The Green Dragon Inn #11 - The Last Chapter

[piosenniel]

GREEN DRAGON INN FACTS:

It is the 4th Age, year 12. By the Shire Calendar it is year 1433 S.R. (Shire Reckoning).

King Elessar is on the throne of the Reunited Kingdom of Arnor and Gondor.

Mirkwood has been reclaimed by the Elves and is now called Eryn Lasgalen.

Paladdin Took, Pippin’s father, is Thain of the Shire. (Thain is an honorary title for the military leader of the Shire. The title has been held in the Took Family since the position was first established in 3rd Age 1979 with Bucca of the Marish as First Thain.) Paladdin Took dies in year 13, and will be succeeded by his son, Peregrin, ‘Pippin’, Took.

Samwise Gamgee is Mayor of the Shire, having succeeded Will Whitfoot in 1427 S.R.

The Innkeeper, in the Green Dragon Inn of this forum, is: Aman – a young woman from Rohan.

Before her, the Innkeeper was Piosenniel, and before her it was Dwarin, the Dwarf.

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Other ongoing characters in the Inn:

Ruby Brown, Hobbit – not married – server and maid

Buttercup Brownlock, Hobbit – not married – kitchen assistant and maid

Vinca Bunce, widowed, Inn Cook (character played by Piosenniel)

Derufin, the Stablemaster (played by Envinyatar)

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Ongoing characters from outside the Inn:

Halfred Whitfoot – local Shiriff from Bywater and Postmaster for this area of the Shire; his pony’s name is Dumpling.

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Please Note:

No 'SAVES' are allowed in the Inn (except for modifications needed to be made by the Moderators or Innkeeper).

With the exception of the Innkeeper and the Moderators, no OOC (Out Of Character) comments are allowed in the Inn.

Only the Innkeeper, Amanaduial, or the Moderators move the timeline for the Inn forward.

Visitors to the Inn will need to read the posts that come before theirs to get an idea of what time it is in the Shire, what the weather is like, and what is happening.

No violence is allowed in the Inn or on Inn grounds.

Please be familiar with the rules for the Inn and Games in The Red Book of Westmarch, the first topic in the Shire.

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About Elves in Shire RPG's:

Please use this description from Tolkien when crafting an Elf:

Return of the King – Appendix F: Tolkien’s description for the Quendi (The Speakers) – the name given to the Elves by themselves after they first awoke in Middle-earth.

“They were a race high and beautiful, the older Children of the world, and among them the Eldar were as Kings, who now are gone: the People of the Great Journey, the People of the Stars. They were tall, fair of skin and grey-eyed, though their locks were dark, save in the golden house of Finrod; and their voices had more melodies than any mortal voice that is now heard . . .”

Please use this as a guideline for describing your Elven character’s appearance.

[piosenniel]

It is nearing noon-time at the Green Dragon Inn. Second-breakfast is still being served. But the fragrant scent of lamb stew is hinting that lunch is nearly ready.

The day is proving to be a fair one so far . . . no clouds on the horizon as yet.

[piosenniel]

~*~ NOTICE OF NEW RPG OPENING ~*~

Crystal Heart invites you to play in her new game:

Seekers of Truth

The Discussion Thread for this game will open to take on characters on 8/15.

Until then, read the proposal carefully and craft an interesting character with a First Post to submit for the game owner’s approval when the thread opens.

See you then!

~*~ Piosenniel

[Amanaduial the archer]

Aman eyed the elven man, Ascasir, sidelong as she pulled out a pint for one of the bar customers. Flicking her eyes across to Ruby, who was giving the bar a cursory wipe down, she murmured, "Do you think he flirts with everyone, or is there some selective, generous process here?"

Ruby looked across surreptitiously to the elf where he appeared to be making advances on a slender, dark elven woman sitting with her back to the bar. The hobbit giggled and whispered back, "Jealous."

Aman's eyebrows shot up and she gave a short laugh, finishing off the pint. "Pardon me, Ruby Brown! What would I be jealous of? And not that it is a bad thing either - he flirts quite charmingly, if a little awkwardly." Turning to the customer, a young Breelander, she smiled warmly as she pushed the pint across to him. "Here you are, sir."

"Fli-irt..." Ruby replied in a singsong voice. The Innkeeper picked up the now stationary rag and flapped it at her, frowning exaggeratedly. "Don't you start!"

"Well, it's true!"
"It isn't, as you well know."
"No, it is as I very well know."
"Is."
"It isn't"
"It i-is..."

