The Green Dragon Inn - Part 4

[piosenniel]

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ Notice of New Game Opening ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The X Phial, Belin, and Susan Delgado invite you to play:

~*~*~*~ RECLAIMING THE LOST KINGDOM ~*~*~*~

The Discussion Thread will open on Tuesday, July 22nd.

Until then read the game proposal carefully, develop an interesting character, and craft a descriptive, solidly written First Post.

Should be a fun game - come check it out! [img]smilies/biggrin.gif[/img]

[ July 18, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[piosenniel]

To refresh everyone's memory:

Green Dragon Inn Facts:

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

King Elessar is on the throne.

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.

*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+

Other ongoing characters in the Inn:

Derufin, a Man from Ethring in the Ringló Vale, is the stablemaster and general handyman/jack of all trades for the Inn.

Vinca Bunce, Hobbit – ‘Cook’ – widowed runs the kitchen

Ruby Brown, Hobbit – not married – server and maid

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

*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+

Ongoing characters from outside the Inn:

Halfred Whitfoot – local Shiriff and Postmaster; his pony’s name is Dumpling.

Amaranthas Bolger – very old, crotchety Hobbit from Hobbiton, nicknamed ‘The Dragon’

Piosenniel – Elven, Innkeeper prior to Aman; married to Mithadan; has two children: a twin boy and girl; as yet unnamed infants.

*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+

At present it is a pleasant, clear mid-afternoon in the Shire. The season is mid-Summer.

*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+

[Hilde Bracegirdle]

Gilly strode across the yard pondering her conversation with Vanwe. The elf worked there than…. She seemed terribly edgey to be employed in such a public place. She couldn’t have been there long either or the tongues in Bywater would have set to speculating who such a paradox might be. At the least it was unlikely that she had anything to do with Benia’s disappearance, and Gilly concluded that she couldn’t possibly be a scout from the south.

The passing day weighed heavily on the hobbit as she determined that if she couldn’t find some indication of her friend’s whereabouts she needs must raise an alarm. Every fleeting moment could be taking Benia beyond the hobbit’s limited grasp, and as much as she was loath to draw attention to the southerner’s plight, she thought that circumstances now warranted it.

Returning to Benia’s rooms Gilly took up Old Jack Nightshade’s sword and swung it over her shoulder. She reached back to see if she could draw the heavy blade and found that she could, though the end of the scabbard flipped up as she pulled the sword from it’s sheath.

Returning to Benia’s rooms Gilly took up Old Jack Nightshade’s sword and swung it over her shoulder. She reached back to see if she could draw the heavy blade and found that she could, though the end of the scabbard flipped up as she pulled the sword from it’s sheath. It as awkward arrangement but serviceable.

Remembering that there was a no weapons policy at the inn and vaguely marveling at how her friend had managed to retain the use of her father’s sword, the hobbit chose to leave by the same route as her friend. Looking about to see that no one was watching, she carefully climbed out of the open window and descended down by use of the woody vines that grew thickly on this lonely side of the building.

The birds were not singing, and Gilly had a keen sense of foreboding as she softly and quietly searched the woods that ran alongside the the inn.

[ July 18, 2003: Message edited by: Hilde Bracegirdle ]

[Ealasaid]

I must be going soft in the head,Kaldir thought to himself as he trailed Vanwe soundlessly toward the little patch of shade. First letting myself get sidetracked by a woman's eyes and now jumping at shadows like a frightened deer. It was absurd. He would have to get himself together and quickly. Too much was at stake. What was the matter with him all of the sudden?

First, there was the fact the Benia Nightshade was still alive. When he had taken her out of the inn the night before, his intention had been to kill her right away, chop off her tattooed hands, which were really all he needed in order to collect the bounty on her, and begin pursuit of his next quarry. He had even prepared in advance, stocking the cellar with an axe, a pound of salt, and a thick leather sack, the salt being to cure the severed hands, the sack to transport them. Yet she still lived.

The look in her amber eyes at that moment in her room, when he had reminded her that should she cry out the first person to come to her aid and be slain would be her friend Gilly, had affected him in a strange way. No fear. No anger. Only a deep sadness had entered her eyes before she lowered her dark lashes and struggled against him no more. Later, in the cellar of the deserted smithy, he had undone the rope that bound her hands behind her and retied them in the front with the intention of completing his plans, but found himself unable to lay her wrists across the chopping block. Instead, he had stared at the intricate patterns of the tribal tattoos. Then, to as much his own surprise as hers, he had simply kissed each of her palms and left her. Now, he couldn't get the image of her eyes or her shining black hair out of his mind.

And now, this sensation of being watched. His well-honed survival instincts screamed at him to beware, yet he was unable to find the source of the disturbance. Whatever it was, it seemed to follow him as well as Vanwe. Again and again, his eyes scanned the wood, even the treetops, finding nothing. Naiore, perhaps? Surely not.But her image haunted him, her face alternating with that of Benia. Then the memories, the ones from the dead place, began to crawl up like grinning imps from a hole in the floor of his mind: clouds of black smoke. Fire. Pain. Thick waves of pain. He flinched and, without thinking, raised one hand to his forehead.

Catching the movement from the corner of her eyes, Vanwe hesitated at the edge of the glen. He froze, trusting in his skills of concealment. She stared in his direction, uncertain of what she had seen or if anything had even been there at all.

[Beren87]

Beren surveyed himself in the mirror, comforted by the tingle of his freshly washed skin. Surely if he was able to soon scour new clothes, he could pass as rather decent. Blue eyes peered back at his 6 foot frame, his skin slightly lighter than that of the hobbits here in the village.

