The Gathering-In, or The Quest of the 24 Messengers.

[Birdland]

Gandalf the Grey linked me to this very charming “history” concerning the founding of the Shire, and I thought that a part of this history would make an wonderful, new RPG. It deals with the early settlers of the Shire sending out a group of messengers into the Wilderness to find all the scattered tribes and clans of Hobbits, let them know about the founding of a new country for the Halflings, and leading them back home to the Shire. If you’d like to participate in this new RPG, please go to the link below and read the Shire Post's Shire Post History particularly “of the Gathering of the Hobbits.”

OK, here are some rules. (no groaning!) Yes, there are some rules to this RPG, but not many, and not too horrible.

RULE ONE:

If you want to play one of the 24 Messengers, then your character will have to be a MALE HOBBIT! OK, is that clear? THE 24 MESSENGERS ARE ALL MALE HOBBITS. Any guy or gal at the Barrow Downs can play the role of a Messenger, but your character must be a MALE HOBBIT. No, your Messenger character cannot be:

A plucky female Hobbit.
A plucky female Hobbit disguised as a male Hobbit
A Dwarf, Elf, Man, Ent or Wizard
A Dwarf-Elf-Man-Ent-Wizard /Hobbit hybrid.

Repeat after me: If you want to play one of the 24 Messengers, your character must be a MALE HOBBIT!

RULE TWO:

See Rule One.

RULE THREE:
If you are one of the 24 Messengers, you must travel with a “buddy”. This buddy must be a MALE HOBBIT! (See Rule One) The 24 Messengers were sent out in groups of two. (12 groups) You may join up with a friend on the board and “travel” together, or you may make up your own “buddy”. Once you have set out, all bets are off: Your traveling companion may get get lost, captured, killed, whatever, Stuff happens in Middle Earth. You may decide to go on without him, or stop your search for the lost hobbits and try to find your friend. The choices are up to you. You may lose a buddy and find another companion on the road. But when you set out from the Shire, you will be traveling in groups of two. No Messenger may set out alone. When you leave the Shire as a Messenger, you must have a MALE HOBBIT companion with you.

(I’m very serious about these rules. If I find a Messenger in the thread who is not a bonafide Male Hobbit, or sets out from the Shire alone - and that includes plucky young hobbits who try to “follow” the 24 Messengers - I will ask Elenna the Freestyle RPG Moderator to boot them out.)

RULE FOUR:

When the Messengers find Hobbits, they are responsible for them, in a way. You can’t just point West and say, “The Shire is that-a-way. Good luck finding it.“ You will be like the Wagon Master in a Western Movie, you will have to lead the Hobbits you find back to the Shire, while trying to find other Hobbits on the way. (Don’t forget to ask the Hobbits you find if they know of other clans and where they are.) The more Hobbits you find, the better. Remember, these are your people. Don’t leave them behind in the Wilderness!

RULE FIVE

Stick to your duties! None of the 24 Messengers may desert their quest. If you decide that this looking for Hobbits thing isn’t your cup of tea, and you’re gonna go look for the One Ring or Smaug’s gold instead, I will have Elenna the RPG Moderator boot you out. You will be counted among the six Messengers who never returned to the Shire, and you can go off and start your own RPG.

RULE SIX

If someone speaks to you, please respond! One of my pet peeves with many RPG is characters who “snub “ other characters because their idea what they want the character to do is “better”. Of course, the opposite holds too. If a story line is developing, please try to respect it, and don’t throw off-the-wall events at them in order to get the story to go in a “better” direction.

OK, that’s the rules. See, that wasn’t so bad.

Now, are there other roles besides the MALE HOBBIT Messengers? You bet. You can play:

A LOST HOBBIT:

There are still many hobbit tribes and clans out there, living a semi nomadic existence. Life in Middle Earth was probably pretty hard for a small people with no war-like tendency and no country to call their own. You might be living in a very small community, or with just your immediate family, or you might be living alone. But you are probably not living real well. Most of you might be very glad to hear the decree brought by the Messengers. Free land! A real country founded by Hobbits, for Hobbits? Great! Where do I sign?

Or maybe you won’t. Will you trust this strange Hobbit, since you are a Stoor and he is a Fallohide? Does Grandpa want to stay where he is, ‘cause he wants to die by the banks of the Anduin? Is Mama, (or Papa) afraid of the journey? Is your sweetheart living with another clan, and if you go you’re afraid you’ll never see him or her again? Setting out on a long journey can be a very scary thing. There is no guarantee that your clan will even make it to the Shire. (Remember that only 18 of the 24 Messengers ever returned.) Is “the Balrog you know better than the Balrog you don’t know”? Most of you will probably want to go West. But there is no guarantee that everyone will want to go. Messengers: it’s your job to convince the wary and frightened, and to give heart to those who may fall along the way.

FRIENDS AND FOES:

There should be plenty of roles for people who are not Hobbits. You know who lives in Middle Earth. You may choose to be a friend, or foe, or you may think: “Hobbits! Yuck!“ and really not want to have anything to do with them one way or the other. You may be a friend or foe to the Messengers, or a friend or foe to the Lost Hobbit clans. You may play a temporary foe in one instance, then later in the story decide to play a different role as a friend. Just try to remember that not all conflicts on the road have to be full-fledge sword fights. You might just be rude. Or be so overly friendly that the Messengers will try to lose you! You can be any kind of friend or foe in Middle Earth that you want. Including an animal, or a mean, ol’ tree. Your friend or foe character might show up for a few pages, then be vanquished or disappear, or you may follow the characters all the way back to the Shire (But you won’t be allowed INTO the Shire, unless you are a Hobbit.)

Please, we don’t need dozens of Elf Lords and Ladies in this RPG. Just a few will do. Please, I‘m begging you. Try a different character besides an Elf Lord or Lady.

OK, that’s my RPG. I’m not going to play a long term role in this, though I may pop in with a character now and then. I hope you all enjoy it. Now, let's go hunt some hobbits!

[Birdland]

The Shire, 1611 Third Age, (Year 10, S.R.)

It was a perfect Mid-Year day, and the celebrations were already well under way. The hilltops overlooking the Water and its wide pool were covered with tents and tables of planks, draped in every kind of summer flower and herb, and piled high with the foods that had been grown and gathered from throughout the fields and forests of the Shire. Many of the goodwives had been baking and cooking for days, and yet still worried whether there would be enough for all. (There was, but barely.) Casks of ale had been cooling in the stream, and the first of many had been tapped but an hour before. They made fine seats for the old gaffers and gammers, once they were empty.

Yet there was still plenty of open areas left for the games and the dances. At the top of the highest hill, stacks of wood, some as high as two hobbits, stood waiting to be lit for the bonfires. The straw images of dragons, trolls, wolves, goblins (and yes, Men) were getting good use from the archers and tilters, and later they, too, would be thrown on the bonfire. A quarter mile stretch of the road had been closed for the pony racing, and the wagering had come as fast and furious as the hoofs of the racers charging for the finish line. A large, makeshift stage had been constructed for the musicians - of which there were many - and for the speeches - of which it was hoped there would be few. Already the band members were warming up, offering a sprightly reel which the younger folk had already taken up, filling the dancing ring and pounding flat the grasses. Of course, the real dancing wouldn’t start until after the sun went down and the bonfires were lit.

Everyone said that there had never been a bigger, or better Mid-Year celebration since the founding. And why not? For this was a special celebration; the Ten Year Anniversary of the founding of the Shire. For ten years, this land had been theirs. And it would be theirs for a thousand more.

And into the midst of these festivities rode the two who had made it all possible. Cheers and laughter rang out as two tall, strong Fallohides of middle years rode into the gathering. They were mounted on matching white ponies, a gift from the settlers of the Woody End. The brothers, (for such they were) joined in the laughter and shouting as their ponies sidestepped through the crowd, bending down to accept a wreath of flowers from a maiden, or a hearty handshake from grinning hobbit freeholder. Marcho and Blanco, the heroes of hobbits everywhere, the leaders of the Shire, had finally arrived at the celebration.

Behind them rode others, whose welcome was just as loud and boisterous as their leaders. 24 young hobbits, the best and brightest of the West, accompanied the two Fallohides up the hill to the center of the Mid-Year Festival. Each was mounted on a pony of their own, and twelve pack ponies also made up the train. A wide swathe was cleared for the riders as they approached the make-shift stage, and then closed behind them. The 24 hobbits split into two groups and lined their mounts up on either side of the riser, 12 to a side. The Fallohide brothers jumped down from their snow white steeds, flinging the reins to waiting lads who wrestled to have the honor of leading the mounts away. Then Marcho and Blanco leapt to the stage, raising their hands to silence the grinning musicians, and turned to face the crowd.

It took some moments before the shouts and cheers finally settled down, as Marcho looked down in pride and love at the faces gathered around him. His people, living in his country, The Shire. They had come so far, and accomplished so much. But there was more to do. Then the elder brother stepped forward to address them all.

“Gentlehobbits all! Fallohides!” A mighty cheer went up. “Stoors!“ Again the crowd acknowledged the call. “And Harfoots!“ And the hills echoed with the loudest, longest cheers of all. The band struck up a gallop, which set the ponies dancing, as well as quite a few of the young hobbits still gathered on the dance ring. Laughing, Marcho stepped forward, waving his hands, while Blanco turned to quiet the band. Then Marcho bowed low to the players, and turned to the crowd again.

“As I look around at you all, gathered here today to join in Mid-Year celebrations, my heart swells to see how all we have all grown and prospered here, on our own native soil. The Shire!” The twenty-four riders took up the call “The Shire!” and the crowd around them answered. “The Shire! The Shire” The brothers let the chant continue for a moment, then waved their hands for silence again.

“Many of you have traveled far to be here today, from the four farthings of our land. We number almost two thousand folk now, and our numbers continue to grow!” Much laughter accompanied this statement, and Malva, the wive of Marcho, blushed as she laid a hand on her stomach and looked up with pride at her husband.

