[Ransom]

While the majority of the guest had arrived and made their way into the Great Hall of the White Tower of Gondor, a small number of tardy creatures continued to stream down the red carpet under the watchful eyes of the orcish guards. Their captain, a bulky but still intelligent orc, remained vigilant, carefully looking over each visitor for any hidden arms. In the past few days, the Urks had received constant reminders of the price of failure to obey orders. Most of the guards who had been found wanting had been assigned to stand watch over the protesters. The sight of one of their comrade-in-arms dangling from a flag poll by his underwear had spurred the remaining orcs into greater vigilance.

For probably the fiftieth time in the last three hours, the orcish captain shielded his eyes and addressed a visitor. “You’ll ‘ave ta leave your weapons ‘ere with da guards, zir elf. Da weapons will be returned upon departure.”

While the orc was nearly six feet five inches tall slouching, the elf that stood in front of the guard was still a head taller. Ransom casually pulled open his heavy black traveling cloak and began to rummage through the various pouches clipped to his belt. In short order, the orc found himself the chaperone of three small knives, four sealed bottles full of yellow liquid, and a long sword. His black hair, despite being pulled back into a ponytail, still seemed somewhat messy. Nodding his thanks to the orc, who was attempting to juggle his new load without dropping or breaking anything, the elf threaded his way through the crowd toward the bar.