The Golden Perch Inn

[Tevildo]

After unlatching all the windows and sashes, Tollers had marched out to check on his vegetable patch. It was a small plot of land located along the back courtyard fence. The hobbit had begged for some land from the Innkeeper and had been given a small stretch overgrown with weeds and thornbushes on the promise that he would clear these out. In return for this, Tollers agreed to supply the kitchen with a steady stream of turnips, carrots, peas, and beans throughout the summer with perhaps gourds or pumpkins or squash added sometime later in the fall. He would be free to sell the surplus on market day in Stock.

To his delight, Toller saw that a number of tiny seedlings had pushed up through the soil and were now showing their leafy heads. Yesterday there had only been rows of neatly tilled earth. Overnight, that had changed. All his hard work looked as if it was about to pay off. After taking a moment to admire his handywork, Tollers picked up his hoe and vigorously began to attack the soil, determined to clear out another row for planting. He was just deciding whether to plant a row of onions or rhubarb, when he heard a terrible shriek coming from the stables followed by a dull thudding sound, a loud growl, and then ominous silence.

Tollers' short legs carried him back across the courtyard as fast as he could run. He had not even bothered to drop his hoe. Tollers pushed open the barn door and stood frozen in place, so shocked at what he saw that he was unable to react. Four slavering beasts, like the ones out of his Granny's tales, were attacking Gable and Jack.

Tollers' heart dropped to the bottom of his toes. From the stories his Granny had told, he knew this could only mean one thing. There must be a hole in the High Hay, the portion situated just north and east of Stock, so that some of the terrible creatures had found their way through. Tollers wasn't sure how they had managed to cross the river but rain had been scarce of late. Perhaps last night , a few beasts had managed to swim or wade, or maybe they had even walked over the bridge at Stonebows.

All these thoughts took no more than thirty seconds. Grabbing his hoe, Tollers made an awkward lunge at the great grey nightmare now standing astradle over Jack. "Git back! Git back, you varmit." Again and again, with every word he spit out, Tollers thwacked the creature's head with all his might. The animal pulled up and snarled, twisted deftly to one side to avoid the bothersome hacks, and, for one moment at least, spun off in the other direction, hiding in the shadows and preparing to attack again. That tiny interlude gave Tollers time to yank Jack up to his feet and race back into the courtyard to the large bell that was suspended from a tree, a bell that must only be rung in moments of peril to alarm the residents of Stock. With all his might, Tollers grabbed onto the rope and began pulling vigorously.

Somebody come, somebody come quick, please. We need more help to pick off these villains and to plug the hole in the hedge. And if four wolves have already gotten through, who knows what else could happen!

[Volo]

Colren had a bad night, he couldn't sleep, but when he did, he saw nightmares about war and bloodshed. He hoped they were only dreams. In one dream he was in a arena with closed walls, alone. Then suddenly a manshaped wolf emerged from behind him. It attacked Colren and cut his breast deeply with it's claws. Colren fell down in pain. The last thing he knew was the wolf's howling.

Colren woke up with a start all covered in sweat. It was no dream, a wolf was really howling, close. A strange feeling came to Colren, he thought it was stupidity, but he jumped up and only in his trousers ran out of his room. A real commotion was going on, nobody could understand what was happening, but something was happening. Colren pushed his way to the door and ran towards the sound. The howl was coming from the stables. Without thinking Colren ran past Tollers and a man somewhat like himself, Tollers was ringing a giant bell, he didn't even notice Colren.

Just when Colren was beside the door of the stable a wolf came slowly out to greet him. Fear overtook him, he no weapons or anything else to protect himself. Not to mention that the wolf was exceptionally large and angry. Colren backed away slowly. The wolf came closer. The panicing man glanced behind him, there was a spade not far, he could manage. Or so he hoped. He walked to the spade the wolf following his every movement. Still few steps, I'll be fine. Colren heared voices, people were coming this way. As he saw two more wolves come out of the stable Colren tripped on something. And then the wolf leapt. Colren had a second to think of something, he grabbed the thing tripped on. It was a stick, rather long and strong. He thrust that into the air at the wolf. He hit his target. The wolf leapt back. Colren jumped up and saw that he didn't cause much damage, but still a nice long scratch could now be seen at the side of the wolf's shoulder.

That barely bleeding scratch was enough. Something in Colren's mind turned and he didn't feel any fear. It was all concentration, he had a "sword" and he landed the first blow. A warrior awoke inside. If Colren had time to think about it at the moment, he would have found it so strange that he would return to the fearfull victim of a wolf. Luckily there was no time to think and the real battle began. Sure Colren was weak and skinny, just as the wolf was healthy and large, but Colren had experience from many battles, he just didn't know it now. With his skill the man was far superior than the beast.

The wolf leaped again, or so it seemed. Just as it was jumping, it turned and attacked from the ground instead. Colren was suprised by this cunning, but he didn't flinch. The wolf was aiming it's teath at Colren's stomach. But he was quicker. Just a foot or so from the hit, Colren moved backward and lunged his "sword" into the wolf's jaw. It sank deep. The dying beast rolled on the ground spitting blood. Colren stood there and watched. The other two wolves saw that the man was tough and backed away towards the road leading out of town. Colren was victorious! He glanced one last time at the dead wolf and then he felt sick.

He had killed. Colren sat down slowly with his bare thin chest and the long scar that was now visible. It wasn't just a dream. The scar Colren couldn't think of any explanation now told him of a bloody fight where Colren once was. He just sat there on the ground beside the wolf and looked somewhere far far away. At something only Naren, the warrior could see.

