The Green Dragon

[the real findorfin]

"Fabulous, my lady!" Fin's voice was drowned out only by his clapping. "That has lifted the air of opression from the inn, well done." He clapped further.

[The Barrow-Wight]

Barrow-Wight sat as his table nursing a beer and writing steadily in his journal. Over the several evenings he had sat quietly in The Green Dragon, he had been making notes on the talents of the various storytellers. Already he had scribbled several pages in his messy, almost illegible handwriting, and he was beginning to get a clear picture of many people gathered in the room.

Some were obviously talented bards. Garen’s poem, recently sung, had been quite good, and Barrow-Wight, not normally one who appreciated such verse, had found it enjoyable. It had been a welcome break from the idle chatter that had filled the place for so long. He wrote down the name Mithadan with a note to thank him for encouraging conversations of more substance. Barrow-Wight had not lingered at the Dragon to hear meaningless quips, so he greatly appreciated that the focus of the room had turned back toward the telling of tales.

He glanced over to where Dwarin was adding wood to the fireplace. The Dwarf was doing a great job keeping the inn running. People had been unsure if hobbits would warm up to a dwarven host, but they obviously had. As long as he kept them well fed, it was unlikely Dwarin would have any feuds with the locals.

Findorfin’s shout caught his attention. He had been one of the chatters that so often spoke in such short bursts, but lately he had improved with longer speeches. House rules generally stated that all speakers should have at least two paragraphs to say, or it wasn’t worth saying. Hopefully, he and others would consider speaking at greater length, but less often. After all, The Green Dragon was opened to see what writing abilities people were willing to display. No doubt everyone in the room was eager to show they understood what was expected.

[Finiel]

THE GREEN DRAGON INN. Seeing the word 'inn' food came into Sarah's thoughts. She was hungry and tired of travelling and as she went inside the inn she noticed a mirror hanging in the wall beside the door she entered. She saw herself, her hair in tangles and her face had a few smudges.
"I'm never going to be a lady," Sarah sighed.

But before she could get her brush ( to comb her messy hair) her stomach grumbled. As some old people say: hunger is always stronger than vanity among teen-agers. So hearing the noise within her stomach, " May I order a mug of iced tea and three chicken sandwiches, sir." And seeing the fast service at the counter by a strange dwarf she thanked him for his first rate service.

Sarah would have loved to introduce herself to everybody in the inn but seeing that all the people were talking with each other, she just ate her sandwhich like a man who had never eaten for years.

[the real findorfin]

Celebmornie began to doze and Fin turned his attention to others in the Dragon. There were still plenty of people around and Dwarin was still working hard, keeping the Dragon running. To pass the time he looked at each person there, each character was different. A dark man of Umbar still sat in the corner, eyes glowering. Would that every change? Nuramaiel, who had recently stood and performed, was now sat once more. She looked as if she was trying to forget the last few minutes.
“Don’t know why,” Fin thought, “It was pretty good.”

There were some hobbits in the corner, Brandybucks if he remembered rightly, but they were much more subdued than before, the ale had finally got to them. Some were still leaning on their elbows in a feeble attempt to look awake but most had given up and were sleeping, heads on table, snoring loudly. Fin watched as the man from Umbar snorted angrily at them. One rose his head slightly and murmured something, vaguely sounding like a threat but in the middle of it, his head slumped back down to the table. Fin resisted the urge to laugh as the man grimaced, “lighten up,” he thought.

The most interesting patron by far, was the shady figure in yet another corner of the inn, (the Dragon seemed to have many corners). From all appearances the person seemed to be a dread Wight but to Fin’s surprise he was writing in a notepad.
“Very unnatural for an unnatural being,” Fin mused.

Dwarin bustled past on some other errand designed for the maintenance of his business and that got Fin wondering, “how many kegs of ale did the place have?” Customers had been buying all night. As if on cue, the doors opened and a group of four dwarves entered, each carrying a large barrel each. They dropped them down beside the bar and their leader called in a loud voice, “Dwarin!”
One or two of the hobbits were roused but mumbled only a few words before falling back down onto the table surface. “What?” a voice called from one of the back rooms.
“Your ale is here!”
Dwarin came bustling back, face red and blustering.
“Back entrance, Nari, back entrance!”
“Humphh.” Nari looked displeased.
“Oh, well bring it through here then,” Dwarin compromised, and the dwarves picked up the kegs and carried them behind a still muttering innkeeper.

As he was thinking, a new maid entered and ordered some food. Fin sidled over to her and sat down. “Hello, are you new here? What do you think of the place?"

[ December 04, 2002: Message edited by: the real findorfin ]

[Nurumaiel]

Firramer smiled at Autumn. "Perhaps I will tell a tale soon, hobbit maid," he said. "Though I am sure you and Robin have much more interesting tales to tell. Don't you, Robin?"

But Robin was not looking at him. She was staring across the room at the Elf-maid who had just stood up and sang. Then she slowly turned her eyes back to Firramer, and, laughing, shoved him.

"Firramer, why did you not tell me that Nurumaiel was here?" she demanded, her eyes sparkling.

"I was waiting for you to find out," Firramer said in reply. "I thought you'd never get around to seeing her."

Robin grabbed Autumn's hand and began dragging her towards the Elf. "Come on, Autumn, come meet Nurumaiel!"

As they arrived at the table where Nurumaiel was sitting, Robin tapped her on the shoulder and put on a gruff voice.

