Roryn entered the hustle and bustle of the Hollowdale Swan inn. He sometimes felt that he almost liked this place, but he dissmissed this as sentimentality. Of all that he wore his dark brown leather breastplate with the white tree on was the only reminder of his past, the rest was just light brown cloth. He chuckled absentmindedly as he called for an ale. People cast the occasional odd look at him, or more specifically, at his sword and bow. It had been a sad day when he had been released from service, but he supposed it was for the best. He had enough money to buy ale now, and there was no place better to spend your time than Ithilien.
He took out a long pipe and put the end in his mouth. Deep he breathed and let the smoke slowly out of his mouth, attempting to shape it but failing miserably. He smiled once again and leaned back on his chair, watching the door with no real purpose except to see who entered and who went out...
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