A Land to Call Their Own RPG

[alaklondewen]

Marcho heard a faint rustle nearby, and he barely opened his eyes to watch a shadowy figure peaking around the front of the Whitfoot wagon. We have him! The scout’s breathing became rapid and his heart began to pound in anticipation. The figure leaned into the wagon and lifted the great purse. At this moment, Marcho had a troubling realization…That’s no hobbit…that’s a Man!

He watched as the burglar tucked the purse under his shirt, and then with as loud a shout as would wake the dead, the scout leaped from his bed. With cries of similar magnitude, Harold and Kalimac joined Marcho, and before the Man knew what had happened he was surrounded by three armed, stout, Halfling men.

“Villainous thief!” Kalimac shouted and pressed the point of his crude knife against the man’s belly threatening him to try to run.

“Give us the purse and surrender and we will not hurt you,” Marcho spoke firmly, but calmly. His sword was also drawn and raised.

The thief look bewildered and as he turned quickly to run, Harold jumped upon his back and knocked the fellow to the ground. While still perched upon his back, the Chubb searched the man’s clothing. It was soon that he found that for which he searched. Harold leaned back and then slid off the man, holding a delicate necklace aloft.

As soon as Harold was off the thief, Marcho and Kalimac pinned him and waited while Sarah brought a coil of good, sturdy rope. Within minutes the hobbits had the thief tied and sitting in the back of the Whitfoot wagon.

[alaklondewen]

The morning air whipped around and through the hobbits as they congregated in the center of the camp. They were all packed and ready to leave for another day of traveling, but they had some unfinished business that needed attending before they could get back to the road. Marcho stood before them on the back of one family’s cart. In front of him stood Garlin Whoolthistle, the apprehended thief, who had found himself perched atop a crate surrounded by the traveling hobbit population. The Man was apparently uncomfortable with the attention as he fidgeted and a wild look was in his eye. Yet, he dared not try to run for Harold Chubb and Kalimac Whitfoot stood at his feet, and he remembered all too clearly the brunt of Harold’s weight that knocked him flat.

Marcho spoke loudly to the hobbits and told them what had happened the night before, although most already knew because of the commotion that was made during Garlin’s capture. The scout publicly cleared Crispin Whitfoot’s name, causing many (especially his own family) to clap and shout enthusiastically. Fredigar stood to one side looking almost as uncomfortable as ol’ Garlin.

Marcho presented the evidence against Garlin to the crowd and then announced his punishment. “Mr. Whoolthistle must know what it is like to loose those things which he has worked for. Since he has sold or traded all of the items he stole from the hard working Harfoot folks, each of his victims will come forward and take something from his person as compensation for their loss.” Now Garlin only came to the camp with an empty pouch, saddle bag, and the clothes on his back, so as each of the Harfoot families stepped forward there was naught to take but his old clothes. Very soon Garlin stood before the hobbits fidgeting even more as he tried to cover his bare flesh, and although Marcho stopped the folk from taking his drawers, the man appeared to be extremely embarrassed and humiliated by the actions taken against him.

~*~*~*~*~

Regin's Post

Regin had been glad to see the necklace returned and the thief captured, but he didn't have the heart to stay longer than that. Before Marcho dealt out a just punishment to the thief, Harold went to tell Sarah and the children what had happened to their Grandpa. Together, the family walked slowly up the hill to say their final goodbyes.

Arriving at the grove, they gathered round the spot where Grandpa lay. After burying her head on her mother's shoulder, May looked up with a sad smile on her face, "It's the first time I've ever seen Grandpa not have a word to say to any of us. I shall miss him. He was as honest as they come. He said what he meant. There was no fooling around or hiding the truth." Everyone nodded. Then they sat quietly, talking and comforting each other.

News of Fordo's death spread quickly through the camp. Families made their way to the grove to pay their respects to Fordo and the Chubbs, first stopping to drop off gifts of food at the family's wagon.

Harold picked out the spot where his father would lie so that the rocks could be gathered there. It was just on the other side of the hill, and under the shade of a friendly beech. The site looked out over a rolling field. Just the sort of place for good farming. Harold reflected. My father would have liked it. Then he and Henry, along with the sturdiest Hobbits, scoured the nearby countryside to find the stones and boulders they would need to construct the barrow.

Fordo's body was laid gently in the tomb and Marcho got up to speak. He talked solemnly about Fordo: how he hadn't wanted to leave Bree, but when his family made the decision to move he came with them and did the best be could. How he'd worked hard for his family so many years, and how terribly he missed his good, sweet Prim. And now husband and wife were together again.

Then Harold got up to talk, "Marcho tells me all the land you can see around us is part of the King's grant. Today there aren't very many of us. But maybe someday, there'll be more. There may even be families living and farming on this very spot where we stand. I don't want to lose my father. Sarah and I, and the children all grieve his loss. But I think my father would agree. It's better that the first death in this new land should be an older Hobbit gently passing on rather than having a young lad bludgeoned to death in battle or skirmishing with a no-good thief."

