The Green Dragon Inn - Part 5

[Beren87]

"Where am I from..?" Beren repeated the question slower, to himself., slightly dazed and confused. "An odd question, really, it would take a bit of explaining, if you've time to spare."

"Time? Well, the mid-day meal will have to be served soon, but Cook's got it on it's way nicely. I'll have a seat here with you, anyway." Aman smiled softly at Beren. More of an inquisitive, inviting smile than that of pure reflex. A smile that actually, it seemed and he dared to hope, was truly warm. She sat on the stool beside him, looking left, waiting for him to continue.

"Ah, well then. I suppose I'll start at the beginning, which would be the beginning of me. I was born, outside of Minas Tirith, from my mother who died at birth. It's allright really, it's not terribly uncommon." She had lowered her eyes a bit, at the last part, seemingly in respect. "My father was a traveler you see. Sort of an...ambassador from the Steward. He wasn't home much, but our family estate is very nice, and the servants raised me to the best of their ability. I played with the gardener out back, was taught by tutors as they came around every week, basically just stayed to myself. I wasn't allowed to play with the common boys, my father being who he was." Beren's face turned slightly darker at his last comment, obvioulsy remembering it not fondly. He turned and sipped an ale, drying his parched throad, but remembering his manners turned to Aman and inquired, "Would you like one?"

She politely shook her head from side to side. "I'm allright, and if I did want one, it is my Inn." She winked slightly at her own comment, forcing a slight tinge upon Beren's cheeks.

"Heh..right, of course it's your Inn. Er, anyway, I was at the neighborhood boys. Yes, well, I wasn't allowed to play with them, so I mostly kept to myself inside, musing around with toys my father had brought home from whatever new trip he went on. He was never really home, but the things he sent back were excellent. Dwarven poppers and such, I had the best playthings in the city. Well, I grew up of course, attending more and more tutors as I grew older, until word came one day that my father had been slain by a group of Orc-men searching for money. My world basically collapsed. He hadn't been home, but I had always known he was out there somewhere, and now, I didn't even have that. About sometime later, I decided to start out on my own traveling, around the routes my father had described to me. It seemed the most logical thing to do, though, I'm not sure why. I've been everywhere in my years of travelling, so many places, in fact, I've nearly lost count of how many years it is I've been traveling. Imladris, The Havens, up at the Mountain, I've been everywhere. Most of my things I've had carted back to my home, in Tirith, spending money quite freely. I don't know if I ever expect to make it back there, really, but if I do I'll have quite the assortment waiting for me. You know the story of the ruffians on the road from Bree, of course. I slew two of them, as they ambushed me, then ran all the way to the Buckland gate. They dared follow no farther. And now, I'm here." He smiled at her, abruptly finishing his drawn-out story. He leaned further back, sipping on his mostly-drank ale, waiting for her to comment.

Aman had been quite quiet through the story, letting Beren go on and on, listening to the ramblings of his childhood with interest. "You told the Shirrif about the ruffians then, right? We've been having quite a lot of trouble with them recently, attacking groups of hobbits on the way to Bree for parts and such. Dasterdly devils are impossible to track down it seems."

"Well, I don't know how much I can do about that. I'm not exactly a soldier, but I've had some experience with a blade. I offered my services to the Shirrif, at any rate, so perhaps a time will come when I'll meet up with them again. He shook the thought off, oddly concentrating on the here and now for once, which was, perhaps due more to his company than his thoughts on the ruffains.

"Aman! Get in here and help me serve this food, it's been cooked up for an age now, girl." The cook bellowed from behind in the kitchen. "And if you're talking with that man Beren, he can come and 'elp get these dishes out if he likes. I doubt he'll mind too much helping out you." There was an odd chuckle from the area of the stove, which caused both faces to go slightly pink. Not a comment was thrown about the Cook's last words.

As they entered, Aman and Beren began helping the cook to slice the soft, freshly baked bread. "You know Aman, Derufin's still looking for someone to share that extra room with, in the stables." The cook's voice oddly projected more towards Beren, than the adressed Innkeeper. "So, in case you hear of anyone wanting a room for a slightly extended time, you should inform them about it, you seem to hear more from the patrons than I get to."

"A room! Why.." She excalimed the words, then turned to face Beren, "Beren, how would you like to bunk up out in the stables? Seeing as how well you and Derufin were already getting along. It would save you quite the coin in renting a room here, anyway, and it would be the least we could do for our new Gardener. You were planning on staying on, weren't you?" She said this last part, looking up into his eyes.

"I..I..well, of course I was planning on staying here, and the stablemaster is certainly a kindly fellow. He doesn't have that larger-town feel to him, anyway." Beren smiled as he said his words, realising perhaps he had finally found a home, where no other place would suit him.

"Well then, good gardener, I'm sure Derufin will be very happy to hear it. I'll be telling him next time he comes in here, asking for food, or you can tell him if you happen to brush past him before I do." The cook turned back to the food in front of her, obviously done with them.

Beren and Aman stood, side by side, slicing bread and vegetables for the next meal of the day, silently laughing among themselves as the Cook turned to wink at each of them, trying to disguise her obvious facination.

[ July 31, 2003: Message edited by: Beren87 ]

[piosenniel]

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.

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

It is now late morning, near lunch time, at the Inn, on a pleasant mid-summer's day.

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

[Envinyatar]

Derufin set his food on the desk that stood outside his quarters and looked down the row of now empty stalls. All the ponies and the few horses stabled at the Inn were out in the corral, beneath the great oak tree to the west of the building. He stood, looking at the last five stalls that needed mucking out, wondering if he should eat first or get the work done.

He chuckled to himself that he was even having this debate – the work always came first with him. Picking up the pitchfork that stood against the nearest stall post, he started in on the soiled hay with it, forking it into his wheelbarrow, and then used the scoop shovel for the rest of the refuse.

Once all the detritus of the equine nights was piled in the barrow, he forked in some fresh hay and changed all the waters. Done at last, he leaned for a moment on the pitchfork admiring his handiwork. ‘Enjoy it now, boyo,’ he said to himself. ‘A suns half rotation and you’ll be facing the same stinking mess as before.’

His hands were covered in sweat and grime from the handles of the implements he’d used. Wiping them on a rag hanging from a nail in the corner where he stowed the stables tools, he turned them back and forth looking at them critically. Too dirty by half to handle his sandwich, he strode out to the pump just to the west of the stable.

