[HerenIstarion]

Greycvlad figure of HerenIstarion tried to behave as everybody, but his faltering and weak claps, though out of tune and rythm, were drawned in general clamour. Terrible hangover was hammering even the wisper into his head, and the shoutings of the crowd and banging orchestra were a real torture. He was not quite sure how exactly did he spend last several days. He was not even sure there were several days in between his peaceful sleep on the sofa and the sound of orchestra, which dragged him out of alcohol misted warmth into coldness of sobriety with chilling blows of a hangover. His fogged memories showed strange images - like drinking some orkish cocktails with Uruk guards and swearing friends and promising go hunting together 'like good old times', or arguing over absurdity of wings as theological issue unto the face of Gothmog, who, luckily was rather humoured by the fact

"did I do all that? Well, I have to believe I did. And what all this clamour is about? they are giving away free tombstones? hah, sure thing - the only left for a while after death must be a tombstone. Just if anyone would be kind enough to bring me some soda or something"

He looked around for a waiter with a tray of anything reviving, haven't found any, sighed and turned to the stage again