“And yet, as I look out on our fair country, I see the miles of wilderness still laying fallow and empty within our boarders. At night as I lay in bed, I think of all our fortune, of all the hobbits that have come to make this land their own. And then I remember the others. Throughout all of Middle Earth, there are many of our people who still wander. Lost, alone in a wilderness of dangers that we can now only imagine. And I think to myself ‘Marcho, where are your people? Where are the hundreds of hobbits, separated from their kinfolk, lost in the wilderness. With no real homeland to call their own. You must bring them home Marcho…for they, too, are Shire Folk!“

The crowd shouted to the sky, until it seemed that the echos would carry the word to every corner of Middle Earth. “Shire Folk!“ Marcho again raised his hands to his followers.

“And so tomorrow, we will begin a Gathering In. Tomorrow, the finest of all Hobbitkind, the flower of our youth, will begin a quest. These 24 riders you see here will leave the Shire on a great undertaking. They will ride throughout the four corners of this Middle-Earth. They will carry the word to every hobbit who still dwells in the wilderness, from the farthest North, to the mouth of the Anduin. They will carry the word of our country to every hobbit they meet. They will say ‘Brothers! Come home! Come home to the Shire!‘ And so, good hobbits all, I present to you…The Twenty Four Messengers!”

This was the moment all had been waiting for. The cries, cheers and roars enveloped the 24 young hobbits, some who raised their hands in acknowledgement of the applause, while others, blushing, bowed their heads and fidgeted in embarrassment. Most were Harfoots, of course, those being the most numerous of the hobbits within the Shire, but there was a good representation of Fallohides as well. (Indeed, Marcho had disappointed more than a few young lads, since every Fallohide youth had stepped forward to answer his call.) The Stoors were there as well, smaller and darker then the usual hobbit, almost resembling dwarves in aspect, but true-hearted hobbits, all.

There were many tears in the audience as well, as families gazed with pride at their sons, and worried silently about their fate, wondering if after tomorrow, they would ever meet again. There were also more than a few tears of heartbreak and vexation as well from the hobbit lasses in the crowd. More than a few engagements had been broken as the young ones had answered the call of their adored hero.

Marcho turned and bowed low, first to the right, then the left, as he honored the 24 volunteers. “My sons, for I consider you all my sons, now. You each carry a copy of the decree, signed by our lord and king, Argeleb the Second, granting all Hobbits rights to the land west of the Branda-nin for all time. You also carry with you a copy of a Map of Middle-Earth, drawn from the very map that was presented to my brother and I by King Argeleb, which I hope will guide you well on your journeys. And lastly, you carry a map of your own land, The Shire, which you can show to all hobbits you meet. So that you may show them the land that is now their birth-right. So that you may show them their home.

“I now release you to your families and friends, so that you may share with them this truly special Mid-Year’s Fest. A fest that will be remembered by all hobbits, and will go down in our history. And next year, we will look for you all to be with us again, when we will light the Mid-Year bonfires with all our brothers and sisters around us. And so this will be your call: “Next year, in The Shire!“

The crowd went wild as Marcho waved to all the hobbits gathered round. Then jumping down from the stage, he grabbed a mug of ale and downed it with one gulp. The players struck up their instruments, and the party began again. The sun was just setting over the hills as Marcho, Blanco, and The Twenty Four Messengers carried their torches up the hill, and lit the Mid-Year bonfires.

[Birdland]

Malva came up to her husband, Marcho, carrying yet another platter thrust upon her by yet another goodwife serving at the food table. She set down the plate and drew her arm around Marcho, who sat on a bench watching the spectacle below.

The Messengers were the heroes of the hour. The lasses all wanting a last dance with them, the old Gaffers coming forward to offer them good advise based on their own (real or imagined) travels throughout Middle Earth, the goodwives offering them the choicest offerings of their cooking skills, and the children gathering around to inspect their weapons, ponies and supplies, asking endless questions about the "dangers" they might meet on the road.

Malva laid her head on Marcho shoulder. "You want to go with them, don't you."

"Oh, aye. I'd give anything to be out there with them. It will be a grand adventure for them all. But I've had my time for travel. I've got responsibilites now, don't I?", giving Malva a squeeze.

"Some of them are so young. Dinodas is barely a tween!"

"Young's the time for such rambling. And they've all got good heads on their shoulders, Malva. I picked the best that I could."

"I suppose you'll tell me they'll all be fine."

"No, I can't say that. It's a brutish world out there. And a wonderful world too. The things they see they'll remember the rest of their lives. But we have a better one here. We have to let our people know about it, Malva. And no one's gonna tell them, save other Hobbits."

[ August 27, 2002: Message edited by: Birdland ]

[Ithaeliel]

Sipping a pint of ale at the table after the torch-lighting ceremony, Ardo Baggins watched the younger hobbits who would be leaving telling unbelievable, boastful stories of adventures they had embarked on recently: long trips to the strange and perilous Barrow Downs, seeing large monsters down at Bywater, and dueling with trolls and such beasts as no hobbit should like to stumble across. He laughed jovially, recalling his younger days, before his coming of age, when he would tell his own stories like that, although back then it was far more likely to see such things, as his family and people had never really settled anywhere. Now he dwelt in a cozy smial near the bank of the Brandywine, in a place called Buckland; and at the moment he sat and contemplated fair ways to persuade his long-estranged relatives to come to the lovely settlement of the Shire... he could not believe that he had come across this grand opportunity to 'visit' them, as well as going on a grand adventure at the same time!

When he had seen the notice, posted on the door of the tavern by Master Marcho, he had jumped at the chance; and now he was less than a day from leaving. As this thought crossed his mind, he gasped suddenly and choked on his ale, realizing he had not spoken to dear Cornflower since he had left Buckland that morning! Standing up and looking about frantically, he saw many pretty hobbit lasses, but he would have known his Cornflower anywhere, and she was nowhere to be found. Sighing, Ardo turned back to the table to see two deep blue eyes staring right at him. He gave a start and then sat down, putting a hand to his forehead. "Goodness me, Cornflower! Now, mind you, I don't wish to have everyone wake up in the morning and find that I've died of a heart attack. Nevertheless, I am very glad to see you."
The dark-haired woman laughed and sat down opposite her husband. "I arrived just in time to see the torches lit. This is the best Midyears Day that ever was in the Shire."
Ardo sighed and looked up at the clear night sky. "Yes, it is beautiful. If I had one last night to live, this would be the one. All the stars are flowering in the sky, it is warm out, and the festivities are absolutely marvelous."
Cornflower's eyes were tearing. "Don't say things like that," she said softly. "It is enough that I will be alone for who knows how long, but thinking that you might never return..."
She broke down into sobs. Ardo tried to comfort her and wiped her tears away. "There, there, love. I promise you I'll return with the rest of the messengers. You need not worry." Trying to take her mind off his absence, Ardo stood and extended his hand. "Shall we dance?"
Cornflower nodded and took his hand, and before she could say "party," they were twirling about amongst other jolly hobbits.

[Child of the 7th Age]

Far away from the Shire and its festivities, a solitary figure in a hooded cloak trudged along the North Road. Ahead of him lay the city of Fornost. It was quickly apparent to the traveler that Fornost had seen better times. There was a dingy tavern and a large central square where only a few drifting peddlers paraded their wares.

Most of the inhabitants of the city were men, descendents of the Edain who had built the great walled burg almost 800 years before after the division of Arnor into three separate kingdoms. But, here and there, scattered about the streets was an occasional dwarf or Elf, and even one or two of the little folk who called themselves the Kud-dukan. It was to this latter group that the traveler belonged.

Fornost was located in the southern foothills of the North Downs within the region called Eriador. To the south and west flowed the Branda-nin River which meant "border-water" in old hobbitish. The river itself was a rich golden brown. Because of this, and also on account of the goodly brew served along its banks in towns like Bree and Staddle, some folk had taken to calling it "Bralda-him or "heavy ale." The traveler had no quarrel with that. But he did dislike those kuduk who, aping after Elvish ways and words, had renamed the waters Baranduin or, even worse, in some totally new fangled tongue, Brandywine.

The traveler made his way towards the solitary tavern. The wooden sign over the door proclaimed it as the "Numenor Arms," a rather grand name for such an old, dilapidated building. The kuduk pushed his way inside and looked about for those he was supposed to meet. Just as he had ordered an ale and turned around to sit down, three others of his kind made their way into the room. The leader raised his hand in greeting, and bellowed out a welcome to the traveler, "It's been a long time, Perry." The two men embraced. "You look well," he continued. "What have you been up to? Do you bring any news from outside?"

Perry slid himself down onto the wooden bench, then slowly stretched out his legs, first one and then the other. He seemed to be taking as much time as possible to adjust his frame so that the suspense would continue on a bit longer. Then, he lowered his head, and said in a quiet voice, "News? I've got news a' plenty. But whether to laugh or cry at it, I am not yet sure." The four put their heads together and began to converse in earnest.

[ August 27, 2002: Message edited by: Child of the 7th Age ]

[Elenna]

Dinodas hefted his mug of ale and took a deep draft. He had looked forward to leaving home and going with the Messengers, but now he was beginning to be apprehensive. It seemed as though most of the other messengers were friends and already knew each other, but Dinodas was a farmer's son, and had lived far in the country for his whole life.

"Which is a paltry 23 years. Nothing, compared to everyone else. I wonder why old Marcho picked me."

[Cimmerian]

With a loud deafening crash, the large hobbit lad fell through the roof of the tavern. Startling everyone in the place. Picking himself up, he staggered forward in unsteady steps, up to the bar, "Another flagon of ale," he slurred.

The tavern keeper eyed him in annoyance, and poured out the drink. This hobbit was a walking disater but he did pay for his excesses.

The disheveled hobbit noticed a young hobbit lad staring at him, and he grinned back. He was Barocas Headstrong, and he loved to fight and drink. And maybe a hobbit lass or two along the way. Living his life mostly on the road, this unusually large hobbit loved to travel and meet new people and explore new lands.

Dragging his ale mug along, he flopped down next to the young hobbit. "Hello, me lad... how are ye this fine morn?"

"I am well," replied the young hobbit, amused by this clumsy fellowman. "I am called Dinodas, and what may I call you."

