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Old 01-14-2003, 02:27 PM   #98
Rimbaud
The Perilous Poet
 
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Join Date: Apr 2002
Location: Heart of the matter
Posts: 1,096
Rimbaud has just left Hobbiton.
Pipe

The tale went on, and the crowd gathered around the story-tellers. An air of warmth and happiness suffused the common room. The laughter, the mirthful tears and the general sense of glee with the story swam around them. Eyes sparkled and wits blinded, as the story held them entranced, men, women, children and other monsters.

Estelyn, pale, thin and covered in a thick blanket sat at the centre, smiling as she wove the stories from the apointed tellers. Rimbaud lounged most unprofessionally upon his desk, gently ading and abutting the story; he did receive one or two exasperated looks, which he replied with a most forthright eye.

Smoke from the fire wreathed up among the beams, curling, twisting. The Inn was indeed a jolly and comfortable place to be this eve. What fine tales were being told!

Unseen, or unnoticed, the staff at the Inn bought food and refilled cups, cleared messes and guided guests. Those with sharper eyes, whose wits were less addled by the smoke, ale and merriment, may have noticed that each of the servers now bore a thick, short knife at the belt, in a plain sheath. The Innkeeper's own scabbarded blade leant against the great black desk, an unheard of event. The scabbard appeared freshly polished and the hilt rebound.

Those with the sharpest eyes of all would notice that Rimbaud's apparent relaxation and enjoyment masked a fierce tension. To those closest to him, he seemed a tightly coiled spring.

Yet the evening went on, and the story drew more and more laughs and the atmosphere of well-being was hard to dispel...
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