The Green Dragon Inn #11 - The Last Chapter

[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

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.

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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]

Time of Day

It's mid-morning in the Shire. Breakfast is still being served.

The weather is pleasant - sunny with a clear sky.

[Koobdooga]

Ibun Lodestone shifted the large, dark leather pack to his other shoulder as he turned up the dirt path to the Inn. The Dwarf paused for a moment, letting the morning’s breezes riffle through his long russet beard. He pushed back the hood of his yellow cape, letting the full heat of the sun warm his face. He grinned, his mustache curving up in a definite bow above his generous lips. Borne on the trails of those same morning breezes was the creak, creak of the Inn’s sign as it swayed on its iron chains.

‘Be needing a little oil, they do,’ he murmured to himself, hearing the protest of metal against metal.’

The Green Dragon was famous in the tales of his fathers, being the local watering hole nearest the hilly home of Master Bilbo Baggins, renowned thief. He chuckled to himself, delighted that he would at last see it.

A few steps brought him to the door, where he paused to knock the mud from his boots and shake the dust from his cloak. Leaving the bright morning light, he entered the darker interior of the common room, blinking a little as his eyes adjusted to the dimness. He felt at ease within the Inn’s walls – its cool, dark interior reminding him of the caves and mines of his home to the far east . Smells of food and drink assailed his nostrils, and he felt his stomach grumble in anticipation.

Taking a table near the wall, where his back would be protected and his view of those coming and going unobstructed, Ibun eased his pack off his shoulders. His cloak he laid neatly over the back of his chair. With a sigh of relief he sat down in the oaken chair. It had been a long morning’s walk and his feet had begun to protest it several miles back.

Servers were hurrying this way and that with platters of food and flagons of spirits. ‘I say, Miss!’ he called out to one who was passing on her way back toward the kitchen. ‘Do you think you might bring a hungry Dwarf some eggs and ham?’ His mouth watered at the thought of it. ‘And perhaps a pint of your fine ale to wet my whistle. My tongue’s fair parched from the dust kicked up from your farmers’ wagons!’

[brim]

Brim followed the dwarf's voice to where he sat. He seemed rater intruging. smiling to herself Brim set her book away. Even though the story was riveting she had enough fiction for on day. "Newalme, could you get me something to eat perferably warm?" she asked quickly.
The young man quickly got up from the table for a visit to one of the waitresses. he nodded to the lady and motioned over the nearest waitress to come.

[Primrose Bolger]

Ginger and the Dwarf

Ginger had her empty serving tray tucked under one arm and was hurrying back to the kitchen, when she heard a low voice call out, ‘I say, Miss!’ She paused for a moment and turned toward the source. A newcomer to the Inn, she could see. And he was a Dwarf! She’d only been working at The Green Dragon for a short while and she couldn’t recall meeting one of the Dwarven people.

He seemed a nice enough fellow, she thought, drawing near him. His eyes twinkled in his face and beneath the generous beard and mustache she thought she could see him smiling.

‘Do you think you might bring a hungry Dwarf some eggs and ham?’ he went on as she stopped at his table. ‘And perhaps a pint of your fine ale to wet my whistle. My tongue’s fair parched from the dust kicked up from your farmers’ wagons!’

‘Yes, sir! Master Dwarf!’ she said, nodding her head to his requests. ‘I’ll just fetch your drink first and hurry back with your breakfast after.’ She turned to go, then as quickly turned back. ‘My name’s Ginger, by the way,’ she said introducing herself. ‘And, well, what is it they call you when you’re at home. If you don’t mind that is?’


-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-


Buttercup speaks with Newalme

To her left, Buttercup could see Ginger speaking to one of the newcomers. A russet haired Dwarf with a yellow cloak draped over his chair. He seemed friendly enough, and Ginger seemed at ease with him. Ginger was a new, young helper at the Inn, and Buttercup kept an eye on her in case she needed help with the tougher customers. This fellow appeared well mannered, however, so Buttercup passed on by.

She had only taken a few steps when a tall Elf hailed her. He had just gotten up from where a golden haired lady Elf sat. Brim she thought she remembered was the lady’s name. And this must be her traveling companion.

‘What can I do for you?’ she asked as she stepped up to where Newalme stood. ‘Would you and the lady like something to eat and drink?’

[Pivli]

"Now I have a question for you, Miz Greengage," Alcarillo announced, "You must be very familiar with the Shire. Can you tell me where the nearest inn that lies eastwards is? I'm traveling that way, you see, and I am somewhat unused to sleeping at the side of the road." He smiled pleasantly at her.

Violet’s attention had wandered for a moment – to the strange fellow who’d come in the door. Taller than a Hobbit, but not so tall as one of the Big Folk. And built very sturdy, he was. She dug down deep, in the stories she’d heard about Mister Bilbo and his adventures. Something niggled at the edges of her memory as she looked at the fellow’s beard and yellow cloak. A Dwarf! Yes, that’s the name she remembered from the old stories. My, my! Who’d have thought she would actually clap eyes on one.