The sky outside was a brilliant blue, without a cloud though there was a slight chilling wind in the air. Beren decided to leave the confines of his little room in the hopes of not only finding clothes, but also meeting the people of the village. And, if his luck held out as it was, seeing the lovely innkeeper once again.

He strolled out of his room, breathing the air in the corridor from the window to his far right. The stairs a short flight, then down into the main room of the Inn. There were a few people around, but being early in the day there wasn't quite the coming and going as there generally seemed to be at nights in Inns. He was a frequent visitor of Inns, proffering them even to his house when in Gondor, no matter what livelry adorned its walls.

"Well, now I'm in a fix...What was that man's name..Derufin? I can't remember" He silently mumbled to himself. There was certainly no harm in eating at least.

"Ah..miss!" he called to a slightly greying Hobbit-woman. "Are you the server at this establisment?"

"That I am dear sir, my name's Ruby, Ruby Brown. What will you be needing?"

"Well, whatever you have back there is fine. Just something to eat before supper rolls around, you know. Still on the scavage for clothes!."

She looked his ruffled and ripped clothes over with a glance. "Yes..I can certianly see that. Now wait, you weren't that Beren man the innkeeper came in here a raving about are you? She asked Derufin for a tunic and such for you. He'll be around sometime before supper, always is".

"Well then! I'm in rather good shape now, aren't I? So, something to quench the roar of my stomach and I'll be lovely indeed."

"Well Beren, sir, I'll be right back with some-at for you." She said with a smile, dissapearing into the kitchen behind her.

[littlemanpoet]

Falco Bobbin wasn't going nowhere. He'd told his news and questions had been asked, so he'd done his part. Then Cook gave out that she was making supper and "don't you be runnin' off without any". Falco wasn't going nowhere.

He had plenty of catching up to do with the folk hereabouts, and they wanted news of Michel Delving. Sure, there was constant coming and going from the middle of the Shire to either end and back, but no news was old news if it came from a different mouth, the more willing and friendly the better. So Falco held forth on who gave what mathoms to whom, how it was with relations from here to the Towers and back, and what all he knew else. And he got as good as he gave.

Not least amongst all the talk was mention by and by of what Hobbit lasses were unattached and willing to be visited by eligible bachelors such as hisself. O'course, it wasn't hard to notice such eligible lasses right here in The Green Dragon Inn. Two such pretties seemed to be all about while he sat at table, serving this Elf and that Human, cleanin' this, scrubbin' that, and nary a glance his way but oh so busy within easy catch of his eye.

An' he had their names 'afore long: Ruby and Buttercup. Well now, fancy that. There was a flower name in Buttercup, and a precious stone name in Ruby. Pretty as you please, and fitting as far as he could tell. Yes, it was going to be a fine evening. Falco wasn't going nowhere this night.

[Envinyatar]

‘You know, it would make a lot more sense, if you two loaded up the serving trays completely, instead of taking a few plates out at a time.’ Cook was busy dishing up the meal as Buttercup and Ruby fidgeted in place, grabbing the plates from her almost before she finished them.

Derufin, his apron still in place, fished the plump, fragrant dumplings from the broth, and set them on the plates two at a time. He nudged Cook in the side, causing her to nearly drop the peas and corn she was serving up beside them. ‘Never jostle the cook,’ she snapped at him, her head bent to the task. He nudged her again, and she looked up at him exasperated. His chin went up as he pointed to the two Hobbit lasses who now stood arguing over the salt cellar.

‘It’s me who heard him ask for some salt,’ hissed Ruby, her hand grasped firmly around the stoneware container with its silver spoon. ‘Well, it’s me who said I’d bring it to him,’ rejoined Buttercup, her hands fixed firmly over Ruby’s.

‘You silly geese!’ cried Cook, whacking the serving spoon down on the table. The salt cellar went flying and fell to the stone floor of the kitchen, breaking into a myriad of pieces, salt flying everywhere. Ruby glared at Buttercup, who stomped her foot and glared right back.

‘You two!’ boomed Cook over their quarrel. ‘Get this mess cleaned up. Now!’ The two faces of the serving maids fell, their lips trembling in protest. ‘But, Cook . . .,’ they protested. ‘But nothing,’ she replied, handing them the broom and dust pan. ‘Every last grain, ladies,’ she pronounced. Picking up the tray of filled plates. ‘And make sure the cracks are cleaned out, too!’

‘Come Derufin! We’ve got hungry guests to feed. I’ll pass the plates, you fill their cups.’

She sailed out the door to the common room like a great frigate, the still aproned Derufin following in her wake. A smiling, handsome face turned her way as she came through the door, then looked beyond her as if expecting someone else.

‘Falco Bobbin,’ she said shaking her head as she approached his table and stopped by his chair. ‘I might have known you would be the source of the trouble!’ She sailed on to the next table, leaving him with a perplexed look on his face and no explanation. Derufin shrugged when the Hobbit looked up at him, raising his brows in question. ‘Sorry, mate, if it was Ruby and Buttercup you were expecting, let’s just say they’re busy at the moment.’ He filled the cup to the brim and hurried after Cook.

^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^

At the last table he served, sat a man he didn’t know. Tall, lean, raggedy clothes – though brushed clean of dust. Blues eyes stared up at him from a fair skinned face. A smile, barely hidden, played about his lips at he looked Derufin over.

Derufin filled the man’s mug, then stepped back a pace and bowed. ‘Like my apron, sir? I see you admiring it.’ He fingered the edge of the neck strap. ‘A mark of great distinction, here in the Green Dragon, to wear the livery of Herself’s Kitchen. Not many men are granted the honor.’

