Elendor
Structural Failure
Keldean and Elathrad exchange a few words, and then the teen tries to reinforce their shelter when the roof collapses in.
Sort Date: no date set
Location: On the Moors
Description: [Elathrad(#14756)]
The moors in deep winter are blanketed thickly in snow, and the clouds above line the whole expanse, cutting the ties between land and sky in a flood of white. It is difficult to look far without squinting so bright is the sun behind its cover.
The tiny camp has survived, as well. Although the rude collection of branches that has served as a roof is threatening to collapse under the weight of snowfall, it is warm inside, and the fire has not been extinguished, ever. Elathrad sits outside the entrance, very much a snowman himself, glaring at the horizon from the hood of his black cloak.
Keldean is roaming less and less. He doesn't have entirely adequate winter gear, lacking gloves, winter hat, or scarf. He spends all of his time wrapped up in the blankets, bored and lonely. Elathrad is frequently given glances, but the human teen hasn't bothered him much since that first conversation. Finally, it seems tedium has gotten the better of him. "What are you angry about?" He asks, fearing the answer but asking all the same.
"Ah?" Elathrad stiffens against the support poles he is leaning against, startled. "What do you mean? Do I look angry?"
Nestling a little deeper into the snow, the Elf suddenly looks apologetic as he turns back towards the outside. "I didn't mean to. I'm not angry at you, in any case."
"You're glaring.. " Keldean says quietly, well learned of the good hearing of elves by now. "Were you thinking about something that makes you angry?" The teen shifts, beginning to stand, but as soon as one of the blankets falls away the cold drafts touch him and he shivers. Quickly the Bree youth grabs for the blanket again.
"No," the Sinda offers quietly. "I was not thinking."
Tilting his head to peer into their encampment, he drags himself halfway through the entrance. "Take this and prop that part of the roof up," he suggests, holding out a stick of their firewood to the youth. "Else it might fall in, with this morning's snow and all."
"Oh.. " Keldean eyes the elf curiously for a moment, then can't help but ask, "Then why did you have the glare on your face? And.. do you even feel the cold, at all?" He lets the blankets fall away now and moves to take the stick from Elathrad. For a moment the teen stands, looking out at the white blanket over the landscape, so bleak and empty. Icy wind blows across, sending a thin spray of white snow their way as it scrapes the particles from the icy crust. He squints his brown eyes, trying to see past the white glare all around.
"It's too bright," he replies, raising a hand to shield his eyes, "but not cold at all."
Glancing sidelong at the Bree youth, Elathrad lets drop his arm. "They left, didn't they? Do you still wish to pursue them?"
Keldean swallows at the question, looking away quickly. "They went back to Bree.." He answers, moving over to the sagging corner of the shelter roof. He reaches up with a shivering hand to try and work in the extra support against the snow above. "Giliath is going to come back, maybe with his son."
There wasn't much fat on the teen to begin with, and after a few weeks traveling and waiting around, living on elven food, he's slimmed down further. His auburn curls hang around his face, hiding his features, "So you don't even feel the cold? It's freezing!"
"Maybe it is," comments the Elf nonchalantly, looking back inside. "Perhaps you might send word through a note of sorts ... although I am not sure who will take it ... or if you would rather return yourself to Bree."
"I can't write." Keldean answers, and for once he's glad to have such an excuse. "I'll wait and see what Giliath says. Maybe.. Maybe by the time he gets back he'll know about what Rhifaroth is doing. He wasn't completely sure that he went back to Bree." The teen reaches for the corner of the stretched tent, trying to hold it better in place, tugging at it.
[Elathrad(#14756)]
"As you wish," the Elf replies, eyeing the thin tent warily. "I should have asked Giliath to bring some more blankets with him. You look rather blue."
Shaking his head, Elathrad resumes his survey of the moor.
"I don't.. " Keldean trails off, focusing more on the task than the conversation. He pulls at the cloth again and suddenly the precarious roof shifts. The weight of several inches of snow can prove to be more than it appears, and as it begins to shower down where the teen is holding the corner he lets go, backing towards the center of the shelter. Without Keldean keeping the tension, the entire structure quickly fails moments later, everything crashing down with surprisingly little noise or affair outside of the teen's startled cry before he's buried along with everything else.
A rather loud, pillowy sound startles Elathrad, and he even looks surprised for a moment as he turns. "Oh," he murmurs softly to himself in Sindarin, "this is unfortunate."
Regardless, there is little concern or despair in his mien, only a faint display of patience in his bent brow. Shoveling snow gingerly with his bare hands, the ancient Elf lifts a branch and begins looking for the youth underneath.
