The jolly hobbit entered the dimly lit hall of the Green Dragon. His dark curls bounced around his brow as he moved himself to an empty bench. Setting himself down he took a glance around. This place was bustling with activity.
He snorted, there was too much Took blood running through the veins of these hobbits that was for sure. The bartender brought him a half-pint and he wrapped his chubby fingers round it.
He chuckled to himself as his lips emerged from the drink covered in froth. "Ay, blessed is he who decided I was not to be of the wandering kind..." He took another sip of his ale, looking at all the many races that were present. "Sure are a lot of strange folk abroad..." He meant that in a nice way of course, for calling elves and dwarves strange could have disastrous results no doubt.
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Ad Astra Per Aspera (A rough road leads to the stars)
"Faithless is he that says farewell when the road darkens"
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