The Green Dragon Inn #11 - The Last Chapter

[Naria]

Before she would reply to Penn, Naria took a big chomp out of her mutton. With mouth full she turned around to see who had spoken to her. She had recognized her right away, it was the same woman who had caught her eye earlier. While Penn was still twisting her hair; Naria responded with a nod and swallowed her food.

"Why yes she replied, I am from Rohan." She looked at Penn inquisitively and wondered what the woman of Rohan had too offer. Giggling to herself at the wobbling Penn, Naria also wondered if she would really be the right person for an apprenticeship.

Naria asked the wide eyed Penn if she would like to come and meet a friend. Since they are both from Rohan Naria thought that Penn would enjoy Flicker's company. As Naria turned around too lead Penn outside they were suddenly stopped by a man looking as though he had a question too ask.

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Finding this man's humour a little intriguing, Naria glances over at Penn and readily helps Farael. While grunting and pulling the cumbersome table Naria is quick to advise the man that "Rohan women are strong and maybe even a might stronger than our men."

But she digresses. Putting the table in its place, Naria takes a long stare at the man and feels something that she hasn't yet felt before. Confused she asks him if there is anything else he would like help with. She cleared her head and the action of putting the table away brought her mind around to asking the same question, about what is going to be taking place here. It sure looks like something big and exciting , she thought to herself.

Naria glanced over at Penn and then at the man and wondered what was in store for herself and her new aquantices.

[Eomer of the Rohirrim]

Ciro fancied that he saw Frór frown slightly as he asked him about his travels. Relax. I haven't made any mistake Ciro assured himself. Perhaps Frór's Dwarves had had difficulty with some travellers recently. Perhaps Frór did not want to believe everything Ciro said.

"Two years ago, or thereabouts" answered Ciro. "And, unfortunately, I did not seek the Dwarves; rather I was forced down that road. All the same, I could not have wished to find better folks. Your people took care of me in a difficult situation and I will remain forever grateful to them." Ciro smiled warmly at Frór. He had, at least, told the truth here. It was unnecessary to tell the Dwarf exactly why he had sought refuge in the East.

Ciro exchanged some words with Ibun regarding the merits of walking and of horses and ponies, raising some laughs with an old fable about a man who outraced a rider by slyly supplying his horse with dainties. The message no doubt appealed to the Dwarves and their fondness for a hard road underneath their feet. But then he turned to the promised tale of his trouble in Rohan. Ciro told how a band of three ruffians assailed him in a deep forest on the east-side of The Wold. He explained that they robbed him of a couple of possessions (nothing too valuable, as he travelled light) but that he managed to slay two of them ere he himself was slain; and that the third man ran off with the goods. The Dwarves seemed glad of Ciro's escape, but at the same time unsurprised that the lone traveller had run into such peril.

"My friends" Ciro said as he stood up, "I must leave you for a few moments. I must see if I can get myself clean, for I had forgotten momentarily just how ragged I appear to you. Excuse me for now."

He bowed to the Dwarves and went to fetch some assistance. As he walked he looked out the window and saw no movement. His talk with the Dwarves had eased his heart, but now his worry came back to him. He was, for now, still alone; the Southern Man was nowhere to be seen.

[Eowyn Skywalker]

I do not wish to be here...

The human woman closed her eyes for a moment, a laugh in her thoughts for a wry moment as she considered the situation. This was a hobbit's town, a hobbit's realm, and hardly meant for people of her stature, at least, in a physical sense of being.

They generally call me short, she thought. The ironic amusement hardly took a moment to sink in before she laughed a moment, a short and abrupt cutting expression. It wasn't as if being tall compared to the locals wasn't a welcomed thought for Ariane Calthye. In fact, it amused her greatly, for once in her life able to see over the tops of people's heads, to see people as the taller ones seen her. To be five one amidst people who ranged up to six seven (the latter encompassing her husband's existance) was never an easy thing.

Here, the locals were, what, three and a half feet? They were children, she thought. Children compared to her.

She opened her eyes. Only a moment had passed over the quick thoughts, the second vanishing as she let her dark eyes snap open and scan the crowd. Of course it would be an inn. Drinking, let's all be merry and get drunk! I can hardly take a glass without falling over...

Fortunately places that offer room and board also offer non-alcoholic beverages. I hardly wish to pass out already. Short is one thing, but I'd likely as not be dragged off on some quest by a deranged wizard, or something of the like. As much as she liked the Shire for the height ease, she was uneasy. Born in Eriador, it wasn't as if Hobbits were a foreign idea to the woman. She had seen them in Bree on occasion.

You've spent far too long in Gondor, her mind murmured before she shushed it with an inner glare towards the voice with the will to speak up on its own.

It doesn't matter where I was before. I'm here now. Here is all fine, even if I don't have a great desire to be here.

Here? Oh, certainly. Here. Here with the wooden walls and wooden tables, the short and tall folk mixed together in a friendly inn's atmosphere. Here where she could close her eyes for a moment and smell not only alcohol as most inns seemed to offer, but food, mirth, and vague body sweat and grime. Here.

