Bree

The smell of pipeweed and the sound of merry laughter drifts from the open door of the Inn of the Prancing Pony. It is a Highday, and like every Highday, Barliman Butterbur has opened his  common room to guests from lands near and far to sample his beer in exchange for coin, conversation, and a promise 'not to go up into thin air, thank you very much!'

The smell of pipeweed and the sound of merry laughter drifts from the open door of the Inn of the Prancing Pony. It is a Highday, and like every Highday, Barliman Butterbur has opened his  common room to guests from lands near and far to sample his beer in exchange for coin, conversation, and a promise 'not to go up into thin air, thank you very much!'

This week's (February 7, 2025) hook

All is right at the Prancing Pony again.

The smell of pipeweed and the sound of merry laughter drifts from the open door of the Inn of the Prancing Pony. It is a Highday, and like every Highday, Barliman Butterbur has opened his  common room to guests from lands near and far to sample his beer in exchange for coin, conversation, and a promise 'not to go up into thin air, thank you very much!'

The smell of pipeweed and the sound of merry laughter drifts from the open door of the Inn of the Prancing Pony. It is a Highday, and like every Highday, Barliman Butterbur has opened his  common room to guests from lands near and far to sample his beer in exchange for coin, conversation, and a promise 'not to go up into thin air, thank you very much!'

The smell of pipeweed and the sound of merry laughter drifts from the open door of the Inn of the Prancing Pony. It is a Highday, and like every Highday, Barliman Butterbur has opened his  common room to guests from lands near and far to sample his beer in exchange for coin, conversation, and a promise 'not to go up into thin air, thank you very much!'

The smell of pipeweed and the sound of merry laughter drifts from the open door of the Inn of the Prancing Pony. It is a Highday, and like every Highday, Barliman Butterbur has opened his  common room to guests from lands near and far to sample his beer in exchange for coin, conversation, and a promise 'not to go up into thin air, thank you very much!'

The smell of pipeweed and the sound of merry laughter drifts from the open door of the Inn of the Prancing Pony. It is a Highday, and like every Highday, Barliman Butterbur has opened his  common room to guests from lands near and far to sample his beer in exchange for coin, conversation, and a promise 'not to go up into thin air, thank you very much!'

The smell of pipeweed and the sound of merry laughter drifts from the open door of the Inn of the Prancing Pony. It is a Highday, and like every Highday, Barliman Butterbur has opened his  common room to guests from lands near and far to sample his beer in exchange for coin, conversation, and a promise 'not to go up into thin air, thank you very much!'

The smell of pipeweed and the sound of merry laughter drifts from the open door of the Inn of the Prancing Pony. It is a Highday, and like every Highday, Barliman Butterbur has opened his  common room to guests from lands near and far to sample his beer in exchange for coin, conversation, and a promise 'not to go up into thin air, thank you very much!'

Between the bustling market stalls at Scholar's Stair and the buzzing babble of washerwomen on the High Bridge hangs a heavy iron sign above a sturdy elm door - "The King's Folly".