The Green Dragon Inn #11 - The Last Chapter

[Rune Son of Bjarne]

Frór a dwarf of the Iron Hills steped in to the Green Dragon paying no heed to the other persons in the room.

Althoug he was young he was grim to look upon, he's face was full of scares and a pice of he's left ear was missing. He's long black beard was filterd and full of mud.

He was pasing throug the contry, tying to get to the Blue Mountains were his cusin on his father's side dweled.

He had traveld for a long time and an ill fortune had followed him. He had but reached the Mistey Mountains when he ran in to serius trouble, trouble he was now trying to forget. (at least for a while) When he had finaly escaped the Mistey Mountains he had gotten of track and instead of using the old East-West Road witch would have lead him to Bree, he had passed through the contryside some miles north of the road.

Becourse of this misfortune The Green Dragon was the first Inn he had found.

The only thing he wanted was a warm bed and too get some sleep for a change.

"Say, is it possibel to get a room in this inn." He spoke out loudly.

[piosenniel]

Cook and the problem of the wounded Stablemaster

‘In there, Miz Bunce,’ said Ruby, holding the door open for Cook and ushering her through with a pointing finger. Meriadoc sat with his right foot propped on a stool. Ginger stood near him dabbing at some bloody wound with a towel, but had only managed to make it bleed all the more.

‘Stars and garters, Master Meri! What have you done?’ Cook took the towel from Ginger and bade her go into the pantry and fetch out her medicine chest. Pressing the towel against the freshly oozing wound, Cook looked about the kitchen for another assistant.

Wren stood rooted to the spot she’d been standing on, her eyes agog at the wounded foot. It was now turning purplish and starting to swell. ‘Fetch me a bucket of warm water, dear,’ Cook said to her, jutting her chin toward the tea kettle on the hearth. ‘Make sure it’s not too hot. You can use that bucket by the sink, the one we use for soaking the dried root vegetables in. Oh, and a few more clean dusting rags from the basket over there will be needed, too.’

Cook turned her attention to Meri, dragging his explanation from him about the pitchfork. He felt foolish at his carelessness; the tips of his ears crimsoned as he spoke. ‘Nasty, dirty things, pitchforks,’ Cook said. ‘Lucky for you the tines didn’t go deeper.’ She clucked at the two ragged holes on the Hobbit’s foot, near his toes. ‘Going to swell quite a bit. You won’t be able to walk on it for a fortnight or so. Have to soak it every day, open the wound to let it drain. Otherwise the poison’ll work its way up your leg.’

She drew up a chair and sat down on it as she waited for the water and supplies. Meri had begun to protest how impossible it was that he take such a length of time off. Many new guests had come to the Inn; their horses and ponies needed caring for. ‘Can’t you just patch me up and let me get back to seeing to my patrons?’ he pleaded. Cook shook her head firmly, ‘no’. ‘Though who we’re going to find to help out on such a moment’s notice is beyond me . . .’

She took in a deep breath and let it out slowly, casting about in her mind for someone she could call on to take over the stable duties . . .

[Primrose Bolger]

Buttercup attends to Frór

‘Another Dwarf!’ said Buttercup, hurrying over to where the newcomer stood. ‘That’s two in one day!’ She pushed the curls back from her face and put on her most welcoming smile.

‘I’m Buttercup,’ she said, introducing herself. ‘One of the servers at The Dragon. How can I help you?’

[Rune Son of Bjarne]

Frór looked at the hobbit while scratching he's beard. Funny folks these hobbits, he thougt. As he stood there he allmost forgot too answer the hobbit.

Finaly he spoke : Frór of the Iron Hills i am. I am on my way through this contry of yours and i am looking of a place to get a room miss Buttercup. If you could help me in this matter i would be most greatfull.

Frór looked down on he's cothes it was all torn and you could easely see the old ringmail he was wearing underneath. He was in desperate need of new clothes and supplies.

[Folwren]

Wren, bringing the water to Cook, stopped by the Hobbit’s side, placed the bucket on he ground careful so as not to splash a drop on her, and then stood to listen to the last of the two hobbit’s exchange. When she heard their dilemma, her eyes brightened, just as Cook’s darkened with consideration.