"Would you like some tea, perhaps? I'm afraid we haven't got any of that miruvor or whatever you Elves drink."

Nurumaiel smiled and said, "No thank you, Dwarin."

"Lovely song, by the way, Nurumaiel," Robin said in the same gruff voice, while Autumn tried not to giggle. "I wish I could see Galadriel. She must be fair beyond words."

Nurumaiel seemed to be thinking. One, Dwarin didn't know her name yet. She had not yet introduced herself to him. Two, would Dwarin call a song about an Elf 'lovely'? Three, Dwarin would never say Galadriel was fair, let alone wish to see her!

Nurumaiel whirled around and saw who had been speaking. "Robin!" she cried, catching her friend up in a hug. "Of all things! You had me fooled, lass." She looked at Autumn. "And who is this fair maiden?" she asked, making Autumn blush.

"Autumn Gamwich, a friend of mine," Robin replied. "Autumn, this is Nurumaiel Firithbor from Rivendell."

"I'm very pleased to meet you, Autumn," Nurumaiel said, bowing in her chair.

"I've heard a good many songs and tales," said Robin. "I've a mind to write them all down when I get home. I do remember, you know. Every word. They're worth keeping. I wonder if anyone else would honor us with a tale or song?"

[the witch king]

The hobbit broke Amrons gaze as he slumped back down in his chair,"insolent little beast" he said under his breath. If the halfling hadnt have been sorounded by his friends Amron would have gladly draged him outside to teach him how to talk to his betters, but as it was he would let it lie.

He looked around the inn he seen fin sniggering at him how dair he! It was at times like this he missed umbar people in the north should learn some respect for some one of such high blood as he, but what could be expected of elves and there lap dogs. He drank deeply from his ale pulled a peace of meat that had been stuck between his teath for some time and flicked it at the sleeping hobbit and smiled wickedly to him self.

[ December 04, 2002: Message edited by: the witch king ]

[Mithadan]

Ardo Longbottom bustled into The Green Dragon wearing his trademark, feather adorned Shirriff's hat. He bore a rolled-up scroll under his arm. Nodding to Dwarin and carefully detouring around the seated Wight, he proceeded to the end of the bar and unrolled the scroll. He affixed the parchment to the wall above the bar, then cleared his throat. "Announcement, people!" he cried. "Adventurers wanted!" Then he backed away as patrons crowded about the notice he had posted.

Dwarin grumbled something about "fool Hobbits disturbing the customers" then inspected the notice. It read:

Findereg, Elf of Mirkwood, seeks adventurers to assist in a trade mission to Laketown. Reasonable pay and usual benefits. Payment of wages guaranteed in the event of untimely death. Death benefit doubled in the event of consumption by spiders or dragons.

For details, speak with Susan Delgado in The Shire. Please refer to the mission by name. It is called "Roll Out the Barrels."

[Kiara]

Tired and foot-sore, Parin, a young dwarf who had been longing for adventure, wandered in behind the 4 ale-bearing dwarves that had come to supply the inn owned by a dwarf she had only heard of in legend: the great Dwarin Thunderhammer. Parin Stonemouth had been disappointed of late when an expedition she was to have been a part of was postponed due to squabbling in other parts....So, since she had already packed her belongings, she had taken up with the first travelling party going anywhere at all....

....Which just happened to be a band of dwarves going to the Green Dragon.

"The Green Dragon," she had thought,"hmmm, maybe they are in need of an assistant cook or maid there? Perhaps I just need a change of scenery, and working among hobbits would be just that..."

So, throwing her braids back over her shoulders and straigtening her woolen cloak, she raised her chin and eyes with an attempt at confidence to face the blustering Dwarf she had spotted upon her arrival.

"I just hope he doesn't think I'm completely ignorant. I'm not sure I have much to offer the place. Really, the experience will benefit me much more. Well, here we go!"

And with that she marched across the room to apply with the one she held in such high esteem.

[Dwarin Thunderhammer]

As the young female Dwarf began to walk out the door Dwarin grabbed her by the back of her shirt.

"And where are you going young one?" The inkeeper inquired.

Palin was suprised. "I was just going to leave, seeing as there's no work to be done here." She said as her suprise turned to dejection.

"Oh no your're not! There's plenty to do!. And I say you'd better get to work!" Dwarin replied with a gleam in his eye.

Dwarin took her coat and hat and handed them off to Miss Violet who put them away in the coatroom.

"First off, it seems our guests are a bit bored. Why don't you sing them a song or tell them a tale. Perhaps the story of your Brother and the Spider?"

With that Dwarin pounded his mug on the counter again.

"May I have your attention."

The customers had quite gotten used to Dwarins makeshift gavel by now and they knew that something was afoot by the framiliar ringing of metal on oak.

"This here is Miss Parin! She's from my hometown!"

Several Hey-ho's, Hello's and other miscellaneous greetings erupted from the room.

"She's going to be helping me out for a bit here at the Dragon for a while!" Several more cheers. "You'd better treat her well or else I'll take care of you personally." Dwarin glared at some of the more critical and mischevious hobbits. "Miss Palin is going to give us a tale or a song or two. So let her entertain you for a bit, I'm sure you won't be dissapointed."

Dwarin leaned down to Palin's ear

"You're on."

[ December 04, 2002: Message edited by: Dwarin Thunderhammer ]

[VanimaEdhel]

Menelduliniel and Estelarion cheered for Palin.

"I wonder what song she will sing?" Estelarion said.

