Post by Admin on Mar 2, 2021 4:07:25 GMT
Author: ChiaraMeldis
Challenge: Anonymity
Location: Bree (The prancing Pony)
Characters: A ranger of the North, a barkeeper, guests
Rating: K
Summary: A ranger of the north has come to Bree, attracting - not wanted - attention.
Challenge: Anonymity
Location: Bree (The prancing Pony)
Characters: A ranger of the North, a barkeeper, guests
Rating: K
Summary: A ranger of the north has come to Bree, attracting - not wanted - attention.
He entered the pub, hood pulled up, stopping at the counter. Grey eyes mustered the room. Not his preferred ambiance, anyway he was here for a reason.
The barkeeper mustered him suspiciously. Which kind of trouble has now entered his pub again? These Rangers of the North came out of nowhere. It was not a good omen. They never were.
The stranger calmly asked for a room. At least this one had manners. He handed him the key.
The man bowed his head and searched his pockets for change. When he paid, the bar keeper spotted a green and silver ring. Uncommon among these rangers. Had it been stolen? The hooded man noticed it, quickly pulled his hand back, and took a seat in the corner, far off. Already he merged in the shadow and stifling air, spread among his pub. Good.
"First time here, Sir?"
Every guest had turned around to the newly arrived man. He was known among them, yet unknown because no one knew his full name.
He answered their looks, so they guessed (his hood hid his eyes completely), with a strength and wisdom kindled, it frightened them. They were glad when he willingly looked away and filled his pipe. He would not speak. He never did.
This foolhardy young lad. He challenged him.
A mistake.
"No. It’s not."
The man had leaned forward the hood had slipped back, yet not enough to see his face. His pipe smoke filled the air.
"It’s not," he repeated with a frown.
He leaned back again.
They put their heads together.
Will they never stop?
He took one last draft, then stowed away his pipe, viewing the people absently. They all had at least one thing in common: anonymity.
Mostly unseen. Mostly unheard. However, he knew what they did not. He knew for the shadow that had awoken. They weren´t afraid about events yet to be. Only they were afraid of what affected their well-being and security directly. And, currently, the man on the chair in the corner far off was their only concern.
He inhaled sharply.
Anonymous, yes.
Anonymous, but not unnoticed. Not, Strider.
Men were too curious. Openly curious. Especially here in Bree.
He knew they pondered about his real name. But, no, the time was not right. Not yet.
He looked out of the window. Mister Baggins obviously will not come today.
He looked about one last time and left the table.
He bowed his head then exited the taproom.
Enough. Enough for a while.
They watched him leave and here and there, guests took a deep breath.
When he was out of view, they celebrated boisterous again. A few tables discussed his errand. Many banned his name from every conversation.
His presence and absence worried them.
This man was dangerous.
A Ranger of the North.
Not a good omen.
Are they in danger?
The barkeeper mustered him suspiciously. Which kind of trouble has now entered his pub again? These Rangers of the North came out of nowhere. It was not a good omen. They never were.
The stranger calmly asked for a room. At least this one had manners. He handed him the key.
The man bowed his head and searched his pockets for change. When he paid, the bar keeper spotted a green and silver ring. Uncommon among these rangers. Had it been stolen? The hooded man noticed it, quickly pulled his hand back, and took a seat in the corner, far off. Already he merged in the shadow and stifling air, spread among his pub. Good.
"First time here, Sir?"
Every guest had turned around to the newly arrived man. He was known among them, yet unknown because no one knew his full name.
He answered their looks, so they guessed (his hood hid his eyes completely), with a strength and wisdom kindled, it frightened them. They were glad when he willingly looked away and filled his pipe. He would not speak. He never did.
This foolhardy young lad. He challenged him.
A mistake.
"No. It’s not."
The man had leaned forward the hood had slipped back, yet not enough to see his face. His pipe smoke filled the air.
"It’s not," he repeated with a frown.
He leaned back again.
They put their heads together.
Will they never stop?
He took one last draft, then stowed away his pipe, viewing the people absently. They all had at least one thing in common: anonymity.
Mostly unseen. Mostly unheard. However, he knew what they did not. He knew for the shadow that had awoken. They weren´t afraid about events yet to be. Only they were afraid of what affected their well-being and security directly. And, currently, the man on the chair in the corner far off was their only concern.
He inhaled sharply.
Anonymous, yes.
Anonymous, but not unnoticed. Not, Strider.
Men were too curious. Openly curious. Especially here in Bree.
He knew they pondered about his real name. But, no, the time was not right. Not yet.
He looked out of the window. Mister Baggins obviously will not come today.
He looked about one last time and left the table.
He bowed his head then exited the taproom.
Enough. Enough for a while.
They watched him leave and here and there, guests took a deep breath.
When he was out of view, they celebrated boisterous again. A few tables discussed his errand. Many banned his name from every conversation.
His presence and absence worried them.
This man was dangerous.
A Ranger of the North.
Not a good omen.
Are they in danger?