The Golden Perch Inn

A cool breeze followed as Severian turned the bend on yet another patchwork dirt road. The hill behind him descending into the distance, as if another insignificant memory, empty and meaningless. The breeze though colorful and refreshing hindered the tall Gondorians’ vision as his medium length hair wisped in front of his eyes. Removing the hand that had been secured to the strap from which hung his steel shield, Severian pushed back his matted hair with a single brush of his gloved hand.

Returning the recently used hand to its ordinary assigned position the cloaked wanderer lifted his gaze to the forefront of his view. There nestled as if by divine meaning in the distance lay a simple little inn, built humbly into the side of one of the Shire’s many hills. A smirk found its way to the stern figures’ face as he chuckled lightly at the thought of little hairy Hobbits stumbling back and forth with all many of cooking tools to prepare a proper meal. Generally Severian would not stop at such a place, especially in his travel-weary, gruff-looking state. Yet something felt different about this establishment, and his conscience rebuked otherwise.

With a quickly jerked nod and small chuckle the Son of Severius fastened his cloak’s brooch tighter and quickened his pace towards the hovel-like structure in hopes of a comfortable room, some ale, and a warm hearth. After all, his coin purse had been growing heavy as of late.

Leaning his sword hand on “Sorrow”, the large blade that lay at his side, Severian stepped towards the small oval shaped door. Extending his off-hand he pushed forth, his black Gondorian bracers, bearing the White Tree showing for only a moment as they appeared from the folds of his brown cloak for the motion’s duration. Bending his head he stepped forth through the threshold and into a lively and peaceful common room.

Snapping his head back suddenly as to let his cowl fall backwards, he scanned the room until he found the bar counter to his right. Paying no heed to the other patrons the young Gondorian sat himself at the stool nearest the corner propping his feet up against the nearest stool. He pondered for a moment if he should sharpen his skinning knife but instead stayed his hand.

Leaning back against the wall Severian sighed enjoying the atmosphere, his sword and right hand invisible to the naked eye under the folds of his cloak. Settling himself deeper into the wall Severius nodded at the rather intoxicated looking man aside him, and with a smirk turned his attention to the kitchen side of the bar, waiting for the barkeep.