[Nuinatariel]

Reining in her black horse, Lëowen stopped in front of the magnificent hall. A blood-red carpet stretched in front of the door, covered with reporters, some of which were looking a bit unsteady on their feet. Handing over her mount to a parking-orc, Lëowen headed toward the doors, trying not to be seen by the reporters. Fortunatly, they were distracted when two of the security-Uruks began fighting. She managed to sneak past undetected.


"Hand over your weapons," growled the Uruk at the door. Reluctantly, Lëowen handed him her longbow and quiver of arrows. "Go on in." said the Uruk. Lëowen nodded, and stepped inside.


About half of the hall's occupants were out cold, draped over chairs, couches, and tables, while some simply sprawled on the floor. Lëowen glanced around nervously. She didn't really know anyone here. A waiter approached her, asking what she wanted to drink. "Water, please." she told him, not wanting to end up like the comatose guests.


Casting another glance at her surroundings, Lëowen headed toward an empty table. Sinking into a chair, she sipped at her water. This should get interesting, she thought to herself; watching as couples in various stages of drunkeness stumble around in time to the music.