The sound of the Elf’s voice drew her back. She heard the rising tone at the end of his words and knew he’d asked a question of her. Gather your wits back, Violet! she chided herself, piecing together what words of his she’d heard.

‘Well now, Master Nession – an Inn eastways down the road, you say. Mind you I haven’t traveled all that much. But I have gone as far as Frogmorton. ‘Bout twenty miles or so as the crow flies down the road. My mister took me there once when he was delivering some barrels he’d made to the inn there. The Floating Log, it’s called. Nice place; not quite as big as the Dragon. But very pleasant.’ She paused for a moment, thinking about some others of the Inns her husband had brought his barrels to. ‘Another day’s ride will bring you to the bridge that crosses the Brandywine. There’s a comfortable place there – The Bridge Inn, run by one of the Brandybuck families I heard tell.’

Violet took a sip of her tea; the steaming liquid warming her insides. ‘Oh, I’ve just thought of another, though it’s a bit off the Great Road. It was one of Mister Greengages favorites in the Eastfarthing.’ She furrowed her brow, recall where he said it was located. ‘Just before you get to the Brandywine River, there’s a small road that turns off toward the south, toward Stock. Less than an hour I should think, brings you to The Golden Perch. Finest beer in the Eastfarthing they say. And a fine place to put up if you like to fish at all. My husband did, bless him. “You had your choice,” he would say. “The Stockbrook or the Brandywine or both. Always come home with your creel full!” Many’s the fat smoked perch caught in those waters we’d have to tide us through the winters when meat was scarce.’

She looked over at Alcarillo, wondering if Elves fished and such. ‘Do you fish, Master Nession?’ she asked, the words bubbling up from her curious mind.

[Dunwen]

As she waited for Miz Bella to make up her mind, Ebba noticed two nearby children gazing at the colorful pile on the table. She kept an eye on them. Youngsters invariably wanted to touch the brightly colored goods. While sympathetic, Ebba’s familiarity with the frequently grubby state of childish hands made her protective of her wares.

These two made a strange pair indeed. The merchant had to smile at the small chattering hobbit girl and her friend, who towered over her. Why, the lad was nearly as tall as Ebba herself – not that it was hard for a boy child to top her. As handsome a young fellow as she ever remembered seeing, too! And well-mannered, she noted with approval. As he took the girl's arm and headed toward her table, Ebba was startled to see he had a resemblance to the dark-haired Elf who had been chatting with Miz Bella earlier. Could this boy be his son?

Seeing their determined approach, she stepped aside so they could see. “Come and look if you want, but don’t you touch unless your hands are clean,” she said firmly.

[Child of the 7th Age]

Miz Bella looked up from the pile of yarns that she had just finished sorting. There was a considerable heap of bright woolen thread sprawled out on one side of the table. Miz Bella had picked out the colors that she thought would work best to decorate the costumes and props they would make for the Faire. There was the short skit that the children would do as well as the puppet show that she had learned about just the day before. They would need yarn to embroider a bright curtain for the front of the stage, to make wigs for each of the characters, to weave cloth that could be turned into costumes, and a hundred other uses that she could not precisely recall at the moment.

Glancing up to see Neviel and Marigold inching towards the table, Miz Bella gestured for the two to come closer. She inspected their hands to make sure that they were clean. "That's good. Come have a look then. But do be careful, just as Miz Ebba says. Margold, help me find some fine colors that we can use to embroider a curtain for the stage. And Neviel, your father told me you've had some experience weaving cloth. Pick out some colors that would work for puppet costumes ..... dwarves and men and a hobbit or two, plus a large and very frightful dragon who has an evil glint in his eye."

[Saelind]

Neviel turned towards his teacher with a smile. It was the part about the dragon that had caught his ear. He found a long skein of brown thread and another of green and set these to one side. Then he sorted out a smaller pile of red and orange yarn, thinking that these would do for the flames that must surely come spewing out of the dragon's mouth.

Yet, even as he did this, there was one thing that was still bothering him. The young Elf turned toward the hobbit who apparently owned the goods and had set them out on the table. "Begging your pardon, ma'am. I don't think we've met. These yarns are very pretty, and I think they would do well for our skit and puppet show at the Spring Faire. I should like to buy them, but my pockets are empty, and I haven't even a penny to pay for all this." He looked up quizzically first at Miz Bella and then at the hobbit lady whose name he did not know.

[Dunwen]

"I should like to buy them, but my pockets are empty, and I haven't even a penny to pay for all this."

Ebba was hard put not to chuckle at the Elf-boy's earnest words. She managed to keep a straight face as she replied, "You're a proper honest lad and no mistake. As it happens, Miz Bella here asked about my yarns and threads and was deciding on them before you came over." With a wink at the young elf and his hobbit companion she added in a loud whisper, "I think she wanted some help making up her mind."

Neviel, reassured, returned to looking over the yarns with Marigold's assistance. Across the table, Miz Bella had had to resort to hiding her laughter in her napkin at the widow's last sentence, which of course she had heard quite clearly.

