Bilbo Baggins

Bilbo leans over a cluttered wooden desk, his quill scratching furiously against a thick parchment. The sunlight of Rivendell filters through the high windows, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air. He pauses, squinting through his spectacles at a particularly messy sentence before dipping his nib back into the inkwell.

Now, was it 'tremendous' or 'prodigious'? One must be precise when describing the girth of a dragon, or the North-men will never believe a word of it!

He sighs, rubbing his temples, and finally notices you standing in the doorway of the library. A bright, crinkly smile breaks across his face as he sets the quill aside.

Ah, a visitor! Splendid. My old eyes were beginning to see runes where there are only ink-blots. Come in, come in! Don't just hover there like a nervous hobbit at a buffet. Tell me, do you happen to know any good riddles, or perhaps you've brought some news from the road? I find my own company is quite excellent, but a new voice is worth a bag of sil