He heard Cook call his name, and he waved to her, indicating he would be there soon. His gaze slid back to the seated man, and he looked him over with a critical eye. ‘You’re Beren, aren’t you? The one that Aman spoke of.’ His eyes swept over the man once again. ‘We’re about the same height, I think. Though you may be a little taller. And my frame’s a little meatier than yours. Still I think I have some things that would do for you.’ Cook called for him again, a note of impatience now evident in her tone.

‘Come by my quarters, later tonight. The east end of the stable. I’ll have them ready for you.’ He bowed once again and hurried off . . .

[Esgallhugwen]

A pitch black horse rode up it's dark eyes shining and upon his back was a tall figure clad in a light cloak of dark green for it is summer and there is no need for heavy attire on such a fine evening. The rider slid off the saddle effortlessly giving her steed a rub on the head.

She took the reins and walked over to the stables having no need for the tying post her horse she knew would not bolt away for he is fearless in the face of evil. Shrouded in an air of mystery she walked almost on air towards the door of the Green Dragon pushing it open without the slightest hint of a creak in the hinges.

She looked around her, face shadowed by the long hood,her boots partially muddy from a hunt an hour before, she caught an open table in the corner of her eye. Turning she headed towards it; cloak lifting up slightly behind her she sat at the table.

Looking from beneath her hood she quietly observed the little people scurrying about serving people their meals and drinks. Some of the tenants at the tables stopped in mid-sentence to look upon her shadowed figure, there was a darkness in her that made many stare uneasily, a server stumbled spilling some of the brew from the jug while he stared.

Many thinking that at any minute she would pull out her elven bow and scewer every one of them. She only wished to have a drink and perhaps a bit of the local food and ask if a room was available to accomidate her at such a short notice.

She bowed her head, thinking deeply 'you are alone now... will you ever go back to your people after what "they" did, some remain in groups, others scattered but more have been slain than those that have survived' she pleaded with herself to forget those things, she will be alone she never was one to be surrouned by far too many people, and besides they are of strong blood. Sensing that she was safe here, although inside, she was with good company though she knew no one.

'Many of the people here are of good heart and not easily corruptible!' she thought smiling.

[Elora]

Naiore, should she have wished it, could have easily set her hands upon her daughter by now. She watched Vanwe sit up and scan behind her tree belatedly. How the girl had ever managed to elude the village and get this far north in one piece was remarkable. Her lips twitched in a smile that faded a little as the brilliance of her daughter's eyes caught sunlight before she turned her face away. She remembered Vanwe's eyes from her birth, the same as her fathers, yet it had not prepared her for the striking similarity all these years later.

How the fools in the South mistook her for her daughter on that basis alone brought a derisive expression to Naiore's face as she settled in to wait for her bait to draw the other out. Still, few survived to explain details such as eye colour, and those that did usually were intent on escape and not getting a closer look. As Vanwe settled back against her tree, buckets lying empty nearby on the grass, Naiore watched for the man.

Kaldir had been both unremarkable and unique, she recalled. A Man and prone as most Men to particular interrogation methods. Still, he had proved resilient, and admist the pain that soaked his every thought and sensation at the time, through the acrid smoke that sometimes brought that pain, Naiore sensed something deeper and darker. It was then that she realised that so much more could be achieved if he lived.

His rage would make him a powerful tool, though he would not know he served. A fallen Ranger, one of Numenor's descendants who found his own dark path once she showed him where and how to look for it. He cursed her, wished her dead, but all the while she was teaching him. It was more than amusing that he had become so effective at spreading the darkness that she served with his now cruel ways, aimed that once he once served and protected. Such corruption of what once had been so strong, into something more fearsome and powerful than those blinded by their shallow facades of "good" and "right" could ever fathom, until it dealt them their ends.

Years spent in hiding, a fugitive hunted after the War, devoid of the power she once had through Sauron, had probed difficult for Naiore. So, she sat savouring her work in Kaldir, waiting for him to draw closer in hunt of Vanwe. Such rewards had been hard to come by of late. Perhaps she would teach Kaldir more, scream and bellow as he would. Certainly Vanwe would be dealt with, and then the village that had failed to hold her.

Then, perhaps she could start on other Rangers, and her own kin. Let the hunters become the prey. She could wait a long time in this northern backwater for that delight. Vanwe, who had nearly startled herself out her wits when an afternoon shadow moved at the edges of her vision, tried to smooth her breathing. She closed her eyes against half glimpsed imaginary shadows, breathing deeply and hands relaxing by her side as the leaves swayed over her head. As she fell further into dozing, a thought winnowed through her awareness like a small silver fish in the shallows. Silvanis said he would be back, but where had he gone and when would he return? And, where was Benia? She had not seen her all day. And when would Amandur grow impatience with her answers to his questions and press harder? They always did, until you told them.

Stand, do not flee came the drowsy reminder. Lulled by the peace of the afternoon, the breeze in the trees, Vanwe drifted in a fog of sleep.

[Elen Ilúvitauri]

The figure of a short woman clad all in blue entered the Inn. She laughed quietly to herself. Trust her to pick such a place... halflings! she thought.

In the corner of the room she spotted Scylla, Speak of the demonshe snickered and creeped over to her. She removed her blue cloak revealing the face of a relatively young woman with cropped white-blonde hair, unusual for a woman.

"Scylla! i have a bone to pick with you! How dare you put me in that position!"

She could see that Scylla was holding back a smile.

"What do you mean cousin?" she remarked slyly.

"You know well what i mean! The farmers in Rohan, their order for seven horses, seven weeks late, two of the short, some claim they were stolen from the south of Harad."