Ebba decided it was time to conclude the deal. Quickly sorting through Miz Bella's choice of yarn, she placed the largest share of the pile to one side. "These I could let you go ahead and have without charge," she said briskly. Gesturing toward the remaining few skeins, she said, "These are harder for me to come by, and I would need to charge you for them."

Miz Bella, expecting to indulge in a bit of friendly haggling over all the goods she had selected, was surprised into a protest. "Surely you can't afford to give all this away," she said, laying a hand on the large pile of yarns.

"Mmmmm," Ebba shrugged enigmatically. "Happens I have a soft spot for anybody who can teach reading and writing. I didn't learn myself till I was grown, and it's a good thing I did then. I wouldn't have been able to take care of my family if I hadn't known my letters and ciphering and all. Now you can have this", pointing to the large pile, "if you'll pay me for these," indicating the smaller pile of threads. She named a price for the smaller pile which would scarcely make a dent in Miz Bella's purse.

Pleased at this bit of unexpected good fortune, Miz Bella agreed after only a little bit of haggling (for politeness' sake).

[Bêthberry]

A dark shadow crossed over the sunlight streaming through the window of the Green Dragon. Patrons rose in shocked surprise only to see a brown falcon swoop low through the door and drop a large scroll from one clawed leg onto a large wooden table.

"Why, that's Wyrd, Bethberry's falcon," one voice cried as several arms contested to catch the bird.

Evading them, however, Wyrd flew out again, leaving patrons to read the missive which bore a return address

"Well, now," said one. "It's not such a hike to Rohan, is it?"

"Naw, it t'ain't. And anybody's allowed to be a squatter, not just them Rohan types."

[The Perky Ent]

"For many a year I've walked this Earth, and I have but one thing to show for it." Barnaby grabbed a flask from his green tunic, and drank its contents. "Ale". Looking over a hill, Barnaby spied the Bywater. He took a vial of ink, a long purple quill, and a tearing peace of parchment from out of his jacket. As he looked over the list, he made several markings. Looking finally to a small blank space on the parchment, he smirked and tucked the supplies back into his jacket. Grabbing his walking stick, he strode down the hill to the Green Dragon.

Barnaby was an average hobbit; he loved the Shire, and its bounty. Ever since he was a lad, Barnaby showed a true passion for drinking. He was not an alcoholic, but a connoisseur. For over sixty years, Barnaby had gone from one end of the Shire to the other, in search of the perfect ale. He had not found the ideal drink yet, but he had vowed to keep searching until he had found it.

Walking down the road, he stopped at last to a crowded establishment. “Ah! The Green Dragon. I think I shall start here. “ Barnaby said, as he walked into the Inn. Inside, he found a multitude of yelling, cheering, and of course, drinking. He struggled for a second, dodging a rather drunk hobbit who promptly fell at Barnaby’s feet. “This will prove interesting.” He said, as he walked on down to a table. He caught the eye of a woman carrying drinks. She walked on over to Barnaby. “And what can I get you today?” she said. “Oh, I think an ale will be fine for now” Barnaby said, as she walked away.

Several minutes later, she came back with the drink. “Thank you, Milady “ Barnaby said, as she walked away. Barnaby took out his parchment and quill, and then started to sip the drink. At once, a surge of please and excitement ripped across his entire body. He went down on the ale like a worg ravaging a dead carcass. “That…that was…more!” he said, as he scribbled down the drinks taste on his parchment. “I think I shall be here a while” he thought, as he got up, and walked over to the woman who gave him the drink. “Excuse me Ma’am, but can you direct me to the innkeeper? “

[Alcarillo]

Alcarillo took careful note of the inns along the road. He did not want to sleep by the roadside and let unexpected weather soak his belongings, or find that the horse he had borrowed from a friend was stolen. Alcarillo would find it very awkward to tell Nárello back in Harlond that his horse was now gone, with a new rider or wandering the wild.

"Do you fish, Master Nession?" Miz Greengage asked.

Alcarillo's mind returned to the conversation at hand. "No, I'm afraid I don't," he answered, "I was never very fond of eating fish. My sister's husband, however, is a fisherman. He eats nothing but fish every day." Alcarillo nibbled on the last slice of bread. "He's taken me out on his boat numerous times. One time we ran out of food, and had to fish over the side of the boat. That was one of the few times I have eaten fish willingly." Alcarillo smiled at the fond memories of sailing the great sea. "Those were the days before the Shire was founded, before your folk came over the mountains, if I recall the words of the books in my study correctly." He finished the last of his tea.

It must still be mid-morning, he judged by the light through the windows. Alcarillo felt that he should leave soon if he wanted to reach the next inn by sunset, but Miz Greengage was an interesting character, and he was enjoying their conversation.

[Angel_Queen]

Ravon walked through the front doors of the Green Dragon. She had been absent for a while. Ravon and Lewis had finally returned from their trip to Rohan. She still wasn't sure if getting married in Rohan was the best idea. After all none of her family was there. But her mother had sailed from Middle Earth many years ago leaving Ravon to take care of herself.

