Return of the mallet!

Common Room

This large and rectangular room serves the purpose of Common Room for the Prancing Pony. Large windows along the western end of the room peek out over the Great East Road which runs outside the Inn. There are long tables with bench seats for the patrons in the centre of the room. Nestled into the wall is a large fireplace with several bundles of wood piled next to it. Overhead, lamps hang down from roof beams, but their light is dim and half-veiled in smoke. The corners of the room are wrapped in shadow.

Obvious exits:

Out

================================== Bree Time ==================================

Real time: Mon Oct 11 14:18:13 2010

Bree time: Nighttime <23:54:39> on Sunday of Winter - February 27,1451

Moon Phase: Waning Crescent Moon

Breelands Weather

The nighttime winter air is cold and dry around you. Heavy snows fall down from the nighttime sky. The moon is above the horizon and in its waning crescent phase.

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[Nob(#16122)] The brief warm spell has collapsed back into cold, and rain has frozen to the ground and turned to snow - making the ground extremely treacherous. Despite this, the Pony is nearly full this evening, the fire roaring and people laughing and talking excitedly. The common room is a hubbub of noise and smoke.

Surprisingly, Nob is not bustling around in the middle of all this - but is seated at a low table to one side, deep in conversation with another hobbit.

Snow? It clumps in Broddur's beard and lies in little melting furrows in the places where his feet have trod. A few wet and muddy patches on his garments reveal where he's fallen prey to the slippery cobbles. The irritable Dwarven miner has not been abroad much of late - perhaps the slight limp with which he walks or the wince as he lets the Common Room door slam shut behind him have something to do with that.

Once inside, he stands on tiptoe to peer into the centre of all the hustle-bustle, scowling for all he's worth. Eventually he has to resort to asking one of the locals, "Haven't seen that little fellow Nob, have you, Master?"

In his belt his miner's pick is stuck as usual, but on the other side is something else - some sort of hammer?

[Nob(#16122)] "Eh? Who?"

"Oh, him. Right." The man turns, squinting. Finally he points somewhat vaguely towards the other corner of the room. "Saw him yonder, a while back." He looks the dwarf up and down. "Got a little muddy, has yer? Beastly night out."

Broddur grunts his assent to that. "Not even brigands would be out on the roads on a night like this." He squints towards the corner of the room, then stomps off with a gruff, "Thank ye."

Once he's arrived, he halts before the low table, straightening his lopsided beard before he folds his arms, clears his throat meaningfully and waits. He's looking expectantly at one of the hobbits - the wrong hobbit, as it happens. These little fellows all look alike!

[Nob(#16122)] Both hobbits look up at him, the one he is staring at looks rather affronted. "Yes?" he asks. "What is it?"

"You'd be master Nob, would ye?" Broddur asks the hobbit he's looking at, harrumphing to himself uneasily under the force of the glare. "Broddur son of Brandur at your service. Been meaning to have a word found some property of yours. Stolen property, /I/ reckon."

[Nob(#16122)] A jerk of the head across the table. "Nay. Tis him you're wanting."

Nob blinks, surprised. "Property of mine?" he asks.

"Ah .. right, little Master." As Broddur turns from one hobbit to the other he mutters into his beard, something sour-sounding including the words 'Bolosi' and 'meddling'. By the time he's bowed jerkily to Nob, civility has returned though.

The Dwarf nods, firmly. "Says here: 'Return to NOB, Prancing Pony'. See?" He reaches a stiff hand down to his belt and pulls out the object hanging at his left side: a sturdy mallet. Its head is stained a brownish-red colour, and there are one or two scraps of something still clinging to it. Best not to speculate. "Took it off one of those ruffians we battled ..." And he puffs out his chest, as though expecting instant comprehension and commendation.

[Nob(#16122)] Nob stares blankly at the mallet for a few minutes, before his eyes widen. "My mallet! Why, that's been gone for... a year, at least! I'd forgotten all about it. Where-ever... Ruffians?" His eyes go even wider, and he stands and turns, waving towards the girl on duty tonight. "An ale!" he calls out.

Broddur nods emphatically. "Aye, ruffians. Must've been a full score we lured out - made short work of the lot, too. Your folk can rest easy in their beds now, Master Nob, thanks to Bolosi and my kin." He sticks his thumbs in his belt.

... after laying the mallet on the table for Nob to take.

[Nob(#16122)] "Yes, yes, of course," Nob says, a trifle distractedly. He eyes the mallet - and its new decorations - with distaste, finally taking it by the very end of the handle and laying it on the floor beside his chair. Then he wipes the table off very thoroughly and when the girl comes with the mug of ale, he hands her the cloth, with instructions to take it off and burn it.

"Here then, Sir... Broddur. In thanks a little token of appreciation most kind of you." Nob takes the foaming mug and hands it to Broddur. "And there's more where that came from," he promises.

Broddur watches Nob's actions with furrows deepening on his seamed brow. Doesn't the little fellow appreciate the spoils of war?

At the arrival of the mug of ale, however, his frown clears. "Most appreciated, Master Nob" he responds, forgetting to sound gruff and grouchy. "To a future of trade and prosperity and a bloody death to all our foes! Cheers." He drinks deep, foam flecking his upper lip and his straggly-looking beard. "You'll be wanting to hear all about it, then?"

[Nob(#16122)] "Cheers," Nob echoes weakly. Trade and prosperity sounds all very well, but... bloody death?? He takes a deep swallow of his own drink though - a hobbit can drink to anything, can't he? "Er. Well... Yes. Yes, of course. Ah, just sit down here and, erm, tell me." With an apologetic glance at the other hobbit, Nob sits back down, and has another drink, to fortify himself.

Broddur thumps himself down onto a bench that creaks under his wait and launches into a rambling tale, gesturing with the mug between phrases. "-like this, see? My cousin went out on the road with a string of ponies all decked-up pretty-like, plenty of shinin' and janglin'. Then Bolosi and the rest of us lads, we hid an' waited. An' when the brigands came out - hah!" He sets the (by now almost empty) mug down on the table and punches a closed fist into an open palm with a meaty *thwack*.

"Yon fellow with the mallet - split his head just like a pumpkin. Never did find out his name, what with his tongue bein' missin'. Should've thought to bring the head for you to identify." He sends his audience an apologetic look.

[Nob(#16122)] Nob jumps as Broddur hammers his fist into his palm, and turns pale, gulping a little. Head... like a pumpkin? Oh dear. "Ah, that's - that's quite all right!" he says hastily. "I'm sure you did just as you ought." He feels his head surreptitiously.

Broddur, his mug now empty, peers suspiciously at Nob. "You feelin' all right, little Master? Bit stuffy in here, it is. Fresh air, that's what you need." He pushes the bench back with an almighty scraping sound, and his left hand reaches out as though to bodily lift the hobbit up and thrust him out of the door.

But at this point someone jostles him from behind. Broddur spins round, brows bristling and fists clenching - to find that he's facing another Dwarf. "Broddur, Hali's been looking for you. Said it was important."

Heaving a long-suffering sigh, and muttering under his breath about 'pesky apprentices', the old miner turns away. "Pleasant eve to you, little Masters," he mutters and then he's - thankfully? - gone, lost amidst the crowded company.

[Nob(#16122)] Nob sags with relief as Broddur leaves - without any more severed heads or bloody swords, and without dragging himself out into the snow!