"Yebasian, They choose to do business with me, they play by my rules." said Scylla to her cousin. "Have a seat" Yebasian hesitated, then angrily sat, saying hello to the other two seated with Scylla. "Mark my words Scylla, one of these days..."

[ July 21, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[Nerindel]

Midday

Lespheria awoke to the midday sun, shining through her room window and Amandur smiling down on her, "Here, Vanwe brought this for you, though I am afraid it has cool somewhat while you slept" She could see Amandur's hesitation as he handed her the small earthen mug, it was his nature not to trust and he did not have her abilities. She took the mug from his hands and drank deeply, to assure him that she had no doubt that Vanwe meant her no harm.

The Tincture was still warm as it ran down her throat, she could taste the mixture of herb's and roots that made up the infusion, almost at once the medicinal properties of the liquid began to work, dulling the pain and Léspheria was impressed when she realised that her senses were unaffected, she closed her eyes for a few minutes in meditation, so she could close her mind to Lothaniel's pain, but a little remained, just enough to remind her how much trouble her brother was in.

When she opened them again she noticed that her things were already packed and that Amandur was still watching her, his rugged features lined with worry. "I am fine" she reassured him, smiling warmly as he looked at her dubiously. She got up and went over to inspect her pack, "Vanwe helped me to pack it," he told her. Lespheria could tell by the tone in his voice that he still harboured some doubt, and she did not blame him for he had spent many years guarding Menecin from himself, he had seen what Vanwe's mother had done to the once great bard. Although neither one of them had faced Naiore, both of them had been greatly wronged by her. Léspheria, her mother death and other things she yet knew not and Amandur, his father had been kill by Naiore while he was but a lad.

"Then I have no doubt that every thing is in order" she smiled, "you are too trusting, but you have an advantage over me, so I will trust to your judgement" he said again turning to watch out the window, she saw him suddenly stiffen, "What is it?" she asked moving to join him at the window. "A shadow, there between the trees, it was fleeting but I'm sure I saw it." Léspheria stretched out her senses to try to locate this shadow Amandur saw, "Kaldir," She sighed after a moment, Amandur looked at her waiting for her to explain, but instead she sadly asked "Do you know him?" Amandur shook his head wearily, "He looks familiar, but his face is badly scarred that I cannot place were or how I know this man, it could be that he was present during the war, or that he has brought criminals to Annúminas or Gondor."

She nodded at Amandur's words, then decided that she must share what she felt when around this ranger, "He has much pain and resentment within him ," she said turning and looking to her young friend, His eyes softened as he spoke, "So, do many of my kin, you know this." "Yes I know, but you do not understand this rangers pain is familar to me," Amandur's eyes widened slightly with as he measured the depths of Léspheria's words. They were both silent for a moment, then Amandur spoke again "You do not think he would try to use the daughter against her mother," "I am afraid that I think he would, " she said sadly. "Does he not know that, that would not work!" Amandur exclaimed incredulously. "We know not what Naiore feels for her daughter, after all she is her flesh and blood" Lespheria answered diplomatically. Amandur raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. He thought Léspheria a little naive for thinking such thing of Naiore, but he respected and loved her enough not to say so.

"We can go down if you are concerned" he said, seeing Léspheria's gaze shift back to were Kaldir had been. I do not want to seem like we are smothering Vanwe, but I wish to pack losseserme, and check that she is alright after the fright I have given her, My harp she said looking wildly around, I was carrying it when I fell." she picked up her pack and hurried towards the door, Amandur following behind her. "it is my mothers" she said feeling him watching her askingly. The pair picked up their pace as they walked across the busy common room. The midday sun washed warmly over her fair elven features as she stepped out into the courtyard, as she and Amandur walked briskly to the stables, Léspheria suddenly felt a fleeting shadow of darkness, she stopped in her tracks "What is it" Amandur whispered as he watched her scan the shadow of the trees that ran along bywater pool, "Nothing" she said shaking her head, not sure if she had really felt such strong an emotion from another person.

She passed quickly into the stable, although she was not sure if the feeling had been real it still unnerved her. She and Amandur went straight to the white mares stall, the mare whinnied at the sight of her mistress, and as Léspheria stroke Losseserme's long mane she muzzled into her "Enough" she laughed "I am well" she assured the horse. She tied her pack securely to her saddle, then giving the mare another loving stroke she turned back to Amandur, who was stood by the stable door watching to see if he could catch a glimpse of what Lespheria had sensed. "It should be about here somewhere" she said distracting him from his watch, looking down at her search the sawdust strewn floor, he felt compelled to help her, he search for some time, "It's not here" Léspheria sighed. She was upset at having lost it but she did not think that it's loss was of any consequence, but Amandur thought differently he was still concerned that Naiore would mistake Léspheria for her mother and he remembered that Valaindon had carried that harp everywhere also and that it also born the crest of the house of Finarfin. If it fell into Naiore's hands it could have dire consequences.

[piosenniel]

Please note: It is early evening at the Inn - supper is being served.

Your posts need to reflect this.

[Tinuviel of Denton]

"Scylla! i have a bone to pick with you! How dare you put me in that position!"

Niniel jumped, nearly dropping the plate which she had just been given. The source of the voice marched over to their table, gesticulating wildly. She briefly said hello to Niniel and Chrestienne, then resumed arguing with Scylla. Chrestienne smiled, then stood.

"I'm afraid that I must go. Shall I see you again when I return, Niniel?" she asked.

"I--I have n-no plans t-t-to leave," Niniel responded, a little out of sorts that Chrestienne was leaving. She had almost gotten comfortable with the other g.irl, and it would mean that she had to get comfortable with two more new people. Not that she disliked Scylla and Yebasian, she just didn't want to have to lead conversation and display her stutter.