[Farael]

‘You don’t say, Master hobbit?’ asked Robby as a young, excited hobbit lad told him of what had befallen only a few moments earlier. ‘Wolves? Here in The Shire? But that’s unheard of!’ An old gaffer who was sitting nearby corrected him. It seemed that there had been another instance, during a really bad Winter, that some wolves had strayed into these lands.

This time, the beasts had found their way to the stables. No animals were hurt, although there was a hobbit, an elf and two men who were slightly shaken up. No wonder, Robby thought, he would have panicked if he had seen those monsters. They seemed to be gone, and yet a sense of fear and watchfulness seemed to be present in the lands of the Inn. It soon passed, and most of the people staying at the Golden Perch as well as many folks from the village headed to the common room to share breakfast and their take on what was soon named “The Wolf Incident”. Even though it was only a few hours past sunrise, a few toasts were made to the brave men (and hobbit and lady elf) who had fought off the wolves.

Robby knew this was what he had been looking for. Sitting by himself on a corner table, he racked his brain hard to put music and lyrics to that morning’s events. He shut out the outside world, the food Rowan had kindly brought to him was growing cold on the table, only rhymes, stanzas and music mattered.

When the morning star spread her rays over the quiet land
Nobody knew of the danger near at hand
The wind on their face, their spirits ablaze
Our four heroes…

No, no…. how about…

… their spirits ablaze
Men, hobbit and elf…

Too long… hmm....

When the morning star spread her rays over the quiet land
Nobody knew of the danger near at hand
The wind on their face, their spirits ablaze
.....
.....
An unexpected league, from many a race

That’s good… very good!’ He grinned broadly ‘I knew this is what I needed… but all this writing and thinking is hungry work! Alas, my food is already cold… well, no use in bothering good Rowan again, I’ll find my way to the kitchen.’

He grabbed his plate and his mug and walked to the kitchen. Timidly sticking his head in, he asked out loud ‘Hello? Miss Rowan? I just wanted to get a little food, mine has grown cold, but I did not want to bother you. Hello?’

[Lalaith]

Lily Bunce adjusted the knapsack on her back and scratched her head distractedly. She was very tired, having spent a most anxious night in a nearby haystack. It wasn’t that sleeping in haystacks troubled her, for she was often forced to resort to such rough lodgings on her job-seeking tramps round the countryside. But in the early hours of the morning, well before dawn, the darkness had been suddenly been full of frantic howling and panting. She was shaken out of her usual stolidity, and crawled deep into the heavy, dank-smelling straw, cowering with terror, not daring to come out until the sun was high in the sky.

Seeing the sign of the Golden Perch, the sturdy, weather-beaten little figure in faded gingham began to march more purposefully. A good a place to ask for work, for one thing. For another, she could buy some breakfast, and even doze at a trestle to catch up on her lost sleep. Perhaps she might even find out what all that nocturnal howling was about.

Expecting to find just the odd gaffer in the barroom at this hour, Lily was amazed to see it so crowded and with so many customers talking excitedly and drinking. Strange faces….there was one of the Big People, singing and toasting his fellows. There were other Big Folk, all manner of hobbits…and, bless my buttons, was that an elf-lady there by the fire?

Lily felt aware of being unkempt and dishevelled, even by the standards of a labourer, and was slightly ashamed. “Good morning, good people. Might a body get a bite of breakfast?” She found a place at a trestle table near some other hobbits, and as she ate, began to feel more confident.

“I’m Lily Bunce, my folk are from Hardbottle,” she confided to her neighbours. “I’ve just come from Willowbottom over in South Farthing, I was helping with the lambing there. Now I need a spot of work to tide me over til hop-picking begins, and I’ve heard as how there’s plenty going about round Stock. And it's a lively place and no mistake, I can see that as plain as the nose on your face. I had a terrible night, you know,” she continued artlessly. “Slept in a stack yonder, I was woken by such howls, I thought the kelpies were come to get me.” She grinned cheerfully. “But it’s easy to forget the ghouls of the night when you’re in good company, with a fire in the hearth, and ham and eggs in your belly.”

[bill_n_sam]

With a somewhat self-important clearing of his throat, the middle aged hobbit directly to the left of Lily replied, “A terrible night was it, Miss? Well, you’re lucky howls is all you encountered!” He took a quick gulp of tea and continued. “Wolves! That’s what you heard! If you can reckon it. Wolves in the shire!” He picked up a half eaten piece of toast and crammed it into his mouth. Chewing purposefully, he nodded several times vaguely in the direction of the inn yard. Swallowing, he opened his mouth to speak, sending a light shower of crumbs onto Lily. “Right out there they were – right in the stable! Huge brutes! Bold as brass, they were. Have you ever heard anything like it?”

Not waiting for a reply, he went on. “I hurried right over, of course, being Shiriff for these parts. You’re from Hardbottle, you say? Can’t say as I’ve ever been that far afield myself. Now, I’ve heard of some Bunces, but to my recollection, they were all from over Frogmorton way. Might you be related to any of those, by any chance?” Shoveling half a fried egg into his never still mouth, he managed to say, “Rusty. Rusty Smallborough – that’s me. And could I trouble you to pass the pepper?”

[Kath]

Cir woke as her brother's excited voice penetrated her sleep, or at least the Elvish version of it. Ignoring him she snuggled further under the covers and dozed back off, but was rudely reawakened as he pulled her blanket away from her. Shielding her eyes from the bright rays of sunshine coming through the uncovered window Cir gave her brother a glare that told him exactly what she thought of being disturbed this early.

