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With Only Hint of a Disguise.
"There is an inn, a merry old inn
beneath an old grey hill,
And there they brew a beer so brown
That the Man in the Moon himself came down
one night to drink his fill."
Bree.
The Inn's keeper is a large man who seldom can remember one day of the year from the next. Only few faces he can remember by sight, and only those outsiders who leave a lasting memory. On this day, leaving an impression is not my intent so as I planned I made for the entry of a gate while the day's light still shines upon The East Road and the gate is left wide open [without a keeper] for all to enter. Word can not spread if there is no one to pass it on. As for a name.. The Brandybuck's were known to ride out to Barliman's The Inn of the Prancing Pony without a passing thought left behind.
A dark ale in a friend's favorite corner where he is known to have a bit of pipe near the rising smoke from an ever lit fire. I can understand his liking for this spot, for vey few can glance your way for very long without having to turn away from the constant brightness of flames. I am glad though for the company of a small black cat that has found it's way onto my lap while I enjoy a bit of dinner and drink and await his arrival.
I would prefer, however, that the fire had a bit more fragrant log put onto it as some of the locals can be a bit pungent in the thick inn air.
beneath an old grey hill,
And there they brew a beer so brown
That the Man in the Moon himself came down
one night to drink his fill."
Bree.
The Inn's keeper is a large man who seldom can remember one day of the year from the next. Only few faces he can remember by sight, and only those outsiders who leave a lasting memory. On this day, leaving an impression is not my intent so as I planned I made for the entry of a gate while the day's light still shines upon The East Road and the gate is left wide open [without a keeper] for all to enter. Word can not spread if there is no one to pass it on. As for a name.. The Brandybuck's were known to ride out to Barliman's The Inn of the Prancing Pony without a passing thought left behind.
A dark ale in a friend's favorite corner where he is known to have a bit of pipe near the rising smoke from an ever lit fire. I can understand his liking for this spot, for vey few can glance your way for very long without having to turn away from the constant brightness of flames. I am glad though for the company of a small black cat that has found it's way onto my lap while I enjoy a bit of dinner and drink and await his arrival.
I would prefer, however, that the fire had a bit more fragrant log put onto it as some of the locals can be a bit pungent in the thick inn air.