Scholar's Guild

Like every day for the last two weeks, Kennet went to Bree to take care of various matters. But the young man was not fooling himself: he went to find out if there was a response from Rivendell.

The smell of stew, burnt wood and tobacco smoke permeated the atmosphere, but without being overwhelming. The main room of The Prancing Pony was large enough that the twenty or so people who were there were not crammed together. There was nothing to set this night apart from any other night: no suspicious group of travelers, no performances by musicians present beyond the quiet tunes of local bard Owen, no fights or affronts that would force Barliman to intervene...

The sound of hammer against anvil in the forge and axes against wood on the various work tables could be heard at an uneven pace at all times inside Three-farrow Crafting Hall. But the study area was at a lower level and separate from the rougher work area, and by some marvel of architecture the high ceilings of the hall seemed to attract the noises.