"Maybe I shouldn't have teased him for being the second born all those years." She mused to herself, grumpily retrieving her blanket from the floor where Cir had thrown it. "Then perhaps he wouldn't be quite so keen to beat me in getting everywhere else."

Her thoughts were interrupted as her brother once again prevented her from returning to her blissfully unaware state by talking at her, and far too loudly for this time in the morning.

"There were wolves! Down in the courtyard, the Hobbits and others were fighting them off!"

Startled Cir woke up enough to glance out of the window, not awake enough yet to think that her brother might have made the whole thing up. Sure enough the dead body of a wolf was lying there.

"Do you think we should go down?" Cir's concerned voice reached her ears and she turned away, yawning wide.

"No, I'm sure it's alright now." She mumbled sleepily, thinking the danger past.

"But there was more than one, the others just ran off, it - "

"Tell you what Cir," she interrupted a little sharply, desperate to get back to bed, "why don't you go down, have some breakfast and see if they need any help with anything. You take our money and I'm sure Dick will tell you how much you need to pay."

She eyed him, knowing he was aware of her dislike for early morning starts, but also knowing that this knowledge gave him the power to seriously annoy her if he chose to. Fortunately it seemed that he was more interested in the goings on downstairs than needling her as he made ready to go.

As he headed out of the door Cir closed the curtains, blocking out the sunlight, and fell back onto her bed, asleep before she landed.

[Folwren]

The noise and disturbance the wolves caused was surprisingly quickly dealt away with. Tollers’ alarm had brought hobbits and help from every side and the wolves were killed or driven away. Dick had had no hand in it. He stood outside the kitchen door, cheering the others on, with Cela Bunce and Primrose at his side. He felt so happy after the battle was over and the hobbits, men, and elf came out victorious, that he called for a free breakfast for everyone present. They’d like that, sure.

“And give them plenty, Cela and Prim!” he said cheerfully, sending the two ladies back to work. “Such fighting probably brings one a prodigious great appetite.”

A call sounded at the kitchen door. “Hello? Miss Rowan? I just wanted to get a little food, mine has grown cold, but I did not want to bother you. Hello?” The three hobbits turned to see a man looking half shyly through the door.

“Come in, my fine fellow!” Dick called, beckoning him in and grinning broadly. “We’ll serve you up something right quick. Cold eggs aren’t any good.” He took Robby’s plate and scraped the food into a waiting bucket for uneaten food. Cela, at the same took, took a new plate from the counter, dished up an entire new breakfast and handed it back to him. “Is there anything else we can help you with?” Dick asked.

‘Well, now Cookie, what is the matter, girl?!’ Miribelle leaned forward on the seat of the cart and flicked the reins lightly along the flanks of her pony.

Cookie, however, would not budge. The sturdy little sandy colored pony set her legs stiffly and laid back her ears. The stink of wolf was getting stronger as she approached the stable. Her nostrils were flaring and her big brown eyes were rolling in an anxious manner.

Miss Rushybanks set the handbrake and climbed down from the cart. The yard did seem somewhat in a state of disarray, as if a number of large animals had been running amuck in the grass and dirt.

‘Will!’ she called out, coming to stand by Cookie’s head, the reins grasped firmly in her right hand as her left hand clasped onto the pony’s bridle. ‘Will! It’s Miss Rushybanks, dear.’ She raised her voice another notch. ‘Can you come give me a hand with Cookie, if you would.’

[Arry]

At the sound of his name being called, Will came rushing out from the rear end door of the stable. He’d only just recently awakened, and only then to discover the fracas that had occurred in the stable proper. He’d been in bed, sleeping some fevered dreams after the tea he’d gotten last night from Cela. His arm was aching fiercely as he stumbled out of bed and attempted to tuck in his shirt.

‘Miss Miribelle!’ he called back to the prim little lady trying to keep her pony calm. ‘Here, let me take Cookie from you. I think I’ll just tie her on the other side of the Inn.’ He saw the alarm on Miribelle’s face and quickly reassure her he would bring the pony water and a nice pile of hay to munch on. ‘Going to bring the other horses and ponies over there, too,’ he went on. ‘Keep her company.’ Will glanced back at the stable with its gaping doors. ‘Been quite and uproar in there, this early morning. Wolves! Poor horses were frightened half out of their skins!’

He freed Cookie of the little cart; then, took the reins from Miribelle. ‘You go on in and have yourself something to eat and drink, Miss Miribelle.’ He started leading the pony to the other side of the Perch. ‘Cookie and I will do just fine.’

‘Well, now, I do find myself becoming quite fond of it. Not that I’ve given up tea altogether, mind you,’ she hastened to add. ‘It’s just that this coffee has a deeper mystery to it. And sometimes when I’m drinking it I think about the warm, mountainous country in the south where the little brown beans come from.’

Being for most purposes a quite practical person, her cheeks colored a bit to be caught out at fantasizing. She pushed her mug toward Will with a nod. ‘Take a little sip, if you’d like. Not quite as strong as drunk plain. But I find I like it better tempered with a bit of sugar and a generous drop of cream stirred in.’

[bill_n_sam]

Rusty surveyed his young cousin. Her injury was certainly responsible for some of the anguish he saw in her face, despite her efforts to put a good show. But the sadness in her eyes could not all have come from the fall. Sensing her reluctance to say more about how matters stood at the moment, Rusty had compassion enough to bite at the proffered bait and let things slide, for the moment.