"Well, I am getting a closer view," Menelduliniel smiled.

The two quietly moved closer to the Dwarf.

"A petty Dwarf!" Estelarion hissed in distaste.

"A prejudiced Elf!" Menelduliniel hissed back.

"A murderous Elf!" Estelarion retalliated.

"Shhhh!" Menelduliniel retorted. Then, as an afterthought, she added, "A prissy Elf who uses a meat cleaver to defeat his foes!"

She then elbowed him hard, signalling that the conversation was over and that she had won.

They looked at the female Dwarf, Palin, and waited for her to begin...

[Durelin]

A new regular at the Green Dragon (and any other stop around Hobbiton that would serve him ale), Hamfast Greenhand was seldom in the dark corners of the inn, mainly he was atop a table that had room for his large hairy feet to dance his jig on. A cheery fellow, at best!

Hamfast: "Good day to you Dwarin Thunderhammer, I would check your larders if I were you! Hamfast Greenhand always has room for more of your delicious seed-cakes, and of course I can not have them without atleast a little ale!"

Do not be confused by Hamfast's "little" there, he has a wonderful sense of humour!
[img]smilies/biggrin.gif[/img] [img]smilies/biggrin.gif[/img]

But Hamfast is not always in a drunken stoop, he is a brave, stout hobbit, who always lets his Tookish side come through!
[img]smilies/biggrin.gif[/img]

[Finiel]

Some people were now asleep, some were still trying to sing but their voices were now a bit hoarse because of the long night. A girl came in who seemed to be looking for work and dwarves delivered barrels (probably ale).

Soon daylight started to enter the inn. It was already morning and she had forgotten to get a room.
" Is there still a single room available?" she asked the dwarf. But the dwarf just looked at her as if waiting for something, and just in time she remembered that she had not yet introduced herself to the innkeeper.
"Oh! Im sorry. My name is Sarah Danigwiel im from the...um...the west. You must be the great Mr. Thunderhammer."

"Well, I thought you'd never remember to introduce yourself. There is one room on the second floor with a bathingroom that is quite fit for lady like you," he winked and gave Sarah the guestbook to check-in her name.

As she was writing her name in the guestbook, a man walked towards her and asked her if she were new at the inn. This time she did not forget her manners,
"Yes I'm new here. Sara Danigwiel's my name. I think the place is fine for the study I have to do. By the way, what's your name and what are you? A man, an elf, a halfling, a dwarf, or an orc?" Sarah asked good naturedly. [img]smilies/smile.gif[/img]

"The name's Fin. Findorfin" he replied.

[piosenniel]

This place of Men smelled much like the others he had known. The sweet smell of prey and fresh flesh mingled with the acrid stink of smoke and sweat and the sour odor of underlying fear. Even the scent of the Elves rankled him. His lips drew back from his sharp teeth and a low growl fled him as he smelt their fair fragrance, like “everlasting spring neath showers that glitter silver in the grass in Valinor.” He smiled, in his own way, at that line of poetry – the last Elf he had had for dinner recited it prettily for him. A lovely prelude to a meal . . .

Another undercurrent came to him, carried by the day’s soft breezes. Dwarves! Smelling of earth and rock and charred meats and soured mashes. Dwarves, with their wicked, sharp axes. Fierce when cornered, and quick on their short, stout legs. Then the smells of frightened ponies and horses. He could almost sense their eyes wide with fear and the lather on their flanks as they ran from him. They were nervous now, sensing his heavy presence.

‘Kuduk!’ ‘Periain!’ came the twinned voices of his son and daughter as a lighter scent now carried to them. Their great red tongues hung out between their sharp fangs as yellow eyes gleamed in remembrance of those sweet morsels.

High, on a distant hill, the three waited for nightfall. Grey shapes, unmoving, amid the shadows of the grey rocky outcropping .

[ December 04, 2002: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[Finiel]

[ December 05, 2002: Message edited by: Finiel ]

[Birdland]

Elfred raised his mug in greeting as young Ardo Longbottom marched into the inn, obviously on official Shirriff's "bizness", his badge of office waving in time to his officious strides.

Normally Elfred had little good to say about the Shirriffs of the Four Farthings; "Bunch of Cock-Robins they are, strutting around trying to find something to do, putting on airs while the real working-folk of The Shire take care of their own problems."

But Ardo was a good sort, in his way, and on more than one occasion had looked the other way when Elfred had bedded down in a farmer's haymow to save the price of a bed.

After Ardo had stated his business and left, refusing all offers of "one for the road", (most unusual for a Shirriff), Elfred gave Nop a friendly nudge with his toe and commented "Adventures? What next? Adventures are for those who don't have to work for a living. If you've lived as long as I have, you learn that adventures come to you, and seldom are they welcome. A body shouldn't have to go looking for them. 'Adventures'. Fie! They'll have all the young bucks round here riled up, traipsing off like that Mad Baggins, with announcements like that!"

Elfred was having all the adventures he wanted just sitting and watching the passing scene at the Green Dragon. A dashing, yet strangely seedy-looking Elf had been plying his wiles amongst the fair Elf-maids. A group of Rangers had come from the wilderness, settling in a corner and keeping their business to themselves. Then, wonders of wonders, a Dwarf-woman actually entered the bar seeking employment. One did not often see the female kind of Durin's folk (actually, Elfred had never seen one before.)

None of this impressed Nop in the least. The sheepdog had lain under the table, never responding to the tales and songs floating around him, except for the twitching of his paws as some air entered his dreams.

