[The Barrow-Wight]

The Barrow-Wight watched the crowd grow slowly until many of the tables in the ‘Horse’ were filled with guests, some eating, some drinking, some together, some alone. He was particularly interested in the grey-clad Rimbaud who had gained the immediate interest of the older fellow who had just entered the room. The two had spoken quietly to each other for a minute, and then the older man had appeared to swoon, swaying until he’d nearly toppled over the seated Rimbaud. The Wight decided to intervene.

Crossing the room quickly but so smoothly that he appeared to almost float above the wooden planks of the floor, the Barrow-Wight slid into the corner behind Rimbaud and spoke softly into his ear, startling the scarred man and breaking his concentration in whatever it was that he was doing to the other man.

“Perhaps you should refrain from such activity while in the ‘Horse’,” he whispered, “or would you like to hear one of my own songs of the mind? You’ll not need to look in my eye to heed my tune.”

Slowly, as if someone or something was restricting his movement, Rimbaud turned his head to the Wight and smiled a dangerous but friendly grin. The elderly visitor let out a gasp as if air had been suddenly pushed into his lungs.

The Wight spoke again to Rimbaud. “Are you here scouting for potential Gondor recruits? If so, you are early. As of yet, we haven’t started one new game and are still waiting for the first brave proposals.”

“Let us hope they are good,” answered Rimbaud. “We will someday have need of the best players to fortify the Tower of The Sun.”