Bree

Saerias found me in my usual spot by the fountain, he had brought a bottle of Shire brandy to repay the one I had given him a day or so ago, and the gesture touched me. My opinion of this fellow fluctuates as each day passes. One minute he does something that makes me think there is more to him than meets the eye; more than just fence leaning and wandering, but then he acts in a way that makes me think him a ruffian. 

It was late afternoon in the valley when Kennet advanced along the paths of Rivendell, flanked by colorful trees. The smell of dampness was palpable even though it had not rained all day, and a feeling of being in a paradisiacal wild forest flooded him, despite the fact that he was walking through the interior of the elven enclave.

Kennet had to ask again to understand what elf Canaddal was telling him. In his serene and distant voice, the elf repeated his words again:

There’d been word of the Order organization again. A similar name -- of the night this time, rather than of seven stars -- but similar enough to the previous cult to make Enniliel nervous. Saeradan was concerned too, but insisted on investigating himself this time.

OOC note: this is a rewrite of a previously written story to more accurately represent events from the RP that happened

“Investigate, lass. Earn their trust and figure out what’s going on. I cannot tell if they’re an aid or wolves masquerading as sheep.”