(Archive) The Fellowship of the Sword 50 - Durin\'s Folk

*Note - Thanks to Ori for this log*

** Real time is: Fri Jan 12 20:33:53 2001, GMT -7** Elendor time is: Dawn (0600) on Mersday, 18 April 3022. In the Spring sky, Tonight the moon will be waxing crescent.

North Port Here is a small stretch of gravelly shingle-beach at the foot of a great stone crag, one of Thror\'s Twins that guard the gates of the Celduin, which rushes by to join the deeper waters of the lake. A small group of buildings and dockworks are built along the shore, usually quiet. Because the river becomes too shallow to navigate a few miles north, here many goods bound for Dale or Erebor or beyond are offloaded and transfered to caravans--and vice versa, from caravans into sturdy knorrs or rafts going the other way. Although the docks handle trade, they were also built to acommodate the ships of Esgaroth in times of war, when the weakfolk needs be sent to Dale or into the Mountain for safety. Besides the actual wharves and utility outbuildings, there are a few small warehouses, the dockmasters place, and an inn, the Twin\'s Toe, built up against the crag itself. There is also a raft service here that will taxi those who wish to go across the rivers mouth to the road on the east side.

[Ori] The wind from the north swirls through Thror\'s Twins, whispering and whistling, cool and bracing in the morning of early Spring. The waters are dark though the sun is rising, the wind-swept march laced with feathers of foam. The Dwarven camp is astir with the day, stout stone-spirits making what they can of another sunrise under the open sky. Ori, a statement in grey, stands upon the docks, looking out, as is his wont after breaking fast, over the waters. He bends near to Gangskeddir, his voice being taken by the breeze and passed along the shore near

\"...Galloping sea-steeds, white maned

They nicker over stones Fair are their ranks...\" he turns askance, \"I do not know, worthy skald: such vision as I have stretches to include beasts, and horses? Of all things!\"

The might of this dwarfs spirit fair wells forth from its fleshy mantle so fiery an energy it has. Proud stands this khazad. Titanic is his laughter, warmer than a summer day in mirth, colder than the winds that hiss through the black spaces of the earth, in scorn. His generosity is boundless, yet so is his capacity to brood vengeance. The friend, or enemy, of a dwarf is such until the breaking of the world so did Aule forge them in the First Days, unyielding and unbreakable come what may. Ori is apparantly ready for an outside venture. He wears a black woolen greatcoat over his clothes and armor. You see a pair of knee-high black leather boots breeks of grey wool tucked into these, secured by a wide belt of thick black leather from which hangs a pouch on the right and a dagger from the left. Tucked into the breeks is a shirt of grey-dyed cotton with long bloused sleeves and high collar, over which rests a haubergeon of flat-black finished chain mail, cunningly fitted. Upon his head is a hood dyed storm grey with black trim and tassle.

[Nihli] A rickty portable table creaks in the gental breeze. On a small stool next to it sits Nihli. He is looking north at the mountain. He takes a careful look at the mountain for a moment than bends over the table. There he is drawing a contour profile map of the mountain. He is quite expect for the scratching of his quill.

A dwarf of slightly shorter than average height, his long brown hair is tied back in a simple and messy que. Small curls of hair shoot out in all directions. His beard is split into two seperate braids. It\'s white hair reaches down to his belly and is held at the end of the braids with two silver beads. He wears brown trowsers which are caked with grim that seems to have been there since the first age. His black leather boots are covered in several coats of brown mud but are in excellent repair. His torso is coverd with a faded green threadbare tunic. It has several tears and worn spots and is covered with splattered ink. Around his neck he wairs a small (for a dwarf) silver chain with a medalion hanging from it. His belt is made of darkly tanned leather and the buckle is simple. His face is a contrast to the rest of his body as it is well washed. His eyes are a deep brown and seem to draw in everything.

\"For all of that, I have never heard you speak kindly of boats, either,\" Gangskeddir replies. He rests near the elder dwarf, puffing on his pipe with none of the air of one exiled by violence from a beloved home. \"I should say barrels, I suppose, for that is the story we oftenest hear.\" He offers a gruff smile to show the friendship in his words, and then taps the stem of his pipe against his teeth. \"I think: Beneath the rambling starry sky deep-delving dwarves are passing by: The stones below that well they know They...\" But the shouting of the coming dwarf interrupts him.

