[Envinyatar]

Here is my post that will bring Veryadan, the man from Rohan, Nuranar's, Egallhugwen's, and rustlegolas' characters to The Prancing Pony, where the action for the game will begin:

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Envinyatar’s post

Arrival at the Trade Inn . . .

‘How the old place has changed,’ thought Veryadan as his eyes swept the little Inn which stood on the western bank of the Greyflood. In its prime it had been a welcome gateway for those wishing to travel quickly through the Shire, to pick up the Great East Road in the West Farthing, and from there west to the Emyn Beraid and the River Lune’s Grey Havens. Now the Shire had been closed to all outlanders by edict of the High King these many years, its Bounds fiercely guarded by the Shiriffs and their men. Only the traffic of men and the scarce Elven party bound for the north stopped now to refresh themselves.

The Inn had suffered, it seemed, from the shrinking commerce. The wood gone a little greyer; the railed front porch sunk under the weight of the many feet that had crossed into the welcome comfort of the common room; the wooden shingles gone quite mossy and some just gone. The image of an old man nearing his dotage crossed the Ranger’s mind as his horse trod down the ill-kept path. ‘We’ve both put on the years, old friend,’ he remarked to himself, his gloved hand coming up to tuck a bit of stray silver-streaked hair behind his ear. ‘Though of the two of us, I think I’ve fared the best.’

A familiar figure had come out onto the porch and was even now hailing them with a wave of his dish towel. There, hair gone greyer and girth wider, stood Haldon Rushy, mouth drawn up in a great grin, eyes sparkling even at this distance. ‘Tis a grand day, indeed! Four more patrons for the Missus to cook for and four more tongues to share the news of the road!’ He hurried as fast as his stout legs would carry him toward the approaching horses. ‘Here you!’ he called to his sons. ‘See to these good folks’ mounts!’ ‘And you!’ he exclaimed, taking the Ranger’s hand in his own ham-fisted grasp. ‘I’ve a small cask of the nut brown ale just finished off and ready for tapping.’

He peeked around Veryadan and nodded his head at the man and the two Elves who were just dismounting. ‘Now isn’t this a day for the Fair Folk,’ he whispered to the Ranger. ‘There’s two more what’s just come to my little establishment.’ he nodded toward the door with his chin. ‘There, in the common room . . . and isn’t my old gal happy to be feeding them!’ He tapped the side of his nose with his great stub of a finger. They’ve come all the way from Rivendell . . . I’ve yet to find out why, though . . .’

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The company of six rides north . . .

The late night of talking with the two Elves from Rivendell had paled into the next day’s dawn. Silrûth and Aidwain were bringing news westward from Rivendell. The old fastness of the Rangers in the Angle had brought troublesome news to Imladris – something was stirring up the trolls in that area. Patrols had been increased there, and several of the brutish giants had been driven off by the Rangers, with one Troll killed who had chosen to try his strength against them. The two Elves spoke of traveling southwest down the River Mitheithel, the Hoarwell as it was known to men, arriving finally at the Greyflood’s ford where stood the Inn. What small patrols of Rangers they happened upon, they brought news of the Troll activity, urging them to be on the lookout for similar problems in the areas they patrolled. And from many they picked up news of assaults and ill happenings to the north. They would go north from the inn to speak with others of the Rangers and gather what information the could before returning to Imladris.

Veryadan’s face was grim as he heard the news they brought. ‘Travel with us, if you will,’ he had offered Silrûth and Aidwain. ‘We are also bound north, at the behest of the King. He has had some reports of the disquiet in that area, though I do not think he knows the extent to which this ripple of shadow has spread.’ Tarondo nodded at the invitation as Envinyatar continued. ‘Two extra sets of eyes and blades would be welcome. And you need not fear that we might slow you down. We will head up the Greenway to Bree at first light.’

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At the sign of The Prancing Pony

And so it was the four companions found themselves now swelled to six with the addition of the party from Rivendell. Four days hard riding with only short, cold camp stops along the way brought them to Andrath, the narrow passageway between the Barrow-downs and the South Downs, through which the Greenway passed, heading north. A day and a half further and the six found themselves passing in through the West Gate, the welcoming archway and windows of the The Prancing Pony now well within their sights . . .