Fellowship of the Dice

Hugh watches the discussion that is occurring regarding the contest. He looks at the other contestants that have gotten ill. He feels fine, but then he had his own pipeweed. "Must have been a bad batch that those fellows came by" he thinks to himself. It looks like the competition is going on though and so he readies himself for round 4.

"Thank you kindly, Periwinkle," the Barding says as he takes swig from the cold water, swishing around before spitting it out into an empty cup. "Pardon my manners, but if there's any of that accursed pipeweed left in my mouth, I wouldn't want to swallow it. The hobbit said his name was Master Ebenezer. He offered a sample in the hopes that I would buy more after the contest. If he's not here, he might be out in the stalls trying to unload the rest of it to some unwary customers."

As his wife fusses over him, Ragnarr tries to ease her mind. "I'm fine. It's my own fault for getting hoodwinked by some goblin-oil seller. How is the stall doing?"

While Periwinkle and Ragnarr sit off to one side with the Barding’s wife worrying over him, not too far away Vidar talks to one of the rather sickly-looking hobbits that retired from the competition. The hobbit tells him that he was approached shortly before the competition began, by another hobbit called Ebenezer Goodeberry who offered him some special pipeweed, which was apparently guaranteed to bring him success. All was well for the first couple of rounds, but then the weed took on a sweet, sickly taste and the poor fellow felt all lightheaded and sick.

Targon stands by Periwinkle and Ragnarr, his towering form allowing him a good view of most of the Green. Having taken in the description of the mysterious hobbit from both Periwinkle and Ragnarr, he scans the assembled crowd near the smoking competition, but sees nobody matching the description of Ebenezer. However, taking a look at those among the stalls, he sees a rather anxious looking middle-aged hobbit peering around the side of one of the food stalls, someone who looks rather like the description given by Ragnarr.

Back with the remaining competitors, Fargrim again produces a solid looking display, but Hugh surpasses his efforts and that of Adelard and the other smokers, a wonderful looking tower set on a hillside, with a flock of birds flying around the top of the tower. The judges and onlookers are clearly impressed and coupled with some of his previous efforts, this is enough to see Hugh declared the winner of the Smoke Ring Festival!

As the applause dies down, Adelard graciously presents Hugh with a wonderful looking pipe, inlaid with silver accents and a pearl stem.

Vidar pats the hobbit on the shoulder. "I hope you get a fair shot in next year's competition. I know you must be a little frustrated. I'll see if I can find Ebenezer and have a talk with him--at least get him to return your money. And to see if he knew what he was selling or he hadn't smoked that much of it himself."

Vidar looks through the fair for Ebenezer.

Satisfied with his own performance, Fargrim looks at Hugh's with awe, and he gets up to shake his hand. "Good showing, lad! Especially that trick with the birds. Your prize is well-won."

Targon moves away from his new friends, towards the anxious-looking stranger over by the food stalls. He tries to be circumspect about it, but that's a little hard for a towering human in a crowd heavily represented by hobbits. Regardless, even if he has to do so as a lumbering giant wading through the press, he isn't going to lose sight of the suspect.

Periwinkle does her best to keep up with Targon's great strides, her face a scowl. Seeing that Ragnarr doesn't seem to feel too bad, and also being in Ulfhild's good hands, relieves her worries quite a bit. But she still wants to have a stern word with that irresponsible geezer Ebenezer. The audacity to gamble on other people's health just to gain a quick coin!

The ranger strides through the throng of little folk by the competitors and towards the stalls set around the edge of the festival area, the young Periwinkle following in his wake as folks move aside for the towering form of Targon, his face set grim.

For his part, the anxious looking hobbit, Ebenezer see's the looming man as he approaches, with most of the intervening people only coming just past the man's hips after all, and ducks back around the stall as if to escape his fate.

Of course, an experienced ranger such as Targon is, he anticipates this move to hide and by the time the unscrupulous hobbit peers out from the opposite end of the food stall, the imposing figure of the ranger is stood right there, looking down on the hobbit as he realises the game is up!

The hobbit's face drops, blood draining from it as he gives an audible gulp and immediately starts to stammer an apology, taking a step back and raising his hands in futile defence.

"Please sir, please, I didn't mean no harm by it I swears.." Ebenezer blurts out.

"Well, then what did you mean to do?" says Vidar, walking up behind Targon and Periwinkle. He sighs and says, "Regardless of what you might have intended, you've not only made a couple of people feel quite ill, but you've ruined their chances in the competition. At the very least, you should return their money--and a sincere apology, with an explanation of what happened might go a long way towards mending fences."

Hugh is full of pride as he looks over the prize pipe. It is truly beautiful and the workmanship is the highest quality. He has plans of putting it to good use. He shakes Fargrim’s hand. “Mighty impressive smoking yourself, sir. But what’s all the hullabaloo over there?” He looks over toward the group of people gathered near the stalls. “You think we should go see what’s going on?”