The Golden Perch Inn

[Folwren]

“Could I help you?” Izmakiel asked, glancing from Tarathiel to Dick and back again.

Dick took a seat as he answered. “Well, yes, I think so. This ‘ere elf says he’d like to speak with you. He travels a bit, I think, and – and,” his attention wandered suddenly. His eyes had caught someone enter the door and then he heard himself called. He stood up. “And he thought you two might have a bit to talk about. I must beg your gentlemen’s pardons.”

He bowed and turned as quickly as he could without being impolite and hurried across the room. He thread his way through tables and then around the counter, skittering up as fast as he could to the place just opposite the new comer.

“I am the inn keeper, sir!” he said, looking up into the young man’s face. “How can I help you?”

[Mänwe]

Limaris having called the Inn Keeper had let himself be absorbed into the atmosphere of the open room, however he knew that unfortunately his time would not be unlimited and he was to have only two days in Stock before setting out at first light on the third to report back to the company.

It was however likely that he would be sent back to continue on any leads, and indeed on more of the regular patrols closer to civilisation. Yet he had just arrived and the smell of the ‘heady ale’ was thick in his nostrils and intoxicating, he had no qualms over what he was going to order.

He had set his coin pouch on the counter and as he sought likely avenues of conversation with the local inhabitants, he was informed by his superior before he had left, that the weather and family was always a good point to start with. But to be wary of asking too many questions of these types, lest he be judged as a nosy busy body and consequently ignored. For although Hobbits he had been told were a talkative folk there were wary of complete strangers and the regaling of close family tales to them.

On his second glance around the room his eyes fell upon a rather shady character in Ranger garb no less faded by constant exposure to weather and the dirt from the road, though that may just have been the light which appeared to be a little dark, sat at the back of the room at the opposite him about to enter conversation with what may have been a man or elf; he could not deduce which for his back was to him, though it was plain he was tall, a good few inches more than Limaris himself. Which he estimated would put him just over six foot, not uncommon for a man however his inquiring gaze was interrupted by the site of a small figure skittering in his direction.

His gaze now fell upon this figure, a Hobbit, which was clear by his height, and it immediately struck Limaris that he would turn out to be a most affable individual, a revelation of sorts that could only be attributed to his round face framed with brown curly hair and the most sparkling of eyes he’d yet seen which even from this distance were clear.

Here was someone who clearly thrived in the company of others. Sporting a fine embroidered waistcoat, over a cotton shirt he swung round the corner and in behind the counter.

Limaris started, and struggled with keeping his shock from the Hobbit and others in the Inn who may have been watching. He was about to be addressed and he had not thought of a cover story nor a name for himself, annoyed at himself for being easily distracted, he put on half a smile as the round face of what must be the Inn Keeper looked up at him.

“I am the inn keeper, sir!”

He exclaimed with what perhaps may have been a slight puff having sprinted the entire length of the room; however Limaris could not be sure.

“How can I help you?” he continued.

Maintaining eye contact with the Inn Keeper, he quickly thought it best to take the direct and friendly approach without making it obviously false.

“Good day sir! Allow me to commend you on your most athletic approach! I would not ask for your “help” rather your dire assistance in obtaining a tankard of the finest ale in the East farthing for a foot weary traveller.”

Hoping he had taken the right approach and set a correct and believable tone he waited the Keepers response.

[mormegil]

The doors to The Golden Perch Inn slammed open suddenly and noisily, causing a temporary silence among the patrons and for many of them to turn their heads in the way of the disturbance. Kuric Spearhead is who met their gaze, though they couldn’t be sure if he was looking at them as his eyes were shadowed and hidden due to uncommonly deep eye sockets.

Kuric appeared in bad shape, rather drawn and weary though there was an uncertain air of dignity about him. On his fiery red beard there was a noticeable layer of oil and dirt and his hygiene seemed generally overlooked. His boots and pack were also rather soiled and weather worn from the long road that had been traveled; these were in stark contrast to his radiant full coat of mail. It was made by one of the finest dwarven craftsmen of old and appeared as bright and as polished today as on the day it was forged. Those who had a reasonable familiarity with metallurgy instantly could recognize the metal for what it was: pure mithril. It was of the most exquisite handiwork that could be found in Middle-earth, the links were so perfectly woven and fitted that no trace of a rivet or weld mark could be seen. Not merely for its monetary worth did Kuric love his mail; for it had, on more than one occasion, turned aside the blade or an orc or other foul creature, and had given him a sense of near invulnerability. There was another reason for his deep adoration of that mail that was only shared with the most trusted of friends and that he held dear to his heart.

With so many stares made at such an entry, most patrons would be uncomfortable, but not Kuric, he had grown accustomed to such stares on his many travels. With a low guttural grunt he dismissed the onlookers and began his way to a table at the far end of the room. As he made his way among the patrons, conversation in the inn began to steadily increase and not few were the whispers of this strange new dwarf. Over the low hum of the ensuing conversation those near to Kuric could still hear the steady thud made by his determined and strong stride. While he stood rather tall for a dwarf, the physical aspect that was most impressive was his breadth; his chest was nearly as wide as he was tall. His muscles were honed and taught and at a glance it could be determined that he had seen many battles. Scars marked his face and any other part were skin could be seen. He was fully armed with mace and a spiked buckler and they appeared to have been used frequently.

