It was night again, and the tavern had nearly emptied for the night. Emptied, if one could have ever called it "full" to begin with. It was a dreary tavern, upon the outskirts of civilization. Lost to distance, swallowed by wild hills, and forests thick with green brush gnarled into winding branches. "The tavern" it was called, for it bore no name, nor needed one, for few were the eyes that would read it should its owners dangle a sign with some clever picture telling of its founding. But there was no sign, nor clever tale to its origin. But, for all its emptiness, even the small chatter of its few patrons fell and gave way to silence. For fear had taken hold of their tongues and drowned their toasts.
"Them eyes arent natural..." They whispered. "Its a demon..." Others coaxed. But silence would answer as they stared at the man sitting in the corner. His eyes were red and glew with crimson shimmer among the crackle of dim burning firelight. Neath hood, his countenance shrouded in shadowy visage, he spoke little but exhaled calm swirling puffs of smoke as he mused upon a memory and stared into the flame.
"Baldune! The fires Baldune! Look!" echoed in his mind as if it called from some great distance across Arda, calling his name. It always came from the same direction, no matter which way he turned...the call came. "Fire! Fire! Fire!" the voice would call and the sound of fire would rise in cadence with the flames in his memory. Rise and give way to the sound of thundering hooves and the clamour of steel. Then the singing of steel slicing. Then the screaming....filling the silence that deafened the tavern. "Begone Demon!" A weak little voice called. "We have little as it! We make no room for such haunt!"
The flames had quieted, the voice had not called, and only the quiet that filled the tavern remained. A quiet broken by the skinny old barman calling to him. "Out! Out I say! Curse us no more!" And soon the courage of the others mustered.
