The Green Dragon Inn #11 - The Last Chapter - The Barrow-Downs Discussion Forum

Fordim Hedgethistle · 09-20-2005, 07:35 AM

A large pair of muddy boots with a small hobbit poking out the top of them stomped down the road toward the Green Dragon Inn. To say that the halfling who inhabited those boots was small would inflate his size, for he was extremely small. Smaller, indeed, than many a halfling child. Even in his boots his head was no more than two feet above the road that he tramped, but he held that head high as though he were a giant among hobbits, and whistled a common folk tune gaily as he tromped. He seemed to take great pleasure in tromping, making a great show of bringing his feet down with finality upon each step. He wore an expensive waistcoat of green and blue, and his trousers and shirt were immaculately well tailored. Thrown over his shoulders was a travelling cloak that, while in good repair, had clearly seen good service. His hands were clean but strong and finely chiselled with callous: clearly a prosperous hobbit, but one who had prospered by dint of his own hard labour.

He crossed the yard of the Inn and stopped at the door to remove his boots, which he left carefully by the side of the stoop. Lifting his knees high to climb the steps he moved through the door and entered the Green Dragon. He stopped for a long moment to gaze about at the crowd of folk gathered there and his wide eyes drank deep. He had clearly never seen such a crowd of non-Hobbitish people before and was taking the time to enjoy his first opportunity to do so now. The smell of bacon frying woke him from his amazement and he scampered toward the bar. Even at the hobbit-sized end of the bar, his head only just poked above the counter, and he had to pull himself up onto it somewhat to speak with the pretty barmaid who came to take his order. “What can I get you sir?” she asked.

“Well, for starters, some of that bacon that I smell a-frying would be more than welcome, for sure, as well as some nice eggs if that could be managed. And do you have any good bread about? Nice rye or wheat-cake, I mean, none of that foreign stuff.” He was unsure if the bread in this part of the Shire was what he was used to, for he had never been on so far an adventure. The barmaid assured him that their bread was only of the finest Shire quality. “Very good, lass, very good indeed. And could I have some beer with that, for I’ve been tramping for days and I’m that parched.” The lass nodded brightly and skipped away to fetch his order.

Rune Son of Bjarne · 09-20-2005, 05:45 PM

Frór a dwarf of the Iron Hills steped in to the Green Dragon paying no heed to the other persons in the room.

Althoug he was young he was grim to look upon, he's face was full of scares and a pice of he's left ear was missing. He's long black beard was filterd and full of mud.

He was pasing throug the contry, tying to get to the Blue Mountains were his cusin on his father's side dweled.

He had traveld for a long time and an ill fortune had followed him. He had but reached the Mistey Mountains when he ran in to serius trouble, trouble he was now trying to forget. (at least for a while) When he had finaly escaped the Mistey Mountains he had gotten of track and instead of using the old East-West Road witch would have lead him to Bree, he had passed through the contryside some miles north of the road.

Becourse of this misfortune The Green Dragon was the first Inn he had found.

The only thing he wanted was a warm bed and too get some sleep for a change.

"Say, is it possibel to get a room in this inn." He spoke out loudly.

piosenniel · 09-21-2005, 04:17 PM

Cook and the problem of the wounded Stablemaster

‘In there, Miz Bunce,’ said Ruby, holding the door open for Cook and ushering her through with a pointing finger. Meriadoc sat with his right foot propped on a stool. Ginger stood near him dabbing at some bloody wound with a towel, but had only managed to make it bleed all the more.

‘Stars and garters, Master Meri! What have you done?’ Cook took the towel from Ginger and bade her go into the pantry and fetch out her medicine chest. Pressing the towel against the freshly oozing wound, Cook looked about the kitchen for another assistant.

Wren stood rooted to the spot she’d been standing on, her eyes agog at the wounded foot. It was now turning purplish and starting to swell. ‘Fetch me a bucket of warm water, dear,’ Cook said to her, jutting her chin toward the tea kettle on the hearth. ‘Make sure it’s not too hot. You can use that bucket by the sink, the one we use for soaking the dried root vegetables in. Oh, and a few more clean dusting rags from the basket over there will be needed, too.’