Here stands a stout and mighty dwarf, one of fire-gold hair and braided beard. Glowering eyes are set beneath a heavy brow, and thick arms grasp his belt of twisted horsehair. He moves with the slow, ground-eating stride common to the warriors of this elder kin. He wears a cloak of tattered green over his shoulder, bound with a gilded bronze brooch. The dwarf\'s nostrils flare and bulge with each breath, giving him the appearance of a minature bull. Long golden locks are bound behind him.

[Jormun] Suddently the alerting sound of a horn cleaves the air, and a dwarf comes running down the road. \"Strangers on the road!! .. Strangers on the Roads!\", Jormun shouts, as he comes closer to the camp, \"Two riders, looking strange.. Not from Dale... I think!\" He is running as fast as possible, with his black beard flying around his face. As his voice is heard in the camp the dwarves there starts to look up, curious about what what this is about. Running up to Ori, Jormun breathe heavily, \"I.. I think it is the Stonelundings... those from the rumors!\"

Build like a rock, a stout looking dwarf between 4 and 5 feet tall stands here, almost carved into the surroundings. His face is calm and handsome, with eyes full of joy and life. He has black hair, and from his chin hangs a raven-black beard, reaching down over his broad muscular chest, almost down to his waist, showing his youth. His body appears strong with the grace of agility, his hands too, rough and worn, carved by hard work and intensive training. He is wearing a black cloak with a hood pulled back, resting on his back and shoulders. Under the cloak is seen a grey shirt, ending in some black leather trousers. He is wearing a broad belt, where a black satchel is tied to the right side of it, large enough to hold small instruments of some sort. He wears a finely crafted bracelet on his left arm.

[Thorondur] And yet from the north, along the river shore come other beasts, and not from the Sea. Though perhaps their home lies near it, for no steeds such as these have passed the Gates of the Argonath for time out of mind. Great destriers, warhorses, mighty beasts from the ancient and distant South! A pair now come nearer and pass into the realm of vision, should any be watching and upon their backs are riders. Tall men and grim, arrayed all in white -- or so the pair seem from a distance.

[Morrandir] As the pair approach, the men become clearer. One is tall and proud. The other seems less confident. He rides with only one hand, and seems to slump in the saddle. He looks about the lands as he rides, gazing at the beautiful scenery.

Before you is a tall, grim looking man. He wears big black leather boots, and the dazzling white tunic of a squire, the colour a stark contrast to the dismal expression upon his face. An eyepatch obscures his left eye, and the tip of what looks to be an ugly scar peeps out from beneath. At his side hangs a Longsword, the hilt made of ebony and set with a dark crimson gem. Judging by the notched blade, it is not purely for show. His grim scarred face is framed by locks of raven hair which play about his shoulders, and his chin bears a small beard. His face looks as though it may once have been handsome, yet it is now marred by a permanent frown. While one eye is missing, the other seems to make up for the loss with the intensity of it\'s gaze. Grey as a stormcloud, and as cold as death.

[Gangskeddir] The skald rises to his legs, blowing a last mouthful of smoke onto the winds. He takes up a long rod of iron, rusting in spite of obvious care. The flange on the end marks it as nothing more than a firepoker, decoratively curled at the handle.

\"Strangers stray from stony ground,

On mannish mounts, defy our mound:

We know the deep, we secrets keep,

No man can pierce a dwarvish frown.\"

Ori looks up--not the only head to rise! at the sound of the watch-horn and notes the dwarf running across the small settlement from his post and says idly aside, \"Aye, ah, but the waves, now, Mazarbul! Will you not aid me? I am more firm when it is young Celduin burbling from out our doors that I address. This open water has always challenged my vision!\" and as Jormun does arrive, breathing upon him in heavy gusts, perhaps this, more than the approaching equestrians, helps Ori\' stave-making. But this awaits the warder\'s words. \"Ah, indeed. Tall, were they? Bright of mien, on great horses with noble brows, were they? Is it true, then, that more Men of the South have come venturing north?\" Here his voice drops to a mutter \"...Perhaps they have sent Men after the war-gear that Man, Numandil came to purchase...\" but he says to Jormun, \"Thanks be to you for this rede, good Bundazanul: Pass the word, then, for these Men to be directed here to me. But attend me, yourself.\"

