The Green Dragon Inn - Part 5

[Imladris]

Lira scolded herself for offering Reynion help with his wooden leg. Of course he could do it for himself and of course his cursed elvish pride twisted her good natured offer. Ah well.

She and Esgallhugwen followed the two elves as Morlathion offered to buy Reynion some ale. Lira watched them with dancing eyes, and when she heard that Morlathion had shot himself with a bow, she couldn't help but laugh joyously. She wasn't making fun, she wasn't deriding him, but as she pictured it in her mind's eye, it was just so hilariously silly. Tears began to stream down her cheeks and, as she tried to stifle her beautiful laugh, she said, "Forgive me, Morlathion, please forgive me." She clasped her hand to her mouth and glanced at Esgallhugwen, and smiled broadly at her. Catching Esgallhugwen raise her eyebrow in mild amusement sent Lira into another burst of unrefrained laughter.

Clearing her throat and not daring to look at Morlathion for fear she would be sent into gails of elven laughter again, Lira ordered wine for Esgallhugwen and herself and began to sip. After she had composed herself to her normal elvish dignity, she began to stare at Reynion and noticed that he and the clumsy elf were getting along fairly well. She almost giggled in earnest glee as she hoped that the elf and Renyion could become friends.

[RoA_Gil-Galad]

"Nobody's really figured out how I did it yet. I just drew my bow, released, and suddenly had an arrow in my hand. My entire class was either speechless or they were on the floor, paralyzed with laughter." He takes a sip from a new glass of ale that he had gotten, this one in a class cup."

"So, what brings you to these parts? And what do you think of these adorable little hobbits?"

Morlaithion was surprised that he was making friends this quickly. Normally, when people saw his clumsiness with pretty much everything, they stayed as far away as possible.

[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 afternoon almost evening and supper time of a pleasant mid-summer day in the Shire.

[theWhiteLady]

A sharp pain throbbing persistently in Laurie's arm forced open a pair of very bleary blue eyes. "Ouch!" she cried, prying her face from the white cloth of her dress. Somehow, her head had ended up cradled in her arm resting on the table and she had fallen asleep with her neck in a very strange position. In fact, she could hardly bend it to the left at all, and her right arm had fallen so deeply asleep that when she whacked her fingers on the table, there was no feeling at all. And though she didn't know it, the right side of her face was crisscrossed with deep lines from where the folds of her dress had pressed into her cheek. Laurie presented a very strange sight indeed, even her normally smooth hair looked rather untidy.

Groggy, and a bit grumpy as one is apt to be when a nap has been cut short, Laurie attempted to stand. The driving thought in her cloudy mind was to find a room in which to finish her nap, but it for some reason, her body didn't seem to be responding properly. Or maybe it was the floor; the stupid thing kept wobbling around! Instead of walking gracefully across the floor, Laurie ended up half-stumbling drunkenly two tables in the wrong direction before tripping over a bar stool and ending up flat on her face.

"Ouch," she managed to groan into the wood, half hoping no one noticed her tumble, but wondering how she was going to get back to her feet without assistance.

Caligon awoke rested from his short sleep later in the afternoon. He got up off the bed, and put his shirt and cloak back on, not bothering with his brestplate or sword belt. He decided to go back to the stables and retrieve his other belongings, and so walked out the door of his room, and down the stairs. He wondered what time it was.

At the bottom of the stairs he saw the girl he had met earlier, Laurie, stumble across the lounge, trip over a stool, and fall to the ground. He ran over to her and helped her up. "Are you all right?!? That was a big fall!"

[Tinuviel of Denton]

"So, what brings you to these parts? And what do you think of these adorable little hobbits?"

A shadow passed over Reynion's face. "I don't believe where I travel is any of your concern," he replied sharply, then silently groaned. And I thought I'd gotten over that sort of response. It was an idle question, Reyn, he scolded himself and schooled his expression into one of bland calm. "I apologize. I don't do well with that sort of question." His tone made it clear that any like it would get much less civil answers.

Reynion sighed. Even after years of traveling and meeting new people, he still had no social skills worth mentioning. Even Tau--no, he would not think of her. That could lead to a return to Green--no, Mirkwood. That life was over, he would not waste time in wishing for it to return. Besides, she had never spoken more than was necessary to him, and after he lost his leg, surely the only thing she would feel when she looked at him would be pity.

Reynion was startled out of his introspection when a tinkle of breaking glass intruded in his thoughts. Morlathion's clumsiness had struck again; the elf had tried to set his glass back onto the bar. Unfortunately, he hadn't been looking and had missed. Reynion pulled back involuntarily to avoid the splash of ale, and almost fell again.

He lifted an eyebrow. "Do you often get chased out of inns, Morlathion?"

[ August 08, 2003: Message edited by: Tinuviel of Denton ]

[Envinyatar]

‘I was just wondering if you still needed a roomate, of sorts. It'd be a slight cheaper then renting an room at the Inn, if I'm to settle here. So, is the offer so open?’ Beren leaned his shoulder against the shed, waiting for Derufin's response.

‘The offer is open. And for the most part, you may move in at any time.’ He paused and thought for a moment. ‘It’s almost time for the evening meal. Let me just go clear out what little remains of Eodwine’s possessions. Then after supper is done, bring some fresh linens from the Inn for the bed and your gear, and you’ll be set.’ He clasped Beren on the shoulder. ‘Good to have you on board at the Inn!’ A few more casual remarks passed between them and Derufin turned back toward the stable.

The room was orderly. Eodwine had been an orderly person. Derufin removed a few pieces of clothing from the large wooden chest at the end of the bed, leaving it empty for Beren’s use. No other sign of the other man’s occupation of the room remained. Derufin stripped the bed – leaving the thick woolen blanket and the quilt on the top of the chest. He pushed back the curtains and opened the window to the right of the bed to allow in some fresh air. The curtains blew in across the chimney to the oil lamp on the table, nearly knocking it over.

‘Why he wanted it there is beyond reason,’ said to himself. ‘Perhaps he never opened the window. Ah, well. I’ll just move the table to the other side. Wouldn’t care to have the stable burn down from a spilled lamp.’