She looked over at the table where sat Soronume and the lady-elf, fervently wishing that she dared leave this table and these loudly bantering cousins for his and his quiet acceptance of others. And him.

She shook her head at her folly and looked away, blushing. The cousins were still at it.

"Ex-excuse me," she softly interrupted. "Th-there is d-d-dinner being served. Do--do you w-want any, Y-Yebasian, Scylla?"

[ July 20, 2003: Message edited by: Tinuviel of Denton ]

[Esgallhugwen]

The lady sat in patience, sensing something was afoot but since it didn't concern her she pushed it out of her mind for the moment. She was very thirsty smelling the brew in the air. She didn't wish to call out to someone bringing them out of their way, there were others before her.

Some she thought to be other elves and a man with tattered clothes, along with Hobbits tending the inn guests. She stood up slowly and headed towards the counter to get a drink there.

[Esgallhugwen]

She knocked on the counter 'hello is there any one back there that isn't busy and can serve me a drink??' she looked around and pulled up a wooden stool, lifting her cloak behind her to insure she didn't sit on it. Pale hands lying softly in her lap.

'Perhaps' she thought, although she wasn't too happy about the idea. 'Perhaps I should remove my hood, they may not wish to serve me if I choose to remain hidden and shadowed, they may want to see a face they can look upon, giving an ale to a shadow would be most odd wouldn't it?' She began to contemplate whether or not to remain the way she appeared and wait or to show herself to all those who resided in the inn.

[Osse]

Peering over the rim of his earthern-ware tankard, Ferdibrand Brown of Waymeet found that the inn, which he had known since he was a lad, was full to the brim of the most outlandish folk he had ever laid eyes upon. A group of what he suspected were Dwarves were rourcously singing a drunken shanty in opposition to some fantastically tall and majectic looking strangers who were playing harps and lutes, creating a magnificent din which echoed profusely in the smoke-wreathed common room. "This lot." he said with a lopsided wave of his tankard indicating the Elves and Dwarves. "Are almost as bad as when Sharkey and his 'Men' took over." "Now you know i don't have anything against foreigners, some of me' best friends are foreigners, it's just that these particular foreigners aint' from 'round 'ere!" He stated matter-of-factly to his compatriot.
"Aye uncle. Just as you said last week and all."
"I was at the battle of Bywater I was! I was there...we gotta be careful lad. One or two dwarves now and then is nice and proper, if you can call that lot proper, but we ain't no bloody colony. We just want to be left in peace, don't we lad?" Merimac Brown nodded obediently.

There was a load crash, and the unmistakeable tinkle of breaking pottery. One of the dwarves had jumped onto a table and was doing a hearty jig to the accompany of his clapping comrades, in fact most heads in the inn had turned to watch the spectacle and many were clapping along. A fiddle was pulled out of a travel bag and one of the dwarves banged out a fast jig. The elvish piper started to toot again and soon most people were standing clapping or dancing along. Ferdibrand regretted to see that many of the dancing parties were indeed made up of hobbits, some of which he knew personally.

He lighted his long, clay pipe and began to noncholantly blow smoke rings up into the already smoke encircled rafters. "What of loyalty eh? Lad, go and pay the barmaid, I'll be outside getting the cart!"

And with that he strode through the jostling, dancing crowd and out into the summer night.

[ July 22, 2003: Message edited by: Osse ]

[Dynaviir]

The door creaked open slowly. Two eyes peered around, taking in the warmth of the fire but feeling strangely out of place, as if the bearer felt he would rather be anywhere but near fire. Nontheless, he opened the door slowly, and with a last glance at his pony he stepped inside of the inn.

Dynaviir shifted his eyes around the room. He looked away from the fire, towards the many peoples and cultures before him. Hoping he could take refuge and disguise himself, he stepped away from the doorway, and closed the door behind him. He turned and stepped towards the far left corner of the room, trying to avoid attention. He knew his sword was out of place in it's sheath on his back, and did not yet know if he would have to part with it to stay in this strange inn. He walked far forwards and then stopped, looking down at one of the hobbits running past. The small people fascinated him. But none who were at level with his belt seemed to notice the leather or the hilt of his sword which were bound close to his robes.

He sat down in a dark corner away from flame. He wasn't sure if he wanted to converse on anything with anyone yet, but he knew he would need to at one point, and the inevitability seemed to appear more clearly on his mind. He sighed, and leaving his sickly green sack and his bag on the chair, he got up and walked towards the bar, eyeing his possessions as he went. He knew he may as well buy a drink, while he was here.

[ July 21, 2003: Message edited by: Dynaviir ]

[ July 21, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[piosenniel]

‘Wouldn’t you just know it!’ exclaimed Cook to Derufin, the stableman, as they made the rounds of the room, serving dinners to the hungry patrons. ‘Our busiest night in weeks and Miz Aman has gone off on some “errand”, or so she says.’ She poked the tall man in the side and laughed as they headed back to the kitchen. ‘If you ask me, she’s got someone she fancies and doesn’t want us to know about it.’ Cook stopped and looked round at the two newcomers at the bar counter. With a sigh, she handed her tray, now empty of the supper plates she had just served up, to Derufin and slipped behind the bar.

They were both shadowy figures, one a lady by the looks of her, with an Elven bow carried on her back and two of the palest hands she’d seen in a very long time. Still, she had her little pouch of coins in hand, and she was thirsty like any traveler in from the dusty road. Cook took her drink order, and bid her have a good evening. Watching her as she returned to her table in the corner, Cook tsk’d at the muddy boot prints trailing across the floor of the Common Room.