“Well, young Primrose, I can’t say as there’s been any more eventful news than the excitement you’ve had here right at the inn. Wolves in the Shire! Tis a good thing you weren’t out and about when they were running amuck. With that game leg of yours, you’d been their breakfast, sure as sure can be.” Rusty’s eyes twinkled at her and he winked again. “Now, as for other doings round abouts, ‘twould seem things have been mostly quiet. Old Farmer Ham, now his old sow’s had a wonderous big littler – thirteen of the little squealers! I saw them myself, I did. I hold that’s a record here in Stock. But that know-it-all Bill Buckburrow, he claims there was a pig had fifteen, over to the Hollow. I don’t believe him though. He was always a one for trying to top a story, just for the sake of hearing his own voice.”

Rusty scratched his head thoughtfully, pushing his cap back and slightly askew. “Now what else is news?” he murmured. “Ah! Just now, as I was finishing up my breakfast, I heard a young miss from all the way over to Hardbottle saying she was asleeping in a hay rick when them wolves set to howling and she near died of fright! Have to be very careful these days, wandering about on the roads. She said as how she was looking for work hereabouts. Do you know of anyone needing an extra hand? She looked a sturdy thing, said she’d been helping with the lambing over Willowbottom way.”

[Arry]

Holding the mug near his nose, Will inhaled the enticing aroma of the coffee. With a nod to Miss Miribelle he took a large gulp of the hot liquid.

Oh, my! he thought, pushing the mug back across the table

His eyes began to water as the underlying taste of the brew invaded his tongue. And he felt his throat constrict against his swallowing. Will raised his brow to Miss Miribelle and raised his index finger as if to say, ‘Just a moment. Be right back.’

Will scrambled up quickly from his chair and made a dash for the kitchen, barely making it to the sink. He spat out the coffee and willed himself not to heave up the breakfast he’d eaten earlier.

‘Gah!’ he muttered, swishing some water about in his mouth to rinse it. ‘That was disgusting!’

[Envinyatar]

In Breeland the requests for coffee, hot and strong, were a little more frequent than here inside the Shire bounds. Or so Jack recalled from the Inns and public houses he’d sat about in back there. Ale of course came first for thirst, followed by tea in thick walled mugs with spoonfuls of sugar, then that dark brew, coffee.

‘Come up from the south,’ one of the kitchen boys had told him. Along with something called cinnamon, he later learned, having stolen a rack of enticing smelling cookies from one of the Inn’s kitchen windowsills. Even now his tongue remembered how they'd been covered in sugar with a pinch of some reddish brown powder that gave them a lovely spicy sweet taste. His mouth watered at the memory.

‘Pour you a little more of that…errr…coffee, m’am?’ Jack said drawing near to the table where Miribelle Rushybank sat. A largish pot of tea was held tight in one of his bony fists, while his other hand grasped a smaller, silvered ewer with a long spout like a swan’s neck and a high domed top. He raised the silver pot up his brow raised in question.

‘Name’s Jack, m’am. Jack Greymoss,’ he went on, noting her skeptical eyeing of him. ‘Master Boffin was kind enough to let me work a little for my keep. Just helping out as best I can.’

[piosenniel]

Bêthberry has offered a seasonal RPG in Rohan – The Veil is Lifted.

It’s a 7th Age game, based loosely around Hallowe’en and open to all comers.

Come join us and have a little fun!

Game Thread – HERE
Discussion Thread – THERE

~*~ Pio

[Celuien]

Primrose watched Will as he stood over the sink, still swishing water around his mouth with his face twisted in disgust.

"What's the trouble, Will?"

A still queasy-looking Will raised his hand, asking for a moment to recover before answering.

"Do you know of anyone who has lost a locket?" asked Gable. At almost the same moment, Primrose burst into laughter at Will's predicament.

"Oh, poor Will," she gasped between guffaws. "If you could see your face right now. I've not seen such a sight since the time the Tunnelly children slipped salt in the sugar bowls. When you're feeling better, I'd like to know the trouble too. do hope it's not a problem with our cooking." She laughed again until she was breathless.

"I'm sorry, Gable. I didn't mean to stop anyone's answering your question. A lost locket?" Prim winked at Rusty. "That sounds like it might be a case for our Sheriff."

[Forest Elf]

"I'm sorry, Gable. I didn't mean to stop anyone's answering your question. A lost locket?" Prim winked at the sheriff. "That sounds like it might be a case for our Sheriff."

“I found it out in the stable – in one of the stalls..” Gable replied, thoughtfully. Gable looked at the locket once more before laying placing it into the sheriff's hand.

[Folwren]

Dick took the locket that Gable had handed to him and took it back into the kitchen. "Well," he said to the three stil gathered there, "no one spoke up for it apparently. "I wonder who could possibly have dropped it?" He looked at the thing. The chain was small and delicate and the locket glimmered in the bright sunlight coming in through the windows. "Odd. It has a lock to it and can't be opened." He touched it with a finger before sighing and bringing it closer to Cela.

"Here. Is there someplace you can put this where you won't forget and that when someone asks for it you can get it? I told Gable we could keep it in here until someone came looking for it. I figure you could keep an eye on it or something."

He extended the necklace towards her.

Izmakiel took a seat at the back of the inn and watched from the shadows. He unclasped his soiled green travelling cloak and laid it beside him upon the table. He brushed the dried dirt off his shirt and leaned back in his seat. He took out his pipe and lit it, puffing on it thoughtfully. Being a dunedain ranger wasn't easy. There was patrolling to be done and quite often he would be called for some task or another by his Lord.


