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Old 05-08-2007, 09:30 AM   #140
Messenger of Hope
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Join Date: Jun 2005
Location: In a tiny, insignificant little town in one of the many States.
Posts: 5,228
Folwren is battling Black Riders on Weathertop.Folwren is battling Black Riders on Weathertop.
Uldor approaches Drenda

As soon as Brodda left him, Uldor set about preparing himself for the feast. He washed his face and his hands and then changed from his dark clothes into another outfit of lighter material with brighter colors. The contrast of the light blue and white cloth against his dark skin was handsome, but almost harsh.

He finished dressing and went once more to the window. The sun had disappeared behind the hills and darkness was falling with swift shadows over the earth. Torches were lit down in the courtyard, and before the door, a great square of light fell out on the ground. Some people were already arriving.

Uldor set his back against the corner made by the wide window sill. He lifted one foot and placed it on the sill, folding his arms over his chest and looking out. From where he half sat, he could view quite easily all the comings and goings of the courtyard and who entered the door. Behind him, the room was unlit, and he stood unobserved in the window.

When he decided that enough people had come, he left the window sill and went into the darkness of his room. He picked up a belt with a jeweled dagger hung on it and strapped it around his waist. Then he went out, composing his face to meet the unpleasant business of the evening - he hated acting the host and having to be polite.

For all his dislike of it, Uldor did an excellent job acting the part. He was actually smiling as he entered the hall and glanced around to see what guests had arrived. He continued to smile even when his glance told him that Jord had not arrived. The elves had not come yet, either, which was almost a blessing in itself.

Uldor heaved a small, unnoticeable sigh, hiding it well behind his smile. He looked at the lords of the hall, talking together as though no troubles existed. He looked over them once more, and his eyes settled on the young stripling Drenda, seated on one of the benches lined against the wall. Beside him, sat another, heavier, duller looking fellow, and a bit of actual amusement came into Uldor’s smile.

He approached Drenda slowly. “Good evening, lad,” he said. “How does your mother fair of late? I have not seen or spoken to her of late.”
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