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Old 09-12-2005, 12:04 PM   #1
Koobdooga
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Koobdooga has just left Hobbiton.
A server has taken his order. Ibun Lodestone leaned back in his chair anticipating the first fine stream of Dragon ale as it cascaded down his throat. The Dwarf’s hopes for a quick delivery of victuals and drink dried up as he noted his server, Buttercup, go sprinting up toward the Inn door. Turning slightly in his chair, he noted the source of her rush. An Elven lady and some man with a bloody nose. Ibun’s eyes glittered with amusement, wondering if the man had made some ill remark to her and she’d clouted the oaf. His brother’s wife, he chuckled to himself, was just as likely to do that to her husband and sons if they acted out of line with her. But then he noted the lady bent toward the man in a concerned way, fussing over him and such.

Ibun turned his attention away from the scene and glanced about the Inn. The bar, he noted, was untended. And no server passed near where he sat. Hefting himself up from the oaken chair, he stumped purposefully toward the ale barrel behind the bar. No one seemed to be tending it or hurrying over to see what he might need. There were clean mugs on the shelves beneath the bar top and he grabbed one of them. As large a one as he could find; then, filled it from the barrel.

Aaah! The foamy brew coursed over his parched tongue and down his throat to hit his belly with a satisfying splash. ‘’B’lieve I’ll just have another!’ he said to no one in particular. ‘Save me a return trip.’ He sucked the foam from his mustache, not wanting to waste a single drop of the blessed refreshment. Pulling the handle on the barrel once again, he filled the tankard to the brim then carefully picked his way back to his table. ‘Twill tide me over till the food arrives, at least!’

With a sigh of pleasure he resumed his seat.
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Last edited by Koobdooga; 11-10-2005 at 01:40 PM.
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Old 09-12-2005, 12:26 PM   #2
piosenniel
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1420!

Food at last for the hungry Dwarf

Cook looked out through the swinging kitchen doors wondering what the source of all the commotion was. Buttercup and Ruby had disappeared and none of the other servers had returned for the orders she’d dished up. Peering toward the Dragon’s door, she noted a knot of people gathered about two of the Big Folk. No – make that one of the Big Folk, the man, and one of the Fair Folk, the lady . . . and wasn’t that Ravon!

Whatever had happened, it seemed to be taken well in hand by those who’d responded. Cook turned back to the kitchen and loading up a tray of platters she shouldered it and made her way back out to the Common Room. She called out the orders as she went along, and delivered them to whomever had held up a hand.

The last was to a Dwarf sitting back near the wall. She could just see his dark eyes peering over the rim of his mug as he waved to her with some enthusiasm. ‘There you go, Master Dwarf,’ she said putting the platter of eggs and ham before him, along with a basket of thick sliced bread.’ Enjoy yourself!’ she added, putting a small crock of butter and a pot of blackberry jam down next to the basket.

‘Staying long in the Shire?’ she inquired as she did so.’
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Old 09-12-2005, 02:11 PM   #3
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With a Purpose

Waking up from her comatose sleep, she changed out of her traveling clothes and put some on afresh. Venturing downstairs, she wondered if anyone would ask what her business was here. Still, it didn't matter, she cross that bridge when she got there. If she got there, that is.

In dire need of something to eat and something to drink. She scrounged her self up some somewhat cold eggs, toast and bacon and some water. Munching contemplatively on her breakfast, she looked around the room at the people and the surroundings. Some girl child was having a bit of food, over in the corner with and adult woman, looking around the room nervously. Lara Stonetoe was what the lady had called her perhaps? She caught the childs eyes and smiled kindly.

Going back to her food, she chewed slowly, not any any real or particlular hurry to make haste anywhere. She came here to be... well she wasnt sure... But whatever it was, that's exactly what she intended to do. So there.

Pushing her now empty plate away and gluping down the last of her water, she mulled over what she could do with the rest of her day.

"Hmmmmm..." She wondered aloud. "I could take Vorima Sule (Often just reffered to as Vorima or Sule) out of the stable and for a ride. Lords know that she's bored to death already... You know... I think I'll do just that."

