Belegos

Estarfin turned the large brass key in the lock, hearing the mechanism click open. Pulling the heavy ash door open, he stepped inside the dark room, the torch that he carried flickering as a breeze caught it. He thrust the torch into an iron loop that hung upon the wall and looked around the Vanimar armoury. There were weapons of all varieties hanging upon the walls, or stacked on shelves. Large war hammers lay propped against the wall, next to a rack of delicate single-handed swords.

As he looked to the sky, Tashdel thought she saw a hint of strain in Belegos' face, but it was only fleeting. She had never thought about it too deeply but the realisation dawned on her that Belegos was so much older than she was; old even in the count of the Eldar now.

The night brought with it a slight chill, but the warmth from the small camp-fire kept it from the elves. The two of them had found a small dell when the sun had starting to lower in the sky, and with no urgency, had set up a camp to rest for the night. One of them was tall and confident in his surroundings, his face half hidden in the growing darkness by the green hood that covered his head, hiding his long, brown hair. His clothes were a rich green also which helped to hide him in the surrounding shrubs and undergrowth.

Continued from A Word In Sogadan's Ear

Continued from http://laurelinarchives.org/node/12148

Continued from http://laurelinarchives.org/node/12147

Estarfin paced back and forth within the small suite of rooms that he kept. The heavy velvet curtains were drawn, shutting out the daylight and noises of the valley. Empty bottles, stacks of papers and various weaponry and armour pieces littered every surface, and Estarfin strode between them, a thick crystal glass in his hand. Anger and frustration radiated from him; every few strides he would run a hand through his coarse hair and take a swig of the cheap wine that he was drinking.