The table moved, the floor given a perfunctory sweep with the stable broom and Derufin declared the room ready for occupancy. ‘Something’s missing, though,’ he thought, sweeping the room one last time. ‘A chair, of course!’ There were none to spare in the stable, so he put it on his list to tell Beren to ask Aman for one of the spares in the Inn cellar.

The horses nickered at him as he pass, and he spoke gently to each of them. ‘I’ll be back right after my own meal and get you settled in and fed. In the meantime take advantage of the fresh sweet hay I’ve left for you.’

Nettle, the Inn pony, eyed the barrel of tasty oats sitting against the wall just opposite his stall. He stamped his foot and snorted at the man’s passing remark.

[Arestevana]

"You'll be coming with me!"
Randir winced. Try as he might, he could not help but think of his dream, and found himself wondering if Megilien would kill him when he refused to come. Terror washed over him again. Drawing on the slight power he carried from his mother's line, Randir whispered to his horse, breaking Megilien's control and forcing past her, out into the twilight of near evening.

Coming with her, was he? Randir thought as he rode away from the inn. Going along quietly to Ithilen with an elf whose brother he had killed, to a trial almost certainly leading to his own execution? After a moment's thought he turned South. The shire was no longer safe.

[ August 09, 2003: Message edited by: Arestevana ]

[piosenniel]

A reminder - Rule 6 in The Red Book of Westmarch

All violent behavior/fighting is to be kept out of the Green Dragon Inn, as well as its grounds - save that for the actual RPG's which call for it.

~~ Piosenniel, Shire Moderator

[RoA_Gil-Galad]

Morlathion knelt down and began collecting glass shards. There were some bigs one that he could get, and some little ones that would need to be swept up before somebody barefoot stepped on them.

"I meant you no offense, just trying to connect. And no, nobody kicks me out of bars anymore. They used to, but then they realized that I wasn't drunk, that I was just naturally clumsy, and they let me back in. I still can't get anything to lift my spirits though, just water and milk."

He attempts to rise, bangs his head on the table, involuntarily closes his hand tightly, and lets out a yelp of pain. He open his hand and drop the shards on the floor again, but its already too late: his palm has been cut to ribbons. He grabs the cloth that had been covering his lips and shoves it onto his palm.

"I don't suppose any of you are healers? Or do you know of any closeby?"

[Tinuviel of Denton]

Reynion closed his eyes. Morlathion seemed to have a genius for picking the worst questions. She was a healer, but, hopefully, she was also in Mirkwood, tending to those who needed it. And much as he had begun to like the good-natured Morlathion, if he wasn't careful, there would be another reason to need a healer.

"I'm no healer," Reynion admitted. "But I do know something of cuts and scrapes. Let me see that." He chuckled, surprisingly light-heartedly for the mood he'd been in.

He took Morlathion's hand and began to pick the bits of glass out of the cuts. Morlathion winced a little because Reyn was rather rough about it, but he said nothing. Reynion took some gauze out of his belt-pouch and began to wrap the lacerated palm. It wasn't too bad, just bleeding rather remarkably. A tiny bit of an herb that Tau--that someone had shown him finished the cure.

"There. That should take care of it," Reynion anounced. "You know, I'm surprised that they let you go anywhere alone the way you break things. Ever broken any bones?"

[theWhiteLady]

"Are you all right?!? That was a big fall!"

Laurie struggled to raise herself off the ground, feeling extremely foolish. It took every bit of the speaker's help to raise the young woman to her feet, her own clumsy attempts doing nothing but hinder their progress. Finally standing, one hand grasping the bar for support, Laurie was able to brush the hair from her eyes in order to see her 'rescuer'. She recognized, with a sinking heart, the young soldier she had spoken with earlier. Oh dear, what must he think of me? she thought exasperated. Probably that I've had too much to drink, was the alarming answer.

"Are you alright?" Caligon repeated, peering anxiously at the the lady before him. "I'm fine, thank you." Laurie replied. "I just need a little fresh air, that's all." She felt horribly foolish and was only looking for an escape, but Caligon insisted on accompaning her outside, obviously afraid that she might take another tumble if left on her own. "Thank you," she mumbled, his kindness making her even more embarassed.

The air seemed fresh, a light wind still blowing softly though it would soon die with the setting sun. The sky was already turning a mellow blue, replacing the sharp glare of earlier with a more gentle, forgiving hue. As he stood watching her, Caligon noticed the sky almost perfectly matched Laurie's eyes. As for Laurie herself, the air had cleared the cobwebs sleep had left to ensnare her but that only made her feel more humiliated. She gazed at the stables without seeing them, searching for something to break the silence, but unable to comment even on the beautiful weather.

[RoA_Gil-Galad]

"Thanks. I'm so clumsy I'm just as likely to drop my sword as I am to drop my enemy. That actually happened once in combat. And, um, let's see, I don't think I have any bone that I haven't broken. I got stabbed in the chest once, too... Luckily I waass wearing my armor at the time so it wasn't too bad."

He sat down tentatively in a chair, and was surprised that it didn't break. He leaned back and fell over in it.

"Ow... I hate it when I do that. I need to be more careful about these sort of things."

He rises to his feet, rights his chair, and sits in it very safely and firmly, holding on to the table while he sits.

[Imladris]

Lira watched Reynion and Morlathion from a short distance as she sipped her wine. She had seen Morlathion cut himself and, as she watched Reynion bandage the wound, she remembered that she had lost her own healing herbs as she had travelled from Ithilien. Closing her eyes, she tried to recall how she had lost them: she had had them on the way from Ithilien and when she had visited Minas Tirith. And then a band of wounded men had come in and she had given them to the Hourses of Healing. How could she have forgotten. The men had run into a small band of orcs; unfortunately, the were still a nuisance in Middle-earth. Lira wondered why she had never replenished the precious herbs; it was strange, she did not normally forget to do such things. As she pondered the events before she arrived at the Shire, she remembered that she had been warned to carry a dagger. Not that she could use it...she had not carried one for ages. "I should probably buy one or see if Esgallhugwen has a spare, considering these rumors of orc-men about," she mused to herself. "Or..."

