Middle-earth time is:
Early Afternoon on Mersday, Day 26 of May, 3012
Real time is: 21:39:30 MST on Mon Sep 01 1997

Lendalas appears to be doing some light sparring with Rumil. A wooden practice blade held in each of their hands. *Clack* *Crack* *Whack*

Althea emerges from the eastward path.
Althea has arrived.
Althea comes walking quietly from the path
Althea raises an eyebrow at the sight of the herald geting a sword lession

Elington emerges from the eastward path.
Elington has arrived.

Althea glances over at the newcomer "Mae govannen squire"

Few splashes are heard from downstream, and circular waves run away from some point near the shore, behind a wall of low shrubs. A rather annoyed voice mutters something about slime and mud, and in a few moments Glendor's head appears above the bushes.

Lendalas appears to be doing some light sparring with Rumil along the watersedge, not quite paying attention to those who have just entered the Naith.. A wooden practice blade held in each of their hands. *Clack* *Crack* *Whack*

Elington says, "Mae govanen."
Elington looks around at the washed up camp

Althea turns to peer at the waving bushes and grins at the muddy elf "mae govannen mellon, what have you been up too, to get to muddy

Elington says, "I say, what caused this reckage.?"

The shrubs are pushed aside, and Glendor squeezes through the small gap. Wioth visible effort he pulls his feet out of the mud which covers the riverside, his every step accompanied by "SPLASH." "SPLUSH". With a disgusted frown, he shakes the chunks of mud and clay from his cloak as he approaches the Elves.

Althea moves toward glendor, carefuly sidesteping the wreckage of the doomed yrch camp "have the waters receded?

Elington disappears into the trees!
Elington has left.

Glendor meets Althea half-way, "They have... If you can call them waters."

Althea looks puzzled at the words "how are they not waters?

Glendor gives up trying to clean his cloak, and with a sigh tosses it off his shoulders, gingerly. The cloth, heavy with dirt and water, lands into the grass with a dull "THUMP"

Glendor says, "It's flowing mud, not water""

Althea looks at the normaly sparkling clear water and her face falls as she sees the heavy brown muck the river has become

Nodding to Rumil's suggestion, Lendalas recovers quickly to turn another smooth, but quicker, arc from the other direction.

Rumil's wooden sword - typical of such training lessons - matches Lendalas' constant thrusts and arcing "attacks." After hearing Glendor's rather noisy arrival, he steps back, raises a hand up to the Herald and eyes Glendor.

Rumil gives Althea a pleasant welcoming nod as well, having just now seen her.

Glendor stands on the wet grass, his tunic dark from moisture and the cloak he usually wears lies behind him in a dirty heap.

Lendalas takes a step back and wipes his forehead to see what caused the halt. Turning, he spots the mud covered Glendor and arches a brow curiously. Also spotting Althea, he smiles and nods in greeting towards her.

Althea points to the washed up camp "When did this arive?"

Glendor slowly turns toward the littered bank. His long golden hair, usually flowing in waves down to his shoulders, now lie a wet mess. Few strands stick to his face, and he wipes them aside with the back side of his hand. "Few days ago." His face expresses utter disgust as he surveys the flotsam.

Washed up Camp
Several tattered bodies of orcs lays scattered over this bend in the river, cluttering much junk in the lee of the refreshing waters. The bodies, bloated and pale, lie face down in the mud of the river bank, the stench of their slowly decaying bodies filling the air. Jumbled piles of wood scatter the area, canvas and cloth also flapping gently in the calm waters, entangled in the lilies and tree-roots of the bank. Weapons of the fallen orcs lie slowly rusting on the ground, and other more strange artifacts lie still closer to the dead. Perhaps the most interesting feature of this litter is the amount of wood, scattered over half mile stretch of the river, and also the shovels. The heavy logs bear the marks of sharp rocks they were dragged over by a flash flood, one of many which so often wreak their havoc upon the early spring under the eastern shadow of the ominous Misty Mountains.

Althea looks at Lendalas "You really think they were trying to devert the snows onto us?

Lendalas wipes a grimy drop of sweat from his forehead as he gives Althea a brief nod, "Hmmm... or atleast that was the speculation. It hasn't been proved yet."

