The Green Dragon Inn #11 - The Last Chapter

[Hookbill the Goomba]

Dwaline looked up at Avalon is slight astonishment; he did not expect to meet a relative of Nelek. Or even more so, a relative of Rark.

"This would make you Rarks great grand daughter," he said, "Now this is an odd occurrence. Tell me, where did 'Cree' go? Perhaps I can find her and bring news to you. I may be old, even by the count of my people, but I have a reputation for news gathering."

He went on to tell her of his adventures as a young dwarf, how he and Rark would find out secrets and how he had had a way with words to get news from even the most suborn and tight-lipped dwarf masters. Avalon listened to the tales with a reassurance about this strange old Dwarf.

"And so," he concluded, "I met an odd Elf at the lonely mountain. We became friends and used each other’s services. He told me of his wishes for revenge on a Dragon who is thankfully now dead. However, Not many days ago now, I met with him and told him tidings of a most unsavoury nature. Of a Fire breathing terror in the northern mountains. I have come here to find him and tell him of the lords of Rivendel and their orders."

He looked up at Avalon, expecting her to have fallen asleep with his tale telling, but she had not. She stood perched on the fence next to him and peered into his eyes. A few reckless Hobbits who had enjoyed the party a little too much laughed at Dwaline for talking to a bird, he smiled and bowed to them as they stumbled around in search of more ale.

[piosenniel]

Ruby spies Shaeowyn . . .

Ruby spied the bedraggled looking woman as she made her way to one of the tables. ‘Land’s sake!’ she murmured to herself. ‘Poor thing looks like she could use a bit of drink and a bit of food.’ She fixed a small plate of savories and bread, meat, and good Shire ham, placed it on her serving tray, then fetched a cup of cider.

‘Sorry,’ she said as she placed the plate in front of the woman. ‘I didn’t hear that you wanted water.’ Ruby pushed the cider in front of the woman. ‘Ruby’s my name. Work here at the Dragon,’ she said by way of explanation. ‘Drink this. It’ll fortify you til I can bring back a cup of water. And go ahead and eat. There’s more on the tables over there.’ She waved away the woman’s offer to pay. ‘Party, you know,’ said Ruby, nodding her head. ‘Handfasting. No one pays when there’s a party!’

Ruby turned to fetch the woman a glass of water and noticed the embroidery on the boots. ‘Shaeowyn . . . pretty name,’ she said. ‘Is it yours, Miz?’

[Encaitare]

The episode with Snaveling, the little girl, and the cake had attracted much attention and laughter from the guests, and a look towards the towering cake made Caity realize how very hungry she was. Gently setting her whistle down on the stage where it wasn't likely to get stepped upon, she descended the stairs and made her way over to the table. It took several minutes for her to manage to get to the table, but soon a plate with thick slice of cake on it was passed to her.

There were several empty tables, but she was perfectly content to sit on the grass, so she found a nice lush spot and plopped down contentedly with her cake. She lifted a forkful to her mouth and tasted the cake. It was absolutely delicious.

I must remember to present my compliments to the cook, she thought. Everything is going so well today.

The band played on as she ate, and the lively tune they played made her wiggle her big toe in time. When she was finished, she bounded up, barely remembering to take the empty plate with her. She put it on a table which was full of used dishes. Yet the rich cake had left her throat feeling somewhat dry.

Nearby, the three old grannies were still tending their vat of punch, stirring it every so often between handing out cups to the ladies. Caity decided she wouldn't mind a taste. She politely asked one of the gammers for some, and the elderly hobbit gave her a knowing wink as she handed her a cup. It was a curious-looking drink, golden and yet ruby red at the same time. Glad for something to moisten her dry throat, Caity took a sip and found it to her liking. Soon the cup was empty.

The band struck up another fast song, quite fit for dancing. The guests were coupling off in front of the stage. Caity suddenly felt like dancing, too. Her foot was tapping to the music, and had she turned around, she would have seen the three grannies chuckling to themselves. She looked about the crowd of people, wondering if maybe there was a nice hobbit lad about her age who she might dance with.