"Drunk!" the large hobbit replied and then fell into a fit of raucous mirth, slapping his knees.

Wiping his eyes, his laughter abated, he replied, "I am called Barocas Headstrong. And I am a travelling man, I love to boldly go where no hobbit has gone before." He waved his hands across in a wide arc.

Dinodas raised an eyebrow and smiled in amusement. "You don't say. I have need of a travelling companion, Barocas... pray tell, would you like to accompany me on a quest for all hobbit kind."

Barocas emptied the ale with a long gulp and slammed the mug down on the table. "And who are you, my bright eyed friend?" he asked, his eyes blurry.

Dinodas sighed. Better than wandering alone, he thought as Barocas erupted into another fit of ribald merriment.

[ August 28, 2002: Message edited by: Cimmerian ]

[Child of the 7th Age]

As the shadows of twilight fell over the Numenor Arms, Perry and his three friends were still deep in conversation.

"But where did you get this news?" asked Bolco.

"In Bree," nodded Perry. "I went there to pick up some supplies. I had just gotten in from the south. Some of the Stoors were having trouble with wolves on a rampage so I had been down there to try and help them set up some kind of defense. Then I sit down in the Prancing Pony, and hear this. I couldn't believe my ears!"

The small lad in the corner, evidently a Harfoot, piped up, "My friends say they're going to round us up and make us go to the Shire. Is that so, Perry?"

"Lad, you'd best stop spreading rumors." Perry retorted. "I haven't heard a word about anyone being forced to do anything so don't go saying that's so, or you'll have kuduk at each others necks, and we don't need that."

Bolco looked thoughtful, "So, what do you think we should do?"

"Do? Right now there's nothing much to do. I don't know too much about this Shire. They've only been there ten years, or so.
A lot less than you've been in your village, I'll wager." The three nodded yes.

"I'd have to learn a bit more about it, before I gave anyone any advice one way or another. But, personally, I don't like the sound of a whole passel of farmers. That's definitely not my brew."

Then Perry laughed, "But I hope they've sent out messengers who know something about living off the countryside and who can defend themselves. You know, I've seen it all, from the Anduin to the River Luin, and back again, all the way to the vacant slopes of Mordor." At this point, he lowered his voice. "And I've got a feeling these so-called messengers may be in for more than they bargained for."

"So what will you do?" asked Bolco.

"Maybe keep an eye on some of them, and make sure they don't get into too much trouble! I don't wish them any harm, though, in a pinch, I might "borrow" a few of their supplies. These lads have probably never even seen the Barrow-downs, let alone what lies beyond it."

[ August 29, 2002: Message edited by: Child of the 7th Age ]

[Elenna]

After a flagon or two more of ale, Barocas collapsed on the counter and began to snore loudly. Dinodas rolled his eyes in annoyance and amusement.

"Well, at least the journey will not be boring," he muttered as he and the bartender hoisted the large hobbit to his feet and, stumbling under the weight, brought him to Dinodas's room in the inn.

That night, Dinodas slept in the armchair listening to the drunk hobbit's snores. "And this is my companion," he thought to himself. "I am no longer alone."

[Ithaeliel]

After the song was through, Ardo sighed and walked back to his seat, laughing with merriment. Cornflower took a seat next to him. "That was wonderful! Come, let's have another dance!"
Ardo shook his head and laughed. "You go on and dance to your heart's content, my dear. I'm going to sit down to a pint and spend some time with the other men before we take our leave come the morn."
Cornflower jumped out of her seat and ran back among the dancers. Ardo smiled as he watched her a bit and thought of how much he would miss her. At length, he turned back to the bar counter with a sigh. He raised his hand to hail the bartender. "Another flagon of ale, if y'please, sir!" he called.
"Could I get one as well?" an unfamiliar voice beside him yelled. Ardo swiveled about in surprise. He had not seen the young hobbit there. "My goodness, young sir, there was no need to go and startle me like that now!"
The hobbit smiled bashfully. "Forgive me, sir, that was by no means what I intended. I'm not commonly a sidler."
Ardo laughed mirthfully at his last comment. "What do you go by, lad?"
"My name's Pippin, sir."
"It's very nice to meet you, Pippin. Do you have a surname at all?"
"Not rightfully, sir. I really don't know much about my life at all."
Ardo's eyes went wide as he lit his short wooden pipe and nodded. "Well, well... lost your memory somewhere along the road to the Shire, eh?"
"I suppose so, sir."
"Stop calling me 'sir,' if you please, Master Pippin; the name is Baggins. Ardo Baggins. It is very nice to make your acquaintance." Ardo shook hands with the younger hobbit. "Might you be one of the messengers leaving tomorrow or one of their kinsfolk?"
"Oh, I am going tomorrow as well, Master Baggins. I assume you are?"
"You're quite right. I hope it will be a somewhat pleasureable journey."
"So do I."

And so Ardo Baggins met Pippin, and he had it from then in the back of his mind that the two might be paired on the journey, as they seemed to get along just fine, as well as the fact that Pippin was the first of the twenty-four messengers that Ardo had not previously met.

[Aradaewen]

After sampling the best ale of the Shire with the solicitious Ardo, Pippin decided to dance it off. Being a shy chap, he stood on the sidelines of the dancefloor until a young maid named Camile asked him for a dance. He cheerfully obliged.

Pippin had always been a wanderer. He had no last name, and no family, roving the country-side for as long as he could remember, until he stumbled upon the Shire purely by accident. During his travels, he had met up with some journeying elves, who had taken pity on him. They had given him lessons in Elvish, a dagger, a bow, and a red pony whom he named Carad'naur which means Red Fire.

In fact, he had taken to the elves so much that forever after he wore only green and brown clothing, and learned the elven way with animals- riding Carad'naur bareback and with no bridle. When he came to the Shire, he found work, food, and board as a farm boy. He had no idea when his birthday was, having no parent to tell him, but after that memorable evening, he forever more told anyone who asked that he was born on Mid-Summer's Eve.

For that was when his life truly began...

[ August 29, 2002: Message edited by: Aradaewen ]

[Birdland]

(O.O.C. - Figured it was getting time to send you all on your way. But if anyone wants to post any more "party" threads. go ahead, and I can move this farther down.)

The sun rose over the remains of the Mid-Year’s party. The Hobbits rose somewhat later. Most of the celebrants had stayed around and were making a half-hearted effort to clean up the fields and stow away the tables and tents for next year. The ashes of the bonfires were gathered to be saved for next spring. They would be used to bless the fields and ensure good crops. But everyone was really awaiting the moment of departure.

The 24 Messengers were making last-minute preparations to depart. Packs and girths were being checked one last time. Mothers had wrapped up parcels of food and were pushing it on their sons “for later” - and trying not to weep. Fathers were giving last minute advise and bestowing precious family tokens - and also trying not to weep.

Marcho and Blanco rode up on their white ponies, and viewed the gathering of riders before them. The 24 looked up expectantly. Their journey was about to begin.

“My Sons,“ said Marcho. “The preparations are complete, the farewells have been said. It is time for you to go out into Middle Earth, and fulfill your mission with valor and wisdom.” Marcho gazed upon the Hobbits he had chosen. They were a mixed lot, but he had every faith that his choices had been the right ones. There was good old Barocas, almost dwarfing his pony, as well as his traveling companion, Dinodas. He swayed in the saddle and squinted blearily in the morning sun, hardly seeming to be the most upstanding representative for the Shire Folk. But Marcho knew that Barocas would never quit, never fail to carry out the duty that had been entrusted to him. And his traveling companion, Dinodas, though young, would offer the level-headed “Hobbit sense” that Barocas was sometimes lacking. Marcho knew they would make a good team.

Ardo had teamed up with the fostering, Pippin, who had come to the Shire on his own some five years ago, and made a home for himself, without the support of kin or friends. To Marcho, Pippin represented all the Hobbits wandering the lands of Middle Earth who could most benefit from having a homeland. Marcho hoped that the older Adro, a fine upstanding Hobbit, and one of the first to take a family surname - Baggins - would act as a father to young Pippin. No Hobbit should be without a family, and it was Marcho's secret hope that Ardo might eventually adopt Pippin.

“I can offer you no more advise. The direction you take after leaving the Shire I leave to you, for you may find Hobbits where ever you ride in Middle Earth. And where ever you ride, you will spread the word of our country, the Shire, and the promise of a land that will be home to them all.

“I saw some Hobbits in Bree, Marcho! Shall I fetch them back?” The crowd laughed as Barocas raised his hand in acknowledgement of his audience. Marcho laughed, though Dinodas shook his head in exasperation. “No, good Barocas. I think the Bree Folk can find their way here, if they so choose. I‘m afraid your search must range farther afield. Perhaps even into parts of the world where no taverns exist.”

“No such place, Marcho“, muttered Barocas.

"You shall see. Hobbits, mount up!“ 24 riders leapt to their ponies. “And may the blessings of us all go with you.!” The band struck up “The Banks of Brandywine“, a song that had recently been written , and would become a tune remembered by all future generations. The crowd sang the sprightly tune as the riders set out on their quest.

One morning very early,
In the pleasant month of May
As I walked out to take the air,
All nature being gay;
The moon had not yet veiled her face,
But through the trees did shine
As I wandered forth to take the air
On the banks of Brandywine.

Lobelia, the proprietoress of the recently built “Golden Perch”, nudged her husband, Oto, in the ribs and gestured rudely with her chin at the departing Hobbits. “There they go, off to round up a passel of queer, outlandish Hobbits and bring them back here to crowd out us decent folk. No telling what kind of savages they’ll find out there.”

“Now, ’Belia, there’s plenty of room for all here, and the Shire could do with some fresh blood. Maybe one of them Messengers will bring back a potential husband for our own dear Jonquil. She’s 36, after all, and no prospects yet.”

“Well, if that Mad Marcho wouldn’t send off half the eligible bachelors into the Wilderness, she might have been joined by now. And you know that our business is going to some hurt by the loss. Why, ’ol Barocas there was good for at least 12 silver pennies a month.”

“Hmmmph! ‘Brothers and Sisters‘. More likely 'Trouble and Strife', if you ask me.”