But suddenly, the black, shaggy head raised up, and the little collie flipped upright, sniffing the air and uttering a deep, low growl.

"Nop, sirrah, what's to do?" Elfred asked with a puzzled look. The little sheepdog slinked silently over to the window of the inn. Putting his paws on the window sill, he looked out into the deep night, and again uttered a terrible, threatening snarl.

[ December 05, 2002: Message edited by: Birdland ]

[piosenniel]

The sun now threw its last pale light up into the darkling sky. And was rebuffed, as thick night drew down upon the rim of the world. A yellow, gibbous moon hung low on the eastern horizon and a few brave stars gleamed fitfully here and there among the scudding clouds.

Tough leathered pads maneuvered rock and turf as three low, dark figures loped silently down the rise, heading south.

*******************************************

It was late night now, and only the bravest travelers dared the shadowy roads into Bywater. None were on the road as they crossed The Water and turned east, travelling in the expanse between the river and the Great East Road. Keeping to the shadows, their long stride ate up the distance to the town, with only the rare ray of the oft hidden moon as it found their eyes to betray their presence.

They swung well away from the stable and pens once they neared the Inn, careful to stay upwind of the animals. The occasional dog gave voice as they passed by, but the bark was quickly followed by a yelp as the owner silenced the noise with a curt command and a sharp yank on the collar . . .

[the real findorfin]

"The name's Fin. Findorfin" he replied. "Elf traveller and adventurer." He slid into the pew next to her and relaxed.
"Where do you come from, my lady."
Sarah blushed, she had never been called a lady before and had only just rebuked herself for looking so unlady-like.
"Why you exaggerate, Fin!"
"Not so," came the reply.

Another dog barked and was silenced, "what is all that about?" Fin commented.
"I don't know," Sarah replied, "maybe something is troubling them."
"Yes," Fin mused, "there must be something afoot. Excuse me, my lady."
Sarah bowed as the handsome elf left her table and moved toward the bar.

"Dwarin," Fin called, hoping the dwarf would here from in whatever room he was 'out back'.
"Yes what now," came the angry reply.
"I would like a word."
"Come through!"
Fin was startled that Dwarin would let him behind the counter but followed the voice and came through into a cellar-like room. Dwarin was busy moving the ale kegs, "give me a hand would you? Those ale merchants just left them in the middle. No thought to their customers." Fin assisted and they were all soon put into thir correct places.
"Now what is it," the dwarf asked, still irritable, “for I have precious little time for pleasantries.”
Fin laughed, “now calm yourself Dwarin, I was wondering whether you new of any trouble around these parts. The dogs seem to be sounding a lot more pensive than in recent times. And those hobbits just drag on their collars until they’re silent. It seems most unusual to me.”

[piosenniel]

Carchmoroth halted as they neared the dark yard of the Inn. Yellow, flickering light shone out through the thick paned windows. And the din of voices from the two-leggeds flowed out in a confusing crescendo and swirled round their listening ears. ‘They are eating and drinking and telling stories.’ he murmured to Dûrêl and Dúgoroth, as he sorted out the words and sounds he heard. ‘That is good.’

He motioned with a nod of his head for them to go round the building as they had planned. The two faded silently into the blackness to the west of the building and disappeared from sight.

************************************************** ***************

There were screams from the kitchen. And then Miss Violet and the serving girls came flying into the Common Room followed by the gibbering wash-up boy. Dwarin strode quickly to sort out what had frightened them. A thick silence fell over the room behind him as he stood in front of Miss Violet, trying to understand what she was saying to him.

She pointed a single finger, her arm shaking with fear, at something to his rear. He heard the sharp intake of breath of several patrons, and he turned cautiously. The sight of a massive silver-backed, grey Warg herding the patrons into a tight knot in the middle of the floor made him gasp. Then he felt himself being pushed toward the center by the kitchen staff as two large black Wargs with glints of grey in their sleek coats silently padded into the Common Room from the kitchen area, one from each entrance near the ends of the bar.

Soon there were three pair of yellow eyes following the slightest movements of the gathered patrons. The younger male and female Warg, who had come through the kitchen, now stood alert atop the broad surface of the bar. Their keen, intelligent gazes marked how the two-leggeds breathed raggedly, and how the stench of fear lay heavy on them. The young male, Dúgoroth, curled back his lips in a fanged smile, and lunged forward as if to leap at prey. His sister-twin, Dûrêl, snapped at him, growling low, and he pulled back quickly, snarling.

She nodded at their father, Carchmoroth, as he stood now on a wide oak table near the entryway, pacing its length, his gaze ever on the gathered patrons. He paused, looking directly at Dwarin, as if he recognized him as one in charge. And then he spoke in a low, husky voice, and all understood him.

‘This is the place where creatures may speak their tales in poetry or deathless prose - so have I heard in my long travels north and south. Will you hear the ancient tale of our dread ancestor?’

He nodded at the Barrow Wight, sitting calmly at his table, his pen now stilled. The fell creature of the Downs raised his tankard to the beast and looked about, wondering how those gathered up might now respond . . .

[ December 05, 2002: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[the real findorfin]

Fin pulled hs head quickly behind the doorframe of the cellar as a warg turned to look his way. Out of all the patrons,he was the only one not to be in the common room. Were others on the second floor asleep? Fin was loath to fight the Wargs, for one there were too many of them, and secondly, they seemed not to be attacking. Fin's ambassadorial side came out as he decided to wait. "No point in making a tense situation worse," he thought. He stood tense, and waiting, listening intently to the noises of the common room.