Just before the doors closed Ravon heard a thud and turned to see that her husband had been hit by the massive doors. Attempting to hold back a laugh Ravon opened the door the rest of the way. "I'm sorry dear I forgot that you was even back there. My mind wondered off for just a second." Amongst all the shouts inside the inn Ravon still couldn't help but tend to her other half. "Lewis are you ok?" Despite all the years Lewis had spent fighting, Ravon knew that the force behind the door must have caused some sort of injury. A glimmer of crimson red liquid told Ravon all she needed.... Lewis' nose was bleeding.

Aicanara walked into the Green Dragon, hood still drawn up over her. Shaking back her hood, she let her dark, long hair fall carelessly down her back. He grey eyes scanned the room. She stood tall, with pale skin, the trademark complexion of an elf. She tucked her hair behind pointed ears and walked over to the innkeeper.

"I need a place to stay for a while. Would you be so kind?" Taking her key from the innkeeper, she gathered up what little stuff that she had brought with her and made the journey to her room.

Setting down her things, she took of her cloak completely, hanging it up on one of the convienient hooks on the wall. She turned down the bed, and assured that her steed would be safe in the stables, fell on to the bed and fell into a deep, much needed and much deserved sleep.

[Hiriel]

Crouched over slightly to avoid detection in the dusty pall of mid-morning , Lara Stonetoe trotted towards the Green Dragon Inn. She was in a state of half-elation and half-terror as she approached the window of the building from the back, not daring the door. After all, Fred’s bet had said nothing about actually going in, both of them not even near their tweens yet. She’d be in such trouble. And as bored as her mother had been lately, she did not relish the prospect of getting caught as she might have done otherwise, just to see the jumpy old busybody blast off, like the tales of Wizard Fireworks her gammer sometimes told.

Licking her lips which had somehow withered, whether from the heat or the nerves she couldn’t tell, Lara had to jump up several times, bobbing like fish bait in the Brandywine, to get a firm hold of the dusty window ledge. But even though her limbs were shaking like mad, the view inside was worth it. Oh, Fred was going to be so jealous when she told him about it! There was an elf accepting keys to a room, great gaffers alive, a real elf! Standing calm yet proud, her great ears pointed skyward, her eyes full of, well, it was something Lara couldn’t quite put words too. Starlight, but more brilliant, and more delicate. She even forgot to think how horribly jealous Fred would be, and how chicken he would feel for brushing off the bet when she got home and told him all about it.

Forgetting her earlier fear and squinting till her eyes were almost a line of wrinkles, she peered deeper into the tavern to find several hobbits taking their ease and, bless the Thain, another elf, in light conversation with a hobbit her mother knew, Miz Greenbow or Greenfen or Greengage or somersuch. Was it possible for some creature so high as an elf to be talking pleasantly to normal hobbit gentlefolk? Lara’s mouth opened slightly, struck with the wonder of it. But by now her limbs were tired and her neck wheezed, whining in complaint of the angle she was using to look. “Well, it wouldn’t be such a risk to take a peek through the door, she thought, licking her dry lips again. “ My legs are sore, and it’d put Fred right in his place, too! This seemed to be far more convincing than her still nervous feelings on peering into a place meant for hobbits twice her age, and so she crouched below the sightline of the window, and feeling increasing foolish at her care, crept towards the front door.

Her worry was for naught, however, for as she slunk towards the door, two other big folk (she wasn’t sure if they were men or elves, having never seen so many tall people together in one place before) made to enter it. Lara, gasping, clubbed, ripped her body backwards, clutching to the corner of the wall, but lost her balance in the bargain. The slighter of the two made it in the door fine, but she tripped into the big wooden frame just as the second made to enter it, knocking him flat.

[Primrose Bolger]

Ginger sees to Barnaby and notes the accident in the doorway

Ginger turned away from the Hobbit’s table to get him another half pint of ale. Barnaby, as he had told her his name was quite the drinker it seemed. And the writer, to boot. She wondered how fast his quill could get if fueled by enough ale. ‘I’ll look round for Aman,’ she called back to him as she hurried off. ‘And send her to you when I’ve found her.’

On her way there, she saw Buttercup hurrying up the main aisle toward the door. Ginger paused for a moment to see what made her friend go at such a pace. Well, there it was – a dark haired Elf bent over one of the big folk males who lay sprawled on the Inn’s porch. And as the Elf shifted position for a moment, Ginger could see the man’s nose was bleeding.

Ruby ran past her, on her was to help also. ‘That’s Ravon, the Elvish lady there,’ Ruby told her quickly. ‘And the big man is Lewis, from Rohan.’ Ruby hurried on as Ginger made her way to the bar.

‘What a thoroughly odd morning,’ Ginger mumbled to herself. Seeing no sign of the Innkeeper behind the bar, she quickly pulled a couple of half pints for Barnaby. ‘May as well keep him occupied for a bit,’ she reasoned, taking both the foaming mugs back to his table.