A crash woke Lira from her reverie, and, glancing instinctively towards Morlathion, she saw that he and a chair had tumbled to the floor. She smiled and wondered what had brought him from Rivendell. "So, Morlathion," she said in her haunting musical voice, "what brings you to the Shire?"

[Eruantalon]

Sitting down to a freshly cleaned table the stranger looked around and saw a few familar faces. Now if he could only get a drink. Cami fluttered around just like she did on her last visit, and it all seemed like the usual here.

But His hand had a good scrape from falling off his horse earlier. A nobel beast, this was true. But the horse had no power over sleepy horseman.Picking an even trail yes, Horseman no. How nice it felt to finaly get a good seat and a nice pint of ale.

At least some things haven't changed yet.He thought to himself. But some how I don't know where I'm going for once. How why I found myself in this place.

A fair lady sat at a table not far away and tened a cut one legged Elf. Maybe Cami will be good enough to get her services and a pint of ale.

A promising eveining awaited him. But the promise of new adventures was more exciting than any. He had followed the wind like a feather for so long. So now where would he go.

Ah quesssssa orrrrrre aaaaanga ummmmmmbar. He sang this in a rising and falling melody. That seemed to linger like smoke rings in the air. Closing his eyes to a swaying rythem that seemed to put him at ease.

[ August 08, 2003: Message edited by: Eruantalon ]

[Tinuviel of Denton]

"You dropped your sword? I'm surprised that you survived. Was it good luck, or bad that you lived to inflict yourself on this poor Inn?" Not to mention the patrons. This fellow was the most accident-prone that Reynion had ever met, including himself when drunk. "That was a rhetorical question, by the by."

He smiled a little at Lira. She looked a little more familiar now, probably one of the elves who'd kept more to the halls and tended the wounded, rather than going out and getting wounded like himself. Eh, well, he supposed that some people were just smarter that way.

"So, Morlathion, what brings you to the Shire?" Lira asked. Reynion brought his attention back to the conversation.

[piosenniel]

‘There’s a new guest just come in,’ said Buttercup hurrying into the kitchen to retrieve the platters of food that would be served for supper tonight. She arranged the bowls of chicken stew, thick with vegetables, on the big tray, and piled up a few baskets of freshly sliced bread in the center. Ruby followed after her with the crocks of sweet butter and a pitcher of ale to refill the guests’ mugs.

Cook, her job done, went before them and held the kitchen doors open for the two servers. Her eyes surveyed the room, looking at the hungry patrons and their eager faces. She gasped as her gaze fell on the young man sitting at one of the tables. She hadn’t seen him in a very long time. An old friend of Miz Pio’s. She recalled he sang beautifully, and he played the lute if she remembered correctly.

Best of all, though, she remembered his stories. Some of them quite scary, just the way she liked them. There was one he had told about Ungta, the wicked cave spider and the special arrows of the Dwarves he had used to bring her down. That spider’s blood was green and foul smelling, she recalled him saying. And she could see the image of it as it gushed out when he drove his sword into her.

Cook snatched a bowl of stew, a basket of bread, a crock of butter from Buttercup’s tray and a fresh, foaming tankard of ale from the behind the bar. She sat them down carefully in front of the man, and plucked some utensils from her pocket for him.

‘Mister Eru, isn’t it sir?’ she asked him, as she sat the tankard down by the bowl of stew. ‘Good to have you back? Are you just passing through, or will you be staying a while.’ She eyed him hopefully. ‘And might there be any new stories from your travels?’ Dropping her voice low, she continued, ‘Anymore encounters with wicked big spiders, by any chance? . . .’

[RoA_Gil-Galad]

"Oh, I'm just wandering through. I always wanted to visit the Havens and I just couldn't help but stop and visit this quaint little village here. Besides, I need a bit of rest. I've walked all the way here from Rivendell nonstop, and I was briefly waylaid by Orcs shortly after I began my journey."

He reaches for his cup, then remembered that he had dropped both of them. He looked over at the bar, but decided against getting another drink as he didn't trust himself to holding anything else that night.

"The time I dropped my sword was the time I was stabbed. Luckily, I had a dagger with me and impaled the Orc with it. Always carry a spare, I say. So, where are you all from?"

[Tinuviel of Denton]

A look of pain flashed across Reynion's face. "You know something, Morlathion?" he asked humorlessly. "You seem to have a positive genius for asking the questions I don't want to answer..." He trailed off, remembering exactly why he didn't want to answer that particular question.

Greenwood. He missed his home, the great oaks standing tall, the slender beeches that always seemed to dance, the silver birches. He sometimes wondered if he would ever go back, but always, there was some reason not to. His leg was most prominent when he thought of reasons never to return. His father was another, though somewhat less important. And then there was her. He wouldn't go back and face Tau--her again, not like this. Not crippled. It would never work.

He rubbed his temples. It seemed that he could never get away from the shadow of the mission. It was no wonder that he'd begun to drink. It was the only way he could find to forget, even for a little while, the faces of the elves who never came back from that trek into Greenwood. No, no, it was Mirkwood now. Even with the shadow of the Dark Lord driven out.

[Elora]

Vanwe touched a light finger to the paintwork on the freshly carved hitching posts. It was dry, she noted with satisfaction, the warmth of the day quickly seeing to the paint. She maneouvred the posts, two supporting beams and a cross beam, onto sackcloth and begane to drag them to the front of the inn. It was not a long way, from back of stable to front of inn, but with that weight it seemed to be miles.

Determined, Vanwe pulled the burdened sack cloth to where the old, rotten hitching post lay. It hadn't moved since she'd dug it up that morning when someone relayed the need of repair to her. Apparantly someone had hitched their horse to the old post in the night, failing to notice the rotted state. It was a wonder the horse was still there to be collected. When Vanwe had inspected it, the wood was all but collapsed.