Next she turned to the tall fellow standing at the end of the counter. He seemed nervous about his bag and odd colored sack he’d left on his chair, and kept a wary eye on them. ‘Naught to worry about in here,’ she said to the back of his head as he glanced away once more. ‘Most folks are honest round these parts.’ He turned back to her and her attention was drawn to the blade he had strapped to his back. ‘Best be careful though with your sword in here. We don’t tolerate fights or swordplay, so just keep it sheathed and you can keep it on you.’ Her hand, hidden below the counter, fingered the stout blackthorn club there, just in case he took offense at her words.

His hands stayed on the counter, and she relaxed as he ordered his drink. ‘Interesting,’ Cook thought to herself, ‘there goes another one off into a dark corner.’ She shook her head and looked at the small cheery blaze in the fireplace. ‘Why is it that Big Folk so often carry such darkness inside them?’ She shook off the gloomy thoughts, and looked up toward the door just as one of the locals was slipping toward the door.

Grabbing one of the slips pinned behind the counter, she moved quickly to intercept him, putting her hand on his shoulder just as he pushed open the door.

‘Merimac Brown!” she said, halting him, her eyes sweeping out to the yard to catch a glimpse of his uncle, Ferdibrand. She held up the slip of paper so that both of them could see it. ‘It’s about your bill here. It’s almost the end of the month - we need to come to some agreement on settling it . . .’ She looked at their cart with a certain glint in her eye, wondering what goods they might have brought into Bywater to sell or trade. The Browns had a reputation for some of the finest smoked hams in the Westfarthing. ‘Perhaps I can wrangle one for the Inn’s kitchen,’ she thought to herself . . .

[Dynaviir]

Dyanviir sat alone in the corner, watching closely and warily. He could tell the people of this land were kind and honest, as he had seen at the bar, but he was glad to keep his sword. It was rather hard for him to feel entirely relaxed, despite the merry folk around him.

He sipped his drink and thought it tasted sweet. It seemed to warm him, even though he hid from the warmth many others loved. Indeed, he had tasted finer ale in Bree, but he did not care as this was a merrier and safer inn than any he had seen there.

He took off his cloak and set it next to his sack. Underneath it were light shades of yellow, green and brown, well worn and torn but light and faithful - indeed he would not part with them for the fairest of elven cloth. They seemed to be unfamiliar to anyone who glanced at them, but fair and natural, as if something no city of men would, or indeed could, have woven. Beneath them he hid a light metal vest, but it did not slow his movements.

Around his neck he wore, from a golden chain, a pearl, pink, embedded in a golden locket. It was no bigger than a large grape, halfed from top to end and covered in soft, swirling white patterns. It did not seem to belong to any culture. It was not light, but it was not dark. It was soft and fair but somehow not desirable. He hid it beneath the first of his many layers of garments.

Suddenly he glanced up. He noticed now for the first time the elven bow the woman at the bar wore. He thought to himself, curious as to how many armed people were in the Shire. He eyed it for a moment, admiring the craftsmanship he recognised, a kind of which not even his father could have ever made, and then cast his gaze elsewhere.

He finished his drink and looked down at the table. He knew he had been taking his thoughts too seriously, and that no real danger could be found in this bar. Yes, there were a few armed, but there were many more not so, and he knew there was a peace loving feeling the guests seemed to share between one another. He sighed, and put down his glass. He picked up his bag and hung it on his back, and then lifted his sack and cloak and carried them over his shoulder. He knew he would need a room.

[ July 21, 2003: Message edited by: Dynaviir ]

[Carrûn]

Awyrgan reentered the Inn from the sidedoor leading to the stable. He was rubbing a sizeable lump on his head.

Earlier in the day he had caught the handy-man Derufin in a rare moment of inactivity and explained his situation and agreement with Aman to the man. Derufin had put him to work patching a few of the troublesome holes that kept re-appearing in the stable roof. They seemed to especially irk the handyman for one reason or another and after a hot afternoon of working on them Awyrgan was beginning to harbor similiar feelings towards the roof.

His repair work had started off well enough, he had always enjoyed heights and felt right at home even in a fairly precarious perch. The first several holes were a simple matter of removing the old covering and nailing down new material. Then one of the holes proved to be more of a challenge.

Assuming that it was the same as all the others he had just patched Awrygan had moved right up next to it, only to discover a wide radius of rotted timber that quickly gave way.

When he woke up the man found himself lying not so comfortably in the stable loft that had broken his fall. Cursing, glanced up to notice the now very large hole in the ceiling above him.

It had taken him the better part of the afternoon to fix the last of the holes and the Sun seemed to enjoy increasing its heat to the maximum possible extent as he did so.

Thus, the Awyrgan that entered the Inn in the early evening was an especially malcontent one.

He passed by Cook and Derufin on his way to a nearby table, he nodded and spoke shortly. "Holes are all patched. Should of warned me about the one." He grinned, rubbing his head.

Sitting down, he asked a server to bring him "a lot of whatever Cook was offering" and waited.

[Esgallhugwen]

The lady sipped lightly on the drink noticing the gaze of another who also sought secrecy and sanctuary in this place. She undid her bow from her back but kept it close by her side it had too much sentimental value... too many memories of things now past and gone. The hobbit woman who tended her at the bar now chased down another who tried to sneak out, shaking a piece of paper at him.

She thought it quite amusing pushing the dark thoughts out of her mind, trying to take in the goodness of the little folk. Her eyes strayed over to the man in the other corner, his sword had a great might within it.

But she couldn't help notice there was a darkness in him much like herself yet she knew him not. He stood up taking his pack with him, perhaps to inquire about a room.

