The Golden Perch Inn

[Forest Elf]

Gable blinked as the rooster crowed. Her sleep was light, filled with the previous day’s events; only this time, there was a shadow watching her in her dreams. She shuddered and hurried out of bed.

Her bare feet touched the floor and she looked out of her window. There were few a clouds, and a slight breeze. Gable stood and hurried to get dressed in one of her older work gowns.

The sleeves had been slightly ripped in places and there was a small hole, though unnoticeable unless you looked for it. She pulled her hair back and only braided it partway, knowing it would last for another hour or two.

She pulled on her boots and quiet as a mouse snuck out without getting noticed by Primrose, Cela or Dick. She hurried out to the barn, a bad feeling gnawing at her. She went to check on the injured pony.

The pony’s, to her surprise, whinnied before she had even set foot in the barn. Then she broke into a run. Three of the pony’s were rearing and kicking, the others’ eye whites were showing, and in the middle of a barn, a wolf with its eyes menacing turned upon Gable.

Gable let out a cry of surprise and wonder, and then as she saw it nearing to her, and knowing that she wouldn’t have much time to get a weapon, looked around desperately for the pitchfork. She found it, on the other side of the wolf; she swallowed and looked for something, anything, she could use as a weapon.

She grabbed a handful of sand and threw it in the wolf’s eyes. It snarled and three more appeared behind her, and one of the horses let out a whinny so loud it could’ve easily woken almost everyone in the Inn. She took a deep breath, knowing she wouldn’t be able to make it out of this alive without help, and screamed, scaring the birds out of a couple of tree’s.

A wolf lunged at her and she jumped out of the way and rolled, managing to stop a few paces from the pitch fork. She grabbed it and prepared to face battle against these four wolves.

[Envinyatar]

Jack had been out early that morning, trying out the pole Tollers had lent him yesterday. He had a few fish on his stringer; fish weren’t biting all that well this morning. Most likely they’d be enough for a little fry up for the inn staff. He was just coming up on the stable when he heard somebody scream, some woman it sounded like.

He dropped the fish and the pole and went running toward the open door. And pulled himself up as he saw the wolves menacing the Elf lady.

Where was that blasted ranger when a fella needed him?!

The wolves’ hackles were raised; lips pulled back from their slavering, yellowed teeth. Jack picked up a large piece of firewood from the stack near the stable and rushed toward the wolf nearest him. A great roar accompanied his charge, one born more of fear than heroism.

One of the wolves, the one nearest him as he entered the stable doors turned round to face him. The beast’s front legs were in a widened stance; his great, grey head weaving back and forth as he snarled and growled.

Jack hit out at him, hoping to drive him away, perhaps even to make the wolf run from the barn. But the wolf did not intend to be routed. He crouched down and launched himself at the man, knocking him down with a great thud.

And no sooner had Jack’s body hit the ground than the grey monster was astraddle him; it’s long, sharp teeth closing hard on its new prey’s tender throat . . .

[Tevildo]

After unlatching all the windows and sashes, Tollers had marched out to check on his vegetable patch. It was a small plot of land located along the back courtyard fence. The hobbit had begged for some land from the Innkeeper and had been given a small stretch overgrown with weeds and thornbushes on the promise that he would clear these out. In return for this, Tollers agreed to supply the kitchen with a steady stream of turnips, carrots, peas, and beans throughout the summer with perhaps gourds or pumpkins or squash added sometime later in the fall. He would be free to sell the surplus on market day in Stock.

To his delight, Toller saw that a number of tiny seedlings had pushed up through the soil and were now showing their leafy heads. Yesterday there had only been rows of neatly tilled earth. Overnight, that had changed. All his hard work looked as if it was about to pay off. After taking a moment to admire his handywork, Tollers picked up his hoe and vigorously began to attack the soil, determined to clear out another row for planting. He was just deciding whether to plant a row of onions or rhubarb, when he heard a terrible shriek coming from the stables followed by a dull thudding sound, a loud growl, and then ominous silence.

