The Green Dragon Inn #11 - The Last Chapter

[Hookbill the Goomba]

At first, Dwaline did not stir. He finished off his soup and then peered up at John. He smirked and sat up.

"She is not my Crow," he said, "She is her own." Avalon seemed to agree and hopped up onto Dwaline's shoulder, then fluttered over to the window and looked out of it. "Now, come to it. What business do you have with Crows?" Dwaline took another piece of Cram and broke it before popping a couple of crumbs into his mouth.

"There are few enough who study Crows or Birds of any sort," he eyes John suspiciously, but before John could say anything, Dwaline raised a hand and carried on, "Please, let me finish. How do I know you mean no harm to me or Avalon." he nodded towards the Crow, "She has had enough hurt in her life. So, out with it, I, or we, have a right to know if you mean us harm. Why do you bear a Sword? Is it to catch Dragons?" He laughed and pushed his chair back.

A Hobbit waitress came by and swiftly took the plates and bowls away from Dwaline's table and hopped along back to the kitchen. Avalon fluttered back to the table and cocked her head at John, and then she seemed to shrug and asked Dwaline how long he would take.

"I do not know," said Dwaline, "It may be some time, you do not have to stay on my account. You are a free Crow, go wither you will." She said something to him that John could not comprehend, and then she hopped out of a window and was gone.

[Witch_Queen]

Jon looked at the dwarf. "Me.. hurt anyone. I don't see how I could hurt a soul. That is unless they hurt me first. As for my sword.." Jon placed his hand on the hilt of his sword. "This old thing is just for protection. Avalon.. that be her name? Well Avalon is a beautiful creature. The idea of flying is remarkable and strikes interest in my mind." Jon knew that he had to lie in order to save himself.

Jon didn't know what else the dwarf wanted to hear. What more lies would he have to tell in order to cover up the fact that he wasn't who he claimed to be.

[Hookbill the Goomba]

Dwaline eyed John suspiciously, he stroked his long yet withered beard and then leaned forward. He placed both hands on the table and took a deep breath.

"Now listen here you," he snapped, "I know you're type. I've seen many like you. they try to appear friend and then jump upon you at unawares. What's you’re game?" John did not speak, but held the Dwarf's gaze for a good long wile before turning away. Dwaline glanced over to the window where Avalon had just hopped back in. She fluttered over to the tables and peered suspiciously at John and Dwaline, she detected some tension.

"I may be an old Dwarf, set in my ways, but I always like to be straight with people, and I expect them to be the same. If you have some dark agenda, then be off with you. I can still weald my axe with strength. Now tell us, what do you want with Avalon. I don't want anyone going hurting her again; she's had a hard enough life as it is.

"You don't mean any harm? Such words came even from the mouths of the Nazgúl, how could I trust you." Dwaline was getting carried away with himself and did not realise how scared Avalon was becoming of his sudden wroth. He was never a friend of men, and stayed out of their business, but always new he could often get news from them with cunning words.

Dwaline exhaled heavily and calmed down. He darted his eyes straight at John.

"I am sorry young man," he began, "I got a little wrathful there. It is not like me, but you understand, a traveller needs to have his wits about him. I've come to know many who have had ulterior motive and dark intents. Now, sir, I hope you'll forgive me, but I just don't believe what you are saying. I saw the way you looked at Avalon. Regret, fear, foreboding? One or all of those was in your face. Now tell me, if you will."

[Envinyatar]

‘I’ll just see if Cook can spare us some!’ Derufin hurried out the front door of the groundskeeper’s cottage and across the yard to the Inn’s kitchen entrance. Zimzi was wanting to bleach the muslin curtains the generous ladies of the Shire had made for the windows to her new house. Wood ash she had and water for making lye, but a bit of soured mild would soften the mixture.

‘Hurry! I’ll want to dry them in full sun, and it’s just now peeking out amid the blue patches.’ Zimzi had sent him on with a bright smile. He had paused to look back at her for a moment; her sleeves rolled up above her elbows, one strand of dark hair from the neat bun at the nape of her neck lying limply down the side of her cheek as she stood over the kettle and stirred the concoction. She smiled his way again and motioned him on with a flick of her chin.

‘Hmmm,’ he murmured to himself, seeing the logs along the edge of the property. ‘Now there’s something the lazy groundskeeper should be seeing to,’ he chuckled to himself.’ He laughed aloud. ‘Oh, wait . . . that’s me!’ He was in a fine mood. Marriage sat well on him.

At the hawthorn tree Zimzi had wondered at earlier in the day, he paused, careful not to step on the flowers that crowded near its trunk. ‘Well, good to see you’re still here,’ he threw out as a greeting. The leaves seemed to rustle softly in the breezeless air. Derufin gave the tree a grin and a slight bow, then hurried on.

[Fairleaf]

And welcome to you, Man the mortal! The hawthorn’s leaves murmured in reply.

