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<blockquote data-quote="BoldItalic" data-source="post: 7347060" data-attributes="member: 6777052"><p>They were lost to him…… </p><p></p><p><span style="color: blue">The DM turned to the two remaining players and asked "Should we play on without them, or take a pizza break until they come out of the bedroom?"</span></p><p><span style="color: blue"></span></p><p><span style="color: blue">"How about a quick game of Eternity Unravelled?" suggested one.</span></p><p><span style="color: blue"></span></p><p><span style="color: blue">"What's on the movie channel?" wondered the other.</span></p><p><span style="color: blue"></span></p><p><span style="color: blue">"I think it's LOTR. Want that?"</span></p><p><span style="color: blue"></span></p><p><span style="color: blue">"Yeah. Go for it."</span></p><p></p><p>Strider watched the comings and goings in the Prancing Pony from his quiet, unobserved corner table. He drew the hood of his cloak closer around him, seeming more mysterious. It was a good cloak, by the finest cloakmaker in town: Henry King of Gondor Street. But the label inside the collar was well-worn and the first and last words had already rubbed out.</p><p></p><p>As usual, Gandalf's message had been hurried and vague. "Look for three strangers. They will be travelling in secret, so they may be hard to spot," it said, "Give them any assistance you can."</p><p></p><p>The door opened and, indeed, three strangers entered. You couldn't get much stranger than these three, thought Strider. A grizzled knight dressed in a scarlet and white surcoat over brightly-polished mail who shone like a beacon in the smoke-filled tavern; a hobbit dressed in a minstrel's outfit, with a floppy hat, lime green and pink jerkin and parti-coloured breeches; and a flightless wyrm with a brightly-coloured globe on its snout. Strider's attention was drawn to the hobbit who was, to say the least, a little odd. He moved stiffly, as if recently recovered from a virulent poison, and he looked nervous, contantly fingering something on a gilded chain around his neck. Whatever it was, it radiated wrongness that even Strider could sense. "So," he thought to himself, "This must be the Wrongbearer."</p><p></p><p>Rising from his seat, Strider advanced towards the three and held out his hand in greeting. Choosing one of his many aliases on a whim, he announced "I am Sildar Hallwinter. I am a kind-hearted human male of nearly fifty years. A mutual friend asked me to look out for you."</p><p></p><p>The hobbit looked even more startled and suddenly vanished. "He often does that," observed the cavalier. "And don't worry about this, my faithful steed. He likes his ears tickled, don't you, Snappy?"</p><p></p><p>Reassured that nothing was amiss, the minstrel re-appeared next to them. At that moment, the hobbit barmaid dropped a tray of tankards with a crash and cried out "Od! I've been looking for you everywhere! Your faithful Sam is coming with you!"</p><p></p><p>"But ..."</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="BoldItalic, post: 7347060, member: 6777052"] They were lost to him…… [COLOR=blue]The DM turned to the two remaining players and asked "Should we play on without them, or take a pizza break until they come out of the bedroom?" "How about a quick game of Eternity Unravelled?" suggested one. "What's on the movie channel?" wondered the other. "I think it's LOTR. Want that?" "Yeah. Go for it."[/COLOR] Strider watched the comings and goings in the Prancing Pony from his quiet, unobserved corner table. He drew the hood of his cloak closer around him, seeming more mysterious. It was a good cloak, by the finest cloakmaker in town: Henry King of Gondor Street. But the label inside the collar was well-worn and the first and last words had already rubbed out. As usual, Gandalf's message had been hurried and vague. "Look for three strangers. They will be travelling in secret, so they may be hard to spot," it said, "Give them any assistance you can." The door opened and, indeed, three strangers entered. You couldn't get much stranger than these three, thought Strider. A grizzled knight dressed in a scarlet and white surcoat over brightly-polished mail who shone like a beacon in the smoke-filled tavern; a hobbit dressed in a minstrel's outfit, with a floppy hat, lime green and pink jerkin and parti-coloured breeches; and a flightless wyrm with a brightly-coloured globe on its snout. Strider's attention was drawn to the hobbit who was, to say the least, a little odd. He moved stiffly, as if recently recovered from a virulent poison, and he looked nervous, contantly fingering something on a gilded chain around his neck. Whatever it was, it radiated wrongness that even Strider could sense. "So," he thought to himself, "This must be the Wrongbearer." Rising from his seat, Strider advanced towards the three and held out his hand in greeting. Choosing one of his many aliases on a whim, he announced "I am Sildar Hallwinter. I am a kind-hearted human male of nearly fifty years. A mutual friend asked me to look out for you." The hobbit looked even more startled and suddenly vanished. "He often does that," observed the cavalier. "And don't worry about this, my faithful steed. He likes his ears tickled, don't you, Snappy?" Reassured that nothing was amiss, the minstrel re-appeared next to them. At that moment, the hobbit barmaid dropped a tray of tankards with a crash and cried out "Od! I've been looking for you everywhere! Your faithful Sam is coming with you!" "But ..." [/QUOTE]
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