The Gathering-In, or The Quest of the 24 Messengers.

[Birdland]

Gandalf the Grey linked me to this very charming “history” concerning the founding of the Shire, and I thought that a part of this history would make an wonderful, new RPG. It deals with the early settlers of the Shire sending out a group of messengers into the Wilderness to find all the scattered tribes and clans of Hobbits, let them know about the founding of a new country for the Halflings, and leading them back home to the Shire. If you’d like to participate in this new RPG, please go to the link below and read the Shire Post's Shire Post History (http://www.shirepost.com/HistoryPractice.html) particularly “of the Gathering of the Hobbits.”

OK, here are some rules. (no groaning!) Yes, there are some rules to this RPG, but not many, and not too horrible.

RULE ONE:

If you want to play one of the 24 Messengers, then your character will have to be a MALE HOBBIT! OK, is that clear? THE 24 MESSENGERS ARE ALL MALE HOBBITS. Any guy or gal at the Barrow Downs can play the role of a Messenger, but your character must be a MALE HOBBIT. No, your Messenger character cannot be:

A plucky female Hobbit.
A plucky female Hobbit disguised as a male Hobbit
A Dwarf, Elf, Man, Ent or Wizard
A Dwarf-Elf-Man-Ent-Wizard /Hobbit hybrid.

Repeat after me: If you want to play one of the 24 Messengers, your character must be a MALE HOBBIT!

RULE TWO:

See Rule One.

RULE THREE:
If you are one of the 24 Messengers, you must travel with a “buddy”. This buddy must be a MALE HOBBIT! (See Rule One) The 24 Messengers were sent out in groups of two. (12 groups) You may join up with a friend on the board and “travel” together, or you may make up your own “buddy”. Once you have set out, all bets are off: Your traveling companion may get get lost, captured, killed, whatever, Stuff happens in Middle Earth. You may decide to go on without him, or stop your search for the lost hobbits and try to find your friend. The choices are up to you. You may lose a buddy and find another companion on the road. But when you set out from the Shire, you will be traveling in groups of two. No Messenger may set out alone. When you leave the Shire as a Messenger, you must have a MALE HOBBIT companion with you.

(I’m very serious about these rules. If I find a Messenger in the thread who is not a bonafide Male Hobbit, or sets out from the Shire alone - and that includes plucky young hobbits who try to “follow” the 24 Messengers - I will ask Elenna the Freestyle RPG Moderator to boot them out.)

RULE FOUR:

When the Messengers find Hobbits, they are responsible for them, in a way. You can’t just point West and say, “The Shire is that-a-way. Good luck finding it.“ You will be like the Wagon Master in a Western Movie, you will have to lead the Hobbits you find back to the Shire, while trying to find other Hobbits on the way. (Don’t forget to ask the Hobbits you find if they know of other clans and where they are.) The more Hobbits you find, the better. Remember, these are your people. Don’t leave them behind in the Wilderness!

RULE FIVE

Stick to your duties! None of the 24 Messengers may desert their quest. If you decide that this looking for Hobbits thing isn’t your cup of tea, and you’re gonna go look for the One Ring or Smaug’s gold instead, I will have Elenna the RPG Moderator boot you out. You will be counted among the six Messengers who never returned to the Shire, and you can go off and start your own RPG.

RULE SIX

If someone speaks to you, please respond! One of my pet peeves with many RPG is characters who “snub “ other characters because their idea what they want the character to do is “better”. Of course, the opposite holds too. If a story line is developing, please try to respect it, and don’t throw off-the-wall events at them in order to get the story to go in a “better” direction.

OK, that’s the rules. See, that wasn’t so bad.

Now, are there other roles besides the MALE HOBBIT Messengers? You bet. You can play:

A LOST HOBBIT:

There are still many hobbit tribes and clans out there, living a semi nomadic existence. Life in Middle Earth was probably pretty hard for a small people with no war-like tendency and no country to call their own. You might be living in a very small community, or with just your immediate family, or you might be living alone. But you are probably not living real well. Most of you might be very glad to hear the decree brought by the Messengers. Free land! A real country founded by Hobbits, for Hobbits? Great! Where do I sign?

Or maybe you won’t. Will you trust this strange Hobbit, since you are a Stoor and he is a Fallohide? Does Grandpa want to stay where he is, ‘cause he wants to die by the banks of the Anduin? Is Mama, (or Papa) afraid of the journey? Is your sweetheart living with another clan, and if you go you’re afraid you’ll never see him or her again? Setting out on a long journey can be a very scary thing. There is no guarantee that your clan will even make it to the Shire. (Remember that only 18 of the 24 Messengers ever returned.) Is “the Balrog you know better than the Balrog you don’t know”? Most of you will probably want to go West. But there is no guarantee that everyone will want to go. Messengers: it’s your job to convince the wary and frightened, and to give heart to those who may fall along the way.

FRIENDS AND FOES:

There should be plenty of roles for people who are not Hobbits. You know who lives in Middle Earth. You may choose to be a friend, or foe, or you may think: “Hobbits! Yuck!“ and really not want to have anything to do with them one way or the other. You may be a friend or foe to the Messengers, or a friend or foe to the Lost Hobbit clans. You may play a temporary foe in one instance, then later in the story decide to play a different role as a friend. Just try to remember that not all conflicts on the road have to be full-fledge sword fights. You might just be rude. Or be so overly friendly that the Messengers will try to lose you! You can be any kind of friend or foe in Middle Earth that you want. Including an animal, or a mean, ol’ tree. Your friend or foe character might show up for a few pages, then be vanquished or disappear, or you may follow the characters all the way back to the Shire (But you won’t be allowed INTO the Shire, unless you are a Hobbit.)

Please, we don’t need dozens of Elf Lords and Ladies in this RPG. Just a few will do. Please, I‘m begging you. Try a different character besides an Elf Lord or Lady.

OK, that’s my RPG. I’m not going to play a long term role in this, though I may pop in with a character now and then. I hope you all enjoy it. Now, let's go hunt some hobbits!

[Birdland]

The Shire, 1611 Third Age, (Year 10, S.R.)

It was a perfect Mid-Year day, and the celebrations were already well under way. The hilltops overlooking the Water and its wide pool were covered with tents and tables of planks, draped in every kind of summer flower and herb, and piled high with the foods that had been grown and gathered from throughout the fields and forests of the Shire. Many of the goodwives had been baking and cooking for days, and yet still worried whether there would be enough for all. (There was, but barely.) Casks of ale had been cooling in the stream, and the first of many had been tapped but an hour before. They made fine seats for the old gaffers and gammers, once they were empty.

Yet there was still plenty of open areas left for the games and the dances. At the top of the highest hill, stacks of wood, some as high as two hobbits, stood waiting to be lit for the bonfires. The straw images of dragons, trolls, wolves, goblins (and yes, Men) were getting good use from the archers and tilters, and later they, too, would be thrown on the bonfire. A quarter mile stretch of the road had been closed for the pony racing, and the wagering had come as fast and furious as the hoofs of the racers charging for the finish line. A large, makeshift stage had been constructed for the musicians - of which there were many - and for the speeches - of which it was hoped there would be few. Already the band members were warming up, offering a sprightly reel which the younger folk had already taken up, filling the dancing ring and pounding flat the grasses. Of course, the real dancing wouldn’t start until after the sun went down and the bonfires were lit.

Everyone said that there had never been a bigger, or better Mid-Year celebration since the founding. And why not? For this was a special celebration; the Ten Year Anniversary of the founding of the Shire. For ten years, this land had been theirs. And it would be theirs for a thousand more.

And into the midst of these festivities rode the two who had made it all possible. Cheers and laughter rang out as two tall, strong Fallohides of middle years rode into the gathering. They were mounted on matching white ponies, a gift from the settlers of the Woody End. The brothers, (for such they were) joined in the laughter and shouting as their ponies sidestepped through the crowd, bending down to accept a wreath of flowers from a maiden, or a hearty handshake from grinning hobbit freeholder. Marcho and Blanco, the heroes of hobbits everywhere, the leaders of the Shire, had finally arrived at the celebration.

Behind them rode others, whose welcome was just as loud and boisterous as their leaders. 24 young hobbits, the best and brightest of the West, accompanied the two Fallohides up the hill to the center of the Mid-Year Festival. Each was mounted on a pony of their own, and twelve pack ponies also made up the train. A wide swathe was cleared for the riders as they approached the make-shift stage, and then closed behind them. The 24 hobbits split into two groups and lined their mounts up on either side of the riser, 12 to a side. The Fallohide brothers jumped down from their snow white steeds, flinging the reins to waiting lads who wrestled to have the honor of leading the mounts away. Then Marcho and Blanco leapt to the stage, raising their hands to silence the grinning musicians, and turned to face the crowd.

It took some moments before the shouts and cheers finally settled down, as Marcho looked down in pride and love at the faces gathered around him. His people, living in his country, The Shire. They had come so far, and accomplished so much. But there was more to do. Then the elder brother stepped forward to address them all.

“Gentlehobbits all! Fallohides!” A mighty cheer went up. “Stoors!“ Again the crowd acknowledged the call. “And Harfoots!“ And the hills echoed with the loudest, longest cheers of all. The band struck up a gallop, which set the ponies dancing, as well as quite a few of the young hobbits still gathered on the dance ring. Laughing, Marcho stepped forward, waving his hands, while Blanco turned to quiet the band. Then Marcho bowed low to the players, and turned to the crowd again.

“As I look around at you all, gathered here today to join in Mid-Year celebrations, my heart swells to see how all we have all grown and prospered here, on our own native soil. The Shire!” The twenty-four riders took up the call “The Shire!” and the crowd around them answered. “The Shire! The Shire” The brothers let the chant continue for a moment, then waved their hands for silence again.

“Many of you have traveled far to be here today, from the four farthings of our land. We number almost two thousand folk now, and our numbers continue to grow!” Much laughter accompanied this statement, and Malva, the wive of Marcho, blushed as she laid a hand on her stomach and looked up with pride at her husband.

“And yet, as I look out on our fair country, I see the miles of wilderness still laying fallow and empty within our boarders. At night as I lay in bed, I think of all our fortune, of all the hobbits that have come to make this land their own. And then I remember the others. Throughout all of Middle Earth, there are many of our people who still wander. Lost, alone in a wilderness of dangers that we can now only imagine. And I think to myself ‘Marcho, where are your people? Where are the hundreds of hobbits, separated from their kinfolk, lost in the wilderness. With no real homeland to call their own. You must bring them home Marcho…for they, too, are Shire Folk!“

The crowd shouted to the sky, until it seemed that the echos would carry the word to every corner of Middle Earth. “Shire Folk!“ Marcho again raised his hands to his followers.

“And so tomorrow, we will begin a Gathering In. Tomorrow, the finest of all Hobbitkind, the flower of our youth, will begin a quest. These 24 riders you see here will leave the Shire on a great undertaking. They will ride throughout the four corners of this Middle-Earth. They will carry the word to every hobbit who still dwells in the wilderness, from the farthest North, to the mouth of the Anduin. They will carry the word of our country to every hobbit they meet. They will say ‘Brothers! Come home! Come home to the Shire!‘ And so, good hobbits all, I present to you…The Twenty Four Messengers!”

This was the moment all had been waiting for. The cries, cheers and roars enveloped the 24 young hobbits, some who raised their hands in acknowledgement of the applause, while others, blushing, bowed their heads and fidgeted in embarrassment. Most were Harfoots, of course, those being the most numerous of the hobbits within the Shire, but there was a good representation of Fallohides as well. (Indeed, Marcho had disappointed more than a few young lads, since every Fallohide youth had stepped forward to answer his call.) The Stoors were there as well, smaller and darker then the usual hobbit, almost resembling dwarves in aspect, but true-hearted hobbits, all.

There were many tears in the audience as well, as families gazed with pride at their sons, and worried silently about their fate, wondering if after tomorrow, they would ever meet again. There were also more than a few tears of heartbreak and vexation as well from the hobbit lasses in the crowd. More than a few engagements had been broken as the young ones had answered the call of their adored hero.

Marcho turned and bowed low, first to the right, then the left, as he honored the 24 volunteers. “My sons, for I consider you all my sons, now. You each carry a copy of the decree, signed by our lord and king, Argeleb the Second, granting all Hobbits rights to the land west of the Branda-nin for all time. You also carry with you a copy of a Map of Middle-Earth, drawn from the very map that was presented to my brother and I by King Argeleb, which I hope will guide you well on your journeys. And lastly, you carry a map of your own land, The Shire, which you can show to all hobbits you meet. So that you may show them the land that is now their birth-right. So that you may show them their home.

“I now release you to your families and friends, so that you may share with them this truly special Mid-Year’s Fest. A fest that will be remembered by all hobbits, and will go down in our history. And next year, we will look for you all to be with us again, when we will light the Mid-Year bonfires with all our brothers and sisters around us. And so this will be your call: “Next year, in The Shire!“

The crowd went wild as Marcho waved to all the hobbits gathered round. Then jumping down from the stage, he grabbed a mug of ale and downed it with one gulp. The players struck up their instruments, and the party began again. The sun was just setting over the hills as Marcho, Blanco, and The Twenty Four Messengers carried their torches up the hill, and lit the Mid-Year bonfires.

[Birdland]

Malva came up to her husband, Marcho, carrying yet another platter thrust upon her by yet another goodwife serving at the food table. She set down the plate and drew her arm around Marcho, who sat on a bench watching the spectacle below.

The Messengers were the heroes of the hour. The lasses all wanting a last dance with them, the old Gaffers coming forward to offer them good advise based on their own (real or imagined) travels throughout Middle Earth, the goodwives offering them the choicest offerings of their cooking skills, and the children gathering around to inspect their weapons, ponies and supplies, asking endless questions about the "dangers" they might meet on the road.

Malva laid her head on Marcho shoulder. "You want to go with them, don't you."

"Oh, aye. I'd give anything to be out there with them. It will be a grand adventure for them all. But I've had my time for travel. I've got responsibilites now, don't I?", giving Malva a squeeze.

"Some of them are so young. Dinodas is barely a tween!"

"Young's the time for such rambling. And they've all got good heads on their shoulders, Malva. I picked the best that I could."

"I suppose you'll tell me they'll all be fine."

"No, I can't say that. It's a brutish world out there. And a wonderful world too. The things they see they'll remember the rest of their lives. But we have a better one here. We have to let our people know about it, Malva. And no one's gonna tell them, save other Hobbits."

[ August 27, 2002: Message edited by: Birdland ]

[Ithaeliel]

Sipping a pint of ale at the table after the torch-lighting ceremony, Ardo Baggins watched the younger hobbits who would be leaving telling unbelievable, boastful stories of adventures they had embarked on recently: long trips to the strange and perilous Barrow Downs, seeing large monsters down at Bywater, and dueling with trolls and such beasts as no hobbit should like to stumble across. He laughed jovially, recalling his younger days, before his coming of age, when he would tell his own stories like that, although back then it was far more likely to see such things, as his family and people had never really settled anywhere. Now he dwelt in a cozy smial near the bank of the Brandywine, in a place called Buckland; and at the moment he sat and contemplated fair ways to persuade his long-estranged relatives to come to the lovely settlement of the Shire... he could not believe that he had come across this grand opportunity to 'visit' them, as well as going on a grand adventure at the same time!

When he had seen the notice, posted on the door of the tavern by Master Marcho, he had jumped at the chance; and now he was less than a day from leaving. As this thought crossed his mind, he gasped suddenly and choked on his ale, realizing he had not spoken to dear Cornflower since he had left Buckland that morning! Standing up and looking about frantically, he saw many pretty hobbit lasses, but he would have known his Cornflower anywhere, and she was nowhere to be found. Sighing, Ardo turned back to the table to see two deep blue eyes staring right at him. He gave a start and then sat down, putting a hand to his forehead. "Goodness me, Cornflower! Now, mind you, I don't wish to have everyone wake up in the morning and find that I've died of a heart attack. Nevertheless, I am very glad to see you."
The dark-haired woman laughed and sat down opposite her husband. "I arrived just in time to see the torches lit. This is the best Midyears Day that ever was in the Shire."
Ardo sighed and looked up at the clear night sky. "Yes, it is beautiful. If I had one last night to live, this would be the one. All the stars are flowering in the sky, it is warm out, and the festivities are absolutely marvelous."
Cornflower's eyes were tearing. "Don't say things like that," she said softly. "It is enough that I will be alone for who knows how long, but thinking that you might never return..."
She broke down into sobs. Ardo tried to comfort her and wiped her tears away. "There, there, love. I promise you I'll return with the rest of the messengers. You need not worry." Trying to take her mind off his absence, Ardo stood and extended his hand. "Shall we dance?"
Cornflower nodded and took his hand, and before she could say "party," they were twirling about amongst other jolly hobbits.

[Child of the 7th Age]

Far away from the Shire and its festivities, a solitary figure in a hooded cloak trudged along the North Road. Ahead of him lay the city of Fornost. It was quickly apparent to the traveler that Fornost had seen better times. There was a dingy tavern and a large central square where only a few drifting peddlers paraded their wares.

Most of the inhabitants of the city were men, descendents of the Edain who had built the great walled burg almost 800 years before after the division of Arnor into three separate kingdoms. But, here and there, scattered about the streets was an occasional dwarf or Elf, and even one or two of the little folk who called themselves the Kud-dukan. It was to this latter group that the traveler belonged.

Fornost was located in the southern foothills of the North Downs within the region called Eriador. To the south and west flowed the Branda-nin River which meant "border-water" in old hobbitish. The river itself was a rich golden brown. Because of this, and also on account of the goodly brew served along its banks in towns like Bree and Staddle, some folk had taken to calling it "Bralda-him or "heavy ale." The traveler had no quarrel with that. But he did dislike those kuduk who, aping after Elvish ways and words, had renamed the waters Baranduin or, even worse, in some totally new fangled tongue, Brandywine.

The traveler made his way towards the solitary tavern. The wooden sign over the door proclaimed it as the "Numenor Arms," a rather grand name for such an old, dilapidated building. The kuduk pushed his way inside and looked about for those he was supposed to meet. Just as he had ordered an ale and turned around to sit down, three others of his kind made their way into the room. The leader raised his hand in greeting, and bellowed out a welcome to the traveler, "It's been a long time, Perry." The two men embraced. "You look well," he continued. "What have you been up to? Do you bring any news from outside?"

Perry slid himself down onto the wooden bench, then slowly stretched out his legs, first one and then the other. He seemed to be taking as much time as possible to adjust his frame so that the suspense would continue on a bit longer. Then, he lowered his head, and said in a quiet voice, "News? I've got news a' plenty. But whether to laugh or cry at it, I am not yet sure." The four put their heads together and began to converse in earnest.

[ August 27, 2002: Message edited by: Child of the 7th Age ]

[Elenna]

Dinodas hefted his mug of ale and took a deep draft. He had looked forward to leaving home and going with the Messengers, but now he was beginning to be apprehensive. It seemed as though most of the other messengers were friends and already knew each other, but Dinodas was a farmer's son, and had lived far in the country for his whole life.

"Which is a paltry 23 years. Nothing, compared to everyone else. I wonder why old Marcho picked me."

[Cimmerian]

With a loud deafening crash, the large hobbit lad fell through the roof of the tavern. Startling everyone in the place. Picking himself up, he staggered forward in unsteady steps, up to the bar, "Another flagon of ale," he slurred.

The tavern keeper eyed him in annoyance, and poured out the drink. This hobbit was a walking disater but he did pay for his excesses.

The disheveled hobbit noticed a young hobbit lad staring at him, and he grinned back. He was Barocas Headstrong, and he loved to fight and drink. And maybe a hobbit lass or two along the way. Living his life mostly on the road, this unusually large hobbit loved to travel and meet new people and explore new lands.