Tollers' short legs carried him back across the courtyard as fast as he could run. He had not even bothered to drop his hoe. Tollers pushed open the barn door and stood frozen in place, so shocked at what he saw that he was unable to react. Four slavering beasts, like the ones out of his Granny's tales, were attacking Gable and Jack.

Tollers' heart dropped to the bottom of his toes. From the stories his Granny had told, he knew this could only mean one thing. There must be a hole in the High Hay, the portion situated just north and east of Stock, so that some of the terrible creatures had found their way through. Tollers wasn't sure how they had managed to cross the river but rain had been scarce of late. Perhaps last night , a few beasts had managed to swim or wade, or maybe they had even walked over the bridge at Stonebows.

All these thoughts took no more than thirty seconds. Grabbing his hoe, Tollers made an awkward lunge at the great grey nightmare now standing astradle over Jack. "Git back! Git back, you varmit." Again and again, with every word he spit out, Tollers thwacked the creature's head with all his might. The animal pulled up and snarled, twisted deftly to one side to avoid the bothersome hacks, and, for one moment at least, spun off in the other direction, hiding in the shadows and preparing to attack again. That tiny interlude gave Tollers time to yank Jack up to his feet and race back into the courtyard to the large bell that was suspended from a tree, a bell that must only be rung in moments of peril to alarm the residents of Stock. With all his might, Tollers grabbed onto the rope and began pulling vigorously.

Somebody come, somebody come quick, please. We need more help to pick off these villains and to plug the hole in the hedge. And if four wolves have already gotten through, who knows what else could happen!

[Volo]

Colren had a bad night, he couldn't sleep, but when he did, he saw nightmares about war and bloodshed. He hoped they were only dreams. In one dream he was in a arena with closed walls, alone. Then suddenly a manshaped wolf emerged from behind him. It attacked Colren and cut his breast deeply with it's claws. Colren fell down in pain. The last thing he knew was the wolf's howling.

Colren woke up with a start all covered in sweat. It was no dream, a wolf was really howling, close. A strange feeling came to Colren, he thought it was stupidity, but he jumped up and only in his trousers ran out of his room. A real commotion was going on, nobody could understand what was happening, but something was happening. Colren pushed his way to the door and ran towards the sound. The howl was coming from the stables. Without thinking Colren ran past Tollers and a man somewhat like himself, Tollers was ringing a giant bell, he didn't even notice Colren.

Just when Colren was beside the door of the stable a wolf came slowly out to greet him. Fear overtook him, he no weapons or anything else to protect himself. Not to mention that the wolf was exceptionally large and angry. Colren backed away slowly. The wolf came closer. The panicing man glanced behind him, there was a spade not far, he could manage. Or so he hoped. He walked to the spade the wolf following his every movement. Still few steps, I'll be fine. Colren heared voices, people were coming this way. As he saw two more wolves come out of the stable Colren tripped on something. And then the wolf leapt. Colren had a second to think of something, he grabbed the thing tripped on. It was a stick, rather long and strong. He thrust that into the air at the wolf. He hit his target. The wolf leapt back. Colren jumped up and saw that he didn't cause much damage, but still a nice long scratch could now be seen at the side of the wolf's shoulder.

That barely bleeding scratch was enough. Something in Colren's mind turned and he didn't feel any fear. It was all concentration, he had a "sword" and he landed the first blow. A warrior awoke inside. If Colren had time to think about it at the moment, he would have found it so strange that he would return to the fearfull victim of a wolf. Luckily there was no time to think and the real battle began. Sure Colren was weak and skinny, just as the wolf was healthy and large, but Colren had experience from many battles, he just didn't know it now. With his skill the man was far superior than the beast.

The wolf leaped again, or so it seemed. Just as it was jumping, it turned and attacked from the ground instead. Colren was suprised by this cunning, but he didn't flinch. The wolf was aiming it's teath at Colren's stomach. But he was quicker. Just a foot or so from the hit, Colren moved backward and lunged his "sword" into the wolf's jaw. It sank deep. The dying beast rolled on the ground spitting blood. Colren stood there and watched. The other two wolves saw that the man was tough and backed away towards the road leading out of town. Colren was victorious! He glanced one last time at the dead wolf and then he felt sick.

