Finding Festival: Ending with a bang

Stock

Behold Stock, the principal township of the Marish district. Despite its local importance, it is no more than a quiet river town, just a few yards from the banks of the Brandywine. The ground is soft here, and spongy marshlands spread across the Marish in all directions. Several shops, workshops, and storage buildings are clustered around the open space at a large well in the center of town. A small statue cast in bronze towers above the well, depicting Bucca of the Marish: The Shire\'s first Thain. Most of the residences and businesses here are houses rather than smials (including the reasonably large Puddifoot House), since the ground is too marshy to be able to burrow in true hobbit fashion. The local inn, The Golden Perch, stands between the town and the river. It\'s a busy market day here in Stock, and hobbits (including many booted Marish residents) are scurrying about the town running errands.

Contents:

Obvious exits:

Golden Perch leads to The Golden Perch

West leads to Stock Road

South leads to Stock: Bridge over the Stockbrook

North leads to Great East Road - Turnoff to Stock

Market Place leads to Stock Market

================================= +SHIRE TIME =================================

RL (Arizona) Time is Sun Dec 20 14:53:02 2009 (+time).

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IC Time is early evening on Sunday, Halimath (September) 25, 1448 S.R.

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IC Weather Conditions:

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Not a single cloud can be seen on the horizon. The night is clear, and fairly warm away from the wind which, blowing moderately from the north-west, is enough to chill the air. The moon is hidden below the horizon.

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The days of festival celebrating harvest, culminating in Finding itself, are coming to an end. For most hobbits, the \'finding\' has consisted mainly of food. At noon, the tables laid out in Stock\'s main square were groaning now, alas, they are mostly empty, and the hobbits whose stomachs have proven most capacious are clearing up the last of the dainties. Most of the adults are too comfortably full to do anything other than rest and chat, speculating on who\'ll be the winners in this year\'s Produce Contest.

Some of the youngsters still have energy left to carry on a treasure-hunt. One enterprising hobbit-lad is scaling the stones of the well in an effort to reach the statue of Bucca - an outraged father yanks him back and delivers a half-hearted swat to his behind. Boys, after all, will be boys.

Here and there a few Big Folk can be seen, overlarge amidst the smaller hobbit forms. Those of Bree\'s townsfolk who have made the trip are watching the goings on. Young Breehobbit Brandebras Bywater is watching them, a large piece of parchment spread out before him headed \'Bree\'s Epic Journey!\'. It is, alas, still empty. He sucks thoughtfully on his (rather sticky) quill.

[Aremtad(#16446)] Alone on a bench, a flaxen-haired man sat. He was

holding a pipe in his between his teeth, and was puffing little

smoke rings. He was having a hard time making the rings, making it

quite obvious to some of the men and hobbits that he was an

inexperienced smoke blower. He glanced around. He blew a few more

smoke rings, this time with more ease. He saw one of the hobbits

holding an (empty) piece of vellum. Out of interest, the

flaxen-haired man of bree stood up, and walked towards the hobbit.

He stood behind him, not saying anything, and was just looking..

waiting for him to write something.

Brandebras, sensing that Someone is looming over him, looks up suddenly instead. \"Hello?\" he offers, blinking sleepily. \"Were you wanting something? Like - uh, me to run a message?\" His round and likely very full stomach gurgles, as though to remind him he doesn\'t /really/ want to get up right now. \"Oh, and you should try Ma\'s blueberry pie, over on the baking stand, if there\'s any left. It\'s really very good. I had four slices - or was it five?\"

Aremtad smiled at him. \"Thank you, I will try the pie alter on..\", then he slightly tilted his head, \"Though, I am more interested in what you are writing.\". He squints his eyes at the header. \"Poem, maybe?\", he speaks, with an playful, questioning tone, while shruging.

