A Land to Call Their Own RPG

[Witch_Queen]

"So that is the way you want to put it you..." Sarah couldn't think of anything to counter act what Fordo had just said. Sarah felt bad about assuming that Fordo hated her and that was the way it was going to always be. "I am sorry Fordo. I would never want to take Prim's place. I know that if I can't win you over with my cooking and how much I love your son then there is no hope for you and I to get along. Now seeing as you have decided to continue this perhaps I should point out to you that I'm not a meddlesome hobbit. I am as stubborn as you are. That is not a compliment either."

Sarah's words struck her hard. She wasn't use to being affected by her own words. Stubborn and hard headed as Sarah was she didn't want to argue with Fordo until the day she died. "Fordo you have to agree both you and I are stubborn and hard headed. Though you might deny it, I won't. That is why Harold and I get along so well. He is so much like his mother that I fell in love with his kindness and sincerity. Fordo I am glad Harold hasn't turned out like you 'cause heaven forbid me but I wouldn't last a day if I was married to you. No offense to you but I can see why Prim was the way she was. Prim was a great woman and no matter how hard someone might try. That is one hobbit that no one can replace." Though Sarah barely knew Prim, Sarah could tell why Fordo had loved her so much. Opposites attract.

"I am sorry Fordo." Sarah gestured back to where the cart was. "I do have a mushroom pie waiting for Harold and you back at the cart. That is if you will forgive me and take the pie as a peace offering. But let me warn you even though you might not like my means of making peace you have to admit I'm a killer when I'm in the kitchen." Sarah knew the way to Fordo's heart was through his stomach. That was the way all hobbit men were to her. She loved her Harold and wasn't going to jeopardize her love for him because of Fordo. "I'm sorry?"

[alaklondewen]

“Fredigar! Fredigar!” The Headstrong hobbit was busy rolling up his small bundle of blankets when he heard his name being wildly shouted through the air. “Fredigar! Wait, Fredigar!” Fredigar raised his head and look about curiously until his gaze found young Adelard who was flailing his arms as he ran toward the hobbit.

“Adelard Proudfoot, what are you doin’ runnin’ about and shoutin’ my name? Boy, what’s the problem?”

Adelard stopped running and paused to catch his breath, then began spilling all the details of what he heard Old Fordogrim Chubb say and how he saw Crispin Whitfoot causing mischief during the night. Fredigar could feel the heat rising up his neck and into his cheeks. “So, we have a thief, do we? Well, I’ll just have to do something about that.” With that the self-appointed Sheriff marched off to find the perpetrator.

Adelard stood a brief moment, smiling at his part in the action, and then quickly jogged to catch up with Fredigar. This was just the kind of commotion the young Fallohide had longed for…a real drama. He couldn’t wait to see the Whitfoot lad’s face when he realized he was busted. Adelard grinned again, and if someone had seen him at that moment, they would have said the lad had a sparkle in his eye.

Crispin was sitting quietly on the ground eating his small breakfast, when Fredigar and Adelard found him. “Crispin Whitfoot,” the law enforcer roared in as booming a voice as he could muster. “Where were you during the night?”

Crispin tipped his head to one side and answered honestly, “Sleeping?”

“Don’t you get smart with me, son. Adelard, here saw you out last night after everyone was sleeping. Now, where did you go, and what did you do?” Glaring as he spoke, Fredigar towered over the young hobbit and put his hands on both hips.

The lad remained silent for a few moments. He seemed to be trying to remember, or understand, what Fredigar was wanting. The Headstrong figured Crispin was just trying to think of a lie to cover his tracks.

“I got up to get a drink of water,” Crispin finally said. “I couldn’t sl…”

“You little liar,” Fredigar hissed through his teeth. “I know exactly where you were. You were thieving these good hobbits. You’re a dirty thief. Get up, you’re coming with me.”

Crispin looked confused and didn’t move, so Fredigar grabbed hold of the boy’s arm and yanked him to his feet causing his breakfast plate to tumble to the ground. “I told you to get up.” Fredigar growled quietly in the lad’s ear. “Next time do what I say, when I say it.”

“What is the meaning of this?” The lad’s father stepped up to Fredigar.

“Kalimac, you’re son, here, is a thief. He was up stealing from the Harfoots last night. Took a pretty little necklace from your employees. I’m takin’ him with me, so he can’t take anything else from our neighbors.” Kalimac began to speak, but Fredigar brushed him off and shoved the boy ahead of him. “You won’t ever steal another item from us again, you here me, boy?”

Despite Crispin’s loud complaints, and those from his father, Fredigar (with a tag-along Proudfoot) took the Whitfoot lad back to his wagon where he made an announcement to all the settlers that they were not to fear…he’d found and apprehended their thief.

[ArwenBaggins]

Crispin was extremely confused and angry, and he was sure to let it show. "I told you that I was just gettin' a drink'a water! I didn't steal a necklace- or, or anything! Hey! Nooooo!" Crispin was shoved into the back of Fredigar's wagon; he snarled at the smirking Adelard standing off to the side a ways.