He had killed. Colren sat down slowly with his bare thin chest and the long scar that was now visible. It wasn't just a dream. The scar Colren couldn't think of any explanation now told him of a bloody fight where Colren once was. He just sat there on the ground beside the wolf and looked somewhere far far away. At something only Naren, the warrior could see.

[Farael]

‘You don’t say, Master hobbit?’ asked Robby as a young, excited hobbit lad told him of what had befallen only a few moments earlier. ‘Wolves? Here in The Shire? But that’s unheard of!’ An old gaffer who was sitting nearby corrected him. It seemed that there had been another instance, during a really bad Winter, that some wolves had strayed into these lands.

This time, the beasts had found their way to the stables. No animals were hurt, although there was a hobbit, an elf and two men who were slightly shaken up. No wonder, Robby thought, he would have panicked if he had seen those monsters. They seemed to be gone, and yet a sense of fear and watchfulness seemed to be present in the lands of the Inn. It soon passed, and most of the people staying at the Golden Perch as well as many folks from the village headed to the common room to share breakfast and their take on what was soon named “The Wolf Incident”. Even though it was only a few hours past sunrise, a few toasts were made to the brave men (and hobbit and lady elf) who had fought off the wolves.

Robby knew this was what he had been looking for. Sitting by himself on a corner table, he racked his brain hard to put music and lyrics to that morning’s events. He shut out the outside world, the food Rowan had kindly brought to him was growing cold on the table, only rhymes, stanzas and music mattered.

When the morning star spread her rays over the quiet land
Nobody knew of the danger near at hand
The wind on their face, their spirits ablaze
Our four heroes…

No, no…. how about…

… their spirits ablaze
Men, hobbit and elf…

Too long… hmm....

When the morning star spread her rays over the quiet land
Nobody knew of the danger near at hand
The wind on their face, their spirits ablaze
.....
.....
An unexpected league, from many a race

That’s good… very good!’ He grinned broadly ‘I knew this is what I needed… but all this writing and thinking is hungry work! Alas, my food is already cold… well, no use in bothering good Rowan again, I’ll find my way to the kitchen.’

He grabbed his plate and his mug and walked to the kitchen. Timidly sticking his head in, he asked out loud ‘Hello? Miss Rowan? I just wanted to get a little food, mine has grown cold, but I did not want to bother you. Hello?’

[Lalaith]

Lily Bunce adjusted the knapsack on her back and scratched her head distractedly. She was very tired, having spent a most anxious night in a nearby haystack. It wasn’t that sleeping in haystacks troubled her, for she was often forced to resort to such rough lodgings on her job-seeking tramps round the countryside. But in the early hours of the morning, well before dawn, the darkness had been suddenly been full of frantic howling and panting. She was shaken out of her usual stolidity, and crawled deep into the heavy, dank-smelling straw, cowering with terror, not daring to come out until the sun was high in the sky.

Seeing the sign of the Golden Perch, the sturdy, weather-beaten little figure in faded gingham began to march more purposefully. A good a place to ask for work, for one thing. For another, she could buy some breakfast, and even doze at a trestle to catch up on her lost sleep. Perhaps she might even find out what all that nocturnal howling was about.

Expecting to find just the odd gaffer in the barroom at this hour, Lily was amazed to see it so crowded and with so many customers talking excitedly and drinking. Strange faces….there was one of the Big People, singing and toasting his fellows. There were other Big Folk, all manner of hobbits…and, bless my buttons, was that an elf-lady there by the fire?

Lily felt aware of being unkempt and dishevelled, even by the standards of a labourer, and was slightly ashamed. “Good morning, good people. Might a body get a bite of breakfast?” She found a place at a trestle table near some other hobbits, and as she ate, began to feel more confident.

“I’m Lily Bunce, my folk are from Hardbottle,” she confided to her neighbours. “I’ve just come from Willowbottom over in South Farthing, I was helping with the lambing there. Now I need a spot of work to tide me over til hop-picking begins, and I’ve heard as how there’s plenty going about round Stock. And it's a lively place and no mistake, I can see that as plain as the nose on your face. I had a terrible night, you know,” she continued artlessly. “Slept in a stack yonder, I was woken by such howls, I thought the kelpies were come to get me.” She grinned cheerfully. “But it’s easy to forget the ghouls of the night when you’re in good company, with a fire in the hearth, and ham and eggs in your belly.”

