Tales from the Lonelands | (LGBTQ+ and Beginner Friendly)

About the adventure

"Now they had gone on far into the Lone-lands, where there were no people left, no inns, and the roads grew steadily worse. Not far ahead were dreary hills, rising higher and higher, dark with trees. On some of them were old castles with an evil look, as if they had been built by wicked people." -The Hobbit, by J. R. R. Tolkien The cobbled stone path wound up the hill. It seemingly avoided the other buildings which had sprung up over the years, winding this-way-and-that until it reached the row at the top. One could, if they stood at the start of the path and gazed, get a sincere view of the inn, yet, nothing of the edifice which housed the inn, notably could draw the sight of the passerbyer. Nothing, with the exception of a worn wooden sign, stained by mud and marred by rain, which demonstrated an almost respectable portrayal of a horse. The sign, which hung over the door, squeaked upon it's hinges with every passing breeze. The words "Prancing Pony," had been awkardly written within the space unclaimed by the horse's image. It was indeed the Prancing Pony, the Prancing Pony of Bree. Here, indeed, was where an adventure was to stir and be had... even if the hobbits, dwarves, men and or elves invovled hadn't realized it. "It's a dangerous business, Frodo, going out your door. You step onto the road, and if you don't keep your feet, there's no knowing where you might be swept off to." -Lord of the Rings, J. R. R. Tolkien