Rumil's gaze darts from Althea to Glendor, finally saying, "Have you been surveying the river, mellon, or taking a bath?" A slight smirk escapes ...

The irony of Rumil's words, if not lost on Glendor, does not elicit a smile or serve to lighten his mood, "Surveyed the waters, indeed. Or what is left of them." He turns away from the ugly sight which the riverside now presents, "The banks are covered with layers of slime, and the waters have receded as if someone drunk the entire river"

Althea shudders "how could the yrch have caused this some damage?
Althea says, "and with out us spotting them"

Lendalas nods and shivers, "On the expedition following the river, we enountered no yrch resistance or diverting. If it IS them, it would have to be higher at the source."

Rumil quickly replies to Althea's suggestion of the yrch's involvement in this mess, "Minister, I think you could be jumping to conclusions. Just because several yrch workers' bodies were discovered doesn't mean such an act was done by their own hands." He looks to Glendor, then to Lendalas, seeking their own opinions.

Lendalas nods to the Lieutenant in agreement, "We still do not have enough evidence that it is them. It is only a speculation with the minimal amount of support."

Althea frowns "what else could have it have been? I have never seen this much filth and dirt washed down from the mountains, not in the heavest snow

Glendor grabs his wet hair with both hands, and, tilting his head slightly, squeezes the water out of them. He is obviously uncomfortable in his wet and soiled clothes, and his usually brisk movements are restrained. At last, he finishes with his hair and turns to Rumil, "The spoil suggests that they do have the means."

Rumil shrugs, then replies, "A good question, indeed. However, thwhile on my trip to the Mirkwood forest, I noticed the rivers were higher than normal and not a day went by without some rain, if not constant showers."
Rumil frowns, recalling, "It rained so much, it seemed, my cloak clung to me like bark to a tree.""

Lendalas shakes his head, "Perhaps, the only way we can be sure is to perhaps capture one of those filthy creatures and interrogate it. If interrogation is possible with them." At that thought, Lendalas tilts his head as if considering the feasibility of the idea.

Althea frowns "Could we not send a group of guards up the river to see if there is more damage?"

Glendor frowns and tries to peel his tunic off his skin, "I know what you mean, mellon. Yet, what you tell us would explain why the waters have raised. But now the river looks like it is about to dry up, and only the mood trickles down." He glances at the dead and half-decomposed bodies as Lendalas speaks, "If we can capture one alive, how would you speak to it? I doubt it understands anything we consider a language"

Rumil nods at Glendor's words. "Besides, it appears the worst is over. Clean-up is nearly completed, except for the mass of timber ..." He gestures towards the riverbanks, swelling with downed timber.

Lendalas rubs his chin with the back of his hand and sets down the wooden practice sword; leaning it against a tree stump. Looking back to Glendor, he shrugs, "Many of the ones I have heard of being encountered do have a loose enough grasp of Westron to understand questions and make demands."

Glendor's upper lip trembles slightly in a grimace of a frown, "Demands, I am sure... "

Althea frowns "Do you think the yrch would try to dam the stream?"

Lendalas snorts, "Aye... demands. I do recall a... boonang? Beornel? " He waves a hand as if trying to recall a word, "The edains of the Greenwood, telling me of an encounter with a yrch, or..." He pauses again, "Gobe-lin, as they called it."

Rumil's brow rises as he listens to Lendalas.

Althea nods "The Beorning they call themselfs inthere uncouth tounge"

Elington emerges from the dense forest.
Elington has arrived.

Lendalas frowns again as he attempts to recall the conversation. Brightening quickly at Althea's comment he replies, "Aye... Beornings. A strange dialect they possess. But anyhow, this... er... Edan of the Beornings spoke of an encounter that he had with an orch where, all throughout the duel, it was casting threats of violance to his kin and others of the second born.... in their rough tounge."

The elf in wet clothes sticking to his body shakes his head, and the golden hair swirl in the air and all in clotted braids back on his shoulders, "I met these edain too, Lendalas. A simple and uneducated folk, they wage bitter wars with the horders of yrch who defile their forests. They have a love of land, and ability to be at peace with the nature. Quite unexpected, considering their barbaric ways." Glendor interrupts himself, and again looks at the river, "But, Rumil, you say tge worst is over... where did the water go?"

