A Conversation in Sindarin :)
"Im..." you gape at his steeled weapon, noticing that his
fingers grip the hilt so tightly that his knuckles are turning red.
You say, in Elvish, "You know, you shouldn't hold it so
tightly... You might hurt your fingers that way--"
But your boldness was apparently a mistake. The elf glares at you, a
red light gleaming in his shadowed eyes. "Man i eneth lín? (What
is your name?)" he demands.
"Elwhelin.. (Blue-Violet)" Suddenly you feel rather dizzy.
You claw at a nearby tree for support. "Tiro: Im penorven, Im
caeleb, Im dem, Im ring! (Look: I'm tired, I'm sick, I'm sad, I'm
cold!)... Boe enni nestron! (I need a healer!)..."
The elf thinks. "Baw, elo (No, be gone)!" he says after a
moment.
You growl deep in your throat, and spit insults at him: "Dôl gín
cofn! (Your head is empty!) Hű úgaun! (Cowardly Dog!) Gen fuion! (You
disgust me!) Orvelethron! (Orc lover!)"
He looks sad, and says apologetically, "Tolo, Aphado nin. (Come,
follow me.)"
You look at him, unbelieving.
He sighs. "Naethen. (I'm sorry.) Goheno nin. (Forgive me.)"
You toss your head haughtily, "Be iest lín. (As you wish.)"
He frowns, but says, "Aphado nin... iesten? (Follow me...
please?)"
You do him a curtsey, "Hannon le. (I thank you.)"
"Glassen! (You're welcome!)" And he leads
you...
"Ledhiach o man sad? (Where are you from?)" hisses the
'dark' elf. His hair is long and black, and his eyes are dark and
cold. His skis is white as snow, though a faint, chill pink touches
his cheek. An outfit of dark green, almost black, he wears, complete
even with leggings and boots of dark, worn leather. A quiver full with
arrows, a bow of dark wood, and two long-handled knifes in engraved
sheathes he carries; and now quickly he draws a knife from its
scabbard, and faces you with a grim mouth. "Man i eneth lín?
(What is your name?)" he asks, waving his blade in the air,
staring you with a cold, pressing look.
