*tap*
*tap, tap*
The quill Lindovor was holding snapped with a sharp sound as he brought it down on his writing desk a fourth time. He exclaimed as he jumped back from the sudden sound.
"Blast it all..."
He was trying to compose a letter to his grandfather, an old man who still depended upon him despite curt words and dismissive actions. There was talk in the Inn of expected guests from far away, and Lindovor thought that they might be persuaded to deliver the letter if they were travelling Southwards. The red-haired wen....cook...had said that she was expecting a person of great importance, though who knows what that might mean to a Breelander.
Lindovor paused a moment and leaned back in his chair, rubbing his jaw ruefully. He spoke as he was taught, and his grandfather was adamant to a fault that the chasm between those who served and those who ruled was one impossible to cross. It's not that Mistress Rose was anything but polite, but she held her head higher than a servant ought, and tended to look Lindovor straight in the eye...an impertinence deserving of rebuke. He had made the mistake of calling the Inn's caretaker "wench' in the hearing of the young carpenter, Wil Carver. Before he could draw breath, Lindovor was held halfway up the wall with a grip and strength that left him speechless. Lindovor threw his head back and laughed at the memory. Valar's teeth... if his old master of arms could train ten such lads, he'd send Mordor's filth back through the Black Gates and make them cower behind it.
He took out a small, fine-bladed knife and began to trim a new pen, glancing at the tall pile of parchment that sat on the edge of his desk. Lindovor sighed. He had read every one of them, and indeed the Lindovor that was spoken of within thier pages was much like the man described to him by his late mother. He could not forget the voice of the one who had brought him these chronicles...was she even real? Cursed luck that his head was injured and his eyes bound. Well, no matter. He was not like to find the truth any time soon.
Blowing the dust and bits of feather off the clean parchment before him, he dipped the new quill into his inkwell and began to write. Best to be finished and ready by the time this 'important guest' arrived.