The fabric of the roof mostly slipped off to one side, but the thick layer of snow all fell in on the small shelter, burying everything in almost half an inch. Keldean pushes himself up after a moment, spitting out snow with a horrified expression on his face. The fire is long gone and all of their belongings are hidden. He blinks away white crystals of ice from his eyes and looks around for a moment, then rushes over to the corner where all their supplies were and hurridly digs through the snow. "No! No no no!"
"Sit down," Elathrad says calmly, indicating the spot he has just vacated. "Put this on. You're still blue." A deft hand unlashes the cord tying his black cloak closed, and he tosses it at the youth.
"I'll find them," the Elf continues, stepping lightly into the snowy mess. "Just don't freeze."
As if calling attention to the cold just brought it back into reality, Keldean immediately shudders and reaches frantically for the cloak, wrapping it thickly around himself. "My bag! It has things in it.. I can't lose." He says through chattering teeth, but backs up and begins to kick snow away from the rocky wall, trying to find somewhere to hunker down out of the icy wind."
"I'll get it," Elathrad says mildly, throwing a large branch aside with little effort. "We need to get the fire back first. But you must not freeze first."
Stepping closer into the broken shelter, the luthier lifts a white-crusted strap from the wreckage. "This?"
Keldean watches, nodding stiffly as he drops down to sit, pulling the cloak around himself tighter. "Yes..ss." He says, shaking as all the snow begins to melt and work it's way through his collar, sleeves, and other places. He leans forward then and begins pushing away more of the snow, trying to clear an area for the fire.
A few more scoops, and the whole thing is free. Elathrad eyes it for a moment, then places it gently next to Keldean.
"I should have asked Giliath to bring a stronger tent," murmurs the lutheir, casting a sidelong glance at the shivering Man.
"Th.. thank.. you." Keldean says, his teeth still chattering and his body trembling as the lack of any fire and cold wind sucks away his body heat. He continues pushing away the snow, his hands and fingers growing numb. His breath is small white clouds. "Fire.. you're right.. fff.. fire."
Fumbling with the cloth, Elathrad finally tosses the whole tent cloth up in his search. Small snowflakes, a recreation of some local storm, shower down upon his head as he fumbles with the bindings of his own pack.
"Fire," he murmurs in triumph, nearly slicing his own hand in haste to strike the flint. "Come near."
Keldean crawls forward slowly, his movement sluggish. Some snow fell on the wood, but most of it burned away immediately and there hasn't been near enough time for the ice to soak the tinder. The teen reaches to shove some of the scattered sticks closer, trying to help but his hand is shaking still as his whole body continues shivering.
"It's the best I can manage," Elathrad murmurs, "with the wood left on these moors."
Snapping the tent-cloth crisply to rid it of any clinging flakes, Elathrad gathers it in his arms and tosses it at the Bree youth. "Use that too. I hope it won't storm while I try to rebuild this thing."
Keldean doesn't quite catch the tarp and it piles over him. It takes the youth a few uncoordinated moments to get wrapped up in it, and he's curled up into a tight ball. "Ss.. sorry.. didn't mean.. for it to fall." He says after a moment, his words reflecting his dramatic plunge in temperature.
Elathrad comes to stand close to the youth, puzzled by his chattering. For a moment the Elf tilts his head, and then he sits down, putting a hand on Keldean's shoulder as he sticks a few more bits of wood into the fire with his other.
Keldean doesn't show much in the way of response at first. Elathrad's touch meets a shivering mass. Eventually the teen looks up at him, then over at the fire. He inches closer to the warmth of the flames, holding his hands close the burning the wood. "Wish.. that.. th.. that I didn't get cold.. l.. like you." He chatters.
Elathrad glances over, once more passive. "I merely do not feel the pain from it," he offers, and his touch, too, is cool as ice. "Then, again, those who crossed the Ice may know that pain too well."
He does not say more, pressing his pale lips tightly together and prodding the fire with the point of his spear.
It's a long time before the time is more responsive. He stares at the fire with that same stricken expression on his face for a long time, but slowly his shaking eases and Elathrad can likely feel some of the warmth returning to him. He's so close to the fire he's risking getting burned, but the air around them is well below freezing and the teen has little choice. "I .. I think I can help you now." He flexes his fingers a few times, rubbing them together as he shrugs off the tent canvas.
"There is no need," Elathrad says, pausing to survey the pile of slushy branches. "Stay there and tend to the fire."
Straightening, the Elf climbs out of the depression in the moor and moves lightly away, leaving scarcely a print.
Keldean looks up at the elf, too cold to press the point. Then Elathrad is moving away and the teen stares in shock for a moment. "Where are you going?!" He calls, panic in his voice. True, Elathrad has yet to abandon him, but the shelter is collapsed and there's not much firewood and he's certainly not capable of saving -himself- at this point.
Far away, there is the sound, somewhere, of branches breaking from some sparse tree.
