training. Perhaps tommorow, perhaps a month. Understood?"

Tandor nods understandingly, accepting the paper. He looks at it before folding it tightly and holding it his hand. He wraps his cloak about himself once again and steps back towards the door. "If I may be excused, sir?"

Analdin nods, "Aye, you're dismissed, Private." With that, he gives a lazy salute in Gondorian fashion: hand clenched into a fist and arm extended across the chest to the opposite shoulder.

Tandor returns the salute, but with the enthusiasm and snappiness of any new and young private. With that, he turns and exits.

Tandor walks through the open doorway and into the Officer's Quarters.
Tandor has left.