"Now, stay in there... thief," He closed the wagon door flap and Crispin was sitting in a dull darkness, a look of both innocence and hatred on his tanning face.

He pulled a new piece of hay from his shirt pocket, munching and chewing on it in contemplation- of a way to get out and prove himself innocent. That stupid Headstrong wouldn' even let Papa talk. I bet he knows that Papa knows I'm innocent! He huffed and slammed his fist down on a bag of salt, making small white grains fall over his legs. He would make sure everyone knew that he wasn't the one that stole all of the items... but how? There was no evidence- for or against him.

[Kransha]

Again, it had been a good day. The sun rose afresh in the sky, its gentle yet solid glowing beams pouring over the land that would soon be in some part that of Kalimac Whitfoot. That same hobbit felt that he needed not to eat, since he seemed to be filled with something that might constitute food, but was probably just anticipating nervousness that fluttered about as butterflies would in his round stomach. Unfortunately for the prosperous Halfling, all was not to go as planned. As Kalimac strolled aimlessly around the Fallohide end of the camp, taking careful note of his family members tending to their breakfasts, he took immediate notice of a much more unpleasant site.

It was old, rough and ready Fredigar Headstrong, a hobbit who had never seemed very amiable or likable to Kalimac. Kal tried to give all hobbit’s a chance to make themselves more friendly folk to him, but Fredigar was doing something that had just shattered his good mood like so much fallen glass. The hobbit stood over Crispin ominously and grabbed him forcefully. Kalimac’s mind didn’t even have time to race as a deep rooted anger, kept dormant for some time since his last ‘explosion’ during the semi-battle with Fordogrim and Harold Chubb, swelling and pulsing within him. He barely heard any of the conversation, but arrived just in time to see Fredigar grabbing his son more roughly and yelling something at him. Kalimac, already rising in fury as he saw the other hobbit handle his child so ignobly, stormed over as he caught snatches of the conversation.

“You little liar,” Fredigar hissed through his teeth. “I know exactly where you were. You were thieving these good hobbits. You’re a dirty thief. Get up, you’re coming with me.”

“What is the meaning of this?” he roared, barely a question in his protesting tone.

“Kalimac, you’re son, here, is a thief.” Replied Fredigar icily, dragging Crispin along as he spoke to the boy's father, “He was up stealing from the Harfoots last night. Took a pretty little necklace from your employees. I’m takin’ him with me, so he can’t take anything else from our neighbors.”

A thief? It was surely a mistake. There was no way in all of Eriador that any child of the Whitfoot clan could be a thief. They already had money, enough for anything they needed, so why would a Whitfoot even consider stealing some valuable from a poorer family? It was all too outrageous to be believable.

“Thief? My son a common robber? That’s preposterous! There has to be some mistake!”

“No mistake. This boy here, young Adelard, said he saw your son doing the very deed.”

Kalimac found himself walking behind Fredigar, who was unceremoniously dragging Crispin Whitfoot to his wagon and speaking. That ignorant hobbit wasn’t even listening! He was ignoring Kalimac, which also degenerated from his fiery mood. Kalimac’s face looked flush as he hurried behind Fredigar and his son until Headstrong had forced Crispin into the back of his wagon. Kalimac continued his utterly confused protests, trying to think of some pathetic tirade he could start.

“But…no, that can’t be…I’m sure this is all a misunderstanding.”

It was Adelard Proudfoot who responded, with a glib smirk upon his face. As Kalimac turned, he spoke dutifully as the time came. Kalimac watched the boy, a fully disgusted look paling his features, and turned to him slowly, trying to look remotely intimidating but failing. Adelard just spoke with a smiling ease, which further disgusted Kalimac as he realized, through the chaos that had covered this situation, what had just happened to him and his son. Suddenly, the overwhelming effect of this happenstance was gnawing at him, coupled with every other thing that had happened. He remembered his conversation with Marcho not long ago, in which he clarified his views. Was this all some cruel joke at his expense? It was a selfish thought, but that was the only thought rushing in him and fueling his surging anger.

“No sir, Mister Whitfoot. I saw it all myself with my own two eyes.”

That was just about it. Even though Kalimac had made a solemn promise not to lose his wits a second time, it happened. Unfortunately, instead of ending up in a brawl with a hobbit who was equal to size and strength with him, Kal found himself on the verge of tackling a Halfling boy. Ignoring Fredigar, Kalimac lunged at that irritating Adelard and grabbed him by the meager shirt collar, practically lifting him from the ground violently as he quivered with rage. His eyes nearly glowed with incendiary flame that wavered there.

“You little…you…you LIAR! You’re lying, you little scoundrel! Go on, tell the truth, tell Fredigar that it wasn’t my son that stole that necklace. NOW!”

[Arestevana]

Elsa wandered back toward the wagon at a leisurely pace, enjoying the freshness of the morning. She had just been down to the stream to wash up, and was considering making the children do the same. Crispin’s hair could use a trim, too. she mused. Arriving back at the Whitfoot’s wagon, Elsa discovered that Kalimac and Crispin had left. Mildly surprised, she glanced around. Seeing Opal Boffin run by, Elsa called out. “Opal, sweetie, have you seen Kalimac or Crispin?”