Dragging his ale mug along, he flopped down next to the young hobbit. "Hello, me lad... how are ye this fine morn?"

"I am well," replied the young hobbit, amused by this clumsy fellowman. "I am called Dinodas, and what may I call you."

"Drunk!" the large hobbit replied and then fell into a fit of raucous mirth, slapping his knees.

Wiping his eyes, his laughter abated, he replied, "I am called Barocas Headstrong. And I am a travelling man, I love to boldly go where no hobbit has gone before." He waved his hands across in a wide arc.

Dinodas raised an eyebrow and smiled in amusement. "You don't say. I have need of a travelling companion, Barocas... pray tell, would you like to accompany me on a quest for all hobbit kind."

Barocas emptied the ale with a long gulp and slammed the mug down on the table. "And who are you, my bright eyed friend?" he asked, his eyes blurry.

Dinodas sighed. Better than wandering alone, he thought as Barocas erupted into another fit of ribald merriment.

[ August 28, 2002: Message edited by: Cimmerian ]

[Child of the 7th Age]

As the shadows of twilight fell over the Numenor Arms, Perry and his three friends were still deep in conversation.

"But where did you get this news?" asked Bolco.

"In Bree," nodded Perry. "I went there to pick up some supplies. I had just gotten in from the south. Some of the Stoors were having trouble with wolves on a rampage so I had been down there to try and help them set up some kind of defense. Then I sit down in the Prancing Pony, and hear this. I couldn't believe my ears!"

The small lad in the corner, evidently a Harfoot, piped up, "My friends say they're going to round us up and make us go to the Shire. Is that so, Perry?"

"Lad, you'd best stop spreading rumors." Perry retorted. "I haven't heard a word about anyone being forced to do anything so don't go saying that's so, or you'll have kuduk at each others necks, and we don't need that."

Bolco looked thoughtful, "So, what do you think we should do?"

"Do? Right now there's nothing much to do. I don't know too much about this Shire. They've only been there ten years, or so.
A lot less than you've been in your village, I'll wager." The three nodded yes.

"I'd have to learn a bit more about it, before I gave anyone any advice one way or another. But, personally, I don't like the sound of a whole passel of farmers. That's definitely not my brew."

Then Perry laughed, "But I hope they've sent out messengers who know something about living off the countryside and who can defend themselves. You know, I've seen it all, from the Anduin to the River Luin, and back again, all the way to the vacant slopes of Mordor." At this point, he lowered his voice. "And I've got a feeling these so-called messengers may be in for more than they bargained for."

"So what will you do?" asked Bolco.

"Maybe keep an eye on some of them, and make sure they don't get into too much trouble! I don't wish them any harm, though, in a pinch, I might "borrow" a few of their supplies. These lads have probably never even seen the Barrow-downs, let alone what lies beyond it."

[ August 29, 2002: Message edited by: Child of the 7th Age ]

[Elenna]

After a flagon or two more of ale, Barocas collapsed on the counter and began to snore loudly. Dinodas rolled his eyes in annoyance and amusement.

"Well, at least the journey will not be boring," he muttered as he and the bartender hoisted the large hobbit to his feet and, stumbling under the weight, brought him to Dinodas's room in the inn.

That night, Dinodas slept in the armchair listening to the drunk hobbit's snores. "And this is my companion," he thought to himself. "I am no longer alone."

[Ithaeliel]

After the song was through, Ardo sighed and walked back to his seat, laughing with merriment. Cornflower took a seat next to him. "That was wonderful! Come, let's have another dance!"
Ardo shook his head and laughed. "You go on and dance to your heart's content, my dear. I'm going to sit down to a pint and spend some time with the other men before we take our leave come the morn."
Cornflower jumped out of her seat and ran back among the dancers. Ardo smiled as he watched her a bit and thought of how much he would miss her. At length, he turned back to the bar counter with a sigh. He raised his hand to hail the bartender. "Another flagon of ale, if y'please, sir!" he called.
"Could I get one as well?" an unfamiliar voice beside him yelled. Ardo swiveled about in surprise. He had not seen the young hobbit there. "My goodness, young sir, there was no need to go and startle me like that now!"
The hobbit smiled bashfully. "Forgive me, sir, that was by no means what I intended. I'm not commonly a sidler."
Ardo laughed mirthfully at his last comment. "What do you go by, lad?"
"My name's Pippin, sir."
"It's very nice to meet you, Pippin. Do you have a surname at all?"
"Not rightfully, sir. I really don't know much about my life at all."
Ardo's eyes went wide as he lit his short wooden pipe and nodded. "Well, well... lost your memory somewhere along the road to the Shire, eh?"
"I suppose so, sir."
"Stop calling me 'sir,' if you please, Master Pippin; the name is Baggins. Ardo Baggins. It is very nice to make your acquaintance." Ardo shook hands with the younger hobbit. "Might you be one of the messengers leaving tomorrow or one of their kinsfolk?"
"Oh, I am going tomorrow as well, Master Baggins. I assume you are?"
"You're quite right. I hope it will be a somewhat pleasureable journey."
"So do I."

And so Ardo Baggins met Pippin, and he had it from then in the back of his mind that the two might be paired on the journey, as they seemed to get along just fine, as well as the fact that Pippin was the first of the twenty-four messengers that Ardo had not previously met.

[Aradaewen]

After sampling the best ale of the Shire with the solicitious Ardo, Pippin decided to dance it off. Being a shy chap, he stood on the sidelines of the dancefloor until a young maid named Camile asked him for a dance. He cheerfully obliged.

Pippin had always been a wanderer. He had no last name, and no family, roving the country-side for as long as he could remember, until he stumbled upon the Shire purely by accident. During his travels, he had met up with some journeying elves, who had taken pity on him. They had given him lessons in Elvish, a dagger, a bow, and a red pony whom he named Carad'naur which means Red Fire.

In fact, he had taken to the elves so much that forever after he wore only green and brown clothing, and learned the elven way with animals- riding Carad'naur bareback and with no bridle. When he came to the Shire, he found work, food, and board as a farm boy. He had no idea when his birthday was, having no parent to tell him, but after that memorable evening, he forever more told anyone who asked that he was born on Mid-Summer's Eve.

For that was when his life truly began...

[ August 29, 2002: Message edited by: Aradaewen ]

[Birdland]

(O.O.C. - Figured it was getting time to send you all on your way. But if anyone wants to post any more "party" threads. go ahead, and I can move this farther down.)

The sun rose over the remains of the Mid-Year’s party. The Hobbits rose somewhat later. Most of the celebrants had stayed around and were making a half-hearted effort to clean up the fields and stow away the tables and tents for next year. The ashes of the bonfires were gathered to be saved for next spring. They would be used to bless the fields and ensure good crops. But everyone was really awaiting the moment of departure.

The 24 Messengers were making last-minute preparations to depart. Packs and girths were being checked one last time. Mothers had wrapped up parcels of food and were pushing it on their sons “for later” - and trying not to weep. Fathers were giving last minute advise and bestowing precious family tokens - and also trying not to weep.

Marcho and Blanco rode up on their white ponies, and viewed the gathering of riders before them. The 24 looked up expectantly. Their journey was about to begin.

“My Sons,“ said Marcho. “The preparations are complete, the farewells have been said. It is time for you to go out into Middle Earth, and fulfill your mission with valor and wisdom.” Marcho gazed upon the Hobbits he had chosen. They were a mixed lot, but he had every faith that his choices had been the right ones. There was good old Barocas, almost dwarfing his pony, as well as his traveling companion, Dinodas. He swayed in the saddle and squinted blearily in the morning sun, hardly seeming to be the most upstanding representative for the Shire Folk. But Marcho knew that Barocas would never quit, never fail to carry out the duty that had been entrusted to him. And his traveling companion, Dinodas, though young, would offer the level-headed “Hobbit sense” that Barocas was sometimes lacking. Marcho knew they would make a good team.

Ardo had teamed up with the fostering, Pippin, who had come to the Shire on his own some five years ago, and made a home for himself, without the support of kin or friends. To Marcho, Pippin represented all the Hobbits wandering the lands of Middle Earth who could most benefit from having a homeland. Marcho hoped that the older Adro, a fine upstanding Hobbit, and one of the first to take a family surname - Baggins - would act as a father to young Pippin. No Hobbit should be without a family, and it was Marcho's secret hope that Ardo might eventually adopt Pippin.

“I can offer you no more advise. The direction you take after leaving the Shire I leave to you, for you may find Hobbits where ever you ride in Middle Earth. And where ever you ride, you will spread the word of our country, the Shire, and the promise of a land that will be home to them all.

“I saw some Hobbits in Bree, Marcho! Shall I fetch them back?” The crowd laughed as Barocas raised his hand in acknowledgement of his audience. Marcho laughed, though Dinodas shook his head in exasperation. “No, good Barocas. I think the Bree Folk can find their way here, if they so choose. I‘m afraid your search must range farther afield. Perhaps even into parts of the world where no taverns exist.”

“No such place, Marcho“, muttered Barocas.

"You shall see. Hobbits, mount up!“ 24 riders leapt to their ponies. “And may the blessings of us all go with you.!” The band struck up “The Banks of Brandywine“, a song that had recently been written , and would become a tune remembered by all future generations. The crowd sang the sprightly tune as the riders set out on their quest.

One morning very early,
In the pleasant month of May
As I walked out to take the air,
All nature being gay;
The moon had not yet veiled her face,
But through the trees did shine
As I wandered forth to take the air
On the banks of Brandywine.

Lobelia, the proprietoress of the recently built “Golden Perch”, nudged her husband, Oto, in the ribs and gestured rudely with her chin at the departing Hobbits. “There they go, off to round up a passel of queer, outlandish Hobbits and bring them back here to crowd out us decent folk. No telling what kind of savages they’ll find out there.”

“Now, ’Belia, there’s plenty of room for all here, and the Shire could do with some fresh blood. Maybe one of them Messengers will bring back a potential husband for our own dear Jonquil. She’s 36, after all, and no prospects yet.”

“Well, if that Mad Marcho wouldn’t send off half the eligible bachelors into the Wilderness, she might have been joined by now. And you know that our business is going to some hurt by the loss. Why, ’ol Barocas there was good for at least 12 silver pennies a month.”

“Hmmmph! ‘Brothers and Sisters‘. More likely 'Trouble and Strife', if you ask me.”

“Well, I didn’t my dear. But you’ll have your say anyway. Now wave. There go our former customers, disappearing over the hill.“

[ August 30, 2002: Message edited by: Birdland ]

[Cimmerian]

Barocas strolled out along with Dinodas, as the score and four hobbit messengers set off on their chosen paths. He turned and cast a longing look at the tavern and then at Lobelia, grinning as she called, "You hurry back now, Barocas Headstrong! Hurry back, Y'hear..."

Barocas was one of the larger hobbit men, hard work and battle training had developed his muscles well, but the last few years of good food and drink had a telling effect. His rapidly expanding waistline, preceeded him wherever he went. Often incurring the mirthful looks of his fellowmen.

Barocas mostly laughed off such comments, and joined in the revelry with his ridiculers. Dinodas, however, appeared to take some offence in such matters.

"Which road shall we take?" he asked his young companion, as he took a swig of the wine he carried in his waterskin.

[Elenna]

"I do not know, Barocas. I hadn't really thought about it," replied Dinodas uncomfortably. "I was no traveller before I joined with the 24 Messengers, and do not know much of the land beyond my home. Do you know which way we should take?"

[Aradaewen]

<>What does OOC mean?<>

Pippin decided that he liked Ardo. He was a fine fellow with a good taste for ale. smilies/wink.gif Taking Ardo's packages, he loaded them onto his pony (Carad for short) instead of riding himself.

As they walked, Pippin told Ardo as much about his life as he could remember. How he had come across the elves mostly, and how they had changed his life.

In truth, Pippin looked very much like a young elf-lad. Hobbits always had a slight point to their ears, so that aspect took care of itself. He had become very close to nature and animals, and spoke Elven frequently in his soft-spoken voice. (especially to Carad) He wore his hair in elf-fashion, too- long, with braids and small pony-tails around the face. However, there was one characteristic that most definately marked him as a hobbit- he was always joking and laughing and smiling. (especially after an ale or two smilies/biggrin.gif)

Ardo was a good listener. He was quietly thoughtful throughout Pippin's narrative, which was more talk in an hour than Pippin had spoken in five years in the Shire. When Pippin had talked himself out, (he would never speak that much again for a long time) Ardo began with his life story...

[Ithaeliel]

"You wanted to hear my life story, eh, Pippin? All right then, here we are then:

I am not entirely sure of my birthplace, although it would not really matter much anyway, as all our kind were migrant back in that time; but my parents used to tell me, when I asked, that I was conceived here in Eriador, somewhere in the land that is called Eregion by the elves that you were raised by. I had to get used to travelling perpetually at a very young age. My immediate family was reluctant to be moving from place to place all the time, having no land to rightfully call one's home, living in grubby holes by the riverbank instead of wondrous, comfortable, safe homes such as the elves were rumored to live in, and those are what our hobbit-holes in the Shire are now. Thus, I grew up traveling, although I always wanted to settle somewhere eventually. When I was around three and thirty years old, Mr. Marcho and Mr. Blancho, along with their tribe of Harfoots, came to our tribe of Fallohides, announcing that they had found a pleasant land of rolling green hills scattered with tall trees, and it was just beyond the lovely Baranduin River. They claimed it was a perfectly quaint and homey land, and I believed them, be sure I did. I, along with a small number of others, decided to go with them. Many of my relatives refused to come, claiming they liked to see new places and have adventures. Bah! This whole land is an adventure every day. There's the old forest, the river running beside it, where so many can take a boating trip if they can brave the water; then there's the Barrow Downs, full of dangerous wights and ghostly princes who sacrifice with their cold hand anyone who ventures into the place... but then there's that merry ol' feller, Tom Bombadil. He is said to reside there, driving out many of the ghastly haunters in the barrows, although many hobbits, including myself, have never seen him. So, at the moment, I've taken to wife the prettiest, kindest hobbit lass in all the Southfarthing, and we have a grand home in Buckland. I will miss the Shire whilst we are gone... but all the better to return to. All the better."

Pippin smiled. "Oh, Mr. Ardo, that was wonderful! You're amazin' with stories, sir."
Ardo laughed. "I'm not quite so prosy as I'd like to think, Pippin. Say, you and I ought to be partners on this journey, young lad. I could show you some things that I've seen in my time as a vagrant."
That was exactly what Pippin had wanted to hear. "It would be my greatest honor, sir! I can't wait!"

[Aradaewen]

Ardo smiled and fell silent. Pippin occupied himself for awhile by singing an elven traveling song:

The road is long and dusty- our feet walk on for miles,
Past trees and streams and villages where people are all smiles,
The horse is strong and hardy- our hearts are light as air,
The love we feel protects us... wherever we may fare.

[ August 30, 2002: Message edited by: Aradaewen ]

[Birdland]

Scene: The Broken Dragon, a tavern near the Old Ford, a meeting place of the Men of the Vale of Anduin.

The herdsman entered the welcoming gloom of the Broken Dragon, and made immediately towards the ancient barfront, stained black from decades of spills.

“Eastorhyld! Queen of Alewives! Face that haunts my dreams. How fare you?”

Eastorhyld fetched an earthenware mug of ale and slid it with practiced ease down the bar. “Beda! Face that haunts MY dreams, which may be why I sleep so poor. As to how I fare: not well. A river of petty woes seems to drown us here in these parts.”

Beda took a long pull from the mug, and settled in for an hour or two of gossip. It would be all small tales, but the players in them were known by him for his whole life, and were of great importance to Beda. “Tell me your sorrows, Mistress Eastorhyld, and I will drown them for you.“ He saluted her with the mug, indicating that it was empty.

The Alewife fetched another round for her customer, saying “Enjoy the ale, for may be it will be in short supply. The last batch we brought up from cellar, though brewed with the greatest care, has gone cloudy and sour. And we seemed to have had a rash of petty thievery in these parts. Small items mislaid and never found again. And just this morning my Gammer Æthel’s best milch cow, her pride and joy, has gone dry, who never failed to give good milk before. Ill fortune seems to plague all in these parts...may it not touch you, good Beda“ She gave the sign against evil with an absent-minded hand.

“Hmmmmmm” offered Beda, with feigned interest. Tales of ill fortune were two a penny in these parts, especially since the Darkness had gathered in Mirkwood to the East. Still, for such a plague to touch the Broken Dragon was a bit of news. The tavern was usually a sanctuary from woe.

A small freeholder by the name of Cadda spoke up from his end of the bar. “I can tell you what has brought this plague on these parts. Holbytlan, that’s what. The Little People have been working their mischief in these parts.”

“Hole Builders, Cadda? And where did you find this information. Did you trip on one on your doorstep, as you crawled home the other night?“ Beda laughed at his own wit.

“Nay” grumbled Cadda, “I did not spy the little vermin, but Farmer Inwær did. Gleaning his corn field, they were, by the dark of the moon. But by the time he had loosed his hound, Gyrth, on them, they had disappeared, as they do. And the hound lost the scent in the stream. But Gyrth will know it, when he catches it again, and he will not forgive the slight the next time.”

“Well,” said Beda, “If the Long-Feet have tunneled round these parts, I suppose that would explain much, for it’s said they are a thieving, tricksy mob. ‘Small‘ troubles, indeed, eh, Mistress Eastorhyld?“

“Hmmph. Small creatures, they may be. But big trouble they cause. Remember two years ago, when Nothhelm lost his best horse? He was riding along the banks of the river, and one of those little rat dens collapsed just as the horse strode over it. Broke both his legs, he did, and Nothhelm had to finish the poor beast off. Nothhelm said he could only hope that the Holbytlan were home when his horse dropped in, and were buried in their own, cursed hole.”

Lilla the bar-maid came out from the scullery, drawn by the fascinating conversation. “Are the Hole Builders really such evil, tricksy creatures?” she asked

“Aye, Miss Lilla.” Cadda said with a wise tone, and a leering glance. “Whenever their kind wander into your land, you’ll know it by the ill-fortune they bring with them. It seems that they were created just to plague Men with petty woes. Have your folk never frighted you with goblin-tales of the Long Feet?”

“Well…" breathed Lilla, “my grandmother often would tell of the time, when she was but a girl, when she said she befriended one of the Holbytlan. She spoke often of her ‘little friend‘, whom she would visit in the forest, and while away the long, summer days. She used to cry when she spoke of her. ’Linnet’, she called her, and said she was no bigger than a doll.”

“And what happened?” urged Mistress Eastorhyld. Suddenly, the new bar-maid, whom had seemed too stupid to learn her duties, had become interesting.

“Oh, her mother, my great-grandmother, as it were, she found them playing in the forest, and snatched my grandmother away. She threatened her with dire punishment if she ever went to the forest again, since she said that the Holbytlan would snatch human children, and spirit them away underground. My grandmother was too frightened to ever go back.“

“Aye, it’s true,“ said Cadda, “The Long-Feet will steal babies, and starve them to keep them small. That is how they create more of their kind.”

Beda laughed out loud, and slapped his hand on the bar. “Oh, really, Cadda? And do they hang the babes by their toes, in order to make their feet long?” The folk in the bar had a good laugh at this, and Cadda grumbled and sank back into his ale cup.

But Beda signaled for two more, and wandered over to the freeholder with a peace offering. “So Cadda, do you think it’s true that Farmer Inwær and his good hound Gyrth really spied these Holbytlan in the area?

“of course! Inwær is a true freeholder, careful of his lands, and with sharp eyes. He saw them, alright. And is on watch, in case they come again.”