[Thorondur] Indeed, there are differences here, in the Men who come nearer strange Men who come borne on the backs of such proud and noble beasts. The younger, the one-handed, is flanked by one clad all in glory, and elven-fair indeed, he is accoutred as a lord of the Sindar on feastdays, beneath the greenleaves. And yet for that, and the sounding of the horns as they ride, his attention is fixed on the other who comes beside him. \"You have taken many wounds, Morrandir,\" the knight tells his squire, \"and yet you persevere. I am heartened to see it. Now hark! For it seems we shall soon have company.\"

A tall man and slender, both lordly and reserved in bearing. Sharp of eye, so strikingly blue, about him there is a certain presence of unyielding strength and confidence -- yet haunted, it seems, by the shadow of long wisdom behind his eyes. A vision of ancient valour he seems, a warrior of the Elder Days come down on the wings of legend clad all in white. Over snowy robes, loose and flowing, he is arrayed in a coat of supple, shining elvenmail belted with milky gemstones. Black are his riding boots, black as the raven shock of hair that tops his head -- a head bare and unhelmed, save for a simple circlet of silver that binds his brow. Like starlight is the mantle that gathers about his shoulders, silken and fluid and pure, dimmed neither by tints nor shadows. At his side rides a sword of ancient make and mystery, for no craftsman of modern times could do work so intricate upon the golden hilt. No device does he bear, a knight only of the West and the ancient, holy light that dwells therein -- yet young he seems, if only as old stories told anew.

[Nihli] The dwarf at the table stands and moves towards the two horsemen, but remains clearly out of path. He shows a eagerness to meet them, but judging that they probaily come on offical bussniess he holds his tounge.

[Morrandir] The squire smiles, though says not a word. Gazing up the hill he watches the dwarves as he rides. He stares at them, his one eye widened, and brows arched in wonder. one would think that this man has perhaps not yet seen a dwarf before...

Fast Jormun regain control of his breath, and with his hand he brings his black beard back into the right position again. His hand, with the horn, hangs loosely at his side as he speaks, \"Yes Sir, I will pass the word, and be back\", then he turn around and runs down to two warders comming out of the camp. Speaking with them for a short moment, the two warders hurry up the road toward the riders, and Jormun returns to Ori\'s side, putting on a serious expression.

[Thorondur] Now two dwarven warders come forth, and the rider in white raises his hand for the halt. A curt nod signals the squire to keep beside him, and the tall Man awaits the greeting of the dwarrow-folk -- whatever it may be.

[Ori] As the Man slows his mighty steed, the warders who have intercepted he and his squire bow as one, hands upon their axes. \"Good morrow, outlanders!\" for these are clearly not Bardings! \"You are come to the North Port, as where you step is called in this land. By good fortune or ill you have found here Dain, King Under the Mountain, Durin\'s Heir. And as you sport ironmongery and look war-worthy, we must challenge your passage. Do you have fair words that we may bring our lord, or must it go badly for you? What are your names and who is your lord?\"

Morrandir pulls upon the reigns of his steed, bringing her to a halt. He looks down at the dwarves with a slight frown, then turns to the Knight, allowing his superior ro answer.

[Thorondur] At this talk -- indeed and especial, at this talk of fair words -- the knight cloaked in white smiles kindly. Down upon the dwarves now fall his keen and piercing eyes, and he says: \"I am the Herald of distant Dol Amroth by the Sea, and I have been raised on fair words -- but I pray, let that not lessen the sincerity of my greeting to Dain, King Under the Mountain of whom many tales tell.\" Now briefly does he look upon his squire -- almost with sadness -- ere saying more. \"This is Morrandir, my squire, known as the Hard-Handed, and I am Thorondur Edrahil, hir Girithlin. We come as forerunners a dozen of our people ride behind us.\"