[Pivli]

Violet gave her table companion a rather disbelieving look as he told her he didn’t fish. Lad or lassie alike in Bywater, all had a bit of fishing line stuffed in one pocket or another, just in case the opportunity presented itself. And not eat fish! Why no wonder the Fair folk were so skinny! Passing up crispy fried trout served up with taters and onions. Violet simply could not fathom it.

She was about to make some remark, when her sharp old eyes caught sight of a familiar face peeking in at a window. The Stonetoe girl! Violet chuckled to herself. ‘Up to some mischief, I suspect, with that Fred.’ The face disappeared as quickly as it had risen and Violet’s brows raised wondering what the girl thought she was doing.

‘Would you excuse me, Mister Nession,’ she said quickly, leaning on her cane as she leveraged herself up from the chair. ‘I see one of my dear friend’s children out on the porch. Needing some attention, no doubt.’ She bowed her back a bit, working out one of the many kinks that came and went on her aging body. Her knees creaked a little and protested the call to movement.

‘Lara! Lara Stonetoe! Is that you, girl?’ she called out as she started toward the door. Two of the serving lasses from the Inn went running by her nearly knocking her down. ‘Sorry, Miz Greengage. Big Folk accident,’ one of them hurriedly explained. And sure enough two large figures loomed in the doorway, one with a bloody nose. ‘Must be those big old boots they wear. Makes them trip,’ she thought looking at the tableaux.

‘Lara! Is that you lass? Come in and have a little bite to eat, won’t you?’

[Koobdooga]

A server has taken his order. Ibun Lodestone leaned back in his chair anticipating the first fine stream of Dragon ale as it cascaded down his throat. The Dwarf’s hopes for a quick delivery of victuals and drink dried up as he noted his server, Buttercup, go sprinting up toward the Inn door. Turning slightly in his chair, he noted the source of her rush. An Elven lady and some man with a bloody nose. Ibun’s eyes glittered with amusement, wondering if the man had made some ill remark to her and she’d clouted the oaf. His brother’s wife, he chuckled to himself, was just as likely to do that to her husband and sons if they acted out of line with her. But then he noted the lady bent toward the man in a concerned way, fussing over him and such.

Ibun turned his attention away from the scene and glanced about the Inn. The bar, he noted, was untended. And no server passed near where he sat. Hefting himself up from the oaken chair, he stumped purposefully toward the ale barrel behind the bar. No one seemed to be tending it or hurrying over to see what he might need. There were clean mugs on the shelves beneath the bar top and he grabbed one of them. As large a one as he could find; then, filled it from the barrel.

Aaah! The foamy brew coursed over his parched tongue and down his throat to hit his belly with a satisfying splash. ‘’B’lieve I’ll just have another!’ he said to no one in particular. ‘Save me a return trip.’ He sucked the foam from his mustache, not wanting to waste a single drop of the blessed refreshment. Pulling the handle on the barrel once again, he filled the tankard to the brim then carefully picked his way back to his table. ‘Twill tide me over till the food arrives, at least!’

With a sigh of pleasure he resumed his seat.

[piosenniel]

Food at last for the hungry Dwarf

Cook looked out through the swinging kitchen doors wondering what the source of all the commotion was. Buttercup and Ruby had disappeared and none of the other servers had returned for the orders she’d dished up. Peering toward the Dragon’s door, she noted a knot of people gathered about two of the Big Folk. No – make that one of the Big Folk, the man, and one of the Fair Folk, the lady . . . and wasn’t that Ravon!

Whatever had happened, it seemed to be taken well in hand by those who’d responded. Cook turned back to the kitchen and loading up a tray of platters she shouldered it and made her way back out to the Common Room. She called out the orders as she went along, and delivered them to whomever had held up a hand.

The last was to a Dwarf sitting back near the wall. She could just see his dark eyes peering over the rim of his mug as he waved to her with some enthusiasm. ‘There you go, Master Dwarf,’ she said putting the platter of eggs and ham before him, along with a basket of thick sliced bread.’ Enjoy yourself!’ she added, putting a small crock of butter and a pot of blackberry jam down next to the basket.

‘Staying long in the Shire?’ she inquired as she did so.’

Waking up from her comatose sleep, she changed out of her traveling clothes and put some on afresh. Venturing downstairs, she wondered if anyone would ask what her business was here. Still, it didn't matter, she cross that bridge when she got there. If she got there, that is.

In dire need of something to eat and something to drink. She scrounged her self up some somewhat cold eggs, toast and bacon and some water. Munching contemplatively on her breakfast, she looked around the room at the people and the surroundings. Some girl child was having a bit of food, over in the corner with and adult woman, looking around the room nervously. Lara Stonetoe was what the lady had called her perhaps? She caught the childs eyes and smiled kindly.

Going back to her food, she chewed slowly, not any any real or particlular hurry to make haste anywhere. She came here to be... well she wasnt sure... But whatever it was, that's exactly what she intended to do. So there.