“Well, Cadda, good fellow, what say you and I get the loan of good Gyrth, and do us a little hunting tonight?“

[ September 01, 2002: Message edited by: Birdland ]

[Rose Cotton]

One bright morning in the mists of Mirkwood forest a young hobbit girl Rosie Took was climbing out the back window of her home. Her mother was in frount of the house tending a small garden and so Rosie was able to escape her chores with ease. She hurried out of sight away from the rest of the homes till she reached a small hollow. In the middle a limp makeshift doll resembling one of the big people was hung on a stake. Rosie picked up a long straight stick and started to fence with the doll. It was make to turn so that when she hit it she would have to dodge the fake arms and legs. She played this game for a long time untill the sound of a horn could be heard in the distance. Rosie's eyes lit up as she headed back to the village. Just outside it she chose a good size tree to scramble up. Marching into the center of the tiny town were the hunters back from a week long hunting trip. Her father and her younger brother Seredic where among them. This was Seredic's first time and Rosie could she that he had a great time.

Rosie jumped down from the tree to greet them.

[Child of the 7th Age]

Perry made his way back into the forests of Mirkwood. He had a serious matter to consider which came before any thoughts of dealing with the messengers sent out from the Shire. He needed to find a young lad whom he could train in the ways of a Ranger. There was one family of Tooks he knew he might talk to. He knew there were one of the best families in the forest, and on top of that, were Fallohides. Perry believed that the Tooks usually made the best rangers. And he suspected that all the children in the Took family were being well brought up in the ways of defense and the secrets of the woods. That would be a real boon.

Perry tried to remember if the family had any boys of suitable age. He remembered there was a boy and girl who were the two eldest. And what was the lad's name....Seridac, or some such thing. He hoped the lad was the older one and that he was anxous to go out and be trained as a ranger. Too many of the families expected the protection of the rangers but refused to send out any of their sons to learn the trade. They thought it was too dangerous.

Perry thought, not for the first time, that it might be good if the kuduk made an alliance with some of the big folk and include them in the patrols as well. But that would take a lot of planning and sweet talking, and sweet talking was definitely not his specialty. He hoped the family had a lad they could send for training. If not, he was at a loss what he would do. Perry disliked using the word "desperate," but he had just aout reached that level of frustration in recruiting the junior rangers.

Perry walked into the small hobbit village and noticed a large hunting party which had also just returned.

[ August 31, 2002: Message edited by: Child of the 7th Age ]

[Aradaewen]

Ardo nodded his approval at Pippin's song. "It has a wonderful melody." he said, "Did your elves teach it to you." "Yes, sir," Pippin replied, "Liked to sing songs, they did. And I just learnt a few..." He trailed off.

"Did you learn any more songs, Pippin?" Ardo asked. "Most of them I made up, sir." Pippin answered, "Would you like to hear one?" Ardo nodded and Pippin began:

Oh Mister Ardo Baggins, where're we off to today?
To find hobbits lost and lonely, or treasure far away?
Will we ever make it home, from where-ever we would roam?
And take our time a-traveling as we may?

[Rose Cotton]

The crowd parted to let the lone hobbit though. But Rosie pressed though them to try and get a better look at this stranger. Her father stepped forward and held out a hand in welcome.

[Ithaeliel]

Ardo laughed with mirth and delight at Pippin's song. "Did you just make that up off the top o' your head?"
Pippin flushed nervously. "Why, yes, Mister Ardo, I did. D'you like it?"
"Do I like it! Pippin, my lad, that was masterful. You have a particular talent for music."
"Why, thank you, Mister Ardo. I do so like to think up songs. And most of 'em have sort of an elvish air, so you can tell what their music is like."
Ardo nodded, smiling. "They must have magnificent music, as beautiful as the glittering blue waters of Nenuial on a summer's day. I never did have a great musical inclination myself. I sometimes wish I did."
Pippin slung an arm over his elder partner's shoulder. "Well, Mister Ardo, if you like, I could have the elves teach you some things about music, when we get to that point. I could arrange it if you like."
"I would like that! Thank you, Pippin. I shall enjoy our time together, I'm sure of it."

[Birdland]

The boy sat by the bank, bare feet in the water, head tilted back to catch the rays of the Sun as She ran toward the distant Misty Mountains, to find Her way to the sea. He should not have been lying there by the stream, not in broad daylight, and certainly not in an open meadow. But what child doesn’t love the Sun?

“Ceo! What are you doing? Da will be that angry at you, he will. Coming home empty handed.“ The boy jumped up, grinning as he held up a pair of limp conies that had been hidden in the grass beside him. “Saw a bustard today, Fina.”

“Oh, did you? And where is it now, knowing how fond we all are of bustard?” Despite her earlier scolding, the girl joined the boy by the water, setting a willow basket down, and also dangling her long, bare feet in the cool stream.

“She was still being followed by her chicks. Don’t worry, I’ll find her again.“ And he did a perfect imitation of the bird’s ratchety call, and spreading his arms, struck up it’s mating “dance.”

Fina laughed at her brother’s mocking (for brother and sister they were. Born on the same day.) and said “Aye, if I were a bustard, I could not resist your charms.“

“What have you found, then?” Ceo rummaged in the basket, pulling out various roots, shoots, leaves, and mushrooms, which he sniffed appreciatively, before finally settling on some cattail bulbs which he rinsed in the stream and began to peel with a small, iron knife.

“Least you didn’t find the berries. I kept them separate.” Which caused Ceo to toss aside the cattail and wheedle, “Come, Fina, share with your brother. Just a few. I’m that hungry.”

“Just a few. I didn’t find that many. It’s still early in the season.” She carefully opened a pouch on her belt, and handed him a small handful, taking another for herself. Fina delicately ate her own berries one at a time. Ceo tossed his in his mouth at once, then looked around for the cattail he had tossed away.

“I wish we had some corn for tonight.” said Ceo, munching on the root, then making a face. “And salt.“

“It’s a full moon. You’ll have to wait awhile for more corn. And Da wouldn’t want us to go back to that last field anyway. I was that scared, when that Big Folk started to holler, and his dog to bark.”

“Hah! I’m not afraid of any Blind-Feet. They’re so big, I’m surprised they can even walk, let alone run. Clumsy as a troll. Just as stupid as one too. Most of them, anyway.”

“ ‘Most of them’? And just how many of the Big Folk have YOU had dealings with? And don’t call them ‘Blind-Feet‘. Ma says it’s crude.”

“Well, it’s true, isn’t it? Wearing all that leather and iron on their feet. How can they tell where they’re goin’?

“Ma says their feet are all short, and squishy. And naked, like a baby bird!” Fina giggled and shuddered at the same time. “They must look that odd”

Ceo grinned “Bet they stink too.” Which set the twins into a fit of giggling, with various theories about just how bad the Big Folk would smell.

Finally Ceo looked up at the mountain ranges in the far distance, and jumped to his feet. “Look where the Sun’s at! She’s almost gone behind the peaks. Da will call us out, for sure.”

The children bent to gather their foodstuff in the basket again. Ceo placed the conies on top, and took the load, slinging it over one shoulder. Then carefully looking around, they set out without a sound across the meadow, and into the shelter of the trees.

A minute later, and you would never have known that they had been there.

[ August 31, 2002: Message edited by: Birdland ]

[Child of the 7th Age]

Perry sat on a tree stump at the edge of the road shaking his head in dismay. He had spent two hours listening to hobbit chatter. The trouble was that, after all that noise, not much had actually been said.

Bingo Took had brought Perry to a town meeting which included several of the important clan heads. They had all been polite and thanked Perry profusely for the rangers' help in putting down a band of outlaws who'd attacked the residents just a few months before. In gratitude, the hobbits had even sent a small wagon of supplies down to Bree. A back room of the main inn in Bree had long served as ranger headquarters, if you could give that name to a group which was largely hidden from public view and which seemed to come and go with the night winds.

But supplies were one thing, and junior rangers were another. Perry had made no progress on that account. Bingo Took had assured him that the town was devoid of eligible 'tweener boys, a claim Perry found difficult to believe.

But he did know one thing. If a lad didn't want to train as a ranger, it was better not to press. Perry had purposely waited around a bit on the treestump. Sometimes fathers said one thing, and lads felt another way. Many a time, he'd found himself accosted by the boys themselves after their parents had said no. Then a little visit back to the family and a twisting of arms usually ended up with the hobbit going off to train as a ranger. But here, even that didn't seem to be working. He'd join the Tooks for dinner and a soft bed and then be off in the morning. But it was a bitter disappointment to find no new recruits.

He was about to make his way to the house when he saw a small form come racing like the wind towards him. Perry looked up in expectation only to see the last thing in the world that he would ever want to see. For it was a pretty 'tweener girl with long golden curls and, as far as he was concerned, that could only mean trouble.

[Rose Cotton]

When Rosie's father had gone off with the stranger she and Seredic were curious. They followed and listened to what was said. Rosie's heart jumped when she heard the stranger needed a young ranger to train. But she knew he could never want a girl. "Seredic, why don't you become a ranger? Wouldn't it be fun to go on adventures and fight off bad things? Discover new places."
"I don't know. " Her brother replied. "The idea of it is glorious but I don't think I'm suited to anything outside hunting animals."

And nomatter what she said her brother was not persuaded to give up a quiet life for adventuring.

Rosie was not discuraged. Later on she found the ranger walking towards her home and she ran up to him. "Oh Sir, please let me come with you. I can be a ranger."

He looked at her like she was joking. "You expect me to train a inmature girl like you."

"I'm not inmature and if you give me the chance I can be as good if not better then any boy in this village. I can be as quiet and as swift as a mouse. I can't even count anymore how many times I've snuck out of the house. I'm pritty good with a sword too. I've learned tons of stuff from the elves. They don't live very far and they are fantastic teachers."

"What could you learn from them that I wouldn't know from my years of experience."

At this Rosies eyes lit up. "Do you know what it's like, Sir to be up on the very top branches of a tree and have the wind blow through your hair. If you do then your the first hobbit that I've heard claim to that besides me. Sure, other hobbits can climb trees if they want to. But not like I can. Give me a chance and I'll be the best student you could ever dream up."

Rose looked up into the Ranger's and her own were blazing.

[Aradaewen]

Pippin grinned, "I'm sure too, Mister Ardo, sir." They continued down the road, sometimes talking, and sometimes being silent. A little later, Pippin pulled a small sack from his pack and offered Ardo its contents. Ardo stuck his hand in and pulled out a large mushroom! He smiled and popped it in his mouth, mumbling his thanks. Pippin laughed and did likewise. They walked onward, munching on mushrooms of the best elvish variety.

[Birdland]

“…Outsiders were a rustic, not to say…uncivilized lot, and not held in much account. There were probably a good many more of them scattered about in the West of the world in those days than people in the Shire imagined, though many were indeed no better than tramps or wanderers, ready to dig a rough hold in any bank, and stay only as long as it suited them.”

As is often the case, the Red Book got it half right. There were many halflings scattered throughout Middle Earth at the time of the Shire’s founding, and most were a wandering people. Long ago Harfoots had given up the struggle of having permanent settlements. Their needs and the needs of Men were much the same, and when there was competition for these needs, the stronger, more forceful Men (almost) always won. The Hobbits found safety in retreat, and never staying in one place too long.

But to say that they could dig a “rough hole” whenever they stopped for the night was a misconception. Hobbits are clever diggers, but the are not badgers or moles. These holes were actually an ancient system of well-hid resting places, created and maintained down through the ages, stretching from the North Vales clear down to the Ered Nimrais. They were free for any Hobbit to use, for as long as was needed. Though not for too long.

It was to such a hole that Ceo and Fina returned from their day of foraging. It was set into an embankment, screened from below by a grove of trees, with a natural “porch” of a shallow cave, and a cozy hole dug into and supported by the roots of a massive old oak. Farther up the hill, hidden by a grove of trees, was a very well hidden secret exit.

Fina and Ceo climbed nimbly up to the “Porch“ and found the family gathered outside the hole to enjoy the last of the waning light. Their father, Ruddoc, looked up from his task of smoothing and straightening a length of yew sapling. “Well, it’s about time you two showed up. Getting pretty late, wasn‘t it?”

“We’re sorry Da. But we’ve brought plenty home. Look! Two conies with my sling! Oh, and Fina found plenty, too. Even mushrooms. What are you working on, Da? Can I see?”

Ruddoc’s eyes twinkled as he gave a mock scowl. “And did you think to bring some water for your Ma?”

“What, Da? I can’t carry water in my pockets, now can I? What are you doing, Osle? You’re making arrowheads, aren’t you.” Ceo’s eyes lighted up and he ran to his older brother. “You and Da are making my bow and arrows, aren’t you! Please, can I see? Can I help? I’ve been working on my quiver for a month now. Do you need it? Wait, I’ll go get it so you can get the shafts right.” He started to run to the hole, but Osle grabbed his arm and thrust a water skin into it. “Water first, then you can help. Ma and Avice have to get started on supper, and I have to skin those conies if we’re going to get anything to eat tonight. Now get going.” Osle looked up at the sinking sun. “We won‘t be able to work out here much longer, so hurry.”

Ceo grabbed the water skin and went running down the hill to a nearby spring. Fina finished unloading her basket, and said “Da, can I use your knife to cut up roots? I promise to be careful.” Ruddoc took a small, precious blade from his belt and handed it to his daughter. It was steel, a gift given to him long ago by one of the Big Folk, of all things. A lonely widow on a small croft, her man gone to war, never to return.

Ruddoc, out of pity, had offered to do such work as he could for her for a week or two in return for some food. She had given him the knife as a parting gift of thanks. When Ruddoc passed by the area again a year later, the widow was gone, and the farm in ruins.

Fina took the knife and sat down next to Avice, but first stopped to bend over the basket at Avice’s side. “Pretty Lianth,” she cooed to the baby in the basket, barely three weeks old. This was the reason the family had stayed at the cliff hole for over a month. Lianth was Avice’s and Osle’s first child. “Oh, Avice, can I hold her?”

“I just got her to sleep, Fina. Come, sit by me and your Ma and tell us of your day and what you saw.” Fina settled between the Avice and her mother, Enid, as they began to prepare the greens and roots that she had brought home. “Ma, can I have Ceo’s sling when Da finishes his bow? Mine’s all frayed, and Ceo won’t want his, now that he has a real hunting weapon.“

“You shall have a new one, Fina-Bird. You’re as good with a sling as your brother, and I shall make you a new belt to hang it from. But can we please get supper on first“?

So the family settled into its evening chores, telling the small tales of their day, and singing ancient songs in soft voices.

Two hours after the sun was down, they had all gone into the hole in the side of the hill, and were fast asleep.

[ September 01, 2002: Message edited by: Birdland ]

[Cimmerian]

"Friend Dinodas," boomed Barocas Headstrong, gesturing widely across the horizon, "Let us go to this little settlement known as Bree, for there are great many taverns there to help us through with this journey." He winked.

Dinodas looked at the large hobbit with some discomfort, but the jolly smile on his generous face made the young hobbit laugh, "And what after that, or are we to drink our way through this mission?"

"Nay! Young Dino, nay I say," boomed the larger hobbit, "we shall traverse to lands I have only heard of from the tales of strange big folk and the dwarf people. We will go to the lands where the qround is white and hard and the cold air bites like the sharp teeth of a warg."

Dinodas gulped hard and wondered if his companion had one too many that early in the day to be considering that hobbit folk would ever be found in such unfriendly places, but something in the sour-breathed tone of Barocas convinced the youngster and he put his arm around the older hobbit's generous girth as they headed off toward Bree.

[Rose Cotton]

Rosie and Master ,as she was now supposed to call him, made thier way back to the Took house hold together. The ranger had reluctently agreed to Rosie being a ranger after he had made sure that she knew the dangers and hard times she would have to face. Rosie knew that her father would object to her leaving and so they would have to sneek her out.

As they went inside none of the Took family knew a thing about what had just happened. Supper was allready on the table and they were all very hungry. And even going to bed no one could have guessed that Rosie was planning escape.

Just before sunrise, Rosie woke and tiptoed into her brothers room. She pulled on some of his clothes. Then she filled a pack with food, blankets, and tools. Finally she crept into her parents room and kissed them goodbye without causeing them to wake. On the way out the door she grabed one of her father's swords.

Master was right where he said he'd be. When she ran up to him he gave her the first smile she had seen him wear yet.

The sun was just visible on the horizon when they started out.

[Child of the 7th Age]

Perry had thought that Rosie would tell her parents about her plans to be a ranger, and then they'd get together and all discuss it. When he found out that Rose had snuck out of the house without telling anyone, he immediately marched her back to her family.

The whole time, he lectured her in a very stern voice, "Rose Took, from now on, you're going to listen to what I say!Being a ranger is not all fun and games or even learning how to defend yourself with sword. It's hard, tough work. You're going to learn to do all those things your mother wanted you to learn, but you wouldn't listen to her! You have to gut fish and cook meals and sew clothes. Then you walk twenty five miles in the drenching rain, shoot a coney, and start all over again."

"The first thing is that a Ranger always keeps his word.... that is, her word. If I went around accepting meals and supplies from people and then ran off with their young ones, they'd never trust me again! And it's even worse if I run off with a 'tweener girl in tow. You never know what nonsense tongues will be wagging. So march right back to your father and tell him politely what you want to do and why you want to do it!! And don't worry about him saying no. I'm an adult and I know the magic words to say to turn his views. Believe me, I've been doing this many a year."

"The other thing is that you'll have to cut off those frilly curls and dress like a young lad. I'll let the head of the rangers know who you really are, but on the road that can be a secret just between us. So you better start practicing to walk and talk like a lad. And I don't want to hear any tongue back."

Perry knew that there was actually one ranger named Goldie Boffo, who was a woman, and he intended to pair up the young Rose with her. But until he crossed paths with Goldie, that would have to wait. He at least had the advantage of being kin to the family. Being a Took himself, he was actually one of Rose's great uncles. So few would question his right to chaperone the girl.

Rosie shook her head. This was worse than her own parents!! But she wanted to be a ranger so badly, she reluctantly agreed to the plan. They got to the door of the Took household. Rosie could hear her mother banging about inside with her chores.

Perry glared at her, "Now go inside and tell them you're sorry you ran out. A strange madness seized you, but Perry has brought you back to your senses! And ask your parents nicely if you can come with me as my apprentice. After that, I'll do the talking and the explaining."

Perry reflected that, in only one day, the girl had already been a handful. He suspected that her parents had also found her quite a challenge. They undoubtedly loved her, but they might be willing to send her off in this unconventional apprenticeship, as long as they felt it was respectable and that the girl would be gaining useful skills.

They came to the round door of the burrow, and Perry pushed the girl inside. Her parents stood with a worried expression on their face.

"Excuse me," said Perry. "There's been a misunderstanding. Your daughter spoke with me yeserday about doing an apprenticeship as a ranger. We hoped to speak with you about it today, but she got a bit anxious and tried to slip out on her own. Now, she's going to apologize and put her request to you in a way that any hobbit parent would be proud of." Perry gave Rose a little push from behind.

[ September 02, 2002: Message edited by: Child of the 7th Age ]

[Rose Cotton]

It wasn't as hard as Rosie thought it would be. She applogised to her parents and then Master told them he was going to take her along with him on his travels and train her to be a ranger. As she suspected they were relutent to let her go. But with a few smooth words from the ranger they agreed. Before they left Rosie cut her hair. At first she hesitated but then she put on a determined face and just did it. Seredic laughed at her dressed in boys clothes and with a boys hair but she didn't let it get to her. She was willing to do somthing that he could not and that was worth all his mirth. There was one thing she was certain of. She wasn't going to do anything without her Master's permition again. She wanted to learn everything and was going to show him that she wasn't just a little tween playing games.

