Elendor
Discussing the Big-Folk
A pair of hobbits share their fears regarding ruffianly Big Folk in the Golden Perch, only to have a human turn up right before their very eyes!
Sort Date: no date set
Location: The Golden Perch, Stock
Game Date: September 3048
IC Time: Afternoon
Description: The Golden Perch
The first thing people notice in the Perch is the long, oak bar, running almost the entire length of the western wall, opposite the door. On the very southern end of that wall, a flight of stairs up to the guest rooms can be seen behind a half-open door. Several barrels are stacked carefully behind the bar with the markings of various brewers. That wall is lined with long, low shelves, stacked high with glasses, mugs, and bottles of Headstrong wine. The only other space there is taken up by a door leading through to the kitchens and a small brass plaque, meticulously polished.
A huge fireplace with a spit for roasting meat half-fills the southern wall, set deep into the stonework, with a huge pile of logs stacked inside. In the corner opposite the stair-case, where the north and east walls connect, a raised wooden platform has been constructed for dancing, though currently three of the rooms eight large tables stand upon it. A row of eleven stools with red-velvet cushions line the length of the bar.
Obvious exits:
Upstairs leads to Golden Perch Guest Room.
Out leads to Stock.
================================= +SHIRE TIME =================================
RL (Arizona) Time is Fri Dec 18 03:40:02 2009 (+time).
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IC Time is 15:00:06 on Sunday, Halimath (September) 18, 1448 S.R.
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IC Weather Conditions:
----------------------
Dark grey clouds fill the sky, blocking out the light of the sun. Although no rain has yet fallen, with little wind to move the clouds it seems a distinct possibility.
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Several hobbits seem to be left over from the lunch-time crowd. Among them is Boldibad, bent over a steaming teacup at the far end of the bar. He seems to be speaking with Marin, who wipes the bar nearby, glancing up every so often as Mr. Bolger continues. "... never did find out what happened to him," he says. "I can only imagine what those brutes have done with the lad by now." He shakes his head and sips at his tea.
Marin shakes his head slowly. "That's terrible, Boldibad. Bet you won't be goin' around that dreadful place anymore, eh?"
A newcomer enters the Perch, pausing inside to brush down his clothes and straighten his coat-collar, which had been turned up against the wind. Torebras Bywater directs his steps toward the end of the bar, likely having identified the tender's white apron. "Good afternoon," he greets the company with a tip of his feathered hat, then shivers. "Such inclement weather we've been having lately. I do hope it's not going to be too hard a winter." He blinks at Marin, then enquires politely, "Terrible place?"
"I most certainly don't intend to, Marin!"
Marin looks up at the newcomer and fumbles for a menu, blushing a little bit. "Oh, 'afternoon, Mr. Bywater. Uh, we were just talking about... er..."
Boldibad glances over and turns in his stool. He chuckles a little, and interrupts: "Don't blame old Marin for holding a common misconception about the Breelands, sir. He's never been farther than Bucklebury, I'd wager, and must go by what folks tell him! Boldibad Bolger, at your service."
Marin crosses his arms. "Why, that isn't true, Boldibad--I spent a whole summer in Haysend, once!"
"The Breelands?" Torebras' eyebrows lift a fraction, and he remarks disdainfully, "I see." Boldibad's introduction mollifies it somewhat, however Torebras sweeps the hat from his head, and with a flourish, proclaims, "And Torebras Bywater at yours!" After a pause, he adds, "Bucklebury is a fine little town, of course, though I prefer the peace and quiet of Newbury myself. I have quite a charming little cottage there."
He removes his outer garments and perches on a stool next to Boldibad. He /should/ go about the business of ordering food or drink, but instead he enquires solicitously, "Tell me, Mister Bolger, what brought you to the Breelands? I do hope there wasn't any .. ahem, trouble. I do hear the current mayor is quite lax."
Marin saunters off to refill someone's mug, saying, "Let me know when you're ready."
Boldibad gets most of himself out of the stool, long enough to bow politely. "Well met, Mr. Bywater. I'm somewhat envious--some of the finest wine in any farthing comes out of Newbury, you know. Though, I don't believe I could ever get a good night's sleep in a... cottage, if you don't mind my saying so." He takes a sip of his tea, and says, "Oh, as much as I enjoy the good hobbits of Bree, that place does seem to have its fair share of trouble. You see, I'm something of an antique dealer. I went east to see if I could trade some of my items, only to be accosted and robbed by a big-folk. Then, I... well, the other bit isn't very important... and what brought you to these lands, if I may?"