Derufin’s brows raised as he spied the thin young woman attempting to catch a lone hen who had ventured out of the coop in the midday sun. Just as she reached for it, he came up silently behind her. ‘You’ve a deft hand at stray hens, Miss. Thank you for your help.’ He reached down for the hen and tucked it under his arm as he regarded the girl, then settled the hen into the coop.

‘Come wash your hands and share some lunch with me,’ he said, pointing to the pump that stood about ten feet from them. ‘You can wait over there . . . that bench beneath the oak tree . . .’ He talked to her gently, as he would a skittish filly, leading her to the pump.

‘My lunch is just inside the stable,’ he said, drying his hands on his shirttails. ‘I’ll see you in a few moments.’

He had no idea if she would stay or run. He strolled back into the stable at a leisurely pace, not looking back . . .

Caligon walked up to what looked like, from a distance, a pub. Upon closer examination he discovered that it was indeed a pub called the Green Dragon. He was quite hungry, seeing as how it was midday and lunch time, and he did enjoy Hobbit ale very much, so he decided to go inside and sit awhile.

Just as he was about to enter, he heard a large, and quite loud, bell ringing. He figured it must be a lunch bell, and he figured right. No sooner had the bell stopped ringing then Hobbits from all around started walking, and even running, toward the pub. Caligon quickly entered before they arrived.

Upon entering, most of the Hobbits and Men inside stared at him. He was wearing a thin breastplate made of leather, and his sword hung in it's scabbard from his belt. Throughout the Shire his attire drew the attention of many curious Hobbits, and he often had to explain that he was a Captain of Gondor, and there on business. Few of the Hobbits fully accepted this vague explanation, seeing as how they are very nosy creatures.

He strode up to the counter and asked for a nice, cold Hobbit ale, and a cake. Upon receiving his food and drink, he went to a small table in a corner and sat down. He looked around closely at the inhabitants of the pub, both Man and Hobbit, and thought the scene very quaint, just like all the rest of the Shire

[Chathol-linn]

Against long odds, Willofain was an optimist. Yes, it was true the man was walking away with her chicken dinner, but – four things. He had paid her a compliment “deft hands,” thanked her, and invited her to lunch!
And she was tired of running away. She wanted to run to something, for once.

“Master Stableman! Wait!” she shouted. She dashed to the pump, which the man had just primed, started to work the handle, and paused. Then she got an oaken bucket from under the bench. Only when it was underneath the spout did she let the cool stream of water run over her hands, face, and head. Finishing, she took the bucket and dumped the contents in the watering trough.

“I accept your invitation, Master Stableman,” she told him. “You are very kind to a stranger. Not many people are kind. They are not mean, either. Just – not caring, you know. Are you having ham? Is it a feast day in the Shire? No?”

Willofain took a large bite of the sandwich and chewed busily, drank some water from the stableman’s proffered cup, and continued:

“All the way from my village I had to tag along after others, for I belong to nobody, really. When I got past Bree, there was this man I followed. By his speech and songs he was a foreigner. He went fast and it was hard to keep up. Lucky for me! Because Orcs set upon him and he had to fight them off. Did a good job too, except that one escaped. – Master Stableman? You said I was deft, and I am. I am no stranger to work. I learn quickly. People say I think fast in a tight spot. And animals like me.”

Willofain hesitated, aware that the Stablemaster must have heard such appeals many times before. But it was a time for boldness. “Could I help out in your stables? Or do you know anyone who needs a ‘prentice?”

She held her breath, even forgetting to eat, waiting for the stableman’s answer.

[Elentarimir]

Megilien smiled. "Perilous, the land may be. However, if you had traveled along, I would have seen you, unless you joined her in Rivendell, where I left her." She grinned. Randir, as he called himself, was trying to cover up his story.

And then, he promptly asked how Megilien had met Eglawen. Her grin broadened. "I have been in Ithilien before. The only recent time was when I went to get Eglawen and guard her on her journey." This was a slight lie, but still close enough to the truth. "As to how I knew her, before she lived in Ithilien, she lived in Rivendell: my home."

Her grin disappeared as she thought of the horrible things that had driven Eglawen and many others out of Rivendell. After taking the time to push these things out of her mind, she said to Randir, "Now, if you'd be so kind, what are you really doing here?"

[theWhiteLady]

The sun and the wind had mixed together in wonderful harmony as it can sometimes do on pleasant, lazy summer days, and Laurie was taking it all in with big deeps breaths. Rays of sunshine shot through outstretched leaves, warming her face and arms as she rode into the inn yard; a soft breeze blew a few strands of her golden hair loose. Dismounting off her brown mare, Laurie cast a glance around the yard, smiling slightly as she did so as though a bit lost in thought, before resting her eyes on the two figures by the water pump.

Laurie tucked her hair behind her ears and gave her horse an affectionate pat before making her way over to where the man and women sat. On closer inspection, however, the two seemed in deep conversation and the young woman halted uncertainly. She did want to interrupt what seemed to be a serious discussion, so she began to riffle around in her pockets, as though looking for a coin, to excuse her strange behavior. Perhaps they had not even noticed her...

[Kryssal]

The angle at which the sun now shone through the window indicated that Domen needed to get going if he wanted to reach his destination before nightfall. Grumbling about how his family should get younger Hobbits to do travel deliveries he slowly got up out of the chair and after leaving money for food and pony care, left the Inn.

Apple was now groomed and fed well enough, but not too much. Domen smiled and rubbed her nose.

"Ready to get going girl?" Soon she was hitched up to the little wagon again. It took Domen two tries, but he finally got up to the driving seat. Smiling at the lad who helped him yet again, he tossed down two more coins with a wink and flicked the reigns to get going.

Apple started to amble along at an easy pace for both her, the master, and the cargo. Domen looked back at the Inn with a soft eye. I'll be telling my family about that Inn there, tis nice it is. Soon, the Green Dragon Inn was out of sight and only the road before him.