[Child of the 7th Age]

Rose was allowed to take her pony with her, and Perry purchased another mount in the village stable.As Perry rode along the track with Rose, he pointed out various plants that could be used for different purposes. There were leaves that could be brewed for healing wounds and vines with fibers that might be woven into ropes. He had her listen for the songbirds in the trees and try to guess which was which.

Perry explained that she would need to learn to understand what was "normal" among the animals and flying creatures of the wood. For, quite often, the only clue you might have to a very dangerous situation or threatening weather was a flock of birds unxpectedly taking flight.

They stopped for lunch in the woods. Rose found a grove of berries much to Perry's delight, and they brought out the food that Rose's parents had given them. The girl looked up in surprise, "You don't hunt game for your lunch?"

Perry laughed, "Little lass, I've done plenty of hunting in my day, but if someone gives me decent, home-cooked food, I don't turn it down. And where we're going, we may even be able to get a free meal or two."

Rose looked curious, and Perry explained. "You'll get your wish anyway. We're going hunting for two quarry: hobbits and men. But not for dinner, or anything like that." Perry laughed. "I suspect a few of these hobbit messenger may be coming through Bree, and even if not, I've heard some uneasiness coming out of the men there. I just hope all this questing and travelling business out of the Shire doesn't stir up ire between the big folk and us."

"And another thing, that sword you're carrying won't be all that useful in the woods most of the time. You need to learn to handle a bow and some knives. We can pick those up in Bree."

Now take my bow and start practicing. Do it every day for at least an hour. And forge the sword, until you've got some skills with archery. A sword is not going to feed you when your belly is empty"

Then, he gave her several words of advice and sat back to watch. The first arrow fell down at the girl's feet, and the second buried itself in the ground. Finally, Rose managed to hit a tree but it was definitely not the one she'd been aiming at.

Perry growled once or twice at the results and silently reflected, Oh, no, she handles a bow like a girl! What have I gotten myself into?" But, out loud, he said nothing, and tried to offer a few more tips. At the end of an hour of hard work, Rose was beginning to come a little closer to the mark. He had to admit that she was quite stubborn. She refused to give up once she'd made up her mind. And that was not a bad trait, at least for surviving in the wild.

"How are you at sneaking up and spying?" he asked.

Rose's eyes lit up like a beacon. She said nothing but smiled ear to ear.

"Hah! Just as I expected. Well, you may be able to put your skills to use. I'd like to khow a little more about what these hobbits are planning, and also what the men are saying about these messengers."

Then they got up from their rest and mounted their ponies, continuing on the trail.

[ September 02, 2002: Message edited by: Child of the 7th Age ]

[Bêthberry]

Hob Heathertoes was a taciturn hobbit; he had enjoyed listening to Ardo encouraging young Pippen's songs as much as he had enjoyed the songs themselves. And he had decided that he sympathized with Dinodas, for that young hobbit surely had his work cut out for him if Barocas was going to turn this Gathering into a pub crawl.

Listening was Hob's way of observing the lay of the land and evaluating the people he needed to work with. That's why he had remained silent throughout the Feast of Lithe and the festivities celebrating the Messenagers' Leave-taking. He and Erling Greenhands, his fellow Messenger, shared this trait. Both were quiet and reserved, although Erling certainly had a fair taste for mischevious fun should the situation merit it. Erling brought Hob out of his reverie.

So, Hob, you've been even quieter than usual. Was Marcho's private talk with you before we left so serious that you are resolved to keep a dour face for the entire Gathering?

Hob looked over at his friend, the only Fallohide he had been able to learn to trust and smiled his own particular small grin which only Erling knew well.

Erlin', me friend, I've been wonderin' about the possibility of meetin' some of me mum's folks over near Old Ford, of how she would like havin' more of her Stoor folk to talk with. It's been hard on her and me dad, not really knowin' the Fallohides and bein' Stoors and Harfoots and bein' more inclined to let wimmenfolk have a hand in runnin' things. Marcho doesn't really cotton to this. He's thinkin' hobbits are all hobbits and he's no worried about how we'll be gettin' along once we're gathered.

Erling grinned at Hob. Always the pessimist, eh? C'mon. How'd we get to be such friends, then.

Hob grinned even more broadly. You've a double wicked sense of fun, Erlin' 'cause you've grabbed me share of it, and if I ever intend to have meself some fun, I've need to be keepin' you close at hand. But seriously, creatin' a hospitable community is hard work and I'm hopin' we'll be able to bring hobbits 'round. There's too much hunger and strife and hardship. We need the new land and the more hands if we're to prosper.

Aye, your right, there, Hob, but I'd say we'd best think about closer problems, like how we travel safely and how we talk up this project with the folks we meet.

Hob recognized the innate good nature that seemed so much a part of Erling and his large family, and some of his downcast spirit was dispersed. He replied more positively. Starvin' folk and bullied folk and troubled folk won't be needin' much encouragement. And movin' families during summer might not be so hard, if the weather keeps with us. Its drought and storm that worry me.

Erling looked at his friend with amazement. He couldn't remember when he had heard so much talk come out of his friend. This was going to be a quest of much learning and experience, of much growth, he realized.

[ September 03, 2002: Message edited by: Bethberry ]

[Birdland]

It was the sound of a hound that woke them, baying far off in a meadow by a stream. The family froze, barely breathing as they listened to the dog, wishing it away on some hunt for fox or deer.

But it came closer, and it came fast. And then they heard the the crashing of bushes and the voices of Men, encouraging the hound with shouts of “On, Gyrth, Dig them out, good Sir. Hunt the hares!” And it was then they knew that no hares were being hunted that night.

“Go now“, whispered Ruddoc, and Avice quickly scooped up the baby, bundling her in her cloak and pressing her close to her breast. Enid signaled to her twins, “Come. Take nothing!“ she said, as the children had reached for favorite possessions. “We’ll come back for that later, Go!” The four scrambled up the tunnel towards the secret exit, Osle coming behind with his bow. Ruddoc bringing up the rear with bow and his steel knife. All else was left behind.

They cleared the tunnel and were fleeing up the hill just as the huge, shaggy cross-bred hound found the front entrance to the hole and began a frantic scrambling with his paws, baying “Here! Here!” to the Men following behind.

The Hobbits ran swiftly, and they ran silently. But they had no control over the wind. The breeze shifted, and the hound threw up his head as the scent of his quarry was carried down the hill to him. Gyrth was a seasoned hunter, he knew when the game had fled the hole. He turned from the bank and sprang up the hill, running swiftly and calling to his slower masters.

The dark shapes were running before him. They had almost reached the top of the hill. Gyrth sped towards the last of the fleeing Halflings, and Ruddoc turned as he heard the hound gaining behind. It was too late to draw a bow, though, and he flung up his arm instinctively to protect his throat as the hound leaped upon him. Gyrth’s teeth closed on the arm to bone, and he began the fierce shaking of the caught prey.

Osle turned at the sound of Ruddoc’s scream, snatching an arrow even as he ran back down the hill and letting fly into the moonlit form of the monster hound. The arrow struck deep into the side of the beast, and it released it hold to turn snapping at the arrow shaft, while it let out a string of frantic yelps. Then the dog staggered and fell, paddled its legs feebly, and was still.

Osle ran to his father, kneeling and trying to get him to his feet. Ruddoc clutched at Osle’s tunic as he bit his tongue to silence a scream. His left arm was hanging uselessly as he tried to stand and follow his family. Just then the sound of heavy footsteps could be heard coming up the hill. Osle set his father down again, and grabbed the bow.

Beda emerged from the trees, cudgel swinging to clear the underbrush in front of him. He stopped as he saw the two halflings. Then gasped as he spied the dead form of Gyrth where he had slid down the hill, arrow sticking from his side. “Gyrth! What have they done? Oh, Gyrth!” Beda turned towards Osle, towering over the Holbytla as he raised his club over his head. “Why you little rat!…“ Then his eyes went wide, as he looked down at the small, feathered shaft sticking from his chest. His mouth opened, but no other sound came from it again. Beda slumped to his knees, and fell limp by the hound.

When Cadda finally came staggering up the hill, winded and puffing, the first thing he saw were the moonlit, still forms of Man and dog. He staggered back, gibbering in fear, then looked up to see above him the Halfling standing farther up the hill. Osle and Cadda locked eyes, both white-faced and still. Both pairs of eyes widened in fear and shock. But Osle had his bow drawn, and after a second he turned his eyes away from the face of the Man, and sighted on his heaving chest. Cadda could not see the slight trembling of his arms.

Cadda let out a scream of terror, and rolled stumbling down the hill. He scrambled to regain his footing, finally finding his legs, and fled, arms flailing, back down the slope.

Then Ceo came down the hill, having broken free from his mother’s arms. The boy also froze when he saw the scene before him. Then he saw his father stretched on the ground. Ceo did not cry out. Young as he was, he knew better. But he flung himself down by Ruddoc, as the silent tears began to flow.

“Come”, whispered Osle, “Help me to get him out of here.“ The two sons raised their father to his legs, Ceo trying not to hurt the injured arm any further. Then his feet slipped in the blood. There was so much blood. The wound was open and jagged. The blood flowing freely down Ruddoc’s side and into the grass.

They staggered to the top of the hill, Where the rest of the family hid waiting. Enid knelt over her husband, ripping her skirts to try to bind the wound. Ruddoc rolled his head weakly towards his oldest child, and asked weakly, “The man..?“

Osle looked into his mother’s eyes, then down at his father. “Da. I think I killed him.”

Ruddoc closed his eyes and turned his head away. “Enid. Enough” He clutched at the arm of his wife. “Stop. Enough.” Raising his good hand, he stroked the face he had known and loved for forty years. “I’m sorry. You must all go, now. Osle will lead you.”

“No, Ruddoc! We’ll get you out of here, too. We go together or not at all. Be still, my darling. I’m here. We’ll go together. Just like always...Ruddoc?...No! Ruddoc!”

[Rose Cotton]

Life in the wild wasn't as bad as Uncle Perry made it seem. Sure it was cold nights on hard grounds. Less food and hard work but Rose was equall to that. Or at least she was going to make Uncle Perry belive she was equall to it.

But the one thing she couldn't get was that drated bow. Her first time using it she couldn't even hold it straight. It was oviously somthing her parents think she would have to know.

One afternoon after about three hours of completely missing the target Rose threw her bow on the ground in fustration and sat down beside it. "Your right." she said to her Uncle who was observing from under a tree. "This is too hard for a young girl to learn. Maybe I should just go home."

"Oh no." He said, walking over to her. "You can't get out as easy as that. Your bound now. Here. Watch." He picked up the bow from the ground pulled an arrow from the quiver on his back and shot it straight into the center of the target. To Rose it seemed like some in-mortal power. "Your working too hard. Just relax." He helped her up and handed her the bow and another arrow. "Hold it straight. Look at the target. Imagine there is a straight line between the arrow head and the center of the target. Concentrate only on that. Forget everything else. Now. Shoot."

Rose took a deep breath and shot the arrow. And this time it hit the target. It wasn't anywhere near where Uncle Perry's had hit but it was better then Rose had ever done before. "Did you see that?!" She cried. "I did it! I actually did it!"

[Child of the 7th Age]

The solitary grey figure in the cart made his way in silence along the forest track. The peddler could sense that something was wrong. Even the pony seemed reluctant to place one foot in front of the other.

The driver of the cart pulled on the reins and gazed about, first one way and then the other. His hat sloped down, its wide brim hiding his eyes from any who might chance by. Sometimes he dreamed of going to that other place where beauty still lived and the light shone forth. But not today, not today, for something was very wrong.

Then he spied a distant view just off the road. He dismounted from the cart and hid behind the trees. A family of hole-diggers, a small and pitiful family, slowly dragged a body behind them. They were struggling towards the high ledge, about to hurl their burden over the cliff into the waters of a bottomless spring. From the look of things, they were in a hurry to leave that cursed spot.

A single glance about said why. He had only to feel the sadness, and to smell the blood soaked into the ground. The grey peddler shook his head. It was not difficult to see what had happened here: the bloody remains of the kuduk, the hound's body still in disarray, his master not far behind. The hunter and the hunted were now joined together in death.

He shook his head and tried to push down rising anger. Why? What sense was this? He had seen the little ones arrive on the banks of the Anduin some 600 years before. Yet, still, there was much to be done and little time to do it. And so many of them suffered yet, hunted down by the big folk like coneys or rats. He feared greatly that when the great challenge came there would be none left to meet it. And the true sadness was that the big ones could not see how their own fate lay intertwined with those they despised.

But, if he could not do everything, he
must at least do what he could. He came towards the family, with arms raised in the air. His staff dropped to the ground. For one instant it looked as if the young lad might leap at him with knife in hand, but then the peddler began to speak. His words, so gentle and wise, turned the boy's rage into ragged grief. Time stood suspended in a quiet circle of sadness.

He beckoned to the kuduk to come into the cart, and to bring the burden they carried. That night, as the sun sank, they found a spot on a shaded bluff and, together, built a barrow. Then he fed them a meal and spoke with the mother, so distraught, and her son who seemed stooped under his heavy new burden. "You must journey towards Bree," he told them. "It is possible that help will come for you on the forest track but, if not, then go to that city. It will be a hard and long way, but hope lies for you in that direction. If you make it, head towards the Inn and inquire about one of the messengers or the Rangers. They are both hobbit kin and one of them will help you."

The next morning, he set them on the right path, and watched the small fgures retreat down the hill. He hoped they believed and trusted him enough to carry on as he had said. He wondered how many others were hiding in the woods whose grief he could not see or help.

As the grey figure mounted the cart to make his way toward Rivendell, he could not shake from his mind the one thing the family had confided to him. Why did it sound so familiar to him? He had asked for their clan name and they had mumbled something in reply. It sounded just a bit like the name "Gamgee."

[ September 04, 2002: Message edited by: Child of the 7th Age ]

[Susan Delgado]

Forgot to mention, Amaranth has a dog, a Hobbit-sized mutt named Olla. Nothing special about her; she's just around for Amaranth's company.

Amaranth peered around in frustration. Where had the path gone? One thing she was sure of, this was the last time that idiot dog was going to run off after some squirrel. She couldn't even call effectively because she had to keep her voice down; she knew there was a Man's road somewhere nearby, but she didn't know precisely where and didn't know when some Man might be around, just waiting to hear some Hobbit lass calling her dog. She whistled softly, but Olla didn't come. Ah, well, I'll just search for the path. Olla'll come back in her own time. She thought. This had happened before, and she wasn't overly concerned about Olla's saftey. She was a feisty little dog and could take care of herself. As the hours passed, however, she became more and more worried when Olla didn't return. She'd never stayed away this long before.

Eventually, Amaranth found her way back to the path and followed the subtle signs she found - random-seeming patterns in the rocks and branches broken in unlikely places - to a well hidden cluster of burrows which had been designated as a way station. There she met another hobbit, a young lad named Boffo. He was the first Hobbit she'd seen in over a month and she was glad to exchange news with him. Her village had been far from any other Hobbits and she was very interested to hear about the formation of the Shire. Boffo was less impressed; it seemed he was heading north to avoid the messengers who'd been sent out to round up the wild Hobbits. He went on about this at some length and Amaranth hid a smile as she rose and said goodnight.

When she awoke in the morning, Boffo was already gone. She wished him well and continued on her way.
Her biggest concern was Olla; she hadn't come back during the night and Amaranth was seriously worried by now. She still whistled periodically, but as the morning and then the afternoon passed she began to lose hope. Olla had been gone for nearly two days and Amaranth knew that a little thing like Amaranth not staying in one spot wouldn't have prevented the dog from finding her. Olla could follow her scent.

Amaranth spent the second night under a tree, using her pack as a pillow, but she didn't sleep well. Olla had been her only steady companion for more than two years and the dog's disappearance was a terrible weight on her heart.

She spent the third morning stumbling blindly along the path. She saw nothing but her own feet and heard nothing but her own beating heart. She never knew she was being followed.

[Susan Delgado]

In the early afternoon, Amaranth woke up a little to find that she'd left the forest and was walking across a low grassy hill. she stopped and looked around. Behind her, the trees ended in a line as straight as an arrow. A suspiciously straight line. She was about to turn back into the trees when she suddenly heard barking from over the hill. Olla's barking. she'd recognise it anywhere. Still, she was cautious. Olla could have been captured by Men who were using her as bait. Amaranth had heard of such things happening before.

She crept to the top of the hill, keeping as low as she could, and sure enough, she saw Olla tied on the other side, a few hundred paces away. The trees started again a way past that, and she could see two horses tied under the overhanging branches. No, not horses...ponies. Maybe even Hobbit-sized ponies. Still, she hesitated. She'd spent her whole life being wary of tricks and ploys played by Men and she wasn't going to throw caution to the wind just because her missing dog had spotted her and was having hysterics. Still, those ponies were very small and she knew that whoever owned them could probably wait just as long as she could. She decided to spring the trap.

She stood and approached Olla. She untied the rope around her neck and looked around again. Sure enough, two figures were approaching from behind the ponies. But they were not Men, or if they were they were children. No, they were defintely Hobbits. One was very large, the other much smaller.
"Hello!" The larger one called as they approached. "We're Baracas and Dinodas! Who're you?"
Amaranth backed off, distrustful of anyone, Man or Hobbit, who would steal her dog just so they could get her attention. She said nothing.
Baracas looked disappointed.
"Why did you steal my dog?"
Dinodas looked outraged at the notion. "We didn't! We found it running around and thought its owner would probably come looking for it, but if it belonged to a Man, we didn't want to be caught, so we put it where it wouldn't be missed. Wehn we saw you, we came out. We're looking for Hobbits, you see." Baracas nodded enthusiastically in agreement.
"Oh," Amaranth said, mollified. "Why're ye lookin' for Hobbits?"
"We're on a mission. We're gathering Hobbits to come and join us in a place where no Men will ever bother us."
"Oh! I've heard about that! Will ye be wantin' a comapanion in yer searchin'?"
"I don' see why not. Know of any Hobbit villages around here?" Baracas looked hopeful, but his face fell a little at her response.
"Nah. I'm from much farther north. But I'm good comp'ny."
"All right then, maybe we should go north then," Dinodas suggested, looking at Baracas for confirmation. Baracas shrugged and gestured the three of them toward the ponies.

[Birdland]

The crowd at The Broken Dragon was finally starting to thin out, but not fast enough to suit Mistress Eastorhyld. She had just decided to tell the hanger-ons to drink up and go home, when suddenly the door to the tavern burst open and Freeholder Cadda came staggering in, out of breath and shouting incoherently. He ran to the bar, then slumped into a nearby chair, his eyes wide with terror and his clothes torn and muddy.

“Master Cadda!” screamed Eastorhyld, as she threw down her bar rag and grabbed a mug of ale. “What has happened? Easy, good Sir. Here, drink up and tell us what has happened.” The men in the tavern all gathered around, trying to help Cadda catch his breath by smothering him in a crowd.

“Beda!” gasped Master Cadda. He took a great gulp from the ale mug, then continued “Beda’s dead! Shot! Shot by an arrow as we hunted badger in the hills.”

“What? Beda dead? How? Who would do such a thing?” screamed Eastorhyld.

“Holbytlan, that’s who!” shouted Cadda. The crowd around him gasped and murmured among themselves. “That’s right. Me and Beda took Gyrth the hound out to hunt for badger dens. We were climbing a hill, when one of those Long Feet stepped from behind a tree, and shot both the dog and Beda. I barely made it out of there with my life! Arrows were flying everywhere! There may have been more than one, hiding behind the trees, but I saw one for sure. Sure as I‘m seeing you all here. He stepped out and murdered poor Beda without warning. I tried to help him, I did. But if I had stayed, I would be dead myself.”

