Arry walked through the gates with a sense of great anticipation. He’d not been in the Shire long. Passing through, really. Didn’t intend to stay. But the bright flyers tacked to the verandah post of the Green Dragon Inn had caught his eye.
A party! There was to be a party! he’d read. A sure chance for him to make a few coins before he made his way to Sarn Ford and from there to parts east.
Once inside the Party Field, he ducked behind the nearest pavilion. The Floating Log’s big striped tent bearing a sign affixed to a sturdy pole in front of it.
** First Chance ** - it read, with a large tankard of foaming ale painted next to the words. Arry pulled his juggler’s motley from his pack and hastily pulled it on. Digging deep into the bottom of a side pocket he fished out three brightly colored balls – red, blue, and green.
Entering the pavilion, he stowed his pack with the barman and asked if he might stand outside the tent. ‘Draw the customers in, if you will,’ he said winking at the fellow. The man nodded, promising him a meal and a drink for a job well done.
Arry spied a suitable place to call out to the passersby and sat his tri-cornered hat on the ground in front of him. Placing a few coins in it to give the partygoers a hint, he began to
juggle, his hands and the balls weaving intricate patterns in the air as he kept of a steady patter to draw attention.
‘First chance for a tall cold drink here!’ he said smiling to a thirsty looking farmer who’d sent his wife and children on ahead to the Party Tree. ‘Come in, come in!’ he called out to the party from Rohan who caught his eye. “And you there,’ he’d yelled in a loud voice to a small troop of Dwarves who’d just marched in. ‘Come wet your beards at The Floating Log. Finest spirits you’ll find in this corner of the field!’
Arry chuckled as some took up his offer and others passed by with a raised brow or two. Coins
clinked in his hat as appreciative gawkers nodded at his tricks and then moved on.