“Well, I didn’t my dear. But you’ll have your say anyway. Now wave. There go our former customers, disappearing over the hill.“

[ August 30, 2002: Message edited by: Birdland ]

[Cimmerian]

Barocas strolled out along with Dinodas, as the score and four hobbit messengers set off on their chosen paths. He turned and cast a longing look at the tavern and then at Lobelia, grinning as she called, "You hurry back now, Barocas Headstrong! Hurry back, Y'hear..."

Barocas was one of the larger hobbit men, hard work and battle training had developed his muscles well, but the last few years of good food and drink had a telling effect. His rapidly expanding waistline, preceeded him wherever he went. Often incurring the mirthful looks of his fellowmen.

Barocas mostly laughed off such comments, and joined in the revelry with his ridiculers. Dinodas, however, appeared to take some offence in such matters.

"Which road shall we take?" he asked his young companion, as he took a swig of the wine he carried in his waterskin.

[Elenna]

"I do not know, Barocas. I hadn't really thought about it," replied Dinodas uncomfortably. "I was no traveller before I joined with the 24 Messengers, and do not know much of the land beyond my home. Do you know which way we should take?"

[Aradaewen]

<>What does OOC mean?<>

Pippin decided that he liked Ardo. He was a fine fellow with a good taste for ale. [img]smilies/wink.gif[/img] Taking Ardo's packages, he loaded them onto his pony (Carad for short) instead of riding himself.

As they walked, Pippin told Ardo as much about his life as he could remember. How he had come across the elves mostly, and how they had changed his life.

In truth, Pippin looked very much like a young elf-lad. Hobbits always had a slight point to their ears, so that aspect took care of itself. He had become very close to nature and animals, and spoke Elven frequently in his soft-spoken voice. (especially to Carad) He wore his hair in elf-fashion, too- long, with braids and small pony-tails around the face. However, there was one characteristic that most definately marked him as a hobbit- he was always joking and laughing and smiling. (especially after an ale or two [img]smilies/biggrin.gif[/img])

Ardo was a good listener. He was quietly thoughtful throughout Pippin's narrative, which was more talk in an hour than Pippin had spoken in five years in the Shire. When Pippin had talked himself out, (he would never speak that much again for a long time) Ardo began with his life story...

[Ithaeliel]

"You wanted to hear my life story, eh, Pippin? All right then, here we are then:

I am not entirely sure of my birthplace, although it would not really matter much anyway, as all our kind were migrant back in that time; but my parents used to tell me, when I asked, that I was conceived here in Eriador, somewhere in the land that is called Eregion by the elves that you were raised by. I had to get used to travelling perpetually at a very young age. My immediate family was reluctant to be moving from place to place all the time, having no land to rightfully call one's home, living in grubby holes by the riverbank instead of wondrous, comfortable, safe homes such as the elves were rumored to live in, and those are what our hobbit-holes in the Shire are now. Thus, I grew up traveling, although I always wanted to settle somewhere eventually. When I was around three and thirty years old, Mr. Marcho and Mr. Blancho, along with their tribe of Harfoots, came to our tribe of Fallohides, announcing that they had found a pleasant land of rolling green hills scattered with tall trees, and it was just beyond the lovely Baranduin River. They claimed it was a perfectly quaint and homey land, and I believed them, be sure I did. I, along with a small number of others, decided to go with them. Many of my relatives refused to come, claiming they liked to see new places and have adventures. Bah! This whole land is an adventure every day. There's the old forest, the river running beside it, where so many can take a boating trip if they can brave the water; then there's the Barrow Downs, full of dangerous wights and ghostly princes who sacrifice with their cold hand anyone who ventures into the place... but then there's that merry ol' feller, Tom Bombadil. He is said to reside there, driving out many of the ghastly haunters in the barrows, although many hobbits, including myself, have never seen him. So, at the moment, I've taken to wife the prettiest, kindest hobbit lass in all the Southfarthing, and we have a grand home in Buckland. I will miss the Shire whilst we are gone... but all the better to return to. All the better."

Pippin smiled. "Oh, Mr. Ardo, that was wonderful! You're amazin' with stories, sir."
Ardo laughed. "I'm not quite so prosy as I'd like to think, Pippin. Say, you and I ought to be partners on this journey, young lad. I could show you some things that I've seen in my time as a vagrant."
That was exactly what Pippin had wanted to hear. "It would be my greatest honor, sir! I can't wait!"

[Aradaewen]

Ardo smiled and fell silent. Pippin occupied himself for awhile by singing an elven traveling song:

The road is long and dusty- our feet walk on for miles,
Past trees and streams and villages where people are all smiles,
The horse is strong and hardy- our hearts are light as air,
The love we feel protects us... wherever we may fare.

[ August 30, 2002: Message edited by: Aradaewen ]

[Birdland]

Scene: The Broken Dragon, a tavern near the Old Ford, a meeting place of the Men of the Vale of Anduin.

The herdsman entered the welcoming gloom of the Broken Dragon, and made immediately towards the ancient barfront, stained black from decades of spills.

“Eastorhyld! Queen of Alewives! Face that haunts my dreams. How fare you?”

Eastorhyld fetched an earthenware mug of ale and slid it with practiced ease down the bar. “Beda! Face that haunts MY dreams, which may be why I sleep so poor. As to how I fare: not well. A river of petty woes seems to drown us here in these parts.”

Beda took a long pull from the mug, and settled in for an hour or two of gossip. It would be all small tales, but the players in them were known by him for his whole life, and were of great importance to Beda. “Tell me your sorrows, Mistress Eastorhyld, and I will drown them for you.“ He saluted her with the mug, indicating that it was empty.

The Alewife fetched another round for her customer, saying “Enjoy the ale, for may be it will be in short supply. The last batch we brought up from cellar, though brewed with the greatest care, has gone cloudy and sour. And we seemed to have had a rash of petty thievery in these parts. Small items mislaid and never found again. And just this morning my Gammer Æthel’s best milch cow, her pride and joy, has gone dry, who never failed to give good milk before. Ill fortune seems to plague all in these parts...may it not touch you, good Beda“ She gave the sign against evil with an absent-minded hand.

“Hmmmmmm” offered Beda, with feigned interest. Tales of ill fortune were two a penny in these parts, especially since the Darkness had gathered in Mirkwood to the East. Still, for such a plague to touch the Broken Dragon was a bit of news. The tavern was usually a sanctuary from woe.

A small freeholder by the name of Cadda spoke up from his end of the bar. “I can tell you what has brought this plague on these parts. Holbytlan, that’s what. The Little People have been working their mischief in these parts.”

“Hole Builders, Cadda? And where did you find this information. Did you trip on one on your doorstep, as you crawled home the other night?“ Beda laughed at his own wit.

“Nay” grumbled Cadda, “I did not spy the little vermin, but Farmer Inwær did. Gleaning his corn field, they were, by the dark of the moon. But by the time he had loosed his hound, Gyrth, on them, they had disappeared, as they do. And the hound lost the scent in the stream. But Gyrth will know it, when he catches it again, and he will not forgive the slight the next time.”

“Well,” said Beda, “If the Long-Feet have tunneled round these parts, I suppose that would explain much, for it’s said they are a thieving, tricksy mob. ‘Small‘ troubles, indeed, eh, Mistress Eastorhyld?“

“Hmmph. Small creatures, they may be. But big trouble they cause. Remember two years ago, when Nothhelm lost his best horse? He was riding along the banks of the river, and one of those little rat dens collapsed just as the horse strode over it. Broke both his legs, he did, and Nothhelm had to finish the poor beast off. Nothhelm said he could only hope that the Holbytlan were home when his horse dropped in, and were buried in their own, cursed hole.”

Lilla the bar-maid came out from the scullery, drawn by the fascinating conversation. “Are the Hole Builders really such evil, tricksy creatures?” she asked

“Aye, Miss Lilla.” Cadda said with a wise tone, and a leering glance. “Whenever their kind wander into your land, you’ll know it by the ill-fortune they bring with them. It seems that they were created just to plague Men with petty woes. Have your folk never frighted you with goblin-tales of the Long Feet?”

“Well…" breathed Lilla, “my grandmother often would tell of the time, when she was but a girl, when she said she befriended one of the Holbytlan. She spoke often of her ‘little friend‘, whom she would visit in the forest, and while away the long, summer days. She used to cry when she spoke of her. ’Linnet’, she called her, and said she was no bigger than a doll.”

“And what happened?” urged Mistress Eastorhyld. Suddenly, the new bar-maid, whom had seemed too stupid to learn her duties, had become interesting.

“Oh, her mother, my great-grandmother, as it were, she found them playing in the forest, and snatched my grandmother away. She threatened her with dire punishment if she ever went to the forest again, since she said that the Holbytlan would snatch human children, and spirit them away underground. My grandmother was too frightened to ever go back.“

“Aye, it’s true,“ said Cadda, “The Long-Feet will steal babies, and starve them to keep them small. That is how they create more of their kind.”

Beda laughed out loud, and slapped his hand on the bar. “Oh, really, Cadda? And do they hang the babes by their toes, in order to make their feet long?” The folk in the bar had a good laugh at this, and Cadda grumbled and sank back into his ale cup.

But Beda signaled for two more, and wandered over to the freeholder with a peace offering. “So Cadda, do you think it’s true that Farmer Inwær and his good hound Gyrth really spied these Holbytlan in the area?

“of course! Inwær is a true freeholder, careful of his lands, and with sharp eyes. He saw them, alright. And is on watch, in case they come again.”

“Well, Cadda, good fellow, what say you and I get the loan of good Gyrth, and do us a little hunting tonight?“

[ September 01, 2002: Message edited by: Birdland ]

[Rose Cotton]

One bright morning in the mists of Mirkwood forest a young hobbit girl Rosie Took was climbing out the back window of her home. Her mother was in frount of the house tending a small garden and so Rosie was able to escape her chores with ease. She hurried out of sight away from the rest of the homes till she reached a small hollow. In the middle a limp makeshift doll resembling one of the big people was hung on a stake. Rosie picked up a long straight stick and started to fence with the doll. It was make to turn so that when she hit it she would have to dodge the fake arms and legs. She played this game for a long time untill the sound of a horn could be heard in the distance. Rosie's eyes lit up as she headed back to the village. Just outside it she chose a good size tree to scramble up. Marching into the center of the tiny town were the hunters back from a week long hunting trip. Her father and her younger brother Seredic where among them. This was Seredic's first time and Rosie could she that he had a great time.

