As you leave the muddy beaten track lane that leads down from the high road onto chestnut street you behold a small semi-circlular ruin. The ruin is old and browned by the ages, creeping plants, leaves and small bushes sit about the damaged archiec stairs that lead on to a small platform marked by the etching of a star long faded. The platform is encircled by a gaunt arch from which straggled ivy droops into a beard, this arch eventually reaches a statue cut into the stone of an ageless king who seems as darkly tarnished by time as the rest, yet recently this statue has been cleaned and cleared of flora. You notice a small white flower placed with care at the foot and a sense of warmth and hope comes over you, you stay for as long as you need in this place feeling the awe of ages that in such a small place echos of such great things remain, when you are ready you leave the ruin and begin to walk up the path toward the house on the wooded hill.
Away from the path and ruin you notice a chippering of animals and the song of birds all about, you look up into the great green canopy of oaks that guards over the small stoned building you have come to see. A small bird sits by the mossy well near to the west window of the building and washes himself singing joyfully in the spring sun. The well has drawn your attention to the evidence of habbitation that stands in the form of a wooden cart not far from the well. You walk over to the cart enjoying the feeling of the foliage and twigs that sit like an earthy bed underfoot. As you reach the cart you also that a small peg and feeding tray sit near by, the owner of the house must be away somewhere and this is where he ties his horse when he returns, open to the air as the rock cliff and oaks provide fine shelter from the wheather. The cart appears to be filled with various empty boxes and seems to hold little interest so you decided to walk up to the front door of the squat homely dwelling so familiar to those who live or travel throughout the Bree-land.
You knock on the door and find that the door opens at your touch and decide to enter.
Upon entering your eye is instantly drawn to the large stuffed bear that sits in the corner of the room so you decide to walk over and take a closer look. The bear gazes down with black dead eyes and you reach out and touch the fur feeling it gizzled and aged, Perhaps you feel replused at the trophy or smile quietly with statisfaction remembering a hunting kill of your own. As you step back you begin to see the starkness of the room. A fire bruns warmly on the east wall and the dark green paint inhances the cosy, snug feeling of the building, yet th lack of furniture suggests a building little used. You walk over to the large central table and see a scattering of ale dreg filled tankards and platters with salted meat and cheese half eaten, yet not chairs surround the table. You believe the large quanity of items on the table to suggest either many guests or a very rushed a messy owner who hasnt cleaned up after themself, perhaps your mind leans to one or the other as you move toward the western room.
As you enter you look to your left immediately seeing that this room is much more furnished that the other. Again you see a hunting trophy this time a moose head, the thought occurs that these might be trophys left of a former owner as they both appeared old to you. This line of thought leads to a sudden idea that the building was once or is a hunting lodge of some kind and that the owner or owners travel regularly and leave the door open as a place of rest in the area. You walk over to a curious looking thing in the corner and inspect some kind of working model of a bridge, perhaps you recognise it's orgin as dwarven or in fear of breaking the item you try and ignore it entirely. Your attention turns to the bookself just left past the door and you look over the names of some of the tomes, if you understand sindarin as it is written in Gondor then you see that the books appear to be a large collection of acdemic thought on topics such as battle, philosophy, politics and even healing arts. If you have little knowledge of sindarin you see strange and alien books marked out only by the strange desgins of the covers. Deciding to open one of the books you notice that despite the title the book is written largely in the westron tongue, perhaps you decide to speand a time reading about the war philosophy of Gondor or seeming bored you place the book back in its place hastily. Looking to the other end of the room you see a table covered in maps and books flanked by yet more bookshelves, glancing over what is on the table a few open books catch your eye. The first is titled "On the kings of Arnor and other north kingdoms" and seems to be handwritten, if you can read sindarin you see that an elvish book is placed next to this book and that the writing seems to be a direct translation, on closer inspection you see that the author has been collecting material from various elvish books and placing it in one book written in westron. If you have no knowledge of sindarin or if you have finished inspecting the first book you look to another open on the table. This author seems to have just begun writting this book as only an introduction is complete telling a tale of how the author came to be in the north and how he ended up in a place called Imladris, the title of this book is "On Elven warband military theory and application in the third age". The final book seems to be a diary so you ignore it out of respect for privacy. All the books seem to be written by a Captain Pelaphor.
Tired of books you leave the study and walk across the central room to inspect the final room of the house. This room is all but empty and small pointed bed sits in the corner sheets left unmade, you also see a small cadle bracket for lighting on the wall with candles melted to stubs and in need of replacement. A few books litter the floor and you pick one up finding it empty of writting and replace it on the floor. As you look to the books and the floor you also notice a rug marked with a faded shadowy tree, this rug seems elven in design and you take a moment to inspect the fine quality and deem it out of place in the rustic country home. Eventually you leave the bedroom and take another stroll about the house before leaving the building, making certain to close the door firmly behind you.
Time as past and as the evening sun slides down the sky you begin to walk back across the garden of twigs toward the muddy path, taking one final look at the stone house to your back.
