The Forsaken Inn

[Valandil]

Valandil mutters under his breath, "just be happy they got some."

Then, for all to hear, he welcomes the newcomer and tells him the ale is "The very best he'll find between here and Bree!"

What he doesn't say is that it's the ONLY ale he'd find between here and Bree.

[Curufin]

[ooc] Well, since being Curufin is completely out of the picture, I'll bring in Gildor, since everyone loves him so much...[/ooc]

The door opened and a tall Elf walked in. Golden-haired and blue eyed, he was dressed in a blue tunic with silver-embroidery, with shining silver leggings cross-gartered with deep blue ribbon. His hair was long, but held back by two small braids that met in the back with a silver clasp. Over the ensemble he wore a flowing cloak.

He looked around him for a moment before selecting an empty seat near two men speaking about the ale. This was not a normal place for him to be, but it was a chilly night, and it was good to get out of the weather.

'Good evening,' he said in the language of Gondor.

[The Dread Pirate Roberts]

He looks around, not quite sure about this place, or the other newcomer.
"Good evening to you, miss, er, ma'am, er, sir." he tells the Elf uncertainly. "Can I buy you an ale?"

[Curufin]

Gildor raised an eyebrow, looking a bit amused.

'It is 'sir', if you must use such titles,' he said. 'Gildor Inglorion of the House of Finarfin. And you are?'

He looked at the ale with distaste.

'Thank you, but no. I do not drink such things.'

[orithil]

*Through the door comes a figure with black hair, black armour with a gold trim and tanned skin looking INCREDIBLE up himself*

"Greetings everyone, it is I" he laughs "Hedrim Valdaes lord of the North, get me your finest drink and food" he nodds to the crowd who all look rather stuned by how incredible up himself he is.

He then takes a seat and begins to eat while talking with the bar keep.

[Eilonwy]

Out of the kitchen skips Eilonwy with a tray of drinks. ( Elf ale too! )
And she asks "who wants what drink" and begins to pour.

[Gordis]

The door opens and a slender Elf clad in forest green walks in. He stops looking around uncertainly. The room is reeking of pipe-weed and is full of all sorts of scary mortals.
Suddenly the Elf’s eyes light. He notices another of the Firstborn and rushes to him, deftly avoiding a woman with a tray full of mugs. Landing in a chair by the table he smiles happily to the Elf and the two Men at his table and proudly announces in a heavily accented Sindarin:

“I am Legolas. Prince of Mirkwood. Elbereth be praised, I see another Elf!“ Then his eyes narrow as he surveys Gildor apprehensively. “But don’t you happen to be one of them Noldor?”

[Curufin]

Gildor raised an eyebrow in condescending amusement as the young elf threw himself into a chair in front of him.

'Indeed,' he said softly, 'and I believe you 'happen to be one of them Sindar'. And quite a young specimen, if I judge correctly. Does your father know that you are here?'

[Gordis]

“Of course! My father the King did sent me himself to see the world! I mean… Why wouldn’t I travel on my own? I am an Elf grown now! Not like you, children” – he waved dismissively at the Men. “I have seen many an oak grow from acorn to ruinous age – a whole grove of them, in fact. There is a nice oak grove by my door, you see.” He winked conspiratorially.

“But now may I ask your names? Dad told me not to talk with strangers, but I guess when people are introduced properly they are no strangers anymore...Right?”

[Snowdog]

It was a rough night. Winds from the west drove rain hard in waves right in his face. Siano stopped and dismounted at the first sight of the Forsaken Inn. He whispered some words to his horse as he freed her of his satchel,

"Take to the fields and roam free my friend. I will call when in need."

She turned reluctantly, then sprinted away as he turned and walked onward toward the Inn.

It had been some time years since he had been by here when he left Bree. It appeared things had changed, but then again, maybe not. More moss grew on the roof shakes as the trees seemed a bit bigger and the Inn more overgrown, and the sign hanging above the door squeaked in the wind swinging on one hook, the other having become detached. Siano made his way toward the door.

"The Forsaken Inn..."

The place seemed deserted, for no life could be heard coming from inside. Siano had travelled much of late, and his return to many places that were busy in times of old had found only ruins of the places he once knew. Would it be the same here? He would see.

The oak door was ajar, a hinge broken atop but the lower struggling to keep it upright. Inside, water dripped and flowed from dozens of leaks and holes in the roof, giving the place a damp, musty smell.

"Much better than sleeping out in the bush in this chill rain."

he muttered to himself. Making his way to the hearth, he felt the ash bed. He thought a slight bit of warmth could be felt from them, but not really. At least they were dry... sort of. He could get a fire going if he had some tinder. None was to be found, so Siano used his knife to sliver off some wood shavings from an old broken table leg. A few strikes from his old knife on a flint got them to start smoking. After careful tending, flame erupted. Siano used a few more bits of the broken table to get it to burn steady. Finally, one of the few logs that remained was sat upon it, and a sense of heat could actually be felt as the chill dampness of the air was chased away from the hearth.

The firelight illuminated the old common room, and Siano took to setting up the remaining tables and chairs that still had four legs. Going by the dust on everything, it looks like it had been a couple years since anyone had been here. Siano sat down for a minute in a chair by the hearth, but after a few minutes, its creaks gave way and it too made itself ready for the fire. His moment on the floor allowed him to find a broken candle, and a bit more searching turned up a holder. Forcing the end down into the holder, he cut away enough wax to allow the wick to be lit.

