Hammer and Harp Inn

Daurrie, the youngest of the sons of Gurni, had once more forgotten to pick up the order of fresh cheese that was awaiting them at the markets of Bree. Lunch was served and the young Silvan handed over the rest of the tavern business to Dal, hoping to be able to rush to Bree and pick up the forgotten crate before the inn would close for the day.

A continuation of this story, meaning it is entirely unreliable and biased.

This story is an account of certain events that transpired in recent weeks, written from the perspective of Theothar. Since all is written from his (completely insane) point of view, there is a high chance none of the following is at all accurate.

Well, as evenings go – I have had worse.

(A continuaution of In Your Room, part 1)

Some few days after the company’s return from Angmar.

A flutter of fabric, over the stairs. Cloaked. Hooded.

Some few days after the company’s return from Angmar.

The letter is neatly folded, the visible side only being labeled with "For Ninimil" in small script. It sits atop the heavy covers decorating a certain patron's bed, presumably having been left there while the room was empty. Once unfolded, the page shows a carefully written note, the handwriting hinting it was written by a scholarly type or someone who has sent one too many letters.

He jumped from Petal without a sound and gave her a smile, letting her stay in front of the inn freely - she did not need his input.

He stepped into the dusty room, it was not his own but it was close enough. His eyes flew over the faces around, some he had known well, some he had only seen, some unknown to him still. The strangers would look at him, exchange a whisper.

The fire was lit without much difficulty. He had watched others do it so many times in recent days that his movements started forming somewhat of a routine. He knew he was being helpful, and he relished in that feeling.