Vanimar

Dolthafaer frowned down at the map spread across his desk, brow furrowed, restlessly drumming his fingers against the smooth wooden surface.  His gaze swept over the inked region of the Hithaeglir, returning again and again to the red splotch marked on the top right corner.

That is where Estarfin went, Parnard had claimed.  To the Goblin Caves.

Harsh voices called out in the vilest of tongues in mockery and perverse excitement as the remnants of the warrior-rabble that had set-out to kill the wraith returned. Their numbers were visibly reduced and some bore the scars of battle still. Cawing insults and catcalls sounded from the baying crowds at their perceived weakness at losing so many to a single foe. Leading the shambling crowd were three of the largest goblins; all carrying burdens and making their way inexorably towards the seated figure at the centre of the cavern.

Once again alone in his workroom, Laurelindo was smiling, in a very good mood, though, not in the mood to work... again. This day was proving being a very unproductive day when he was concerned. 

An involuntary cry of pain escaped his bruised and chapped lips as a thin dagger found a way through his broken armour and cut deeply into the pale flesh of his upper arm. With barely a conscious thought he swept the heavy shield that he carried into his assailant, knocking them careering backwards and clearing the immediate space in front of him. The anger that had fuelled the scything sweeps of his wicked spear was ebbing from him as the bone-chilling cold pierced the madness and began to rapidly sap what strength remained to him.

Brasseniel was still humming the last song of the night under her breath as she let herself into the room. It had been a lovely evening of music and dancing with others of Bar-en-Vanimar, practicing their steps for the Yule Ball.  She was sad that it ever had to end.  

She found Nelthiel curled up in a chair by the fire, cooing over a soft ball of fur in her lap.  A kitten?  When and where had her sister found herself a kitten?  Brasseniel had to wonder how long it would take for her to fill their rooms with every stray that Imladris had to offer.

  Many are the days that the Grey Watch keeps the roads of Ered Luin safe and sound. Long are the nights we watch the ravines of Rath Teraig, and keep a constant vigil to prevent the coarse goblins from wandering out into our domain. There is plenty of work to do, and we - the Wardens of the Grey Watch - we do it well. From the shores of Mithlond and its tall and proud watchtowers, to the great dwarven halls in the north, we make our way with spear and shield, with bow and arrow.