Despite her slight and delicate stature, a life spent in toil gave Vanwe a surprising strength that belied her appearance. She dragged the posts to the front of the inn and worked the two supporting posts into the ground. Packing earth around them, they settled easily into the waiting holes. She slotted the cross bar into their waiting joins, pleased with the accuracy of her measuring.

Dove-tail joints, precisely carved earlier that morning, gripped and she leant against the new hitching post to examine her handiwork. Seemed her facility with wood was not limited to useless carvings afterall, and she was well pleased if somewhat thirsty at the proof of that. It was good to know she had something of value to offer.

The paintwork had also taken some time. Vanwe had ferretted out white and ivy green paint, and paint brushes as well. In a flight of creativity, she'd described in green pain a twining and elegant green dragon that rose around each supporting post. Vanwe had added a few vines to trail along the hitching bar as well. Such decoration had no place on a functional feature, but she'd added it all the same. A green dragon winked and smiled at her from one post.

Vanwe patted the cross bar and smiled back at it. This hitching post should last for some time, years upon years, and with a little care the dragons and vines would endure with it. There were no harsh desert winds that ate through rock and soil and flesh here in the north to obliterate them.

The sound of a reproachful whicker from the stable floated out to Vanwe's hearing. She's spent the day on the hitching post and hadn't done anything in the stables proper. She tucked fine blonde hair back behind her ears and straighted. Her stomach protested the very thought of going to the stables instead of the kitchen. The idea of a cool drink, perhaps wine, made her thirsty indeed.

Still, her work called and she could not enjoy neither meal nor wine until she had seen to it. With a tired sigh, Vanwe turned away from the hitching post and towards the stable.

"I'm coming," she murmured to the displeased equine denizens in the vain hope her promise would appease them. When Derufin appeared, walking from the stables, Vanwe smiled and inwardly hoped her new hitching post in it's bright newness would meet with his pleasure. If not, she had a long night fixing it ahead of her.

"I've finished the new hitching post," she called to him as he walked towards her. She extended her arm to gesture in elven grace towards the white and green creation. "I'll see to the horses now, too, if you like Derufin," she added. She could see he seemed preoccupied and hoped the offer would ease the many things that she sensed pressed upon the man.

She shaded her face from the sun with one hand held at her brow as she waited for his assessment of her work. Absently, she brushed at wood shavings that had taken up residence in the worn cotton of her blue dress or her hair. Beren walked behind him, her blue gaze shifting to settle upon him for a moment and then back to Derufin.

[RoA_Gil-Galad]

"Oh, um, sorry..." Morlathion starts to fiddle with his bandages and suddenly becomes very interested in staring at the floor. After a few minutes of silence, he got up.

"I'm gonna go grab myself some ale. Does anybody else want anything?

[Envinyatar]

He reached out a hand to pull one long, thin curlicue of wood from her hair. ‘The horses can wait for now, Vanwe. I’ve left them fresh hay, and despite the protestations from Nettle, they can make do with that until we return.’ He looked critically at the new hitching post, running his fingers over the twining dragons, letting them drift across the trail of vines. 'Very nice work!' he said to her. ‘She will like this,’ he murmured to himself, taking in the images appreciatively.

In a moment of pleased expansiveness, he took the Elf’s arm and turned her toward the Inn. Surprised, she allowed the liberty of his touch.

Derufin made a slight bow to her; then, urged her toward the kitchen’s door. ‘May I offer the artist a glass of wine and something to eat?’ he said, his eyes twinkling as he held the door open for her. He leaned in close as he entered behind her. ‘I know the cook here. We can have the table of our choice, I think.’

He pulled out a chair for her, indicating she should be seated. Buttercup, an expression of amusement on her face, as she watched the man maneuver the Elf, came up to the table. ‘And will that be dinner for two?’ she asked, her teeth flashing in a smile at Derufin.

‘Three, actually,’ he replied motioning to Beren who had lagged along behind them. ‘Bring us some stew and bread, if you please . . . with honey, as I recall,’ he said winking at Vanwe. ‘I’ll be back in a moment. I’m just going out to fetch a bottle of the wine Aman laid in last week . . . a Southron offering . . .’

[Esgallhugwen]

The late afternoon sun shone on Esgallhugwen's face revealing her sparkling grey eyes. Morlathion gets into more accidents now with his hand being bandaged. She could not help but notice Lira always giggling now and then and that she was looking at her.

Esgallhugwen raised her eyebrow in a humorous gesture and took a sip of her wine. 'I had ment no offense to you Morlathion by saying that you may get into trouble, and I didn't intend for you to think that you would get attacked that is very unlikely here it seems'

She took another sip of her wine eyeing the room around her, it was getting dark out and slightly hot in the Inn. She unclapsed her hood and folded it next to her.

Esgallhugwen's auburn hair fell in thick waves down her back glistening slightly with the rays of the sun. Her grey eyes shone for once her spirits were lifted up, for the time being which may be short the shadow was always on her mind it was apart of her always.

She looked at Lira for a moment enjoying herself with Morlathion and Reynion. Esgallhugwen sank into deep thoughts her face looking slightly saddened and haunting; much like a pale statue that has seen many ages go by thuogh she was yet young for an Elf.

[littlemanpoet]

Falco Boffin came in the front door of the Green Dragon Inn. It was a good thing he'd left his pony stabled at the shirrif's house as there didn't seem to be much room at the stablehouse of the Inn.

"Ah! Just in time for supper!" Falco grinned.

A strange big person followed him in. The man was not very tall and held a well worn cap in his rough hands, revealing a mat stringy dark hair that came to his shoulders. His clothes were as well worn as his hat, and so was his face. His pale blue eyes shifted from side to side, taking in the room. He stank.

"Hi!" said Falco, "There's Derufin with stablehand and someone else new I'll need to befriend." He turned to his companion. "Since you refuse a bath, you can sit over there, sir."

The man's lip rose with look that would dismember if looks could, and pulled a chair from the first table, eyeing the Elf sitting there distrustfully, and pulled the chair to the wall. He sat on the edge of it, as if he was ready to jump and run at need.

