The Golden Perch Inn

[Loslote]

Idhreniel blanched when she looked at the man. He was covered in blood, and was beginning to cough it up. "Oh Eru," she whispered, starting to spring to her feet and tripping over her chair in the process.

Glancing repeatedly over her shoulder at the bleeding man, Idhreniel ran to the kitchens, skirting around the edges of the room. "Sir!" she said, breathless, when she got to the innkeeper. "There's a man. I don't know who he is. He's hurt, and bleeding, and sir, he needs help. Send for a healer, or something. He's bleeding badly!" Idhreniel shut her mouth forcefully - she was starting to babble on. She turned and hurried back to Mithalwen and the man.

"The innkeeper, or one of the staff, have gone for help," she said. "What can we do until then, Mithalwen? Do you know any healing?"

All she could do was bandage small wounds, and she was poor enough at that. Half the time she forgot to bathe the wound first and - oh. Right. Bathe the wound.

"Do we have water? To wash the wound?" she asked, voice growing higher every time she spoke as she grew more and more upset. "Then again, maybe we should just wait until the healer gets here. But can we? How badly is he hurt?"

[Ghanberryghan]

Aeridor had finally reached the Golden Perch Inn. He was a lanky man of about 31 with brown hair down to his shoulders and a rather large black cloak covering him with the hood up. In his right hand he grasped an oak staff, and in his left he held a map of Eriador splayed out.

It was evident he had been traveling many a mile, and that the elements had not been so kind to him, but the look of relief on the man's face when he saw the round door to the Inn-built-in-to-the-hill defied his struggles. He was from the north east, from Forodwaith, but he had lost his family and was forced to leave after the rise of Angmar. He had an immensely strong will and could be quite persuasive if his will was strong enough, but he was also very greedy and stubborn.

"Built like an elf, but with the mind of a dwarf" his family used to say to him, and he chuckled at the thought of it, but a frown quickly came across his face as he remembered their passing. After fleeing Forodwaith he had made it to as far as Bree, where he started up an organisation known as MESS: Middle Earth Supremacy Sanction, which believed in the mortal's superiority, and bore a strong dislike for Angmar - as it was ruled by the immortal Witch-King - and inevitably the elves. He had been advised to come to this inn specifically by one of few recruits, so he set off on a journey to get here - mainly because he wanted to explore.

Aeridor's brown eyes gleamed with excitement and ambition as he walked up to the Golden Perch Inn eager to recruit members, and hopefully bring about his intent of mortal supremacy. MESS was hardly known, but Aeridor saw this as an advantage, and would keep his true ideas to himself until he had members.

He entered the Inn and found himself in the common room, where there was a man lying on the floor bleeding. A few people were gathered around him so Aeridor quickly took off his cloak and leaned his staff against the door. He rushed up to the man and examined him. "What's happened here? Do you need any assistance?" They were waiting for a healer, which luckily Aeridor had obtained skills of during his road life. He looked at who the people were; they were elves - members of a race he fiercely stood against and hated, yet helping a man possibly bleeding to death.