The young woman walked into the stable, leading a magnificent golden stallion. They were both tired, as they had travelled far that day and all year. Even though the road was dusty, both the stallion and the young woman were devoid of dust.
For herself, the young woman was short for her age, around twenty-three, but nevertheless carried herself with a sense of dignity and pride. Her eyes were large, and were a kind of golden amber color, and while they normally shone with good health, exhaustion had made them dull. Her hair was dark brown with hints of red, and she wore a feather in it. A sword poked through her dark travelling garb. She is human, and prefers not to say where from. Her past is dark.
The horse tossed his large, long head, his eyes sparking with haughty impatience. He was obviously of fine blood, for his coat shone and his neck was arched. His legs were long, lean and strong, the hooves meticously cared for. Slight feather sprouted from his fetlocks, and the saddle he wore was of black leather. His tail was set at a high point, and was full and flowing. A white stripe bumped down the stallion's face.

"Hello," she said to the lady by the water pump, brushing a stray lock of hair out of her eyes. "Do you know where I could rest my horse for the day, and find something to eat for myself?" Her voice carried a slight gruffness, but was otherwise friendly. The stallion sidestepped and snorted, and the young woman calmed him down. "By the way, my name is Talia. Talia Forthbound."

-Opal Wren-

_____________________________________________

Opal

Since you do not have your Private Messages enabled:

Welcome to the Shire. Please make sure you have read The Red Book of Westmarch, the first topic in the Shire. It gives all the rules for posting in the Inn and in Games.

This was a nice first post - but can you be a little more descriptive please. Tell us what the young woman looks like, how she dresses, is she dusty from her traveling, bear an distinguishin marks? You say she is tired - go ahead and make her look tired with words. Is she an Elf or a mortal - and what sort of either is she and where from? And your horse, a stallion or mare? Big or small, and fine featured?

Let us know all these things, so that when we include you in our posts, we can use your descriptions to clue you and others in who we are referring to.

Looking forward to 'seeing' more of your character.

Thanks! ~~ Piosenniel, Shire Moderator

[ August 01, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[ August 01, 2003: Message edited by: Opal Wren ]

[ August 01, 2003: Message edited by: Opal Wren ]

[Envinyatar]

Derufin watched as the girl wolfed down her half of the sandwich and reached for the remaining half. She looked up at him, her face coloring as her fingers touched it. ‘Go ahead,’ he lied, taking up one of the apples he had brought out. ‘I’ve already eaten my sandwich.’ He pushed the cookies and the other apple toward her, too. ‘Try these, when you’ve finished there,’ he said. ‘Cook is famous for her nut butter cookies.’

He watched her as she tucked into her meal. It was obviously the only substantial one she’d had in several days if he had the right of it. He wondered how old she was. Her thin features made her look both young and old. She looked to be a few years older than his daughter, and he wondered then, if there were parents who missed her and were worried.

She chattered on between bites, and he smiled that she should be so trusting of a stranger. A pleasant trait, but one dangerous for one so young and on the road. Her voice flowed on as he chewed on his apple, flipping the core to the ponies who had come near the railing of the corral to eye him. He realized, of a sudden, that she had become silent, and was looking up at him expectantly. He focused his thoughts back on her, trying to recall her last words.

“Could I help out in your stables? Or do you know anyone who needs a ‘prentice?” – that was what she had said.

‘As a matter of fact, I am shorthanded at the moment – but before we go discussing business, perhaps we should know each other’s names.’ He poured a cup of cool cider from the jug Cook had sent out with him. ‘I’m Derufin, the stableman, ostler here at the Inn,’ he said, extending the cup to her. ‘And you would be . . .?’

[piosenniel]

Cook had come out to the hen yard, a large green bowl held firmly in the crook of one arm. Today was the day she made her bread pudding and she had had the girls trim the crusts carefully from the stale bread before she cubed it for use. An now she had come into the yard to feed the hens the crusts – plump hens pleased her no end. She had an eye to stewing or stuffing the tasty fowl at a later date - best to keep them fat, happy, and succulent, she thought to herself.

She had just scattered the first handful into the yard, when she thought she spied a familiar figure standing in the yard. Wiping her hand on her apron, she shaded her eyes and looked toward where Derufin was chatting up what looked to be another stray. ‘For all his loss, that man has the softest heart,’ she said to herself, as she watched him draw the youngster out.

But there, standing near them, was someone she remembered. ‘Mistress Piosenniel’s little friend, if these old eyes don’t deceive me. Now what was her name?’ The sun caught the young woman’s hair, setting it aflame with flickering gold lights. ‘That was it!' Mistress Piosenniel had told them how the lass’s name meant golden – like the great tree from the old story from the West that the Elf had told them.

‘Laurie!’ she called out. ‘Mistress Laurie! Is that you come back to visit?’

[Esgallhugwen]

Esgallhugwen looked up at Lira 'tell her that I will help too if the situation gets worse, but now I am in need of a few hours rest, I rode from a great distance without little stop last night' She excused herself and headed up the stairs. She closed the door behind her, sitting on the bed she took up her dark yew bow and stroked the silver engraving plucking the string to ensure that it was taught enough to fire an arrow.

Setting the bow beside her pack she layed back drifting into unsettling dreams that remained untame.

Esgallhugwen awoke in her bed, long sheer curtains of a green hue flew out across the open floor, the room had no doors or window; it was her summer room. Filled with the fresh scent of flowers, she rose to see her mother.

When she arrived her mother had tears streaming down her face 'daughter I fear your father has fallen to great darkness, a shadow lies within him our doom is near at hand, I will not live to see the end whether it be good or bad though more likely the later. But you must promise me that you will live to see the end so that there is at least some goodness in it!' her mother wept tears of joy and sorrow, knowing her child was of strong mind and body and also knowing that her time drew nigh come the passing of the next year. To live to see the end Esgallhugwen promised for she too knew of the sorrow, the Dark Hand's reign had grown taking hold of her father though he accepted Sauron as his master willfully and they knew not why.

Seeking now to have council with her father she pushed past the gaurded doors and entered the long hall. 'Father' she beckoned him from his throne 'Many people hath followed you here in hope of independance, and I percieve that many will still follow you into your folly! A darkness has reached across all the lands of Middle-Earth, are we not ment to be Sauron's foe, instead to be his ally?' With that he struck her across the face drawing blood from her lip.

'Never before have you spoke such treachery to me, ill gotten daughter better to slay you now and have my wife bear me a son... but alas she spent her great spirit in the making of you!' hot and fell were his words. Esgallhugwen's spirit raged with wrathful fire but her eyes remained hauntinly calm as she gazed upon her father; seating himself once more upon his throne.

She turned smoothly like a ghost she seemed her pale blue gown trailed out behind her. She went past the great doors of the hall. He would no longer listen to reason not even from his own daughter.

