Within the Prancing Pony, a tavern that sits just within the outskirts of the Shire's borders, in the back corner there sits a man wearing a dark green, hooded cloak which casts a shadow over his face. From his mouth hangs a pipe, the glow of burning embers births a wispy trail of smoke that floats to the ceiling. His legs are stretched out, one foot crossed over the other as he silently watches the common folk chattering amongst themselves.