"What, pray, is so good about this morning?" came the impudent reply. The Wight quelled the impulse to strangle the wretched mortal and instead bade him enter.
Rimbaud strolled in, examining every aspect of Bethberry's cosy tavern. He was dressed in his usual dark grey tunic, blue sash now jauntily slashing across his chest from his left shoulder to his right hip. After his initial perusal, he went straight to the table in the corner, where lay the Great Book of Rohan, and the tale of Thenamir's Journey and Guthrin's Lament. He sat, slowly, and immersed himself in the great legend.
He heard others enter and the Wight greet them cordially. What an odd replacement Innkeeper, he thought to himself. He found himself rather troubled by the dark and menacing presence of the fell creature but he pretended, studiously, not to mind.
"I hope we see some fine story tellers in The White Horse," he murmured to himself. The fire crackled warmly and the kitchens were abustle behind him.
[ November 20, 2002: Message edited by: Rimbaud ]
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And all the rest is literature
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