With in-line translations, since this is a demonstration, not fiction per se. Given the context, these two are probably Feanorians in northern Beleriand. Their names mean Sharp Sheath and Red-Gold Autumn, for no particular reason. I've also used a few words in quite strange ways, and a couple which are probably obsolete, but again, it's a demo, not strict canon.
Aicavainë: "Cullanta!" Cullanta!
Cullanta: "Ai... elen síla lumann' omentielvo, Aicavainë." Oh no… a star shines on the hour of our meeting, Aicavainë.
Aicavainë: "I eleni úmanyuval. Úsavin cardarlya!" The stars won’t help you now. I can’t believe you did that!
Cullanta: "Nanven colë quettar restallor; hlarnen yarra urquilion." I had to bring a report from the fields; I heard Orcs snarling.“
Aicavanië: "Equë harwelya i aháryiel maurë melmë, la hestolya!” Your wound says you needed care, not your captain!
Cullanta: “Nan lúsina; suncen míruvórë-“ I was fine; I drank some miruvor-
Aicavanië: “Cullanta, súcal sangwa sercellolya! Qui lemyas úpoica, hyaruvaltë telcol!” Cullanta, you’re drinking poison from your blood! If it doesn’t get cleaned, they’ll take your leg!
Cullanta: “Ui, nas faica. Appien lil olca.” No, it’s nothing. I’ve had worse.
Aicavanië: “I sangwa ná úmëa i rottor hroavassel. Rato helmal queruva mórin. Yulmë quatuvalyë.” The poison is swarming in the caves of your body. Soon your skin will turn black. Heat will fill you.
Cullanta: “Yulmë? Nas mara nin.” Drinking? Sounds good to me.
Aicavanië: “Úrë. Ar firuval.” Heat. And then you’ll die.
Cullanta: “Nan Elda, lá Engwa.” I’m Elvish, not a Sickly One.
Aicavanië: “Firuval. Nwalmenen.” You’ll die. Horribly.
Cullanta: “… ná i melissë hare?” … is the doctor [lit. carer, lover] around?
Aicavanië: “Náto. Ar nan sissë sinen caituval caimassë, ar únauval caimassëa.” Yes. And I’m here so you say in bed, instead of being bedridden.
I think it works. Certainly having your condition described as súcal sangwa sercellolya has a wonderful sinister feel to it.
hS