The White Horse

[Carrûn]

The door of the Inn creaked open in protest and a shadowed figure glided through with the cold breeze wailing behind it. A dark, weathered man, old to the casual glance but with piercing green eyes that betrayed his youth. His dark brown hair fell loosely around his shoulders which were covered by a billowing cloak which was blackened by wear and tear; all this building an omnious presence around him. No blade was obvious but a glint of steel flashed from various sections of his garmets as he moved.

Avoiding eye contact with the other patrons and ignoring the bar entirely he made his way to a seat close to the fire and as far away as possible from the center of attention. He let out a small groan as numerous joints popped as he streatched his legs. Producing a pipe from within his jerkin he spent some time in frustration before it finally lit. A wisp of smoke curled around his face and raced the flames towards the ceiling.

The man stared at the fire in thought. Even for the well-travelled there were firsts. While his many journies had taken him through the land of Rohan he had never stayed in any establishment there before. His eyes swept across the room, but any of the others who momentairly caught his gaze quickly dropped it. He sighed and allowed himself to sink into a light slumber, the pipe still in the corner of his mouth.