The woman looked at Ruby with a faint smile. "Yes, it is customary to have one's name displayed thusly upon demonstrating a certain level of horsemanship - where I come from. Thank you for noticing!" As Ruby turned to go Shaeowyn called after her, "and the comfort of food and drink is much appreciated."

The lines around her eyes and mouth seemed to soften as she began to observe the happy bustling of life within the Inn. Her thoughts strayed to happier times long past, and she felt herself relaxing in the party atmosphere. After a bit she stretched and moved in the direction of the food Ruby had pointed out. Even her limp seemed improved.

[Envinyatar]

The gifts from Rasputina . . .

‘Do sit down with us, if you will,’ said Derufin, rising from his seat as the Elf stood at the table, gifts in hand. One of the servers brought them a small flagon of chilled Dorwinion wine at his request and a plate of mushroom tarts.

‘Oh, look at these,’ Zimzi said with delight, turning the brooches over in her hands. ‘My mother has woven us new cloaks.’ She grinned, ‘Ah, she will roast me over the coals for telling you that; it was to be a surprise.’ She held one of the tree and wave pins up near her left shoulder. ‘See how pretty that will be . . . and handsome for you, of course, my dear . . . when they are clasped on the dark blue cloaks she has made us.’

Derufin admired the brooches, they were simple, yet elegant in their artistry. But more so was he interested in the compasses she had given them. They were of a unique sort, one he’d not encountered before on his travels. ‘A wondrous gift,’ he exclaimed, trying his out. He leaned down from his seat and placed it on the ground. Thinking of Bree, he spelt it out, using the orb’s dial and watched as the compass spun a little before orienting in an eastward direction. ‘Excellent!’ he murmured, picking the orb up and placing it handily in one of his vest pockets.

Zimzi turned hers over in her hand as she wondered aloud. ‘Will the power to use it die with us,’ she asked the Elf. ‘Is there any way our children could use it after us?’ She put the ball on the table top in front of her and rolled it slowly back and forth beneath her index finger. ‘You said that the gifts were as much from your people as from you.’ She tapped the wave form on the brooch. ‘Are you and they from somewhere near the sea, then?’

Derufin poured the Elf another small glass of wine. ‘Yes, where do your people live, Rasputina? Have you traveled far?’

[piosenniel]

~*~ GREEN DRAGON INN FACTS ~*~

It is the 4th Age, year 12. By the Shire Calendar it is year 1433 S.R. (Shire Reckoning).

King Elessar is on the throne of the Reunited Kingdom of Arnor and Gondor.

Mirkwood has been reclaimed by the Elves and is now called Eryn Lasgalen.

Paladdin Took, Pippin’s father, is Thain of the Shire. (Thain is an honorary title for the military leader of the Shire. The title has been held in the Took Family since the position was first established in 3rd Age 1979 with Bucca of the Marish as First Thain.) Paladdin Took dies in year 13, and will be succeeded by his son, Peregrin, ‘Pippin’, Took.

Samwise Gamgee is Mayor of the Shire, having succeeded Will Whitfoot in 1427 S.R.

The Innkeeper, in the Green Dragon Inn of this forum, is: Aman – a young woman from Rohan.

Before her, the Innkeeper was Piosenniel, and before her it was Dwarin, the Dwarf.

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Other ongoing characters in the Inn:

Ruby Brown, Hobbit – not married – server and maid

Buttercup Brownlock, Hobbit – not married – kitchen assistant and maid

Vinca Bunce, widowed, Inn Cook (character played by Piosenniel)

Derufin, General handyman/jack-of-all-trades round the Inn (played by Envinyatar)

Zimzi (Zimziran), wife to Derufin; a skilled potter from Lindon(played by Pio)

Meriadoc - Stablemaster

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Ongoing characters from outside the Inn:

Halfred Whitfoot – local Shiriff from Bywater and Postmaster for this area of the Shire; his pony’s name is Dumpling.