Rosie jumped down from the tree to greet them.

[Child of the 7th Age]

Perry made his way back into the forests of Mirkwood. He had a serious matter to consider which came before any thoughts of dealing with the messengers sent out from the Shire. He needed to find a young lad whom he could train in the ways of a Ranger. There was one family of Tooks he knew he might talk to. He knew there were one of the best families in the forest, and on top of that, were Fallohides. Perry believed that the Tooks usually made the best rangers. And he suspected that all the children in the Took family were being well brought up in the ways of defense and the secrets of the woods. That would be a real boon.

Perry tried to remember if the family had any boys of suitable age. He remembered there was a boy and girl who were the two eldest. And what was the lad's name....Seridac, or some such thing. He hoped the lad was the older one and that he was anxous to go out and be trained as a ranger. Too many of the families expected the protection of the rangers but refused to send out any of their sons to learn the trade. They thought it was too dangerous.

Perry thought, not for the first time, that it might be good if the kuduk made an alliance with some of the big folk and include them in the patrols as well. But that would take a lot of planning and sweet talking, and sweet talking was definitely not his specialty. He hoped the family had a lad they could send for training. If not, he was at a loss what he would do. Perry disliked using the word "desperate," but he had just aout reached that level of frustration in recruiting the junior rangers.

Perry walked into the small hobbit village and noticed a large hunting party which had also just returned.

[ August 31, 2002: Message edited by: Child of the 7th Age ]

[Aradaewen]

Ardo nodded his approval at Pippin's song. "It has a wonderful melody." he said, "Did your elves teach it to you." "Yes, sir," Pippin replied, "Liked to sing songs, they did. And I just learnt a few..." He trailed off.

"Did you learn any more songs, Pippin?" Ardo asked. "Most of them I made up, sir." Pippin answered, "Would you like to hear one?" Ardo nodded and Pippin began:

Oh Mister Ardo Baggins, where're we off to today?
To find hobbits lost and lonely, or treasure far away?
Will we ever make it home, from where-ever we would roam?
And take our time a-traveling as we may?

[Rose Cotton]

The crowd parted to let the lone hobbit though. But Rosie pressed though them to try and get a better look at this stranger. Her father stepped forward and held out a hand in welcome.

[Ithaeliel]

Ardo laughed with mirth and delight at Pippin's song. "Did you just make that up off the top o' your head?"
Pippin flushed nervously. "Why, yes, Mister Ardo, I did. D'you like it?"
"Do I like it! Pippin, my lad, that was masterful. You have a particular talent for music."
"Why, thank you, Mister Ardo. I do so like to think up songs. And most of 'em have sort of an elvish air, so you can tell what their music is like."
Ardo nodded, smiling. "They must have magnificent music, as beautiful as the glittering blue waters of Nenuial on a summer's day. I never did have a great musical inclination myself. I sometimes wish I did."
Pippin slung an arm over his elder partner's shoulder. "Well, Mister Ardo, if you like, I could have the elves teach you some things about music, when we get to that point. I could arrange it if you like."
"I would like that! Thank you, Pippin. I shall enjoy our time together, I'm sure of it."

[Birdland]

The boy sat by the bank, bare feet in the water, head tilted back to catch the rays of the Sun as She ran toward the distant Misty Mountains, to find Her way to the sea. He should not have been lying there by the stream, not in broad daylight, and certainly not in an open meadow. But what child doesn’t love the Sun?

“Ceo! What are you doing? Da will be that angry at you, he will. Coming home empty handed.“ The boy jumped up, grinning as he held up a pair of limp conies that had been hidden in the grass beside him. “Saw a bustard today, Fina.”

“Oh, did you? And where is it now, knowing how fond we all are of bustard?” Despite her earlier scolding, the girl joined the boy by the water, setting a willow basket down, and also dangling her long, bare feet in the cool stream.

“She was still being followed by her chicks. Don’t worry, I’ll find her again.“ And he did a perfect imitation of the bird’s ratchety call, and spreading his arms, struck up it’s mating “dance.”

Fina laughed at her brother’s mocking (for brother and sister they were. Born on the same day.) and said “Aye, if I were a bustard, I could not resist your charms.“

“What have you found, then?” Ceo rummaged in the basket, pulling out various roots, shoots, leaves, and mushrooms, which he sniffed appreciatively, before finally settling on some cattail bulbs which he rinsed in the stream and began to peel with a small, iron knife.

“Least you didn’t find the berries. I kept them separate.” Which caused Ceo to toss aside the cattail and wheedle, “Come, Fina, share with your brother. Just a few. I’m that hungry.”

“Just a few. I didn’t find that many. It’s still early in the season.” She carefully opened a pouch on her belt, and handed him a small handful, taking another for herself. Fina delicately ate her own berries one at a time. Ceo tossed his in his mouth at once, then looked around for the cattail he had tossed away.

“I wish we had some corn for tonight.” said Ceo, munching on the root, then making a face. “And salt.“

“It’s a full moon. You’ll have to wait awhile for more corn. And Da wouldn’t want us to go back to that last field anyway. I was that scared, when that Big Folk started to holler, and his dog to bark.”

“Hah! I’m not afraid of any Blind-Feet. They’re so big, I’m surprised they can even walk, let alone run. Clumsy as a troll. Just as stupid as one too. Most of them, anyway.”

“ ‘Most of them’? And just how many of the Big Folk have YOU had dealings with? And don’t call them ‘Blind-Feet‘. Ma says it’s crude.”

“Well, it’s true, isn’t it? Wearing all that leather and iron on their feet. How can they tell where they’re goin’?

“Ma says their feet are all short, and squishy. And naked, like a baby bird!” Fina giggled and shuddered at the same time. “They must look that odd”

Ceo grinned “Bet they stink too.” Which set the twins into a fit of giggling, with various theories about just how bad the Big Folk would smell.

Finally Ceo looked up at the mountain ranges in the far distance, and jumped to his feet. “Look where the Sun’s at! She’s almost gone behind the peaks. Da will call us out, for sure.”

The children bent to gather their foodstuff in the basket again. Ceo placed the conies on top, and took the load, slinging it over one shoulder. Then carefully looking around, they set out without a sound across the meadow, and into the shelter of the trees.

A minute later, and you would never have known that they had been there.

[ August 31, 2002: Message edited by: Birdland ]

[Child of the 7th Age]

Perry sat on a tree stump at the edge of the road shaking his head in dismay. He had spent two hours listening to hobbit chatter. The trouble was that, after all that noise, not much had actually been said.

Bingo Took had brought Perry to a town meeting which included several of the important clan heads. They had all been polite and thanked Perry profusely for the rangers' help in putting down a band of outlaws who'd attacked the residents just a few months before. In gratitude, the hobbits had even sent a small wagon of supplies down to Bree. A back room of the main inn in Bree had long served as ranger headquarters, if you could give that name to a group which was largely hidden from public view and which seemed to come and go with the night winds.

But supplies were one thing, and junior rangers were another. Perry had made no progress on that account. Bingo Took had assured him that the town was devoid of eligible 'tweener boys, a claim Perry found difficult to believe.

But he did know one thing. If a lad didn't want to train as a ranger, it was better not to press. Perry had purposely waited around a bit on the treestump. Sometimes fathers said one thing, and lads felt another way. Many a time, he'd found himself accosted by the boys themselves after their parents had said no. Then a little visit back to the family and a twisting of arms usually ended up with the hobbit going off to train as a ranger. But here, even that didn't seem to be working. He'd join the Tooks for dinner and a soft bed and then be off in the morning. But it was a bitter disappointment to find no new recruits.

He was about to make his way to the house when he saw a small form come racing like the wind towards him. Perry looked up in expectation only to see the last thing in the world that he would ever want to see. For it was a pretty 'tweener girl with long golden curls and, as far as he was concerned, that could only mean trouble.

[Rose Cotton]

When Rosie's father had gone off with the stranger she and Seredic were curious. They followed and listened to what was said. Rosie's heart jumped when she heard the stranger needed a young ranger to train. But she knew he could never want a girl. "Seredic, why don't you become a ranger? Wouldn't it be fun to go on adventures and fight off bad things? Discover new places."
"I don't know. " Her brother replied. "The idea of it is glorious but I don't think I'm suited to anything outside hunting animals."

And nomatter what she said her brother was not persuaded to give up a quiet life for adventuring.

Rosie was not discuraged. Later on she found the ranger walking towards her home and she ran up to him. "Oh Sir, please let me come with you. I can be a ranger."

He looked at her like she was joking. "You expect me to train a inmature girl like you."

"I'm not inmature and if you give me the chance I can be as good if not better then any boy in this village. I can be as quiet and as swift as a mouse. I can't even count anymore how many times I've snuck out of the house. I'm pritty good with a sword too. I've learned tons of stuff from the elves. They don't live very far and they are fantastic teachers."

"What could you learn from them that I wouldn't know from my years of experience."

At this Rosies eyes lit up. "Do you know what it's like, Sir to be up on the very top branches of a tree and have the wind blow through your hair. If you do then your the first hobbit that I've heard claim to that besides me. Sure, other hobbits can climb trees if they want to. But not like I can. Give me a chance and I'll be the best student you could ever dream up."

Rose looked up into the Ranger's and her own were blazing.

[Aradaewen]

Pippin grinned, "I'm sure too, Mister Ardo, sir." They continued down the road, sometimes talking, and sometimes being silent. A little later, Pippin pulled a small sack from his pack and offered Ardo its contents. Ardo stuck his hand in and pulled out a large mushroom! He smiled and popped it in his mouth, mumbling his thanks. Pippin laughed and did likewise. They walked onward, munching on mushrooms of the best elvish variety.