[Garen LiLorian]

The huge beasts entered the tavern, jaws slavering and eyes gleaming with reflected firelight. Sitting alone in the corner, where he had retired after his song, Garen LiLorian watched them come, and gripped his spear to him. He noted the crowd shrinking away, and the outraged glare of the Dwarven innkeeper. His eyes were drawn briefly to the calm, collected form of a thirty-something Man, who alone of the crowd seemed unfazed by the entrance of the dark and fearsome beasts. The eldest of these spoke, and his words were foul and mangled, yet understandable. Garen had seen and heard of many things in his day, but a Warg professing no ill intent surpassed even his credulity. He feared a trick, and his eyes passed again over the company, this time noting who might be of use in a fight, and who would need protecting. His leg throbbed, and he stifled a groan of pain. It might be that he, for the first time in his life, would fall into the second category, he thought to himself grimly.
Then he raised himself from his bench, and, spoke to the Dwarven landlord, his eyes and spear point never leaving the younger, and apparently more hostile of the two Wargs pacing the floor. "Sir" he said, "This is your house, and I will abide by your decision, whether it be to let the beast talk or to drive it forth into the night, yet I like not the idea of such a fell creature as this profaning your house, and I would be glad for the opportunity to set my father's spear, Moriecalmo, to use, to drink the blood of such a foul beast, and send it wailing into the darkness. The decision is yours." He set himself in readyness, favoring his right leg. The younger Warg took note, and grinned, his tongue lolling from between blackened and awful teeth.

[the witch king]

Amron stood on the out side of the crowed, griping the hilt of his sword but not yet drawing it. He showed no fear but had aloud him self to be hearded in to the middel of the room, "I could escape they are only 3 and they have many to watch" he thort to him self, but looking around and seeing the look of fear and horror on the faces of the mild mannerd hobbits not acustemd to such situations brourt a new feeling to Amron, pity he looked at the nearest warg it would know the wrath of umbar if it tryed to get its fangs in to him or the little group of Brandybucks who had asembeld just behind him. He staired past the beast and seen fin looking up from the celler, Amron gave him a nod, "Just say the word Dwarin, you have my sword" he said in a loud voice.

[ December 05, 2002: Message edited by: the witch king ]

[Finiel]

The three Wargs that entered the inn broke the night's merriment. Everybody had shrunk away in their places wishing they were somewhere else rather than being eaten by these evil-looking creatures.

But Sarah was excited at the sight of the beasts. After all, it was the first time she had ever seen a Warg (up close, too!). She had a few doubts about the men who wanted to drove the Wargs away.
"If they do, there will be a riot and everybody might get hurt," she thought.

Sarah cringed at the thought of violence. So she rose from her chair, half-eaten sandwich in her hand, and said nervously to the innkeeper,
"Um...e-excuse me sirs, i think we should
le-let the beast i mean the Warg tell his tale and after that we'll see what happens next. I mean its just my point of view like um... just forgive me if you don't like my idea." And then she sat quickly and drank her mug of iced tea in one gulp to calm her nerves.

[piosenniel]

Carchmoroth nodded toward the girl who had just spoken. Then his gaze surveyed the fair-haired man who leaned upon his spear, noting how he moved with effort and how his right leg seemed to pain him. ‘Bravely spoken, child of Man.’ he said in a clear voice, his yellow eyes glinting with amusement. ‘Ever has it been the nature of you beasts to drive us from the lands where once our Wolven race dwelt. I, too, would expect no less from you.’

He turned his head toward the dark-haired man whose hand even now caressed the hilt of his sword, noting how the urge to flee fought with his inclination to help the ‘lesser’ folk. ‘An admirable trait for a warrior, Southern Man. To stay one’s own need for safety to protect the pack.' He smiled a wolvish smile. ‘Ware though that those you think less of do not surprise you one day.’

He saw the Man’s eyes flick toward the opening in the floor behind him. ‘Folly to give your allies away so.’ he thought to himself.

‘Come up! Let us see who lurks below.’ The chill request rang down through the cellar.

[ December 05, 2002: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[Birdland]

The first thing Elfred did as the wargs crashed into the inn was to scoop up Nop, who set up a frantic scrambling in his arms as he raged at the beasts who had dared sully this place of Men folk. Elfred's arms were covered by scratches from Nop's claws, even through the thick wool of his shirt.

A sharp command from his master finally made the sheepdog still in his arms, but Nop continued to voice low growls, while his yellow, but still sharp teeth were bared at the intruders.

Elfred looked longingly at his crook, mere inches away beside the table, but he could not grasp it without releasing Nop; and this he would not do, for the little collie would immediately attack, and would be doomed fighting three Wargs in such close quarters.

"Nop, you're right, it's that un-natural for these fell beasts to be in the very heart of the Shire, waltzing into the Green Dragon as if they were just folks. Makes me reconsider my choice of accomodations, it does."

"But for now," he said, glaring at his and Nop's most hated enemies, "it seems we must attend to a tale."

[ December 05, 2002: Message edited by: Birdland ]

[the real findorfin]

Fin listened to the Wargs chilling voice, but wasn't expecting to here, ‘Come up! Let us see who lurks below.’