"May our lives in the Shire be as peaceful as the end Grandpa had, and may we never forget the sacrifices that he made to help get us here. Sleep Father. Stay close to my mother, dear Prim, wherever she is. You and she are still part of our family, only separated for a while. And whether we're here or in Michel Delving, that will never change."

With that , the Hobbits made their way down the hillside to their bedrolls. Only Harold remained behind for a few moments, sitting peacefully beside the barrow.....

~*~*~*~

Once the funeral was finished and Garlin was left with nothing but his underpants, Marcho signaled for all to proceed to the wagons, and soon the convoy was bumping along once more down the road.

[alaklondewen]

The week after Fordogrim Chubb’s funeral was a long, dreary one. The settlers were already in a thoughtful mood as they dealt with the loss of one of their own and readied themselves for their arrival in the White Downs. The weather seemed to grieve with them, raining for four days off and on. The journey was a heavy weight that lay across their shoulders, and they wished to be through it.

On the seventh day the land began to slowly rise and fall once more, and spirits rose slightly as these small hills marked their entry into the White Downs. If only the weather was more agreeable, they could have celebrated. A grey rain pelted down once more and the ponies and wagons were having a difficult time climbing the hills. More than once a wagon or cart slipped and several hobbits would have to help push it back on the road or up one of the increasingly steeper hills.

The convoy rode late into the night before camping, and then was back on the road just after sunrise. No one complained because they knew that this was the day…the day they would see their home.

With each rising hill, Marcho came closer to his dream, and the Fallohide was more than a little anxious. The moment of his arriving in this place had played over in his mind for many years, and he struggled now to grasp its reality. All of the hard work and time spent away from Estella was paying off before his eyes.

As the day wore onto the afternoon, the hills became smaller and soon Marcho could see their end. They would stop at the slopes’ feet and from there they would cultivate and populate the land. The rain stopped as they slowly ascended the last hill as though nature understood the importance of the moment. When the Bolgers reached its peak they stopped their wagon and let their fellow travelers and neighbors crowd around them. Then as though it was a sign from above, the dark clouds parted and a single shaft of light slid down and lit all the land at their feet.

Marcho was overwhelmed by its beauty and a single tear slipped down his cheek.

[Arestevana]

As the wagon pulled to a stop at the top of the hill, Alora and Crispin clambered up to the front of the wagon with their parents for a better view. Elsa gazed, enchanted, at the land stretching away before them. The family observed their new homeland in silence. Crispin, sitting on his father’s lap, was chewing on a piece of hay again. Elsa noticed, but she was unwilling to shatter the moment, so she said nothing. She was feeling a good deal more sympathetic toward Crispin anyway, ever since his arrest.

As the last few wagons and carts pulled up to the crest of the hill, the caravan shared an unarranged moment of silence. Then the hobbits broke out into hearty cheering. Shouts echoed between the hills, and it seemed almost as if the new land was shouting back, welcoming them. Several children jumped from the neighboring wagons and threw themselves down the other side of the hill, laughing as they rolled through grass still sodden from the rain. “Well, go on!” Elsa said to her children. Alora and Crispin did not need to be told twice. They clambered over the front of the wagon and were gone.

Smiling, Elsa gazed again at the land, its beauty overwhelming her. This land-- our land! It’s what we’ve been working for. We’re finally here! This is the land where we can live away from the big folk. This is our new home! She jumped down from the wagon. The ground looked strangely blurred, and she had a suspicion that she might be crying. Reaching down, she gently pushed aside a tuft of emerald grass and scooped up a handful of dark earth. Standing up she let the rich soil run through her fingers. A homeland; a land to call our own.

[ArwenBaggins]

Crispin jumped from the wagon happily and rolled down the soggy hill. The almost-teenage hobbit left him for a moment as he tumbled through the lush green grass sprinkled with little blooming clovers like a young boy.

He watched Alora slip to the bottom of the hill and stand, followed by the lovely Daisy Boffin. The girl smiled as Crispin stood next to them and wiped his wet bottom, Alora laughing and pointing at his exceptionally dirty trousers. 'She should look at her own skirt!' He thought to himself.

Crispin had grown close to the Boffin girl over the period of the journey. She had visited him everyday while he was held in that baffoon's wagon; yes, she was shy and a bit... odd , but that wasn't anything Crispin couldn't get used to over time. He quite enjoyed her pleasant company.

Presently, he bent down and grabbed a handful of clover. The hay he continously chomped on dropped to the ground, but he was too preoccupied to pick it up. "Alora! Crispin! Come back to the wagon for a minute!" Elsa Whitfoot called to her children from the top of the hill. Crispin told Alora that he'd catch up in a minute.

"Daisy?" He poked the girl's shoulder gently and she turned away from the other hobbit lass she was talking too. She then turned and blushed, kicking her bare feet around in the tall grass.