[Birdland]

“…Outsiders were a rustic, not to say…uncivilized lot, and not held in much account. There were probably a good many more of them scattered about in the West of the world in those days than people in the Shire imagined, though many were indeed no better than tramps or wanderers, ready to dig a rough hold in any bank, and stay only as long as it suited them.”

As is often the case, the Red Book got it half right. There were many halflings scattered throughout Middle Earth at the time of the Shire’s founding, and most were a wandering people. Long ago Harfoots had given up the struggle of having permanent settlements. Their needs and the needs of Men were much the same, and when there was competition for these needs, the stronger, more forceful Men (almost) always won. The Hobbits found safety in retreat, and never staying in one place too long.

But to say that they could dig a “rough hole” whenever they stopped for the night was a misconception. Hobbits are clever diggers, but the are not badgers or moles. These holes were actually an ancient system of well-hid resting places, created and maintained down through the ages, stretching from the North Vales clear down to the Ered Nimrais. They were free for any Hobbit to use, for as long as was needed. Though not for too long.

It was to such a hole that Ceo and Fina returned from their day of foraging. It was set into an embankment, screened from below by a grove of trees, with a natural “porch” of a shallow cave, and a cozy hole dug into and supported by the roots of a massive old oak. Farther up the hill, hidden by a grove of trees, was a very well hidden secret exit.

Fina and Ceo climbed nimbly up to the “Porch“ and found the family gathered outside the hole to enjoy the last of the waning light. Their father, Ruddoc, looked up from his task of smoothing and straightening a length of yew sapling. “Well, it’s about time you two showed up. Getting pretty late, wasn‘t it?”

“We’re sorry Da. But we’ve brought plenty home. Look! Two conies with my sling! Oh, and Fina found plenty, too. Even mushrooms. What are you working on, Da? Can I see?”

Ruddoc’s eyes twinkled as he gave a mock scowl. “And did you think to bring some water for your Ma?”

“What, Da? I can’t carry water in my pockets, now can I? What are you doing, Osle? You’re making arrowheads, aren’t you.” Ceo’s eyes lighted up and he ran to his older brother. “You and Da are making my bow and arrows, aren’t you! Please, can I see? Can I help? I’ve been working on my quiver for a month now. Do you need it? Wait, I’ll go get it so you can get the shafts right.” He started to run to the hole, but Osle grabbed his arm and thrust a water skin into it. “Water first, then you can help. Ma and Avice have to get started on supper, and I have to skin those conies if we’re going to get anything to eat tonight. Now get going.” Osle looked up at the sinking sun. “We won‘t be able to work out here much longer, so hurry.”

Ceo grabbed the water skin and went running down the hill to a nearby spring. Fina finished unloading her basket, and said “Da, can I use your knife to cut up roots? I promise to be careful.” Ruddoc took a small, precious blade from his belt and handed it to his daughter. It was steel, a gift given to him long ago by one of the Big Folk, of all things. A lonely widow on a small croft, her man gone to war, never to return.

Ruddoc, out of pity, had offered to do such work as he could for her for a week or two in return for some food. She had given him the knife as a parting gift of thanks. When Ruddoc passed by the area again a year later, the widow was gone, and the farm in ruins.

Fina took the knife and sat down next to Avice, but first stopped to bend over the basket at Avice’s side. “Pretty Lianth,” she cooed to the baby in the basket, barely three weeks old. This was the reason the family had stayed at the cliff hole for over a month. Lianth was Avice’s and Osle’s first child. “Oh, Avice, can I hold her?”

“I just got her to sleep, Fina. Come, sit by me and your Ma and tell us of your day and what you saw.” Fina settled between the Avice and her mother, Enid, as they began to prepare the greens and roots that she had brought home. “Ma, can I have Ceo’s sling when Da finishes his bow? Mine’s all frayed, and Ceo won’t want his, now that he has a real hunting weapon.“

“You shall have a new one, Fina-Bird. You’re as good with a sling as your brother, and I shall make you a new belt to hang it from. But can we please get supper on first“?

So the family settled into its evening chores, telling the small tales of their day, and singing ancient songs in soft voices.

Two hours after the sun was down, they had all gone into the hole in the side of the hill, and were fast asleep.

[ September 01, 2002: Message edited by: Birdland ]

[Cimmerian]

"Friend Dinodas," boomed Barocas Headstrong, gesturing widely across the horizon, "Let us go to this little settlement known as Bree, for there are great many taverns there to help us through with this journey." He winked.

Dinodas looked at the large hobbit with some discomfort, but the jolly smile on his generous face made the young hobbit laugh, "And what after that, or are we to drink our way through this mission?"

"Nay! Young Dino, nay I say," boomed the larger hobbit, "we shall traverse to lands I have only heard of from the tales of strange big folk and the dwarf people. We will go to the lands where the qround is white and hard and the cold air bites like the sharp teeth of a warg."

Dinodas gulped hard and wondered if his companion had one too many that early in the day to be considering that hobbit folk would ever be found in such unfriendly places, but something in the sour-breathed tone of Barocas convinced the youngster and he put his arm around the older hobbit's generous girth as they headed off toward Bree.

[Rose Cotton]

Rosie and Master ,as she was now supposed to call him, made thier way back to the Took house hold together. The ranger had reluctently agreed to Rosie being a ranger after he had made sure that she knew the dangers and hard times she would have to face. Rosie knew that her father would object to her leaving and so they would have to sneek her out.

As they went inside none of the Took family knew a thing about what had just happened. Supper was allready on the table and they were all very hungry. And even going to bed no one could have guessed that Rosie was planning escape.

Just before sunrise, Rosie woke and tiptoed into her brothers room. She pulled on some of his clothes. Then she filled a pack with food, blankets, and tools. Finally she crept into her parents room and kissed them goodbye without causeing them to wake. On the way out the door she grabed one of her father's swords.

Master was right where he said he'd be. When she ran up to him he gave her the first smile she had seen him wear yet.

The sun was just visible on the horizon when they started out.

[Child of the 7th Age]

Perry had thought that Rosie would tell her parents about her plans to be a ranger, and then they'd get together and all discuss it. When he found out that Rose had snuck out of the house without telling anyone, he immediately marched her back to her family.

The whole time, he lectured her in a very stern voice, "Rose Took, from now on, you're going to listen to what I say!Being a ranger is not all fun and games or even learning how to defend yourself with sword. It's hard, tough work. You're going to learn to do all those things your mother wanted you to learn, but you wouldn't listen to her! You have to gut fish and cook meals and sew clothes. Then you walk twenty five miles in the drenching rain, shoot a coney, and start all over again."

"The first thing is that a Ranger always keeps his word.... that is, her word. If I went around accepting meals and supplies from people and then ran off with their young ones, they'd never trust me again! And it's even worse if I run off with a 'tweener girl in tow. You never know what nonsense tongues will be wagging. So march right back to your father and tell him politely what you want to do and why you want to do it!! And don't worry about him saying no. I'm an adult and I know the magic words to say to turn his views. Believe me, I've been doing this many a year."

"The other thing is that you'll have to cut off those frilly curls and dress like a young lad. I'll let the head of the rangers know who you really are, but on the road that can be a secret just between us. So you better start practicing to walk and talk like a lad. And I don't want to hear any tongue back."

Perry knew that there was actually one ranger named Goldie Boffo, who was a woman, and he intended to pair up the young Rose with her. But until he crossed paths with Goldie, that would have to wait. He at least had the advantage of being kin to the family. Being a Took himself, he was actually one of Rose's great uncles. So few would question his right to chaperone the girl.

Rosie shook her head. This was worse than her own parents!! But she wanted to be a ranger so badly, she reluctantly agreed to the plan. They got to the door of the Took household. Rosie could hear her mother banging about inside with her chores.

Perry glared at her, "Now go inside and tell them you're sorry you ran out. A strange madness seized you, but Perry has brought you back to your senses! And ask your parents nicely if you can come with me as my apprentice. After that, I'll do the talking and the explaining."

Perry reflected that, in only one day, the girl had already been a handful. He suspected that her parents had also found her quite a challenge. They undoubtedly loved her, but they might be willing to send her off in this unconventional apprenticeship, as long as they felt it was respectable and that the girl would be gaining useful skills.

They came to the round door of the burrow, and Perry pushed the girl inside. Her parents stood with a worried expression on their face.

"Excuse me," said Perry. "There's been a misunderstanding. Your daughter spoke with me yeserday about doing an apprenticeship as a ranger. We hoped to speak with you about it today, but she got a bit anxious and tried to slip out on her own. Now, she's going to apologize and put her request to you in a way that any hobbit parent would be proud of." Perry gave Rose a little push from behind.

[ September 02, 2002: Message edited by: Child of the 7th Age ]

[Rose Cotton]

It wasn't as hard as Rosie thought it would be. She applogised to her parents and then Master told them he was going to take her along with him on his travels and train her to be a ranger. As she suspected they were relutent to let her go. But with a few smooth words from the ranger they agreed. Before they left Rosie cut her hair. At first she hesitated but then she put on a determined face and just did it. Seredic laughed at her dressed in boys clothes and with a boys hair but she didn't let it get to her. She was willing to do somthing that he could not and that was worth all his mirth. There was one thing she was certain of. She wasn't going to do anything without her Master's permition again. She wanted to learn everything and was going to show him that she wasn't just a little tween playing games.

[Child of the 7th Age]

Rose was allowed to take her pony with her, and Perry purchased another mount in the village stable.As Perry rode along the track with Rose, he pointed out various plants that could be used for different purposes. There were leaves that could be brewed for healing wounds and vines with fibers that might be woven into ropes. He had her listen for the songbirds in the trees and try to guess which was which.

Perry explained that she would need to learn to understand what was "normal" among the animals and flying creatures of the wood. For, quite often, the only clue you might have to a very dangerous situation or threatening weather was a flock of birds unxpectedly taking flight.

They stopped for lunch in the woods. Rose found a grove of berries much to Perry's delight, and they brought out the food that Rose's parents had given them. The girl looked up in surprise, "You don't hunt game for your lunch?"

Perry laughed, "Little lass, I've done plenty of hunting in my day, but if someone gives me decent, home-cooked food, I don't turn it down. And where we're going, we may even be able to get a free meal or two."