She too needed one but stayed awhile at the table giving the man his space, not intending to give false ideas of being his shadow and lingering about. If they met again or spoke for whatever reason it perhaps was intended to be.

She pushed the empty mug aside, thinking she should now tend to Morsereg her black Elvish stallion.

[Dynaviir]

As he walked up to his new room, guided by a small hobbit (small even for hobbit-size), Dynaviir felt for the first time a bit too tall. He knew the inn had been built for hobbits, and that men from the East and South hadn't been expected when it was built. He turned a corner and stood in front of a small door. The hobbit opened the door, being in the way of the man, and turned to him and bowed low, bidding him farewell, then hurried off again, pushing himself close to the wall to make it past. He tried desperately not to show discomfort, and as he made it past he bowed low again, then scuttled off down the hall. Dynaviir stood watching him as he ran of, with a hint of a smile on his face, and then turned the handle and walked inside.

The room was larger than he had expected from the outside. It was a small room, with a fireplace facing the bed and many lamps scattered around, but it was as big as he could have hoped for and it felt comforting. It was filled with many strange artifacts, and he wondered if the guests before him had left gifts to entertain their successors in the room. The room itself was dressed in many colours, from the soft yellow on the walls to the strong and keen red of the carpet; the room seemed inviting, unlike any place he had seen in this homely place. The Shire held many great things, but up here he felt safe, as if the room itself was calling to him and willing him to stay.

He set down his cloak and bag on a stool to the right of the doorway. For the first time he closed the door behind him and found even the handle was warm. The room was free from dust and well kept. He glanced over at the fireplace and saw gladly no hint of red ember. Despite this, he knew he would need to light a fire tonight. The journey had made him cold and the ale had only warmed his heart, but he had ignored the fire below and hoped to find comfort elsewhere. Luckily the fireplace was small - to hobbit size - which was just fine for him.

Slowly he placed the sack down at the end of his bed. He turned to the mirror on his right and looked himself in the eye. Beneath his neck something seemed to bulge from his neck, but as he shifted his robes with his right hand it was gone again. He turned away, hoping the memory would stay out of sight. He turned now back again to go downstairs. He now felt hungry like he hadn't felt in a long time. He walked back downstairs, without removing the sheath from his belt.

[Elora]

Vanwe awoke with a start, realising that she had slept far too long indeed. She gathered her buckets and headed back to the horse pasture nearby. With night falling, she needed to get the horses in. Guiltily, she began the process of returning horses and ponies to their stalls in the stable, dreading bumping into Aman, Cook or Derufin and having to explain her whereabouts all day.

The sky had not completely darknened, but it was late. Had they seen her sleeping when she should have been working? Vanwe bustled through her work now, remorseful and guilty. Transfer the horses, place blankets over them after rubbing them down. Fresh feed, grain and water for the night. Clean out the grain and fodder troughs at the corral. Vanwe completed it all as though someone with a whole whip stood over her shoulder. She lit the lantern that Derufin kept at the back of the stables for the evening and made sure she had not forgotten anything.

As she surveyed the horses, her gaze snagged on Kaldir's. He'd not been seen all day since she found Lespheria that morning. She needed to check up on Lespheria, but Vanwe was not entirely willing to march back up to face Amandur's difficult questions just yet. Her hair was wild, there was dirt on her hands, face and dress, and besides that Cook and the others who would also want answers were likely inside.

No, not just yet. Vanwe decided that she needed to wash up first. She took one bucket to the well, partially filled it with water and returned to the stables. She climbed into the loft nimbly, despite her burden, and poured water into a bowl that stood on her dresser after lighting the candle she had taken from the stores the night before.

Pre-occupied with cleaning up, Vanwe did not notice at first the clear evidence that someone had been in the loft. It wasn't until she had pushed open the hay doors so that she could see the sky, and the Watcher as Silvanis had named that star, and turned back that she realised her loft had had a visitor. Whoever it was had tried to tidy up. It looked like they had been on her bed, though. The blanket was slightly rumpled there. Vanwe saw wood shavings swept against the sloping roof nearby on closer inspection. Had someone been in her loft, working on wood?

She looked up at the roof and made out recent work on the holes that she had been using to watch the sky through. Perhaps Derufin had patched the holes, Vanwe thought. Speaking of holes, she really needed to do something about the new hole in her dress that had appeared when one of the horses had tried in ingest part of her skirt.

Vanwe pulled her dress over her head and wrapped the blanket from her bed around her shoulders. She sat by the candle, found her needle and waning supply of cotton, and set to work patching. It would not be easy. The material was so worn it was starting to unweave itself, as if the threads were too tired to hold together anymore. Her hair, no longer tangled, fell smoothly down her back over the blanket that was draped around her shoulders, and her eyes were trained on her needle as she made it dance to patch yet another hole.

Naiore, who had sat in the trees all day cursed Kaldir for his wariness and herself for her overeagerness. Perhaps he had sensed her. She moved with caution, confidence held in check until she could get a better view of the stable. Vanwe could be glimpsed in the loft through the open doors, candle light soft on her bent head and giving her a golden cast that belied the grey horse blanket her daughter had chosen to wear. The girl was a beggar, Naiore thought, but still was too much of a threat. If someone, anyone, showed her just what lay within her Vanwe could bring her lifelong work to an end. This was why she watched, and this was why she held back for another threat could also undo her. Kaldir, wherever he was, was proving to be as cagey as wolf. But she could outwait him.

Let him move, and she would have them both where she wanted them. She could wait. Vanwe's needle rose and fell, dipped and swooped, as candlelight flickered over her.