[bill_n_sam]

With a somewhat self-important clearing of his throat, the middle aged hobbit directly to the left of Lily replied, “A terrible night was it, Miss? Well, you’re lucky howls is all you encountered!” He took a quick gulp of tea and continued. “Wolves! That’s what you heard! If you can reckon it. Wolves in the shire!” He picked up a half eaten piece of toast and crammed it into his mouth. Chewing purposefully, he nodded several times vaguely in the direction of the inn yard. Swallowing, he opened his mouth to speak, sending a light shower of crumbs onto Lily. “Right out there they were – right in the stable! Huge brutes! Bold as brass, they were. Have you ever heard anything like it?”

Not waiting for a reply, he went on. “I hurried right over, of course, being Shiriff for these parts. You’re from Hardbottle, you say? Can’t say as I’ve ever been that far afield myself. Now, I’ve heard of some Bunces, but to my recollection, they were all from over Frogmorton way. Might you be related to any of those, by any chance?” Shoveling half a fried egg into his never still mouth, he managed to say, “Rusty. Rusty Smallborough – that’s me. And could I trouble you to pass the pepper?”

[Folwren]

The noise and disturbance the wolves caused was surprisingly quickly dealt away with. Tollers’ alarm had brought hobbits and help from every side and the wolves were killed or driven away. Dick had had no hand in it. He stood outside the kitchen door, cheering the others on, with Cela Bunce and Primrose at his side. He felt so happy after the battle was over and the hobbits, men, and elf came out victorious, that he called for a free breakfast for everyone present. They’d like that, sure.

“And give them plenty, Cela and Prim!” he said cheerfully, sending the two ladies back to work. “Such fighting probably brings one a prodigious great appetite.”

A call sounded at the kitchen door. “Hello? Miss Rowan? I just wanted to get a little food, mine has grown cold, but I did not want to bother you. Hello?” The three hobbits turned to see a man looking half shyly through the door.

“Come in, my fine fellow!” Dick called, beckoning him in and grinning broadly. “We’ll serve you up something right quick. Cold eggs aren’t any good.” He took Robby’s plate and scraped the food into a waiting bucket for uneaten food. Cela, at the same took, took a new plate from the counter, dished up an entire new breakfast and handed it back to him. “Is there anything else we can help you with?” Dick asked.

‘Well, now, I do find myself becoming quite fond of it. Not that I’ve given up tea altogether, mind you,’ she hastened to add. ‘It’s just that this coffee has a deeper mystery to it. And sometimes when I’m drinking it I think about the warm, mountainous country in the south where the little brown beans come from.’

Being for most purposes a quite practical person, her cheeks colored a bit to be caught out at fantasizing. She pushed her mug toward Will with a nod. ‘Take a little sip, if you’d like. Not quite as strong as drunk plain. But I find I like it better tempered with a bit of sugar and a generous drop of cream stirred in.’

[Envinyatar]

In Breeland the requests for coffee, hot and strong, were a little more frequent than here inside the Shire bounds. Or so Jack recalled from the Inns and public houses he’d sat about in back there. Ale of course came first for thirst, followed by tea in thick walled mugs with spoonfuls of sugar, then that dark brew, coffee.

‘Come up from the south,’ one of the kitchen boys had told him. Along with something called cinnamon, he later learned, having stolen a rack of enticing smelling cookies from one of the Inn’s kitchen windowsills. Even now his tongue remembered how they'd been covered in sugar with a pinch of some reddish brown powder that gave them a lovely spicy sweet taste. His mouth watered at the memory.

‘Pour you a little more of that…errr…coffee, m’am?’ Jack said drawing near to the table where Miribelle Rushybank sat. A largish pot of tea was held tight in one of his bony fists, while his other hand grasped a smaller, silvered ewer with a long spout like a swan’s neck and a high domed top. He raised the silver pot up his brow raised in question.