"That's our wanderer," Falco said. "None too friendly, I might add, which is why we've had to take an extra day or so getting him here. He did insist on coming here, for what it's worth, and I don't know what he thinks or wants, but that's the way of it.

"Now, where or those bright lassies with the food and drink?" He pulled up a fourth chair and sat down, nodding to Derufin and Vanwe, and turned to the other man. "My name's Falco Boffin. Welcome to the Shire. How may I call you?"

[Elentarimir]

Megilien stepped back as Randir broke her control and sped out of the stables. She got back up and watched him ride into the distance. She also saw him turn south, and knew that he would be leaving the Shire. She cursed him and herself under her breath.

Megilien opened her stable door. She quickly saddled and bridled her horse, then mounted the trembling animal. She nudged the horse's side, and left the stables at a gallop. Her only thought was: I will catch up with him. He cannot hide.

[ August 09, 2003: Message edited by: Elentarimir ]

[Imladris]

Lira sighed sadly when she heard Reynion's anwer to Morlathion. He had seen much pain and grief, probably too much of it. She wondered fleetingly why he had lost his leg, but that also would have a sad tale attached to it. Her gaze swept the room: some were angry, some were happy, many were sad. Swirling her wine glass and absently noting how the wine looked like liquid ruby as it nearly splashed over the rim, she wondered how it felt to loose all that one possessed. Three hundred years were the years Lira boasted, yet it seemed she lived, nay continued longer than that; it was as if she had lived in Middle-Earth since it began. It had only been she had journeyed to Ithilien that she had really lived again. She remembered the evil that had lurked and spread like a virus in Greenwood. The wizards had had to drive the Necromancer from Mirkwood, and Lira remembered the joy that had for a time settled over the elvish realm. Then it had come back, and the orcs had attacked the fair kingdom and nearly destroyed it. Her parents had left after those horrors, and Lira wondered if they had made it safely to the Valinor.

Glancing at Esgallhugwen, Lira noticed that she was rather sad. Leaving Morlathion and Reynion, she asked Esgallhugwen, "What bitter thoughts haunt your mind this evening?"

[Elora]

Vanwe hastily tugged at any lingering wood shavings as Derufin guided her through the Inn's door and to a table. She was smiling, pleased that her work had met with such unprecedented and enthusiastic appreciation. She did wonder though, who the she that Derufin referred to was. There was no time to ask, another question filed away in her mind for a later time perhaps.

Vanwe found herself seated at a table, Beren joining them. She did not know his name, nor the manner of his character, but Derufin's acceptance of the man went far to ease her habitual wariness. Beren found himself presented with a smile rather than a pensive expression, and her eyes were warm. But before she could remedy the matter of their names, another joined their number. Meanwhile the mention of southron wine was added to her earlier unasked question.

Vanwe gazed at the newly arrived Falco, blinking at his warm and ready smile. She had never seen so many smiles in one place before, and was more accustomed to scowls and grim men who viewed her with a mix of suspicion, mistrust and speculation. Falco Boffin displayed none of these. Neither did Beren or Derufin or Aman or Lespheria. It was no wonder her guard was slowly melting away.

Beren sat back in his chair as Vanwe stood and dropped where she stood a small curtsy. Courtesy was ingrained in her, and her company was far above her station as well she knew.

"Good afternoon, Master Falco Boffin. Sitting before you is a man I have not yet had the pleasure to meet," Vanwe said as her cheeks lightly flushed with her admission of ignorance. "I am Vanwe," she finished. She deliberately ended there, adding no location that she hailed from. She was not of the Shire, just yet. Mention of the Haradwaithe would only be a disaster to that would ruin the pleasant air.

She smiled at Falco and then back to Beren who watched the display with his customary smile in place, at ease. It did not occur to Vanwe that her speech would be marked by the lilting cadence of the south, and her lack of homeland only draw emphasis to what she wished unmentioned. She gestured to a chair.

"Derfuin will shortly return with wine, and it is to be hoped that food will follow soon after," she said. "Please sit, Master Falco." Vanwe sat herself and turning her attention to the as yet unintroduced Beren. It was then she noticed small specks of white and green paint decorated her fingers. Her eyes widened, large, and slowly she began to withdraw them from the table to hide them in her lap. What must be thought of her, sitting paint daubed and in disarray at the table, she did not wish to know. Another thought occurred to her.

How long would it take to get the long wearing marine paint that she had used on the hitching post off her skin? Her thumb rubbed at one offending speck as she attempted to unobtrusively remove her hands from sight. Her cheeks retained their rosy flush against her pale skin as Beren saw to introducing himself to Falco and then her. With a flash of foresight, Vanwe realised that he may well ask for her hand in the introduction, as was sometimes the manner here in the north. She stilled in her chair, hands clasped in her lap with the stubborn paint upon them.

Beren's smile suggested more than good humour. His eyes were alert and had not missed her slow withdrawal of her hands. Vanwe braced herself for what would come, wishing for the floor to swallow her whole and for the wine to quickly arrive. Perhaps she could remove the paint with that. It sometimes worked, and if not she'd drink it. Perhaps then she would not see the offending paint.

[Beren87]

Beren, a smile pasted upon his face, watched the proceedings of the group around him. The small, bobbing hobbit before him was a constant source of amusement, and the woman to his right so nervous she was nearly twitching.

"Well, I suppose I should introduce myself then, seeing as how you've all presented yourselves so kindly to me. My name's Beren, and you can feel free to call me by it at anytime you please. I'm from the South, though, a bit more north than you, Mrs.Vanwe, judging by your accent."

She blushed slightly at his comment, giving him enough information to know to say no more. If she chose not to introduce her homeland, that was her business. Her arms twitched slightly as he rose to shake the hand of Master Boffin, suddenly he realised her obvious concealment of the appendages, and his mind began to race.

Suddenly, he looked down as his hand extended to meet that of Boffin's, noticing it's brownish coloration. "Well then, I think I'll just sit right back down then. The hands of a gardener, as they say." He presented his hands in the air, showing them to the sitting two. He glanced backwards as he started to sit down, checking to see that the appropriate piece of furniture was still in it's proper place. Sitting down upon a nonexistant chair was never a good ordeal.