Cook turned her attention to Meri, dragging his explanation from him about the pitchfork. He felt foolish at his carelessness; the tips of his ears crimsoned as he spoke. ‘Nasty, dirty things, pitchforks,’ Cook said. ‘Lucky for you the tines didn’t go deeper.’ She clucked at the two ragged holes on the Hobbit’s foot, near his toes. ‘Going to swell quite a bit. You won’t be able to walk on it for a fortnight or so. Have to soak it every day, open the wound to let it drain. Otherwise the poison’ll work its way up your leg.’

She drew up a chair and sat down on it as she waited for the water and supplies. Meri had begun to protest how impossible it was that he take such a length of time off. Many new guests had come to the Inn; their horses and ponies needed caring for. ‘Can’t you just patch me up and let me get back to seeing to my patrons?’ he pleaded. Cook shook her head firmly, ‘no’. ‘Though who we’re going to find to help out on such a moment’s notice is beyond me . . .’

She took in a deep breath and let it out slowly, casting about in her mind for someone she could call on to take over the stable duties . . .

Primrose Bolger · 09-21-2005, 04:31 PM

Buttercup attends to Frór

‘Another Dwarf!’ said Buttercup, hurrying over to where the newcomer stood. ‘That’s two in one day!’ She pushed the curls back from her face and put on her most welcoming smile.

‘I’m Buttercup,’ she said, introducing herself. ‘One of the servers at The Dragon. How can I help you?’

Rune Son of Bjarne · 09-21-2005, 05:32 PM

Frór looked at the hobbit while scratching he's beard. Funny folks these hobbits, he thougt. As he stood there he allmost forgot too answer the hobbit.

Finaly he spoke : Frór of the Iron Hills i am. I am on my way through this contry of yours and i am looking of a place to get a room miss Buttercup. If you could help me in this matter i would be most greatfull.

Frór looked down on he's cothes it was all torn and you could easely see the old ringmail he was wearing underneath. He was in desperate need of new clothes and supplies.

Folwren · 09-21-2005, 06:45 PM

Wren, bringing the water to Cook, stopped by the Hobbit’s side, placed the bucket on he ground careful so as not to splash a drop on her, and then stood to listen to the last of the two hobbit’s exchange. When she heard their dilemma, her eyes brightened, just as Cook’s darkened with consideration.

‘Why, Tim is real good with horses!’ she said, turning to Cook with a smile on her face. ‘He could help...until Mr. Meriadoc is better.’ The hobbit woman looked dubious. ‘He used to handle horses a lot where we lived, there were farms around and he helped the farmers some with their horses. Then one chap nearby had some youner horses and Tim would go and mess with them some. Ride them around a little bit. But they weren’t broke, really.’ She suddenly blushed and clapped her hand over her mouth. Then she giggled. ‘But Tim didn’t want anybody to know about that. He wasn’t supposed to when he did it,’ she added.

‘How much does your brother know about them?’ Meriadoc asked, gruffly from the pain, likely. Cook was wringing out a rag and he watched her with a wary eye.

‘Oh, lots, I’m sure,’ Wren said very confidently. ‘I can go out and get him if you want me to. Should I fetch him? He’s in the garden weeding, I think...’

Primrose Bolger · 09-21-2005, 09:29 PM

Buttercup’s eyes widened at the mention of the Iron Hills. ‘Why those hills be by The Lonely Mountain, don’t they?’ she asked, clapping her hands in delight. ‘Our own Mister Bilbo Baggins traveled there with some Dwarves and old Gandalf. My Gammer told me the story of that when I was younger.’

‘Oh, but here I stand talking on when you’re wanting a room.’ She looked him up and down, noting the state of his clothes. ‘And what about something to eat, too? And drink? You can walk into town then and visit the shops.’ She blushed a little, thinking she might have been too forward. ‘That is I couldn’t help but notice your clothes. Must have been a long hard trip from those hills of yours.’ She eyed him once again. You’re only a bit bigger than our grown Hobbit men, I’m sure the tailor could make some things for you.’