[Ori] The dwarf who spoke is silent as his fellow now states, \"Your office of Herald will be honored you may keep your sword upon you,\" and his voice hardens, \"Do not forget the honor we extend to you in this alloawance!\" he turns with his comrade, \"We shall escort you to one with whom you may speak. But you must dismount, and leave your squire to attend your steeds while you pursue your mission. If this is meet, follow us if not, then you must turn about now and get you gone from here.\"

[Thorondur] \"I will dismount, and keep sacred your laws,\" the knight replies, swinging down from his high saddle to land upon the ground without effort. \"Morrandir,\" he tells the younger man, \"See to our mounts. It is a solemn duty.\" And with that done, he looks to follow the dwarf-wardens.

[Morrandir] The squire nods, and also dismounts, though with far less ease than the Herald. \"As you wish Sir.\" he says quietly, taking the reins of both the horses in his right hand.

Listening in on the scene Nihli sees his chance to learn some lore and hear tales of far away lands. Slowly he approaches the squire with with the confidence of a dwarf he has approached foriegners before.

Suspicious Jormun look at the tall man following the wardens, and he lift a hand to make sure his beard looks perfect, but he keep quiet and stays behind Ori, showing respect for the older dwarf. Finally the warders comes to where the small group of dwarves are standing, \"This is Herald of distand Dol Amroth, Thorondur Edrahil, hir Girithlin, one of the warders inform Ori, and salute him. \"He and his companion are forerunners of a larger group comming behind them, a dozen people he say!\" Then the warders step back, keeping near Thorondur, just in case.

[Thorondur] For his part, the man bows deeply when he is presented to the small knot of dwarves, after the fashion of his people.

[Morrandir] The squire ties the horses to a hitching-post, then takes an apple out of his saddle-bag. He sits down in the grass and munches away whilst watching the herald converse with the dwarves. His steed peers over his shoulder looking longingly at the apple.

Ori stands quietly, drawn in upon himself, as the Men are led forward, but any with discernment can see, before the warders address him declaring the herald, that he is the nucleus of this group of dwarves. He returns Thorondur\'s bow with equal gravity, attendant upon his titles, one hand holding the string of long teeth to his chest, the other waving his hood before his knees in dwarf-fashion. Unlike the others, his beard does not sweep the ground, however. As he rises and repairs the hood to its place, he intones, voice stone, words hard and heavy: in everything a dwarf, \"Ori, son of Ghori son of Ghorin, at your service!\" and he appraises the Man before him keenly, \"I am the Mouth of Dain. Lord Girithlin of Dol Amroth is welcome among us! Your folk and lord are known to us.\" Ori speaks almost as if he had expected the Man.

Nihli seeing how the squire has not intention of being talkative, he frowns. Turning around he decides that he might be helpful to Ori, or the leader human. Besides they might be more talkative.

Standing still, Jormun\'s face is rock hard, but his eyes reveal that he enjoys Ori\'s speak, and that he too was expecting the strangers, even though an ironic smile on his face reveals that he isnt happy about them at all. But One would not reconise these expressions except if One was a dwarf. I don\'t see that player here.

Ori sees Nihli loitering in the background and catches his eyes with his, his hands making swift gestures. In iglishmek handsigns Ori says \"Come onto the dock, chartier, and attend me,\" pointing to his side opposite Jormun.

[Thorondur] Charmed by this fair greeting, the Man laughs kindly, and again he seems almost more Elf than man in his merriment so it sometimes can be, among the Dunedain, and those who traffic most with the Eldar. \"You do me more honor, it may be, than I am worth, Ori son of Ghori,\" says Thorondur of Gondor. His voice is rich and ringing, and he speaks further, this Herald from the distant South. \"I wonder that any should hear tell of my lord, so far from the Sea where he dwells -- but Dol Amroth is fair, in its own fashion if not so lovely to dwarves as stone. I greet you gladly.\"

Nihli aslways happy to meet new strangers quickens his pace to Ori\'s side. He makes a brief salute then stands at ready for an order. He nods briefly to the human with a very un-dwarven smile.