The rain had stopped; the sun was burning through the clouds. Fairleaf watched the man as he laughed and hurried on toward the back door to the Inn. Moving carefully away from the flowers who now turned there faces toward the light, Fairleaf inched slowly toward the side window of the groundskeeper’s cottage.

There, busy over a steaming pot, was the dark haired woman. There were long rectangles of cloth on the table near her. What sort of strange stew is she making? thought Fairleaf. The hawthorn bent a little closer to the steamy window for a clearer view, a stray branch tip scraping against it ever so lightly as she did so.

[piosenniel]

Notice of Time moving forward in the Shire

It's moving on toward mid-afternoon now. The weather is getting better.

By tomorrow evening, Real Time, the Shire will move toward early evening.

[piosenniel]

~*~ GREEN DRAGON INN FACTS ~*~

The Green Dragon Inn is located in bywater, just off the Great East-West Road.

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, General handyman/jack-of-all-trades round the Inn; Man from southwestern Gondor (played by Envinyatar)

Zimzi (Zimziran), wife to Derufin; a skilled potter from Lindon(played by Pio)

Meriadoc - Stablemaster

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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.

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EVERYONE

Please be familiar with The Red Book of Westmarch which gives the rules for posting in the Shire RPG's and in The Green Dragon Inn.

Thanks!

Piosenniel, Shire Moderator

[Nurumaiel]

Falco sat for some time in silence, watching the young Camille eat, and reflecting on her words. She spoke in a polite, respectful manner, and he suspected that, however ragged she might be now, she had not always been so poor. Her speech was refined, unlike the speech of most poor hobbits. He wondered how willing she would be to tell him of herself and her family. How odd it was! Marigold seemed to be in a fairly well-to-do family in her earlier days, though now she was orphaned and homeless.

"Tell me, Miss Camille," he said, speaking at length. "You say you can't take the dress because it's much to fine for you, and it wouldn't fit in with your surroundings."

"Yes, Mister Falco, and my mother..."

"Yes, yes, well... harumph!" He paused a moment for thought. Camille had mentioned that her mother would not let her take it, and he was rather unsure of how to make his approach. "Well, my dear, I wonder if your mother would have any real objections... that is to say, I am a fairly well-to-do hobbit, and can afford to spend money to help others, and... would your mother object much if I took you into town and bought you some nice, fresh, but simpler dresses?"

Camille hesitated, and looked doubtful.

"I understand she might not want to accept a gift," said Falco hastily. "Many are opposed to taking charity, but... I could speak to Cook and arrange the dresses as a little bit of a reward for whatever small tasks you might do about her." He paused once again, wondering if he should go a little bit farther. He did not want to overwhelm the girl and make her think she couldn't possibly accept his offer, but neither did he care to leave anything out. So he went on.

"I should also like to send a basket of food to your mother, if you think she would not take it amiss. Understand me, I do not look upon you as lower than I and in need of my condescending kindness, but I would like to present some small gift..." He fumbled off into silence.

[piosenniel]

Cook and Derufin

‘Sour milk, is it?’ Cook opened the pantry and took out a crockery pitcher she’d set out earlier in the day, covered with a tea towel. ‘Miz Zimzi making some sour milk raisin cake for you,’ she asked, casting a glance up at Derufin. ‘I just got in some plump raisins from the Bree merchant. I can give you a cup of those, too, if you need them.’

Derufin grinned and shook his head. ‘She’s doing curtains, Cook. Bleaching them.’ He bent down and gave her a quick kiss on the cheek along with his most charming look. ‘However, if you wanted to try your hand at that cake you mentioned, I would be more than happy to see it didn’t dry out or mold from neglect.’ Cook raised her brows at him, though truth be told, her cheeks were quite rosy from the kiss and the banter. She poured him a small pitcher of soured milk and shooed him from the pantry. Before Derufin reached the kitchen door, Cook called him back.

‘I doubt Miz Zimzi will be needing you to help with the curtains,’ she said, motioning him to come sit with her for a moment at the kitchen table. ‘I’ve a job for you. Keep you out of her hair for a good bit.’ Now it was Derufin’s turn to look questioningly at Cook. ‘Oh, it’s just a bit of wood chopping and such,’ she said. ‘And I’ve found a couple of helpers for you. Nice strong lads, if I say so myself.’ Cook went on to tell him a bit about Benat and Denegal and how they had volunteered to help clear the downed trees, and get them into the woodpile. ‘You take the milk over to Miz Zimzi and I’ll send the two fellows over.’ She glanced out the kitchen window. ‘Sun’s out. Good time to get started, I’d say.’

Cook stood up, as did Derufin. She walked him to the kitchen door and saw him off. ‘You and the Missus stop by after dinner,’ she called out after him. Just might there’ll be a piece of raisin cake for you to sink your fork into.’