[center][color=bc8dbf]”Dear [YOUR CHARACTER'S NAME]

Troubles have found me here, hindered me, unabling me to reach you myself. I am sure you will forgive me, for rhere is indeed a darkness looming above us all beyond the mortal sense. I have watched you, studied you, and, having been greatly gladdened by your adventurous spirit, discovered you might be a perfect candidate for my quest in the far Northern reaches. By all that you hold dear, meet by December 25 in [url=http://i.imgur.com/GBorh75.jpg]the village of Angfort[/url], and be not a day late! We must haste!

P.S.
Forget not the silver pin I have sent you! Wear it, tie your cloak with it, for the others must know! 

Cormamin lindua ele lle,

O.”[/color][/center]



	The brief message is secured, and the last white dove flies away. The old man stands on the edge of the forest resting on his wooden staff, following them all with his blue eyes through the steam rising from his mouth as they are ushered north by the cold morning sunlight that flickers on the silver birchleaf-shaped pins the birds have upon their backs. Their wings shed winter upon the land with each swing. 

	He retires slowly to the safety of the Lady's kingdom's tree crowns, hoping that his message would reach them, for there is an ominous hand of the shadow grasping their hearts, and ill tidings are coming from the East. He sits on a high chair opposite of his hostess, and soon circles of weed smoke are swirling above his head.
[color=0072bc]”Thank you for the gift. A fine sword it is,”[/color] he says nudging the sheathed sword hanging from the chair arm.
The star on her finger flashes, and he coughs choking on the smoke. 
[color=0072bc]”Forgive me, my lady; it has been a long time since I last saw one,” [/color]he says, rising his thick grey eyebrows at her Ring. [color=0072bc]”Magnificent, the work of Celebrimbor. Yes, indeed...”[/color] He coughs once more before resting the pipe on his lower lip.
[color=fff200]”You never change, Ofnir,”[/color] Galadriel replies with a smile.
The wizard stirs in his seat. [color=0072bc]”I like to think I've become wiser in the past few years,”[/color] he says; [color=0072bc]”and much better looking, too.” [/color] 
Galadriel gets up, walks past him and, resting her hand on his shoulder, gazes from the balcony into the distance. His smoking ceases.
[color=fff200]”I am glad,”[/color] she says suddenly,now looking at his face, [color=fff200]”that there is still someone left to jest in these dark times. Thank [b][i]you[/i][/b].”[/color]
The wizard breaks eye contact and nods, looking at his feet.

[center]***[/center]

	After many a league of unfaltering flight, the weary doves sight each of the chosen ones' abodes;  and, circling down in their tightening descent, land on a naked nearby branch, a cool well by the road, or in front of a window lattice beaten by the winds outside. And they wait.