It was shortly after sundown, when a youngish hobbit stepped in off the road. Hanging his hat up, he stopped to take in a view of the inn and its patrons. Smiling politely here and there where the good folk acknowledged him, he spotted the bar and headed over. Although the lone hobbit had a certain air of confidence about him, it was plain that he was new to this particular inn.
"Hello, there, Master Dwarf!" he said to the barkeeper, "I guess you must be Mr. Dwarin Thunderhammer! Pleased to meet you! Biffo, I am. Or Mr. Proudfoot, if ya like. I'll have a pint of your best ale!"
The stocky innkeeper named his price. "Ooh, ah... better make that the second best then!" Biffo replied with a wink and a laugh. Thanking Dwarin for the ale, the hobbit looked around for somewhere to sit down.
[ December 28, 2002: Message edited by: doug*platypus ]
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But Gwindor answered: 'The doom lies in yourself, not in your name'.
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