‘Name’s Jack, m’am. Jack Greymoss,’ he went on, noting her skeptical eyeing of him. ‘Master Boffin was kind enough to let me work a little for my keep. Just helping out as best I can.’

[piosenniel]

Bêthberry has offered a seasonal RPG in Rohan – The Veil is Lifted.

It’s a 7th Age game, based loosely around Hallowe’en and open to all comers.

Come join us and have a little fun!

Game Thread – HERE
Discussion Thread – THERE

~*~ Pio

[Folwren]

Dick took the locket that Gable had handed to him and took it back into the kitchen. "Well," he said to the three stil gathered there, "no one spoke up for it apparently. "I wonder who could possibly have dropped it?" He looked at the thing. The chain was small and delicate and the locket glimmered in the bright sunlight coming in through the windows. "Odd. It has a lock to it and can't be opened." He touched it with a finger before sighing and bringing it closer to Cela.

"Here. Is there someplace you can put this where you won't forget and that when someone asks for it you can get it? I told Gable we could keep it in here until someone came looking for it. I figure you could keep an eye on it or something."

He extended the necklace towards her.

[Folwren]

Dick sat with the new elf. He had agreed to take a drink with him. No one was calling for anything and if they did Rowan or Tollers would probably be able to manage it. As Cela had said, Dick hardly had a moment to sit down and now there was a good excuse - a shy elf who apparently wasn’t used to hobbits and inns.

“Why don’t you meet some of my friends here? I am sure they would love to meet you,” he offered.

“I can’t say no to that, either,” Tarathiel said, a small smile coming into his face. Dick grinned and turned about in his chair.

“You’ll have to tell me who you want to meet first. Over there, walking across the room, is Cir. He’s a twin with another elf, but I haven’t seen her today.” Dick turned back towards Tarathiel and leaned across the table towards him. “You won’t guess what they did to me yesterday,” he said. “They came in and introduced both of themselves as Cir! How was I supposed to take that?” The elf shrugged slightly, his eyes fixed on Dick’s face, “I don’t know how I took it, I just did. Anyhow, they’re Cir and Cir, and Cir isn’t down here yet, only Cir is.” He laughed at his own joke and turned back again to point out more familiar faces. When he turned back around, Cir had disappeared, going through the door towards the bedrooms.

“Over there in the corner, with his head back and eyes closed (he’s probably thinking, he does that a lot) is Izmakiel. He came in this morning, about the same time you did, I think. He comes often. He’s a ranger here abouts,” Dick said. “And you’re lost, aren’t you? You said you lost your companions some days ago? Well, Izmakiel may be able to help you find them again.”

“Who was the lady elf who asked about the locket a few minutes ago?”

“Oh that? That’s Gable. She’s been around here for years. I don’t remember when she first came...she helps about the place. She especially likes working with the horses and ponies out in the stables. She rides often, too.

“Over there,” indicating the short, stout figure of Tollers passing between two tables, “is Tollers. He’s a young fellow who works for me. Rowan is over there. Will keeps the horses, he’s in the kitchen, and Primrose and Cela Brandybuck cook all this delicious food for us.”

And so Dick went on, he named what faces he could, and skipped over the rest, until he had covered the whole room, and some people who weren’t even in the room.

“Now,” he said as he finished, turning back to look Tarathiel in the face again, “I’ve named everyone I know well enough to introduce you to. Tell me who you’d like to speak with and I’ll make introductions. After that, I’m afraid I have to get back to my work.”

[Forest Elf]

Gable sighed and began her walk back to the Inn. Her thoughts swirled around her mind like leaves in and autumn wind. Now that the doctor is probably there by now… I don’t mind. Now that I don’t have to take him to the Inn I can look around for any sign of the pony’s owner…I wonder if the owner is still alive or not…What were those wolves thinking anyways? Attacking a pony and the pony’s rider, then coming back into the stables and attacking… I haven’t ever heard of something like this happening before…what’s making them come to the Shire? Gable shook her head to clear her thoughts of the questions. Too many questions that can’t be answered…yet. I should probably get some help if I’m going to look for the pony’s owner…and, if no one wants to help…then it seems I’m going off on my own little adventure for awhile.