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Please Note:

No 'SAVES' are allowed in the Inn (except for modifications needed to be made by the Moderators or Innkeeper).

With the exception of the Innkeeper and the Moderators, no OOC (Out Of Character) comments are allowed in the Inn.

Only the Innkeeper, Amanaduial, or the Moderators move the timeline for the Inn forward.

Visitors to the Inn will need to read the posts that come before theirs to get an idea of what time it is in the Shire, what the weather is like, and what is happening.

No violence is allowed in the Inn or on Inn grounds.

Please be familiar with the rules for the Inn and Games in The Red Book of Westmarch, the first topic in the Shire.

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About Elves in Shire RPG's:

Please use this description from Tolkien when crafting an Elf:

Return of the King – Appendix F: Tolkien’s description for the Quendi (The Speakers) – the name given to the Elves by themselves after they first awoke in Middle-earth.

“They were a race high and beautiful, the older Children of the world, and among them the Eldar were as Kings, who now are gone: the People of the Great Journey, the People of the Stars. They were tall, fair of skin and grey-eyed, though their locks were dark, save in the golden house of Finrod; and their voices had more melodies than any mortal voice that is now heard . . .”

Please use this as a guideline for describing your Elven character’s appearance.

[piosenniel]

THE SCENE IN THE GREEN DRAGON INN'S FRONT YARD AT PRESENT . . .

It's a warm, sunny day in the Shire – late-afternoon.

All have gathered outdoors where the party is taking place.

The tables are groaning with the plenitude of food brought out to stave off hunger . . . most of the local Hobbit families have arrived, and all of them have brought a special dish or two to share at the party. The staff from the Inn has already brought out great platters of meats and cheeses and baskets of bread for sandwiches along with mustards of all sorts and pickles. Mushroom pasties, jam tarts, and cookies of all sorts.

The big cake that Cook has made for Derufin and Zimzi is now on the dessert table. It's four layers high, frosted in white, light frosting, with candied violets of all colors all over it. There is a line-up as guests come for a slice of it.

A number of the kegs have been tapped and tried, much to the satisfaction the thirsty crowds. For those who don't care for ale at the moment, there are pitchers of cold cider, tea, wine of all sorts, and of course, sweet, cold well water.

The three local grannies - Granny Chubb, Granny Oldbuck, and Granny Heathertoes have made their special punch – only for the women at the party. They are fending off, with their stout wooden stirring paddles, those bold lads who try to slip in and steal a taste.

Mayor Samwise and his wife, Rose, and a number of their brood (up to baby Daisy) are at the party. Ginger has most of the young ones in tow while Same conducts the handfasting ceremony. Rose is seated with a group of ladies and is delighted to have only the baby to look after.

Gil and his friends, Tomlin, Fallon, and Ferrin are playing and singing on the raised stage near the front of the Inn. They are intermittently joined by Falco Headstrong, Rasputina, Caity, Seamus, and Owen.

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The handfasting ceremony is now done.

Derufin and Zimzi are a proper couple.

They are mingling with their guests. The band is playing and any number of couples are dancing. Later, when it's dark, the little lights in the branches of the trees will be lit and there will be fireworks.

And there is food and drink, of course, flowing in abundance from the good folk of the Shire . . .

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

Snaveling made his way into the Common Room slowly, his stomach beginning to roar already. The smell of freshly baked scones dripping with butter and honey had brought him from his dreams, and the smell of frying bacon had dragged him from the straw of the stables. Now that he stood amid the tables he realised how hungry he was and lamented again the loss of his purse. He looked about to see if Mithalwen had come down yet, for he felt sure that he could borrow a coin or two from her for his breakfast. (His newfound wealth had not yet removed his lack of scruples when it came to borrowing money.) The Elf was nowhere to be seen, and the rest of the people there were strangers to him, but for the little hobbit lass who had cried at him yesterday when the cake had splattered across his chest. She looked at him again and made a sour face but then turned away, blushing. Snaveling was about to move along in search of the kitchens – where he knew he could count on Cook to give him some provender gratis just to get him out from underfoot – when the elderly hobbit sitting across from the girl looked his way, attracted, no doubt, but the little girl’s sudden change in mood.