Izmakiel stood up and walked to the counter. The barman smiled and nodded at him.
"Greetings Ranger, how be you on this fine day?"
Izmakiel chuckled softly, such was the nature of his conversations with this man, always light and comical no matter what the situation.
"I am weary after a long week and in need of a mug of your finest mead. Make it snappy."
The barman turned and as he was pouring the drink, Izmakiel took another long probing look around the Inn. All seemed well. The barman placed the mug down and Izmakiel was reaching into his pocket to pay for it when the barman shook his head.
"This one's on me. You do enough for us around here. The least I can do is fetch you a decent drink and a snack. Go sit down and I shall bring it to you."

Izmakiel smiled and turned away from the bar, walked back to his seat and sat there with his eyes closed deep in thought.

[bill_n_sam]

The lack of response following Gable’s announcement of the lost and now found locket was puzzling. Rusty, however, was not one to be discouraged by such a minor setback. After gable handed the trinket over to Dick’s safe keeping, Rusty determined it was time to put his investigative skills to work.

“I think I’ll just have a look around the stables.” He said, with a nod of his head to Dick, who was retreating once more to the kitchen. Taking Dick’s silence for acquiescence, Rusty hooked his thumbs through his braces and ambled across the common room and out into the morning air. Breathing deeply, he sighed contentedly. Nothing like a bit of detective work on top of a good breakfast to set a hobbit up right, he thought happily. Now, let’s a get a look at those wolf tracks, he said to himself, wandering off towards the stable.

[Forest Elf]

Gable stood and brushed the hay off of herself before shaking her head at a silly thought. She stood and looked at the injured pony, who was resting in his stall. “Who were you from, girl?” she whispered to the sleeping pony.

Gable stood and walked quietly into the Inn. She saw Tollers talking with a dwarf, and decided that thanking him could wait until later on. But, then again, it seemed as if he wasn’t looking himself.

[Folwren]

Dick sat with the new elf. He had agreed to take a drink with him. No one was calling for anything and if they did Rowan or Tollers would probably be able to manage it. As Cela had said, Dick hardly had a moment to sit down and now there was a good excuse - a shy elf who apparently wasn’t used to hobbits and inns.

“Why don’t you meet some of my friends here? I am sure they would love to meet you,” he offered.

“I can’t say no to that, either,” Tarathiel said, a small smile coming into his face. Dick grinned and turned about in his chair.

“You’ll have to tell me who you want to meet first. Over there, walking across the room, is Cir. He’s a twin with another elf, but I haven’t seen her today.” Dick turned back towards Tarathiel and leaned across the table towards him. “You won’t guess what they did to me yesterday,” he said. “They came in and introduced both of themselves as Cir! How was I supposed to take that?” The elf shrugged slightly, his eyes fixed on Dick’s face, “I don’t know how I took it, I just did. Anyhow, they’re Cir and Cir, and Cir isn’t down here yet, only Cir is.” He laughed at his own joke and turned back again to point out more familiar faces. When he turned back around, Cir had disappeared, going through the door towards the bedrooms.

“Over there in the corner, with his head back and eyes closed (he’s probably thinking, he does that a lot) is Izmakiel. He came in this morning, about the same time you did, I think. He comes often. He’s a ranger here abouts,” Dick said. “And you’re lost, aren’t you? You said you lost your companions some days ago? Well, Izmakiel may be able to help you find them again.”

“Who was the lady elf who asked about the locket a few minutes ago?”

“Oh that? That’s Gable. She’s been around here for years. I don’t remember when she first came...she helps about the place. She especially likes working with the horses and ponies out in the stables. She rides often, too.

“Over there,” indicating the short, stout figure of Tollers passing between two tables, “is Tollers. He’s a young fellow who works for me. Rowan is over there. Will keeps the horses, he’s in the kitchen, and Primrose and Cela Brandybuck cook all this delicious food for us.”

And so Dick went on, he named what faces he could, and skipped over the rest, until he had covered the whole room, and some people who weren’t even in the room.

“Now,” he said as he finished, turning back to look Tarathiel in the face again, “I’ve named everyone I know well enough to introduce you to. Tell me who you’d like to speak with and I’ll make introductions. After that, I’m afraid I have to get back to my work.”

[ninja91]

"I would really enjoy meeting another ranger. I wonder where he has traveled?" Tarathiel thought aloud.

"Izmakiel? I doubt there is a place in this world where he has not traveled! Let's go over and meet him," offered the hobbit.

As they walked over, Dick told Tarathiel not to mention trolls to him, because poor Izmakiel does not do to well with them.

"But I am sure that you two will find plenty to talk about. I am sure that your paths have taken you to similar places," said Dick.

The two sat down with the ranger, a rugged and dangerous looking fellow.

"...Could I help you?" asked the ranger.

[Mänwe]

Limaris Arahad had been with the company of Rangers for almost a full year, a time in which he had time to reflect upon his decision to leave his mother in Linhir and seek a life in the service of Gondor. What he had wanted to seek and had sought so far was the focus of his thoughts. Apart from the obvious military skills he had acquired and was still acquiring was eclipsed in comparison to the interaction of an individual with others.

A rather deep subject he thought to be pondering on an early morn. However it was this particular skill which he had yearned for the most. Company with other Rangers although friendly was for the best of times serious to the extreme; something he understood given the task appointed to the company. It was however only after camp was made and the pickets set that conversation was allowed, and even then when in the field, regulations required it to be muted.

