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Message: <blockquote data-quote="Daiymo" data-source="post: 598264" data-attributes="member: 2539">Hope you dont mind- a bump and character sketch thingeeStrabo sat in his favorite chair, his feet propped on his footrest, a blanket across his body. Outside he could hear the wind blowing, lulling him  to sleep. The hobbit's body felt heavy from a fine second breakfast, and slowly, his eyes grew leaden. Little by little, Strabo felt himself floating toward that wonderful place somewhere between wakefulness and slumber.That is until, his left hand grew slack and the book that it had been holding fell to the floor with a thud. With a snort, Strabo sat up in his chair. Sluggishly, he bent over retrieved the battered journal. He opened the book, and pulled out the yellowed, cracked vellum stuck within the book's pages.Strabo had found the vellum some years ago in an unused barrel. It was a quite old, written in Sindarin composed of graceful rows of beautiful letters. He had dedicated the last few years trying to decipher it, in order to teach himself the language. And although he was no jumble-headed Bracegirdle from Hardbottle, he found translation to be quite difficult, and he despaired he would ever learn Sindarin well.The letter was of no real importance, at any rate. It was ancient,to be sure, but it appeared to simply be a message from one Lord or Knight of old Arnor to another Lord or Knight requesting... men? arrows? eggs? he wasn't really sure. Yawning again, he placed the book and letter on the table next to his chair.The hobbit closed his eyes and pulled the blanket up to his chin, thinking "I really should get up. Much to do. Clean up the dishes, put out new linen- Aunt and Uncle coming from Archet, have to head over to Father's to help with the party, maybe pick up some things for it...and I must find a safe place to hide that pouch of silver pennies" Strabo yawned again. "Ten more minutes" he resolved "then I'll get going."Outside the wind began to pick up again, its sound seducing him, pulling him ever closer to sleep. And as he hovered around that wonderful place somewhere between slumber and wakefulness, he dreamt himself a warrior of Arthedain, clad in silver chain, with a great sword. Standing at the base of the Tower of Amon Sul, he stood with his comrades as the goblin army approached from the north in wave after wave after wave.....</blockquote>

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