Rumil's eyes widen, caught by surprise by the question, "Where did it go, I cannot say. The Celebrant, however, seems to be at its normal level both here, and north of us."

Elington grins as he enters the Naith "Mae govanen."

Althea frowns "But did Glendor not say that the level was down from normal?

Glendor shakes his head again, "Normal it seems only compared to the fury it unleashed on us just a week ago. Yet there is barely two third of the normal flow in the river now..." The entrance of the squire distracts him, "Ah, mae govannen, squire"

Lendalas turns and nods to Elington as he enters. His grim frown belies the heavy atmosphere which clouds the naith with the current conversation.

Elington has disconnected.

Althea turns to look at the brown river "Aye it is low, could the yrch be damming it somehow? somwhere upstream."

Rumil's eyes again widen as he mumbles, "The Celebrant down? ...." He takes a couple steps toward the river, before saying in surprise, "Aye, it is. I had been so busy with my duties I had not even given the river a look over....." He shakes his head in confusion.

Lendalas cranes his neck to gaze at the Celebrant again. Placing his hands upon his hips, he murmers, "Aye... it is lower. But... I don't think it quite helps to explain what is going on. If it is the yrch, why would they raise the water... almost flooding much of the borders of Lorien, and then suddenly stop, content with lowering the water level? It doesn't make any sense..."

This time a grim smile curves Glendor's lips (which by now became slightly bluish). He moves his shoulders and tries to wrap himself in his own arms as the afternoon breeze chills his wet tunic, "I am sure you have things of greater importance. The healers are also the observers of narture, ewven when it is a sad sight to watch. We have been marking the river levels since the flood came down"

After Glendor finishes speaking, Rumil smiles, "More important I don't know about, mellon. But, as you say, I do tendto my numerous duties sometimes without even giving the Lady's Wood a respectful look-over. And again, those duties call. I shall be interested in talking to you again about these matters Glendor very soon." He nods to all of you, before escusing himself with a "namarie."

Althea notes Glendor's chillyness and pulls of her own cloak and hands it to him "take mine mellon

Lendalas snorts again, obviously baffled by his own questions. As if seeing Glendor's cold condition for the first time, he removes his cloak to hand it to Glendor. Turning to Rumil, he nods his head, "Namarie, mellon."

Glendor's eyes follow the river upstream, to the point were it hides behind the trees, and even farther. He quickly nods his head, "Namarie, Rumil" but does not take his sight off the river whose course he guesses as it goes North to the mountains. With a sigh, he mutters again, "Where do the waters go, this is what I wish to know"

Rumil disappears into the trees!
Rumil has left.

Glendor turns to Althea, "Oh, thank you, Althea" He hesitantly accepts the offered cloak.

With one last glance at the river Althea turns and heads towas the path "Namrie Mellyn"

Glendor drops Althea's cloak on his shoulers, and smiles slightly to Lendalas, "Thank you, mellon, but save it for another time, I will have to check on the river again"

Althea turns towards the north-eastern path and disappears between the trees.
Althea has left.

A cheery, mysterious smile returns to Lendalas' face as he tilts his head towards Glendor, "That... we do not know. Perhaps the Protector will be able to make a more thorough search of the northern end of the river. But I myself must be going right now and won't be able to discuss it with ye. Namarie..."

With one final glance at the river, Glendor also starts to move toward the trees, "I will accompany you to the City, if this is where you go"

Lendalas returns his cloak to his shoulders and gives Glendor a nod, "Aye... this is where I go." He grins, "To wash and clean up." Pointing a mock-accusing finger towards Glendor, he quips, "And I suggest you do the same, ser-Quendi of the mud." He grins mischeviously as he turns towards the path.

For the first time since the conversation started, the sound of elven laugter breaks the wary silence, "I will, Herald. Please do dot put me on report!"

Lendalas laughs gayly in return as they disappear into the woods.
Lendalas disappears into the trees!
Lendalas has left.