Torebras Bywater listens to the first part of Boldibad's speech with a faint smile on his lips. "Once I might have said as you do," he agrees. "But I've found the cottage to be really quite pleasant. Plenty of room, no living cheek-by-jowl with one's neighbours ..."
At the mention of 'accosting' he sits up straight suddenly, shooting Boldibad a sharp glance, but then remarks, "Dear me. To think that a Bree citizen should stoop that low! I do hope the miscreant was caught." In the same breath he answers the other hobbit's question airily, "I came to these lands as a little .. retiral, if you will. A search for a little peace and quiet. I must say, the Shire definitely benefits from not having meddlesome Big Folk about."
When he's paused for breath, he calls out to Marin, "I'll have a glass of Old Forest Red, please. Something to warm the bones. It really was quite blowy out there. And, I think ... the cheese plate. Can I get you anything?" This last to Boldibad.
Boldibad nods, "Well, they certainly aren't as much as a prob--er, as numerous as they are in Bree. Though," he leans in and lowers his voice, "My dear friend, Thilo Bracegirdle, has told stories about strange humans from the South coming over the southern bounds in recent years. Couldn't tell you what's in the South, but they most certainly aren't to be trusted. In my old dad's days, the Bounders would've kept 'em out, but... times've changed." He shakes his head. "Anyhow," he says, "as long as you stay out of that spooky Old Forest, you shouldn't have any problems whatsoever in Buckland! Oh--no, no, I've already outdone myself for lunch today. But... well, that was 20 minutes ago... a plate of tookies couldn't hurt. Thank you kindly!"
"Sure, sure--" says Marin. "Shall I start a tab, Mr. Bywat'r?"
Torebras listens as Boldibad leans in close, and for some reason the other hobbit's words seem to cause him to pale. "You don't mean .. bandits? Ruffians?" he whispers, his air of confidence diminishing.
At Marin's query he looks up, nods, and forces a smile. "Why, that would be capital, Mister ... ah, I'm afraid I don't know your name?" This last is said with a raised eyebrow.
Boldibad turns to face the bar again, and wraps his long fingers around the teacup. He shrugs his shoulders, and says, "I couldn't say, but Mr. Bracegirdle is sensible enough to keep his nose where it shouldn't be. He tells me they seem interested in doing business with pipeweed farmers, like himself, but..." he glances around. "But, some folk's say they're up to no good. Spies, even!" He chuckles uneasily, "But, such speculation can be a dangerous game, y'know. Best to leave all that to the Bounders, even if they aren't quite as competent as they once were." He pats Torebras on the back and adds, "Keep to your own affairs, and you'll probably never even hear tell of such stories in Newbury!"
Marin returns with the easily-prepared items, and nods his head, "Call me Marin, sir!"
At Boldibad's response, Torebras relaxes somewhat. "I see. Like as not it's all just talk blown out of proportion. Though I do have .. ahem, a business interest in some of the plantations. Ah well, I am sure the Hornblowers are quite competent in dealing with their own affairs." He waves a hand dismissively. "For a moment there, I thought you meant-"
His words are cut short by the arrival of Marin, and he receives his own cheese and wine with a smile. "Thank you, Mister Marin," he offers in businesslike fashion.
Boldibad hangs on to Torebras' words, turning his head. After a moment, he pushes, "Yes? Go on..."
The Golden Perch is fairly quiet at this time of day (mid-afternoon), and Torebras and Boldibad are the only two hobbits at the far end of the bar save for the bartender Marin, but nevertheless Torebras waits until the bartender is on his way, sipping at his wine and nibbling at his cheese. Eventually he leans nearer to Boldibad to murmur, "You said something about ruffians, back in Bree. They didn't-" he pauses, glances round, "follow you?"
Boldibad takes a bite of one of the Tookies, and sips again at his tea. Dusting off his hands, he also glances around. "Well," he says uneasily, "I certainly hope they didn't. I took the precaution of travelling with a group coming over for the coming festival. Can't say anything unusual happened along the way, though I heard some rather strange noises while passing those creepy Downs..."
Aremtad entered the perch with a gentle pace, slowing moving a bit nearer to the fireplace, hoping to warm himself. He stayed that for only a brief momment, and gently lowered his rucksack, as well as other bags tied to around his belt, on the ground. A safe place, he thought. Might not be one of the wisest things to do, but would anyone really think of some sleigh of hand? His back was tried, anyway. So much that he did not care for such trivial details. He was tired, and after the long road, he looked rougher than usual. His usually dirty-gold mane had actual dirt in it now. He walked closer to the bar, and started standing besides it, taking of no notice of the Hobbits talking whispering amongst themselves.