‘Evening boredom’ and ‘Shire’ was the greatest paradox he had ever known, for over the months he had been observing the borders of Buckland and the few times that he had been tasked with scouting the areas close to dwellings Hobbits were a great fan of evening camaraderie and he would often hear their rich voices carried through door and window of the popular inns.

It was in reflection however the greatest test of self discipline perhaps even torture to observe a folk existing comfortably in their houses, while he remained under the stars on hard ground come all weather.

This train of thought and his own self justification oft provoked the stern and quick rebuke from the company officer who reminded him of his position and task and blamed it on his age. He was inexperienced to have been made a fledged Ranger, however it was his particular skill as a tracker that had caught the attention of the command and landed him here following the convoluted course of the Stockbrook.

The sound of a splash and crunch of grit wrenched him out of his reverie and he noticed that he had strayed into the shallows of the brook. Wandering or ‘ill-discipline’ as Bregil, commanding would say, often meant he went astray, to the annoyance of his comrades also, and something that time in the field would eliminate.

Back to his senses his training began to restart, young eyes scanning the ground ahead the small but distinguishable signs of animals having visited the brook, a foxes tracks leading away from the water, coney depressions in the soft ground where they had rested the previous day. The morning was a blend of greys and blues, accompanied by the gentle trickling sound and silver glittering of the water. Noting the angle of the sun he quickened his pace leaving in his wake the destruction of a myriad of habitats too small even for his eyes to see.

Leaving the water’s edge to avoid his prints forming in the soft ground that might betray his presence to a visitor in the future his mind fell upon his orders. The course he was taking was a wide and ever winding path inwards till he was on the outskirts of one of the Shire’s largest villages, Stock. His was on a routine patrol of the land directly within the border patrol set by other masters, and one that would require him to enter the village, which was one of four his company were given specific watch.

His orders when he had entered the village were to observe, remaining impassive and inconspicuous. However if needed he might approach the local inhabitants and gently inquire as to the goings on over the past few weeks, a precaution in case even the eagle eyed watch of the company had missed any trespassers.

Having made steady progress for an hour along the brook he noticed that the surrounding vegetation began to clear, and grasses became more prominent amongst the reeds and water loving flowers that thrived within a few metres either side of its banks. It was a few minutes later that he noticed the road, the Causeway it was named, it was one of two main roads that crossed through Stock and came from further north by the Brandywine bridge.

The name sparked off a snippet of its history, something he had picked up on his wanderings. It was said to be an alteration of the Elvish Baránduin which translated meant ‘golden brown river’, and it had become Hobbit custom in previous years to be called Bralda-hîm or ‘heady ale’.

A name which made a slight smile split his lips; he’d thought of a perfect idea, the Golden Perch Inn would be the best place in the area to seek out any knowledge, for it was widely known its ale was the finest in the East farthing. With that pleasant thought in mind his dulled spirits flared and his step quickened slightly, remaining off the road however and amongst the vegetation to provide himself with some cover, of late you could not be overly cautious. However again he was lost in thought and the surroundings became nothingness compared with the thought of good ale.

Tracking the road for a short distance he came to an intersection with the Stock road and the ground which had been rising gently as he neared the village peaked as a small hill by which the Inn was built. It’s large out sign welcoming travellers and promising good company and a warm hearth for the weather was cool enough to warrant more than the average number of layers a man would wear.

On first inspection it was a distended building, with various roofs at different heights, no doubt to accommodate for its varying height of patrons. He had paused just off the road and noticed that some of the inhabitants of the village making their way to and from chores were glancing at him. He’d not wanted to draw a great deal of attention on his entrance, Shire folk were at times quick to frighten and judge visitors with strange behaviour. Again the small smile spread across his features at the image of a group of the more stout Bucklanders running him out of the village.

Lurching forward he put a warming smile on his face and strode toward the Inn entrance. Stooping through the heavy weathered door he was confronted by a large open room, filled with tables and benches, stools and the bustling and babbling of its customers. No eyes turned, no conversations stopped on his entrance, visitors from all over were frequent and not to be concerned over; his nose was immediately assaulted with various smells, of food and strong ale, leather and light smoke from pipes and the large fireplace that dominated the room.

Pausing briefly as if he were fumbling with his cloak clasp he scanned the room.
Large ale casks and the counter to his right with a door behind, the clatter of dishes rose above the chatter, men, elves and of course Hobbits were present. The atmosphere was friendly and folk were shifting seats to converse with others, holding the cloak in his hand he cast it over his shoulder and slowly made his way to the counter, careful to avoid hitting table corners and stools with occupants lest he spill tankards.

Standing at the bar he was pleased that he had appeared as just another traveller though was well aware that his garb may well have attracted glances as he made his way to the counter, he had left his weapons with the company camp but had kept back a small dagger which was at his felt, a common enough implement for a man but still…

Besides it felt good again to be among others, and he breathed deeply, a contented sigh escaping him. Leaning on the counter with his elbow he gave the counter a slight knock.

“Inn keeper?”

One hand went to his money pouch concealed beneath his clothing, and his eyes flicked round the room once more, looking for a likely start of conversation with the local populace.