Just as he got himself settled back into the seat, Derufin came up, a bottle of spirits in hand. "Well then," said Beren, "If my opposing stench hasn't ran off your thirst, as of yet, I would say it's time to give this wine a new home."

The jest at himself proved well-put, as the three around him broke into laughter> Vanwe giggled softly to herself, started to cover her mouth, then quickly thought better of it. Beren gave a small wink in her direction, causing an thorough reddening.

[RoA_Gil-Galad]

"Oh, I'll just get you another ale. You seemed to enjoy the first."

He walks slowly and cautiously over to the bar, and everybody who had seen his earlier accidents was now giving him a wide berth.

"Um, bartender? Two ales, metal cups with nice, big, safe handles. Thank you."

He returns to the table, shuffling his feet so that he won't trip, and sets both mugs down onto the table. He sits down and takes a swig of ale, but doesn't notice a leak on the bottom and ends up leaking quite a bit of liquid onto his cloak.

"Ugh... And I just got the Orc blood out, too."

He wipes at the cloak with both hands, forgetting his mug, and spills the entire thing on himself.

He rises and removes his cloak, hanging it on the back of the chair.

"Well, since you don't seem very keen on telling me about your past, I'll tell you about mine. I was born Imladris seven hundred and fifty-six years ago next month. I currently reside in Gondor, but I'm on my way back up to the Havens to visit my family. Most of them have already returned to the Havens. We're scattered about, you see, and I was heading back for a reunion. And to meet my twin cousins, recently born. They're less than a year old. I wonder what they look like..."

He leans back in thought and closes his eyes.

[Elora]

Vanwe's lips curved into a smile before she could think twice at Beren's impish wink. She folded her fingers and shifted a little in her seat as she let them fall back to her lap and away from polite sight after they had vainly attempted to still her laughter. In such merry company it was easy to relax a little, as the cant of her shoulders suggested. She sat back in her chair, still smiling and notch by notch she unwound.

Meeting new people had never been easy for her, but then they had not been so pleasant as Falco and Beren were proving. Derufin poured out the wine in ample measure. Vanwe watched the glass nearest to her fill. There was no room for water to be added. She waited for Derufin to sit. A glass was pushed towards her. Fingers speckled lightly green and white wrapped around the stem and pulled it closer.

She was thirsty after a day's work, pleasant as it had been. What matter that the wine was unwatered? It surely could not be so strong as to unlodge her from her chair in one glass, could it? She raised her glass, inspecting its contents whilst those at the table discussed the matter of a suitable toast.

"To the pleasure of newly met companions and the gentle Shire," Vanwe offered to the discussion. It was bolder than her usual wont, but then she was thirsty and the wine's bouquet sharpened that edge. Derufin, Beren and Falco glanced at each other and then acquiesed, some with a shrug. The sweet taste of unwatered wine greeted Vanwe.

Like rains newly come to the desert, she welcomed it with vigour. She did not lower her glass with the others, throat dry. When she did set down her glass there was a warm buzz within her head and the glass was near empty. Derufin raised one brow, to which her smile was her response. Her tension had melted away.

"They make wonderful wine in the south," she commented, laughing lightly for a reason she could not quite put her finger on at that moment. What she did note is that her thirst had not entirely abated. Vanwe sipped a little more delicately at her glass. She gave a small sigh of consternation when it emptied all too soon from her chair at the table. She had hoped to use the wine to remedy her painted hands.

As if she sat alone, Vanwe upended her glass to pry a few reluctant drops from her glass onto her fingers. She resisted the temptation to suck the wine from them and instead started to work at the paint. It started to give way. She had nearly rid her fingers of all the daubing when she heard a droll voice comment, "Interesting uses can the sweet southern wines be put to."

Vanwe's head bobbed up as the last speck surrendered.

"Would anyone like some more wine?" She reached now cleaner hands towards the bottle, ready to pour. The same droll voice added, "I, for one, will be intrigued to see what next she does with her glass of wine." Beren winked with the comment. Vanwe winked back and renewed his glass, seeing to Derufin's and Falco's before her own.

She breathed in the wine's boquet as she raised her glass and resolved to pay better attention to doings at the table rather than fidgeting in her lap like a child. For that she was not.

"What brings you to the Green Dragon, Master Falco," Vanwe inquired lightly as though she often made light conversation over unwatered wine.

[littlemanpoet]

"What brings you to the Green Dragon, Master Falco?" asked the Elf woman Vanwë lightly, her now clean fingers curved gracefully around the stem of her wine glass. Falco was awed by Elves any day, being strictly a Shire Hobbit, but this Elf woman was as friendly as he'd ever seen, and did not seem as old as the earth itself as he'd heard most of 'em were from the tales the Veterans of the War had brought back from places far away.

"This here lout," Falco gestured behind him with an exposed thumb. The unkempt man sitting on the edge of his seat glanced their way briefly, his pale blue eyes cool and untrusting. "He's the one what found the satchel up north away, the one belonging to that King's Messenger from Rohan you've up and lost. The harp was all busted up, you'd think someone had used it for hammering pegs or some such. Anyways, this here fellow says he wants to come here, says he's obliged to follow this through." Falco bent closer and winked for Vanwë and the two men conspiratorially. "I bet it's the first time he figured hisself obliged about anything. Nasty lookin' sort, if you take my meaning. I wonder who he calls his friends."

"I heard you," said the man whose stench mitigated the pleasantness of the wine and present company. "I am no Ruffian, if that's what you're gettin' at. I'm obliged to prove it an' that's the only reason I'm here." The man's gravelly voice was harsh to the ears, as if he used it seldom.

"So you say, so you say," said Falco. "I'll be lookin' for you to prove it."

"I will soon as I get vittles in me and a decent place to eat it." He looked at the nearby tables with ill-disguised revulsion on his face for those currently at table.

"Funny," said Falco, "him lookin' so uppity at us all when he's no beauty hisself, eh? So what do you make of him?" Falco looked from eye to eye to see who would be first to confirm his opinion, sure that they must see, even though they were no Hobbits, that the man was not to be trusted.