He too blushed, his tanned cheeks turning a bright shade of scarlet. "I... I wanna give these to ya... they're purty, like... you," he handed her the mass of uneven clovers. He then did something totally impromptu, without any consent until that exact moment. He kissed her left cheek, and then her right, hugging her tight.

While he was very embarrassed and a pink wave flew down to the tips of his toes, Crispin was extremely happy. Daisy smiled and giggled, taking hold of his hand and dancing around in circles. They started walking back up the hill together, toward their wagons. 'It may take a little getting used to,' he thought, a content smile on his face. 'but I'm finally home.'

[Kransha]

Beautiful…it was simply, utterly beautiful. Land as far as the eye could see, stretching and rolling and sloping and dipping all around. The light of the sun peeked gracefully and majestically through the clouds, shining down in slender beams on the new land of the Halflings of Bree. The grass seemed to bend in submission beneath the revolving quartet of wheels of the Whitfoot wagon, allowing it to pass smoothly and easily into the depths of the family’s land. The sky was calm and ever tranquil, the clouds billowed like a solemn but welcoming smoke that swirled around the single beam of unbridled light that shone down, wreathing it like wispy laurels surrounding a shimmering golden crown, radiant with light.

Though the week had been melancholy, leaving Kalimac to commit somber thought to the loss of Fordogrim Chubb, life would go on, the hobbits would prosper, and all would be well. Kalimac Whitfoot had long sat, with Crispin and Alora hovering above his knees, about the hardships of that journey, the sadness and the chaos. It was all for the cause, the mission that was now completed as the White Downs played out on every side of the wealthy Bree hobbit. Now, Kalimac looked on, a smile plastered eternally on his face as a single tear rolled down his cheek, something he was most unaccustomed to feeling as the crystalline droplet fell from his chin and calmly hit the ground, watering the thick, sturdy layer of soil beneath waves of bending grass. Soon enough, both Alora and Crispin were off in a flash at their mother’s serene behest, off to frolic and play on what the tall grass if the hilly slopes. Kalimac, laughing to himself, hopped nimbly from the wagon, landing like a bird alighting beside his wife as she stooped to take something from the earth she stood upon. He walked beside her and calmly laid his arm upon her shoulders, sighing with relief.

He could see it all again, playing out in front of him like a dream...

His little home, not necessarily little, but still cozy in its place, nestled between grassy mounds of rich, ready earth. A flattened roof, covered with ripe ivy, a picket fence rimming the yard in a semicircle, painted gleaming white that seemed to glow in the sun's light streams, a winding path of cobblestones that wormed its way from the swinging fence gate to the small, rounded door of the home, and, of course, a garden of plants and flowers, brimming bushes of herbs, masses of thick, evergreen foliage, multicolored sparks of flowery petals, each dazzling in their unique gentility as the litter the garden and yard, vines working their way calmly over the fence and outside. He saw, through eyes blurred in dreams, thin, curling plumes of smoke like those from a pipe swirling into the sky from the house's puffing chimney. Perfect...

And there, in the yard, where hobbit children, many. He saw a head of frazzled auburn, of dangling golden gurls, of unkempt black fuzz, and neat brown trim. He saw faces lit with the flowing energies of youth, feet dancing across the cobblestones with young agility. He saw too older folk, Halflings too, and his face sagged inevitably into a wide smile as he recognized his son Crispin and his daughter Alora, now adults each, scurrying through the tall grass and spread of flowers after their own children, his grandchildren. They played new games, sung new songs, told new tales, and ran about madly, gleefully yelling to each other...all but Crispin and Alora, who looked at each other knowingly. Just as he was thinking of them, they were thinking of him, and his heart sang as he came to the realization that not only would he prosper, but his family would prosper, and all hobbit's would prosper, because of this journey, this day, to this land.

There he was too, sitting in that lounge chair he'd always pictured himself in, his hair tainted a calming white with grey strands dappling it. He smoked his pipe in silence, letting the tufts of pipe cloud waft around him and evaporate into the air of his home. Beside him, in another chair, sat Elsa, her face as wizened as his in age, but rife with experience and widom. Around them, the sturdy, cushioned chairs all gathered in a circle in the light that peeked in through a window's glass pane, where an older Marcho, the oldest of them all, leaning forward and contemplating, and both Harold and Sarah Chubb, holding hands in the same silence. For one brief moment, all five eyes met at the focal point between them and they remembered...they remembered what they'd done...what Kalimac and his kind were doing right now...finding this new home.

Slowly, still smiling, Kalimac took Elsa’s hand in his own as their four eyes looked out over the home soon to be theirs. His fingers closed gently around hers, feeling the remains of the soil she held and smiling further as he glanced at her happily before turning back to the White Downs, “Elsa, I think we’re going to like it here.” He said, his voice at last calm, devoid of the journey’s gnawing stress, and filled with a jovial relief at the journey's end and sparkling wonderment, “I really do.”