Ori notes the Man\'s words of overextending his courtesy with an inclination of the head, short beard jutting out. \"It may be so, but let it not be said I gave short shrift of the courtesies in my King\'s name!\" he levels his gaze and his eyes narrow somewhat with hidden thought or re-appraisal, and then \"Even so far North the names of the Stonelundings have been heard: our ears are to the stone, it tells us many things! But one of yours was quit of our realm not long ago, by our reckoning, although for Men I know time marches with different cadence...Numandil was his name, on a quest for his lord Imrahil of the Swans.\" Ori notes Nihli with a small nod to the side, and as he speaks to Thorondur his hand moves in an intricate pattern where his fellow dwarf can see it. In iglishmek handsigns Ori says \"Pray take your chalks, chartier, and draw for us if you can this Man\'s likeness, as accurately as you may.\"

[Jormun] Ignoring Nihli\'s behaviour, and consentrating on the stranger, Jormun\'s face is still rock-hard and he seems to have reconised the elven sides of the stranger. But his face clears up as Ori reminds him of Numandil... He remember the speakin about this stranger.. indeed.

[Thorondur] The Herald nods at this naming of Numandil, though his smile does not grow nor warm for the other man\'s sake. Indeed, he says, \"Numandil Nimothan? A strange man, but a good man by all accounts. I cannot say I know him no more than I know your King. Yet I know some small news of them both -- and of Dain, who is said to be a great Bane of Orcs.\"

Nihli nods and bows to both greats who stand next to him. Removing himself to his tabl he pulls he picks it up and moves it to a better view of the mountain. There he pulls out some coal bits and begins to draw on a piece of parchment.

Ori\'s smile is something of an indulgance, and a hood draws a bit over his gaze, and says \"Now our worthy guest flatters us!\" in a voice that says \'The valour of our king is a byword from here to the sea, and if it isn\'t, any envoy worth the trip would not forget to say it for good measure!\' But his next words come more slowly. \"And so...you do not know of your lord\'s servant, but perhaps his quest. Perhaps you \'passed on the road\', as they say.\"

[Thorondur] \"Nay, I know little of him -- nor even of all our quest: for a time I was waylaid,\" Thorondur Girithlin explains, and in that moment a shadow hangs briefly above his words a shade of reluctance gives him pause. Yet it passes soon enough, and he says, \"Yet we come on a quest of our own, though the lore of it is not mine to recall.\" Now, for the first time, he gives heed to dour Jormun -- but the sketching of Nihli is what truly intrigues him.

Ori nods with his words, something lifting from him, some concern perhaps.

Noticing the strangers look, Jormun first seem to consider ignoring him, but instead he nods his head lightly to show that he respect the presence of the stranger. And a polite smile forms on his lips.

A small cloud spreads over the company. Nihli squints as he scetches. He then grabs another parchment. Reaching for his ink quill he dips it and goes to scetching something more.

Ori seems slightly taken aback by this confession on Thorondur\'s part, but rumbles, \"The Wilds are perilous: They have ever been so! Few cross it unscathed.\" and watching the Man\'s eyes, says \"Here is one who has seen the fruit of more than one waylayings, hight Jormun, a leech of no small reknown in this land.\" And here his tone changes, \"So, Herald,\" and this word is spoken with signifigance, \"If you do not know your quest, what words *do* you have for the Mouth of Dain?\"

[Thorondur] This last brings more laughter to the lips of the lordly Dunadan, and warmth to his icy blue eyes. \"What words? Words of greeting and parley, and of introduction,\" says Thorondur, \"for behind me rides a Man more locquacious than any: \"Indilzar Bragollach, Lord of the Black Flame. Our lore may lie in different realms, but in the nature of this dark riding he outstrips me. I come for the love of my Prince, and his missing son and not least for the love of his daughter, whom I champion.\"

Nihli scetches quitly in his cornor and mutters quitly to no one in particular \"What garb, the hereldy I can do that but the face is difficult\"

[Jormun] Standing proud as Ori mention his profession Jorum sends the stranger a friendly smile and a slight bow, however when the stranger doesnt seem interested in the skill Jormun value so high, his face turns to \'stone\' again, only his eyes have difficulties hiding the hot temper that boils within him.