Esgallhugwen and her mother did not speek to him for over a year busying themselves with helping small groups of their people to escape without notice. But too slow they had acted for he had a plan of his own.

[Chathol-linn]

“Willofain is my name.” The girl raised the cup. “That was the best meal I have had in two moons’ passage, Master Derufin, and here’s to you. All that time, and more before, I was on the road from my village. My Aunt Manta and Uncle Balec, well ... I ran away.”

When Derufin made no reply she said, “They took me in when my parents died. Our village was on no map, of course, but we gave it a name. ‘Go-Fast’ we called it, because if you left it, you had best go fast. To linger in the Mirkwood was perilous. They call it Laesgalen now, yes? Anyway, the thought of spending my life in Go-Fast scared me more than the woods or the loneliness. So I devised a plan and ran away, just in time.”

She saw a question in Derufin’s eyes. “ No, they did not mistreat me. They, we, were just so poor. It took all their energy to live, and they had none left over for laughter or love. But it was not their fault and I lay no blame.”

Behind her, Willofain heard the thump of hooves on dirt: newcomers approached on two horses. She bowed and took the reins.

“What a fine brown mare and a lovely golden stallion,” she said. “By your leave, ladies, I will pump fresh water for them and take them to their stalls. Note how sweet the stable smells with its new hay? Later I would like to hear your tales of the road., and perchance, news of Orcs.”

[theWhiteLady]

A familiar, ringing voice broke through Laurie's confused and slightly embarrased musings, causing her to turn and then raise her hands in joy.

"Cook!" she exclaimed in delighted surprise. Half running over to where the hobbit stood, she stooped and enveloped her in a soft hug. "It's wonderful to see you again! Why, how are you? How have things been? How is the inn? I have no doubt you've been kept busy."

Instead of answering her questions - in truth, she had quite lost track - Cook replied with one of her own. "Miss Laurie, what's brought you back to the Green Dragon? I rather thought you had left for good!"

"I've been learning more of the Shire and its delightful inhabitants," Laurie replied smiling. "It is peaceful here, and the people are so happy; there seems to be much that can be learned from your simple ways. But of late, I've began to fancy going farther north. Not much is heard about that land and I've returned to find out what I can about it and why it is so deserted."

"Well, I don't know how much I can tell you about that, but there has been quite a few changes since you last left." And Cook took the young lady by the arm and, while she finished feeding her chickens, began to relate all the latest doings and describe the various characters that had entered and departed the Inn.

She talked for a solid ten minutes and Laurie listened politely and indeed, with much interest, noting especially the news that there was a new innkeeper. Just as the last breadcrust was devoured by an extremely plump hen, the young lady who had presently been speaking by the water pump, approached Laurie. "Thank you, ma'am! Her name is Nell," Laurie replied and gave the mare an affectionate pat. "I'm sure she would appreciate a bit of a lunch as well, if you aren't too busy."

"Cook," the young lady turned back to the hobbit with a wink, "I do believe it's near lunchtime, you wouldn't have something warm and delicious for a weary traveler to feast upon, would you?"

[ August 01, 2003: Message edited by: theWhiteLady ]

Sabmel ambled into the inn, running a hand through a dark mop of hair that was rather in need of a washing. Quite looking forward to a meal that wouldn't consist of dried fruit, stale bread, or jerky, she made a beeline for the first person that looked as if they were a server or cook of some sort (who happened to be a hobbit who was just thinking of getting a little more beer).

'Hello there!' she said, flashing a winsome smile. 'Something sizable, filling, and delicious, if you please. Oh, and a full tankard of ale.' And with that, she strode off to find a table before the bewildered little fellow had time to reply.

Not too much later the poor hobbit came over to the woman carrying a savory stew, half a loaf of bread, and an ample amount of ale.

'Many thanks, my friend!' she said, laying some coin into his hand and setting upon her meal, which quickly began to disappear.

[Arestevana]

Randir frowned. That cheeky grin of hers did not sit well with him. He had the sneaking suspicion that Meg was laughing; somewhere inside her head where he couldn't catch her and be offended. Well, two could play that game, he decided. Looking at the elf with a solemn, innocent expression, he said, "Of course I joined her in Rivendell, fair lady. I am not often in Ithilen, and why should I travel to her aid, with a warrior such as yourself to protect her?"

Randir dropped the innocent expression and watched Megilien, his face blank. She was irritated, that much he knew. He saw that she was also confused, unable to bring an immediate end to his lies, though she obviously knew them to be such. It unnerved him, however, that he was still able to detect something of private laughter behind her eyes; as if she knew something he didn't.

With a mental laugh of his own, Randir adopted innocence once more. If she was so intent on his lies, he would tell her the truth. "As to my business, why, at the moment, I'm sitting here and listening to you." He accepted her icy glare with a smile, knowing he had irritated her again and enjoying the knowledge. Finally, Megilien spoke. Her tone was as cold as her gaze, which had wavered in the slightest. "Though what you are hiding I cannot tell, other things come easier to my mind. Randir, you are lying."

Randir pushed his chair back from the table and stood. He looked at Megilien sternly, all innocence gone from his expression. "Yes. I am lying. As are you, Megilien, if you will think back over your last words. Now, if you don't mind, I am off to bed. It is near noon, and I have not slept since the sun rose two days ago. Men require more sleep than elves, I understand, but surely you are tired as well. It it a long journey from--" He stopped, gazing at her. "Rivendell." He finished, a slight smile on his face. He turned and began to walk away.

[ August 02, 2003: Message edited by: Arestevana ]

[Elentarimir]

Megilien continued to laugh inwardly, knowing that in doing so, she infuriated Randir. His last few statements puzzled her slightly, but she nonetheless knew, by some sixth sense, that he was lying. She told him this coldly, and he said a few things to her. He made to get up, but she pressed her hand down on his shoulder. She was strong, and managed to get him to stay, despite the fact that he was a bit bigger than her.

"Doubtless," she said, "you do need your rest. However, that can wait a bit...until you answer my questions." She grinned wickedly again, only for the sake of infuriating him. It worked. "And, since we both know that the other is lying, then there is no point in keeping up this charade, is there?" He gave her an odd look, then shook his head. "Now," she said. "Here is the fault I find in your story. If you had joined her in Rivendell, I would definitely have seen you: I stayed for a bit after she left. Now, if you would please tell me why you are here? And please do not lie this time," she added softly.