The room becomes relatively quiet at the entrance of the human.
Torebras looks both worried and relieved at Boldibad's response. He hesitates, then murmurs some more. "Tell me, was it two men, one tall and one short? One with a hat and one with a sca-" At this point he notices the heads turn to view the Big Person and does likewise, twitching like a rabbit.
Oddly, the sight of Aremtad's dirty flaxen hair seems to calm him. And he is, after all, supposed to be expert at dealing with the Big Folk. "Good afternoon, sir," he offers politely. "You have the look of one who is well-travelled." His nose wrinkles.
Boldibad's head turns as well, and he leans in close to his post-lunch companion. "I came over here with hobbits--is that one of those Breemen?" He takes his teacup and takes another sip, draining the cup. He seems to have forgotten about providing a response to Torebras' first question.
Marin swallows visibly and fumbles for a menu. "Er--h-hello, there," he says quietly to the newcomer. "Come for the festival, I hope?" He glances at Boldibad and Torebras, and adds, "You're not from... the South, are you?"
Aremtad twiddled with his thumb as he noticed that the room went all quiet. He has never been much in Hobbit company, but apparently he seemed as a sort of anomaly for them. He did not look much like most men of Bree did, either, further increasing uneasiness, or so the thought. He smiled at Torebras, and said, "Good afternoon", somewhat quietly, though you could hear a pin drop in the Perch. "One could call me well-traveled, while one could also say I have just traveled roughly.". He gave a greetful nod to the other Hobbit, simpily saying, "Maybe I am. What is it to you? Do I wait for someone from the south or news of somesort?". He gave a sort of questioning look with his eyebrow, and the tone of his voice might of sounded unintentionally inquistive.
Marin stands there momentarily at this response, staring dumbly. He gulps, and stammers, "Er, uh, c-c-care for a menu?"
Torebras shakes his head at Boldibad's question, and murmurs airily, "Oh, I shouldn't think so. He has the look of an Outsider." Accustomed to Big Folk as he is, nevertheless Aremtad's tone gives him pause. "It was merely a polite greeting," he exclaims huffily. "I assure you, sir, I neither want nor need news of the South. Now, if you'll excuse me," he shoots an apologetic glance at Boldibad, "I think I need to go and spruce up a little." Setting his wine glass down gently, he fairly trots off in the direction of the water closet.
The first thing people notice in the Perch is the long, oak bar, running almost the entire length of the western wall, opposite the door. On the very southern end of that wall, a flight of stairs up to the guest rooms can be seen behind a half-open door. Several barrels are stacked carefully behind the bar with the markings of various brewers. That wall is lined with long, low shelves, stacked high with glasses, mugs, and bottles of Headstrong wine. The only other space there is taken up by a door leading through to the kitchens and a small brass plaque, meticulously polished.
A huge fireplace with a spit for roasting meat half-fills the southern wall, set deep into the stonework, with a huge pile of logs stacked inside. In the corner opposite the stair-case, where the north and east walls connect, a raised wooden platform has been constructed for dancing, though currently three of the rooms eight large tables stand upon it. A row of eleven stools with red-velvet cushions line the length of the bar.
Obvious exits:
Upstairs leads to Golden Perch Guest Room.
Out leads to Stock.
================================= +SHIRE TIME =================================
RL (Arizona) Time is Fri Dec 18 03:40:02 2009 (+time).
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------
IC Time is 15:00:06 on Sunday, Halimath (September) 18, 1448 S.R.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------
IC Weather Conditions:
----------------------
Dark grey clouds fill the sky, blocking out the light of the sun. Although no rain has yet fallen, with little wind to move the clouds it seems a distinct possibility.
===============================================================================
Several hobbits seem to be left over from the lunch-time crowd. Among them is Boldibad, bent over a steaming teacup at the far end of the bar. He seems to be speaking with Marin, who wipes the bar nearby, glancing up every so often as Mr. Bolger continues. "... never did find out what happened to him," he says. "I can only imagine what those brutes have done with the lad by now." He shakes his head and sips at his tea.
Marin shakes his head slowly. "That's terrible, Boldibad. Bet you won't be goin' around that dreadful place anymore, eh?"
A newcomer enters the Perch, pausing inside to brush down his clothes and straighten his coat-collar, which had been turned up against the wind. Torebras Bywater directs his steps toward the end of the bar, likely having identified the tender's white apron. "Good afternoon," he greets the company with a tip of his feathered hat, then shivers. "Such inclement weather we've been having lately. I do hope it's not going to be too hard a winter." He blinks at Marin, then enquires politely, "Terrible place?"