At least here no one was going to try cut her down. Here, the worse she thought she might get was a bit tipsy from too much ale in the air or stepped on by one of the taller being inhabiting the inn at the same time as the halflings. Ariane didn't feel like sitting just yet, so she remained off to the side, standing with a loose expression as she examined the scene with a more intensive look, her left hand's fingers twisted tightly in the brown fabric of her robe.

[Maeggaladiel]

The horse's hooves beat a slow, steady rhythm on the earth as it plodded down the road. It was in no hurry, and neither was its rider. She sat relaxed in the saddle, whistling a tune in time to the horse's footsteps.

After a moment, the rhythm was broken as the woman's whistle turned from a nameless tune to a little trill of admiration. The horse slowed.

"The Green Dragon, aye?" she mused, reading the painted sign. She tapped her chin with a finger. "What say we stop for today, hmm?" Resuming her whistling, she led the horse to the stables.


Soon after, Hallien Winterwood strode into the Green Dragon Inn. She was, admittedly, a peculiar sight. A wide-brimmed hat of a color that must have been bright red at one time was perched on top of her head. There was a long white feather tucked into the band. Under the hat was a smiling face, somewhat obscured by a pair of small wire-rimmed glasses balancing on the bridge of her nose. The curled head of some sort of stringed musical instrument poked out of the bag hanging across her back and a dozen or so small leather pouches were hanging from her belt. A weather-worn book was tucked under one arm.

She was indeed a sight, from the top of her hat, to the long faded blue jacket, to the crimson skirt, right down to the end of her road-weary leather boots. If she knew this, she did not show it. Instead she adjusted her glasses, shifted the book, and walked up to the bar, humming to herself.

[piosenniel]

~*~ GREEN DRAGON INN FACTS ~*~

The Green Dragon Inn is located in Bywater, just off the Great East-West Road.

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; Man from southwestern Gondor (played by Envinyatar) - AWAY AT PRESENT

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

Meri - Stablemaster

Tim Woodlock - Stableboy; Wren - his younger sister: humans, originally from Breeland (characters played by Folwren)

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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.

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EVERYONE

Please be familiar with The Red Book of Westmarch which gives the rules for posting in the Shire RPG's and in The Green Dragon Inn.

Thanks!

Piosenniel, Shire Moderator

[piosenniel]

It's now very late in the afternoon. In a few hours the party in the Dragon's front yard will begin.

The day remains pleasant and sunny.

[Undómë]

The flowers were easily gathered. There were many little garden plots about the Green Dragon, all of which, Buttercup had kindly told her could be used for bouquets for the tables. In the Inn’s kitchen, she put the pretty blossoms together in colorful bunches and then into the vases she’d found in the basement.

‘Oh, the tables will look so nice!’ said Buttercup. ‘Here, let me help you take them out to the front yard.’ The Hobbit took an armful of tablecloths with her and soon the tables were all set up for the party.

‘Help me find the little lanterns, won’t you,’ asked Telu, following Buttercup back into the Inn.

The boxes of them were soon ferreted out of the cupboard beneath the stairs along with the candles to put in each lantern. The two women soon had them all ready to be used. ‘I’ll carry out the boxes,’ Telu offered. ‘Can you find us a step-stool so I can reach up into the branches of the trees and get them hung?’

Buttercup brought along the step-tool from the kitchen. With the Hobbit steadying it, Telu began to place the lanterns among the branches of the trees that lined the Inn’s front yard.

[Folwren]

Tim stood for a moment in awkward silence and then he shifted his weight from one foot to another.

"Oh, no, ma'am, that's not really necessary," he said, "I can't take him if you wish. That's my job, see? If you want, I could put him into an empty stall, unsaddle him, brush him down and give him oats or hay and definitely water, if you like. . .you don't have to take him yourself."

He half extended his hand towards the reins, waiting for the woman to make up her mind. "Of course," he said, after another very, very slight pause, "I could, as you said, show you the way. . ."

[Dunwen]

Testing the top of the freshly-baked cake with her hand, Widow Rosebank found it wasn’t quite cool enough to frost. It was a lovely cake, dark brown and slightly shiny on top, and smelled richly of the molasses, ginger and other spices used to flavor it. She had been surprised and touched when Miz Bunce permitted her to bake a treat for this evening. It was a great honor when a hobbit let someone cook in her (or his) kitchen. Chasing that varminty cat around the kitchen must have formed a kind of kinship between them, for the Widow had spent the entire rest of the afternoon helping the staff out. She smiled a little at the idea of telling her daughters in Bree that she’d spent part of her journey to the Shire cooking at an inn.

She thought the cake would be well-received this evening. The recipe was very popular among Bree-folk Big and Little, who described her as “near as good a cook as a hobbit.” The frosting was in a cloth-covered bowl at her elbow, waiting to be spread over the molasses cake. The Widow was surprised to notice that she was alone in the kitchen, at least for a moment. Deciding that she had earned a bit of rest, she soberly poured herself a cup of tea and sat down, careful to face the windows and the back door. If that Orc came back, she didn't want to have her back turned.

