[piosenniel]

Golden's post - Uther

Bloody heat. Never gave a man a moments rest now in these days, or so thought the tall man who was thinking it. And that blazing orange-gold sun was no help. Not a cloud in the sky, pity, they were long past do a good shower of rain, falling onto the grass and their heads of hair lightly and blissfully with a grace like an elvish dance. Uther pulled along down the street, his long crimson curls behind him, billowing in a brief moment of wind.

Bree was a nice town, that’s what Uther had always believed. Full of good hearted men, and little folk. Indeed, they were weird, those hobbits, but he could tolerate a bit of queerity, for he had learned that hobbits make rather good cooks.

He was now on his way to the local Inn for a pint, and perhaps a chat. There was usually someone who he could tell to his tale of the time he and his now long-dead father Druther ventured into the Misty Mountains. Thought he had told it to practically everyone who would listen. And if none would let it be told, maybe he'd hear some odd tale from one of them Rangers. They usually had something.
Not that Uther was an adventurous man, he preferred to stay right here in Bree, Thank-you-very-much, but he always enjoyed a good tale of bravery and hard work. And perhaps a hard kill. It was hard work and hard kills that made men, men. Not that he expected one from one of them little folk. They seldom, if ever, had such good tales.

With a long sigh he arrived at the Inn, and was glad too. It was so hot outside, especially after a few hours of good ol' manual labor, but still in this heat it wasn't as much fun. Past the wooden gates and through the oak doors until at last he was at the threshold of the Inn and it's wonderful bar. He entered and called over to the barkeep at once.

"Aye, o'er here, how 'bout a pint fella!"

He gruffed and sat down at a dark table in the corner. He could see all kinds here. Small little hobbits busy with their own things. One thing he admired about them was they were good farmers. He, being a farmer himself, knew it well. Busy men talking and drinking merrily, always a fun sight and more fun to join. Those odd Rangers talking in whispers to each other, odd folk, but they had the look of men who were used to hard work, so Uther gave them some respect. And the occasional Dwarf or (rarely) Elf who would pass by.

With a grunt he thanked the Barkeep as his ale was brought over, quickly downing nearly half the glass. He was a big man and even bigger to the Hobbits and Dwarves. But he had great respect for Dwarves, now there were fellows who knew about hard work and labor! Why, when he was only a lad and had out-worked some of the older men of the village, they claimed he was related to Dwarves. Of course, now that he was 7'1" that was a ridiculous idea, as it had always been. But still, he respected the little bearded men.

These were the thoughts on the big mans brain as he drink the sweet tasting ale. He loved Bree with a passion. He loved the grass, as green as one could hope for, and the waters, crisp and blue and clean. It was a nice little town. The Inn was his home away from the farm. The dark common-room lit by the flickering ruby flames of the fire, the large pint at his large hands. The many faces, people. Oh it was a good place. And not a bad place for little Arthur II to live in, either. No, his nephew, grandson of his brother, was in good hands here. Strong hands. The hands of Uther, the "Ox Man".

********************************************

Asa's post - Elmerith

Elmerith walked around the various dykes and ditches that surrounded the little town of Bree. He looked down at them in disgust, "How are we going to defend this city against an organized attack?" he said aloud with frustration. He knew full well that these ditches were the city's main defense against any real army and they were in such poor shape that he didn't think that they would fill up properly to even slow an attack. As he walked down the path he looked out. Dawn was approaching and it was close to the end of his shift. Or at least officially. Usually the person who was supposed to relieve him was too drunk to patrol so he had to do more than his share of guard duty that was debatably the most boring pastime known to man. He sighed and kicked a dirt cloud up. He would report to his superiors about the fact that everyone else was drunk but they were also drunk and so there was nothing else to do but do his duty. He hadn't had sleep for days.

Maybe one of the Halflings could relieve him? He thought that that was unlikely because like his peers they were also overly fond of their ale and food. The whole town didn't seem to care whether they were taken over or not. He kicked up another dirt pile. Hobbits probably weren’t capable of being a guard or a fighter because of their size. All in all they seemed to be a totally useless race, "Why did Illvutar go to the trouble of creating such a useless race? They consume but do not earn anything." he thought.

Elmerith made his way back to the guard room where he was going to find yet another drunken guard who needed him to take his place yet again. As he walked on he passed the Prancing Pony which said that a large band of bandits were planning to attack the town. Elmerith cursed; now the city was going to be attacked as he had feared. The city's defenses were in disrepair and he was the only soldier that was fit to fight!

He read one notice that the citizens were to meet with the hobbits to discuss a defense. "Well at least they are doing something about it. That exceeds my expectations." Elmerith thought dryly. The question was what plan were a bunch of drunks and a few useless hobbits going to think up. Hardly anything that was rationally doable and in enough time probably. He marched into the Prancing Pony in a very foul temper.

[ October 09, 2003: Message edited by: Child of the 7th Age ]