Saelud leans back in the chair, his mouth twisted in a deep frown as his trimmed stubble itches and pokes at his chin. The man's hand swirls a bit of rye around the edges of the glass he holds as his eyes stare at the fire crackling and popping in front of him, bits a pitch from the wood causing small sparks as they snapped and then faded.
Notice: With the Laurelin server shutting down, our website will soon reflect the Meriadoc name. You can still use the usual URL, or visit us at https://meriadocarchives.org/