"Ruby, I refuse to get into this with you," the Innkeeper replied abruptly, rolling her eyes. Ruby regarded her for a second, then contented herself with raising her eyebrows and settling back with an infuriatingly smug expression on her round features. Aman stuck her tongue into her cheek and refused to be riled, grinning slightly. The Common Room door opened and a few cheers made Aman look up out of curiosity. Seeing who it was, she smiled widely and pulled another pint of ale with sudden speed, darting around the bar with her precarious load to the newcomer - Halfred Whitfoot, Shirrif and postman.

"Halfred! Or is it 'Shirrif Whitfoot' for today?"

"Ah, no, just plain ole' Halfred Whitfoot today, Aman," the round faced hobbit replied, panting slightly. Producing a worn pocket hankerchief he dabbed at his red forehead and gave a heavy sigh. "Well, the day is a beautiful one indeed...really builds up a man's thirst..."

Subtlety had never been a strong point of the rotund Shirrif and Aman laughed, handing him the pint of ale - always on the house, for it didn't do to offend to postie, or the Shirrif - and seating him at a nearby table. "There you go, Halfred. Dumpling is in the stables?"

"Of course - you have a new boy, I noticed...?"

"Aye, Merrimac - but hardly new! You should visit us more, Mr Whitfoot - you'll be left behind," she teased. The hobbit chuckled good naturedly and took a long draft of the pint, swallowing half of it at once. Aman hovered beside him, careful not to let her impatience show: Halfred had a habit of dancing around his actual reason for coming, and if you showed any impatience, he usually only dragged the task out more. But today, it seemed, he was in a less teasing mood, for as he put down the pint again he fumbled around and produced two letters from his bag. Squinting at them unsteadily, he looked around and replaced one, then took another long pull at his ale. Aman resisted the urge to fold her arms and raise her eyebrows, and was rewarded with the other letter. Smiling gratefully, she thanked Halfred and returned to the bar, pondering the letter's contents. Taking a small kitchen knife from the odd bits of cutlery under the bar, she slit the letter open tidily and scanned it's contents quickly.

Dearest Aman,

It has been long since we have spoken, hasn't it old friend? I would take time to catch up, but then, what is the point? The subject matter in letters are, after all, quite different from those to be broached face to face.

Aman smiled, recognising the tone of the letter rather than the quick handwriting, written with a light hand so it was quite hard to read on the dark, speckled parchment. Holding it up to the light a little more, she read on:

But no matter, for I think we may be able to meet up rather soon. Although I returned to Gondor those months back (and it has taken me a while to find you - how on earth did you end up in the Shire, my dear?!), my attention was drawn to something that may rather interest you. On the Great East Road (South of that pretty, secretive little backwater you currently reside in), there is to be another of the great markets.

But it is to be larger than usual, I am led to believe, and the goods even more worthy: the farriers are turning out well for it. Some groups of Southerners and Easterlings have moved further into the mainlands, and they have come up, along with groups of Gondorian and Rohirric horsebreeders. I know you have always had an interest in the strange, angular steeds of the Haradrim...

The market will last for a week, and by the time this reaches you, you may have missed some already. Come, Aman - it will be a pleasure to see you once more, although I do not doubt it will be the promises of so diverse a range of horses that will persuade you rather than simply me!

Truly,

Taydoch.

Taydoch... Aman had guessed at the very beginning. The Gondorian author of the letter had been a good friend of hers for several years back in Rohan, taking odd jobs here and there in Inns and shops, before eventually blowing up in the stables with Aman - having bluffed his way in, not actually knowing how to ride. The man was an oddity, a year or two younger than Aman herself - but he had been one of her dearest friends. After he had returned to Gondor, to some family crisis, a few months before Aman left for The Green Dragon, the pair had lost touch. It would be good to see him again.

But bearing in mind the speed of post...Aman grinned determindly and tightened her grip on the letter. Surely Cook wouldn't begrudge her a few days...

Briskly entering the kitchen, Aman found Cook standing by the great fire, stirring a large cauldron of fine smelling stew. Resolving to stay for lunch, the Innkeeper tapped Vinca on the shoulder and handed her the letter, giving a gabbled, eager explanation as the elderly hobbit read the letter over. Vinca took a moment's pause having finished the letter, then folded it very slowly and carefully. Taking off her glasses, she looked up at the Innkeeper - and nodded, smiling. Aman beamed back. "Oh, thankyou, Miss Bunce - I know I may be leaving you in the-"

"Oh, pish posh, I did the same when Zimzi and Derufin went with Pio. And after all, you said this will only be for a few days..."

Aman nodded firmly. "Aye, two, maybe three."