Ori speaks to the dwarves near to him, although his eyes never leave Thorondur, \"Mark him, kinsmen! Here is a Stonelunding, a gem among Men!\" and there is something of a smile in his words, \"Indeed, smooth are his faces, bright in the morning! More rough, our Barding friends! But who can guess the worth of a rough gem from the cut?\" Anyone trained in the ways of the court will know that when something is said in audience, it is for all ears, regardless of where the words are directed. For who else but a dwarf could tell the value of a rough gem from a cut? But to Thorondur Ori says, \"Ah! I have heard of this thing, this championing of a lady, you call it \'chivalry\' in the South.\" and he nods in satisfaction, \"So then, your company is one of High spirit. Heroes, to be sure.\" and he scratches at his beard in thought. \"You have greeted us. Now, what do you bring to a parley?\"

[Thorondur] A knight and herald of Men, even the High Men of lost Westernesse, is no dwarf -- and so it may be not unlikely, that this one betrays no knowledge of Jormun\'s pride, or his anger either. Rather he answers the dwarf-lord, Ori -- though not with pride or a silver tongue. \"The naming of Heroes is not for me to decide,\" Thorondur says simply. \"Yet I have faith in my brethren who come behind. For now -- for them -- I ask but a simple thing: permission to come before your lord and king, that Indilzar might plead his case, whatever it may be.\"

[Jormun] As Ori mention the old known comparison between two gems, Jormun can\'t hide a broad grin, but he quickly whipes it off his face again, no doubt that he agreed on that point of view. And again, as the stranger doesnt seem to understand the story of the gems, he cant hide a smile on his face. But again he regain control and inspect the Stonelunding with a stone face.

Ori nods, at ease, \"That is easily done! King Dain is well-disposed to the Stonelundings. You and your Indilzar shall have your audience. When can we expect your company?\" and noting the Man\'s interest in the sketching, he addresses it with a flourished hand, \"Do you not have such a custom in the South, the capturing a likeness onto paper?\" for even upside-down from the Man\'s perspective he can surely see it is himself taking shape beneath Nihli\'s hands. His words are all easy, now, and as he speaks he motions to a nearby dwarf who bows and turns to an errand, returning shortly with two folding camp-chairs, one set up for the Man, the other for Ori, who nods his head for Thorondur to sit if he might. Ori adds, \"It is not Nihli\'s calling,\" indicating the sketching dwarf, \"But I have confidence in the skill of his hand. His main genius is in things that I am sure would not interest you.\"

Nihli looks up and smiles, then goes back to his work \"Sorry my lord that I am no artist, but those things which you were most fasinate me, and I look foward to hearing tales of yours. I used to love such things when I traveled with my father.\"

Accepting the good grace of his host, Thorondur as the guest sits first, as custom dictates. Still his eyes are drawn to the charcoal sketching again, which he raptly watches. \"I find many things of interest,\" he confides in Ori with a sad, pleasant smile for Nihli, \"and not all of them would fail to surprise you, I think. The others are perhaps a league behind us they will be along soon. Yet you spoke before of a healer.\" Now, bemused, the Man considers Jormun. \"In my land, many healers are women. Yet I see that among the Dwarves this is not so. Is it not difficult, to mend with one hand what the axe has done in the other?\"

Ori sits and smiles in his turn, regarding Nihli\'s work, \"It is an whim of mine for the occasion,\" which says as much as if he had said \'This thing is for Dain to see who he must treat with before they stand before him\'. \"A march only? Then I must have ground prepared for you!\" and here he looks at a nearby dwarf who makes off at once. \"Women, then?\" Ori looks bemused. \"Our chirurgeons are usually warriors. For who better to judge a wound than one that can give one?\" and he speaks as if this is a thing taken for granted as he looks aside to Jormun.

Next to Ori, Jormun speaks, \"excuse me, Father, but I have a few people I must see... a few bandages to change\". His face is calm and his eyes shows the the respect for Ori that is so well known among the dwarves, \"I hope you will accept me leaving\". Then as the stranger talk about the axe in one hand and healing in the other, Jormun stands proud, \"I am a chirurgeon and a warder... These things match perfectly... On the battle field, when the wounded need me most, I need the axe to fight my way there... And I need to know where to hit, to inflict as much damage as possibly getting there.\" His words are proud, and a dwarf would sence a bit of irony in them, how could such a connection be questioned? Then he turn to Ori again, \"Father, may I take my leave?\"

Ori grunts, \"Of course, Bundazanul, go to your duty!\" and with no further ceremony, turns back to Thorandur, dismissing the warrior-healer.

