Feb. 10, 1997

Middle-earth time is:
Late Night on Sterday, Day 3 of October, 3010
Real time is: 22:23:23 MST on Mon Feb 10 1997

Here the stairway through the mallorns meets the top of a mighty hill. You stand in the middle of a great lawn filled with blue and yellow flowers. A sweet scent fills the air. In the middle of the lawn stands a great shimmering fountain which falls into a basin of silver. From the basin flows a white stream of water out into a small brook, which then trickles away down the hill. Further north stands a Mallorn tree of such magnificent height that it seems to reach even to the clouds.

Large Summoning Drum
Marble Fountain

At your feet, a cricket chirps quickly, then is still.

Alandil comes up the stair.
Alandil has arrived.

Glendor is sitting near the fountain, drawing some figures on the ground with the end of his staff.

Alandil ascends the stair at a stately pace and seems to glide slowly across the lawn, lost in some reverie of his own. Nodding to an odd elf here and there, he heads in an easterly direction, a phantom of the Wood.

A child runs by, disturbing a small flock of sparrows scratching in the grass.

Glendor raises his head, and looks up from his drawings, "Alandil? Mae govannen. How are you feeling today?"

Alandil turns, his dark cloak just flowing forward with the inertia, wrapping tightly against one of his shoulders as he glances with a smile at Glendor. "I am well enough this evening. Glendor.." He tilts his head as he draws near. "I did not know.."

Alandil leans down a little to inspect the sketching as he continues speaking, "..that you were apt to draw. I was unaware that any others in the Wood shared my passion for such things."

Glendor looks around, glances up at the stars, then stands, folds of his cloak brushing over the drawings as he does so, "I do not draw ... usually. But today... I don't know, these figures seem to express my mood, somehow. They do not hold any concrete meaning"

Alandil nods slowly, straightening. "Indeed," he murmurs thoughtfully. "I have been down in dwimmordene, praying by the riverside. That has been _my_ expression for the evening. See this," he says, and removes a golden leaf from his cloak.

Glendor takes few steps, approaching you. He leens forward slightly, more as a sign of attention, for his keen elven eyes no doubt can see well enough from where he was standing, "You sid not create it there?"

A swallow alights on a nearby banner pole to look at you. It then flies away.

Alandil shakes his head slightly to the negative, holding the golden thing up to the starlight--you see on closer inspection that it is, in fact, a cunning clasp. "Oh, not at all," he laughs softly. "I simply went there to sacre it to Varda."

Glendor tilts his head slightly, examining the brooch from different angles, "So, this is where /you/ find Varda's blessing? What are you planning to do with it now, once you have satiated it with the light of the stars?"

Alandil smiles enigmatically, that unreadable look and light flickering in his dark eyes again. "I find her blessing anywhere, but there.. there I am nearest the West, you see. And this," he indicates the clasp, "This is the final key to a new cloak."

From a side path you hear the sound of hammering.

Glendor examines the brooch some more, then looks up, as if comparing the light imprisoned in the gold wit hthe freely flowing light of the stars. He turns to glance at the brooch again, "So, you say you have the rest of it already done." The flicker of the brooch reflects in his gray eyes, as if he's playing with its hidden fire. "Can I see it?"

Alandil flicks his wrist, and the brooch is no longer there--secreted within some hidden pouch by sleight-of-hand, surely--and nods, smiling. "If you wish. The knack of the weaving is a strange art indeed..." he pauses, thinking. "But I have one finished, yes."

A bird starts suddenly from her perch on a nearby tree and wings away into the forest.

Glendor nods slightly, then half-turns and moves to your side, "Lead the way." He glances at your hands, and you can see him trying to conceal a knowing smile. He finally gives up, and whispers, "You can hide such a thing no more than a star itself. Even through clouds, it's still there for those who can see"

Alandil's lips quirk in a playful grin, and he covers his heart with his hands, bowing from the waist. "But of course," he says, dark eyes shining in the soft-filtered starlight. With that, he turns, sable cloak billowing about him as he moves east.

Alandil heads east.
Alandil has left.

You head east.

Flat Lawn
This long flat lawn stretches far in all directions, ringed by tall Mallorn trees, though the view of the sky is unfettered from this point. Stones with inset torches line the arboreal boundary of the lawn, and a strange low-hanging canopy of some dark greyish-silver material hangs suspended from the trees directly to the east. Low well-carved stone benches lay in the grass around this area, and you wonder for a moment how or who carted them up the long stairs and hills of Caras Galadon.

