Prancing Pony

Hello, old friend! I haven't written to you for some time, have I? How have you been? Sitting in my saddlebags, gathering dust, I see.

I know it's been far too long, and perhaps you'd like to hear what I've been up to. No, not yet. I have more pressing concerns. But you know how I can be; how I tend to ramble, covering ideas from here, there, and everywhere in between. Maybe you'll catch snatches as I go.

The Prancing Pony is full of unruly people, fugitives from other lands, outcasts from other races, and so on, perhaps worse than the Forsaken Inn. The barkeep is known to have the best ale in the land, and I would have to agree, he does make good ale. I met with a woman by the name of Ellasraen, a beautiful darker skinned woman. She is from Trestlebridge, or so she says. A traveler, of sorts, if I recall correctly.

I left the hills and valleys of Linden behind with a heaviness upon my heart, in the knowledge than when next I set eyes upon the sea's beyond it shall likely be to carry me hence across the wide ocean and return to the West as did my father before me. Well it is that I rode upon the back of a good, human-bred horse purchased from the merchants of Thrain's Hall, ere my tred would have been heavy and slowed with a great weight of melancholy upon me.

23 Wintring

Taraborn was brought out of his day dream when she winked at him. The young woman had caught his stare and offered a cheeky wink in response before turning to giggle with her friends, occasionally looking back at him. He smirks and digs his heels into his steed to pick the pace up a little. He had been riding through the town, up the main road through Bree towards the Prancing Pony when he spotted her.