"If you tell the truth to me," she said after a bit of time, where Randir considered telling, "I shall tell you what I am doing here: no lies."

[GaladrieloftheOlden]

No OOC (Out Of Character) comments are to be posted in the Inn except by the Moderators and the Innkeeper.

Please send a PM to the person(s) you wish to contact.

~~ Piosenniel, Shire Moderator

[ August 02, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[Envinyatar]

Derufin’s stomach protested its empty state, prompting him off the bench and back into the kitchen. Cook was sitting at the kitchen table with a lovely young woman, who was tucking into the generous meal that was placed before her with a hearty appetite. He sliced himself some more ham and two thick slices of bread. Slathering them with mustard, he piled on the ham, and added a thin slice of cheddar for good measure. A few pickles later, and a slab of apple tart on the side, and he had filled his plate to brimming.

He approached the table where the two women were sitting and sat down as unobtrusively as possible. The golden haired young lady looked up as he took his place, and he smiled at her, asking both of them if they minded his company. Cook motioned to him to stay seated and the two resumed their conversation. Derufin was half listening as he ate when he heard Cook tell her about Mistress Piosenniel’s soon-to-be return to the Inn.

‘Not quite certain when that will be,’ she told Laurie, ‘but she and her mister and the twins will be here, and they will have their Naming Day party here.’

‘Two weeks from yesterday.’ The quiet voice of the man broke in on their talk. Cook looked at him, her eyebrows raised at this statement. He reddened slightly, and ducked his head, concentrating on his apple tart. ‘Two weeks,’ he mumbled around his mouthful of sweets. ‘She wrote to me. That’s when they will be here.’

‘I see,’ said Cook, an appraising look come into her eyes.

‘I’ll just be off now,’ he mumbled, gathering up his dish to deposit it into the sink. ‘I seem to have picked up a new helper, and I’d like to get her settled in. Willofain’s her name . . . an orphan of sorts . . . from somewhere near Lasgalen . . . handy with horses . . . chickens too, it seems . . .’ He broke off, realizing he was prattling on, and now both women were staring at him.

‘Yes . . . well . . .’ he fled to the door and was almost through it when Cook’s voice stopped him. ‘Talk to Beren, will you, Derufin. He’s in need of a room. I suggested perhaps he could bunk out with you.’ With a nod, Derufin hurried out the door and in to the yard beyond.

Cook laughed at his hastily retreating figure. ‘I should have known! Mistress Piosenniel has made another conquest!’ She rubbed her chin thoughtfully. ‘I wonder if she has any idea . . .’

[Arestevana]

Megilien's strength surprised Randir. He found himself sitting once again, aware that this was not his own doing. "You wish to know my true business." He said. It was not a question. "I do not care to know yours, because I believe I already do. However if you wish to tell me, I will hazard a guess that this is not the time nor place."

He looked around. The sun was streaming through the windows and a hoard of hungry hobbits had begun to flood the inn. "Unless you wish all the town to know your story, true or false, I beleive it can wait." He stood again, capturing Megilien's wrist as she made to stop him once more. He knew she was strong, now, but he also knew he was stronger. "And now, If you really don't mind, I must get some rest." She glared at him. He grinned. "No lies." She continued glaring, her face set. He raised his free hand defensively. "Come now, Megilien, I've had a long ride. Surely you can admit that. It's a hard journey!" He did not say 'from Rivendell' because he knew she had heard him before. It wasn't a hard ride from Rivendell at all, with the roads repaired and well watched. But since neither of them had come from Rivendell... Randir released Meg's arm and walked away, climbing the stairs to his quarters.

When he reached his quarters, Randir locked the door and drew the curtains across the window. Then he collapsed on the bed and fell asleep immediately.

[Imladris]

Lira rose from her table and, after bidding Esgallhugwen farewell, began to seek for the Innkeeper. She had seen the Innkeeper and a man disappear inside the kitchen and she began to wander there, silently drifting by the busy tables. Soon, she found herself before the doorway of the kitchen and, glancing inside, she saw a hobbit and a fair young lady conversing, a man brushed by her in haste, and a man and a woman, whom she recognized as the Innkeeper, were slicing vegetables and bread.

Lira, who was rather shy for an elf, tried to decide if she should wait for the Innkeeper to become free or just interrupt her now. Lira groaned as she considered that it might be better to interrupt their conversation instead of waiting...she may not have another chance to offer her services. Slowly, softly, she crept towards their table and discovered that there as a lull in the conversation between the Inn-keeper and the man. "Do you need help with anything, Mistress Inn-keeper, especially with the rumors of the goblin-men?" she asked in her fair voice.

[Chathol-linn]

Willofain tore through the yard and stables like a youngster at the Dale toy market, exploring. She found some rooms that looked lived-in. “Derufin’s” she thought, and passed them by. But the next room did not look so private. Behind the door she found a set of clothes hanging on a peg. They could have belonged to any tall person, either man or woman.

“Good!” she thought, and set to work. In no time she had stripped off her woolen tunic and breeches and put on the unknown person’s shirt. It hung halfway to her knees like her tunic, and she belted it with the piece of rope she used. Then she hurried to the stable yard, found the oaken bucket, and filled it with clean water from the pump.

“Wash day!” Willofain said to the inn-folk who had finished their lunches and were walking about the yard or heading for the town road. Some waved cheerfully, and others seemed too sunk in their thoughts to notice.

Soon the homespun garments were hanging in the sun to dry and Willofain put her mind to the next project. She wanted mightily to hear talk of orcs, goblins, or any sort of ruffians and saw that the inn suited her purpose perfectly. And if she learned nothing in the common room tonight – after she was cleaned up a bit and ready to socialize – then she would start looking the town over for the man she had followed from Bree. The one who held his own against the orcs.

Musing over this thought, Willofain put her hand into the pocket of the shirt she had borrowed. What was this? Frowning she pulled forth an object. Her blue eyes widened.

“I had better tell Derufin,” Willofain said to herself. “Or even the Innkeeper herself! Whose shirt can this be?” And she headed for the inn's back door.

[Theoric Windcaller]

Theoric walked in, his clothes worn from travel and his axe strapped to his back. He recognized this place, for he had been here many times before. He set his axe down by the other weapons walked to the bar.

"Hello, old friend," smiled the dwarf as Aman turned to see her old dwarven friend. "May I have a pint of hobbit-stout?"