She hadn’t minded the excitement with the cat, but when that lass Ginger had popped in and told them there was a Orc on the premises, she’d nearly dropped her mixing bowl in terror. The hobbits had simply called for the Shirriffs as if Orcs were an ordinary problem, but the Widow took little comfort from this. She knew painfully well how horrible the creatures were. Just before the King had returned to his throne in Gondor, a party of Orcs, Goblins and even some wicked Men had killed several Bree-landers, including her own husband. She’d found her poor Pennyroyal butchered in his own field. Shuddering at the grisly memory, Widow Rosebank wondered how the hobbits could just go ahead with an outdoor party. Her Pen had been one of several Bree-landers attacked before the villains had been finally routed in the Battle of Bree. Besides her husband, she’d lost life-long friends and neighbors in that black time, all cruelly killed.

“Well, Ebba, brooding won’t help anything or anybody,” she whispered to herself. She got up and drained her mug, then checked the cake again. It was finally cool enough to frost. She uncovered the bowl of creamy, slightly tangy frosting, dipped in a knife and began to cover the sides and top of the molasses cake. As she methodically frosted, she wondered if she would find the nerve to step out of doors and join the party later.

Just as she finished, Buttercup the kitchen maid came bustling in. “This is finished,” said the widow, indicating the cake. “Is there a place Miz Bunce would want me to put it?”

Buttercup cheerfully assured the widow that she would take care of the cake while the widow went upstairs to clean up and get ready for the party. Widow Rosebank, although still undecided, thought she could at least wash up after her afternoon’s work. Thanking Buttercup warmly, she left the kitchen and went up to her room.

[Undómë]

Acting in concert, the Elf and the Hobbit soon had the little lanterns hung about the front yard. All had fresh new candles within, and they swayed prettily from the tree branches. The colored glass set into the sides of the lanterns caught the late afternoon sun and flashed spots of color here and there among the leaves. Telu watched them for a while, thinking how lovely the night would be when they were lit.

She glanced about the yard. The tables and chairs were all in place, it seemed. Across the distance she could see Men and Hobbits setting up the heavy trestles in which the ale for the party would be set. And if she were not mistaken, there was Farael. He and his companions had just tapped a keg and were ‘testing’ the contents within. There were smiles on their faces as they raised their mugs to each other.

Telu laughed as she walked back toward the doorway. ‘I hope he will be able to stand steady on his feet by this evening,’ she said to Buttercup as they mounted the steps to the porch. Buttercup looked to where the Elf pointed and raised her brows. ‘Better wear some thick boots, Telu,’ the Hobbit returned. ‘He might be stepping all over your feet with his.’ Buttercup looked down at her own bare feet and grinned. ‘Advantage there in not wearing shoes!’

The two passed into the common room. Buttercup had a few more duties in the kitchen before she could put on her party clothes. ‘Bring your dress and such to my room,’ she suggested to Telu. ‘that brother of yours sounds like he’s in a sour mood. Wouldn’t want to spoil yours for the fun tonight!’

With a light heart, Telu mounted the steps to her little room and began sorting through her dresses for the one she wanted to wear.

[Maeggaladiel]

Humming softly, Hallien pulled off the wide-brimmed red hat and combed a hand through her short brown hair. It was plastered against her skull, as she feared. Hat hair strikes once again, she thought to herself with a grim smile. Fluffing her tresses with her fingers, she placed the hat on the bar.

"Looks like there's some sort of fancy to-do going on outside, hmm?" she asked nobody in particular. "Well, I can't very well be caked with road dust inside and out, can I? Not with a party on the way! It's only proper I should get myself a drink to clear out the desert that's settled in my throat." She smiled and set her book on the bar near her hat. Grunting something to herself, she dug into one of the leather pouches hanging from her belt. A moment later, a handful of coins jingled musically in her palm.

She adjusted her glasses and squinted at the kegs behind the bar. Still smiling, she ordered "just a nip of some of that," pointing at one of the kegs.

"So," she began, asking anyone who happened to be nearby. "What's this party for, if I may be so bold as to inquire?"

[Eowyn Skywalker]

"So..."

The voice cut through Ariane's mind. Not like a knife, because if it had cut through her mind like a knife, it would've left her ultimately dead as knives plus tissue never match particularly well together. So, simply, it cut through her mind. But it did cause the human to glance over her should at the newcomer, seeing nothing of real note beyond obvious hat hair adorning her head. At least, the signs of hat hair that had been hastily straightened out without any comb to completely do the job.

So she gave the stranger (not like the entire inn wasn't strange to her) a quick glance before shooting her stew a rueful stare. She didn't really want to stir from the meal. But she felt the automatic desire to reply to the quiry as it was. It was engrained in her mind from day one. Reply.

Don't stay silent when someone needs your help.

Only stay silent when you could hurt their feelings.

"What's this party for, if I may be so bold as to inquire?"

Ariane sighed, and stuck her spoon in the dish. "Y'know, I've been wondering the same thing myself," she said with a hint of a grin, praying her early dinner wouldn't grow too cold if she got any reply. "Any special occasion going on around here, or something of the like?"