Brandebras\' smooth brows furrow at that question. \"No no, I want to write a story about our trip to the Shire. I mean, it\'s a Grand Adventure, after all. Folks back home would surely like to read about it. But I just can\'t think of how to start.\" His tone is mournful. \"Do you have any ideas?\" He pauses, then adds in reluctant afterthought, \"I suppose I can use this sheet to write down the results of the Produce Contest instead.\"

Aremtad shakes his head heartily, \"No, I think you should keep on writing it as a story!\". He then starts rubbing his stubbled chin, and.. \"Every journey starts at home, so, perhaps you should write about the very first day, when everyone left for the Shire from Bree.\". He then clapped his hands once, and chuckled. He took a puff out of his pipe again, and blew a few smoke rings before continuing, \"Don\'t worry. It will come in time. You cannot just think of a good story in a few minutes. Perhaps, the second chapter can be about the trip?\", he said spoke again in a inquisitive yet friendly tone.

Brandebras considers the advice. \"The first day ..\" he says thoughtfully. \"I remember that - we left just after breakfast, and I had one of Rosemary\'s pastries for a little snack, and then there was that chicken sandwich for lunch ...\" My, what an exciting story it will be! Perhaps Brandebras realizes something is lacking, for he presses his companion, \"What bits would /you/ write about?\"

[Aremtad(#16446)]  Rubbing his chin again, Aremtad ponders for a few seconds. \"Write about the nature.\", he said, while giving a few, quick, sharp nods. \"Some folk have not been much away from the Bree hill. Thus, they would be given an in-sight about the Old Road.\". He chuckled, and said, \"I do thing that would be interesting for the average man or wife of Bree than a.. chicken sandwhich.\", he said, with a slight smirk.

\"Nature?\" The furrows on Brandebras\' brow deepen, and he is so preoccupied that he starts nibbling on the end of his quill. A moment later he grimaces and spits out a piece of feather. \"You mean - like the birds, and the rabbits, and the flowers? I could do that. \'The Flora and Fauna of the Great East Road\'.\" He beams. \"Maybe I\'ll wait till later, though. Are you enjoying the festival, Mister - eh, Mister Strawhair?\" Clearly he\'s misremembered that name from somewhere or other. \"The food\'s very good. And I heard,\" his eyes widen with excitement, \"that later there will be fireworks! I suppose they have to announce the winners of the Produce Contest first.\"

Aremtad smiles at the hobbit, as he walks in front of him. He sits down on a chair to the forward of Brandebras, and simpily says, \"I am enjoying it as best as I can, and it is Mr. Flaxenhair, though you can always call me Aremtad, for I feel that calling me by the name of my family seems too formal.\". He chuckled, \"Fireworks? Ah! Rarely do we see such a sight, that will be indeed a spectacle.\".

\"Oh.\" Brandebras\' cheeks colour at the mistake. \"Sorry,\" he offers, blushing crimson. \"And I should call you Mister - Torebras always says it\'s important to be polite.\"

He looks away for a moment, round at the gathering. The earthenware jars that had been used to collect the votes for the Produce Contest have now been lifted off their tables and taken off to a quiet spot for counting. The hobbit cranes his head in vain, and wonders aloud, \"How do you think the Produce Contest went? I offered to help count the votes, but - well, they won\'t let me this time.\" He looks down at his furry toes.

Aremtad shrugs, \"It went fine. Though, to be honest, I came here more for the sights and journey, rather than the actual festival.\". He smiled, and blew a few smoke rings, \"Nothing compares to Shire pipeweed, I must say! Of course, there are some lower-quality weeds, yet this one is quite excellent. Though..\", he looks at it, before puffing again, \"I do not recall the name of it.\".

\"Oh!\" Brandebras sniffs - a mistake, as he promptly coughs. When he\'s done doubling over, he looks up again to offer helpfully, \"Longbottom Leaf? Or maybe it was Old Toby ... oh, look! Those are the votes for the baking contest.\" He points toward the vote-counters - two piles are definitely higher than the others. But which?

Aremtad looks up in to sky, and quietly says, \"Well, I wonder..\"

[Boldibad(#22742)] Out of the crowd comes Boldibad Bolger, with a huge smile fixed on his face. He seems to miss a step here and there, and nearly drops his mug of ale more than once as he makes his way toward Aremtad and Brandebras. \"Happy holiday to you,\" he says, throwing his mug above his head.