[ August 02, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[Envinyatar]

In his haste to leave the scrutiny of Cook, Derufin ran to the safety of his domain without much attention to where he was going. Imagine his surprise as he ran into a line of wet clothing, flapping in the breeze on a line strung from the southern entrance to the stables to the lone ash tree that shaded the windows of his quarters.

‘By the One! What’s this?!’ he muttered, picking a raggedy looking shirt from his face.

Willowfain, seeing him run from the kitchen door, had followed him, and tried to shout out a warning. Derufin turned the shirt in his hands, and after a moment handed it to the girl. ‘Yours, I take it,’ he said, eyeing the one she had put on while her own dried. ‘Best you ask next time before borrowing clothes from people’s rooms. Though I don’t think the person whose shirt that was will be needing it any longer. Still, do ask first.’

‘I’ve been thinking – my assistant is gone for a while, perhaps you can help out in the stable until she returns, and after that, we can leave you to handle the hens, and perhaps assist the new gardener.’ He walked into the stable, the bright sunlight of late morning, fading to a cool shade. ‘Up there,’ he said, pointing to the loft, ‘if you don’t mind it a bit rough, is where you can bunk. Vanwe’s place is there on the left you can make a nest for yourself on the right.’ He pointed back up at the Inn. ‘Go ask Cook if she’ll let you into the attic. There are some extra mattresses up there you can bring in, and one of the maids can give you some linens and a blanket. Just tell them both I’ve sent you.’

‘Hurry now,’ he said, as she stood there with her hand in the shirt’s lower pocket. ‘We’ll need to see to the horses in the corral – take them out one by one and get them brushed up a bit . . .’

[Esgallhugwen]

The hot tears caressed Esgallhugwen's pale sleeping face, she lay there motionless except for the slight flickering of her eyelids. She awoke wiping the tears from her face, trying to take slow calm breaths though her emotions soared once again much like last night with rage and sorrow. She had almost screamed out but caught it in her throat just in time.

Esgallhugwen stepped over to the dresser and looked in the mirror a smooth trickle of blood crept down her lip and chin, she filled the water basin and washed her face. A pale silver pendant fell out from her shirt on a chain.

Delicate spirals and knots sheathed an Elvish stone. Clear it was but gave off a faint glow where evil lurked and an even stronger light was emitted from it when the wearers emotion was at it's peak.

The light now faded slowly as Esgallhugwen gained hold of her self. She dried off tucking the necklace back under the shirt.

Talia got no answer from the young woman, whose name turned out to be Laurie. It didn't really surprise or upset her, and so she saw an empty stall and put her horse inside it, keeping him fully tacked. Loading a bucket with water for him, she lugged it in the stall and set it down. Closing the door, Talia hoped she wouldn't need to lock it. Then she smiled to herself. 'Of course I don't. Sunrunner can take care of himself.'

Wiping her hands on her pants, she turned and walked back outside. Pushing the door of the Inn open, she found a table in a dark corner.

"Hobbit-stout, please!" she called, then opened her pack and took out a plain silver knife for polishing. Talia knew the weapon well, and it had saved her life on more than one occaison. When she was through with the knife, she took out a roll of parchment, quill and ink from her bag and began to write, humming softly to herself.

-Talia Forthbound-

[Chathol-linn]

Now Willofain might be a ragged orphan but she had her dignity. “I borrowed the shirt, Master Derufin,” she replied. “I am no thief.” Then as the stablemaster grinned at her and folded his arms, she realized she was, in fact, a failed chicken thief.

“Oh drat,” she said. “A long time ago, when I was helping at another inn, I took a blueberry pie from the windowsill. I had never tasted blueberries, you see, and I was curious. When Master Bruno asked me, I denied it. But he told me to stick out my tongue, and it was blue! So I was fairly caught. He marched me to the woodshed, pausing to pick a switch, and dusted the seat of my breeches properly for stealing and lying.”

She put one hand to her backside in memory of the beating. “Bruno was stern but fair and I promised not to steal or lie again. So far I have kept the promise. I have no wish to be turned away from the Green Dragon. I will be your assistant and do all just as you say, with thanks for the bed and board. But…”

She held up her other, closed, hand. “I found this in the pocket. I have seen such things before – in what remained of my village Go-Fast.”

Willofain opened her hand. The bystanders who had gathered around gasped and recoiled.

It was a loop of twisted metal wire, strung with teeth. Humans’, Dwarves’, Elves’. And Hobbits’, or children’s.

“An Orc-necklace,” someone murmured.

“Whoever owned this shirt had dealings with Orcs, whether friend or foe.” She handed the grisly token to the stablemaster. “Can you see this gets into the proper hands? For maybe the captain of guard will have questions.”

The inn-folk stood talking worriedly. Willofain’s young face was worried too, as she went to see Cook. A dark-haired woman was in the common room, writing, and Willofain wished sadly that she too could read and write. Then she proceeded to the corral and her duties, wondering what would happen next.

Talia looked up at the commotion and frowned. 'An Orc-necklace?' she thought. 'What would an orphan such as her be doing with that?' She had not heard the entire thing, and so was unaware that Willofain hadn't gotten hold of the necklace on purpose.

Curious, she put her writing tools back in her pack and followed the girl out to the corral. "Beg pardon," Talia said. "Could I have a word with you?" she asked the girl.

-Talia Forthbound-

[Chathol-linn]

The orphan heard the voice behind her and turned around. It was the dark-haired woman of the common room, she with the parchment and quill.

“Yes, indeed, you may speak with me all you wish,” said Willofain. “But I am new to the inn and to my duties. I would not like to prove tardy on my first day. If you have a mount in the stables or corral, you could come with me there. Or we could talk later, in the common room or elsewhere. What is your pleasure, Miss? And may I know your name? Mine is Willofain.”

[Phrim]

It was a pleasant day for a stroll in the Shire: blue skies, a slight breeze, not too hot and yet not too cool. The birds in the trees were chattering merrily, taking no heed of the plump little figure below making his way slowly but surely down the road. A curious figure he was, his gait buoyant, his face jovial, his little brown eyes shining at everything his vision touched. Atop his head sat a shock of unruly hair, curls going in every direction; mostly brown it was, but with a tinge of grey. The ambling hobbit was dressed for travel, at least as much as a hobbit ought to be dressed up for such things, and was humming to himself faintly.

