View Single Post
Old 09-15-2005, 07:22 AM   #311
Rimbaud
The Perilous Poet
 
Rimbaud's Avatar
 
Join Date: Apr 2002
Location: Heart of the matter
Posts: 1,096
Rimbaud has just left Hobbiton.
In the long-disused old dining room of the Seventh Star, dust lay calmly and unpeturbed. The brash new living room, some three times the size was sufficient for even a great many guests, and the Star had in any case been quieter of late.

Still, outside the locked door of the room, feet padded and thumped, voices called and intrigues played their melodies throughout.

In the top corner of the room, at the far end from the door on the wall nearest the fireplace, a blue velvet wall hanging was starting to come away from the wall. Dust fell from its curled blue edge, sparkling and glinting in the sunlight as it fell. The light blinked in through dusty windows, suffusing the room rich tans and ochres.

The wall hanging slipped a little more, and if there had been anyone to see, a very curious thing happened.

A small paper scroll slipped out from behind the hanging and drifted, unfurling as it fell through the glittering dust to the floor. Its thick papyrus stretching itself out as it fell, it bagan to rotate and swell.

Before it reached the floor, the parchment had calmly and unobtrusively resolved itself into a familiar form in grey and blue. The figure, of medium height and slim build, straightened the odd blue sash that flowed from right-hand shoulder to meet a thinner blue belt at the waist and made silently for the door. Small handfuls of dust puffed into the air from his soft footsteps.

Although he appeared to use no key, merely to stroke the handle, the lock clicked, and the thick wooden door swung towards the grey figure, as noiselessly as if it had been well-oiled in the years since it's last apparent use.

The figure paused in the hall, head turning, then flitted towards the sound and noise of the common room double doors at the end of the hall.

Slipping unobserved through the crack in the doors, the figure skirted the small gathering of drinkers at the centre tables to come to a standstill before a large wall-mounted oak board, upon which golden characters were elegantly scribed. A list of names it was, headed by a notice proclaiming their valiance.

Removing a shadowed something from within his tunic, the figure acted swiftly and quietly, unseen by the room's other occupants, who paid no heed, preferring the crackle of the fire and the ministrations of the barkeeps. Yet, although no sound was made, and although none see the figure leave as silently as it had come, a new name stood in letters on the board; carved as if it had ever been there, stood the name Fordim Hedgethistle.

The business of the Inn paused as people came to their realisations, and paused again as drinks were raised to the newest name on the List; the door to the fogotten dining room remained closed and seemingly undisturbed as always.
Rimbaud is offline