[Forest Elf]

Gable sighed and began her walk back to the Inn. Her thoughts swirled around her mind like leaves in and autumn wind. Now that the doctor is probably there by now… I don’t mind. Now that I don’t have to take him to the Inn I can look around for any sign of the pony’s owner…I wonder if the owner is still alive or not…What were those wolves thinking anyways? Attacking a pony and the pony’s rider, then coming back into the stables and attacking… I haven’t ever heard of something like this happening before…what’s making them come to the Shire? Gable shook her head to clear her thoughts of the questions. Too many questions that can’t be answered…yet. I should probably get some help if I’m going to look for the pony’s owner…and, if no one wants to help…then it seems I’m going off on my own little adventure for awhile.

Her footsteps were light upon the ground, and she quickened her pace from excitement. She always loved the thought of adventure, even if it was a small thought, but a thought, nonetheless. Gable looked up at the sky, the sun was behind one of the fat, lazy clouds up there just gently going forwards. Then she looked forward and had to keep herself from crying out. There, in the bushes, something was huddled up under there. She couldn’t see what it was, but she didn’t know if it was a threat or not. Slowly, carefully, she lowered herself into a crouch. Then she bit her tongue to keep from crying out. Right there, under the bush is a sleeping wolf. Gable fought to keep the panic down and then calmed herself. Her thoughts of finding the owner vanished and now the only thoughts in her mind was to find the nearest tree until after the wolf had gone away…She stood and slowly began making her way to the nearest tree, a little ways off of the road, but not too far.

She slowly put her feet on the ground, in slow, quiet steps. She was a few feet away from the tree when she stepped on an old twig. It let out a loud snap as she stepped on it and the wolf’s head went up. His ears were raised as he listened for any more sounds. Gable held her breath when his eyes turned upon her. The wolf stood and stared at Gable. Something about this wolf was very familiar…too familiar. The wolf let out a howl and then jumped over to Gable. He sat down in front of her then jumped up on her, like a large dog in greeting.

Somewhat nervous, Gable petted the wolf. Then she knew why this wolf looked so familiar. It was the wolf pup she had saved long ago…only now it was much older. “I’m glad that it’s you and not some-” Gable began to say when she heard a wolf growl to her right, and another one to her left, and one behind her, blocking her off from the tree.

[MaskedNicci]

Alassë had not been sitting long, when Elorn returned to seat himself nearby her in a quiet thoughtfulness, as though he was trying to find something to say. This idea struck Alassë as very comforting, as that would mean she was not the only one with difficulty coming up with this foolish small-talk that humans seemed to enjoy so much. Turning her attention from the girl at the window, she watched Elorn with cold intensity, and regarded him with quiet question; when something strange happened. As they sat there in silence together, her suspicious and mistrusting gaze altered to a queer, almost child-like curiosity to his thoughts. In wonder, she asked herself what she knew about this man. What was his past? What was his future, as he saw it? What was he thinking? She enjoyed this nearly companionable silence, seeing it as a rare moment of pleasant social behavior on her part.

Unfortunately, the silence did not - and could not - last, and Elorn added verbal topic between them, to her inner dismay. "How often do you come to the Shire?” He asked, and if Alassë wasn't mistaken, there was a strange tone to his voice. It wasn't a terrible bad voice, nothing compared to her own kind, to be sure. But it did carry a certain quality she couldn't place. It reminded her of something - someone. “This is my first time seeing these parts, and I probably wont be staying long.”

Putting forth a front of indifference, she gave the smallest of shrugs, turning her gaze back to the girl near the window. "My second time. Before was brief, and long ago. I plan on staying as long as I stay." She took a small sip, then contemplated a moment, before asking, "I come here for reasons unknown even to myself. What is your purpose, if I may intrude so?"

Alassë felt strange - had she just given out free information to this stranger? Unthinkable! She hadn't given undeserved facts about herself since she was a youngster! Granted, she was still quite young either way, but it had been a great deal of time since she had stated her purpose without due cause to.

[Finduilas]

Luckily the Alasse didn’t seem too insulted by his question, and she even returned with a question.

“Oh, I was just picked up for a messenger. Some random person wanted some random message delivered to a random hobbit name Maggot,” he replied.

Elorn again lapsed into silence. What were you supposed to say to someone you don’t know, in a country you don’t know enough to talk about, when you business wasn’t even your business?

Apparently the dwarf was still causing some sort of trouble, but Elorn felt like ignoring him, so ignore him he did. After all, the dwarf had been getting plenty of attention.

[Forest Elf]

Gable sat quietly in a tree, thoughts filling her mind. She couldn't get the pony, or wolves out of her mind, she was grateful for the help, and glad that they were chased away, but how much longer until they attack again? And next time, will everyone be safe? Will someone be caught off guard with no way to defend themselves?

She shook her head to try and get rid of these forbidding thoughts, but they stuck in her head like glue. She couldn't help but to wonder when and where they would next attack, what if it was somewhere in town, away from the Inn, or an unwary traveler? She sighed and jumped down from the tree and headed to the stables, and quietly began mucking out a stall.

She focused her mind on her work, so that her thoughts wouldn't fill her mind and torment her with worry. She loved adventures, she loved the thrill of it, but she also loved the Shire, and its hobbit people. She didn't want them to get hurt, or worse...She shook her head and kept mucking out the pony's stall. She scooped out another load with the pitchfork and a small locket lay in the injured pony's stall that caught her eye. She leaned down and picked it up. It had a gold chain, and a small lock, that a key would have to open, to small to pick open with no name upon it. She brushed off some of the dirt to see if she could find a name, but it hadn't a single letter upon or any kind of inscription that would give her any idea of who owned this. She put the locket in her pocket and pushed the thoughts from her mind, and finished mucking out the injured pony's stall.