Brandebras follows the direction of Aremtad\'s glance, skyward. Thus it is that his first clue as to Boldibad\'s presence is a large mug spinning gracefully through the air, disgorging its remaining contents. Reflexively he jumps back, crashing into the hobbit behind him, who\'d raised his own mug to toast Boldibad back. \"Oi! Watch that!\" the irate hobbit, a Marish resident by his boots, bellows in Brandebras\' ear. Happy holidays? The young Breehobbit just cringes, staring dumbly in Boldibad\'s direction.

Aremtad raises his pipe in the air as Boldibad greets them, \"Hullo!\", he heartily says. He sucks in the smoke, and blows a big smoke ring again. \"Happy Holidays! How do you fare on this good day?\", he speaks once more, quite loudly, to the annoyance of some of the more quieter hobbits sitting close to them.

Boldibad seems genuinely surprised as the mug slips from his fingers. \"Oops--I was just a little excited, I suppose. It\'s me! The fellow who whacked you with the stick as you adjusted your thief-trap--the one who gave you the message for Gidon Leafthrower?\" He pats his chest, \"Boldibad Bolger!\" He looks off into space for a moment and rubs his head. \"I\'ll have to get myself yet another ale...\" He peers up at Aremtad, \"And, do I know you?\"

The Marish farmer turns his baleful glare on Aremtad instead - or, more correctly on his midriff. At the sight of a Big Person, he mutters, \"Huh,\" and stomps away.

Brandebras himself looks quite relieved. \"Of course I remember you, Mister Bolger!\" he exclaims. \"You\'re the gentlehobbit who was rob-\"

The toot of a horn cuts across his words and heads turn in the direction of the vote-counters. An elderly-looking hobbit amongst their number clears hsi throat officiously.

Aremtad he smiled at Brandebras, and said, \"I think he meant me.\", but then he chuckled as he looks upon Boldibad, \"Even If said you did know me, would it really have a purpose, seeing as you might not even rememeber this encounter tommorrow!\". He chuckled, and puffed some of the smoke, before returning his attention towards Boldibad, \"Aremtad Flaxenhair. The goldsmith. We had a trade a few days, do you remember?\". He smiled at him, and put his hand in one of his pockets. He took a timepiece, quite beautifuly made. He held it in the air for a brief momment before putting the watch back in to his pocket.

[Boldibad(#22742)] Brandebras\' words seem to have a slight sobering effect on Boldibad. He shakes his head and says, \"Yes, the gentlehobbit who was robbed. But, luckily, I was able to replace the stolen rings--ah! With the help of this tall fellow here! Why, hello Mr. Flaxenhair. The watch seems to be holding up quite--\" But, his attention is stolen by the tooting horn.

The elderly hobbit mops his face with a white pocket handkerchief, then starts to speak, slowly and deliberately. \"Greetings, ladies and gentlehobbits! Shire dwellers from near and far! And of course our most esteemed guests from the town of Bree. First I must say how delighted I am to have you gathered here. As you know, the festival of Finding is an ancient tradition, dating from the time of-\"

\"Get on with it!\" someone heckles.

The elder hobbit heaves a long sigh and shakes his head. \"Dear me! Some of the young folk today have absolutely no manners! But as I was saying - to business tonight. The Treasure Hunt\" - cheers from the younger hobbits present - \"has been won by young Master Harco Hornblower.\"

Brandebras had turned to watch the vote-counters, but at Boldibad\'s words his head jerks back and he views Aremtad with his mouth pulled into a round \'o\'. \"But that would mean- Where did you get your rings, Mister Flaxenhair?\" He\'s quite forgotten the treasure hunt until the cheer rises.

Aremtad while listening to the elderly hobbit, he blew a few smoke rings, but then he heard a question and smiled at Brandebras, and simpily says, \"I am a goldsmith, and as I said before, I would prefer you called me Aremtad.\". He then started cheering for the victor of treasure hunt. He clapped his hands heartily while letting out a loud, \"Hooray!\".