"Now to search for any possible food & drink"

He walked to the bar and sat the candle down there. An old wooden flagon sat there, and a tap of stale beer remained. A mouldy cheese block also was found, and with some draining of the keg, some potent aged ale came forth that wasn't bad if you didn't get some floating mould in your mouth. Siano's knife revealed cheese that was well preserved behind its layer of mould. It will do fine. For now. At least he wouldn't have to eat any more more jerky this night.

As Siano leaned against the bar, he wondered when anybody else was last around, and why it was so deserted.

"I wonder how things are in Bree these days."

he said softly to himself before walking over to stand by the fire...

[Acalewia]

OOC: Is this rp still going or did it die?

[Valandil]

OOC reply: this is just a place - and can support any number of stories. It's a 'come-and-go-as-you-please' arrangement - and is now 2911, Third Age.

Whoever from then is here - is here.

[Torongil]

I really think this is awesome... It MUST continue!

[Snowdog]

OOC: I tried to get it going again but nobody took the que, or I'm just a crappy writer. After several weeks I quit checking. I see it still hasn't gone anywhere. Hopefully it will again.

[Snowdog]

It had been years since Durian had ridden up the great road toward Bree. He had been watching from Amon Sul for months and hoped to find other Dunedain in Bree as he ventured toward that town to rest and re-supply.

The old Inn looked deserted as he rode up to the door. The rain fell steadily, and the wind made the weather-worn sign swing awkwardly from one of its two hooks. The other had rusted and broke. Durian dismounted and gave his horse a pat as he stepped on the porch. He reached up and stopped the sign from moving as he tried to read the weather-worn words. The Inn was all he could make out of it. He turned to the large oak doors. One was ajar just enough to be able to squeeze inside. The hinges were rusty, but with a bit of a push, the door squeaked closed.

Inside was dusty, as if it was simply abandoned by the proprietor. He walked over to the bar and looked at the dust. He could hear the water dripping onto the old well-worn wood floor near the fireplace, and so he pulled his flint out and used his knife to kindle some old shavings that were left in a kindling box, then once a flame was had, he lit a candle that was laying there on his side. The dim light flickered to life and he considered lighting some of the other candles that either stood or were knocked over on the tables. He used the now-burning kindling box to light a fire in the hearth to take the damp chill away from the place. There was still wood piled nearby, and even though some was dry rotted, it worked to get the flames to grow. Yes, he would stay here, at least until the rain passed.

Once the fire was burning hard, he set few small logs to cover it before he went outside to tend to his horse. He led her around back to the decrepit stable. Checking the beams, Durian deemed it safe enough for her to shelter in, for the rain was not going to let up any time soon. She settled into the old hay and he gave her a brush to allow the water to wash her some.

”I will be back soon missy.”

He said as he gave her some oats from his satchel. He checked his meagre supplies and knew he needed to get to Bree and re-supply. Maybe tomorrow, after the rain stops. Durian walked back into the inn by the back door to the kitchen and went in where the fire he had made was working on warming the place. He sat down by it and stared the flickering flames.

The constant drip of the rain leaking in echoed through the otherwise quiet empty inn and Durian moved a chair so he could put his feet on the hearth and he leaned back against the beam by the wall. The old oak whispered to him, hinting at many stories the inn had to tell … a table of Arnorian soldiers arguing over the impending division of Arnor, to rowdy drinking and quiet gatherings of Dunedain Rangers… couple talking as relationships were made and couples arguing as relationships were broken… whispers of plans and plots of good and ill, to death and blood, to intense love and deep feelings.

Durian could hear the whispers in his head, and he turned and slowly reached for the oak beam. A vision flashed in his mind when he set his hand on it. A fair maiden moving about the wood, her long raven hair swaying and wrapping about her shoulders. She turned and looked at him and smiled... Durian let go of the beam and blinked his eyes. He had a hard time gaining his breath and he set back up in the chair, putting his feet back on the floor. He felt strange, and though it was only a moment, it seared itself into him. He again stood and stepped over to the beam where he saw a slight glow. There on the beam was carved finely as if an Elven craftsman had worked it, a heart with the names Halrohir and Lonannuniel. His fingers came up to it but hesitated. He touched the name Halrohir and saw a brief vision of a handsome Dunedain ranger. When he moved his finger to the name Lonannuniel, a beautiful Elf maiden flashed in his mind. But she was not the same as the elf maiden he had seen earlier. When he placed his finger on the heart, he saw the two people very much in love and getting married. He retreated his hand from it and could see the glow where he had touched it had faded some.

He stared at it for a time until a loud pop from one of the logs on the fire broke his thoughts. An orange ember shot out and it bounced across the floor. Durian quickly stepped over and ground it out with his boot, kicking the hot remains into the puddle of water from the leaking roof. With his movement away from the beam, the visions faded in intensity in his mind and only became a vague memory. He decided to rummage around behind the bar to see if there was anything drinkable. There were a few bottles of wine still sealed, and a firkin of ale that seemed to have not leaked. He pounded the tap into it and tried some of it. A heavy black stout! It was smooth and very well aged. Happy that it hadn’t gone rancid from seepage, he looked for a tankard to fill. Durian found a clay one that was not broken, still sitting upside down on the shelf at the back of the bar. He opened the tap he had used on the firkin and filled the mug.

"This will do nicely."

he said to himself before walking back over by the fire. He sat on the hearth and leaned his back against the stones to the side of the fire. Sipping his ale, he sat and watched the steam rise from the leg of his wet breeches and listened to the rain on the roof as it intensified. Along with the heavier rain, the leaks in the roof dripped harder and faster and Durian lost himself as he sipped his ale, listening to the sounds of the rain and fire. He was aware that the smoke from the chimney would draw any others who happened to be passing by, so he stayed aware of the sounds as he daydreamed…