Rose looked curious, and Perry explained. "You'll get your wish anyway. We're going hunting for two quarry: hobbits and men. But not for dinner, or anything like that." Perry laughed. "I suspect a few of these hobbit messenger may be coming through Bree, and even if not, I've heard some uneasiness coming out of the men there. I just hope all this questing and travelling business out of the Shire doesn't stir up ire between the big folk and us."

"And another thing, that sword you're carrying won't be all that useful in the woods most of the time. You need to learn to handle a bow and some knives. We can pick those up in Bree."

Now take my bow and start practicing. Do it every day for at least an hour. And forge the sword, until you've got some skills with archery. A sword is not going to feed you when your belly is empty"

Then, he gave her several words of advice and sat back to watch. The first arrow fell down at the girl's feet, and the second buried itself in the ground. Finally, Rose managed to hit a tree but it was definitely not the one she'd been aiming at.

Perry growled once or twice at the results and silently reflected, Oh, no, she handles a bow like a girl! What have I gotten myself into?" But, out loud, he said nothing, and tried to offer a few more tips. At the end of an hour of hard work, Rose was beginning to come a little closer to the mark. He had to admit that she was quite stubborn. She refused to give up once she'd made up her mind. And that was not a bad trait, at least for surviving in the wild.

"How are you at sneaking up and spying?" he asked.

Rose's eyes lit up like a beacon. She said nothing but smiled ear to ear.

"Hah! Just as I expected. Well, you may be able to put your skills to use. I'd like to khow a little more about what these hobbits are planning, and also what the men are saying about these messengers."

Then they got up from their rest and mounted their ponies, continuing on the trail.

[ September 02, 2002: Message edited by: Child of the 7th Age ]

[Bêthberry]

Hob Heathertoes was a taciturn hobbit; he had enjoyed listening to Ardo encouraging young Pippen's songs as much as he had enjoyed the songs themselves. And he had decided that he sympathized with Dinodas, for that young hobbit surely had his work cut out for him if Barocas was going to turn this Gathering into a pub crawl.

Listening was Hob's way of observing the lay of the land and evaluating the people he needed to work with. That's why he had remained silent throughout the Feast of Lithe and the festivities celebrating the Messenagers' Leave-taking. He and Erling Greenhands, his fellow Messenger, shared this trait. Both were quiet and reserved, although Erling certainly had a fair taste for mischevious fun should the situation merit it. Erling brought Hob out of his reverie.

So, Hob, you've been even quieter than usual. Was Marcho's private talk with you before we left so serious that you are resolved to keep a dour face for the entire Gathering?

Hob looked over at his friend, the only Fallohide he had been able to learn to trust and smiled his own particular small grin which only Erling knew well.

Erlin', me friend, I've been wonderin' about the possibility of meetin' some of me mum's folks over near Old Ford, of how she would like havin' more of her Stoor folk to talk with. It's been hard on her and me dad, not really knowin' the Fallohides and bein' Stoors and Harfoots and bein' more inclined to let wimmenfolk have a hand in runnin' things. Marcho doesn't really cotton to this. He's thinkin' hobbits are all hobbits and he's no worried about how we'll be gettin' along once we're gathered.

Erling grinned at Hob. Always the pessimist, eh? C'mon. How'd we get to be such friends, then.

Hob grinned even more broadly. You've a double wicked sense of fun, Erlin' 'cause you've grabbed me share of it, and if I ever intend to have meself some fun, I've need to be keepin' you close at hand. But seriously, creatin' a hospitable community is hard work and I'm hopin' we'll be able to bring hobbits 'round. There's too much hunger and strife and hardship. We need the new land and the more hands if we're to prosper.

Aye, your right, there, Hob, but I'd say we'd best think about closer problems, like how we travel safely and how we talk up this project with the folks we meet.

Hob recognized the innate good nature that seemed so much a part of Erling and his large family, and some of his downcast spirit was dispersed. He replied more positively. Starvin' folk and bullied folk and troubled folk won't be needin' much encouragement. And movin' families during summer might not be so hard, if the weather keeps with us. Its drought and storm that worry me.

Erling looked at his friend with amazement. He couldn't remember when he had heard so much talk come out of his friend. This was going to be a quest of much learning and experience, of much growth, he realized.

[ September 03, 2002: Message edited by: Bethberry ]

[Birdland]

It was the sound of a hound that woke them, baying far off in a meadow by a stream. The family froze, barely breathing as they listened to the dog, wishing it away on some hunt for fox or deer.

But it came closer, and it came fast. And then they heard the the crashing of bushes and the voices of Men, encouraging the hound with shouts of “On, Gyrth, Dig them out, good Sir. Hunt the hares!” And it was then they knew that no hares were being hunted that night.

“Go now“, whispered Ruddoc, and Avice quickly scooped up the baby, bundling her in her cloak and pressing her close to her breast. Enid signaled to her twins, “Come. Take nothing!“ she said, as the children had reached for favorite possessions. “We’ll come back for that later, Go!” The four scrambled up the tunnel towards the secret exit, Osle coming behind with his bow. Ruddoc bringing up the rear with bow and his steel knife. All else was left behind.

They cleared the tunnel and were fleeing up the hill just as the huge, shaggy cross-bred hound found the front entrance to the hole and began a frantic scrambling with his paws, baying “Here! Here!” to the Men following behind.

The Hobbits ran swiftly, and they ran silently. But they had no control over the wind. The breeze shifted, and the hound threw up his head as the scent of his quarry was carried down the hill to him. Gyrth was a seasoned hunter, he knew when the game had fled the hole. He turned from the bank and sprang up the hill, running swiftly and calling to his slower masters.

The dark shapes were running before him. They had almost reached the top of the hill. Gyrth sped towards the last of the fleeing Halflings, and Ruddoc turned as he heard the hound gaining behind. It was too late to draw a bow, though, and he flung up his arm instinctively to protect his throat as the hound leaped upon him. Gyrth’s teeth closed on the arm to bone, and he began the fierce shaking of the caught prey.

Osle turned at the sound of Ruddoc’s scream, snatching an arrow even as he ran back down the hill and letting fly into the moonlit form of the monster hound. The arrow struck deep into the side of the beast, and it released it hold to turn snapping at the arrow shaft, while it let out a string of frantic yelps. Then the dog staggered and fell, paddled its legs feebly, and was still.

Osle ran to his father, kneeling and trying to get him to his feet. Ruddoc clutched at Osle’s tunic as he bit his tongue to silence a scream. His left arm was hanging uselessly as he tried to stand and follow his family. Just then the sound of heavy footsteps could be heard coming up the hill. Osle set his father down again, and grabbed the bow.

Beda emerged from the trees, cudgel swinging to clear the underbrush in front of him. He stopped as he saw the two halflings. Then gasped as he spied the dead form of Gyrth where he had slid down the hill, arrow sticking from his side. “Gyrth! What have they done? Oh, Gyrth!” Beda turned towards Osle, towering over the Holbytla as he raised his club over his head. “Why you little rat!…“ Then his eyes went wide, as he looked down at the small, feathered shaft sticking from his chest. His mouth opened, but no other sound came from it again. Beda slumped to his knees, and fell limp by the hound.

When Cadda finally came staggering up the hill, winded and puffing, the first thing he saw were the moonlit, still forms of Man and dog. He staggered back, gibbering in fear, then looked up to see above him the Halfling standing farther up the hill. Osle and Cadda locked eyes, both white-faced and still. Both pairs of eyes widened in fear and shock. But Osle had his bow drawn, and after a second he turned his eyes away from the face of the Man, and sighted on his heaving chest. Cadda could not see the slight trembling of his arms.

Cadda let out a scream of terror, and rolled stumbling down the hill. He scrambled to regain his footing, finally finding his legs, and fled, arms flailing, back down the slope.

Then Ceo came down the hill, having broken free from his mother’s arms. The boy also froze when he saw the scene before him. Then he saw his father stretched on the ground. Ceo did not cry out. Young as he was, he knew better. But he flung himself down by Ruddoc, as the silent tears began to flow.

“Come”, whispered Osle, “Help me to get him out of here.“ The two sons raised their father to his legs, Ceo trying not to hurt the injured arm any further. Then his feet slipped in the blood. There was so much blood. The wound was open and jagged. The blood flowing freely down Ruddoc’s side and into the grass.

They staggered to the top of the hill, Where the rest of the family hid waiting. Enid knelt over her husband, ripping her skirts to try to bind the wound. Ruddoc rolled his head weakly towards his oldest child, and asked weakly, “The man..?“

Osle looked into his mother’s eyes, then down at his father. “Da. I think I killed him.”

Ruddoc closed his eyes and turned his head away. “Enid. Enough” He clutched at the arm of his wife. “Stop. Enough.” Raising his good hand, he stroked the face he had known and loved for forty years. “I’m sorry. You must all go, now. Osle will lead you.”

“No, Ruddoc! We’ll get you out of here, too. We go together or not at all. Be still, my darling. I’m here. We’ll go together. Just like always...Ruddoc?...No! Ruddoc!”

[Rose Cotton]

Life in the wild wasn't as bad as Uncle Perry made it seem. Sure it was cold nights on hard grounds. Less food and hard work but Rose was equall to that. Or at least she was going to make Uncle Perry belive she was equall to it.

But the one thing she couldn't get was that drated bow. Her first time using it she couldn't even hold it straight. It was oviously somthing her parents think she would have to know.

One afternoon after about three hours of completely missing the target Rose threw her bow on the ground in fustration and sat down beside it. "Your right." she said to her Uncle who was observing from under a tree. "This is too hard for a young girl to learn. Maybe I should just go home."

"Oh no." He said, walking over to her. "You can't get out as easy as that. Your bound now. Here. Watch." He picked up the bow from the ground pulled an arrow from the quiver on his back and shot it straight into the center of the target. To Rose it seemed like some in-mortal power. "Your working too hard. Just relax." He helped her up and handed her the bow and another arrow. "Hold it straight. Look at the target. Imagine there is a straight line between the arrow head and the center of the target. Concentrate only on that. Forget everything else. Now. Shoot."