[Beren87]

Beren leaned his chair back slightly, resting it's corner against the edge of the wall, trusting his weight to the, hopefully, two strong legs. He surveyed the man Falco had pointed out, looking him up and down. His ill-kempt appearance was something Beren never took at face value, after all, his own appearance when entering the dragon made this new-comer look like a high Steward on the throne.

"Well, as far as travelers go, he's not terribly ill-looking, I'd say. A bit rough around the edges, but his speech isn't harsh, as some ruffians I've met has. He hasn't offended any of us, and that's something I hold rather high." Beren stared smugly at the hobbit, having said his opinion. He knew Falco had judged him purely on his appearence, and discerning that his assumption was wrong wasn't going to please him one bit.

"I won't judge the man on appearance, my good man," stated Beren, "considering his own current is better than mine when I came in. I think we're just better to hear his story out, and see what he has to say, before we come up with any ideas about his character. And, until then, I think I'll be having more wine." Beren took the glass sitting in front of him, and downed it post-haste, it's contents flowing warmly into him. Generally, he shyed from the stuff, but this wasn't the road anymore, and he didn't need his wits at the sharpest at all times.

[Arien_Tinuviel]

Eceste walked alone down the deserted road.A black blouse and skirt were hidden by an ebony silk cloak. The hood hid half her face and a few strands of black hair slipped out from beneath the cover. Large, sapphire orbs looked up at the sky. It was almost sundown, she'd better hurry if she were to find a place to rest. Eventually, she came to a small tavern. How interesting, she had never seen this place before though she had taken this road on a journey or two before. Eceste waved away the mental question. Her last visit here had been at least a hundred or so years ago. Upon entering she was greeted with the smell of smoke and ale. She scrunched her nose a bit. To her left, a man sat with his legs up on the table talking to another and casually sipping his ale. She walked timidly over to the table next to them and sat down. She removed her hood revealing a mark, looking like that of a half circle with a whole dot in the middle, on her forehead. A lady walked up to her.

"Would you like anything miss..."

"Illuser," Eceste said giving the bartender her Ranger name, "I'd just like a water thank you." The lady nodded and headed toward the bar. Eceste tugged at a bit of the long black skirt she wore. It was most irritating. She set down her knapsack, which held her other pair fo clothes and had her sword strapped to it. After receiving her drink, she gazed around at the inn. It seemed nice enough. But someting still nagged at her mind. Shifting in her chair, she turned to the two men who had been talking.

"Excuse me, but how far is Bree from here?"

[ August 10, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[Elora]

Vanwe studied Falco's companion through her lashes, hesitant to openly stare. It was true, she mused silently, that she had seen worse. Compared to the denizen's of Umbar's seedier district, he looked to be a lord by appearances. Besides which, who knew when an appearance was a true indication of the person who lay beneath? She had fallen afoul of appearances before and did not trust them in the least.

"The road can be hard, pressing even the most noble," particularly when pursued, Vanwe silently added with the voice of experience. "He does not smell so terribly bad, though Master Falco. Nothing that some water and soap could not rememdy."

Vanwe glanced at Beren and Falco in turn, attempting the guage the mood between the two. Men were difficult to fathom, she had found in her travels. To prove her words, Vanwe took a deep breath and held it. The smell was palpable. She concealed it neatly with her glass and took a healthy mouthful of the wine. The warm buzz in her head continued, muzzing her usual reserve and banishing it to the four winds. She smiled at the table as she set her glass down and did her best to ignore the smell she had taken willingly into her lungs.

After spending considerable time in the company of goats and horses, it was a feat within her capacity. Glass set down to allow her head to clear a little, Vanwe idly traced patterns upon the tabletop, her finger stroking the wood, as conversation about Falco's companion and satchel continued. It was no small matter, that much evident in how Derufin leaned forward to pay closer attention.

On a whim, Vanwe extended her senses as best she could. Appearances may be deceiving, but the wrongness that emmanates from malice and evil and hurt could not be contrived. Her fingers traced a graceful pattern as she struggled to learn what lay beneath appearances. It was a task made difficult by the wine.

[theWhiteLady]

The silence outside began to stretch on for an uncomfortable time, and Laurie began to shift uncertainly from foot to foot. Her companion was staring off into the darkening sky, apparently lost in thought, and she felt reluctant to disturb him; however, she had completely recovered from the earlier incident and gotten plenty of fresh air. The heavy sleepiness had left completely, but a leaden tiredness took its place; Laurie was very conscious that she had not had a good night's sleep in quite some time.

"Captain," she finally spoke up, and he turned, eyebrows lifted in reply. "Would you mind if I step back inside?" she continued. "I feel much better, thank you, but it's getting rather late..."

He cut her off curtly with a nod. "I understand. I trust you will sleep peacefully." Laurie curtsied and made her escape through the door after thanking him once more. The room was quite as crowded as before, perhaps more so, and the buzz of conversation seemed to have become louder. The young woman began to search for Cook, dully hoping she would be easily found; the ride to the inn had been long making the thought of bed a delightful prospect.

[Amanaduial the archer]

Aman made her way up the path quite slowly, enjoying the hot, pleasant late afternoon air. Her hair was down, falling gently over the shoulders of the tunic she was wearing for practicality's sake, as she had been to Bree that day, to see Butturbur. The man seemed to find replying to letters difficult, and was apparently totally incapable of keeping meetings. So she had gone to him and, apparently flustered and embarrassed at having forgotten their arranged meeting a few days, he had offered excellent hospitality today, and had agreed to send on some select wines for a reduced price. Aman smiled to herself. No matter what people might say about the forgetful old fool, he could be a gent when he wanted to be.

She shifted her cloak from her right arm to her left. She had taken off the long sleeved top underneath, so her arms were bare under the short sleeved tunic, the sleeves of which reached to her elbow loosely, and it was just as well; although Cook had made her take her cloak when she set off this morning, the weather had been beautiful all day.

