The door creaked open slowly. Two eyes peered around, taking in the warmth of the fire but feeling strangely out of place, as if the bearer felt he would rather be anywhere but near fire. Nontheless, he opened the door slowly, and with a last glance at his pony he stepped inside of the inn.
Dynaviir shifted his eyes around the room. He looked away from the fire, towards the many peoples and cultures before him. Hoping he could take refuge and disguise himself, he stepped away from the doorway, and closed the door behind him. He turned and stepped towards the far left corner of the room, trying to avoid attention. He knew his sword was out of place in it's sheath on his back, and did not yet know if he would have to part with it to stay in this strange inn. He walked far forwards and then stopped, looking down at one of the hobbits running past. The small people fascinated him. But none who were at level with his belt seemed to notice the leather or the hilt of his sword which were bound close to his robes.
He sat down in a dark corner away from flame. He wasn't sure if he wanted to converse on anything with anyone yet, but he knew he would need to at one point, and the inevitability seemed to appear more clearly on his mind. He sighed, and leaving his sickly green sack and his bag on the chair, he got up and walked towards the bar, eyeing his possessions as he went. He knew he may as well buy a drink, while he was here.
[ July 21, 2003: Message edited by: Dynaviir ]
[ July 21, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]
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