Pushing her now empty plate away and gluping down the last of her water, she mulled over what she could do with the rest of her day.

"Hmmmmm..." She wondered aloud. "I could take Vorima Sule (Often just reffered to as Vorima or Sule) out of the stable and for a ride. Lords know that she's bored to death already... You know... I think I'll do just that."

Happy and very pleased to be doing something with and for a purpose, she rose form her chair, smiled once again at Lara Stonetoe and strode out the door to fetch her horse.

[Hookbill the Goomba]

As the mid morning sun shone down on the path leading to By-water and The Green Dragon, many Hobbit folk wandered too and fro on business of their own. with the patter of feet and the noise of every-day Shire life, no one even gave the strange man a second glance. Hobbits had become used to big folk visiting the Dragon over the last years and it was of no surprise to them. That's not to say they were all entirely happy about it, but they merely fixed some with a stern look, or just plain ignored them.

Quietly and semi-casually, a short and yet broad man walked down the dusty road and saw the swinging sigh of The Green Dragon as it squeaked and rattled. A Bird fluttered over-head carrying something in his beak, it was a crow and it had an ill-favoured look about it.

The Man's name was Seleven, and he was a Gondorian. Or at least, so he claimed. He was not particularly magnificent at fighting or at anything really. He had shoulder length hair that was dark and filthy, he also had a small stubble that seemed to have things stuck in it. He was dressed in a green tunic with a dark blue hooded cloak under which was his pack. He had a short sword and a pair of knives that were strapped about his waist. He also had immense black boots and a long white scarf that came down to his belt.

The Crow fluttered down and placed the paper on the floor in front of the Green Dragon Door with a squawk. It eyes him with a frustration in its eye as well as a look of having better things to do with his time. With a sigh, Seleven took some bread from his pack and fed the bird before taking the paper. The bird then flew off into the distance, all the time Seleven watch it until only his eyes, or elven eyes, could see. Then it passed from his sight and he opened the door to the Dragon.

The first thing that hit him, almost literally, was the odd smell that burst out of the door upon opening. A mixture of cooked breakfasts, pipe weed and ale all mixed into one fell blast of air trying desperately to escape the small Inn. The Hobbits, elves, men and even Dwarves that were all inside the small place were all laughing and making a joyful noise.

Seleven coughed and moved to the bar to get a drink. He spoke in his Gondorian accent, rich with elements of Elvish and even the husky speak of Dwarves could be detected by the keen eared. He quietly sat himself down on a chair after receiving his drink and inspected the piece of paper.

[piosenniel]

Godren threw back the edges of his black cloak, letting them fall behind his shoulders and smoothed down his sable tunic. The silver star set with an onyx horse’s head that marked him as an errand-rider of Gondor gleamed brightly where it hung from the fine linked chain about his neck. He drew off his leather gloves, tucking them in his belt as he stepped into The Green Dragon.

For a moment, he stood blinking in the dimmer lit interior. When his eyes had accommodated themselves to the lower level of light, he glanced about, looking for the board where notices and messages were put.

Aah! There it was between the bar and the dartboard. With a few quick strides he pulled the rolled up parchment from the pouch at his belt and affixed it to the board.

~*~ NOTICE ~*~

Let it be known that

Fordim Hedgethistle

known to those in the Shire as Master Hearpwine, and etc . . .
has now had his name engraved on the iron plaque that bears the list of the story-tellers of Gondor.

Huzzah!

Let all come to The Inn of the Seventh Star in Minas Tirith and raise a glass of cheer to Fordim.

** And for those wondering, drink and food are free on this occasion. And all are most welcome **

~*~ ~*~

'Most generous, errand-rider! Most generous, indeed!' Cook drew up a pint for the thirsty horseman and mugs of good brown ale for all those in the Inn. 'Master Hearpwine,' she chuckled handing out the foaming brew. 'None better to deserve it!'

She raised her own mug in the general direction of the High King's city and drank it down without a breath intervening . . .

[Witch_Queen]

Cariâthwen's return


The Green Dragon loomed on the horizon. Cariâthwen had returned to the inn hoping that she might find company for the long ride ahead of her. She sat on her horse staring down at the marvles of The Shire. The beast beneath her began to move from side to side, left to right. "So your ready then?" The animal moved it large white head up and down given his approval. "Well then shall we."

Before she could finish her sentence the horse began a dead run towards the Green Dragon Inn. Cariâthwen did her best to keep from falling of the back of her large white horse that she call Thorn. Out of the corner of her eye Cariâthwen thought she saw what was a bird of some sort but wasn't sure.

The outside of the inn hadn't changed a bit since she had last seen it. Cariâthwen saw a passing hobbit lad. "Excuse me...Yes you... If you would be so kind as to escort Thorn here to the stables I'll treat you to a pint or two." The face of the hobbit seemed to lighten up at the sound of a pint. "Thanks I'll be waiting inside by the bar." Cariâthwen stood up straight pulling the hood of her cloak over her head to try to hide her face. Now lets see what is going on inside the Inn. Hope its nothing to drastic.

