[Elu Ancalime]

At the sound of lute, almost as if it were a bleak heralding, a fatigued elf entered the Inn. He was of Noldor ancestery; he was tanned from his labors that no other knew of. He wore a leather jerkin, and travelling boots, with mud dried on the sides. He had long brown hair, and grey eyes to match. At a height of six feet, he towered above hobbits and many men alike. His name was not known to anyone in the Dragon, and nobody seemed to want to know it or his business. He had a small pack consisting of a waterskin, two small pots, and other overnight travelling gear. Although he boasted no weapon openly, he carried an elvish sword similar to those of the Last Alliance.

He walked up to a local, and asked him who to ask to he rent a room. He was directed to one of the Inn keepers at a counter, and payed him around thirty gold coins for a fortnight, and the keeper took the coins thankfully, and then he was surprised, then suspicous. Why would this visitor be so content with overpaying him? How does he has this wealth to throw around? Did he notice the party out front? Don't idle on it, he told himself. Dwarves seem to have hoards of gold, silver, and jools, or so the tales say. He's probably a a travelling salesman of sorts.

After leaving his gear in his room, the mysterious elf returned to the front lawn for his small dinner. A small honey cake, another cake of cram, and a goblet of miruvor with an addition of what seemed like river-water satisfied his hunger and thirst. With no more notice of whence he entered the Dragon, he retired to his bed, for a long rest he had not had in a long time.