A fair-haired, tall man with deep brown eyes arose from his table where a pint of ale and a block of cheese sat.
"Greetings, Ithilelen. My name is Thorondor. I would gladly give you direction, but to where?"
Ithilelen sighed. "Ah, but the answer to that I do not know. There is a place, a location undefined, that I must visit. All I know is that I must go to a rich green hill with a hand of darkness atop it."
Thorondor hesitated, then began to speak again. "There is one place that may be, but I dare not speak its name aloud." He leaned forward and spoke quietly in her ear, "There is one place-the Slopes of Deep. Atop a rich green hill, there is a large black stone in the shape of a clutching hand. It is said to have been formed by...a being of pure evil."
Ithilelen widened her eyes, and said firmly "That is my destination."
Thorondor sighed, and replied "Then that is where I will take you."
[ December 29, 2002: Message edited by: piosenniel ]
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