‘Why, Tim is real good with horses!’ she said, turning to Cook with a smile on her face. ‘He could help...until Mr. Meriadoc is better.’ The hobbit woman looked dubious. ‘He used to handle horses a lot where we lived, there were farms around and he helped the farmers some with their horses. Then one chap nearby had some youner horses and Tim would go and mess with them some. Ride them around a little bit. But they weren’t broke, really.’ She suddenly blushed and clapped her hand over her mouth. Then she giggled. ‘But Tim didn’t want anybody to know about that. He wasn’t supposed to when he did it,’ she added.

‘How much does your brother know about them?’ Meriadoc asked, gruffly from the pain, likely. Cook was wringing out a rag and he watched her with a wary eye.

‘Oh, lots, I’m sure,’ Wren said very confidently. ‘I can go out and get him if you want me to. Should I fetch him? He’s in the garden weeding, I think...’

[Primrose Bolger]

Buttercup’s eyes widened at the mention of the Iron Hills. ‘Why those hills be by The Lonely Mountain, don’t they?’ she asked, clapping her hands in delight. ‘Our own Mister Bilbo Baggins traveled there with some Dwarves and old Gandalf. My Gammer told me the story of that when I was younger.’

‘Oh, but here I stand talking on when you’re wanting a room.’ She looked him up and down, noting the state of his clothes. ‘And what about something to eat, too? And drink? You can walk into town then and visit the shops.’ She blushed a little, thinking she might have been too forward. ‘That is I couldn’t help but notice your clothes. Must have been a long hard trip from those hills of yours.’ She eyed him once again. You’re only a bit bigger than our grown Hobbit men, I’m sure the tailor could make some things for you.’

‘But here I am going on again! Let me get you some breakfast. You can eat while I make up your room for you.’ She smiled widely at him, waiting. ‘Now what would you like to have, Master Frór?’

[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.

*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+

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) - AWAY AT PRESENT

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

Meriadoc - Stablemaster

Tim Woodlock - Stableboy; Wren - his younger sister: humans, originally from Breeland (characters played by Folwren)

*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+

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.

_____________________________________________

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.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

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.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

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

[Huan]

‘Best you get up!’ called Rowan from the little hallway in the upper part of the Inn. She knocked loudly at her brother’s door then tried the handle. There he was, still curled up in bed, the quilts thrown over his head.

‘I know you can hear me, Tolly! It’s already nearing noon. Don’t you want to practice our little play before tonight?’ A few muffled imprecations issued from beneath the thick quilt, and Rowan ducked back quickly as an arm snaked quickly from beneath, pillow in hand.

‘Missed me!’ she cried hearing the pillow thump against the now closed door.

She took the scarlet ribbon from her vest pocket and tied back her chestnut curls as she walked to the landing. Once down the stairs, she looked about the Common Room, seeking the others of her troupe. No sign of Gwyn or Talan. And none of Emlin, either. ‘Probably all out and about already,’ she thought to herself.

Oh! But there by the fireplace, his back turned to her was that fellow she’d met just last night. The singer. Now what was his name? Rowan walked quietly toward where Gil sat hunched over his mug of ale. She drew up quietly behind him and cleared her throat to get his attention.

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

For all that he was a small fellow, he could eat prodigious amounts of bacon and eggs. Even the other hobbits began to wonder at it as the tiny newcomer tucked away the last fragments of his second plate of second breakfast. With a contented sigh he sat back in his chair and took a long, final pull at the mug of ale that the barmaid had given him. With his eating done he took out a long stemmed pipe and began energetically puffing away upon it, until soon he was lost to sight in a large cloud of fragrant smoke. He emerged again sometime later as the cloud drifted away on the currents of the room, looking contented simply to sit and watch.

And there was much to see. So many strange and adventuresome folk moved about that he hardly knew what to say or where to step. He sought in earnest to catch the eye of the hobbits who moved about, but they seemed so used to the presence of the Big Folk, Elves, Dwarves and other sorts that they went about their business as though it were entirely usual and normal in the Shire to have such a gathering.

He saw the pretty barmaid come skipping past upon some errand and called out to her. She came over to him, asking if he wanted more ale. "Nay, lass, just someone to speak with for a bit. I have some questions as need answering."

She looked about, saying, "I'm afraid that we're very busy at the moment. There's been an injury to the stablemaster, and all these new people have arrived...but I suppose I can spare a moment. What would you like to know?"