"And you will leave..."

"From the smell of that stew? Well, I shall be hanging around for lunch, that is certain!" The pair laughed and Vinca rolled her eyes as Aman darted back out and upstairs to pack what little she would be taking.

~*~*~

OCC: I will be leaving tomorrow morning on holiday, and will be without internet access for a week I am afraid (I will return late on the evening of Sunday 22nd). Apologies - have fun, and happy writing this week without me!

[Morsul the Dark]

Morsul gloomily looked up towards the Inn he was tired so was his horse, as he tied his horse to a post out side the old man scratched his stubbled chin. He walked into the bar. Inside he admired the great host of people present. Some patrons looked up but most ignored him as was to his liking he did not like others prying his business it was afterall his.

Ordering a large cup of Beer, he looked around the pub he seemed to believe all the eyes were upon him yet none looked at him he pulled back his long grey hair and then twisted his mustache as the beer took and his mind began to wonder. He was waiting. For what, he did not know.

[rutslegolas]

Harry Brandybuck was stout and strong hobbit,he worked as a carpenter and had recently returned from his long journey to the strange but beautiful land of Rohan.He wished very much for a drink of good ale on his return,so he dropped into the Green Dragon Inn.'Such a long time since I have been here,but it just feels like yesterday',he thought.

When he entered the inn the smell of fresh lamb stew and buckleberry tart reached his nose and he nearly jumped in excitment.He then sat down at a table near a old Gaffer and ordered two ales for both of them.

[piosenniel]

Zimzi had just entered the door to the kitchen from the common room, when Cook called her over. ‘Sit down, sit down, and have some lunch with me.’ The younger woman demurred, saying she would like to take her meal with Derufin, but Cook was insistent, saying that there were matters that needed to be spoken about and taken care of before her family arrived. ‘And besides, said Cook, the workmen are all eating together at a table we’ve set up in the yard. They’ll be done soon, I’m sure, then be back to their business. Mustn’t delay the, you know,’ she said nodding her head at Zimzi. ‘Time is short to get everything done.’

With an indulgent smile, Zimzi acquiesced to Cook’s request. And Buttercup served them both before taking second helpings out to the crew. From behind Zimzi’s back, out of the young woman’s view, Buttercup winked conspiratorially at Cook.

They were well past the buttering of bread and the spooning up of the fragrant stew before Cook got round to her agenda. She knew that Zimzi was quite fond of flowers, she began, and so she had arranged for her to spend a few days with a good friend of hers who lived up in Overhill. ‘And a friend of Mistress Piosenniel’s, too, when she lived here. Name of Amaranthas.’

‘Why, I remember her!’ cried Zimzi, her eyes glinting mischievously. ‘The Old Dragon – or so Pio called her sometimes, though always in a fond way.’

‘Dragon or no,’ continued Cook, ‘she’s a right treasure for flower lore. Has a lovely flower garden and can tell you what each one of them means.’ Zimzi looked at Cook perplexedly. What is she getting at? she wondered. ‘Yes, well,’ she said aloud, ‘I’m just a bit confused about this talk of flowers and their meanings. I think we do not have such a custom where I grew up.’

Cook took a deep breath before she began her explanation. ‘In the Shire, it’s customary to celebrate occasions with food and drink, dancing and song and speeches of all sorts . . . and flowers. Every sort of flower has its own meaning that goes with it. It’s rather like sending someone a message, but without using words. Sunflowers, for example, say “I adore you”. And flowering almond speaks of “Hope”. Those are but two of many.’ She got up from the table to dish them up a generous helping of blackberry tart. ‘Now this will be a large party – your handfasting. All of Bywater and Hobbiton have heard the news and will come in to make a day and night of it. The Inn yard will be set up within and without with many trestle tables to hold the food, and cakes, and drinks and of course, the mathoms.’

Zimzi’s face had gone quite pale at the scope that Cook had envisioned, and protested that surely this would be too much for Cook and the Inn staff to see to. No worry about that, Cook had assured her, the goodwives of the two towns would see that things got done up right for the special day. ‘And they’ll be expecting the same from you, once you and your Mister have settled in, with their sons’ and daughters’ weddings.’ ‘We like to do for each other in these parts,’ she went on. ‘Many hands make light work.’

So what had all this to do with flowers, Zimzi asked after taking in the enormity of the enterprise. Cook explained that it was customary to make small bouquets for each of the tables for the party, expressing the sentiments of the day. ‘And since you are quite fond of flowers, as I have noted, you and Miz Amaranthas can set yourselves to work getting them ready. She’s an old hand at that sort of thing and can give you all the pointers you’ll need.’