Happy and very pleased to be doing something with and for a purpose, she rose form her chair, smiled once again at Lara Stonetoe and strode out the door to fetch her horse.
 
Old 09-15-2005, 01:24 PM   #4
Hookbill the Goomba
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Hookbill the Goomba is lost in the dark paths of Moria.Hookbill the Goomba is lost in the dark paths of Moria.Hookbill the Goomba is lost in the dark paths of Moria.Hookbill the Goomba is lost in the dark paths of Moria.
Leaf Seleven the long sighted

As the mid morning sun shone down on the path leading to By-water and The Green Dragon, many Hobbit folk wandered too and fro on business of their own. with the patter of feet and the noise of every-day Shire life, no one even gave the strange man a second glance. Hobbits had become used to big folk visiting the Dragon over the last years and it was of no surprise to them. That's not to say they were all entirely happy about it, but they merely fixed some with a stern look, or just plain ignored them.

Quietly and semi-casually, a short and yet broad man walked down the dusty road and saw the swinging sigh of The Green Dragon as it squeaked and rattled. A Bird fluttered over-head carrying something in his beak, it was a crow and it had an ill-favoured look about it.

The Man's name was Seleven, and he was a Gondorian. Or at least, so he claimed. He was not particularly magnificent at fighting or at anything really. He had shoulder length hair that was dark and filthy, he also had a small stubble that seemed to have things stuck in it. He was dressed in a green tunic with a dark blue hooded cloak under which was his pack. He had a short sword and a pair of knives that were strapped about his waist. He also had immense black boots and a long white scarf that came down to his belt.

The Crow fluttered down and placed the paper on the floor in front of the Green Dragon Door with a squawk. It eyes him with a frustration in its eye as well as a look of having better things to do with his time. With a sigh, Seleven took some bread from his pack and fed the bird before taking the paper. The bird then flew off into the distance, all the time Seleven watch it until only his eyes, or elven eyes, could see. Then it passed from his sight and he opened the door to the Dragon.

The first thing that hit him, almost literally, was the odd smell that burst out of the door upon opening. A mixture of cooked breakfasts, pipe weed and ale all mixed into one fell blast of air trying desperately to escape the small Inn. The Hobbits, elves, men and even Dwarves that were all inside the small place were all laughing and making a joyful noise.

Seleven coughed and moved to the bar to get a drink. He spoke in his Gondorian accent, rich with elements of Elvish and even the husky speak of Dwarves could be detected by the keen eared. He quietly sat himself down on a chair after receiving his drink and inspected the piece of paper.
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Old 09-15-2005, 01:36 PM   #5
piosenniel
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White Tree

Godren threw back the edges of his black cloak, letting them fall behind his shoulders and smoothed down his sable tunic. The silver star set with an onyx horse’s head that marked him as an errand-rider of Gondor gleamed brightly where it hung from the fine linked chain about his neck. He drew off his leather gloves, tucking them in his belt as he stepped into The Green Dragon.

For a moment, he stood blinking in the dimmer lit interior. When his eyes had accommodated themselves to the lower level of light, he glanced about, looking for the board where notices and messages were put.

Aah! There it was between the bar and the dartboard. With a few quick strides he pulled the rolled up parchment from the pouch at his belt and affixed it to the board.

~*~ NOTICE ~*~

Let it be known that

Fordim Hedgethistle

known to those in the Shire as Master Hearpwine, and etc . . .
has now had his name engraved on the iron plaque that bears the list of the story-tellers of Gondor.

Huzzah!

Let all come to The Inn of the Seventh Star in Minas Tirith and raise a glass of cheer to Fordim.

** And for those wondering, drink and food are free on this occasion. And all are most welcome **

~*~ ~*~


'Most generous, errand-rider! Most generous, indeed!' Cook drew up a pint for the thirsty horseman and mugs of good brown ale for all those in the Inn. 'Master Hearpwine,' she chuckled handing out the foaming brew. 'None better to deserve it!'

She raised her own mug in the general direction of the High King's city and drank it down without a breath intervening . . .
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