Nimlindir sat upon the bed in her room in the inn of the Prancing Pony, Bree-town, Eriador. She leaned over the small writing table, quill in hand, penning a goodbye missive to her companions. The musty smell of tobacco curlicued like little tornados through the cracks of the wood stained walls. The floor rattled from the stomps of revelry in the main room and unrequited love in the hallways.
Laurelin Archives is MOVING!
Well, sort of— not exactly moving, but we’re growing! Laurelin Archives is extending its reach to include the Meriadoc server. This means that if you already have a character on Meriadoc, you’re now welcome to sign up with Laurelin Archives.
We deeply value the years of effort and dedication you’ve poured into your characters, and we’re committed to adapting quickly to ensure your hard work remains intact as we embrace this new chapter!
Thank you for all your support throughout the years & we are happy to hear of any suggestions you may bring forth!
"You can trust us to stick to you through thick and thin - to the bitter
end." -Meriadoc
Nimlindir