[Anguirel]

A low voice at Lily Bunce's elbow made her a gruff reply, as if the words were being eked unwillingly out of a hillside.

"Wolves, hrrmm. They get worse each year. Here's hoping the Thain will get a hunt together."

The speaker nodded rather portentously at his own speech, and then resumed staring into his tankard for a while. Lily, who had looked towards him to listen, was just starting to turn to her right when he spoke again.

"Still, there's been rain for the farm, small mercies to be thanked for I suppose..."

The sturdy looking Hobbit took a swig of his ale, not particularly enthusiastically, as if drinking it were some weighty duty. Lily got a detailed look at him. Something about him seemed calculated to dampen the spirits. His hands and clothes, liberally begrimed, belied his relatively well-spoken voice. His eyes seemed dissatisfied. He was neither tall in Hobbit terms, nor especially small. His hair was the same colour as the mud that occasionally spattered it.

He seemed to notice Lily's gaze, even perhaps be a little unnerved by it. "My name's...m'name's Grand...I mean to say, Gandrio Dwellover," he muttered quickly and pretty unintelligibly; then, more clearly, as if gaining orientation, "Mistress Romilia's son, up at Dwellover Farm."

After another short pause he conceded, "Course, no reason you should know the place," and took another slightly forlorn gulp of ale.

[Tevildo]

Humph! mused Tollers. What sort of strange fellow was this?

Tollers had never heard of any hobbit with a name like Gandrio Dwellover. It sounded rather odd to him. Neither was he familiar with Mistress Romilia or any Dwellover Farm, and he knew a good number of folk in these parts. Now the lass that the stranger was speaking with, the one named Lily Bunce, looked like a sensible hobbit, even if her gingham was a bit faded and she'd admitted to sleeping in a pile of hay. After all, he himself had been hard pressed on more than one occasion.

Still, it would not do to be inhospitable to guests. Master Dick had given very explicit instructions on that point. He went up to the two of them, beaming his most welcoming smile, although privately wondering about the name Gandrio, and then began to speak. "Well, Miss Lily , I don't know about any permanent positions open but Master Dick the Innkeeper, is often on the look out for a spot of temporary help. And we've had a few folk taking tumbles off the roof so they're laid up a bit. You might want to talk with Master Dick. If anyone can help you with that, it's him."

"As to you.... Master Gandrio. A pleasure to meet you. That is your name, I believe? Most unusual.... You are welcome here, though I am afraid I have never had the pleasure of meeting your mother or visiting Dwellover Farm. Would they be in these parts, or have you come to us from a more distant part of the Shire or perhaps even Bree?" Then he added as an afterthought so as not to be negligent in his duties, "Can I get you two anything to eat? I know sleeping in haypiles always makes me ravenous."

[Boromir88]

Eddie woke up with his blonde hair rustled up after a peaceful and quiet slumber. In fact, he had completely slept through unaware of the wolf attack. When he went into the common room he was surprised to see how lively and active it was in the morning. I might just want to go back to my nice comfortable bed, Edric thought to himself. Like he told Robby last night, he was not a morning person, he was more of a night owl. At least, he wasn't a morning person until he had a refreshing cup of morning coffee in him.

Edric did see Robby again and had the sense of kindness to greet him a good morning. Robby told Edric about the wolf attack this morning and how they were driven off and that was the clammer of the morning. "And to think I slept through all the madness." Eddie laughed boisterously. "Though, I don't know how much help I could have been. The best help would probably have been talking the wolves to death. Now if you can excuse me Robby, I must go and feed my addiction...coffee addiction that is. I fear I won't be too pleasant to have for company without a freshly brewed cup in the morning."

If Eddie was addicted to something besides talking, it was his need for coffee. "It's a never-ending cycle I tell you. Sure, it does a handy trick in getting rid of my headaches, but it gives me the headaches in the first place!"

Eddie left Robby's company and ordered the darkest roast the Golden Perch had to offer. He sat near a strapping young hobbit lad, who he had not seen before, yet heard the hobbit call himself Gandrio. Hmmm, he seems rather nervous? Perhaps, I can help the little Master out? Ah, I better wait for this hot, strong brew before I start making new acquaintances today.

Miribelle was not one to go indoors, even into a Public House, with dust on her feet. She stood at the door to the Perch and stamped with a ladylike vigor on the mat; then, as a second thought, twitched the cloak she wore, sending what little dirt there was along its hem flying in the morning breeze.

The common room was warm and inviting. And the smell of breakfast foods made her nose twitch with anticipation. She set herself down at at a small table and waved to one of the servers. ‘Eggs, please,’ she said. ‘Yes, scrambled will do nicely. And a rasher of bacon, fried crisp. Biscuits…two, mind you…if that wonderful Miss Cela has made them this morning.’ She raised her nose slightly and sniffed with appreciation. ‘Tea? No, not this morning, I think.’ She sniffed again. ‘Coffee, today, if you please. With sugar and a small pot of cream.’ She gave the server a smile and a satisfied nod of her head. ‘Yes…that will do me quite nicely.’

Once the server had gone, she reached into the bag she’d set by her chair and fished about in it. ‘Ah, there you are!’ she exclaimed, fetching out her knitting needles with a work in progress slung between them. Miribelle eased out a length of pinkish yarn and began to work on another row.

Click-clack…click-clack went the needles, as her hands worked independent of her eyes – both of which swept the room with an avid interest, taking in all the little doings, the comings, the goings of those about her.