[Novhloke]

Novhloke's sweaty hands quickly ran to the hilt of his elvish sword, as if startled from a black dream. 'Hearing of Balrogs, The Nazgul and Black things from the land of shadow is not a bedtime story.' he told himself.
He looked up, and as he did the storyteller was seemingly finishing his story, a sad and black one, but non the less entertaining.'Quite entertaining for the orcs in Minas Ithil!' chuckled Novhloke
With that note he grasped for his pipe and some weed, he seached and searched for his matches. He found none.'Oy!' he said, and smacked himself 'were did my matches go? clumsy me!'
'ey, you have a match i can use, i seem to have forgotten mine.'
'Why sure Mr. Novhloke!' said a hobbit in the usual hobbit way.
'Thanks a bunch, you might not be needin' weed? would you, i got plenty'
'Why no tanks kind sir, we have a bunch, and we have more at home, sitting in the garden growing, growing, and growing, soon were going to smoke them in here, listening to wonderfull tales of these folk from all over the place!'
'Well nice seeing you, good-bye' Novhloke ended the discussion.
He lit the match and smoked the pipe.

Then a strange man walked in.