The Green Dragon Inn #11 - The Last Chapter

[Nurumaiel]

Bingo returned to the table with tea for all who had requested it, and he placed one of these cups in Iadarion's hand, smiling kindly. "Here, sir," he said. "Please do drink this tea. It will make you feel a bit better, I think." And then he sat down next to Iadarion with his own cup of tea and appeared as though to begin conversation when he was interrupted.

The interruption was by Posco. He had been sitting quietly and shyly in his chair, looking at the newcomers with no little curiosity, and this curiosity had grown and grown until it overcame his shyness and, staring at Twylight, he blurted out, "What are you? I do mean, you are one of the Big Folk, that much is obvious, but are you a Man or are you... are you an Elf?" He was blushing furiously but now his eyes were wide with a sort of panic to finish what he was saying whether it cost him his life or no. He turned to Iadarion. "And what race are you?" He turned to Lily. "And what race are you?" He turned to Marcho. "And what race are you?" He stopped, stared in panicked confusion, and then sunk deep into his chair, staring miserably into his tea.

Marcho stood abruptly to his feet. "Interesting and very good questions," he said. "If we are all to become friends perhaps we might as well know. As you can see Bingo, Posco, and I are Hobbits. What are you? Now excuse me." He hurried to the counter where no one could see him and laughed until he felt near to choking. He would never, never in all his life, forget the expression on Posco's face when he had turned to him and cried, "What race are you?"

[Gorothlammothiel]

Soronume stood once more looking upon the Green Dragon. He was not a stranger to the Inn. Indeed, it had been a very long time since he had last stepped foot inside the inn, but he could still remember its warmth and the friends he had made long ago.

A personal quest had taken Soronume far from the safety of the inn, and it had occupied some months of his time, so he was greatly looking forward to seeing it again. He rather hoped that there would be some familiar faces in there, and that they were not too offended at his sudden departure without a word but rather glad of his safe return, though his jouney had not left him unscathed.

Soronume looked the same as always, his journey hadn't changed his appearance a great deal. His dark hair which covered his face in shadows, his dark eyes that could tell a tale of their own. He himself was covered with a little dirt but nothing a bit of fresh water couldn't ammend. The cut to his forearm had all but healed and just the dried blood remained. His bruisng, luckily, was covered by his cloak.

His apparel showed signs of more wear than before but then that was to be expected. His tunic, surprisingly was intact; it's deep green colour a little soiled but the colour still apparent in certain lights. The belt from which his small sword in its elaborate scabbard hung was a little lower than usual, but it could be fixed in the correct, skilled hands. His quiver and bow remained the same as ever.

His legs were covered in a dark coloured garment that was also soiled of late, and his boots showed signs of considerable wear. His cloak however, that would surely show his travels in great detail; not only was it soiled so that it's original colour inconcievable, it was frayed and worn, and a rather large tear graced the left side that reached some 8 inches or so in length.

Never-the-less, Soronume was not afraid to enter the inn despite his rugged appearance. He knew the inn was welcoming and quite used to characters such as himself. Even those which carried such an heir of mystery about them. He walked forward and pushed aside the door, apparently unoticed. Still cloaked and hooded, as usual, he took seat near the bar...