Cariâthwen opened the door to the Inn and noticed that nothing about the place had changed. She walked over to the bar to wait for the hobbit so she could keep her promise. Cariâthwen seemed lost in thought when suddenly she was brought back to reality at the feel of a tug on her cloak. She looked down noticing a smiling hobbit standing beside her. "Oh yes I almost thought you wasn't going to join me." She turned to the maiden behind the bar. "Can I have two pints of the strongest ale for my friend here." The maiden smiled and went about getting the two pints of ale. Cariâthwen turned placing her back against the wooden bar. Her gray eyes scanned the inn not knowing what to be looking for.

The sound of the pints being sat on the dark wood of the bar caught her attention. Turning around Cariâthwen paid for the pints and handed them to the hobbit that helped her a few moments ago. "Here you go as I promised two pints for your service." Noticing an empty table in the darkest part of the inn Cariâthwen though it best to find herself a seat. Empty was no understatement. The lonely table in the corner was lacky chairs. Noticing a table that was surrounded by chairs Cariâthwen decided the obtain an empty chair so she was not having to stand up all day. "Excuse me...." Cariâthwen couldn't tell if the figure that sat at the table was friendly or not. "I'm sorry to bother you...Would you care if I took a chair.. All the others are currently occupied." The words seemed to spill out of her mouth despite her failed attempt of concealing her elven accent. Taking a closer look at the figure Cariâthwen noticed the figure was a he and he appeared to be looking at a piece of paper.

[Hookbill the Goomba]

Seleven examined the paper. It was defiantly the hand of Smilog who had written this, the evil looking bird had been enough of a clue, but the black ink and the jagged letters clinched it. Before he read any of it, he could guess what it said; he took a sip of ale. As he did so, a small shape appeared at the other end of the table.

"I'm sorry to bother you" it said with a pause, "Would you care if I took a chair. All the others are currently occupied." Seleven nodded and returned to his reading. The figure had not moved, Seleven raised an eyebrow and said, "Good morning," hoping that the figure would perhaps give him some privacy. But yet it moved not.

Seleven placed the paper on the table, it clunked as the wax seal hit the wood and fell to rest. The figure stood still, looking at him while he drank his ale. Eventually, Seleven felt he should break the silence; "I see curiosity in your face," he said, "you would pry into my business?" he laughed and opened his arm out to a chair as if to say 'do sit down'. He folded the paper up and placed it in his pack before continuing, "to whom do I have the pleasure?"

[Kitanna]

Kitanna came up the road and saw a familiar sight. Only once before had she been to The Green Dragon, but here she was again. She led her horse up the path and to the stables. When she was sure the animal was going to be taken care of properly, she undid her long black hair from it's braid and entered.

People bustled around the inn, chatting, eating, generally making merry. A soft smile passed over her lips. She decided to take a seat in a back corner and eat her breakfast alone.

Though food was the last thing on the young woman's mind. What Kitanna really wanted to do was rest her weary feet. She had slept on the roadside the night before and her body was aching. Then she had risen before dawn to gert an early start. It felt good to just sit. Kitanna stretched her long legs out under the table and sighed with relief.

Eadwyn came down from her room still groggy with sleep. Her aching stomach had awaken her, or else she would have slept the day away. She examined the main room with slow preciseness, making sure that there was no one who would know here before she would decide to committ to a seat.
Eadwyn noticed a person seated in the back all alone, stretched out. The woman had long black hair and was dressed in riding garb. She thought the figure looked familiar, and so a shot of fear ran up her spine. The hairs on her neck stood up as she frantically searched her mind, wondering if that person would know her. After a minute she was quite sure it was just a patron, and no one interested in who she was. Eadwyn made her way over to the patron anyway and stood next to her.

"Pardon me, but do you mind if I join you for breakfast? I have been here some time and have not yet met anyone to talk to. I should like to catch up on what's going on in the world."

[Kitanna]

"Pardon me, but do you mind if I join you for breakfast? I have been here some time and have not yet met anyone to talk to. I should like to catch up on what's going on in the world."

Kitanna looked up at a young woman with long blond hair who now stood before her. She pushed out the chair across from her with her foot before briniging her legs back in. "Please, have a seat."

The woman sat down across from Kitanna and gave her a friendly smile. Kitanna returned the smile, but she was rather annoyed at losing her leg room, but she wasn't usually one to turn down company. For the last few weeks her only companionship had been her horse and there wasn't much conversation to be had there.

"I am Kitanna," She said shaking the woman's hand. "And if I might have the pleasure of knowing your name?" Kitanna waited patiently for an answer.

[Koobdooga]

‘Well, Mistress . . .’ the Dwarf said trailing off. Ibun had not caught her name, if indeed she had given it. He thought not. He was not that old that little things had begun to slip quickly from his memory. Giving her a critical eye, he thought she looked more than a server. A certain air of command glinted from her eyes as she regarded him. And not an unfriendly look it was in her gaze, but one of expectation – that what she asked would soon be answered . . . and in full.