He swallowed and, making sure his sword was covered by his cloak, moved into the doorway.
"Peace Warg!" Fin held his hands up and, taking a wide berth of the glaring wargs, moved over toward Amron and Celebmornie.
"Sorry friend," Amron muttered.
"Don't worry," Fin replied, not much I could of done.
This was a lie and Amron knew it but he nodded for Fin's politeness, even in such a dire situation as the one they were in.

[Susan Delgado]

Susan watched Findorfin creeping up on the Wargs, trying to hide his sword. No, no.
She moved around behind the hasty Elf and grabbed him around the shoulders. She covered his mouth with her hand to quiet his startled squack, then dragged him back to the rest of the group. Before she removed her hand, she murmered, "Let them be. They're not harming anyone; they only want to tell a story," into his ear.

She removed her hand, and he turned around to face her. His face was livid. "But what about after? They'll kill us then! If they're even telling the truth."

Susan shook her head and determinedly faced the Wargs. "If that happens, we'll deal with it. Right now, they aren't harming anyone."

Fondorfin just muttered to himself.

[ December 05, 2002: Message edited by: Susan Delgado ]

[piosenniel]

At a signal from Carchmoroth, the two younger Wargs set up a chilling howl, lasting only a brief moment. It stirred memories long buried of that loathesome wasteland in the North where once the Dark Lord dwelt. Angband! Where Morgoth strove to keep the silmaril from Beren and fair Lúthien.

The last echoes of the howl died away. Into the stillness of the room came the voice of the older Warg.

‘A tale, if you will, concerning the history of one of the great ones of our race.’

As if a Wolven bard, he chanted:

Then Morgoth of Huan’s fate bethought
long-rumoured, and in dark he wrought.
Fierce hunger-haunted packs he had
that in the wolvish form and flesh were clad,
but demon sprits, dire did hold;
and ever wild their voices rolled
in cave and mountain where they housed
and endless snarling echoes roused.

From these a whelp he chose and fed
with his own hand on bodies dead,
on fairest flesh of Elves and Men,
til huge he grew and in his den
no more could creep, but by the chair
of Morgoth’s self would lie and glare,
nor suffer Balrog, Orc, nor beast
to touch him. Many a ghastly feast
he held beneath that awful throne,
rending flesh and gnawing bone.

There deep enchantment on him fell,
and anguish and the power of hell;
more great and terrible he became
with fire-red eyes and jaws aflame,
with breath like vapours of the grave,
than any beast of wood or cave,
than any beast of earth or hell
that ever in any time befell,
surpassing all his race and kin,
the ghastly tribe of Draugluin.

Him Carcharoth, the Red Maw, name
the songs of Elves. Not yet he came
disastrous, ravening, from the gates
of Angband. There he sleepless waits;
where those great portals loom
his red eyes smoulder in the gloom,
his teeth are bare, his jaws are wide;
and none may walk, nor creep, nor glide,
nor thrust with power his menace past
to enter Morgoth’s dungeon vast.

Now lo! . . .


The great Warg’s eyes caught the movement as the Southron’s hand closed round the hilt of his sword. He bit off the chant in mid sentence, his eyes blazing. The two in the rear lowered their heads, and moved them back and forth in a sinuous motion, watching. Their bodies tensed, as if to spring upon the group, their tails held high in anticipation.

One short growl from Carchmoroth, and they sprang, but not upon the frightened throng. Leaping from the bar top, they moved like the wind back through the kitchen, and out the door at a dead run.

Their sudden movement had drawn the eyes of the patrons, and Carcharoth leapt from the table’s top at the window to his right, his nails finding bare purchase on the smooth oak as his legs propelled him thorough the splintering glass and wood.

And they were gone . . . racing North once more.

Still did the last words of Carcharoth ring in the ears of those left behind.

‘Another time, good neighbors. Then shall we finish the poem . . . perhaps . . .’

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From: The Lay of Leithian; The Lays of Beleriand; J.R.R. Tolkien

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[img]smilies/cool.gif[/img] [img]smilies/tongue.gif[/img] The Warg Pack Players [img]smilies/tongue.gif[/img] [img]smilies/cool.gif[/img]

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[ December 05, 2002: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[Dwarin Thunderhammer]

"Bloody wargs. Next time they come in here they wont be telling no poem. In fact they might have poems told on them. Seeing as they'll be turned into rugs!"

Dwarin looked at his patrons and caught saw a range of people stunned frightened and angry.

"I do apologize for this intrusion everyone. Next time those slobbering beasts won't get off so easy."

Everyone still looked a bit uneasy.

"Well, I don't know if it will help but to help everyone forget this little incident I'll give every one of you a free round on the house!"

Several of the more inebriated Hobbits cheered. They most likely had forgotten anyway. The rest of the crowd mumbled an approval and went back to their own business.

"Dira, I'd be pleased if you would keep the bar for a few minutes. As soon as I take care of some business we'll talk."

Dira shot Dwarin a scowl that would have frozen a Balrog. She didn't like the idea of keeping a counter that was just about to be flooded with customers demanding free drinks.

"Ermm I'll get you some help." Dwarin said a bit nervously.

"I'm sure Holly would be glad to help you."

Dwarin snagged the young hobbit trying to duck out of view.

++++++++++++++++++++

Business taken care of for the moment, Dwarin set about securing The Green Dragon from any further intrusions. First he went back through the kitchen and found the door battered but not broken. He shut the door and laid an iron bar across it. No more surprises from that direction.

