Subject: Naergondir stepped inside the room and looked around.
Posted on: 2017-02-16 00:46:53 UTC

He felt ill at ease, despite Gurnirel's encouragement. He was an Elf of the First Age, one who had seen the light of Laurelin and Telperion in the days before the sun and moon. He had fought in too many bloody wars. His name he had chosen for himself: Man of Lament. It had seemed only too fitting.

And here he was, entering a room full of...'speed daters'.

"You need not find love here," Gurnirel had pointed out the day before. "We are both aware that tragedy follows the pairing of one of the Eldar with a mortal, and there are few of us in Headquarters."

"Then what reason could I possibly have to attend?" Naergondir had asked her.

His sworn sister had smiled. "You might find friendship there, Meldaner. On that, the Valar have so far smiled."

He could not argue with that, even with the Doom of Mandos ringing in his ears (To evil end shall all things turn that they begin well...), and so he had consented to attend.

He had dressed well, as one did for first impressions. His robes were long and blue, in overlapping layers and varying shades. His hair had even more small braids than usual, and bore a shimmering array of tiny gems at the clasps. He bore no weapons save a short dagger at his waist under the outermost robe, and that only in case of unexpected trouble. He had learned not to underestimate any place's capacity for unexpected trouble.

Unfortunately, he had no idea where he was meant to go, and so he stood just inside the doorway and looked around for direction.

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