“They’re over at Mister Headstrong’s wagon. He got arrested!” the girl said excitedly. She ran off, leaving Elsa somewhat bewildered. Mister Headstrong was arrested? What could have possibly happened? Curiosity aroused, she hurried over to see. When she reached the wagon, she was confronted by a violent scene. Kalimac had hold of young master Proudfoot’s shirt collar and seemed about to strike the boy. Shocked, Elsa hurried forward, frightened by the rage she saw in her husband’s face.

“Kal! Kal, what’s the matter? Oh, please don’t hurt that boy, you know you don’t mean to!” She cried, babbling nervously. Kalimac was breathing hard but he released the boy, who surprisingly seemed more disdainful than frightened. He responded before Kalimac had recovered his calm, speaking with a pronounced smirk. “Crispin’s been arrested.” The lad said. “He was caught stealing from the folks at the other end of the caravan. Mister Headstrong has him shut up in the wagon.”

Elsa stared at him incredulously. Crispin? Stealing? Why would he do that? Surely he knows it is wrong… She thought about it for a moment, but could make no sense of the matter. Crispin wouldn’t steal, of that she was sure. So what is going on?

[Regin Hardhammer]

Harold had been shocked to find his wife’s necklace gone and even more astounded to learn that several of his fellow Harfoots also seemed to be stripped of their possessions. He had brought this matter of thievery to Marcho’s attention eaerlier, but now the Whitfoot boy was being arrested. He just didn't seem like the type who would resort to stealing. On top of everything else, Marcho had been nowhere in sight when Fredigar dragged off Crispin.

Feeling slightly guilty for having initially spilled the news, Harold raced over to Marcho, bellowing out his news. "Come quick! Something's happened. Crispin's been arrested! Adelard claims Crispin is the thief and Kalimac looks as if he's about to blow his top."

Tugging on Marcho's sleeve, he hastily added, “ I just can't believe that. I’ve known Crispin since he was a little tike and he would never do something like this. Now that Adelard, on the other hand, I am well acquainted with as well, though not as favorably. He can be quite the embellisher when it pleases him. The lad’s not reliable in the slightest, if you ask me. I do think the real thief is out there and may well strike again. Believe me; I’m willing to help nab this fellow before he does anything worse.”

[alaklondewen]

As the wagons bumped along, Marcho silently brooded over the events of the last week. Crispin was still in the hands of Fredigar Headstrong, although his mother was permitted to visit him during breaks to ensure he was being fed. The accusations against the lad did not sit well with Marcho. He just could not envision his nephew as a thief in the night. Even though Marcho and Crispin had never spent a large amount of personal time together, the Fallohide knew his nephew had a good and honest heart. “How could this have happened?” He thought aloud.

“I do not know,” Estella answered quietly and placed her hand tenderly over her husband's. Mrs. Bolger had watched her husband toiling with his thoughts for days. “We must do something about it.”

The Bolgers remained silent for several minutes, each in his or her own reflection. “Marcho,” Estella began again, pausing momentarily to gather her thoughts. “Marcho, you must simply demand that Fredigar release Crispin.” Marcho opened his mouth to answer, but his wife cut him off and continued. “I mean it. You march over there and demand it.” Estella nodded her head matter-of-factly.

“It’s not as easy as that, Estella. You know that.” Marcho kept his eyes on the road, not looking at her as he spoke. “We don't know if he really did not…”

“What?!” Estella interrupted. “Marcho Bolger, you know as well as I do that Crispin would never have stolen that necklace…or anything else for that matter.”

“Yes, Dear, but Fredigar really believes that…”

“Fredigar Headstrong does not know his head from…from the underbelly of a goat. Hm…we can’t believe anything he says. Fredigar Headstrong…" Estella mumbled his name and shook her head negatively. “And Adelard Proudfoot!” Her voice rose in both pitch and volume. “That hobbit is the most spoiled…obnoxious, lying, rude, atrocious…hobbit I ever saw. We certainly cannot take his word as truth.” To make her point, Estella sat back and crossed her arms.

Marcho did not speak for fear of her temper. Estella was the most loving, sweet-spirited hobbit he knew, but when she wasn’t happy…well, let’s just say Marcho did not wish to cross her further. In his heart he knew she was right. Crispin needed to be released, but the scout was unsure how to go about it.

Another concern had continued to rise in his mind. If Crispin did not steal the necklace and other items…then who did? Harold had planted a seed in Marcho’s mind that he had mulled over since. What could they do to nab the real thief? This is surely what it would take to clear Crispin’s name. It didn’t help that nothing had been taken since the lad’s arrest, but if the thief was among them, then he could possibly be tempted and trapped.

During the travelers’ next rest, Marcho met with Kalimac and Harold and proposed they devise a trap for the thief. The trio sat huddled together behind the Whitfoots’ wagon and spoke in hushed voices. “Kal, do you have anything of value that we could make a fuss over to get some attention and then set out after dark?”