As she came up to the entrance of the Inn, she felt a shiver run up her body, despite the warm air, the same feeling of delight that she would experience when she came back to her Rohan home after being away for a long time. She had only been away for a day, but she felt she happy to be back. And it wasn't just the Inn itself that she would be glad to see again...

[Novnarwen]

Stirru made his way towards his companion. Easy, he thought, feeling slightly pleased with himself. "Look, my friend," he said giggling, hoping his 'over-man' was as pleased as him. Folw made a grimace showing him that this was better then expected. "You have learned, Stirru. I enjoyed your performance," Folw said, sitting relaxed in his chair. "Supper is on me then?" Stirru asked Folw.

As they sat eating their bread and soup, they went over the plan again. Folw said: "We'll sneak us in, from the back of the house and then proceed to the living room." Stirru raised an eyebrow. "Are you sure? I mean, from the windows it will be easy for people outside to get a glimpse of us," he asked, trying not to be rude. Folw listened and grew irritated. "Of course I am right. Do not question my plan," he grinned. "Going to the living room first will be best, end of discussion." he sighed while emptying his soup bowl. "I am going to bed now, up early tomorrow." He said taking one of the silver coins from Stirru. "You better get a rooStirru made his way towards his companion. "Easy," he thought, feeling slightly pleased with himself. "Look, my friend," he said giggling, hoping his 'over-man' was as pleased as him. Folw made a grimace shwoing him that this was better then expected. "You have learned, Stirru. I enjoyed your performance," Folw said, sitting relaxed in his chair. "Supper, on me then?" Stirru asked Folw.

As they sat eating their bread and soup, they went over the plan again. "We'll sneak us in, from the back of the house and then proceed to the living room." Stirru raised an eyebrown. "Are you sure? I mean, from the windows it will be easy for people outside to get a glimpse of us," he asked, trying not to be rude. Folw listened and grew irritated. "Of course I am right. Do not question my plan," he grinned. "Going to the living room first will be best, end of discussion." he sighed while emptying his soup bowl. "I am going to bed now, up early tomorrow." He said taking one of the silver coins from Stirru. "You better get a room for yourself," he said and left the common room without a word.

Stirru sat uneasy at the bench, wondering what he had done wrong. As a companion he had the right to ask, he thought feeling embarrassed by Folw’s whole ‘lesson’. He ate his bread in a hurry and ordered a room. "I'll be out of here tomorrow," he assured the Innkeeper. Thereafter he paced out catching some fresh air, before going to bed. The day to come, was important, not just for him, but for both.

[Envinyatar]

Derufin sat with a look of smiling interest passing into consternation as Vanwe knocked back the wine. He was sure she was not a seasoned drinker, and from the quantity that had already passed her lips, he knew that soon the drink would begin to affect her. He got up from his place at the table and fetched a pitcher of cool water from the kitchen.

The wine bottle was almost empty, and Vanwe reached for it to refill her cup. ‘Allow me,’ said Derufin softly, leaning toward her, his fingers grasping the neck of the bottle. He poured two fingers of wine for her and then filled the glass with water.

‘Excuse me, m’lady. I had forgotten.’ She looked at him, a protest forming on her lips. ‘I had forgotten,’ he said, pouring the last of the wine in Beren’s cup, then raising his half drunk cup to hers, ‘that it is the custom for ladies to drink their wine a little watered. And despite the man’s work you have done so admirably today, you are still a lady.’ He sipped from his cup, his grey eyes challenging hers to gainsay him.

He flagged Buttercup down and asked for food to be brought. ‘Wine on an empty stomach brings regret,’ he mused to himself, remembering such incidents in his own life. The conversation flowed on around him as he eyed the rough looking man from the north. As he was waiting for food to arrive, he invited the sullen fellow to join him at a separate table, picking up two pints of ale from the bar as they passed.

‘Difficult, isn’t it to be around the Halflings. They never seem to trust us, do they? And the Fair Folk, well they’re another breed altogether.’ He leaned back in his chair, drinking the ale, seemingly glad to be in the company of an ordinary man. ‘Name’s Derufin,’ he offered, ‘from Ringló originally.’ He raised his mug to the man, then took another drink . . .

[piosenniel]

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ [img]smilies/smile.gif[/img] NOTICE OF NEW GAME OPENING [img]smilies/smile.gif[/img] ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Resistance – Lyra Greenleaf, Owner

The Discussion Thread for this Game is now open to take on characters.

Check it out HERE

Please read the proposal carefully, see what characters are needed, and craft a well thought out Character Description and a First Post for the Game.

Should be a fun game!

~*~ Piosenniel, Shire Moderator

[ August 12, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[Arien_Tinuviel]

Please rework this post

Please read The Red Book of Westmarch - the first topic in the Shire: It contains all the rules for posting in the Inn and in games. One of the basic rules is that there is to be no magic. Your character has a magic mirror - that is not allowed.

"And the fair folk, well they're another breed altogether."

Eceste glanced over at the man who had said those words and gave him an unseen glare. Then she heard his name. 'Delufin'. Now where had she heard that name before? The she-elf just shrugged and decided to ignore the man. He didn't seem that worthy of talking to anyway.

'Interesting aren't they?'

Blue eyes shot around the room, hoping noone else had heard, then she moved to another table in the far corner. The elf took out a small mirror, at first only showing a young girl with unusually black hair, but then her image disappeared and another figure came to view.

"What are you blabbering about now, Kharl?" Eceste hissed. The black cloaked figure smirked.

'The humans, the mortals. You've been wandering the roads so long you've forgotten how rude they can be.'

Eceste scowled at the figure.

"Kharl, go away. I don't need this now." the temperature in the room seemed to drop a bit, as the annoyance in her friend grew. Kharl cocked his head to one side.

'Fine, but I have a message from Master.'

"Give it to me."

'He's shortened your time to retrieve the Relic. You're close enough now you should be able to reach it in about a week shouldn't you?'

"But-" Eceste stopped short. She couldn't turn down an order, "Alright." With a grin, the image banished from the mirror, leaving her staring back at herself. Suddenly, she felt a shadow hovering over her.

"Oh great."

[ August 13, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]