The Return

As Drevorin passed through the West Gate and made his way along the cobblestone streets, he was met with a cacophony of familiar senses which poured from his memory. As he walked by the Scholar’s Stair, he marked the place where he first encountered the bandit known as Sparrow. Atop those steps would be a landing, where he would converse with Ilaru under the stars. Making his way up the hill, he gazed upon a familiar sight, the Inn of the Prancing Pony.

Reaching the foot of the steps he dismounted, wrapping the leather reins thrice about his wrist before placing a palm upon the horse’s neck. Rain continued to descend from above, dripping down his face and soaking his clothing through. His cold, blue eyes fixed their gaze upon the sign above which swayed gently in the breeze.

He had much history in Eriador. Many victories and defeats, scores of conflicts and schemes. But that was in the past, now. The long past. Drevorin was no longer the rabid wolf he once was. That was a man shattered by his past, someone so devastated by the misfortune of his life that he knew naught else but to inflict similar hurt upon others. So many years have passed since the day he left Bree with his betrothed. But now he stood, alone, made wiser for his travels and blessed with a sense of clarity from the journey.

(This image was created by AI sourcing a screenshot from The Lord of the Rings Online)