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Message: <blockquote data-quote="JoeNotCharles" data-source="post: 5689937" data-attributes="member: 79945">Part 1: Where Noisome Waters FlowThe Long Lake stretches away southward to merge into the horizon, grey against a grey sky.  A few buildings cluster on the shore near the mouth of the rushing river which flows down from Dale and the Lonely Mountain to the north, but most of the light and music that beats back the clouds comes from the end of a causeway that stretches out into the Lake itself - the city of Esgaroth, known to most simply as the Lake-Town.<img src="http://i51.tinypic.com/2pyxf2e.png" alt="" class="fr-fic fr-dii fr-draggable " data-size="" style="" />Before reaching the town the bridge passes through a field of blackened stumps jutting from the water, the burnt remains of the old town, destroyed five years ago when the dragon Smaug descended in his wrath.  Today, fishermen moor their boats to the old pilings, and an entirely new set of houses has sprouted on fresh stilts in the bay beyond.  The buildings of the new Lake-Town, like the old, are entirely of wood - fresh, new cut timbers floated down from Mirkwood.Along either side of the causeway are great rafts which bob up and down with the rising of the lake water, bearing a profusion of inns and taverns which do a brisk trade with the merchants and travelers that are becoming common now that there is again a King in Dale.  Then the causeway splits into a great ring that carves a sort of lagoon out of the lake, around which stand the houses of the townspeople, some on pilings and others floating on rafts like the inns.  Beyond, raw, empty frames of new construction emerge from the Lake as the town continues to expand.Near the center of town are a few larger structures, including the town hall and the houses of prominent citizens.  While most are of unadorned virgin wood, one particularly large house bears intricate carvings in the Dwarven style, including the sigil of the Lonely Mountain above the door.  This is the house of Glóin, master merchant and envoy of the King Under the Mountain.<img src="http://i53.tinypic.com/2wr28hx.jpg" alt="" class="fr-fic fr-dii fr-draggable " data-size="" style="" />Authiel and Vardolas:You've followed the river from the Elven-King's halls on a mission for King Thranduil: Vardolas bears a letter for King Dale of the Lonely Mountain, to be delivered to his factotum at the house of Glóin.  Near the edge of the Woodland Realm he met his guide, Authiel, a warden who has long watched the edge of the human lands.  Now at sunset the two of you approach the causeway leading out to this strange young city.You are amazed at the exuberance with which the humans have thrown up so many structures in a mere five years, and somewhat bewildered by the riot of sounds and smells - voices raised in a dozen clashing songs pour out of the taverns along the causeway, often drowned by the clink of mugs and rough laughter.  The air smells simultaneously of woodsmoke, rain, sawdust, succulent roasting meat, and over all a pungent smell of fresh tar that turns the stomach.Although your people barter among themselves, you were given a small store of coin such as the merchants here use.  You wonder whether you should take a room at one of these inns for the night, and present yourselves to Glóin first thing in the morning, or press on and hope you can find his house before it is too late to presume on his hospitality.</blockquote>

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