‘Beg pardon,’ he said standing up from his chair. ‘Beg pardon for my lapse in manners. My name is Ibun Lodestone. Traveling to the Blue Mountains, I am. And if The Dragon here in Bywater will have me for a while, I’ll rest my bones and fill up on ale and fine food until it’s time to travel on.’ He gave a courteous little bow to the Hobbit who had brought his food. ‘And you?’ he asked, straightening back up. ‘Do I have the pleasure of addressing the Innkeeper of this grand establishment?’

[piosenniel]

Cook’s eyes twinkled at the sudden show of manners from the Dwarf. ‘Mama must have raised him up right!’ she chuckled to herself. She motioned for him to have a seat, and sat down in a chair herself.

‘No, no, Master Lodestone! I’m not the Innkeeper. That title falls to Miz Aman who . . .’ Cook swiveled her head about, looking for the woman. ‘Well she doesn’t seem to be here at the moment. Gone riding probably, on one of her big beasties. From Rohan, you know. She is, that is . . . Well, here I am nattering on. My name is Vinca Bunce; I run the kitchen here.’

Buttercup peeked out from the kitchen’s doors and called out to her. ‘And it looks as if I’m needed.’ Cook stood up, motioning Ibun to stay seated. ‘You enjoy your breakfast now, Master Dwarf. Tuck into it before it gets cold. And just let one of the servers know if you’ll be needing anything else. Glad the Dragon could serve your needs. Stay as long as you like.’

Cook hustled back to the kitchen wondering what the crisis was . . .

[Arry]

Gil stepped into the Inn and took a quick look round. His face fell a little, seeing that the troupe of Players who'd come to the Inn last night were nowhere in the Common Room. He'd hoped to breakfast with them . . . and in doing so see the fair Rowan again. He smiled then chided himself for a moonspun fool.

'They've probably been up, eaten, and gone down the road a long time ago,' he said in a resigned manner. With an uncharacteristic sigh, he plunked himself down in a chair near the fireplace and waved over one of the servers.

'Mug of dark,' he ordered. The server hesitated. It was not Gil's usual drink at this time of day.

'Dark drink to drown my dark thoughts,' he said, his brows raised in challenge. 'Just fetch it, if you please, and leave off any comments, spoken or otherwise.'

[Primrose Bolger]

Wren and Ginger picking berries

The sheet cakes were cooling on racks set along the kitchen counters. Ginger and Wren were out of doors, a basket each on the ground beside them, as they crouched down among the plants in the strawberry bed. Here and there a bright red jewel peeked through the green leaves, drawing their fingers on to find more of the tasty berries.

Ginger’s deft fingers worked their way down the rows, taking only the sweet, ripe fruit. ‘’Bout time for second breakfast, Wren, once we’ve finished here. We can set the berries in the cool pantry and wash and slice them later.’ Ginger rubbed the tip of her nose with the back of her hand. ‘We should check on what cream we have, too. Now as I think on it. We’ll want to whip up a big bowl of it to plop on the strawberries and cake for supper’s dessert.’

[Folwren]

Wren paused in her berry picking only long enough to glance into Ginger’s basket. She quickly resumed - the hobbit had twice as much as her at least, though it could hardly be because her fingers were any faster. More likely the reason lay with Wren having eaten at least half of what she had picked.

‘Second breakfast? We never eat that. What do you eat? Eggs and bacon again? I don’t think I could have that much a second time today...’ she trailed off as she flicked an ant off of the large, plump berry in her hand and stuck it in her mouth. Ginger glanced her from the corner of her twinkling eye and laughed, but made no answer as Wren appeared to have forgotten of having asked the questions at all. The girl was working with both hands now in a futile attempt to try to catch up.

When Ginger filled her basket, they headed in. Wren’s was only half full, but neither of them seemed to care very much. They laughed and talked merrily as they crossed the yard toward the kitchen door, Ginger swinging Wren’s hand.

In the open doorway, Ginger, having entered first, stopped in her tracks and her laughter stopped and her smile began to fade from her face. Wren pushed herself forward and little and peered about her skirts to see within.

A middle-aged looking hobbit sat at the table with his foot propped up on a stool. Wren winced and drew back an inch before coming forward to look again. The foot had blood on it, though it was no longer bleeding a great amount. She could not see what sort of wound caused it, but it didn’t look pretty.

Ginger, having recovered her countenance and bravery, walked forward again to the counter to put her basket of berries down. ‘What’d you do to yourself, Meriadoc?’ she asked as she passed him.

‘Trying to dodge some horse’s foot...dropped the pitchfork,’ the stable master said with a wince.

Wren stood in the doorway, frozen in her spot and staring. A moment later, her attention left the wounded hobbit and turned towards the door as Cook burst in, followed by one of her helpers.

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

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]

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]

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]

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]

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]

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]

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?’