The rumbling of the crowd was getting louder, when suddenly a lone voice from the back of the room cut through the shouting. “Murder, Master Cadda? In all my years this is the first I have heard of the Holbytlan waylaying men in the dark.”

The crowd turned and split, as a large Man in hood and boots came walking slowly up to the hysterical freeholder. Later, the patrons would argue whether the Ranger had just “appeared”, or had been sitting in the shadows the whole time that evening.

The Ranger towered over the cowering, breathless farmer, studying him with eyes that revealed nothing. “Your tale begs for examination, Master Cadda. These are serious charges you bring,, and it is the duty of the Dunedain to seek out and punish murderers in these parts. I’d like to ask you some questions about the event you have described.”

“Of course, of course. I‘ll try to help you in any way I can, good Sir Ranger,” muttered Cadda, looking at his feet. ”It’s lucky we are that you happened to be here tonight.“ Cadda, however, seemed to feel anything but lucky.

“Very well, Master Cadda. The first question I’d like to ask you is: What were you and this Beda really hunting tonight?“

[ September 05, 2002: Message edited by: Birdland ]

[Cimmerian]

Ooc - Love the dog touch-- Olla. *snigger ;D

Barocas was pleased to have some female company, though Dinodas seemed a bit uneasy. He was young, he would soon grow accustomed to it. Barocas assured himself.

"We can go to Bree firstly..." Barocas began, scratching his head, "and then we will head for the colder lands up north-east."

"If you think we can find some lost hobbits there." protested Dinodas.

"If not we can have a great adventure..." Barocas said, then whispered to Dinodas, "An if we find no other hobbits, we can take this one over to old Marcho, at least we won't some home empty handed."

Dinodas scratched his head as Barocas turned to the hobbit lass, who clutched her dog close to her.

"Aye, lady!" He said,"you can come with us, if you can bear with the company of two clumsy men."

The hobbit lass smiled and nodded her head.

"Can you cook, Amy?" Barocas asked, rubbing his generous belly, "Oh... may I call you Amy?" he smiled wide enough for both the hobbit men, as Dinodas too looked eagerly at Amaranth.

[ September 06, 2002: Message edited by: Cimmerian ]

[Birdland]

(O.O.C. - Now Barocas. Marcho supplied all the Messengers with riding ponies and a pack animal. Have you already lost them, or did you eat them on the hard road to Bree? smilies/biggrin.gif )

[ September 05, 2002: Message edited by: Birdland ]

[Susan Delgado]

Ah, Cim, how did I know you'd nickname me "Amy"? I think I'll call you..."Barky". hehe smilies/smile.gif

"Of course I can cook!" Amaranth exclaimed indignantly. "What do you think the first thing my mother taught me was?"
Barocas shrugged a little sheepishly. It was, after all, a very obvious question. "It was only a question," he muttered.
They'd reached the ponies and the next few minutes were spent rearranging the baggage so Amaranth could ride the pack animal. When this was all squared away she was sitting (however precariously) on her mount's withers, she continued, "The question is not really whether I can cook, but whether I will cook."
Both of the men turned toward her, identical looks of disbelief and alarm on their faces. Amaranth had to stifle a laugh; she thought they probably wouldn't understand.
When it was obvious that Barocas was too shocked to speak, Dinodas stammered, "Wh-what do you mean, you won't cook? Why not?"
Amaranth rolled her eyes. "I never said I wouldn't, I was only commenting that it's not really fair to make me do all the cooking. After all, you both seem to be well brought-up lads; don't try to tell me you never learned to cook!"
"Well, we-" Barocas tried to interject, but Amaranth wasn't finished.
"And what about the other chores? Do you expect me to do all the washing and firewood gathering too? If the only reason you picked me up was because you were too lazy to do your own work, I'll turn this pony right around and go off on my own. Come on, Olla, let's go!" And she started to suit action to words, But a shout of "No, don't!" from the men stopped her. She was riding the pack animal, of course, and all their food, bedding, and other supplies were strapped behind her. Not that she'd ever really intended to leave. Still, she hid her smile as she turned back to them. "Yes?"
Barocas looked very nervous. "Uh, don't leave. We'll share the chores fairly. Right Dinodas?" The lad nodded enthusiastically in agreement and Amaranth smiled brightly. "Excellent!"

[Child of the 7th Age]

Perry and his young companion, whom the ranger had nicknamed Arrow, made their way along the trail, cutting through the woods on a southerly track. They had walked hard and long the whole day, making as few stops as possible. They were trying to reach the Old Ford, which stood at the juncture of the Old Forest Road and the River Anduin. It was a town largely populated by big folk, but some rangers, both hobbit and Dunedain, were stationed in the region.

The girl, with her boundless energy, had run ahead. Perry continually warned her to be quiet and cautious. She was naturally adroit, but sometimes apt to forget silence was required. This was evidently one of those times.

Ahead of him, Perry heard a call from Rose that sounded half way between shock and fright. He immediately sped forward along the path with a grace and speed that belied his years. A note of fear was evident in Arrow's voice.

Perry ran up the small bluff, noting the signs of an ancient kuduk hole dug into the lower bank. From the few items scattered about, he could easily see that hobbits had been there lately. From the nature of the debris, it must have been a family. He sprinted up to Rose, "Are you all right?" grabbing her by the shoulder.

Rose nodded in horror and pointed to the edge of the ridge. Then she sqautted down and covered her mouth as if she was about to retch. The blood and few ripped clothes left on the earth told a simple story. On the same hillock lay the body of a dog, rigid in death except for a swarm of ever moving flies. His mouth and teeth lay open with the flesh of a hobbit still clenched within his jaws.

"How? Why?" the girl asked.

"It happens, too often, it happens."

"But this was a simple family, look at the baby's wrappings here and there."

"Aye, a family," Perry sighed, "And it seems to me from the look of the ground, that the dog sunk his teeth into the elder one, the Da."

"A mad dog?" Rose whispered.

"No mad dog this. A hunt party, out looking for quarry with more sport in it than a deer or even a wild cat."

"Shall we move the dog's body?" Rose asked.

"No, leave it be. To you, it may be nothing good. But there are creatures here who will draw life from it. And now I am afraid, little one, that they'll be little sleep for us tonight. We must rush down towards the Old Ford. We'll parallel it but stay out of sight of the road. Perhaps I'll run into some who can help us. I'm going to find out who has done this thing and why."

They began striding cross country at an even faster pace. Arrow was sprinting to keep up. After about two hours, with dark falling over the woods, they stopped for a moment just outside the Ford. Perry looked at the girl's sword which was still strapped abou her waist. He looked at her with some concern, "Do you really know how to use that thing? Because you may need it."

She nodded, "A little, plus I'm a fast learner."

Her answer did not settle the misgivings in her uncle's heart. But they strode together into the town. The girl could not help but notice how little fear stood on the ranger's face.

[Gandalf_theGrey]

As we go in search of your Stoor kin, I will bow to your sense of direction on our journey, Hob my friend. And the Misty Mountains! I wonder if it's true, that the caps of mountains are made of snow, even in summer? Think of the snowball fights to be had! Though if the Misty Mountains are true to their name, we're more likely in for hide-and-seek as we gather our fellow Hobbit folk in the fog. As for me, when our task is done, I'll be happy enough to settle back in the dependable comfort of the Shire. One eyeful of towering rock that covers its head in mantles of white or grey will be enough to last a lifetime of stories around the supper table.

* Erling Greenhands had waved farewell to kith and kin who'd tried to stay his leaving with "just one more helping of seedcake before you go." Tearing himself away, the Fallohide promised that the sooner he and Hob were on their way, the sooner they'd return with more guests to celebrate at bigger parties. *

[Birdland]

Well, the truth had come out, eventually. But the situation was still volatile in the Village of Old Ford.

"We were within our rights!" shouted the fat farmer Cadda. "The Long Feet were raiding our fields. We have the right to protect our own. We meant only to drive the creatures out of the area and send them on their way. Why, the only weapon Beda carried was his cudgel, and I bore no arms at all."

The Ranger Earendur could have pointed out that a huge hunting hound would be a formidable weapon against a three and a half foot tall opponent, but the good folk of Old Ford were not open to considering such fine distinctions. They were out for blood, driven by the loss of one of their own, and the hatred for those things unknown and "different".

Earendur would have preferred to view the scene of the "accident" and "murder" on his own, but the some Men of the village would follow him and Cadda back to the scene.

A shovel was produced and the ancient burrow was dug open. The few belongings left in the hole were rifled; a very small quiver, a finely woven willow basket, some few oddments of clothing, (no shoes, of course). And no weapons of any kind. A pathetic collection of belongings for an entire family. These folk had traveled light, and when they fled, they had left all they owned behind. None of the men even bothered to take anything for a souvenir.

The body of Man and Dog were farther up the hill, both killed by single, skillfully crafted arrows tipped with flint. The body of Beda was shrouded to be carried home. One of the farmers promised to return and bury the hound at the place of his "final kill." The man who said this had the decency to at least look a little uncomfortable after he had spoken.

Of course, no tracks were found by the villagers, and any that Earendur could have found were trampled by the others searching the site. The blood trail from the scene to the top of the hill was easy enough to follow. Earendur was certain that the Halfling could not have lived long from such a ferocious wound and the loss of so much blood.

After the villagers had left with their dead, the Ranger had scouted around the hill top, finally picking up such faint signs that might be left by the Hobytlan. It was when he reached the forest track that the mystery deepened, for the family seemingly had hitched a ride on a cart at this point!

He followed the trail to the campsite of the Hobytlan and their mysterious benefactor. He paused and offered reverence to the lonely barrow, and found that the remains of the family - which he had deduced to be two females, two children, and a male - had taken leave of their helper, and traveled south. The cart had continued northward.

Now what "Big Folk" would these Hobbits have possibly trusted, after the disaster they had lived through? A small smile came to Earendur's face as his eyes followed the cart-tracks down the trail. There was only one person that the Ranger could think of. He hoped he could find him again, to get his take on this sad tale.

Earendur had returned to Old Ford, but little more was to be learned. He had tried to diffuse the situation as much as he could, and knew that the Dunedain would have to be alert to any other such incidences, adding to their duties of the protection of this land, especially since the Darkness had descended on the Greenwood.

Two days later, the Ranger was in the stable, making one last check over his horse and gear before he left this town to return to his own lonely wandering. One last night in a semi-comfortable inn bed, and he would be gone at dawn.

In the darkness outside the stable, he heard the clear, high call of a nighthawk. It had not come from the sky though, but from a grove of trees behind the stables.

"I am alone, Perry. Come out. We have much to discuss."

[Elenna]

That evening, Dinodas and Barocas enjoyed a delicious meal prepared by the hobbit lass Amy. Dinny, as Amy now called him, had become a bit less shy of her exuberant conversation, and was now laughing along with her and Barocas.

When it came time to decide who would wash the dishes, Barocas quickly fabricated the excuse of extreme exhaustion and ran away, leaving Dinodas to do it himself in a nearby stream.

"Am I going to have to do this the whole way?" he grumbled to himself. "Way to where?" another part of him replied. "I still don't really know where we're going after we get to Bree."

[Rose Cotton]

Rose felt a bit insecure about being so close to big-folk. Especially after what she had seen on the hill. She was both eager and frightened that Uncle Perry had told her she may have to use her sword.

Now she tried her best to keep close to Perry as they approched this man ranger.
The man eyed her suspicously. "This is my ranger in training, Rose." Perry said gesturing behind him.
"A girl." said the man lifting an eyebrow.
Rose was about to retaliate but her Uncle kept her silent with a look.
"No matter, we have other issues to attend to."

[ September 06, 2002: Message edited by: Rose Cotton ]

[Child of the 7th Age]

Earendur and Perry exchanged confidences with the silent cloak of night hiding their conversation. Perry shook his head in dismay at the story that the Ranger told. The hobbit sighed, "We haven't seen the like of this in a good ten years. I'd hoped we'd gotten beyond this point, but it does not seem so. Do you think there will be more violence, or that this may have been the first volley in something far more organized?"

Th answer from the Dunedain came swift and sure: "I am hopeful that this is not so. I think these may have been two fools with fierce dogs and too much liquor in their heads. But I am afraid that there may be bad feelings created which will be hard to bottle up or control."

Then Perry asked him if he'd heard the rumors out of Bree concerning a host of messengers sent out from the Shire to offer a place of refuge for halflings with no other home.

The Ranger thought a moment, "These matters touch on your people rather than mine. But there is always the danger that, if news of this reaches the humans, they will have one more reason to fear the halflings."

At that instant, a pesky black bird came swooping down through the air, cacling in delight. He plunked awkwardly down on a tree just beside the Dunedain. Then the bird inclined his head and held out one wing. For one crazy moment, Perry actually thought the Bird might speak. Rose came rushing in, her mouth wide open. She pointed at the bird and gasped..."

[ September 07, 2002: Message edited by: Child of the 7th Age ]

[Susan Delgado]

Amaranth leaned back against the packs and grinned as she watched Dinny grumble about having to clean up after the meal. After a few minutes, he became aware of her attention and turned around to give her a glare of annoyance.

"If all you're gonna do is laugh at me, why don't you go do it somewhere else?" He said in an aggrieved voice.
"Oh, but this is so much more entertaining! What's the fun of it if I can't see you?" She replied, still grinning like a loon.
Grumbling, he turned back to his chores. Amaranth got up and wandered away to see what Ol' Barky was up to. As it happened, he'd witnessed the exchange from a thicket just upstream and when she reached him, he was still doubled up in laughter. She waited gleefully until he was finally able to control himself and then said in an arch tone, "Well?"
"The look on his face! You saw it..." and startled giggling again. Satisfied, Amaranth wandered back toward the camp.

[Bêthberry]

Despite the warm sensation of the summer sun on their bodies and the scents of summer blooms on the air, the Messengers were becoming tired of riding. Not just their muscles, but the bones of their hips also were protesting the long ride. There was only so much stretching and rubbing a hobbit could do.

Hob rode ahead to talk with Ardo.

I know some of yous have yer hearts set on Bree, but Marcho figured that Staddle would give us quieter rest. Bree's too full of men and too empty of our kind. There's plenty of hobbit folk in Staddle that'll be offerin' us a home cooked meal tonight and an interested, helpful ear about the Gatherin'. Why spend our time tellin' the Big folk about it and risk angerin' 'em?

Ardo listened thoughtfully to Hob, looked at his honest face, and nodded agreement. They would push on.

By dusk this largest group of Messengers had reached Staddle, on the other side of the hill from Bree. They had ridden mainly through small country fields and untilled woodland and most had never before had a chance to see the calm beauty of this land. The air had been fresh and sweet and the sun warm and for a time it seemed as if all was right with the world. Now, they were tired and thinking of roast mutton and fresh bread and taters and greens and berry pies.

The hobbits of Staddle were an old settlement, oldest in all Bree-land if you took their word for it. They were huddled in smials and some largish houses around two roads which crossed the main street. In all there were maybe twenty families and each had tried to outdo the other in the warmth and hospitality of their welcome for the heroes of The Gathering. There would be many full and satisfied bellies this night in Staddle.

Hob looked over at his friend Erling. There's a family at the end of the main street at the foot of the hill who's waitin' for us. By name be Broadbelt. Go you there and let them know we've made it. I'll sees to the ponies and the carts.

Erling was happy to announce their arrival at the large smial of the Underhills. He could smell the stew and fresh bread baking.

[ September 12, 2002: Message edited by: Bethberry ]

[piosenniel]

'He talked to me!', cried the young Ranger, rushing in upon the hobbit and the man.

The crow cocked his head and fixed her with one beady black eye. 'Better than being skewered by an arrow, my impetuous young friend!' came the reply. 'Thank Manwë and his breezes that you are such a poor shot, else I might not have made it with my tidings.'

He returned his attention to the Ranger Eärendur. 'I fly at the bidding of the one in grey. There are a number of the holbytlan taking refuge in The Narrows of the Forest in Mirkwood. They are making for the Langflood, and by all appearances mean to travel south on it. He is concerned as there have been dark stirrings of late in Dol Guldur, and wishes that the holbytlan come not to the attention of the Necromancer.'

Eärendur frowned at the crow's words. 'Will he be able to persuade them to stay hidden until we can come to them?' He paused in thought. 'I can start for there immediately, passing word to the others as I go. Down the river will be our swiftest route, I think.'

The crow nodded his head at the Ranger's plan.

Perry cleared his throat and looked inquiringly at Eärendur. 'Oh, my pardon!' returned the man. 'This is Camlost, a friend and ally.' The bird bent his head to the halfling Ranger and his apprentice.

'And this is Perry, one of the halfling Rangers, a trusted friend.' continued Eärendur. He pointed toward the younger hobbit and grinned. 'And now allow me to introduce you to his doughty apprentice, Rose of the Wayward Aim.'

Rose's cheeks turned crimson but she held her ground and bowed back to Camlost.

[ September 06, 2002: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[Cimmerian]

Sipping deeply from his waterskin, Barocas looked around for a good place to lie down.
After all, a good nap was necessary after a hearty meal. That lass, Amy, did cook well. Rubbing his well fed belly, the large hobbit settled down under a tree. His mind lazed over what he would do in Bree, there were supplies to replenish, more wine to refill. And then decide which way would be safest to travel at that time of the year. And also keep a sharp eye out for any more hobbits... especially hobbit lasses.
A soft snoring sound emitted from where he lay, unaware of the world around him. Barocas slept peacefully.

[Ithaeliel]

Ardo sighed woefully. He was tired indeed from all the riding. He was not accustomed to such a very large pony, and the point of the leather scabbard that held his short sword kept jabbing him in the knee! What did he have to do for a bit of comfort? Ardo Baggins, you tomfool, stop complainin', he thought to himself. Ye've got too long a way to go yet before you ought to say anything about comfort. And you have to set a good example for young Pippin there.

Ardo sighed again. His inner voice was right, as it usually was anyways. Looking over at Pippin, he saw the lad's head was bobbing freely, for he also was very tired. His pony was one of the smoothest rides in the bunch, but they had been riding a bit too long even for Pip.

Smiling, Ardo reached over to put a hand on his companion's shoulder. "You all right, lad?"
Pippin looked up, and desperation shone in his eyes. "I'm fine... just tired."
"It'll be all right, Pippin. I'm a bit tired meself, but that ain't no reason to give up just yet. We'll be resting soon, don't worry."
Pippin lifted his head a little and gave a wry smirk as he voiced Ardo's thoughts. "That sword looks to be makin' you mighty uncomfortable, Mister Baggins. Why'd you bring it along, anyway."
Ardo shrugged. "Just in case we happen to find ourselves in any of those wild situations that you mentioned earlier, Pip."
Pippin's eyes went round and Ardo laughed mirthfully. "Don't worry, lad! We probably won't."

[ September 08, 2002: Message edited by: Ithaeliel ]

[Birdland]

The Ranger smiled as he rummaged through a saddlebag. Pulling out a green leaf-wrapped package, he broke a very small piece of Lembas off and flipped it towards the loquacious crow. Camlost caught the morsel and gulped it down with a satisfying clack of his beak. Then he looked expectantly at Earendur for more.

“Patience, Camlost. I know you have flown far and are hungry. But in your eagerness to “sing for your supper“, I think you have only given me the bare bones of the message entrusted to you. Now sit while I ask you some questions.

The black bird sighed and settled down on the top of a stall door, waiting for the Ranger's questions, (and the rest of his supper.)

“First: Where did you last leave Gandalf? For I found signs of his passing through here two days ago, and I would much like to speak to him“.

