IC Story Thread: Ch.1,Ad.2 - The Far Reach

"Thank you, sir. We owe him for some previous business, and we want to pay him back personally. Good day!"

"That seems a prudent advice. Where may we find a trustworthy guide?" Duinhir asks

To the others he says "It seems like we have not reached our journey's end just yet. We should seek out a guide and go to Annodrún tomorrow."

"Agreed, Duinhir."

Cirion has only heard vague stories about the Wild People, back in Pelargir. He presses the man for more information.
"These Woses... what are they like? How Wild are we talking, here? Have you met them yourself?"

"An Elf here?" Duinhir says puzzled. "I would like to meet him." Duinhir have met elves before in the north. Not often but he had and he was fascinated by them.
"Let's go to the inn then and see if we can catch him so to speak." he get ready to leave the harbour and go find the inn.

Cirion nods at the scribe in gratitude.
As old as the stone, he thinks as he follows Duinhir out of the harbor, musing over the ancient Woses folk.

"I, too, would like to meet the elf."

Alone, at a table against the wall and silhouetted by the light of the sun shining in through a window, sits one of the race of Elves. His long black hair is partially braided above the ears and hangs regally down his slender shoulders, revealing a face, olive in complexion and eternally youthful.

Clothed in finely-made garments of browns and greys, he seems almost too unsullied to be at home in the wilderness…For in the wilds of Middle-earth is where he finds his calling in his personal war against the Shadow.

Túril Amdirion, known locally to some as Wosekin, is of the High-Elves of Rivendell: those who dwelt in the Blessed Realms of Aman across the sea.

On the table before him are the remains of a meal of local breads and vegetables, as well as an array of documents: his personal notes on shadow lore, his accounting of his Harrowing Dream and his prophetic insights, and several maps of the lands between Sîr Lefnui and Sîr Angren - the rivers Lefnui and Isen.

Closing his eyes now to take in a breath, he considers his final conclusions on this latest foray through Andrast and how the Dream has changed since the snows melted in the foothills of the Ered Nimraith. These visions, as they did two centuries ago, are gaining clarity, and for good or ill, Túril steels himself for what is to come.

As the party enters the inn, he glances in their direction, ever vigilant for anything out of the ordinary.

Once his eyes has gotten used to the lower light inside the Inn, Duinhir immediately spots the silhouette of the Elf sitting by the window.
Mae govannen, he greets the Elf in Sindarin as he makes his way to the table. "May we join you. We have travelled long and I for one could do with a rest for my feet and an ale." he says hoping the talk of a long journey would raise enough curiosity to earn them a place at the table.

Seònaid enters the inn at the tail end of their small group, looking around the others to spot the elf. She has heard many tales about them, and on very rare occasions spotted one in her travels, but this is her first time ever speaking with one of their race.

Travelers? And a son of Eorl among them! … and could that be a - he makes eye contact with Duinhir - Ae! They approach!

Frozen by temporary indecision at what to do, Túril starts to stack his papers together and put them back into his scroll case.
Ae… he stands up and awkwardly stares at the party for a moment… Dhe suillon… Ae, Greetings travelers. He continues to clean up the table. Yes, ae, please rest yourselves. I am finished here.

For Men, these folk look strong. I best not be in the way in case they challenge me to an arm wrestle.

Cirion nods his head in greeting, mesmerised by the graceful presence, strangely at odds with the surroundings.
He sits and observes in silence, remembering all the stories heard on the docks of his home town, of magic and craftsmanship, of centuries-long lifespans and prodigious agility - wondering if even half of them may be true...

Noting the reaction of the elf to Duinhir she is reminded of the tales on how the elves can driven in their interactions with humans by previous decades of history. History long lost to the humans themselves. She decides that it may be best if those two start the introductions, in the hope it will go more smoothly and no misunderstandings will sour this meeting.

Like Cirion, Seònaid takes a seat at the table and watches Duinhir and the elf.

"Ah, Thank you" Duinhir sits and makes space for the others to join "but won't you stay for a while. And have a small chat. It seldom to get a chance to speak with an Elf. Especially around these parts. But, say, let me get you a beer as well." he puts a friendly hand on the Elf's should.


If Túril accepts the offer, Duinhir will start to tell their tale. He omits some of the details like the palantir and the pamphlets in the dark tongue. He is after all talking to a stranger after all.
"... And now we need to go to Annodrún"