[Ealasaid]

It was getting on into evening when Kaldir decided to abandon the stand of trees outside the Green Dragon in favor of some food and a tankard of beer. Vanwe, he knew, was out in the stables again, attending to her duties with the horses and other related chores. She would not be going far. The entity he had sensed among the trees, watching him and Vanwe, was still there. He could sense his or her presence, lingering and watching. He planned to wait until daylight came again before turning his attention back in that direction. It was not something he intended to ignore. Nor was it something he wanted to deal with in the fast encroaching darkness.

In the meantime, he had his own needs to attend to, not to mention the needs of his prisoner, Benia Nightshade, whom he had left, bound, in the dark cellar of a deserted blacksmith’s shop several blocks from the inn. When he took her there, his intention had been to kill her, but, something about the look of her had stayed his hand. In a strange way, he felt drawn to her, as though she had something to do with him on a fundamental level. He didn’t know what that was just yet, but whatever it was, it was enough to make him hesitate to destroy her simply for a bounty. Since he wasn’t going to kill her just yet, he decided, the least he could do would be to bring her some food.

Ever mindful of the Watcher in the Woods, he moved cautiously out of the trees and back toward the inn. As he returned to the common room, he glanced around for Benia’s hobbit friend Gilly. As he did so, it occurred to him that no one seemed to know that Miss Nightshade had gone missing. Surely Gilly had noticed. Yet, she did not seem to have sounded any kind of alarm. Business went on as usual in the busy common room. Supper was being served and an air of peace and contentment filled the atmosphere. Gilly, herself, was nowhere to be seen. Kaldir made a mental note of it. As she and Benia seemed close, he was sure that she was not far away. But doing what? He had seen her come out of the stables earlier, looking a little the worse for wear and heading for the inn, but he had not seen her since. Mentally, he put Gilly on the back burner. She was not of that great concern to him, but could prove to be a bit of a nuisance. He would keep an eye out for her, but that would be all.

Bypassing the common room, he went directly to the kitchen, where he caught the attention of the cook. There he ordered two dinners, packed to be eaten elsewhere. Once he had collected the food and paid for it, he stepped back out into the inn yard. Looking toward the stable, he could see Lespheria and her Ranger friend through the window. Glad to see that Lespheria was none the worse for wear after her earlier fall from her horse, he turned his attention briefly toward her friend. A familiar face, he wondered if he might have known him at one time, in the Ranger camps of his youth and young adulthood before the war. He and Lespheria’s friend were of a similar age, but Kaldir’s memories were not always clear regarding anything that had happened prior to the War of the Ring. Perhaps if he knew the man’s name…

Anyway, it was of little importance right at the moment. His prisoner had not eaten in close to twenty-four hours. He should make haste. While he was not above killing her, he refused to stoop to torture or starvation. As long as she was in his charge, and until he had decided what to do with her, she would be cared for.

[Dynaviir]

Dynaviir sat back down at the table in the corner again. So many faces went by; not one familiar. He felt strangely alone, and knew he would do for some time. Until he had seen his pony, Doienwei, anyway. He wondered if she had enough food, and if she was at peace. He oft wondered of her, when he had no other people to turn. But she was loyal and faithful, and the two of them had each other, and together they did not feel lonely. Dynaviir doubted he would be able to sleep in her stable, and that by the same token Doienwie would not be permitted to sleep in his own room. Probably just as well, he supposed, he didn't want to put her through the torment of watching her master grieving by the fire.

The minutes went by, and Dynaviir felt tired. He couldn't bring himself to finish his meal; as delicious as it was, and as hungry as he felt. Something bothered him at the back of his mind, but he did not know what yet. Slowly he stood up, and so not to be inpolite, took his meal to the bar and apologised for wasting such a delightful meal.

He took a seat at the bar, and sat. He didn't know what it was he wanted. In fact, he didn't even know why he was here himself. To get away from battle, he knew, but still, inevitably he would soon return to the lands beyond, back to the South East - to the lands near Gondor, where his home lay. But even still, he had no purpose to return to the Gondor plains, other than loyalty and a sense of devotion. Even though he had come as far as he knew he could find, Hobbiton offered little more homelyness for him, and in fact felt less so, as much was new and unfamiliar to him.

He sat at the bar, and looked at the ground. He supposed he should go and find Doinwei, and talk to her as he oft did when there was no one near. She understood him as clearly as any man well-learned of the common-speech, but of course could not answer. Dynaviir wondered what she would say if she could. He drew his gaze upwards, and looked around.

Still, he felt oddly alone. And he knew he should at least talk to someone other than the bar-maids, knowing he needed a tale he had not heard, and wondered who would give it to him.

[Tinuviel of Denton]

Niniel slowly finished her meal. Yebasian and Scylla, once they had finished yelling at each other, had settled down to reminiscing over each other's past adventures. She felt very left out and decided to look for someone else with whom to speak.

There was an elven lady seated at a table in a corner, but Niniel still felt greatly in awe of these fairest of folk, excluding Soronume. Everyone else seemed to be in their own groups--well, all except for a man seated alone at the bar. Like Soronume had been when she met him. Well, maybe meeting him would prove to be as enjoyable as meeting Soronume had.

She got up and approached, somewhat amazed at her own daring. The man was staring at the floor and didn't see or hear her approach. He had a sword slung at his side, and Niniel had no doubt that he would not hesitate to use it if necessary. Though not in the Inn, as it was against the rules.

"Ex-excuse me," she said softly. "M-m-may I-I join you?"

[piosenniel]

We have reached our allotted 10 pages per thread – new request from the Barrow Wight.

So, please continue your posts on:

The Green Dragon Inn – Part 5

See you there!