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piosenniel · 11-22-2002, 01:01 AM

It was a tricksy twist of time,they say, that brought the brown cloaked rider to the Inn's door. A sturdy brown horse it was, though, that bore him from Long Cleave to the door of the Green Dragon.

He was a Hobbit of some height, broad shouldered, fair of countenance, with a thick blond mass of curls. Beneath his cloak he wore a simple, long sleeved tunic of homespun cloth, and a pair of brown breeches cut to mid calf, and secured with a sturdy brass buckled belt. It was his vest that marked him as a Hobbit of some interest - a striking pattern of black and yellow diamonds shot through with thin red lines. His feet, of course, were bare.

Bolco was left to the able hands of the stable boy. His rider strode to the door of the Inn and through it just as the last verse and chorus of the Took's "Northern Version" rang out. He stood at the back of the room, eyes gleaming beneath his bushy brows, and watched the two singers bow and curtsy to one another. 'Fallohides!' he murmured. 'No mistaking them.'

'A pint!' he called out to the Inn keeper as he approached the bar and leaned on it.

'Make it two!' he said smiling broadly. 'The Bullroarer is thirsty tonight.'

[ November 22, 2002: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

11-22-2002, 01:01 AM	#18
piosenniel Desultory Dwimmerlaik Join Date: Mar 2002 Location: Pickin' flowers with Bill the Cat..... Posts: 7,779	It was a tricksy twist of time,they say, that brought the brown cloaked rider to the Inn's door. A sturdy brown horse it was, though, that bore him from Long Cleave to the door of the Green Dragon. He was a Hobbit of some height, broad shouldered, fair of countenance, with a thick blond mass of curls. Beneath his cloak he wore a simple, long sleeved tunic of homespun cloth, and a pair of brown breeches cut to mid calf, and secured with a sturdy brass buckled belt. It was his vest that marked him as a Hobbit of some interest - a striking pattern of black and yellow diamonds shot through with thin red lines. His feet, of course, were bare. Bolco was left to the able hands of the stable boy. His rider strode to the door of the Inn and through it just as the last verse and chorus of the Took's "Northern Version" rang out. He stood at the back of the room, eyes gleaming beneath his bushy brows, and watched the two singers bow and curtsy to one another. 'Fallohides!' he murmured. 'No mistaking them.' 'A pint!' he called out to the Inn keeper as he approached the bar and leaned on it. 'Make it two!' he said smiling broadly. 'The Bullroarer is thirsty tonight.' [ November 22, 2002: Message edited by: piosenniel ] __________________ Eldest, that’s what I am . . . I knew the dark under the stars when it was fearless - before the Dark Lord came from Outside.