Unheard to the distant birds, but quite the cacophony to the poor little hobbit, was the rumbling of a stomach. It was nearing time for the noontime meal, and not having eaten since his rather large breakfast, the hobbit was quite hungry indeed. Fortunately, the quaint little town of Bywater was on the horizon, with its renowned inn, The Green Dragon, noted for its fine ale, wholesome food, and good company. Upon seeing an end to this leg of his journey, the hobbit quickened his pace, and shortly arrived at the bustling inn.

The inn was noisy, as inns ought to be, and filled with a diverse clientele: mostly hobbits filled the room, but there were also a good number of men as well as a few dwarves hidden in a dark corner. A dutiful servant to his stomach, our hobbit made no delay in finding a table and flagging down a barmaid. "Name's Tad, Tad Bushytop," the hobbit said to the serving-lass, "I'm not late for lunch, am I?"

"Not at all, Mr. Bushytop, you're just in time," replied the barmaid. "My name's Ruby, by the way."

"You can call me Tad, if you please," Bushytop said amicably. "Could you get me an ale while I'm waiting, m'dear?"

"Right away," said Ruby, as she headed back to the bar area.

As Ruby left, Bushytop reflected on his trip ahead. Not often did he make the journey down to Frogmorton; any hobbit of the Shire knows that traveling from Waymoot to Frogmorton was more than an lazy afternoon's stroll. But it was time for the annual family summer-party, and the parties thrown by the Bushytops of Frogmorton were not to be missed. It would be even more festive this year, Bushytop noted, for his niece Laureli was finally getting married. It would be a grand time, he decided, the best party he'd been to in years. If only Frogmorton were a bit closer...

Ruby returned promptly with his ale, and Bushytop turned to her and said, "Say Ruby, have you heard of Laureli Bushytop?"

"As a matter of fact I have, Mr. Tad," Ruby replied. "I've got some cousins out in Frogmorton. Say, isn't she getting married this weekend?"

"That she is, Ruby m'dear, she's my niece," Bushytop said, beaming with pride.

"Oh, you must be heading out to the party!" Ruby exclaimed. "I'm so jealous; that party has been the talk of the tavern."

"That I am, m'dear, that I am," said Bushytop delightedly.

"Well, your food will be right out, Mr. Tad," said Ruby cheerfully, and she headed back into the kitchen.

Talk of the tavern, eh? And out here in Bywater, too. Bushytop knew that little Laureli was a popular girl, but this was just too much. He was doubly sure his trip to Frogmorton would be worth it this year, as long of a walk as it may be. Caught up in his daydreams about the good folks and bountiful food that would be at his niece's wedding, Bushytop's current hunger was almost pushed into the back of his mind. Almost.

"Boy, am I hungry," Bushytop said to himself.

[Envinyatar]

Ruby flew into the kitchen and grabbed Buttercup by the arm. ‘Guess who’s come to the Inn,’ she said. Buttercup shrugged her shoulders and went on cutting up the potatoes, onions and carrots for the coney stew that Cook had planned for supper.

‘Best you just go ahead and tell me,’ she returned, giving the big kettle with the disjointed coneys in it a stir. ‘Taste this,’ she said, offering a spoonful of broth to Ruby. ‘Needs more rosemary, and a couple of pinches of salt, I think. Don’t you?’ Ruby shook her head yes, then proceeded to tell her of the arrival of Tad Bushytop.

‘You mean Laureli’s uncle? The one who’s getting married this weekend.’ Buttercup plunked the wooden stirring spoon down on the spoon rest near the hearth. ‘It’s supposed to be a whopper of a party, and I understand that Laureli’s Aunt and her Gammer are making the wedding cake.’ Buttercup’s eyes shone at thoughts of her own wedding and the cake she would have. The only problem with that line of thinking was that she had no beau to imagine being wed to. Ruby commiserated with her, too. Working at the Inn did not leave much time for romance.

She and Ruby loaded up a plate for Mr. Tad. Thick cut slices of brown bread, a small crock of sweet cream butter, a wedge of Shire sharp cheddar, a bowl of vegetable soup filled with the bounty of the Inn garden, and a generous slice of apple tart. Ruby picked up the serving platter and was about to exit the kitchen, when Buttercup’s voice stopped her.

‘Ask him if he’ll bring us back a thin slice each of the wedding cake, Ruby. My Gran always told me if you slept with a slice under your pillow you’ld dream of your true love. Let’s give it a try!’

Ruby laughed and said she’d ask if the right opportunity came along. ‘And besides, if we don’t have that sort of dream, we’ll still have the piece of tasty cake to eat.’ She set the food in front of the hungry Hobbit, and laid his silverware on a napkin to the side. His mug was empty and she got him a refill, then hovered a bit, wondering how she was going to ask for such an odd favor.

Talia smiled. "I understand about your work. No, it would not do for you to be tardy, you're right. As it happens, I do have a mount in the stables." As she said this, a whinny reached thier ears. "That'll be Sunrunner. I'm Talia Forthbound, by the way.
I'll accompany you to the stables."

"Willofain, that's a pretty name. How did you come to be at the Inn? I myself only just got here as well."

-Talia Forthbound-

[Novnarwen]

After an intense hour of planning for the day to come, Stirru and Folw sat completely silent, just watching the day grow older. The two men sat gazing out of the window, watching people come and go. "We might consider getting ourselves a room for tonight," Fowl said at last. Stirru sat motionless, nodding. "On you then," he said seriously after taking his eyes from the window. Folw gave a laugh. "Yeah, since I can afford it," he told his companion. Stirru looked down, taking his hand gently into his pocket. "It's empty. I don't have money."

Folw made a sigh, giving the man a stare. His eyes turned elsewhere; a man pacing around in the room. The sound of coins making noise in his pocket made both Stirru and Folw smile. Giggling to be exact. "What are you waiting for?" Folw asked his partner, while bringing his pipe up, from his own pocket and blowing out white skies. Stirru coughed, but blinked to the man sitting at his side. "Wait here, okey?" he said.

Folw made no answer, but blowed another white sky out of the pipe, while Stirru rised. Stirru went gently towards the man. That's my boy, Folw thought seating himself properly in his chair, waiting for the show to start. That's my boy indeed, he repeated to himself, giving no sign what so ever that he was nervous. This was only a daily problem, which could be solved in no time.