Boldibad seems too interested in the conversation at hand to join in the cheering. He says, \"I\'ll admit, I thought the same thing at the first. But, I looked at his rings, and could tell right away that none of them had been crafted by a hobbit\'s hand.\" He pulls out a small, gold ring and passes it to Brandebras, \"I do believe he\'s a fine fellow--and, I hope you\'ll both call me Boldibad, on that note.\"

Brandebras neglects to cheer he\'s still focussed on Aremtad and Boldibad, and once again his brow has furrowed. Why, he\'ll grow permanent wrinkles with all that unaccustomed thinking if he\'s not careful. \"So did you make the rings yourself - Mister Aremtad?\" When Boldibad holds out the ring for inspection he reaches out a hand to take it and holds it up to the dimming light admiringly.

Once young Harco Hornblower has received his prize - a smart new piggy-bank that rattles pleasantly when handed over - to sounds of rapturous applause, the elderly announcer clears his throat again. \"And on to the baking. I am delighted to announce,\" here he pauses smugly, \"that we have two winners. For our own Shire we have Mister Boldibad Bolger, and,\" here he has to pause owing to crowd noise, and in the end signals for one of his fellows to blow the horn again so he can add, \"for our Bree visitors Mrs Marigold Bywater.\"

Aremtad nods slowly, \"Indeed. I make all sorts of gold tibbidts. Be it rings, braclets, necklaces. It is something to go by, but I earn most of my daily bread by merchantry.\". When Boldibad was announced as a victor of the baking contest, Aremtad starts applauding furiously.

Boldibad is compelled by Aremtad\'s sudden applause to look toward the display. It takes him a moment, but once he realizes what\'s going on, he lets out a little chuckle of delight. \"Well, burn my mushrooms and crack my dinnerplates. I think I should consider opening a bakery!\" He waves his hand a little bit and laughs happily. \"It\'s an old recipe!\"

\"Bolger! Bolger!\" some of the crowd begin to chant. One soul, rather less gracious than the rest, mutters, \"It should be Bulger. Look at him, he\'s half in his cups!\"

\"Will the winners /please/ come forward,\" the elderly gentlehobbit all but bellows.

The other winner has needed no urging - already a stout matronly hobbit resplendent in yellow and green is making her way to the front on the arm of her more soberly dressed elder son, one Torebras Bywater.

Brandebras, tearing his gaze away from the ring he\'s still holding, stares open-mouthed. \"Why, that\'s Ma!\" he exclaims, then belatedly seems to realize he\'s standing beside the other winner. \"Go on!\" he tells Boldibad eagerly.

Boldibad says, \"Why, Mr. Bywater, I didn\'t know she\'s your mother. Quite a cook--she had my vote back in Bree, y\'know. Oh--better get up there!\" His eye moves briefly to his ring for a moment, but he turns away and moves toward the display.

Aremtad continues watching the awards ceremony while he sucks the last poofs of smoke from the pipe. He tries to make some sort of figure using the smoke, but he fails in his attempt, which leads to a small frown, but his face once again returns in to a smirk-like facial expression.

Brandebras, still watching the awards, fails to notice the smoke save for a wrinkle of his nose as a thread of it drifts his way. Absently he puts his hand in his pocket.

The stout matronly hobbit has beaten Boldibad to the front, and bobs a curtsey first to the left and then to the right before receiving her prize with an air of triumph. A moment later she\'s strutting away, once more on Torebras\'s arm. For today at least, the \'vagrant\' elder son seems to be forgiven.

The elderly announcer turns to Boldibad, muttering under his breath something that sounds like, \"At last!\" Then he\'s holding out the prize - whereas Mrs Bywater had received a new set of cake pans alongside the little bag containing money, Boldibad is presented with a silver \'Shire Baker\' cup. \"Make sure to return it afterwards for engraving,\" the announcer murmurs in his ear.

Aremtad applauds once again. He then sets his pipe in to a bag attached to his belt. Then he turns to Brandebras, and says, \"I think I must retire.. my eyes are getting drowzy. I watched the stars most of the yesterday night.\". He stood up and nodded at Brandebras in a goodbye, while muttering something. He walked away, and soon enough he passed in to the shadows.

