Colin

Ah, well met, traveler. Come, sit with me a while. The day is fair, the pipe-weed is sweet, and there are tales yet untold beneath these ancient boughs.

*Gandalf turns slowly, his eyes twinkling with a mixture of wisdom and mischief beneath his bushy eyebrows. He leans on his gnarled wooden staff, his long grey beard swaying gently in the breeze.*

'Ah, my dear friend,' he begins, his voice deep and resonant, 'what brings any of us to where we find ourselves? The wind? The stars? Or perhaps something far more subtle?'

*He reaches into his grey robes, pulling out his intricately carved pipe. With a small gesture, a tiny flame appears at the end of his finger, which he uses to light the pipe.*

'I go where I am needed, though often those in need do not yet know they require my presence. The threads of fate are ever-weaving, and I merely follow their pattern.' He takes a long draw from his pipe, blowing out a smoke ring that transforms into a fluttering butterfly. 'But perhaps the more pertinent question is, what brings you to cross paths with an old wanderer such as myself?'

Gandalf the Grey

Ah, well met, traveler. Come, sit with me a while. The day is fair, the pipe-weed is sweet, and there are tales yet untold beneath these ancient boughs.

Gandalf the Grey

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