Ahh, the reassuring sound of a tree being torn apart. Keldean pulls the coverings back up around him and huddles against the cold, his panic fading.
The moors in deep winter are blanketed thickly in snow, and the clouds above line the whole expanse, cutting the ties between land and sky in a flood of white. It is difficult to look far without squinting so bright is the sun behind its cover.
The tiny camp has survived, as well. Although the rude collection of branches that has served as a roof is threatening to collapse under the weight of snowfall, it is warm inside, and the fire has not been extinguished, ever. Elathrad sits outside the entrance, very much a snowman himself, glaring at the horizon from the hood of his black cloak.
Keldean is roaming less and less. He doesn't have entirely adequate winter gear, lacking gloves, winter hat, or scarf. He spends all of his time wrapped up in the blankets, bored and lonely. Elathrad is frequently given glances, but the human teen hasn't bothered him much since that first conversation. Finally, it seems tedium has gotten the better of him. "What are you angry about?" He asks, fearing the answer but asking all the same.
"Ah?" Elathrad stiffens against the support poles he is leaning against, startled. "What do you mean? Do I look angry?"
Nestling a little deeper into the snow, the Elf suddenly looks apologetic as he turns back towards the outside. "I didn't mean to. I'm not angry at you, in any case."
"You're glaring.. " Keldean says quietly, well learned of the good hearing of elves by now. "Were you thinking about something that makes you angry?" The teen shifts, beginning to stand, but as soon as one of the blankets falls away the cold drafts touch him and he shivers. Quickly the Bree youth grabs for the blanket again.
"No," the Sinda offers quietly. "I was not thinking."
Tilting his head to peer into their encampment, he drags himself halfway through the entrance. "Take this and prop that part of the roof up," he suggests, holding out a stick of their firewood to the youth. "Else it might fall in, with this morning's snow and all."
"Oh.. " Keldean eyes the elf curiously for a moment, then can't help but ask, "Then why did you have the glare on your face? And.. do you even feel the cold, at all?" He lets the blankets fall away now and moves to take the stick from Elathrad. For a moment the teen stands, looking out at the white blanket over the landscape, so bleak and empty. Icy wind blows across, sending a thin spray of white snow their way as it scrapes the particles from the icy crust. He squints his brown eyes, trying to see past the white glare all around.
"It's too bright," he replies, raising a hand to shield his eyes, "but not cold at all."
Glancing sidelong at the Bree youth, Elathrad lets drop his arm. "They left, didn't they? Do you still wish to pursue them?"
Keldean swallows at the question, looking away quickly. "They went back to Bree.." He answers, moving over to the sagging corner of the shelter roof. He reaches up with a shivering hand to try and work in the extra support against the snow above. "Giliath is going to come back, maybe with his son."
There wasn't much fat on the teen to begin with, and after a few weeks traveling and waiting around, living on elven food, he's slimmed down further. His auburn curls hang around his face, hiding his features, "So you don't even feel the cold? It's freezing!"
"Maybe it is," comments the Elf nonchalantly, looking back inside. "Perhaps you might send word through a note of sorts ... although I am not sure who will take it ... or if you would rather return yourself to Bree."
"I can't write." Keldean answers, and for once he's glad to have such an excuse. "I'll wait and see what Giliath says. Maybe.. Maybe by the time he gets back he'll know about what Rhifaroth is doing. He wasn't completely sure that he went back to Bree." The teen reaches for the corner of the stretched tent, trying to hold it better in place, tugging at it.
[Elathrad(#14756)]
"As you wish," the Elf replies, eyeing the thin tent warily. "I should have asked Giliath to bring some more blankets with him. You look rather blue."
Shaking his head, Elathrad resumes his survey of the moor.
"I don't.. " Keldean trails off, focusing more on the task than the conversation. He pulls at the cloth again and suddenly the precarious roof shifts. The weight of several inches of snow can prove to be more than it appears, and as it begins to shower down where the teen is holding the corner he lets go, backing towards the center of the shelter. Without Keldean keeping the tension, the entire structure quickly fails moments later, everything crashing down with surprisingly little noise or affair outside of the teen's startled cry before he's buried along with everything else.
A rather loud, pillowy sound startles Elathrad, and he even looks surprised for a moment as he turns. "Oh," he murmurs softly to himself in Sindarin, "this is unfortunate."
Regardless, there is little concern or despair in his mien, only a faint display of patience in his bent brow. Shoveling snow gingerly with his bare hands, the ancient Elf lifts a branch and begins looking for the youth underneath.
The fabric of the roof mostly slipped off to one side, but the thick layer of snow all fell in on the small shelter, burying everything in almost half an inch. Keldean pushes himself up after a moment, spitting out snow with a horrified expression on his face. The fire is long gone and all of their belongings are hidden. He blinks away white crystals of ice from his eyes and looks around for a moment, then rushes over to the corner where all their supplies were and hurridly digs through the snow. "No! No no no!"