"I most certainly don't intend to, Marin!"
Marin looks up at the newcomer and fumbles for a menu, blushing a little bit. "Oh, 'afternoon, Mr. Bywater. Uh, we were just talking about... er..."
Boldibad glances over and turns in his stool. He chuckles a little, and interrupts: "Don't blame old Marin for holding a common misconception about the Breelands, sir. He's never been farther than Bucklebury, I'd wager, and must go by what folks tell him! Boldibad Bolger, at your service."
Marin crosses his arms. "Why, that isn't true, Boldibad--I spent a whole summer in Haysend, once!"
"The Breelands?" Torebras' eyebrows lift a fraction, and he remarks disdainfully, "I see." Boldibad's introduction mollifies it somewhat, however Torebras sweeps the hat from his head, and with a flourish, proclaims, "And Torebras Bywater at yours!" After a pause, he adds, "Bucklebury is a fine little town, of course, though I prefer the peace and quiet of Newbury myself. I have quite a charming little cottage there."
He removes his outer garments and perches on a stool next to Boldibad. He /should/ go about the business of ordering food or drink, but instead he enquires solicitously, "Tell me, Mister Bolger, what brought you to the Breelands? I do hope there wasn't any .. ahem, trouble. I do hear the current mayor is quite lax."
Marin saunters off to refill someone's mug, saying, "Let me know when you're ready."
Boldibad gets most of himself out of the stool, long enough to bow politely. "Well met, Mr. Bywater. I'm somewhat envious--some of the finest wine in any farthing comes out of Newbury, you know. Though, I don't believe I could ever get a good night's sleep in a... cottage, if you don't mind my saying so." He takes a sip of his tea, and says, "Oh, as much as I enjoy the good hobbits of Bree, that place does seem to have its fair share of trouble. You see, I'm something of an antique dealer. I went east to see if I could trade some of my items, only to be accosted and robbed by a big-folk. Then, I... well, the other bit isn't very important... and what brought you to these lands, if I may?"
Torebras Bywater listens to the first part of Boldibad's speech with a faint smile on his lips. "Once I might have said as you do," he agrees. "But I've found the cottage to be really quite pleasant. Plenty of room, no living cheek-by-jowl with one's neighbours ..."
At the mention of 'accosting' he sits up straight suddenly, shooting Boldibad a sharp glance, but then remarks, "Dear me. To think that a Bree citizen should stoop that low! I do hope the miscreant was caught." In the same breath he answers the other hobbit's question airily, "I came to these lands as a little .. retiral, if you will. A search for a little peace and quiet. I must say, the Shire definitely benefits from not having meddlesome Big Folk about."
When he's paused for breath, he calls out to Marin, "I'll have a glass of Old Forest Red, please. Something to warm the bones. It really was quite blowy out there. And, I think ... the cheese plate. Can I get you anything?" This last to Boldibad.
Boldibad nods, "Well, they certainly aren't as much as a prob--er, as numerous as they are in Bree. Though," he leans in and lowers his voice, "My dear friend, Thilo Bracegirdle, has told stories about strange humans from the South coming over the southern bounds in recent years. Couldn't tell you what's in the South, but they most certainly aren't to be trusted. In my old dad's days, the Bounders would've kept 'em out, but... times've changed." He shakes his head. "Anyhow," he says, "as long as you stay out of that spooky Old Forest, you shouldn't have any problems whatsoever in Buckland! Oh--no, no, I've already outdone myself for lunch today. But... well, that was 20 minutes ago... a plate of tookies couldn't hurt. Thank you kindly!"
"Sure, sure--" says Marin. "Shall I start a tab, Mr. Bywat'r?"
Torebras listens as Boldibad leans in close, and for some reason the other hobbit's words seem to cause him to pale. "You don't mean .. bandits? Ruffians?" he whispers, his air of confidence diminishing.
At Marin's query he looks up, nods, and forces a smile. "Why, that would be capital, Mister ... ah, I'm afraid I don't know your name?" This last is said with a raised eyebrow.
Boldibad turns to face the bar again, and wraps his long fingers around the teacup. He shrugs his shoulders, and says, "I couldn't say, but Mr. Bracegirdle is sensible enough to keep his nose where it shouldn't be. He tells me they seem interested in doing business with pipeweed farmers, like himself, but..." he glances around. "But, some folk's say they're up to no good. Spies, even!" He chuckles uneasily, "But, such speculation can be a dangerous game, y'know. Best to leave all that to the Bounders, even if they aren't quite as competent as they once were." He pats Torebras on the back and adds, "Keep to your own affairs, and you'll probably never even hear tell of such stories in Newbury!"