‘But here I am going on again! Let me get you some breakfast. You can eat while I make up your room for you.’ She smiled widely at him, waiting. ‘Now what would you like to have, Master Frór?’

09-21-2005, 04:31 PM	#4
Primrose Bolger Wight Join Date: Sep 2003 Location: Near Bywater Pool Posts: 196	Buttercup attends to Frór ‘Another Dwarf!’ said Buttercup, hurrying over to where the newcomer stood. ‘That’s two in one day!’ She pushed the curls back from her face and put on her most welcoming smile. ‘I’m Buttercup,’ she said, introducing herself. ‘One of the servers at The Dragon. How can I help you?’ __________________ . . . for they love peace and quiet and good tilled earth . . . are quick of hearing and sharpeyed, and though they are inclined to be fat and do not hurry unneccesarily, they are nonetheless nimble and deft in their movements . . . FOTR - Prologue Last edited by Primrose Bolger; 09-21-2005 at 09:28 PM.

09-21-2005, 06:45 PM	#6
Folwren Messenger of Hope Join Date: Jun 2005 Location: In a tiny, insignificant little town in one of the many States. Posts: 5,076	Wren hopes to solve Cook's problem. Wren, bringing the water to Cook, stopped by the Hobbit’s side, placed the bucket on he ground careful so as not to splash a drop on her, and then stood to listen to the last of the two hobbit’s exchange. When she heard their dilemma, her eyes brightened, just as Cook’s darkened with consideration. ‘Why, Tim is real good with horses!’ she said, turning to Cook with a smile on her face. ‘He could help...until Mr. Meriadoc is better.’ The hobbit woman looked dubious. ‘He used to handle horses a lot where we lived, there were farms around and he helped the farmers some with their horses. Then one chap nearby had some youner horses and Tim would go and mess with them some. Ride them around a little bit. But they weren’t broke, really.’ She suddenly blushed and clapped her hand over her mouth. Then she giggled. ‘But Tim didn’t want anybody to know about that. He wasn’t supposed to when he did it,’ she added. ‘How much does your brother know about them?’ Meriadoc asked, gruffly from the pain, likely. Cook was wringing out a rag and he watched her with a wary eye. ‘Oh, lots, I’m sure,’ Wren said very confidently. ‘I can go out and get him if you want me to. Should I fetch him? He’s in the garden weeding, I think...’ __________________ A young man who wishes to remain a sound atheist cannot be too careful of his reading. - C.S. Lewis

09-21-2005, 09:29 PM	#7
Primrose Bolger Wight Join Date: Sep 2003 Location: Near Bywater Pool Posts: 196	Buttercup’s eyes widened at the mention of the Iron Hills. ‘Why those hills be by The Lonely Mountain, don’t they?’ she asked, clapping her hands in delight. ‘Our own Mister Bilbo Baggins traveled there with some Dwarves and old Gandalf. My Gammer told me the story of that when I was younger.’ ‘Oh, but here I stand talking on when you’re wanting a room.’ She looked him up and down, noting the state of his clothes. ‘And what about something to eat, too? And drink? You can walk into town then and visit the shops.’ She blushed a little, thinking she might have been too forward. ‘That is I couldn’t help but notice your clothes. Must have been a long hard trip from those hills of yours.’ She eyed him once again. You’re only a bit bigger than our grown Hobbit men, I’m sure the tailor could make some things for you.’ ‘But here I am going on again! Let me get you some breakfast. You can eat while I make up your room for you.’ She smiled widely at him, waiting. ‘Now what would you like to have, Master Frór?’ __________________ . . . for they love peace and quiet and good tilled earth . . . are quick of hearing and sharpeyed, and though they are inclined to be fat and do not hurry unneccesarily, they are nonetheless nimble and deft in their movements . . . FOTR - Prologue

