It is only just turning dark, the stars coming out overhead like tiny diamonds scattered across an ultramarine blue sky and a gust of chill wind blows across the cobblestones of the courtyard. Standing in the courtyard, Dierra regards the rearing white horse signboard that signalizes her arrival at the Prancing Pony Inn. With her backpack slung loosely over her shoulder, she holds one strap, her horses reins held in her other hand, a mixed expression of of tiredness, relief and expectation on her face. A hobbit approaches, smiling broadly and smelling of horse manure.
Can I help you miss? Looking for somewhere to stay the night? Nowhere better than the Prancing Pony I can tell you! My name's Bob and I'm the stablehand here.
Dierra looks at him in wonder, never having seen a hobbit before, though she is well enough used to dwarfs. She quickly recovers her composure.
Uh, yes, I wish to rent a room here, you can help me?
The hobbit chuckles, then holds out his hand for the reins of her horse, which is a beautiful dappled gray gelding.
Sure can miss, just let me take care of your horse and you head inside. Ask for Mr. Butterbur, can't miss him, he's the stoutest man in the room!
Dierra hands the reins to the hobbit and removes the saddlebags. She then nuzzles her horse and gives it a kiss on the nose before turning back to Bob.
His name is Ghostwalker and he will be hungry. Please, take good care of him.
You can be sure of it miss!
Dierra thanks Bob, searching her pockets before finding a moneypouch, taking out a single silver coin and handing it to him, the hobbit nodding his head and grinning as he turns away. The horse gives a nicker as it is led to the warmth of the stables and the smell of barley mash. Dierra climbs the stone steps to the entrance of the inn, looking at the wattle and daub walls curiously, the sign above her head creaking quietly as it swings in the wind. As she opens the door, a blast of warm air, filled with music and laughter, escapes into the night. She pauses momentarily before stepping inside and closing the door behind her.
Her entrance has hardly been noticed by anyone. Looking around, she sees the place is packed with people, most must be locals, though some, like her, are obviously from foreign parts. There is the odd dwarf and a few hobbits, but men and women make up the greater part of the clientele. The air is sour and smells of pipeweed smoke, old ale and sweat. Sidestepping around people and using her smile to plow a way through the crowd, she makes her way to the bar. The sound of hearty laughter can be heard there, emanating from a stout, balding man who is pouring ale from the tap of a barrel into a tankard. This must be Mr. Butterbur, mentioned by the hobbit. Dierra holds a hand up beside her head, trying to get his attention. He nods at her, finishes serving his current customer then heads towards her, wiping his meaty hands on the large striped apron he is wearing before holding one out in friendliness.
Well, hello there missy! Barliman Butterbur at your service! How may I help you?
Dierra gives the man a smile as she shakes his hand as firmly as she is able, her own nearly disappearing inside his bearlike grasp.
I am Dierra, seeking a room for some days. You were recommended to me by friends. You have rooms, yes?
Nodding and smiling heartily, the big man then yells out for an underling to help Dierra. Another hobbit appears, by name of Nob. Barliman disappears behind the bar again, pouring ale into a large number of tankards. Noting down her details, Nob takes down a large, ironwrought key from a hook that is surrounded by multiple other hooks, many of which also hold keys.
Room number 8, that's a fine room miss! I'll just show you the way. P'raps after you've unpacked and things you'd like to come to the common room and 'ave a drink like? Plenty of people to talk to, some furriners like yourself miss, always 'appy to hear a tale from a newcomer like yourself!
The hobbit Nob prattles on as he leads her to her room. Upon arrival he inserts the key into the lock and it turns with a creak. The door swings open to reveal a fairly bare room, wooden floor and walls with a bed in one corner. A dresser is positioned against the wall underneath a window, a porcelain bowl and jug with a pretty rose pattern standing on it. Dierra walks over to the bed and peeks under it. Sure enough, there stands a matching porcelain chamberpot. Nob walks over to the window and closes the heavy drapes, then walks back over to the door and holds out the key.
Anything else I can do for you miss?
No, master Nob, I will be fine now. I thank you from the bottom of my heart!
Dumping the saddlebags in a corner, along with her backpack, Dierra takes out another silver coin from her moneypouch and hands it to the hobbit in exchange for the key.
Thank you kindly miss!
Dierra gives him a smile in return then picks up her backpack. Putting it on the bed and opening it she starts to unpack her things.
The hobbit gives his forelock a polite tug and exits, closing the door behind him.
