Prancing Pony

Ice was clinging to the window panes, creating a myriad of patterns across the surface. A biting wind whistled through the minute cracks in the frames. Joy pinned her shawl about her shoulders and shuddered lightly. She was sat amongst the tomes of the scholars stair, candle light flickering against the winter gloaming light, cascading patterns and shadows across the dusty room. In front of her lay several crisp sheets of text.

“Did you not have friends in the Mark with whom you could confide in such gossip?” Piper asks me over the rim of her mug of cider. We had been talking long at the table in the center of the tavern. (She had caught me outside in the rain, relishing in it, and invited me inside for a drink ere I caught cold).

Knife Juggler (Click to listen)

Ryheric composed this piece after convincing Loakee to juggle his knives outside the Prancing Pony in front of a small crowd. Loakee impressed the audience not only by juggling knives, but also balancing along a narrow wooden beam, leaving a few of the characters nerve wracked, but ultimately entertained at Loakee's showmanship.

I fume even as I storm into the home of my brother; “I shall never again stay out so late!” I declare as if an impetuous teenager with little thought of consequence, and make myself scarce and hidden in my niece’s room. My niece, Jennefer, is already outside playing while her mother washes the laundry. It is early morning, and again was I out all night, and for such a dreadful reason to boot!

Last night, I got to see everyone again. In sooth, I was so excited to finally speak to Mister Arthur Hazelwood about his portrait that I might have been a bit over-enthusiastic. I had piles of papers of sketches and concepts, and I think he was overwhelmed by all the ideas I presented him with.

Sharp Tongue (Click to listen)
 

Oh, my mother would certainly be rolling in her grave this time. I fear I may have offended everyone at the same time. Let me try to recount my day from the beginning...

Oh, to be a lass in Bree! The men fall over themselves for one's attention here just as they did back home, rather for a quick feel up your skirt than an arranged marriage. I cannot tell which one I dread more. (The arranged marriage. At least here it would not be so frowned upon to throw fists at a man who feels you up without your desire).