"Sit down," Elathrad says calmly, indicating the spot he has just vacated. "Put this on. You're still blue." A deft hand unlashes the cord tying his black cloak closed, and he tosses it at the youth.
"I'll find them," the Elf continues, stepping lightly into the snowy mess. "Just don't freeze."
As if calling attention to the cold just brought it back into reality, Keldean immediately shudders and reaches frantically for the cloak, wrapping it thickly around himself. "My bag! It has things in it.. I can't lose." He says through chattering teeth, but backs up and begins to kick snow away from the rocky wall, trying to find somewhere to hunker down out of the icy wind."
"I'll get it," Elathrad says mildly, throwing a large branch aside with little effort. "We need to get the fire back first. But you must not freeze first."
Stepping closer into the broken shelter, the luthier lifts a white-crusted strap from the wreckage. "This?"
Keldean watches, nodding stiffly as he drops down to sit, pulling the cloak around himself tighter. "Yes..ss." He says, shaking as all the snow begins to melt and work it's way through his collar, sleeves, and other places. He leans forward then and begins pushing away more of the snow, trying to clear an area for the fire.
A few more scoops, and the whole thing is free. Elathrad eyes it for a moment, then places it gently next to Keldean.
"I should have asked Giliath to bring a stronger tent," murmurs the lutheir, casting a sidelong glance at the shivering Man.
"Th.. thank.. you." Keldean says, his teeth still chattering and his body trembling as the lack of any fire and cold wind sucks away his body heat. He continues pushing away the snow, his hands and fingers growing numb. His breath is small white clouds. "Fire.. you're right.. fff.. fire."
Fumbling with the cloth, Elathrad finally tosses the whole tent cloth up in his search. Small snowflakes, a recreation of some local storm, shower down upon his head as he fumbles with the bindings of his own pack.
"Fire," he murmurs in triumph, nearly slicing his own hand in haste to strike the flint. "Come near."
Keldean crawls forward slowly, his movement sluggish. Some snow fell on the wood, but most of it burned away immediately and there hasn't been near enough time for the ice to soak the tinder. The teen reaches to shove some of the scattered sticks closer, trying to help but his hand is shaking still as his whole body continues shivering.
"It's the best I can manage," Elathrad murmurs, "with the wood left on these moors."
Snapping the tent-cloth crisply to rid it of any clinging flakes, Elathrad gathers it in his arms and tosses it at the Bree youth. "Use that too. I hope it won't storm while I try to rebuild this thing."
Keldean doesn't quite catch the tarp and it piles over him. It takes the youth a few uncoordinated moments to get wrapped up in it, and he's curled up into a tight ball. "Ss.. sorry.. didn't mean.. for it to fall." He says after a moment, his words reflecting his dramatic plunge in temperature.
Elathrad comes to stand close to the youth, puzzled by his chattering. For a moment the Elf tilts his head, and then he sits down, putting a hand on Keldean's shoulder as he sticks a few more bits of wood into the fire with his other.
Keldean doesn't show much in the way of response at first. Elathrad's touch meets a shivering mass. Eventually the teen looks up at him, then over at the fire. He inches closer to the warmth of the flames, holding his hands close the burning the wood. "Wish.. that.. th.. that I didn't get cold.. l.. like you." He chatters.
Elathrad glances over, once more passive. "I merely do not feel the pain from it," he offers, and his touch, too, is cool as ice. "Then, again, those who crossed the Ice may know that pain too well."
He does not say more, pressing his pale lips tightly together and prodding the fire with the point of his spear.
It's a long time before the time is more responsive. He stares at the fire with that same stricken expression on his face for a long time, but slowly his shaking eases and Elathrad can likely feel some of the warmth returning to him. He's so close to the fire he's risking getting burned, but the air around them is well below freezing and the teen has little choice. "I .. I think I can help you now." He flexes his fingers a few times, rubbing them together as he shrugs off the tent canvas.
"There is no need," Elathrad says, pausing to survey the pile of slushy branches. "Stay there and tend to the fire."
Straightening, the Elf climbs out of the depression in the moor and moves lightly away, leaving scarcely a print.
Keldean looks up at the elf, too cold to press the point. Then Elathrad is moving away and the teen stares in shock for a moment. "Where are you going?!" He calls, panic in his voice. True, Elathrad has yet to abandon him, but the shelter is collapsed and there's not much firewood and he's certainly not capable of saving -himself- at this point.
Far away, there is the sound, somewhere, of branches breaking from some sparse tree.
Ahh, the reassuring sound of a tree being torn apart. Keldean pulls the coverings back up around him and huddles against the cold, his panic fading.
Players: Elathrad, Keldean