Marin returns with the easily-prepared items, and nods his head, "Call me Marin, sir!"
At Boldibad's response, Torebras relaxes somewhat. "I see. Like as not it's all just talk blown out of proportion. Though I do have .. ahem, a business interest in some of the plantations. Ah well, I am sure the Hornblowers are quite competent in dealing with their own affairs." He waves a hand dismissively. "For a moment there, I thought you meant-"
His words are cut short by the arrival of Marin, and he receives his own cheese and wine with a smile. "Thank you, Mister Marin," he offers in businesslike fashion.
Boldibad hangs on to Torebras' words, turning his head. After a moment, he pushes, "Yes? Go on..."
The Golden Perch is fairly quiet at this time of day (mid-afternoon), and Torebras and Boldibad are the only two hobbits at the far end of the bar save for the bartender Marin, but nevertheless Torebras waits until the bartender is on his way, sipping at his wine and nibbling at his cheese. Eventually he leans nearer to Boldibad to murmur, "You said something about ruffians, back in Bree. They didn't-" he pauses, glances round, "follow you?"
Boldibad takes a bite of one of the Tookies, and sips again at his tea. Dusting off his hands, he also glances around. "Well," he says uneasily, "I certainly hope they didn't. I took the precaution of travelling with a group coming over for the coming festival. Can't say anything unusual happened along the way, though I heard some rather strange noises while passing those creepy Downs..."
Aremtad entered the perch with a gentle pace, slowing moving a bit nearer to the fireplace, hoping to warm himself. He stayed that for only a brief momment, and gently lowered his rucksack, as well as other bags tied to around his belt, on the ground. A safe place, he thought. Might not be one of the wisest things to do, but would anyone really think of some sleigh of hand? His back was tried, anyway. So much that he did not care for such trivial details. He was tired, and after the long road, he looked rougher than usual. His usually dirty-gold mane had actual dirt in it now. He walked closer to the bar, and started standing besides it, taking of no notice of the Hobbits talking whispering amongst themselves.
The room becomes relatively quiet at the entrance of the human.
Torebras looks both worried and relieved at Boldibad's response. He hesitates, then murmurs some more. "Tell me, was it two men, one tall and one short? One with a hat and one with a sca-" At this point he notices the heads turn to view the Big Person and does likewise, twitching like a rabbit.
Oddly, the sight of Aremtad's dirty flaxen hair seems to calm him. And he is, after all, supposed to be expert at dealing with the Big Folk. "Good afternoon, sir," he offers politely. "You have the look of one who is well-travelled." His nose wrinkles.
Boldibad's head turns as well, and he leans in close to his post-lunch companion. "I came over here with hobbits--is that one of those Breemen?" He takes his teacup and takes another sip, draining the cup. He seems to have forgotten about providing a response to Torebras' first question.
Marin swallows visibly and fumbles for a menu. "Er--h-hello, there," he says quietly to the newcomer. "Come for the festival, I hope?" He glances at Boldibad and Torebras, and adds, "You're not from... the South, are you?"
Aremtad twiddled with his thumb as he noticed that the room went all quiet. He has never been much in Hobbit company, but apparently he seemed as a sort of anomaly for them. He did not look much like most men of Bree did, either, further increasing uneasiness, or so the thought. He smiled at Torebras, and said, "Good afternoon", somewhat quietly, though you could hear a pin drop in the Perch. "One could call me well-traveled, while one could also say I have just traveled roughly.". He gave a greetful nod to the other Hobbit, simpily saying, "Maybe I am. What is it to you? Do I wait for someone from the south or news of somesort?". He gave a sort of questioning look with his eyebrow, and the tone of his voice might of sounded unintentionally inquistive.
Marin stands there momentarily at this response, staring dumbly. He gulps, and stammers, "Er, uh, c-c-care for a menu?"
Torebras shakes his head at Boldibad's question, and murmurs airily, "Oh, I shouldn't think so. He has the look of an Outsider." Accustomed to Big Folk as he is, nevertheless Aremtad's tone gives him pause. "It was merely a polite greeting," he exclaims huffily. "I assure you, sir, I neither want nor need news of the South. Now, if you'll excuse me," he shoots an apologetic glance at Boldibad, "I think I need to go and spruce up a little." Setting his wine glass down gently, he fairly trots off in the direction of the water closet.
Players: Boldibad, Torebras, Aremtad