09-20-2005, 07:35 AM	#1
Fordim Hedgethistle Gibbering Gibbet Join Date: Feb 2004 Location: Beyond cloud nine Posts: 1,844	A large pair of muddy boots with a small hobbit poking out the top of them stomped down the road toward the Green Dragon Inn. To say that the halfling who inhabited those boots was small would inflate his size, for he was extremely small. Smaller, indeed, than many a halfling child. Even in his boots his head was no more than two feet above the road that he tramped, but he held that head high as though he were a giant among hobbits, and whistled a common folk tune gaily as he tromped. He seemed to take great pleasure in tromping, making a great show of bringing his feet down with finality upon each step. He wore an expensive waistcoat of green and blue, and his trousers and shirt were immaculately well tailored. Thrown over his shoulders was a travelling cloak that, while in good repair, had clearly seen good service. His hands were clean but strong and finely chiselled with callous: clearly a prosperous hobbit, but one who had prospered by dint of his own hard labour. He crossed the yard of the Inn and stopped at the door to remove his boots, which he left carefully by the side of the stoop. Lifting his knees high to climb the steps he moved through the door and entered the Green Dragon. He stopped for a long moment to gaze about at the crowd of folk gathered there and his wide eyes drank deep. He had clearly never seen such a crowd of non-Hobbitish people before and was taking the time to enjoy his first opportunity to do so now. The smell of bacon frying woke him from his amazement and he scampered toward the bar. Even at the hobbit-sized end of the bar, his head only just poked above the counter, and he had to pull himself up onto it somewhat to speak with the pretty barmaid who came to take his order. “What can I get you sir?” she asked. “Well, for starters, some of that bacon that I smell a-frying would be more than welcome, for sure, as well as some nice eggs if that could be managed. And do you have any good bread about? Nice rye or wheat-cake, I mean, none of that foreign stuff.” He was unsure if the bread in this part of the Shire was what he was used to, for he had never been on so far an adventure. The barmaid assured him that their bread was only of the finest Shire quality. “Very good, lass, very good indeed. And could I have some beer with that, for I’ve been tramping for days and I’m that parched.” The lass nodded brightly and skipped away to fetch his order.

09-21-2005, 04:17 PM	#3
piosenniel Desultory Dwimmerlaik Join Date: Mar 2002 Location: Pickin' flowers with Bill the Cat..... Posts: 7,779	Cook and the problem of the wounded Stablemaster ‘In there, Miz Bunce,’ said Ruby, holding the door open for Cook and ushering her through with a pointing finger. Meriadoc sat with his right foot propped on a stool. Ginger stood near him dabbing at some bloody wound with a towel, but had only managed to make it bleed all the more. ‘Stars and garters, Master Meri! What have you done?’ Cook took the towel from Ginger and bade her go into the pantry and fetch out her medicine chest. Pressing the towel against the freshly oozing wound, Cook looked about the kitchen for another assistant. Wren stood rooted to the spot she’d been standing on, her eyes agog at the wounded foot. It was now turning purplish and starting to swell. ‘Fetch me a bucket of warm water, dear,’ Cook said to her, jutting her chin toward the tea kettle on the hearth. ‘Make sure it’s not too hot. You can use that bucket by the sink, the one we use for soaking the dried root vegetables in. Oh, and a few more clean dusting rags from the basket over there will be needed, too.’ Cook turned her attention to Meri, dragging his explanation from him about the pitchfork. He felt foolish at his carelessness; the tips of his ears crimsoned as he spoke. ‘Nasty, dirty things, pitchforks,’ Cook said. ‘Lucky for you the tines didn’t go deeper.’ She clucked at the two ragged holes on the Hobbit’s foot, near his toes. ‘Going to swell quite a bit. You won’t be able to walk on it for a fortnight or so. Have to soak it every day, open the wound to let it drain. Otherwise the poison’ll work its way up your leg.’ She drew up a chair and sat down on it as she waited for the water and supplies. Meri had begun to protest how impossible it was that he take such a length of time off. Many new guests had come to the Inn; their horses and ponies needed caring for. ‘Can’t you just patch me up and let me get back to seeing to my patrons?’ he pleaded. Cook shook her head firmly, ‘no’. ‘Though who we’re going to find to help out on such a moment’s notice is beyond me . . .’ She took in a deep breath and let it out slowly, casting about in her mind for someone she could call on to take over the stable duties . . .