Her footsteps were light upon the ground, and she quickened her pace from excitement. She always loved the thought of adventure, even if it was a small thought, but a thought, nonetheless. Gable looked up at the sky, the sun was behind one of the fat, lazy clouds up there just gently going forwards. Then she looked forward and had to keep herself from crying out. There, in the bushes, something was huddled up under there. She couldn’t see what it was, but she didn’t know if it was a threat or not. Slowly, carefully, she lowered herself into a crouch. Then she bit her tongue to keep from crying out. Right there, under the bush is a sleeping wolf. Gable fought to keep the panic down and then calmed herself. Her thoughts of finding the owner vanished and now the only thoughts in her mind was to find the nearest tree until after the wolf had gone away…She stood and slowly began making her way to the nearest tree, a little ways off of the road, but not too far.

She slowly put her feet on the ground, in slow, quiet steps. She was a few feet away from the tree when she stepped on an old twig. It let out a loud snap as she stepped on it and the wolf’s head went up. His ears were raised as he listened for any more sounds. Gable held her breath when his eyes turned upon her. The wolf stood and stared at Gable. Something about this wolf was very familiar…too familiar. The wolf let out a howl and then jumped over to Gable. He sat down in front of her then jumped up on her, like a large dog in greeting.

Somewhat nervous, Gable petted the wolf. Then she knew why this wolf looked so familiar. It was the wolf pup she had saved long ago…only now it was much older. “I’m glad that it’s you and not some-” Gable began to say when she heard a wolf growl to her right, and another one to her left, and one behind her, blocking her off from the tree.

[Forest Elf]

Gable sat quietly in a tree, thoughts filling her mind. She couldn't get the pony, or wolves out of her mind, she was grateful for the help, and glad that they were chased away, but how much longer until they attack again? And next time, will everyone be safe? Will someone be caught off guard with no way to defend themselves?

She shook her head to try and get rid of these forbidding thoughts, but they stuck in her head like glue. She couldn't help but to wonder when and where they would next attack, what if it was somewhere in town, away from the Inn, or an unwary traveler? She sighed and jumped down from the tree and headed to the stables, and quietly began mucking out a stall.

She focused her mind on her work, so that her thoughts wouldn't fill her mind and torment her with worry. She loved adventures, she loved the thrill of it, but she also loved the Shire, and its hobbit people. She didn't want them to get hurt, or worse...She shook her head and kept mucking out the pony's stall. She scooped out another load with the pitchfork and a small locket lay in the injured pony's stall that caught her eye. She leaned down and picked it up. It had a gold chain, and a small lock, that a key would have to open, to small to pick open with no name upon it. She brushed off some of the dirt to see if she could find a name, but it hadn't a single letter upon or any kind of inscription that would give her any idea of who owned this. She put the locket in her pocket and pushed the thoughts from her mind, and finished mucking out the injured pony's stall.

[Anguirel]

A low voice at Lily Bunce's elbow made her a gruff reply, as if the words were being eked unwillingly out of a hillside.

"Wolves, hrrmm. They get worse each year. Here's hoping the Thain will get a hunt together."

The speaker nodded rather portentously at his own speech, and then resumed staring into his tankard for a while. Lily, who had looked towards him to listen, was just starting to turn to her right when he spoke again.

"Still, there's been rain for the farm, small mercies to be thanked for I suppose..."

The sturdy looking Hobbit took a swig of his ale, not particularly enthusiastically, as if drinking it were some weighty duty. Lily got a detailed look at him. Something about him seemed calculated to dampen the spirits. His hands and clothes, liberally begrimed, belied his relatively well-spoken voice. His eyes seemed dissatisfied. He was neither tall in Hobbit terms, nor especially small. His hair was the same colour as the mud that occasionally spattered it.

He seemed to notice Lily's gaze, even perhaps be a little unnerved by it. "My name's...m'name's Grand...I mean to say, Gandrio Dwellover," he muttered quickly and pretty unintelligibly; then, more clearly, as if gaining orientation, "Mistress Romilia's son, up at Dwellover Farm."

After another short pause he conceded, "Course, no reason you should know the place," and took another slightly forlorn gulp of ale.