Prelude: The Gathering of Five Armies

[Shurijo]

Having his name called out by the wandering Hobbit, Borir turns to see Pipkin. "Greetings, Master Brandybuck. I figured you'd moved onwards to find more long spun tales of dangerous beasts and heroic battles to hear. I see you've been getting your required seven meals per day, even this far east of the Shire."

The dwarf keeps his hand on his tankard as he has twisted himself to turn to the side. Like the hobbit, the stools were built for humans and his legs dangle a ways above the floor of the taproom as he sits.

[Muskrat]

Varuthil leans against the bar, delicately sipping at the ale. It was ... passable. She nods when she sees Wren come in, but her attention is drawn by a person she first took merely for a Mannish child. But when he speaks, she realizes he has the voice and manners of an adult. This was a Hobbit! She had heard tales of the small folk, but had never had an opportunity to see one before. She studies him with curiosity as he speak to the dwarf.

[TetNak]

Aerth takes a drag off his pipe as he watches the hobbit and dwarf. It had been many years since he had seem one of the hobbit's kind. He inwardly smiles, thinking of their gentle nature and kindness. Aerth also knew many had the finest weed in Middle-Earth. The man looks at his pipe and then frowns. This was far from the finest, that was a certainty. Aerth wonders silently if the hobbit might have any to sell ...

[Eilandor]

Muskrat

Based on my previous post I am going with the idea I didn't see you nod, so much for Keen-eyed...

Wren is enjoying his ale as well as watching the crowd when he spots a familiar face. Leaning against the bar is an elf curiously checking out a hobbit who is engaged in a conversation with a dwarf. Wren weaves his way through the crowd and appears next to the elf.

Leaning in, "Hello Varuthil, hobbits are a lot smaller than I thought they would be..."

[Trogdor]

"Not onward," Pipkin says to Borir, "just around. Since I left Dale I've spent some time in Laketown as well as some of the surrounding areas. I even went west, over Mirkwood to a Beaorning village. Nothing special there, I'm afraid. But they did have some interesting stories and excellent food!"

Then the small person slaps his hands to his belly. "I'm afraid I'm wasting away by hobbit standards. Why, I'm sometimes down to six, or even five, meals a day. My friends back in the Shire would think it scandalous." As he speaks, Pipkin catches Gram's eye. "A pint of whatever dark beer you recommend, and a bowl of stew," he calls out. Inns always had stew.

"But how about you?" The hobbit turns back to Borir. "What's new in Dale? It looks like the rebuilding is coming along nicely." His order placed, Pipkin takes a long pipe out of his pack, fills it with pipeweed, and begins the ritual of lighting it.

[Shurijo]

"Blah," The dwarf sighs. "It's hard to get any work done with this darned celebration. How're we suppose to fix the town with all these peoples going to and fro?"

Turning to scan the room, he notices the taproom more crowded than usual. "Well, let's hear some of those stories. I'll pay for the ale and stew - but THAT'S IT! I'm still in debt for the last time I offered to buy your meal - you ate for half the day and was still hungry."

The dwarf chuckles a bit and slaps his knee with his hand. Borir had always enjoyed hearing the stories told by Pipkin, especially those that include Durin's Folk or killing of Orcs. He was even fond of stories where elves and humans killed Orcs, although he'd always exclaim that he and his kin would have killed more Orcs or killed them faster than the elves in the stories.

[Trogdor]

"Well, to be fair," Pipkin replies, "I did tell you that I was hungry before you offered to pay. You said, 'let's see how much a hungry hobbit can really eat,' if I recall correctly." He takes a puff from his pipe and blows a smoke ring up toward the ceiling.

"Now let's see," the hobbit says, tapping the stem of his pipe against his chin. "What would be best ... Ah, yes. I met some folks in Laketown who said that their father was carrying supplies supplies north to the Lonely Mountain after the Battle when they were beset by a pack of half-a-dozen worgs with goblins riding on their backs. They would have been doomed to end up in a worg's belly had a patrol of dwarves not arrived just as they were surrounded. The dwarves were wearing gleaming mail, shining as white as snow, and their axes were raised above their heads as if to chop the goblins in twain like so much kindling..."

The story proceeds, proving the dwarf patrol was every bit the equal of the raiding worgs and goblins, much to the relief and delight of the threatened Laketoweners.

OOC

With the Pipeweed trait, I'm assuming that I can blow smoke rings.

Also, with the Fair-spoken trait, his stories sound good.

[TetNak]

Aerth watches, and more importantly, smells the pipeweed. His eyes bulge by the sweet aroma. The man is not typically particularly outgoing, but this was a hobbit, and one with particularly good weed.

Aerth stands up, pulling his hood over his head, and advances upon the hobbit and dwarf. He comes alongside them and bows, "Excuse me, master hobbit," he says, "I could not help but smell that fine pipewood in your pipe."

The odd looking man smiles, "I was wondering if I might purchase a pinch off of you. I am afraid I do not have much in the way of coin, but maybe enough for just a bit of your find hobbit pipeweed."

[Trogdor]

"Oh, I'm afraid I could never sell any of my pipeweed," Pipkin replies to the hooded figure, shaking his head. "No, that wouldn't do at all."

"But I'll tell you what," he adds. "pull back the hood and join me for a pipe and a mug of beer. Once we're friends, it's an entirely different matter." The hobbit smiles. "I'd never sell any of my pipeweed. But giving a bit of pipeweed to a friend that's run out? Why that's what friends are for!"

[Shurijo]

The dwarf sitting next to Pipkin raises an eyebrow at the stranger which only accentuates the large scar over his left eye and forehead. The scar looks decades old and has long healed leaving a distinctive mark to the otherwise normal looking dwarf face.

"Why's everybody always wearing hoods indoors?" The dwarf asks, "It's not gonna rain." The dwarf seems somewhat gruff but his question and remarks shows that he has playful side to him as well.

Lifting his tankard off the counter, he brings it over and takes sip as he looks at the stranger. Finally, he places it back on the counter while keeping his hand firmly grasped around the handle.