He found a vacant table near the corner and took a seat. Tired as Kuric was, he was determined to taste the famed ale of The Golden Perch Inn prior to retiring, plus a couple of pints always makes one sleep a bit easier after such travails as Kuric had passed lately. Without even looking for who the inn keeper might be he loudly bellowed,

“Three pints of yer finest!”

and began to impatiently tap his left fist on the table.

[Folwren]

“Good day, sir!” said the traveler with a smile. “Allow me to commend you on your most athletic approach!” Dick blinked and then grinned, and continued to listen in silence. “I would not ask your ‘help’ rather your dire assistance in obtaining a tankard of the finest ale in the East farthing for a foot weary traveler.”

“Aye, sir, I can manage that,” he said, his smile becoming even broader at this young gentleman’s speech. He reached beneath the counter and took one of the pint mugs. “You’ll have it right quick!” He turned The ale poured down in a great foaming cascade and rose swiftly. With the tip of his tongue touching his upper lip in concentration, Dick finished it off with the foam just above the rim without spilling a drop.

“There you are!” he said, setting it carefully down on the counter. The young man reached out with a coin in his hand and placed it on the counter before wrapping it about the mug. “Thank you kindly, sir.” He paused and looked up. The man seemed to hesitate slightly. “Have…” Dick paused. The ranger looked at him. “Have you been in the Shire before?”

The young man opened his mouth to reply, but his answer was cut off as the door swung open with a great clatter. Dick’s head jerked up in surprise to see the opening blocked by a particularly tall and broadly set dwarf.

“What!” he said, only half allowed. “Here’s a character…” His eyes narrowed slightly as the dwarf made his slow, very set, very determined progression across the room to the farthest end and there sat down. “I wonder…” What he wondered remained unsaid. He shrugged the idea off and his cleared again. “As I asked-”

“Three pints of your finest!”

Dick’s eyes turned at once to the dwarf who had just entered. He frowned slightly. He was with another customer. But there was Tollers just near him, coming around the counter with his hands occupied with a full tray.

“Ah! Tollers!” Dick said, stepping back away from the counter to meet the young hobbit. “I say, can you get three pints to that new dwarf over there?” He nodded towards the dwarf.

“Oh, him? Yes, I can do that,” Tollers said, nodding. Dick stepped back and returned to the man waiting at the counter.

“Have you been in the Shire before?” he asked, apparently happy to finally get the question out again at last.

[Tevildo]

Tollers threw a sideways grin at Dick and, clutching two mugs in one hand and one in the other, approached the visitor who was sitting by himself at one of the corner tables. The hobbit couldn't help but think what a strange fellow this dwarf seemed to be. Requesting three pints to drink without a stitch of food was a very odd way to begin a morning. Maybe one, or even two, but who would be foolish enough to bolt down three full pints of ale without a good helping of Cook's bacon and eggs? But then, it wasn't only the fellow's odd breakfast request that had gotten Toller's full attention. To come blasting into the Inn dressed in full battle armor was hardly a thing that your average hobbit would do.


Hopefully, the fellow had dropped off his sword or axe in the special spot near the entry door that Dick had designated for everyone to deposit their weapons. Tollers certainly did not want any trouble. Plus, this fellow, with his thumping of fists on the table and raised voice, seemed a bit out of sorts. Still, t wouldn't do to be suspicious of one of the Inn guests without even giving him a chance. Tollers sidled up to the table and set the three pints down in front of the guest. He couldn't resist saying something.

"Ah, good sir, this is Tollers here. I'll be glad to help you with anything you want. Seems like a waste to swallow all that good ale and never have a plate of something from the kitchen. We have good rashers of bacon and ale, or a stout piece of bread with cheese. You wouldn't happen to fancy one of those?"

For a moment, the Dwarf said nothing but looked Tollers up and down as if deciding how to reply. It was then that Tollers remembered the coin in his pocket that he had found the day before. The one dwarf had told him it might be a dwarf coin. He fingered the precious gold and reflected. Armor or not, he had better start a conversation with this fellow if he wanted to try and find out more about the coin. He couldn't just pop it in the fellow's face and demand an answer out of nowhere.

Taking one step back, Tollers nodded at the Dwarf and continued talking, "That's alright. Take your time deciding if you want something from the kitchen. It's rather slow at the moment and I'm in no rush. You look to be from outside these parts. Seems from the look of you that you've been on the road for a while. Perhaps you'd like to stay a day or so in these parts and rest. We have rooms for the big folk with plenty of hot water and soap in case you'd prefer something larger than the usual hobbit chamber. Or perhaps you're coming to our fair town for longer than that? Dick gives good rates for those who decide to stay a week or more. I'll be happy to point out some of the sights you might want to take in. And, oh yes...." Tollers grinned broadly. "Don't know if you like to fish but these parts have the best fishing in all of the Shire. Take it from someone who knows."

