[Theoric Windcaller]

The Hobbit sat still, like an apprehensive statue, glaring the crowd of Hobbits as they cheered, laughed, drunk and sang.

Theoric was extremely uncomfortable. He turned to the Hobbit. "Look, I have no money for beggars," said the Dwarf, as politely as a Dwarf could say it.

The Hobbit turned to him. "You are a pathetic Dwarf," the Hobbit rudely boasted. The Dwarf slammed his mug down on the bar with anger. His eyes were fiery, his hands seemed to yearn for his axe.

"What did you say?!" Fire was in his voice.

Never make a Dwarf angry. "I said that you are pathetic, you dirty pig," replied the beggar.

Theoric reached for his axe, but there was a problem, it wasn't on his back. It was across the room, in the weapons storage.

"Urrgh, curse the no weapons policy in this inn!" he shouted. "I'll kill you with my hands," said the Dwarf and he wrapped his enormous fist around the beggars small neck and lifted him off of the ground.

The Dwarf then felt the sharp point of an object roughly poke his back. "Drop, the Hobbit!" yelled the bartender from behind the bar, holding a sword to his back. It was then that Theoric realized all attention was turned to him.

The Dwarf slowly put the Hobbit down as the innkeeper retracted the sword to behind the bar.

"Get out of here Rumto," she shouted. The Hobbit charged out the door. "I don't want to see anymore trouble," replied Aman.

"Thank you, m'lady. If you don't mind, I would like to finish my mead and get a room."

"Think naught of it. You will have a room when your mead is finished," said the innkeeper from Rohan.

[ June 06, 2003: Message edited by: Theoric Windcaller ]