The light of newly risen sun glinted off the golden posts of Meduseld above and beyond the entrance to the White Horse Inn. On this crisp Novemeber late morning, a rather unremarkable looking man wearing travel-stained grey made his way slowly to the well known inn.
Though Anglachel was new to these parts, being originally from the area around Esgaroth, his regular travels as a merchant and goods trader allowed him to be comfortable at any inn.
As he approached the door, Anglachel finished humming his favorite traveling poem:
'Two roads diverged in a wood, and I-
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.'
Finishing this verse, he entered the White Horse and made his way to the bar.
As an experienced journeryman, Anglachel was not too surprised by the amazing diversity of the inn's patrons. Nevertheless, he could not help but make note of the intriguing makeup of the crowd. Still, a traveler who's favorite place in the world is a cosy inn, will find little adjustment time is necessary as soon as one key prequisite is met. This condition he immediately satisfied by ordering an ale from the cadaverous looking barkeep.
Ale in hand, Anglachel could now fully relax and reflect on his purpose for making the journey to this particular tavern. Though everyone around him was a new face, he knew well of the innkeeper, and perhaps more importantly, knew of her reputation for running an establishment of only the hightest quality.
He took a deep swallow of the fine, dark ale and began to wait for whatever may happen next.
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