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Mere scratch

Tags: Haldir,  Sulgirion

Short Summary: Marchwarden and Eagle disagree on the seriousness of a particular talon wound.
Date (real-life): 2010-08-16
Scene Location: Nan Anduin Crossroads, near Mirkwood

The Nan Anduin Crossroads
Here in the centre of the Nan Anduin plains, It is possible to see for many miles in all directions. To the west, flourishing expanses of green indicate the life giving Anduin River. Far to the south lie the Brown Lands, desolate and empty. But dominating the view is the mighty and forboding Mirkwood forest, once known as Greenwood the Great. Stretching to the east and north, its darkness seems to reach out and run a cold finger down your spine.

The day sky is cloud-filled and gloomy. The midday autumn air is warm and slightly humid around you. The moon is first quarter.

Obvious exits:
Campsite, West, South, and NorthEast

============== Lord of the Rings Calendar <in English> ==============
IC time is:    Midday < About 1:00 PM >
IC day is:     Monday
IC date is:    September 12
Moon phase:    First Quarter <VISIBLE>
Earendil:      Gil-Estel is not visible.
IC year is:    Third Age 3050
RL time:        Mon Aug 16 17:40:14 2010

It is undeniably midday: warm, damp, the sun threatening to scorch the cloudy skies above. Dust rises easily with the slightest puff of wind, sprawling as clouds over the green floodplains of the Anduin. The roads cross here, though few dare to travel thus east of the Anduin.

Yet one does so, by necessity; this one is Haldir. He is barely visible but to the sharpest eye, a dusty grey figure moving across the lands near Mirkwood. He leaves barely a footprint, raises scarcely a whisper of dust.

And near to that dreaded Mirkwood, there is another presence, though this one not requiring sharp eyesight to discover. There stands the ten foot high shape of an eagle, arrayed in layers of bronze feathers that ruffle in the humid breeze. Currently, the avian's great head is bowed, poking at something nigh the ground. Occassionally, he lets out several irritated squawks and clacks from his beak.

Haldir's head raises sharply in alarm at the ten-foot eagle rising above his horizon-line, reaching absently for a longbow. But the shock is not to last, and while swift steps still take caution towards the figure of Sulgirion, they approach nonetheless.

Now that the Elf has come closer, it might be seen what Sulgirion is troubling over -- there on one of those giant talons is an shallow scar-mark that appears oddly pale. It is a small cut -- surely nothing of concern for a creature of his size?

Still, the eagle tilts his head first this way and then that, staring down at his clawed toe. He takes his beak and gives it another prodding; and promptly throws open his wings, giving an avian sound of disgust. He has not yet looked up, and Haldir remains unnoticed.

The marchwarden nears, his hands spread in an unarmed gesture. "Master Thoron," Haldir says in the Common Tongue, looking cautiously up, "I come in peace."

The caw of disgust turns swiftly into one of startlement, and the eagle's head rises just as quickly to fix the marchwarden with a piercing amber stare. For a moment Sulgirion's form is tensed, wings still spread in an intimidation display; but then he blinks, canting his head once more sideways. His massive wings return to his sides, and the hooked mouth clacks open and shut. "Good day, Master Elf. Forgive me, but I was not aware of your approach."

There is a silence, and his gaze drifts back toward Mirkwood. "What brings you this far East?

"Rumors and reports of darkness," Haldir says, removing his hand from the hilt of the longsword, whence it had flown. "Mirkwood is ever-dark, yet now there was a stirring evil. I see, then, that you have also heard of these things?" the Elf says, inclining his head to the large talons.

A few feathers on the eagle's golden head raise, and the dark treeline of Mirkwood is awarded a smouldering glare and look of mistrust. He gives a glance downward at his talon, and lifts it slightly, spreading the toes to see them better. "Indeed," answers Sulgirion simply, and he lets his claw fall back to earth again with a large thud. "It is a mere scratch..." A pause.

"Then you have come also from that wretched wood? I hope you're journey fared well? Few are the fair things that dwell therein."

The Elf reaches out towards the wound, then draws it back with a shudder. "No mere scratch," he replies, though quietly.

"I too have come from its eaves, though not untouched; it was a pack of wargs that I met, they being guided, as it were, by a certain knowledge. Of that place I still long for tidings, for knowledge of what stirs them so."

Sulgirion's brow furrows at the mention of wargs, and his eyes narrow. "Their accursed howling reached my ears, though I knew not what it was that they were so ravenously chasing. A whole pack? Skilled with steel you must be, Master Elf, to have faced them alone and returned hither in one piece."

The claw in question, the avian raises once more, and he moves it backward so that it is better obscurred from view. "Do not concern yourself over it; it plagues me not. Soon enough it shall be but a faded reminder of an old folly."

"Not one piece," the marchwarden says ruefully, revealing several tooth-holes in his cloak. "But it was a pack of wargs -- once the leader was slain, the rest fled."

Haldir frowns, though gently. "It appears unnatural to me. Was the blade tainted?"

The eagle clacks his beak at the sight of the wounds. "Ah, but whole you appear in my eyes. Fangs such as those could easily sunder bone from bone, limb from body."

He shakes his golden head at the question. "I do not know. The blade was bright, and cold as burning ice. But there was chill all round; doubtless, the cold was due to my own imagining."

"Fell sorcery," mutters Haldir, shaking his head. "I do not mean to alarm you, Master Thoron, but this must be seen by the Wise among our healers. You know of the golden Wood?"

"I know of it," Sulgirion gives a bob of his head, but the great amber eyes have grown hard -- stubborn and prideful perhaps.

"The cut is miniscule, and does not cause me any particular pain. The claw feels froze.." he frowns, "but I shall take a bath in the Anduin, and it shall be better. As for healers," the avian's regard has turned curious once more; it is as though sight has been veiled, "I will not trouble them. If one such as myself, of the race of the Sky-knights, cannot deal with such a pitiful wound..."

Haldir bows, his own grey eyes flickering calmly to rest upon the claw. "Very well," he says. "I wish you well -- but do not tarry in this place. Your wings give you great flight."

Even as Haldir bows, the eagle blinks, slow and sleepily as one who has woken from dream. He ruffles his feathers, and when he speaks, the strange mood seems to have gone. "Yes," agrees Sulgirion, offering a dip of his head. "It is not a comforting place to linger near. I shall hunt and then be off."

Giving the claw a final glance of inspection, the avian takes a step backward, and turns, wings opening wide in preparation to a leap. "May your homeward journey be swift, and your eyries receive you once you return."

Haldir steps back, a small grey figure once more. "Manwe hold you close," he murmurs, a pale gaze searching the sky.

There is an enormous gust of wind as the Vassal of the West bounds skyward. The large feather tips reach out like fingers to pull him higher in his ascent. With a sharp parting screech, Sulgirion wheels once overhead, and then banks left, his great form heading for the Anduin in the distance.

Date added: 2010-08-16 21:29:44    Hits: 60
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