"Next: what is his take on the doings here at Old Ford, for I know that he offered aid to a certain family of Harfoots who had to leave the area under tragic circumstances. Did they fear pursuit? Were they hoping to join up with other members of their clan? Or did they intended to just leave danger behind and then continue their usual drifting to the South as the seasons turn?”

"Third: What clan of Halflings were seen at the Narrows? Were these Fallohides looking for new hunting grounds, or have Harfoots strayed into Mirkwood seeking to hide from danger?”

"And lastly: Has Gandalf heard any news from the new settlement in Eriador? For Perry here says their leader has sent Messengers out into the Wilderness to search for their scattered kin. If he has heard of these searchers, does he intend to offer them any aid?“

Earendur sat down on a feed box, passing out Lembas to Perry and Arrow, and settled down to enjoy a piece himself. “Perry, do you have any further questions for our friend here?“

[ September 08, 2002: Message edited by: Birdland ]

[Gandalf_theGrey]

* A hearty meal shared with a Hobbit family eagerly awaiting the two much-heralded Messengers? Now this was adventure! Erling Greenhands sprang from his pony. Before his pulled leg muscles could catch up with him, he bounded away down the grassy knoll, out of sight of Hob and the ponies. Reaching a round red door, he tapped out a lively springle-ring rhythm until the lady of the hole appeared. *

* The knob wobbled and the door slitted open. A no-nonsense matron of sharp eye and quick tongue looked Erling up and down. * Yes?

* The Fallohide of pale-golden hair blinked under the gaze but managed an introductory bow. * Erling Greenhands, at your service. I'm one of the Messengers. You know, on the quest to gather Hobbit folk into the Shire.

No thank you, Hamson and I are not interested in moving a single step further West. Our hole here in Staddle is snug enough. No sense us picking up, packing up, and burrowing in somewheres new at our age. By the way, aren't there supposed to be two of you? * Behind the sturdy Hobbit lady, a dog sniffed, giving a couple of practice barks. *

But they said there'd be supper here? * Erling leaned closer, smiling and pulling out a small burlap sack which exuded a pleasing earthy aroma. * I've mushrooms for your stew. And my good friend Hob Heathertoes will be along in a few minutes.

Looks like we've got us some dinner guests, Snapper! * The matron waved off her dog and ushered Erling into the comfort of her hole, hollering for her husband to come meet the Messenger. *

* Meanwhile, little did Erling suspect that he had knocked on the wrong door by mistake. Soon he would be enjoying the hospitality of Mr. and Mrs. Goodbody, leaving poor Hob to wonder why Erling was nowhere to be seen at the Broadbelt smials ... *

[ September 12, 2002: Message edited by: Gandalf_theGrey ]

[Child of the 7th Age]

Perry shook his had at the Ranger. "You've covered most of what I would have asked. But I have just one more question. When I was up in Fornos a few weeks before, I heard rumors voiced among the Men. There seemed to be fear of more unrest, whether started by the Nazgul or some of their friends against Arnor itself and the Dunedain there."

"This certainly concerns your folk more than mine, although hobbits have a way of getting swept up in such things if they're not careful. Perhaps these are just whisperings in the wind, and of no concern, but I wonder if you've heard anything further on this."

[piosenniel]

'Very clever, Eärendur, trying to cheat a poor bird out of a full supper! You have asked ten questions in the guise of four. And as for the halfling Ranger, I see no recompense at hand from him for the queries he is making. He fixed them both with a beady black eye, and paused to consider exactly what and how much he might tell them. Gandalf had not been all that forthcoming with information, and he wondered how he might stretch it out for a bit more supper.

He flapped his wings, ruffled his feathers, and then began.

'I left Gandalf on the outskirts of Mirkwood, east of the Gladden fields. I know he had spoken with several families of Stoors, and that is how he found out about the gathering of holbytlan there. From that I gathered that the clan he was concerned about were the Stoors.'

'He did not mention any news from Eriador or ask me to look for Messengers coming from that direction. As to offering them any aid, I should think this present problem and the one you mentioned at the Old Ford are foremost in his mind. Just as an aside, I would say that the family he rescued might well have feared pursuit. This is not the only incident of this type that we have heard of, where the holbytlan have been hunted like animals.'

'As to your question, Master Perry, Gandalf is concerned about rumours of some foe stirring in Carn Dûm who is set against the Northern Kingdoms of the Dúnedain. And yes, you should be concerned, as Arthedain encompasses the Shire.'

Camlost flew down to the stable floor, and landed weakly, falling ungracefully to his side. He gave a few coughs, and rolled dramatically to his back with his one leg stiff in the air, his tongue lolling from his beak. 'What's a poor bird have to do to keep from starving to death?!' he gasped.

[ September 09, 2002: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[Birdland]

Eärendur laughed at his feathered companion's antics, and unwrapped another piece of waybread. "Well done, Camlost. You have held up remarkably well to our interrogation."

Camlost flipped back over, and hopping across the stable floor on his one leg, retrieved the proffered lembas with a delicate beak.

The bird fixed a jaundiced eye on a scrawny stable cat who appeared out of the straw, but the poor beast only wanted a share of the wonderful food it smelled. The Ranger offered a piece to the cat, and sat thinking while he scratched its ears absent-mindedly.

“I must find Gandalf. I fear a connection between Carn Dûn and Dol Guldur, as I suspect the Wizard does as well. I hope we will not be facing a war on two fronts.”

“As for these Messengers: you say that they were to set out on Midyear Day, Perry. That means they cannot be far on their road, and knowing most hobbits, may have a tendency to dally.” Perry gave an affronted look at the Ranger “I said ‘most Hobbits’, friend”, Eärendur said with an apologetic smile. “I know not how you feel about this mission to bring the your scattered people into the fold of Eriador, but my own heart tells me that it would be for the best. I can only see their troubles increasing as the Necromancer and The Witch King gain strength, though they have a powerful ally in Gandalf. And the Dunedain will do what they can.”

“Camlost: should you see any of these messengers in your travels, let me or Perry know of it. It may be we will want to contact them, or offer some help to them. Perry, I assume you will be traveling towards the Narrows to find out about these Stoors, and what could have driven them into Mirkwood.”

Eärendur could see his friend was troubled. “Come, Perry. You have said little about your thoughts about these ‘Messengers‘. I would like to hear your opinion.”

[ September 12, 2002: Message edited by: Birdland ]

[Bêthberry]

Hob had not paused to watch where Erling went but had turned to care for the ponies immediately. He lingered over their care, unhitching them and setting the carts aside in the small paddock. He brushed the ponies carefully and lovingly and even talked to them, for with animals his tongue was readily loosened. Gently he scratched Cob's ears, for he knew his pony loved the attention and the affection.

After some time, though, his tired muscles and empty stomach got the best of his reticence and he headed off for the large smial at the base of the hill. Knocking a bit anxiously at the yellow door, he hung his head down and didn't see Mrs. Broadbelt open the door until she coughed. He looked up.

Um, hello, Mz Broadbelt. I'm the second Messenger Marcho's sent you, Hob Heathertoes.

He stood uneasily waiting to be invited in, particularly since Mrs. Broadbelt's face acquired a puzzled frown.

Why, whatever do you mean second? We haven't seen the first. Good gracious me, did you lose him on the ride here? Is there trouble afoot? Oh, dear, so close to Staddle? Mr. Broadbelt, Mr. Broadbelt, there's trouble in the night. We've lost a Messenger we have. Round up the men. Come, quickly. We must find him before any hurt is done to him.

Before Hob could correct her false impression, the bustling woman had already roused not only her husband, but her neighbours on either side of the smial also. And he was too worried about Erling himself to point out that they had ridden into Staddle together.

[ September 12, 2002: Message edited by: Bethberry ]

[piosenniel]

The crow flew up to one of the rafters in the stable. He preened his feathers and then settled down with his head tucked beneath his wing as if going off to sleep. He appeared the very picture of a weary bird seeking rest.

His ears, though, were very much open, and taking in each word of the conversation between the Rangers below. Gandalf would want to know what the Man and the hobbit were planning to do. He would pick the crow's brain for every morsel of information, then turn it over and over in his mind before storing it away.

At a lull in the conversation, Camlost stretched and made to put his head back under his wing, when something small and bright caught his eye.

From out the flap of Rose's pack he spied the end of a sky blue hair ribbon shot with a silver threads which made it gleam as it caught the light.

'Pretty!' he said to himself, fixing his eye on the prize.

The Rangers spoke long into the night, and the crow despaired of them ever going to sleep.

[ September 10, 2002: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[Bêthberry]

Now, now, now, Mrs. B. You needn't call up the entire establishment of Staddle and we don't need our living room full of the Staddle Tale and Gossip Society. If there's trouble afoot, why, why should we let them know we know they're here? No, no, my dear, let us move about with some stealth. Petunia and Peony, so good of you to come so quickly to lend an ear and tongue, but will you be off now to say a little 'All's well' to all concerned? Let's pretend no one is missing.

Mrs. Broadbelt's fellow gossips could hardly say no to such a sound request, and so the intrepid Peony and Petunia bid her adieu.

Our young hobbit visitor here, young what's your name, you can go knock on doors to see if ought has been heard. Let me slip out the back way to begin some quiet investigations. These young lads can get some wild ideas in their heads once they're away from home.

The name's Hob, Mr. Broadbelt. Hob Heathertoes. And yes, I shall quietly inquire about my friend. Erling Greenhands is a good lad and wouldn't just run off willy-nilly. You shall see I am right.

With that retort, Hob went off to knock on every door. It was a difficult task for the diffident hobbit, for he felt he could not quite come right out and say Erling was missing. Consequently, at each door to every smial, he stood upon some ceremony and engaged in much smiling and admiring and nodding and yesing, Marcho's idea was top form, and could you please say possibly if any strange hobbit has been heard of and other such hospitable talk as the missuses of each smial would engage in. And he could feel, at his back, Peony and Petunia watching him travel from door to door as they peeked out their window. Lucky for him that at the fourth door, just as he was about to knock, it flew open and out ensued just the hobbit he was looking for.

[ September 12, 2002: Message edited by: Bethberry ]

[Rose Cotton]

Rose listened to the talk at first but she was consentrating most on the strange bird. She was facinated by it. As it sat up in the rafters she noticed it looking down at her. She waved to Camlost and silently asked him to come down to her. The bird studied her a moment then flapped down onto her arm.
"Hello friend, I'm very sorry for trying to shoot you before."

[Aradaewen]

Pippin smiled and let his head droop again. He slipped back into the elvish style of sleeping and letting the horse (or pony) do all the walking. He was a smart stallion, and knew their mission. In Pippin's dream, the skies were blue and there were many trees. Golden sunlight slanted through the leaves of upper foliage. Pippin grinned in his light sleep; this wasn't the first time he'd had this dream.

He walked along a dirt path through the woods and soon came upon a quaint little cottage. Outside, a young hobbit-wife with brown hair and a green dress, rocked a small child to sleep, singing an elvish lullaby. The child's elven nanny stood inside the door, peeling potato's at a small table.

In a few moments, a tall, strapping hobbit strolled into view, a young deer slung across his shoulders, satisfied with the day's hunting. The woman wrapped the child in its blankets, set in on the chair, and ran to her husband. He embraced her, but released her quickly as a sharp crack! sounded behind them.

An old tree had fallen right on the young couple and even farther onto the house, crushing all three adults. The child had mysteriously escaped injury. Three more elves raced into view and did what they could for the people, but they were all of them dead. As they set fire to the house and its deceased occupants and turned to leave, they heard the baby's wails. As they turned and picked it up, the dream faded...

[Ithaeliel]

"Now remember Pip: be polite and persuasive at the same time. We don't want to get our rumps kicked out of the house at the first word."

"No, sir, Mister Ardo. I'm pretty good at persuadin' folks to join a cause, and this isn't much different, if you take my meaning."

"Now go on and do business. Good luck, Pippin."

"Good luck to you also, sir."

Ardo drew a deep breath and gave a sharp rap on the door. From inside, there was a sound of scuffling feet and voices calling to each other. Get the door, you lump, before they leave!

I'm goin', I'm goin'!

There were also smaller voices laughing and talking, and the sound of little feet stomping about. Ardo smiled wryly. "Well, bless my buttons... I've got an entire family to talk this over with," he sighed to himself.

The hobbit who came to the door was about Ardo's age, with brown hair, and upon seeing the visitor gave a tired smile. "Why, hello there! What can I do for you, my good man?"
Ardo reached out to shake the hobbit's hand. "Good day and well-met! My name is Ardo Baggins; I'm of the Messengers from the Shire."
"Oh, deary me! That Shire? The one all the many 'obbits have settled recently?"
"That would be the only Shire I know of, Mr... ah, what did you say your name was?"
"My name is Goodbody, Mr. Baggins."

*The rest of this space reserved! My creative juices are running a bit dry for the moment, so pardon me.*

[Gandalf_theGrey]

* The wind generated by his fleeing feet was enough to slam the door behind Erling Greenhands. But this was not the sort of exit he'd hoped to make. Erling blushed, turned, opened the door, bowed low. Taking his leave, he assured his short-term hosts that he'd be happy enough to stay and enjoy their kind hospitality, but courtesy demanded that he fulfill his previous social commitment to the Broadbelts. The door closed again in a more usual fashion, and Erling breathed easier. *

Hob! What a relief to see you! Hamson and Primrose Goodbody wouldn't admit their names until after they'd sampled mushrooms from my sack, and asked me for tidings of our quest. Muttered something about, 'Why should them uppity Broadbelts always get to play town crier, just because they live in them fancy smials? Our hole may be humble, but the stew's just as good, and our family just as fit to host Messengers.' At first I kept looking through the window, expecting you'd come. But as soon as I learned this was a case of mistaken identity, I set out to find you, even though the Goodbodies only grinned at me and wouldn't tell when I asked where the Broadbelts lived.

[ September 12, 2002: Message edited by: Gandalf_theGrey ]

[Child of the 7th Age]

The crow was on the verge of falling asleep in the rafters, but kept one ear open to hear the news. The hobbit seemed upset. He was stomping around in circles.

"There's two different things here. First, there's how I feel. Would I ever want to live in a place where everyone spent their day ploughing? Bah, I can't imagine a more miserable fate. Anyone living there is bound to shrivel up within a few years. I can see it now. They'll be more concerned with serving tea out of golden cups than seeing the world or adventuring."

"But, if you're asking me whether it would be easier to defend the hobbits if they stayed in one place, that's a different story. Of course, it would be! What I want to know is this, are these messengers any good at what they're doing, or are they just small bungle heads sent out from the Shire by even bigger bungle heads. I'm willing to cooperate if they can convince me they've got some wits about them and can follow through on promises they've made."

Earendur replied, "Your name carries some weight in these parts. Has anyone approached you to talk?"

Perry shook his head and laughed, "No one's beating a path to me. But I will give the Shire credit for one thing. Every village in these parts looks after its own kind--Stoor, Harfoot, or Fallohide--but the Shire is the first to suggest that different clans can live together. And that's no small thing. Within a day's walk of where that poor family was, there was a Fallohide village in the woods. If that village had been willing to look beyond the label "Stoor", that poor fellow might have had a home and be alive today."

[ September 11, 2002: Message edited by: Child of the 7th Age ]

[Rose Cotton]

ooc: I suppose your talking about my village Child::

As Rose chatted with Camlost who now rested on her arm she overheard her Uncle saying "Within a day's walk of where that poor family was, there was a Fallohide village in the woods. If that village had been willing to look beyond the label "Stoor", that poor fellow might have had a home and be alive today."
She blushed. "We don't mean for anyone to get hurt. We just stay out of other people's way." Rose muttered.

[Bêthberry]

The blustery Mr. Broadbelt was providing some last minute advice to Hob and Erling.

Mind you now, I want to see a healthy, large group of hobbits back here next year; some more Fallohides would be nice. You bring them back in the right direction. Staddle's quite a comfortable place and as good as any in The Shire and we could use more families. No sense in letting Marcho grab up all the new one.

Hob had been busying himself with the buckles and straps of the cart, padding Cob's back with a blanket, and just generally nodding to the sagacity offerred. He turned steely-faced to elder hobbit when his packing was done.

Tell you truthly, Mr. Marcho's not spoken directly 'bout where to return. Best let thems that comes decides. Somes'll be farmin', somes fishers, somes likes the hunt.

Just as Hob was about to call to Erling, Mrs. Broadbelt appeared, bustling about with parcels and packages. Hob was thankful she had the good sense to wrap things that would keep on the long journey--for all her gossiping and flightiness, she was a shrewd domestic manager. They had extra seed cakes, leaves for brews over the fire, dried meats and berries, even an extra blanket for them both. But he noticed that she handed it all to Erling, so when she came round to give him the same motherly hug which Erling had received with happy good grace, he stood back, withdrawn and reserved, and she halted her movement, a bit surprised, and then gave him but a nod.

These Stoors, she thought to herself. They're so standoffish and touchy. Tsk Tsk. Too bad they can't be pleasant. What will it be like if we get more of them?

[ September 12, 2002: Message edited by: Bethberry ]

[piosenniel]

'Amazing!' though Camlost to himself.'No matter how many times I've seen them do it, it still astounds me.' He watched closely as Rose's cheeks turned from a light pink flush to a deep red staining her cheekbones.

Since the comment from the hobbit Ranger about villages looking after their own, her attention had been drawn away from the crow, as she tried to follow the conversation. Camlost hopped off her arm and inched toward her pack, one eye fixed on the shiny ribbon. He had reached it and was just easing the last of it from under the flap, when a large hand caught him in its grip and hoisted him upward.

'Now, Camlost, be a nice bird and give the young ranger back her ribbon.' The crow dropped the prize and squawked indignantly at Eärendur, delivering a few well aimed pecks at the man's hand.

[ September 12, 2002: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[Child of the 7th Age]

Perry shook his head and laughed at the antics of the crow, "If this is our ally, I hate to see what our enemy looks like. Well, Camlost, I think you need some lessons from a hobbit on proper ways of sneakin' up on things and makin' off with them so nobody sees!"

Camlost sat in the rafter and turned a jaundiced and superior eye on Perry. The hobbit had the strangest feeling that the creature seemed to think himself more like a dragon than a little bird. Perhaps in his dreams, or in another life!

Rose came to retrieve her ribbon. She inched forward towards the Rangers and turned about to slink away. Perry cleared his throat, "Well, Mistress Rose, I'd say you've been listening for a while. Perhaps you have heard some things that were never meant for your ears. But having heard them, I think you'd better understand what I'm saying. These old ways have been going on a long time, and I won't say anyone in particular is to blame. Certainly, not you or your dad, or evn your village. But maybe it's time for hobbits to think of themselves as hobbits, and not as three separate peoples. There's few of us enough as it is."

Perry turned now to Earendur. "I need to turn in for the night. Do you think it's safe to try the Inn, or would I be better off in the woods? I don't know any settled hobbit folk in these parts where I can get something softer than the ground."

"And what are your plans? I'll be heading after the Stoors going towards Bree to try and find out a little more. Plus, I'm hoping to see some of these messengers on the road as well. You're welcome to come along, or did you tell me you have business in another direction?"

[Birdland]

Eärendur’s eyes widened in alarm at Perry’s suggestion that he and his apprentice stay at the inn. “I’m sorry, my good friend, but the “Broken Dragon” is no place for you tonight, or for many nights to come. In fact, I fear we have sat far too long here in the stable. We were lucky not to be interrupted.”

“The ancient smial where the Harfoot family was staying would have been very suitable, but I fear the Men of Old Ford have destroyed it with their digging, and the site will be abandoned for many years to come, as the story of what happened there spread throughout your people.”