"Well, first off, your name would be nice. I am Fordogrim Chubb, of the Gamwich Chubbs."

The girl shook his hand and said that her name was Ruby Brown. A brief conversation of a very hobbitish type followed as they quickly ran through their ancestry and found that they were fifth cousins, twice removed. Having established this they became more comfortable with one another immediately -- as one always does with family. "And what brings you to Bywater Mister Chubb?" she asked.

"Nay Nay, call me not 'Mister', lass. Any great-grandneice of my father's cousin's half-sister is going to call me Fordogrim or naught. But to answer the question, I am here to see if there's a market for my new ale. I'm a brewer you see -- but I'm sure you know that -- all the Chubbs in Gamwich are brewers! -- and I've done quite well for myself. Most of the Inns of the West Farthing serve my brew, and I'm looking to see if there's folk in these here parts who'd be willing to try some."

"Well, Fordogrim, I can assure you that the people hereabouts do enjoy their ale, but most of them are most particular about what they'll drink. It would have to be a mighty fine mug of beer to get most of them to change. Not that they will refuse to try it!"

Fordogrim grinned and leapt from his chair. Looking up at Ruby, who towered over him by at least a foot, he cried out, "Now that's the best news I've heard in a while! As it happens, they'll have a chance to try it and right soon, for I've arranged for a small sample of my ales to be sent to this very Inn later today. Why, I've walked through the night just to get here in time to meet them!"

[Rune Son of Bjarne]

Had it not been for his hunger, Frór might have reacted differently to the hobbits mentioning of the tailor, but he was tired, hungry and actualy he did need some new clothes.

with a sense of importans in his voice the dwarf replied Buttercup : A hard jurney it has been, from my home far over the Misty Mountains grim and cold.
Far away from Erebor it is not.

But first bring me a pork-pie and salat, with some ale.

When i have eaten we can talk of Mr. Baggins and the Iron Hills

For indeed Frór had heart the tales of Thorin and he's companions.

[Koobdooga]

Ibun chuckled at the girl’s words. “Having a chin-wag” was what his grandmother called it when his grandpa and his friends would sit about and talk and drink. ‘No offense taken, Miss Woolcomb!’ Grinning, he looked toward Frór. ‘We’re certainly guilty of what you’ve described. And if we brought good thoughts to mind of your family, then all the better!’

His pipe had gone out, and he tapped it on the railing of the porch, letting the ashes fall into the flowerbed below. ‘Well, best you get on about your business and not let us hold you up. Perhaps we’ll see you at the party this evening. We’ll stand you to a cup of cider or of ale.’ He smiled and nodded at her. ‘Oh, here I go forgetting my manners. I’m Ibun Lodestone come from the Misty Mountains as you call them here, I think. And this is my friend, Frór, from the Iron Hills.’

[Dunwen]

In the common room, Widow Rosebank noticed a lull in the lunchtime orders. Taking her chance, she slipped carefully through the door leading to the kitchen. That room was typically busy, even during a slow time. Three hobbit-women were busily engaged in several tasks all at once: boiling water for the inevitable washing up after lunch, taking new orders out, ladling the savoury-smelling mutton stew into bowls, slicing cheese, putting warm golden rolls onto small plates, bringing serving trays of dirty dishes in from the common room and piling them into a large dishpan. The center of all this activity was an older, sharp-eyed hobbit woman who clearly was in charge. Even if one of the servers had not addressed her as ‘Miz Bunce’, the Widow would have known who she was.

The Bree-woman had a few seconds to observe that Vinca Bunce was a capable, no-nonsense hobbit who ran her kitchen with firm hand. The older hobbit was taking some spice-scented cookies off a sheet while directing her young assistants with the aplomb of a general. Widow Rosebank paused for a moment, but told herself to get on with it.

Taking a deep breath, she spoke clearly enough to be heard over the clatter of crockery and the conversations between the hobbits. “Good day, everyone.” A startled silence fell as the hobbits looked at this newcomer. Widow Rosebank nodded towards Vinca and continued, "Forgive me for intruding during lunch, but I've traveled a ways and have a question for Miz Bunce about this Faire you've got coming up. It might take a bit of time to explain, but I'd be happy to help out while I talk, if you'll hear me out." She gestured to a pile of dirty dishes waiting by a wash tub. "Perhaps I could wash those for you."