The Green Dragon Inn #11 - The Last Chapter - The Barrow-Downs Discussion Forum

Maeggaladiel · 01-02-2006, 01:49 AM

The horse's hooves beat a slow, steady rhythm on the earth as it plodded down the road. It was in no hurry, and neither was its rider. She sat relaxed in the saddle, whistling a tune in time to the horse's footsteps.

After a moment, the rhythm was broken as the woman's whistle turned from a nameless tune to a little trill of admiration. The horse slowed.

"The Green Dragon, aye?" she mused, reading the painted sign. She tapped her chin with a finger. "What say we stop for today, hmm?" Resuming her whistling, she led the horse to the stables.

Soon after, Hallien Winterwood strode into the Green Dragon Inn. She was, admittedly, a peculiar sight. A wide-brimmed hat of a color that must have been bright red at one time was perched on top of her head. There was a long white feather tucked into the band. Under the hat was a smiling face, somewhat obscured by a pair of small wire-rimmed glasses balancing on the bridge of her nose. The curled head of some sort of stringed musical instrument poked out of the bag hanging across her back and a dozen or so small leather pouches were hanging from her belt. A weather-worn book was tucked under one arm.

She was indeed a sight, from the top of her hat, to the long faded blue jacket, to the crimson skirt, right down to the end of her road-weary leather boots. If she knew this, she did not show it. Instead she adjusted her glasses, shifted the book, and walked up to the bar, humming to herself.

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01-02-2006, 01:49 AM	#11
Maeggaladiel Ghost Prince of Cardolan Join Date: Mar 2004 Location: The end of the world as we know it. I feel fine, incidentally. Posts: 500	The horse's hooves beat a slow, steady rhythm on the earth as it plodded down the road. It was in no hurry, and neither was its rider. She sat relaxed in the saddle, whistling a tune in time to the horse's footsteps. After a moment, the rhythm was broken as the woman's whistle turned from a nameless tune to a little trill of admiration. The horse slowed. "The Green Dragon, aye?" she mused, reading the painted sign. She tapped her chin with a finger. "What say we stop for today, hmm?" Resuming her whistling, she led the horse to the stables. Soon after, Hallien Winterwood strode into the Green Dragon Inn. She was, admittedly, a peculiar sight. A wide-brimmed hat of a color that must have been bright red at one time was perched on top of her head. There was a long white feather tucked into the band. Under the hat was a smiling face, somewhat obscured by a pair of small wire-rimmed glasses balancing on the bridge of her nose. The curled head of some sort of stringed musical instrument poked out of the bag hanging across her back and a dozen or so small leather pouches were hanging from her belt. A weather-worn book was tucked under one arm. She was indeed a sight, from the top of her hat, to the long faded blue jacket, to the crimson skirt, right down to the end of her road-weary leather boots. If she knew this, she did not show it. Instead she adjusted her glasses, shifted the book, and walked up to the bar, humming to herself. __________________ "Wide ne bith wel," cwaeth se the geheirde on helle hriman.