“So I suggest you and Arrow make Nature your bed until you have moved into more friendly territory in Mirkwood. As for myself, I think I will move on tonight. It’s important that I speak to Gandalf as soon as possible.”

Eärendur knelt and grasped Perry by the hand. “My good friend, I know you have your reasons for mistrusting these Messengers and the way of life they seek to bring your people. But they are not the Enemy! A time is coming when Middle Earth will be a much more dangerous place for all people, not just Halflings. Your people trust you Perry, and will listen to your opinion. Consider well what advise you will offer them.“

The Ranger rose and went to the stall to lead out his shaggy, dun-colored gelding, Erne. Checking him once more to see if he was fit for the road, he then turned to fetch his saddle. “Camlost,“ he said, as he carefully tightened the girth and offered the horse the bridle. "I leave you to your own devices. I ask only that you be our eyes and ears in your wanderings, and bring Perry or I any news of trouble amongst the Halflings. And keep an eye out for those Messengers. “

Eärendur doused the stable lantern and led Erne quietly out to the empty inn yard. It was long past midnight, and the town of Old Ford slept peacefully. Mounting the horse, the Ranger looked down at the young Fallohide lass. “Arrow, you have been chosen by a worthy teacher. Mind him well, and you will fly true. Though I fear you will have little need of hair ribbons where he will lead you.” Then he raised his hand in farewell and rode away.

[ September 12, 2002: Message edited by: Birdland ]

[Cimmerian]

The soft honeyed and pale-gold streaks of the first rays of the new day sun fell across the fresh dew covered blades of emerald green grass swaying in the fresh early morning wafts of pleasant breeze that caressed across the tall, gray tree covered landscape rolling on for miles and miles. Far ahead in the horizon, clouds of billowy white floated over the icy peaks of the far off misty mountains that rose majestically to make an imposing barrier across the vast expanse of the shimmering horizon.

Barocas rode on his pony and marveled at the view before him with eyes widened in awe and expectation. Glancing across at Dinodas, he noticed that the young hobbit lad had a look of equal wonderment in his bright eyes. Amaranth too felt excited as she tossed her head and looked around. Her large wondering eyes surveyed the lands they were about to travel until their gaze settled on the large hobbit. She softened her gaze as she saw the youthful look of exuberance on his large, chubby face. A look of boyish wonder in anticipation of a great journey ahead.

Shrill and sweet birdsongs rent the air around them as their ponies began their steady trot onward. As their journey progressed, birds of many sizes and hues filled their field of vision. The densely wooded land around them was home to many kinds of feathered animals of the air.

“Such beautiful birds and so sweet they sound,” sighed Amaranth.

“Aye, it is a wonderful place, so peaceful and tranquil.” Dinodas chimed in.

Yes,” agreed Barocas, “but you have to watch out for their droppings, such creatures are notorious for pelting unsuspecting passers-by from above in the air as they fly over.”

“Still, the wonderful sight and sounds they make are worth taking a few peltings.” Laughed Dinodas.

“I agree,” smiled Amaranth, ‘what kind of place is this, Barocas… have you been here before?”

“Aye that I have, but briefly.” Barocas nodded. “This place has no name, or none that I know of, it is some kind of bird land.”

The happy chirruping of the birds grew louder as the three awe-struck travelers moved on further into the rich, dense, jade foliage. Golden streaks of the sun’s warming rays broke through the dark canopy like illuminations of divinity. The atmosphere there was one close to heaven if such a lace did indeed exist. Never the less as all good things come to and end so did their passage through the rich forest of birds.

“That was a beautiful experience, Barocas.” Dinodas nodded smiling.

Barocas nodded in agreement and grumbled as he scraped off some of the new hues that the birds had bestowed upon his somber tunic and hat. Amaranth laughed even as she did the same.

“Do we head for bree now, friends.” The pluckly hobbit lass asked.

“We already are on the way,” said Barocas, trying to be less gruff.

“Look!” cried Dinodas, pointing to a dark, billowy cloud of dust in the far horizon that steadily appeared to grow larger as they progressed. “What do you think that is?”

“It could be trouble,” the fat hobbit muttered as he struggled to unsheathe his short sword from it’s leather worn scabbard that hung loosely from the belt that barely held up his leggings over his generous midriff. “But fear not, Barocas has lived through many a battle to tell of their tale, some of which he intends to narrated to his grandchildren one day.” He grinned at Amarath, whose eyes widened. Hoping that the plucky hobbit lass would blush, Barocas was dismayed when she snorted instead and grabbed two frying pans, which she intended to use as her means of defense. Dinodas too brought to hand his weapon of choice, though with much more relative ease than his large, girthsome companion. “Let them come,” the young hobbit lad whispered, “We shall be ready for them.

“Aye lad, that we shall,” boomed Barocas as Amaranth winced at his decibel level.

The dark, billowy cloud of dust grew larger and larger as the three hobbits baraced themselves on their mounts. The ponies neighed loudly and cantered about from side to side in well-founded anxiety. “It comes!” Barocas growled.

With a sudden, ear splitting scream, the could of dust halted to a stand still, a few arm lengths in front to the three travelers. Dinodas and Amaranth glanced at Barocas as if awaiting his command to attack. Barocas waited with bated breath as the dust cleared to reveal a tall man, in dirty grayed robes, his long beard and hair was gray and covered in dust from the road. He wore a long pointed hat on his large head; its tip was pulled down over his forehead, hiding his large bushy eyebrows beneath which eyes of seemingly blue stared out from. Though he had been moving towards them with considerable speed, there was no steed beneath him as his bared feet stood strongly planted on the hard packed soil. His thin dry lips twisted upward in an attempt to smile even as his eyes struggled to twinkle. “Little people,” he said hoarsely, and licked his dry lips.

“Goodness,” screeched Amaranth, “does he intend to eat us?”

“What!” screamed Dinodas and held up his sword in reflex, his young body trembled.

“No, he does not!” Barocas said calmly as he sheathed his rusted short sword. “He is an old wizard, I have heard of him on my travels, though this is the first time I have seen his so close.”
The tall old man cocked his head and smiled down at the three hobbits, his long bony fingers of each hand clasped each other in a grip of satisfaction and salutation.

“Where are you off to, my little friends?” he croaked, his eyes twinkling.

“We seek others like us and we will travel to Bree for supplies before we embark on our journey.” Dinodas piped up, now feeling completely at ease with this bright-eyed stranger.

“This is Barocas, this Dinodas and I am Amaranth,” the plucky hobbit lass joined in, “What is you name?”

“It’s best we not know,” interrupted Barocas, “Lest some enemy of his capture us and torture us to find out his whereabouts and real name.”

“Well, I never…” objected the old man.

“Tell us how you travel with such swift speed without a mount…” Dinodas asked innocently, and Barocas smiled, relieved for having the topic being changed.

“I run…” replied the old man, a look of dejection clouded his face.

“Right!” said Barocas, “We have to be on our way.”

“I have seen others like you, over beyond the misty mountains.” The old man cackled, feeling important all of a sudden.

“Good!” replied Barocas, half smiling, “We were headed that way anyhow, now we can be further motivated. Fare well, old wizard.”

“But, I…”

“Goodbye!” cried the three hobbits in unison and kicked their ponies onward, leaving the old man gaping.

“I was hoping for a good meal and a smoke,” he mumbled to himself, “And maybe tell of a few good tales while we were at it, but… ah, impetuous children, let them run off.”

With that the old man flopped himself down on the hard ground, whipped out a pipe and began stuffing pipe weed into it, humming himself a sad tune.

When the three hobbits reached the make shift gates of Bree, it had grown quite dark and clouded. Little silvered flecks of snow drifted down all around them. Filling the atmosphere with a sense of charmed euphoria and wonderment. But soon the stale rank of the surrounding town that struggled to grow brought the three intrepid adventurers back to reality. Dismounting, Barocas proceeded to ring the bell at the gates.

[Susan Delgado]

Wasn't pipeweed not planted until about a thousand years after the founding of the Shire?

Amaranth looked around uneasily. She didn't like the look of the wall or the feel of the air around this place. Just as Baracas' hand closed around the bell pull, she said, "Wait!"
He turned around curiously. "What, lass?"
"I really don't like the way this place feels. Do we have to stop here?"
Dinodas nodded slowly. "You know, she's right, Baracas. It feels like it's...waiting for something."
Baracas looked skeptical-he felt nothing of the kind-but shrugged and turned away from the gate, bell unrung. "Aye, all right," He responded. "We can go around the hill to Staddle. There's (sic) more of us there anyway."
Amaranth sighed in relief. "Thanks, Barky."
"I told you not to call me that," He growled in response. Dinodas smiled and Amaranth suppressed a giggle.

Halfway around the hill, a sturdy looking Hobbit rode around a bend in the path and stopped when he saw them.
"Hello!" he called out cheerfully. "Hey, you two look familiar. Are you Messengers, by chance?"
"Aye, that we are," Baracas answered. "I'm Baracas, that's Dinodas, and the girl's Amaranth, one of the Lost Hobbits."
Amaranth snorted at the title and scratched Olla arounnd the ears.

"Oh, good, good. You've done better than we have, then. I'm Erling Greenhands. And that's Hob," He said, indicating the Hobbit who'd just come around the hill.
"Hob, here's some Messengers. Baracas and Dinodas, and Amaranth, a lass they found along the way," He indicated each Hobbit as he named them and Hob nodded in greeting.
Erling continued, "If you're looking for Hobbits here, don't bother. They all seem very eager to stay right where they are. But I've heard there are some villages North of here."
"Aye, that's where we're going. We were really just passing through this area," Baracas said, although he glanced wistfully up at the hill. He'd hoped for some hospitality; this was probably the last real town they'd see for a while. With a sigh, he turned back to Erling and Hob. "Well, I suppose we'd better be on. We'll go North from here and see what we see. Good luck to ye."
Erling nodded. "And to you."
With that, the five of them separated and went their own ways.

[ September 12, 2002: Message edited by: Susan Delgado ]

[Rose Cotton]

Rose had heard many tales about how terrible the race of man were. They were a common horror story umong her folk. But Eärendur was the first one she had actually ever met. She thought that the things she heard must be just silly tales. There must be cruel men of course but they wern't all bad.

[Mithadan]

[Reserved for plot adjustment]

[ September 13, 2002: Message edited by: Mithadan ]

[Aradaewen]

<>*squeezes creative fruit, collects creative juice in cup, and gives to Ithaeliel* smilies/biggrin.gif<>

Pippin watched Ardo make his introductions at the Goodbody's door. Smiling, he walked away and knocked at the door next to it, second in a row of four or five. There were no discordant arguements before the door opened, only a faint, "Just a minute!" When the door swung open, Pippin was confronted with a young hobbit-lass about his own age. (if he knew how old he was) She smiled, a trifle confused, and asked politely, "May I help you, sir?" Pippin found his voice with difficulty and said, "Yes'm, I'm Pippin, one of the Messengers of the Shire. Have you heard of it?"

When she shook her head, he continued. "We are sending out representatives into the surrounding country-side to advertise our Shire to the hobbits that might need a safe and prosperous place to live. There is plenty of room, and we welcome all. Are you interested, miss?" he finished, tentatively. She looked at him, consideringly. "I might," she said slowly, and Pippin's heart leaped- "but I need to ask my father. Would you like to come in?" Pippin's spirits slipped a bit, but he nodded and followed her in the door, which gently closed behind him.

[Gandalf_theGrey]

A day's journey out from Staddle, Erling, Hob and their ponies had stopped with the setting sun. Barrow mounds rose like gentle rebukes around them. But Erling figured that if he respected the dead, the dead would respect him. Hob's hermitlike manner ought to find favor as well. That is, if wights were capable of pitying travellers who meant no harm by walking the road where duty led on a mission of peace.

Erling followed Hob's lead, sharing a supper in comfortable quiet of dried beef, mushrooms, blackberries, seedcake, and wintergreen tea. Only muted thrushes and tentative crickets sometimes pushed their voices through deep layers of silence guarded by faint whisperings.

It was an hour after sunset when the wind and the whisperings rose in intensity. Hob and Erling were currying their ponies, having seen to their feeding and watering. The two Hobbits turned to each other simultaneously. The fur curled upwards on their toes as if sensing a nameless menace. Ground fog rolled in. "Let's get out of here."

Putting out the fire, the Hobbits noticed that though they were surrounded by mist, the sky directly above was clear except for thin veils of cloud. One of these veils covered the half-moon. But instead of being dimmed, the moon glowed twice its size, encircled by a halo. "Why, we don't hardly needs a torch to see, but let's carry one for protection." Erling nodded agreement at Hob's suggestion.

The messengers and their animals travelled until they passed through the border of fog and the white-gold moonshadow dissipated. At last they stopped for the night, made a campfire, and settled down to rest.

Now Erling, being a Fallohide and preferring the hunt to farming, was carrying a fowler's net. Before going to sleep under the blue blanket given him by Mrs. Broadbelt, he set up this net. Perhaps in the morning, he might find a game bird caught therein for breakfast ... maybe a duck, quail, or pheasant.

While Erling slept, the tin tube containing the Gathering-In scroll with the message he'd been commissioned to read to wandering Hobbits fell from out his backpack. The tin tube lay next to the campfire, shiny and glinting in the reflected firelight.

[ September 14, 2002: Message edited by: Gandalf_theGrey ]

[piosenniel]

The crow had quite forgotten how revitalizing elvish food could be. He had been quite tired when he first came to the stable to find the Ranger. Now he found himself wide awake and thinking about how he might gather information on these so-called Messengers. He supposed he could wait until they made it further East, but knowing hobbits and their ability to be distracted, he would probably be a greying, bedraggled oldster before any of them made it this far.

He sighed. 'Nothing to do, then,' he told himself, 'but to start toward them.' He ruffled his feathers and flapped his wings a few times to stretch them.

He glided silently from the stable and out into the night. The bright half moon was his only companion, as he flew westward, over the Misty Mountains, cold and silent beneath him.

Tired at last, he dropped down lower to spy out a safe place to catch a few hours sleep. A large tree invited him closer, and he made his way to a well hidden branch in the midst of it.

The smell of a campfire, now died down to glowing embers, came to him. He noted the forms of two small figures lying next to it. 'Well!' he said to himself. 'It seems I've found me some hobbits. I'll just wait here til they awaken and then see what they are up to.' He settled himself down on the branch, and was just ready to tuck his head beneath a wing, when an ember from the fire blazed up a little, and the fallen metal tube glinted for just a brief moment in the flame.

One moment was enough to catch the curious crow's eye. 'What's this?' he said, now coming wide awake. 'A pretty thing, if ever I've seen one!'

He glided down toward the ground, making his way toward the tin tube. His attention was wholly engaged by the prize, now easily within his reach.

[ September 14, 2002: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[Gandalf_theGrey]

Suddenly the crow stopped in mid-flight, wings spread wide apart, dangling between heaven and earth. Caught, in an invisible mesh ...

The stick supporting the fowling net snapped, sending the hopelessly entangled crow sprawling to the ground. The more Camlost struggled, the more closely was he bound in the net.

[ September 14, 2002: Message edited by: Gandalf_theGrey ]

[piosenniel]

The two hobbits were awakened by the loud squawks of the now thoroughly entangled bird.
An indignant demand brought them to their feet.

'Get me out of here, you half-witted halflings!'

[ September 14, 2002: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[Bêthberry]

Startled by the squawking, Hob rolled over and quickly rose.

Shush, you crazy bird, and be still. Bein' passed the Downs and under fair light don't mean you won't still raise the dead with that noise. Quiet now and I'll let yous loose. What do you mean sneaking'in on us like this?

Despite the harshness of his words, Hob's tone was gentle and he held his hand out, willing to let the angry crow peck him if that would help calm the bird down. Hob squatted low beside the netting and rubbed his nose with his free hand.

Erling, you do gets us into some scrapes. I've never afore met a bird what talks. How does we loose the net without lettin' it get away? And without costin' me half me fingers?

Hob looked at his friend with a grin, a tired grin, but a grin nonetheless.

[ September 14, 2002: Message edited by: Bethberry ]

[Rose Cotton]

The hobbit ranger and his apprentice were sheltering beneath some trees for the night. Once again Rose struggled to get an arrow into the center of a tree. She was doing better now. By the time she stopped she had hit the tree a few times.

[Gandalf_theGrey]

Interesting dilemma we have before us, don't we, Hob? I was planning to let the bird go, since crow isn't exactly my idea of breakfast, and I could never eat a talking bird.

* Erling somehow managed an even tone of voice, though he continued to blink in astonishment at his most unusual catch. A talking bird? *

But maybe you're right, Hob. Let's not be so quick to let it loose. This bird could be magical. Maybe it will grant us a wish in exchange for its freedom.

* Erling smiled hopefully, and not unkindly, at the crow. Rekindling the campfire back to life, the Hobbit could see that the bird was fortunately unharmed. He gently eased the net to give the crow a bit of breathing space, but not so much so that the bird could break free. * smilies/smile.gif

[ September 14, 2002: Message edited by: Gandalf_theGrey ]

[piosenniel]

'I am not deaf!' came the exasperated voice from the net. 'I have no magic, nor can I grant you any wishes!'

Though mine would be to peck your wooden heads until some sense came into them! he thought to himself.

He fixed the hobbit holding him with a beady eye. 'Just let me out of here, if you please. I have come to speak with you about your mission.'

[Child of the 7th Age]

Perry and Rose were on the trail again. Earendur had gone his own way to ferret out more information. After much thought, Perry had decided not to head south, but to continue west across the mountain pass and try to catch up with the family of Harfoots who had met such mishap. He feared that, if left on their own, they would never make it to Bree.

Perry decided he would escort the family towards Bree and the Shire, and try to meet up with one or more of the messengers. Until he met and spoke with them, he didn't feel that he could wholeheartedly endorse them or their project. If he could speak with them and be convinced of both their goodness and effectiveness, then it might be a different story. He could even be persuaded to join in the rescue himself.

But there was one more thought at the back of his mind. Perhaps, one out of all these messengers would discover that the settled life in the Shire was not really to his liking. Or perhaps some of the messengers would begin to understand that, without the Rangers patrolling the roads, there would be no safe haven of the Shire.

Perry thought fondly of Rose and her work with the bow. He saw definite improvement in her aim. She was quite pig headed and would keep at it for hours if he did not come and top her.

And when he had gone a round with her and her sword, he was also pleased to discover that she did have at least some skill in thatarea as well, which was extremely unusual for a hobbit woman.

[ September 15, 2002: Message edited by: Child of the 7th Age ]

[Birdland]

Osle took he baby from the flagging Avice, and held out his hand to help her up the bank. “It’s not far now”

“You said that an hour ago.“ mumbled Ceo groggily.

Enid smiled to herself. She didn’t need Osle to tell her where she was. Hadn’t she traveled these same trails for most all of sixty years? She had followed Ruddoc through this same area when she was carrying Osle. But the family had walked since they had left the old peddler, near two days ago. They were now some twenty miles from Old Ford, and finally felt safe enough to seek another hole to spends a few days before continuing South.

A waning moon glimmered on the broad, black flow of the Anduin below them as they came to the top of the bank. Osle signaled with his hand for the others to stop, handed Lianth to his mother, and crept forward to scout the smial. Most of the holes were protected by strong herbs and incantations meant to discourage animals from taking over the site between occupants, but one never knew when bear, cat or wolf might move in. Avice had a fine cloak made from the skin of just such a trespasser. Or used to have it. It had been left behind when they fled.

Silently the hobbit crept forward, checking the ground for signs of recent life. Then he stole slowly towards the mouth of the smial.

“It’s taken!”

Osle leapt back in surprise, and the rest of the family jumped and clutched each other, startled awake by the raucous voice.