He then set about shutting all the windows up. Most buildings in those parts had shutters but Dwarins shutters weren’t exactly normal. Dwarin had one piece metal plates on hinges that served as shutters. The plates covered the whole of the window making it practically impossible to get in from the outside once they had been shut. Most hobbits thought these senseless and impractical. As they did the stone construction. But the combination of these two made the Green Dragon one of the safest buildings in those parts of the Shire.

Shutters closed and doors barred Dwarin made his way back to the counter. He found Dira frantically pouring drinks for the customers. She looked like she could rip the head off a troll. On the upside everyone seemed to have forgotten about the warg incident.

[the real findorfin]

Fin wandered up to Dwarin, "Nice idea, the free drinks."
"Um," Dwarin scowled, "what else could I do!"The elf laughed,"well everybody seems to have forgotten already, especially those Brandybucks."
Dwarin gave a small grin, "that doesn't take much."
Fin lughed again and moved away, over to Amron, "didn't do much good there did we." Amron scowled, Fin realised how alike it was to Dwarin's.
""Not your normal fight was it."
"No excuses needed my friend." Fin reached out his hand and Amron, after some thought, took it and shook it.
"Perhaps some elves are alright," he thought.
Fin laughed, as if sensing the thought.

[Kiara]

As the chill left on the room by the haunting chant of the Wargs began to thaw, Dwarin moved towards the she-dwarf once more and nudged her in the back.

"Now is your chance, young woman!" He said in a gruff voice, though with a shade of warmth that Parin was beginning to recognize. She could tell that her presence had evoked an equivocal response in the patrons at the inn; but all it had taken was a few snide remarks from elves who had moved closer to her, menacingly?, to spark the inner fire that she hid.

"PARIN not Palin; Parin Stonemouth, thank you very much!" She said, with a flash of passion in her eyes...

"Oh ho!" cried the elves, with their usual playfulness, "A fiesty one! What would you tell today, my lass?"

Rankled by their teasing (though it had been good-natured), Parin pulled herself up to her full height of four-feet-and-three and glared at the light-hearted elven group.

"I'll have you know I am fully 100 years old, and therefore grown by the standards of my people and not a lass, as you address me," She replied testily (titterings of laughter all around the room, and a grim though amused smile from the solemn entity in the corner). "In fact, it is full 20 years since I have been called that by any save my four older brothers, which puts me in mind of a story I will submit to you, if you will condescend NOT to interrupt me!"

"Hear it we will, gentle dwarf, be not afraid of Estelarion, he speaks before he thinks. By your flaxen braids, I'll have your tale and have quiet respect for you until the finishing of it!" responded the open-hearted Menelduliniel.

"Then I begin," Parin replied with an obliging little curtsey, and then in a sing-song voice:

In the days of Smaug, great Worm under the mountain (foul beast bred by He who is not named on earth), a battle was waged between five armies for the restoration of Erebor to my kinsmen. My brothers, four there were, answered the summoning to war sent out by Thorin in his need. The youngest of these four, Davin by name, was closest to my heart and the best friend of my youth. It is his craftmanship that wrought this brooch you see now at my neck, and his song with which mine was entwined from the days of my first utterance. Davin, gentle, yet bold, the most able of intricate designs of his peers, and a dreamer of dreams more fair than the visions of elves---

"Hrmmph!" snorted Estelarion.
"Hush!" muttered Menelduliniel, with an amused grin .
She must have added that to get back at us, well done! Parin Swordtongue, it should be!.

---more fair than the visions of elves (she repeated insistantly), was, alas, chosen by Aule and Mandos to leave the realm of the living before his beard had quite reached his broad chest. Though he survived the battle, and my family and I settled triumphantly with our folk in the realm of the Lonely Mountain, he was not to walk amongst us for long. In a doomed journey, my dear brother and friend left to investigate the disappearance of a supply shipment, intented for Lake Town and Erebor. He and 2 others were lost, it is thought in the hairy grips of one of the cursed spawn of Ungoliant in the dark paths of Mirkwood; but accurate details of his demise are unknown, and my heart breaks to think of his strong voice and sure hands: hands that will never embrace me or my kinsfolk again in this world.

Listen to my tale, O Supposed Adventurers, and know that I grieve his loss and desire revenge. But who am I but a dwarf maiden, and how will I journey unless aided?

With that, she stood, fiery eyed and flushed from the exertion. She had never spoken even half so much in front of a group before....Where was an apron to hide in or that kind Miss Violet to scurry her away to the kitchen where she felt more at home?

[ December 05, 2002: Message edited by: Kiara ]

[Estelyn Telcontar]

Díra fumed inwardly as she poured drinks for the inn's guests. She had intended to be back home by now, doing the work she loved. But instead of making the fine jewelry for which she was known far beyond the boundaries of her own land, here she was, playing barmaid for a motley crowd of various races.

Not even for such an old friend as Dwarin would she waste her time and her skills like that! She was determined to leave the very next morning...

[Kiara]

Seeing her opportunity and seizing it, Parin retreated to the familiar confines of Food & Drink by coming to Dira's aid.

"I have heard of you before," she began by way of introduction, "You are the lady who makes such fine jewelry that everyone around Lake Town is clamoring for! I expect you would rather be in your workshop than dawdling around here---Here, I'll take that!"

And with that Parin easily slid into a role she was much more comfortable with (and astute at).

"Alright, who's next?" she said, smilingly.