‘And here’s your bag, just now . . .’ smiled Cook, as Ruby came bustling through the door with a tapestry traveling bag packed with a few changes of clothes and other essentials.

‘My bag?’ croaked the young woman, as Cook and Ruby ushered her to the front door of the Inn and into a waiting cart, driven by the stableboy. ‘He’ll come fetch you in a few days . . . you and Miz Amaranthas . . . and the bouquets. We’ll see to the rest of the cleaning here at the Inn and get everything set up for the arrival of your parents and brothers.’

‘Enjoy yourself . . .’ cried Buttercup, waving wildly at the retreating cart. ‘We’ll see to Derufin while you’re away. Don’t you worry about him.’

[piosenniel]

~*~*~*~*~*~ NOTICE OF NEW RPG OPENING ~*~*~*~*~*~

Nuranar and Envinyatar invite you take a look at their new game:

Wilderness, Weathertop, and Wildthings (also known as – W,W, & WT)

The Discussion Thread is now open to take on players.

Rangers, Elves, and Baddies needed!

See you there!

~*~ Pio, Game Moderator

[Nurumaiel]

Donnamira had sat silently so far, much to Marcho's relief. At that table they had sat since the morning, waiting for the arrival of Blanco, his sister Peony, and Bingo. Luncheon was beginning now, and Don was beginning to hint that she was hungry again. Marcho fetched her a meal, and obtained a plate for himself as well when he realized with some surprise that he hadn't eaten breakfast, for he had been anxious to see his friends come.

'Hey dol!' a merry voice cried from the door, and Marcho breathed a sigh of relief that Posco was not there to be humiliated by his twin's boldness. 'Good day, good day, and goodbye,' Blanco said, his voice cheery as he tripped across the room to Marcho. 'I smell something marvellous; I wonder if I'd be allowed to have a bit? Hello, little Donnamira,' he added, patting the girl's curls. Then he turned his head and called across the room, 'Peony, dearie, honour us by sitting at our table, would you?'

'Of course I will, Blanco, but I do wish you would be a bit quieter,' said the young hobbit lass. Her features were very similiar to Blanco's, and she had his manner of staying clean and tidy, but the blush that spread over her face was much like Posco. 'Hello, Marcho,' she said, smiling at that one. 'It is good to see you again, though it hasn't been very long.'

'In fact,' he said in a gruff tone, 'it has been so short a time you needn't bother with even a simple hello.' She smiled again, for she was used to his manners.

Bingo crossed the room next with shining eyes, sitting next to Peony with the delight of a little boy. 'She arrived very soon after you left,' he said to Marcho, 'and I cannot express our delight in seeing her.' He turned his eyes and smiled at Don, and she smiled back with satisfaction before directing her attentions once again to her meal. Peony gazed at her in a bewildered manner and Blanco hastily made introductions. All doubts about the hobbit girl, if there had been any in the first place, were quickly dissolved in Peony's mind with the little thing stretched up and kissed her cheek in greeting.

Blanco looked approvingly at this, for he thought it only fitting that everyone should love his sister, and then he spoke to Marcho in a voice that struggled to be casual. 'Have you any idea as to when Posco and Lily will be back?' he questioned.

Marcho glanced up sharply and said, 'Who gave you permission to call her by her first name?'

'I think she did,' Blanco replied coolly, 'but even if she did not it would not matter for I cannot remember her surname.'

'Well, I don't know when they'll be back,' said Marcho, and the subject was temporarily closed.

[Morsul the Dark]

Morsul finished his beer and ordered another pint, he had been travelling for uncounted days, seeking fame, riches, and most of all adventure. To his dismay all his efforts had got him nowhere except this small Hobbit-Pub. The Green Dragon, he thought to himself, was a rather noisy place the hobbits certainly liked drinking and talking loudly. he fished out his pipe and his pipweed bag. It was empty. He cursed to himself, then searching the room he saw a table with a hobbit man smoking.

Morsul walked to the table, "Good day master hobbit I was wondering if you mind giving me a bit of pipeweed I've finished mine alas." Being kindhearted, or merely scared of the man the hobbit passed over a bit, Morsul kindly thanked him and gave him a piece of gold to ay for it. Smelling the weed he noticed it was one he had yet to taste. He asked what it was, the hobbit gladly boasted it was Old Toby. Morsul thanked him again then began to smoke it was a wonderous weed full of energy. Morsul began to twist his mustache again. He walked outside and sat beneath a tree, "Far too beatiful of a day to spend inside." With that his tired eyes closed and he fell asleep