Then Osle laughed out loud. Laughed for the first time since the hill top. “Well, surely there is room to share with a hungry, tired family, Frodo?”

Out of the hole-mouth popped the most disreputable, rumpled, Hobbit anyone was liable to see. He had to be at least one hundred, He could have been older than that. His back was crooked, one eye was glazed by a milky cataract. When he smiled it could be seen that more than half his teeth were gone. Above his lip and on his chin hung white stringy wisps of whiskers. His feet were white too, and remarkably furry, even for the Halfling Folk. He wore a leather vest, winter and summer, and his ragged trews were held up by a very old, but genuine piece of Elven rope, of which he was very proud.

All in all, Frodo the Stoor was the most miserable, mangy example of Halfling Kind that anyone was like to find in these parts. Everyone loved him.

He grinned widely at the family and made a grand gesture for them to enter the den. Then his arm dropped and his smile faded as he looked over the people before them, and scanned their faces.

“Where’s Ruddoc?” he asked, quietly and sadly.

[ September 14, 2002: Message edited by: Birdland ]

[Susan Delgado]

As they rode on past Staddle, Amaranth looked around at the holes and wondered what it would be like to settle down here. Surely they couldn't be bothered too much by the Men of Bree around the hill, or they wouldn't stay. She sighed and looked back at the road. She'd commited herself to this journey to the Shire, and besides, she liked the company.

As they came around a bend in the path, they could see a group of Hobbits standing around, apparently picking fruit from the nearby trees. The three of them stopped to say hello. They exchanged pleasantries and learned that these Hobbits were, indeed, quite happy in Staddle and didn't want to go anywhere. As they were about to turn back onto the road, a voice piped up from the back of the group. It was a pretty little lass, and as she pushed her way to the front of the group, she said, "Baracas, is that you? It can't be!"
The big Hobbit was nearly speechless. "Linna? is that you? Linna!"
"Baracas! I thought I'd never see you again! What are you doing here?"
Baracas had leapt off his pony and they embraced eagerly.
"Well, I'm one of the Messengers from the Shire. Linna, come with us, with me, back to the Shire. I don't want to leave you again."
She stepped back and looked over at Dinodas and Amaranth, who were watching with somewhat confused interest. When she saw Amaranth, her jaw tightened and she took another step back. "No," she said, her voice determined. Still staring at the other lass, she continued, "No, it looks like you don't need me on this journey."
"What?" Confused, Baracas followed her gaze and shook his head, "No, no! She's just someone I found along the way. She's no one!"
"Really? Oh, Baracas, I would love to go with you, but I can't. My nother is ill...I-I can't leave her." She stood,looking at him sadly, then turned away. "Goodbye, Baracas. I'll remember you."
Near panic, Baracas stood, staring frantically back and forth between the ponies the departing lass. He caught Dinodas' eye once, and the other lad gestured him away. "What are you waiting for, Baracas? Go on! We can continue the mission." Dinodas had left a lass behind in the Shire and he well understood Baracas' dilemma.
This was all the encouragement Baracas needed. He ran after Linna, shouting, "Wait!"
She ran back to him and they disappeared into the trees, arm in arm, and were never again seen by anyone from the Shire.

Amaranth gave Dinodas an inscrutable look. "Why did you do that?" She asked.
Dionodas just shook his head and said, "It would be too hard to explain. Let's go."
Amaranth shrugged. She climbed off the pack animal and mounted Baracas' pony. Now that he was no longer with them, she could have a proper riding pony. The two of them turned and continued down the road.

[ September 15, 2002: Message edited by: Susan Delgado ]

[Child of the 7th Age]

Rose and Perry had carefully tracked the Harfoot family. The ranger knew the location of most of the traveller's holes in this area, having sampled them all at various points in his life. Rose ran ahead spying out this hidden cave and that burrow in a stream bank, but they had no luck.

They had progressed about 18 miles from the Old Ford, when they noticed there seemed to be another set of hobbit footprints travelling separately. Perry grinned as he looked down at them. It was clearly the prints of an old one slowly making his way on his own, and that could only mean one thing!

"Come," he said to Rose. "I know exactly where this one will head." The two sprinted the last two miles, and came out on a bluff. They looked down on a party in serious discussion. One was Frodo, whom Perry knew well, and the other was the Harfoot family which had lost their da.

If ever a hobbit could use a resting place for wise but old bones, that hobbit was Frodo. Of all the travellers on the route, he was one of only a few who was totally blind to whether a hobbit was a Stoor or Harfoot or Fallohide. Being a Stoor, Frodo would probably urge the family to head south towards his old fishing and hunting grounds.

Perry stood up and shook his head. He knew that the south had recently seen great and ravenous wolves. This was no place for a hobbit family with young or an older one like Frodo. What should he do? And then Perry made a decision. He would try to talk some sense into them to get them to go west. His decision made no sense to him. He had absolutely no use for a place like the Shire. But something told him the folk standing there might find it a friendlier place than the ones they had dwelt in before.

Perry asked Rose to run ahead and extend greetings. The family might be a bit friendlier to a young girl than to see a Ranger striding in with sword and bow, even if that Ranger was a kuduk. Hopefully, Frodo would vouch for him to the family, as they had known each other casually for a number of years.

[ September 15, 2002: Message edited by: Child of the 7th Age ]

[Bêthberry]

Hob pulled his hand back a bit as Erling loosed the net.

So it's spyin' on us, you're doin', is it? You wants to know our business, assumin' we have any? Who's so eager to be knowin' the habits of some simple hobbits? You don't look like crebain to me.

[piosenniel]

The crow spoke as clearly and politely as he could to the two hobbits, though his body was still constrained by the foul netting.

'Let us start again, if you will.' he said. 'My name is Camlost, a long time friend to the Rangers, both Man and Hobbit, who frequent this area. I am their eyes and ears so to speak, as well as for that old peddler in grey who sometimes wanders in your lands.'

He looked at both of them, but their thoughts were remarkably well guarded for such a pair of apparent simpletons. Perhaps they had a larger portion of native wit than he gave them credit for.

'We knew from the first about the Gathering In and the Messenger pairs who had been sent out to accomplish it. We would like to aid you if we can. I can bring you news of those hobbits you seek, if you wish. We are always on the look-out for ways to keep them safe. Will you accept my offer of assistance?'

[ September 15, 2002: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[Birdland]

Fina and Ceo had tried to stay awake to hear the interesting talk of the old folk, but after a bowl of coney stew from the pot Frodo had hanging over the fire, they had given up and curled up in the hole like a couple of fox cubs, and fallen into exhausted sleep.

Without tears, for there were none left, Osle and Enid had told Frodo of the terrible death of Ruddoc, and the mysterious meeting with the "old peddler" and how he had helped them.

"I don't know why we trusted him, Frodo. By the One, I don't know how he even managed to approached us. I can usually hear a Big One coming from a mile away. But there he was, cart and all."

"I don't think anyone had a thought to run," said Enid, slowly and thoughtfully, "It was as if we just turned ourselves over to him, like a child trusting its Ma to make everything all right." She looked over and smiled at Avice, who smiled back as she nursed Enid's grandchild. "But you called him one of 'Big Folk', my son, and I don't think that's right. He may look like one, but the one we met two days ago is no Man, I think."

Frodo poked up the fire with a stick and chuckled. "You're right there, good Enid. That one is no Man. And how would I know? 'Cause the first time I ever saw the Grey Wanderer, I was all of ten years old. Ten! And he hasn't changed a bit from that day to this. I'll never forget it, either. There was something about him, as you said, though he plays the role of a kindly old peddler. I don't know what role he's really here for in Middle-earth, but have no doubts, he's a friend to Hobbits, one of the few we have." Frodo looked out on the broad, black river that he loved. "And he helped you do right by my friend Ruddoc. If I ever see him again, I'll thank him for that."

Osle made a noise in his throat, and looked down at his feet. Frodo waited a moment, then asked quietly. "And what of you all, now? What is this he told you about going to the West? Hobbits living in their own country? Living in a country with no Blind-Feet? And 'Messengers' coming out to look for us? Is this where you're thinkin' of going, Osle?"

[ September 15, 2002: Message edited by: Birdland ]

[Gandalf_theGrey]

* With a nod to Hob, Erling loosed the net still more, so that Camlost was free to move about or fly where he would. *

Hallo, Camlost. We'd be much obliged for any news you can spare of the Hobbits we seek. Your offer of assistance is most welcome. And I'm carrying some parched corn with me, if you'll accept it as a small gift, begging pardon for your capture.

As for the grey-clad peddler, what does he trade in, so that we might better barter for information?

* Erling made no mention of setting a coin or two aside for buying information from the old peddler, knowing full well the greedy reputation of crows around such shiny treasure. Nor did he make a move towards bringing out any parched corn ... yet. *

[ September 15, 2002: Message edited by: Gandalf_theGrey ]

[Rose Cotton]

Rose climbed down to the hole where the hobbit family had gone in. Then taking a deep breath she knocked lightly on the door.

[Birdland]

(O.O.C. - Rose, I don't think these smials have doors. Were talkin' some pretty primitive Hobbits, here. smilies/biggrin.gif )

The rapping of a hand on a support beam near the tunnel mouth had an immediate effect on the family, waking the children who grabbed their small bundles and started scooching for the exit tunnel. Enid held up a hand to stop them, signaling for quiet. Osle drew his father's knife.

Frodo appreciated caution as well as the next Hobbit, but he could see that Ruddoc's family was still effected by the events at old Ford. It would be a long time before they felt safe from invasion again.

Holding up his hand as well, he gave Fina and Ceo a grin and wink, then shouted "This one's taken! Move along, friend. No more room here."

[ September 16, 2002: Message edited by: Birdland ]

[Child of the 7th Age]

Rose's small voice came wafting through the hole. "I'm a friend. A young lass whose feet are just as hairy as your own. So please don't bludgeon me. My uncle Perry is outside, and he'd just like to talk with you. He isn't trying to take your burrow away. He says Frodo should remember him."

"And I'm to remind Frodo with this----'remember the old days when you helped a frightened junior ranger chasing after a pretty hobbit lass.'--whatever that means." Rose did wonder exactly what that meant.

Cautiously, Rose took a step forward, and stuck her head inside the burrow.

[ September 16, 2002: Message edited by: Child of the 7th Age ]

[Elenna]

Dinodas waved in the general direction of where Linna and Barocas had vanished.

"I hope they'll be happy," he muttered before nudging his pony forward. "As for me, I still have a journey to make."

He didn't realize he had said this out loud until Amaranth said.

"So do I, Dinny."

[Rose Cotton]

ooc: Well I don't think a hobbit hole's complete without those little round doors. smilies/biggrin.gif smilies/wink.gif ::

Rose went into the hole her arms spread to show she was harmless. Uncle Perry had thought she would be more trustworthy if she was unarmed so she had left her sword, bow and quiver with him.

Inside she saw a hobbit family who had apperitly been settling down for bed. An older hobbit was making his way over to her and seemed to be thinking on past times. Finally he said. "Ah, yes I remember now. Perry's your Uncle? Well, let him come in. I'd like to talk to him."

Rose waved Perry over then turned to the family. "I'm sorry we've disturbed you." she said kindly.

[ September 16, 2002: Message edited by: Rose Cotton ]

[piosenniel]

'I thank you for loosing me!' said Camlost, as he ruffled his feathers and then settled them back into place. 'As to the peddler, I can tell you that coin is not what he deals in for trade. Information is more to his liking.' He preened two of his wing feathers that had gotten rumpled during the netting. 'And besides, I don't think you'll be seeing him around here any too soon, he's got some business tying him up at the moment in Mirkwood.'

He hopped closer to the now seated hobbits. 'Why don't you tell me where you were bound and perhaps I can match you up with some information that will be to your liking in that area.' He looked at them expectantly, wondering where the one called Erling had the corn hidden.

[Ithaeliel]

"Ah, well-met, Mr Goodbody! D'you mind if I come in? This may take a while."

The flustered hobbit flattened himself against the wall to get out of Ardo's path. "Of course! Please make yourself comfortable."

Ardo looked about the place. It was quite primitive; nothing compared to the smial in which he dwelt. Its walls were lined with thin strips of bark, its floors with nothing but the very soil of the land (although it was quite smooth and packed-in from the constant tramping of feet), and the door was also a large bark board, not circular or beautiful like Shire-doors. Yet Ardo wondered if this wasn't one of the cleaner homes he would see.

As Goodbody ushered Baggins into the hole, two children ran shrieking with laughter into the room. "Papa, papa, did you see? Drocas has got himself into a mess!"
Almost as if on cue, a crying toddler came in, his whole frontside plastered with mud. The father looked in surprise at young Drocas. "My, my, dear boy, you must've fallen right into the middle of the mud puddle! Now quickly go see your mother and see that she washes that off. We've got company; a man from the Shire. This is Mr. Baggins."
The children gaped up at Ardo in awe and revelry. "The SHIRE? The REAL Shire?"
"The one with the ghosts and the green hills and the--"
"Yes, children, that Shire. Now go on and see if y'can't help your mother with supper."

As the children ran off, whispering excitedly, Goodbody turned to Ardo, smiling ruefully. "They're a handful, they are. Can't sit still for a minute. Now, have a seat, Mr. Baggins, and let's get down to business."
"Right," agreed Ardo before clearing his throat. "I'm here as one of the 24 messengers, as you know already, and I am here to invite you to settle in the Shire."
Goodbody sighed. "I'd have gone already if I wasn't so uncertain. I'm not sure we could afford it, as I've got four other mouths to feed besides my own. I'd give anything for my family, but I think we're comfortable here in Staddle."
Ardo bit his tongue. He wanted to burst out with all of the wonderful things he discovered when he settled in the Shire, but it would be a bit too fast. He needed to talk things through calmly, not barrage the man with ideas that were too good to be true. That was the kind of thing that would get him kicked out of the house. So he started off slow.
"Mr. Goodbody, no doubt you would find comfort in your settlement here, but would you perhaps consider our proposal? You need not buy any land; it shall be given to you, should you choose to hearken to the Shire. You need only buy that which you have here in this household: A table to eat at, chairs to sit in, and so on and so forth. You'd find friendly neighbors, wide meadows where your children can play without worry... there are so many wonderful things about the Shire; I could not list them in an entire day. Your children would be educated, you would live in peace and comfort! You would never, ever have to move from place to place again! My dear sir, you say you would do anything for your family. If that is so, you would want to give them the best, wouldn't you? The Shire is what you'd find to fit the description."
Goodbody listened intently to Ardo's entire speech, his eyes widening as it went. By the end, a broad grin was plastered on his strong face, and he nodded. "Goodness, Mr. Baggins... I'm reconsiderin', sir, honest I am. I don't want to pass this up, by the way you tell it... you have a talent for solicitation, sir. But before I say yes or no, I have to know the details of the agreement. Would you tell me that?"
Ardo smiled as he pulled out the scroll. He read off the terms to Goodbody, and as he did he noticed the children peeking in curiously, as well as the wife, whose lips were drawn tight in an expression that clearly said, "Is this Mr. Baggins a phony?"
Ardo continued to read. As he finished, Goodbody straightened himself from his forward slumping position. "If you'd be so kind as to give me a day to discuss this with my family," and at 'family' the four heads disappeared around the corner, "I'll give you a definite yes or no tomorrow. Will y'be in Staddle that long?"
"Indeed I will, as will my companion Pippin. I'll alow you the time you request, and I'll check back at sunset tomorrow."

[ September 19, 2002: Message edited by: Ithaeliel ]

[Child of the 7th Age]

Perry nodded in respect to Frodo and the family. Then, he went up to Enid, and slightly bowed his head, "I was sorry to hear about Rudoc's demise. I did not know your family well, but a death like this is doubly painful and hits us all hard."

She looked at him, her eyes brimming with tears. "Thank you. Frodo tells me you are a Ranger who tries to guard us hobbit folk from evil ways. I only wish there'd been more like you to help my Ruddoc out."

Perry touched his cap and sighed, "So do I, maam, so do I. But where will you go now? he continued. "Have you made other plans?"

Osle made his way forward with his elbows splayed, pushing everyone else aside, "You'll need to talk with me on that. My ma is tired to the bone, so I do our thinkin' now. But, to tell the truth, I'm not sure. We came upon a real strange 'un with a grey cloak and a cart, and he told us to git towards Bree, and find a Ranger or a messenger. We know you're a Ranger, but none of us--even Frodo--has the slightest idea what a messenger is."

So Perry tried to explain as best he could about the Shire and the messengers. And all the while he was talking, half of his brain was saying these folk really needed a refuge, and the other half was thinking how crazy he'd been to lead them on when he'd never even seen this "Shire" or talked to any messenger.

"So," he continued, "if you'd like to come with me in the directon of Bree and Straddle and Coombe, maybe we could find one of these folk and see what you think."

Every hobbit in that small burrow had a different response to this. Enid looked as if she'd just been offered a one-way ticket to Aman. The baby just kept balling, and the younger ones continued playing with Rose. Osle seemed a bit skeptical; it sounded too good to be true. Who would want the likes of them, anyway? There'd been plenty of small hobbit villages along the road, but no one had ever offered them a hole of their own. Plus, Frodo was pretty happy doing what he always did, and didn't think he'd like others sticking their nose into his business, even if they were hobbits.

It looked as if the whole idea was about to collapse when Avice, nursing her little one, looked up with hopeful eyes, "Please, couldn't we try? It wouldn't hurt to talk. We could always go off our own way, if the talkin' led nowhere."

By the end of the evening, everything had been agreed. They would all travel west together, even Frodo. The latter declared he had no intention whatsoever of leaving his Stoor clan to the south. But a bit of infomation gathering never hurt, especially when it was the warm summer months. The trip would need to be done in easy stages, what with the older one and the babe, and the mountain pass, but even Perry thought they could make it. And hobbits, especially those that wander about, are incredibly sturdy. Perry and Rose shared a meager dinner with the family, bringing out their own supplies to supplement the soup, and said good night till the morning.

[ September 18, 2002: Message edited by: Child of the 7th Age ]

[Bêthberry]

Mirkwood gasped Hob. Don't tells us, crow, that ye've flown from there now to find us! And you're plannin' ta take us back there? To this peddler who taught you to talk?

Now he was really wide awake and interested.

[piosenniel]

Were he able to roll his eyes, he would have.

'No, that wasn't exactly what I had planned on telling you. I meant to get from you where you were bound. If I knew that I could tell you where some very likely candidates for your gathering-in are.' He hopped closer to Hob. 'You did have some place in mind that you were heading for, didn't you?'

'Mirkwood, indeed!', he muttered to himself. 'These two wouldn't last two seconds there!'

[Aradaewen]

Pippin followed the girl into her house. When the door closed behind them, she lit a rosy lamp and led him across the living room to an old hobbit asleep in an armchair. "Father," the girl said, her brown curls bouncing. "Father, there is a young lad here to talk to you." The hobbit awoke with a start. "Eh?" "Sir," Pippin bowed, "I am one of the Messengers of the Shire. It is a fertile land of plenty, and we are asking all of our fellow hobbits to come and share our land. There is no fee for your homestead- and there are plenty f helpful hands around to assist you in any way possible." He paused here to let the elderly hobbit think it through. "Young 'un, I can't just up and leave this place. I was born here and so was me daughter." He put his hand on the girl's shoulders as she crouched at his chairside. "My Jezabelle needs to be brought up proper, and 'ow can she do that if she be mving her home all crosscountry? However," he added at Pippin's crestfallen expression, "I do think yer offer is a mighty good 'un. Give me a night to think it over, and come back in the mornin'." Pippin bowed. "Yes sir- thank you, sir." And Jezabelle showed him out...

[ September 21, 2002: Message edited by: Aradaewen ]