[Rimbaud]

Hiding his fear at the Wight standing so close, Rimbaud steeled himself, and turned to face it.

"Indeed," he went on. "The White Horse will experience many tales and those of such exotic strangers are of no lesser creed. My only hope is that they are told in the correct manner, that you described! For I would dearly love to see new Tales scribed in the Great Book of Rohan." With this last, he gestured to the great black-bound tome. The Wight nodded slowly, then repaired to the bar.

Rimbaud sat down again, adjusting his dark ash-grey tunic, and shaded his eyes from the bright candles around. He peremptorily ordered a local ale, and was surprisd when the serving-man thumped the flagon down on the table, splashing his sleeve. He looked up, as to remonstrate, but the man had already moved on to another customer.

Rimbaud sighed, and set to drying the fabric as best he could. Those at his table felt some disquiet at his temper and remained silent, for a time. Elsewhere in the Inn, one of the Elvish creed was starting up a Tale, his mellifluous tones carrying through the room, as people fell silent to listen.

[ November 22, 2002: Message edited by: Rimbaud ]