[Mithadan]

A man stood up in the back of the common room striking his head on the low ceiling. Rubbing his crown ruefully, he nonetheless appluaded the Dwarf's tale. "Well told, friend Dwarf," he cried. "And now that it has been said, where are those who would give her assistance in this quest to seek out the fate of her sibling?"

He drank from his cup and continued. "I am told there are Dwarves cooling their heels after the Erebor mission was cancelled. Another sought to join the Laketown trade mission but was turned away. Perhaps even some Men might aid her. And Dwarin! What say you? Would you aid Parin in organizing this quest?"

[piosenniel]

Holly poured pints until her right arm ached. She smiled prettily at the customers, and turned her face when one leaned in too close and blew their sour breath her way. She could see the end of the line at last and gave a great sigh when the final drop was poured.

She took off her apron, and hung it on the peg just inside the door to the kitchen. Approaching Díra, she waited until she also had finished with her lot, then told her that she would be off now. She had stayed too long as it was.

She wrapped her cloak about her and walked hurriedly to the stable, carrying a small tankard of ale. A kiss on the cheek to the stableboy and the promised pint, then she and her pony were off into the night.

There was business to attend to in Gondor.

[Belin]

Late again! Belin Ibaimendi stared in frustration at the great door of the inn, which was quite cleverly and thoroughly locked. It was safe indeed, she thought, as safe from windblown travelers as from whatever it was that he wished to guard against. She sighed irritably and knocked on the door. "Dwarin!" she cried. "What are you doing?"

Ridiculous. The door was as thick as a young tree, shutting out even the voice of the wind, a far more powerful voice than her own. She considered for a moment, picked up a convenient stone that lay nearby, and pounded on the door with it.

A moment later, the harried face of the innkeeper appeared, and he welcomed her in, closing the door again after her. Belin carefully stowed the stone away.

"You're not keeping it barred, are you?"

"Interruptions," explained Dwarin briefly, his eyes still focused on the goings-on around him. "People are trying to tell stories in here, you know. We can't simply have Wargs wandering in and out..."

"An important business indeed," answered Belin, "and one worthy of listeners. Me, for instance." She stroked the long red feather she wore in her hat, noting the strange looks she'd garnered from the rowdy hobbits for looking like a dwarf and dressing like a Shirriff. She grinned. In another town of the Shire, they'd overcome this confusion by renaming her as Belinda Brandybuck. "Well, perhaps more polite than I've been. Of whose story spoke we now?"

"Oh, we were between," answered Parin, smiling.

"Not exactly," answered Dwarin, "Parin needs help, and if this inn isn't the place to find it, then it certainly ought to be." He looked around the room, pausing for effect. It would have worked better if one of the hobbits hadn't chosen that moment to spill his ale, but the dwarf refused to be daunted. "Anyone?"

[Celebmornie]

Celeb closes her eyes and listens to what is going on. She feels at peace in her quiet corner and dosent want to make anyone mad agan so she makes it look as if she has fallen asleep and listens for any sign of danger.

[Gorothlammothiel]

Soronûmë rode on up to the Green Dragon Inn. The humble beginnings of great adventures, and friendships he had heard. Slowing his steed as he approached he found the inn seemingly peaceful with shutters and doors closed. But there was a light from within, and quiet merry voices could be heard. Contemplating whether to enter the inn, Soronûmë whispered his horse to rest and took seat himslef beneath a nearby tree. With a slight breeze blowing behind Soronûmë began to sing to himself quietly, telling a lost tale. Solitude was something that he pondered now and then, but decided having travelled so far, it was not the time to be alone in thought. Soronûmë brought himself up and made way to the door.

[ December 05, 2002: Message edited by: Gorothlammothiel ]

[the witch king]

"Well my 'friend'!" said Amron to Fin with a slight hint of a grin, "let me get your next ale" he turnd to the bar never in 100years had he thort he would be calling an elf friend! If his father could see him now! "two ales he shouted" the bar looked as thow the wargs had never been, he seen some of the drunken little Brandybucks stagering away from the bar, he smiled to hims self "there not so bad he thort" turning he seen a woman looking over he quickly he changed his face to a scouel as he took the ales to fin.

[ December 05, 2002: Message edited by: the witch king ]

Kimmy enters the Dragon and looks around. She sees many elfs and smiles. She is really good friends with the Baggins Family and decided to stick with that last-name considering being an elf she dosent have one. She sits down at the bar and orders an ale. She removes her hood revealing Long blond hair and Hazel eyes. She smiles at the bartender as he hands her ale and goes over to Celebmornie. "I havent seen you since you went running from Lothlorian when mom tryed to make you marry that elf." Celeb opens one eye lazily. "Well if she sent you to find me then I am sorry but I am not coming home!" Kimmy sits down. "Well you will be happy to hear that that is not why I am here! I just needed an adventure and I came here!" She takes a sip of her ale and laughs. "Havent had this in awhile!" "What do you want?" Celeb asks glaring at the kimmy. "Just to talk with you!" Celeb laughs and sits up. "What about?" "Have you found that special man yet?" Celeb looks at the ground as Fin jumps into her mind. "No! I havent! You?" "Yes! But Galadriel doesn't like him. Says that he isnt good enough!" Celeb laughs. "I believe it!" The two women continue there discusssion and soon are laughing and having a good time!

[Celebmornie]

Celeb gets up. "Want another Ale?" Kimmy nodds her head. "Be right back!" SHe goes and gets 2 ales and comes back to the tabe to find Fin there! "Hello!"