Alandil enters the Galadhrim training facilities. Alandil has left.

You head east, into the foyer of the Galadhrim training facilities.

Galadhrim Training Facilities--Foyer
A room of sorts is formed here by the overhanging canopy of trees, and a strange tarp hung from the branches, woven from some strange silvery cloth. Doors lead to other areas, the names of which are clearly marked in Quenyen above each door. A tapestry hangs from the east wall, showing the great deeds of Finrod and the other brothers and relatives of Lady Galadriel in their heroic deeds against the dark enemy that is chained. Also shown are the glorious deeds of Thingol, the heroic kin of Lord Celeborn.

Alandil pauses at the door to the forge, laying a hand on the mighty handle. "If you would wait outside briefly," he says, looking over his shoulder at you, "I will retrieve the cloak. I am forbidden from allowing the non-initiated within."

Alandil frowns a bit at that, but shrugs, tilting his head to examine your reaction curiously--perhaps wondering how you will respond.

Glendor nods, silently, and moves aside, so you do not suspect him of trying to toss a sneaky glance through the door. He keeps looking at the door, or, parhaps through it - his eyes are not focused on anything around, he seems to be just staring into space.

There are no clear signs as to how far Glendor's sight may reach, or what hidden things he may behold, if any. He just remains there, calm and almost motionless.

Alandil nods, his shock of walnut-brown hair falling into his eyes as he tilts his chin downwards to carefully work a golden key in the lock. Smiling to himself, he steps back, and traces a sigil in the air.

An afterimage of the sigil seems to remain there when you blink, and in the corners of your eyes, if not in conscious waking vision. The glyph seems a silvery afterburn between Alandil and the door.. and it swings open. He passes within silently.

Alandil heads south.
Alandil has left.

Alandil arrives from out of the smithy.
Alandil has arrived.

Glendor glances around, then lifts his head to look at the sky. For a moment, it seems as if he's trying to show that he is not interested in the forge doors just a bit too forcefully, but there is really nothing in his behaviour to confirm it. He might just as well be looking at the stars.

Alandil emerges from the great portal, which swings shut behind him without a word or action on his own part. Draped over his arms, which are held out before him from the waist, is a grey cloak. Shimmering and difficult to look at, the cloak is hard on the eyes

The cloak in Alandil's arms seems to almost.. blend.. against his own garb.

Glendor raises his hand, so the palm is facing the cloak. He glances at it, but only for a second, then turns his eyes away.

Glendor turns his head again and forces himself to look at the cloak. He also raises both hands toward the cloak, as if sensing it. He suddenly look up, his eyes lock with yours, but you can see him smiling, "You challenge me with it? I can tame its powers, or, rather, make them flow along with mine"

Alandil's lips quirk, again, in that fey and unreadable smile. "There is no challenge here save what challenge you bring with you. It is yours." With that, and a subtle twinkling of starlight in his eyes, he offers you the cloak.

Glendor extends his hands toward you, and turns them, palms up, ready to accept it. He bows slightly, and a queit "Thank you" reaches you at once through the air, which carries his voice, and with the light, reflected by his twinkling eyes.

The sun rises over the trees, flashing on the golden leaves of the Mallyrn.

Alandil nods, shifting his arm so that the cloak slips from his lithe forearms, and onto yours. Raising a hand in benediction, palm towards you, he murmurs, "Elentiriel kaluva ye, elda-collo. Aiya." A soft glow surround shis brow, then fades.

Glendor bends his hands up, holding the cloak to his chest. A white light flares up in his eyes the moment the glow fades from your face, and disappears just as fast.

Alandil folds his hands, palms flat together, fingers pointed upright. He bows slowly from the waist, and on rising again, smiles softly. "May it protect you well from unkind eyes. Now I must return to my work. Namarie, Historian."

Glendor raises his hands up to the stars, the cloak raises with them, then falls down, wavily, on his shoulders. He stands for a moment with his hands raised, and looking up at the stars, then bows in responce, "I know. You cannot suffer giving such gift and not restoring it, in a new, perhaps better form. Namarie"

Alandil nods, and turns, again tracing the silvery sigil in the air. Again, it seems to haunt the edges of your vision, and again, the door swings open silently. Like a shade, he slips within, swallowed by the eerie crimson glow of the forge, sacred to Aule.

Alandil heads south.
Alandil has left.