Tollers glanced over at the dwarf hoping that he would manage to get him talking.

[mormegil]

Having just requested his ale, Kuric lowered his head to await the service. After a few moments Kuric began looking around at other patrons. He noticed many hobbits and some men, and then he spied an elf and spat in disgust. “Elves” he grunted and looked away. He glanced back to that bar and was pleasantly surprised to see how quickly that his ale had been served. He saw a young hobbit ambling his way with three pints. The sight of a tiny figure balancing three pints was rather comical and a slight but inaudible chuckle escaped Kuric’s mouth.

The sight of hobbits always caused mixed thoughts in Kuric’s head. Being from the Lonely Mountain, he had met Bilbo once and knew many of his stories and thought very highly of him. He also knew Bilbo to be an anomaly among hobbits and he found hobbits in general as rather dull and uninteresting due to their lack of daring. Other than Bilbo, he found most conversations he had with hobbits as rather mundane, they preferring to speak about rather banal topics such as the weather. Give me a dwarf or adventurous man any day, mused Kuric. Despite them being rather dull conversationalist he found it difficult not to like hobbits, in part because of their diminutive size and their seemingly perpetual cheeriness. Besides, if Bilbo went on adventures maybe others might. Kuric decided to keep his mind open to that prospect, despite his doubts.

The hobbit that approached him was noticeably portly, even for hobbit standards, and looked softer than most. As soon as the hobbit had arrived he immediately began chattering away about breakfast and what Kuric might want to eat. Kuric chuckled inside because he could sense and see the unease of this hobbit at seeing a mighty dwarf fully clad in battle armor. He was rather accustomed to such responses. He managed to catch the name of the hobbit to be Tollers. Odd name Kuric thought as he sized him up, looking him up and down.

About to respond, Kuric was interrupted by a nervous Tollers rambling on about staying at the inn and fishing. Just like I thought, boring topics from a boring race, I wonder if he’ll ever let me answer or he’ll continue to chat all day without ever listening for a response, Kuric let his thoughts wonder. I doubt adventure will be found here, still the ale promises to be good and that’s not all bad .

“Tollers, that’s a rather strange name don’t you think,” Kuric stated rather matter-of-factly.” “Well Tollers, the pints might go down a bit better with a bit of food, why don’t you go get me a bit of everything ye’ve got”, instructed Kuric. “As for fishing, unless I need the food on the road I don’t fish, far too boring!” Before even waiting for any response Kuric loudly asked, “What’s the best room ye’ve got? It’s been far too long since I’ve slept in a proper bed so I’m looking for the best,” Kuric asked and began immediately to gulp down the ale.

[Tevildo]

The hobbit glanced over quickly at Kuric and was about to snap back a curt reply but immediately clamped down on his tongue. On the outside, Toller's face was wreathed in a welcoming smile; inside, he was seething.

Just who did this fellow think he was? There was absolutely nothing wrong with the name Tolman Burrows around these parts. Tollers had worked in Inns long enough to have heard a hundred different names belonging to Elves and Dwarves that sounded rather outlandish to his own ear, but he had always possessed the decent manners and good sense not to push his private observations back onto the guests. Was this fellow so dim witted that he couldn't see five feet beyond his own front door and understand that folks came in all different sizes and shapes and that the names they bore were correspondingly diverse.

Moreover, anyone who thought that fishing was "boring" had a thing or two to learn. Tollers highly doubted whether this dwarf had ever waded out into a fast moving stream at the break of dawn and tried to outwit a thirty-pound salmon as the creature fought his way upstream.

Although a naturally affable fellow, Tollers could be clever and quick with his tongue. In normal circumstances, the hobbit would have cheerfully tried to convince the dwarf of the error of his ways. However, there was something in the visitor's face that went far beyond the words he'd used. Tollers had a sinking feeling that any kind of reply would be lost on the guest since he hadn't even responded to his polite offer to point out the best sights in the area. As much as Tollers wanted to find out about the coin he and Jack had dug out of the river, he was not about to lower himself to that level. If the dwarf thought he was a dim-witted, doltish farmboy, then that's exactly how Tollers would act.

"Ah, yes, sir, I'll get that plate right away, and a key to the very best room in the Inn. Whatever you say." Tollers scurried away and wandered over to where Dick was standing. He whispered a few words in his ear and then walked back over to the bar, grabbed a plate of food, and a large key that sat on the upper shelf. Then he hurried back to the dwarf's table. "I hope this will do. And here's a key to that room. The very largest room in the Inn and also the most luxurious. That will be one shilling."

Tollers held out his hand and stared meekly downward, occupying his time by counting the floorboards. What the hobbit did not tell his guest was that the large and luxurious room in question was situated next to the chamber that was currenlty occupied by Goodwife Thedgethistle who was staying with her eight children aged three months to twelve years. They were a very loud and mischievous bunch, up at all hours of the day and night, and given to all kinds of practical jokes. And despite the impressive array of battle armor worn by the Dwarf, Tollers would have put his money on the children as to who would survive a night in the Inn and emerge unscathed in the morning.....