Before leaving, Jormun takes a look on Nihli\'s drawing, then his face lights up in a smile as he look back at Thorondur. Then he salutes Ori and moves back toward the camp... where another dwarf comes toward him. Toghether they walk into one of the wains.

Nihli nods to Jormun as he leaves, then he himself stands. The scetch appears to be somewhat complete. Taking a small drawing carcoal he moves over to Ori and Thorondur. He stands still quitly inspecting Thorondur and all of his gear with his ever searching eyes.

[Thorondur] The young Man listens long to Ori and Jormun, ere speaking his own mind on the matter. \"Once I might not have agreed with you,\" he tells the dwarves, \"but of late I have not been so certain.\" Now he grins, and catches Nihli\'s inspecting eye. \"It may not be your first craft, but you boast a skilled hand, my friend,\" Thorondur laughs. \"Perhaps, if I am a lucky man, I will find the coin to pay you for such a sketch ere we leave this realm.\"

Ori turns an ear and eye to follow how Nihli might respond to the Man\'s words, while he himself says \"Now tell me the news you bring with you on the road! What is going on in the wide world that you have seen or heard tell of?\"

[Nihli] The comment about the coin strikes an air that while not angry, is not happy either. Nihli looks at the human carefully. His eyes flicker with emotion for a brief second, but soon the same smile appears. His eyes once again go back to inspecting the humans clothing, not missing a thing. He seems unphassed.

[Thorondur] Puzzled, perhaps, by Nihli\'s odd reaction -- for to a Man of Gondor, it must seem odd -- the Herald lets it pass. Rather does he answer the query of Ori, though his voice grows weary. \"War, I fear,\" Thorondur says. \"The days grow short, and the Shadow lengthens. Black armies out of Mordor move freely up the vales of the Great River. Men gather in Minas Tirith beneath the banner of the Stewards.\"

Ori nods, hearing the herald\'s words, sighs. \"The name of Nargun (Mordor) is never spoken lightly. This news of the Father of Rivers being besmirched by the rakhas,\" he spits the word, \"I would hear more of. But surely Minas Tirith is not in peril? I know it of old, and it was always a mighty fortress.\" he raises his hand to forestall questions, \"Indeed, I know of your city. I hunted the rakhas in the White Mountains, in my youth.\" What forgone age this gnarled, leathery creature might refer to as his youth is questionable but if a lord of Dol Amroth has learned any lore in his life he will know that there have not been orcs in the White Mountains in over two centuries.

Nihli looks at the new comer with a smile, but his hands keep on scetching Thorondur. Soon his scetch is complete. The face and organic parts are crude, but anyone who looks carefully could tell who it was. The rest though, including the sword is intricalty drawn. Many details are given to these effects.

[Thorondur] Dark, slender eyebrows rise -- yet only this mild surprise, and no more, is evident with the knight he plays the role of an ambassador well. \"There is ever war now, at the crossings of the River,\" Thorondur admits with a sigh. \"Osgiliath is in ruin, and the bridge is unsafe. Cair Andros is held by the valour of Ithilien only. War nas not come to the White Tower though -- not yet.\"

Ori nods, obviously attending to each word, but also marks the Man\'s repeated sighs. Then, noting Nihli\'s sketch is complete, stands, decisive, and says \"I thank you for the news, herald I hope that we might share more while your company remains, for news of the world we crave. But now,\" and although it is obvious he has marked Thorondur\'s fatigue, he spares the Man the loss of face attendant to pointing it out by declaring \"But now, I must see to other business. My aide,\" he indicates a nearby dwarf, \"Will show you where your company is to camp. We will inform you when Dain is pleased to see this Indilzar,\" and he draws himsleef up imperceptibly, his words taking on the stiff cadence of ritual, \"You are welcome, Man. This audience is ended: the Mouth of Dain says it.\"