As the Halfling glanced at Snaveling, the Man noticed two things. First, that the hobbit was in a terrible humour for some reason – and judging by his complexion it probably had something to do with the festivities of the night before. Second, there was a large plate of food before the Halfling that he had not touched, and which he showed little signs of wanting to eat (and again, Snaveling noted his complexion). The Man had spent too many years a beggar to have a few months of finery and wealth overcome a lifetime’s habit of making shift when needed, and he had spent too much time learning the ways of the King’s Court not to know how to please when needed. Meeting the Halfling’s gaze he smiled broadly and stepped toward the table. “Good morning,” he said amiably. “I do not believe that we have made our introductions. I am Snaveling,” and he stuck out his hand.

The Halfling paused before returning the gesture, saying gruffly, “I’m Falco Headstrong. Pleased to make your acquaintance,” sounding all the time as though he was not pleased for anything of the sort. “This here is Marigold,” he said indicating the lass across from him. Snaveling bowed to her in the grandest manner he could. “Yes, she and I have already met, in a way, and it is on her account that I have approached you. Please, Mistress Marigold, accept my apologies for my clumsiness of yesterday. At the time, I believe, I upset you and may have even given you a sharp look. May I join you for breakfast?” he asked quickly, his eyes inadvertently slipping to Falco’s still untouched, but rapidly cooling plate of food, “So that we can talk of merrier things and drive away the unpleasantness of our first encounter?”

[Nurumaiel]

Marigold blushed to the very tips of her ears and set her eyes upon her plate in a stare as Falco gruffly bid the Man sit down. He was the very same Man who had ruined her cake and mussed her clothes the day before. Her eyes dropped farther and she looked down at her skirt. She see the slight stain from the cake icing. But she had called in an 'awful Man,' and she hadn't apologised to him for it yet. Her mother was always telling her that she ought to make amends with those she bore in ill will before letting the day fade into night. But it was so hard to apologise. And he had done the greater evil. He should be the one to apologise.

But he had apologised, and very grandly. Marigold sat in stony silence, feeling miserable because she wouldn't tell him she was sorry for calling him awful without any excuse for not doing it.

As for Falco, he was feeling annoyed because Marigold didn't say anything. She was the talkative (too talkative, at most times), cheery little hobbit... why didn't she say something to this Big Folk fellow? No doubt she knew how awkward he, Falco Headstrong, felt with this Big Folk fellow, and she was deliberately leaving him in the dilemna. No doubt!

"Here, now," said Falco, gruffly. If he were to speak he would not have to sound 'all creamy milk and pretty flowers,' as Fosco had always said. "What are you doing here in the Shire?" Now, that sounded very rude, as if this Big Folk fellow was tramping about where he had no right. Falco was not in the mood to be polite, but his good upbringing forbade him to be rude.

"I do mean," he said, "do you have any business here?" After his earlier words, that didn't sound very much better. Falco softened his voice considerably, though he felt gruffer and gruffer inside. Why did he have to give any consideration to this Big Folk fellow, anyway?

Marigold had just resolved to apologise and become friends with the Man was Falco began speaking. Perhaps the Man would be driven away by the gruff questions. She hoped not. If they did she would follow him (while pretending she wasn't, of course), and then apologise where no one could witness her humiliation. Why hadn't she just called him a 'Man' in the same tone of voice, rather than an 'awful Man?' Maybe she wouldn't be obligated to apologise, then.

"What brings you here?" said Falco, trying to amend his statement and finding that he had lost the eloquence for words that came when he was singing. "Perhaps you are just sight-seeing? I shouldn't blame you if you were; the Shire is such a lovely place." That sounded a little bit friendlier. But in the midst of his words Falco had no doubt that this Big Folk fellow was a murderer hiding himself in the Shire to escape justice. No doubt at all!