[theWhiteLady]

Cook excused herself on kitchen business some minutes after the departure of Derufin, as Laurie had learned the stablemaster was called. The young woman puzzled over his odd behavior for awhile before turning her thoughts instead to his news that Pio would soon be returning to the inn. And with her twins and husband, no less! She smiled, trying to imagine what the babes would like. They would be strong-willed, of course, like their mother! Laurie wondered if the birth had been as easy as the elf had seemed so confident it would be. 'Well,' Laurie decided, 'she was right that there would be twins. No doubt she was right about that too.' There was no question of how long she would be staying now; she needed a good rest anyway, and two weeks seemed just about right to do it.

As these thoughts ran through her mind, Laurie had been studying the common room. It was full of its usual motley assortment of characters, most spread out in clusters of two or three talking together, but there was one man, rather young but dressed in the livery of the Tower of the Guard of Minas Tirith, who sat alone. His head was bowed over a tall mug and his shoulders hunched, the stain of travel was upon his cloak. Everything about his appearance, especially the sword worn openly by his side, seemed a bit out of place in the quiet Shire, leaving Laurie no doubt that he had just arrived from a long travel and, judging from his armour, perhaps from Minas Tirith itself.

A thrill of excitement ran through the young lady, causing her to rise quickly and nearly trip over her dress. "Sir," she nearly whispered as she stumbled over to the his table, "I judge from your dress that you hail from the White City. Perhaps, if you do not mind my intrusion, you would give me news of that region?" Laurie faltered slightly as the man raised his head. His eyes did not seem at first to focus upon her, as though his mind had been elsewhere, and Laurie waited uncertainly for his answer, beginning to hope he would not be angry at her for interrupting his thoughts.

[Chathol-linn]

“Then greetings to you, Talia” The orphan girl produced half an apple, saved from her borrowed lunch with Derufin. “A gift to Sunrunner – no doubt that big golden stallion there. I could have used him in my journey from Go-Fast. I was on the road from there to here almost two years.”

They came to the corral and Willofain offered the treat to Talia’s horse. “I ran away to make a different life for myself. I did not know the Orcs would strike my village that very day I left. When I heard the cries, I returned but what could one unarmed girl do against a band of Orcs? I hid” – here Willofain looked both fierce and ashamed – “and later buried my folk. Now that I have a decent place to live, I would like to stop traveling awhile and study to be a warrior. Or maybe a tracker. So I can hunt Orcs.”

The dark-haired woman said nothing so Willofain asked: “What of your story? Have you traveled far? Are you a scholar or a bard? Do you know any of the inn-folk yet?”

Talia smiled at the girl's gift. "Thank you. Come, you can give it to him yourself; I'll introduce you." Going over to the unlocked stall, she pulled open the door and went inside. Taking Sunrunner's bridle, she led him out, his coat glistening in the midday sun. "Here he is," she said. "He's carried me far, and we've known each other for at least half our lives. I came here from Gondor, stopped at Mirkwood, where I got him, and travelled the rest of the time. As for my profession, I go wherever there is music needed or a story to be taken down. I guess you could call me a bard, then."

Talia regarded the girl thoughtfully. "You've come far, then, if you were strong enough to survive an Orc attack. Such strength is not commonly found, especially from one so young. Tell me, Willofain, and please don't think me rude, but I'm curious where you got that necklace. If you don't want to answer, you don't have to." She stepped back to consider the girl as Sunrunner nickered and nudged Willofain's hand, crunching contentedly on the apple, his eyes bright.

"Well, if Sunrunner here finds you in good order, I suppose there is no reason to doubt you. He's an excellent judge of character, Runner, and I trust his word...or lack thereof," Talia said, chuckling softly. "Of course...your duties are to be getting on with. May I help?" Her golden eyes glittered with interest.

-Talia Forthbound-

[Chathol-linn]

Willofain answered: “I found the Orc-necklace by accident, while I was waiting for the worthy Stablemaster to assign me my duties. While exploring the stables, you see, I found an empty room with a set of clothes inside. I borrowed the shirt so I could wash my own, and in the pocket I found that awful thing. It looked like the one I saw in my village that day the Orcs attacked.”

The bard-woman seemed curious, so Willofain continued. “I tried to give it to Derufin, but there were so many people near us, I got jostled. I don’t know if Derufin has it, or what, and now he is gone! But he said a frightening thing before he left. He said, of my borrowed shirt, ‘the owner won’t be needing it.’ – or something like that.”

Willofain shook her head. “I think whoever owned the shirt had dealings with an Orc, as friend or foe. How else would the Orc-necklace come to be in the pocket? And whoever has it now, I hope they are careful. The Orc owner might want it back, and I keep hearing tales of ruffians.”

“Did you see any ruffians on your road from Gondor, Miss Talia? And did you know there is a man here – I followed him from Bree – whose speech sounds just like yours?”

Talia frowned. "How, indeed...? Ruffians? The road from Gonor is long, willofain. I've seen some, yes, but no more than one would consider normal. Although..." She suddenly remembered the groups of dark-hooded figures she'd spotted on the roads near the Inn. "I'd have to warn you, my friend, that I have seen what you would call ruffians near here. However, they could be Rangers for all I know. Why? Have there been attacks here before, do you know?" A sudden idea occured to her. "Perhaps the ruffians are looking for that Orc-necklace you found. Why don't I find this Derufin and inquire whether or not he has it? Did he say which way he was going?"

"You'll have to introduce me to this man, who you say sounds like me, when we're done here. Perhaps I know him, though I've not seen him around. What is his name?"

-Talia Forthbound-

[ August 04, 2003: Message edited by: Opal Wren ]

[Meneltarmacil]

Aramil, a tall, blond haired elf wearing a dark green traveling cloak and a long sword hanging on his belt, rode up to the Green Dragon Inn. While he looked like a typical silvan elf, this was not the case. He was originally of the Avari, the elves who had refused the summons to the West long ago. He had relocated to Mirkwood along with the rest of his people, where he had become aquainted with an elven prince named Legolas. He had recently moved to Ithilien with some of his friends, but when he heard strange rumors from the North, he headed for the Green Dragon Inn to learn more.

He dismounted from his tall brown horse and led it around to the stable. When he got back, he noticed a tall, dark haired elf sitting outside. He recognized him from the description he had been given.
"Greetings," he said. "Is your name Ragnorock?"

[Dragon Elf odin Ragnorock]

SAVE for reworked post

[ August 04, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]