Rose took a deep breath and shot the arrow. And this time it hit the target. It wasn't anywhere near where Uncle Perry's had hit but it was better then Rose had ever done before. "Did you see that?!" She cried. "I did it! I actually did it!"

[Child of the 7th Age]

The solitary grey figure in the cart made his way in silence along the forest track. The peddler could sense that something was wrong. Even the pony seemed reluctant to place one foot in front of the other.

The driver of the cart pulled on the reins and gazed about, first one way and then the other. His hat sloped down, its wide brim hiding his eyes from any who might chance by. Sometimes he dreamed of going to that other place where beauty still lived and the light shone forth. But not today, not today, for something was very wrong.

Then he spied a distant view just off the road. He dismounted from the cart and hid behind the trees. A family of hole-diggers, a small and pitiful family, slowly dragged a body behind them. They were struggling towards the high ledge, about to hurl their burden over the cliff into the waters of a bottomless spring. From the look of things, they were in a hurry to leave that cursed spot.

A single glance about said why. He had only to feel the sadness, and to smell the blood soaked into the ground. The grey peddler shook his head. It was not difficult to see what had happened here: the bloody remains of the kuduk, the hound's body still in disarray, his master not far behind. The hunter and the hunted were now joined together in death.

He shook his head and tried to push down rising anger. Why? What sense was this? He had seen the little ones arrive on the banks of the Anduin some 600 years before. Yet, still, there was much to be done and little time to do it. And so many of them suffered yet, hunted down by the big folk like coneys or rats. He feared greatly that when the great challenge came there would be none left to meet it. And the true sadness was that the big ones could not see how their own fate lay intertwined with those they despised.

But, if he could not do everything, he
must at least do what he could. He came towards the family, with arms raised in the air. His staff dropped to the ground. For one instant it looked as if the young lad might leap at him with knife in hand, but then the peddler began to speak. His words, so gentle and wise, turned the boy's rage into ragged grief. Time stood suspended in a quiet circle of sadness.

He beckoned to the kuduk to come into the cart, and to bring the burden they carried. That night, as the sun sank, they found a spot on a shaded bluff and, together, built a barrow. Then he fed them a meal and spoke with the mother, so distraught, and her son who seemed stooped under his heavy new burden. "You must journey towards Bree," he told them. "It is possible that help will come for you on the forest track but, if not, then go to that city. It will be a hard and long way, but hope lies for you in that direction. If you make it, head towards the Inn and inquire about one of the messengers or the Rangers. They are both hobbit kin and one of them will help you."

The next morning, he set them on the right path, and watched the small fgures retreat down the hill. He hoped they believed and trusted him enough to carry on as he had said. He wondered how many others were hiding in the woods whose grief he could not see or help.

As the grey figure mounted the cart to make his way toward Rivendell, he could not shake from his mind the one thing the family had confided to him. Why did it sound so familiar to him? He had asked for their clan name and they had mumbled something in reply. It sounded just a bit like the name "Gamgee."

[ September 04, 2002: Message edited by: Child of the 7th Age ]

[Susan Delgado]

Forgot to mention, Amaranth has a dog, a Hobbit-sized mutt named Olla. Nothing special about her; she's just around for Amaranth's company.

Amaranth peered around in frustration. Where had the path gone? One thing she was sure of, this was the last time that idiot dog was going to run off after some squirrel. She couldn't even call effectively because she had to keep her voice down; she knew there was a Man's road somewhere nearby, but she didn't know precisely where and didn't know when some Man might be around, just waiting to hear some Hobbit lass calling her dog. She whistled softly, but Olla didn't come. Ah, well, I'll just search for the path. Olla'll come back in her own time. She thought. This had happened before, and she wasn't overly concerned about Olla's saftey. She was a feisty little dog and could take care of herself. As the hours passed, however, she became more and more worried when Olla didn't return. She'd never stayed away this long before.

Eventually, Amaranth found her way back to the path and followed the subtle signs she found - random-seeming patterns in the rocks and branches broken in unlikely places - to a well hidden cluster of burrows which had been designated as a way station. There she met another hobbit, a young lad named Boffo. He was the first Hobbit she'd seen in over a month and she was glad to exchange news with him. Her village had been far from any other Hobbits and she was very interested to hear about the formation of the Shire. Boffo was less impressed; it seemed he was heading north to avoid the messengers who'd been sent out to round up the wild Hobbits. He went on about this at some length and Amaranth hid a smile as she rose and said goodnight.

When she awoke in the morning, Boffo was already gone. She wished him well and continued on her way.
Her biggest concern was Olla; she hadn't come back during the night and Amaranth was seriously worried by now. She still whistled periodically, but as the morning and then the afternoon passed she began to lose hope. Olla had been gone for nearly two days and Amaranth knew that a little thing like Amaranth not staying in one spot wouldn't have prevented the dog from finding her. Olla could follow her scent.

Amaranth spent the second night under a tree, using her pack as a pillow, but she didn't sleep well. Olla had been her only steady companion for more than two years and the dog's disappearance was a terrible weight on her heart.

She spent the third morning stumbling blindly along the path. She saw nothing but her own feet and heard nothing but her own beating heart. She never knew she was being followed.

[Susan Delgado]

In the early afternoon, Amaranth woke up a little to find that she'd left the forest and was walking across a low grassy hill. she stopped and looked around. Behind her, the trees ended in a line as straight as an arrow. A suspiciously straight line. She was about to turn back into the trees when she suddenly heard barking from over the hill. Olla's barking. she'd recognise it anywhere. Still, she was cautious. Olla could have been captured by Men who were using her as bait. Amaranth had heard of such things happening before.

She crept to the top of the hill, keeping as low as she could, and sure enough, she saw Olla tied on the other side, a few hundred paces away. The trees started again a way past that, and she could see two horses tied under the overhanging branches. No, not horses...ponies. Maybe even Hobbit-sized ponies. Still, she hesitated. She'd spent her whole life being wary of tricks and ploys played by Men and she wasn't going to throw caution to the wind just because her missing dog had spotted her and was having hysterics. Still, those ponies were very small and she knew that whoever owned them could probably wait just as long as she could. She decided to spring the trap.

She stood and approached Olla. She untied the rope around her neck and looked around again. Sure enough, two figures were approaching from behind the ponies. But they were not Men, or if they were they were children. No, they were defintely Hobbits. One was very large, the other much smaller.
"Hello!" The larger one called as they approached. "We're Baracas and Dinodas! Who're you?"
Amaranth backed off, distrustful of anyone, Man or Hobbit, who would steal her dog just so they could get her attention. She said nothing.
Baracas looked disappointed.
"Why did you steal my dog?"
Dinodas looked outraged at the notion. "We didn't! We found it running around and thought its owner would probably come looking for it, but if it belonged to a Man, we didn't want to be caught, so we put it where it wouldn't be missed. Wehn we saw you, we came out. We're looking for Hobbits, you see." Baracas nodded enthusiastically in agreement.
"Oh," Amaranth said, mollified. "Why're ye lookin' for Hobbits?"
"We're on a mission. We're gathering Hobbits to come and join us in a place where no Men will ever bother us."
"Oh! I've heard about that! Will ye be wantin' a comapanion in yer searchin'?"
"I don' see why not. Know of any Hobbit villages around here?" Baracas looked hopeful, but his face fell a little at her response.
"Nah. I'm from much farther north. But I'm good comp'ny."
"All right then, maybe we should go north then," Dinodas suggested, looking at Baracas for confirmation. Baracas shrugged and gestured the three of them toward the ponies.

[Birdland]

The crowd at The Broken Dragon was finally starting to thin out, but not fast enough to suit Mistress Eastorhyld. She had just decided to tell the hanger-ons to drink up and go home, when suddenly the door to the tavern burst open and Freeholder Cadda came staggering in, out of breath and shouting incoherently. He ran to the bar, then slumped into a nearby chair, his eyes wide with terror and his clothes torn and muddy.

“Master Cadda!” screamed Eastorhyld, as she threw down her bar rag and grabbed a mug of ale. “What has happened? Easy, good Sir. Here, drink up and tell us what has happened.” The men in the tavern all gathered around, trying to help Cadda catch his breath by smothering him in a crowd.

“Beda!” gasped Master Cadda. He took a great gulp from the ale mug, then continued “Beda’s dead! Shot! Shot by an arrow as we hunted badger in the hills.”

“What? Beda dead? How? Who would do such a thing?” screamed Eastorhyld.

“Holbytlan, that’s who!” shouted Cadda. The crowd around him gasped and murmured among themselves. “That’s right. Me and Beda took Gyrth the hound out to hunt for badger dens. We were climbing a hill, when one of those Long Feet stepped from behind a tree, and shot both the dog and Beda. I barely made it out of there with my life! Arrows were flying everywhere! There may have been more than one, hiding behind the trees, but I saw one for sure. Sure as I‘m seeing you all here. He stepped out and murdered poor Beda without warning. I tried to help him, I did. But if I had stayed, I would be dead myself.”

The rumbling of the crowd was getting louder, when suddenly a lone voice from the back of the room cut through the shouting. “Murder, Master Cadda? In all my years this is the first I have heard of the Holbytlan waylaying men in the dark.”

The crowd turned and split, as a large Man in hood and boots came walking slowly up to the hysterical freeholder. Later, the patrons would argue whether the Ranger had just “appeared”, or had been sitting in the shadows the whole time that evening.

The Ranger towered over the cowering, breathless farmer, studying him with eyes that revealed nothing. “Your tale begs for examination, Master Cadda. These are serious charges you bring,, and it is the duty of the Dunedain to seek out and punish murderers in these parts. I’d like to ask you some questions about the event you have described.”

“Of course, of course. I‘ll try to help you in any way I can, good Sir Ranger,” muttered Cadda, looking at his feet. ”It’s lucky we are that you happened to be here tonight.“ Cadda, however, seemed to feel anything but lucky.

“Very well, Master Cadda. The first question I’d like to ask you is: What were you and this Beda really hunting tonight?“

[ September 05, 2002: Message edited by: Birdland ]