Boldibad smiles at Mrs. Bywater, \"Congratulations, ma\'am.\" He then approaches the announcer and takes hold of the cup. He bows and makes his way out of the spotlight. First, he takes a few moments to obtain another mug of ale, and then makes his way back to his original position. \"Well,\" he says in confusion, \"Considering we\'re on a first-name basis, I find it rather rude for Mr. Aremtad to leave in the middle of my--oh, nevermind! Big-folk can\'t help that sort of thing, I suppose.\" He takes a large drink of the ale, and begins patting his waistcoat pockets. \"Say, Mr. Bywater--didn\'t I give you my ring? Let\'s have it back, if you\'re finished with it and all.\" He smiles and takes another sip of his ale.

Brandebras has torn his gaze away from the prizewinners long enough to watch Aremtad walk away. \"But what about the fireworks?\" he enquires innocently - alas, it is to thin air, for the Big Person moves off with surprising speed. \"Hmm,\" he murmurs to himself. \"Maybe I should go and contragulate Ma.\" That thought in his head, he starts to move happily off through the crowd, quite forgetting the contents of his pocket. At Boldibad\'s question he stops, blinking at his fellow hobbit. \"You did?\"

The winners of the fruit and jam sections are duly announced - Mr Smallburrows\' win in the fruit section will hopefully make up for his wife\'s disappointment in losing out to a Bree outsider in the jams. But what of the vegetables? Amongst those tasked with counting the votes for these, there currently seems to be an argument going on.

Boldibad glances at Brandebras, and chuckles, \"Don\'t be silly, I gave it to you when we were talking about... well, whatever it was. Oh, you know, I handed it over so you could take a look at it.\" He looks at the other hobbit with some sort of grimace on his face, and says, \"Don\'t you remember?\"

Brandebras looks quite startled. \"Why, so you did! Now, where did I put it?\" He begins patting it down. Eventually his face reddens and sheepishly he withdraws said ring from his pocket and holds his out, his face flushing a dull crimson. \"I didn\'t /mean/ to,\" he utters plaintively.

Boldibad takes the ring back and looks suspiciously back at Brandebras. \"No harm done, I suppose.\" He tucks the item into his waistcoat and yawns. \"I should probably be heading for the Golden Perch soon--I\'m not as young as I used to be, you know. But, I\'d very much like to see the fire display I heard about. Rumor says that Frodo Baggins donated an old firework, left over from Bilbo\'s birthday party... I\'m not sure what they\'re doing down there, but it seems like they may be setting up for such a show.\"

Brandebras\' cheeks are still flushed. \"I\'d better go and speak to Ma first,\" he mutters, rather subdued. \"But I\'d like to see it - the fireworks, that it.\"

There is a long pause in proceedings, and mutterings in the crowd have grown to a crescendo by the time the announcer steps forward again. It takes a horn-blast to quell them. Then, with the habitual clearing of his throat, he states slowly and clearly, \"It was a close-run thing, as they say in the racing fraternity. But finally, a winner for the vegetable section of the Produce Contest has been decided - Mrs Holly Appledore!\" There are cheers from the Bree visitors. But from amidst the Shirefolk come murmurings, whispers and even vocal complaints. \"What? Give our Best Vegetable trophy to an Outsider?\"

The long pause, naturally, has been taken by those setting up the fireworks that proceedings are at an end and they are free to start. Already the first firework has been lit ...

[Old Firecracker(#11838)] Boldibad lights the fuse and steps away.

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[Old Firecracker(#11838)] The fuse hisses as a spark moves toward the firework.

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Boldibad watches the display in amazement. \"Wonderful--I have no idea how it\'s done, and probably don\'t want to know, but--simply breathtaking. Anyhow, it isn\'t enough to keep me awake--I\'m afraid I\'m going to have to retire for the night. Look for me in the morning, if you\'re still here, Mr. Bywater. I\'ll show you a couple of nearby fishing spots, if you\'re interested. I always try to get to them when in this part of the Shire. Anyhow, a good night to you!\"

At the sound of that first echoing bang, Brandebras claps his hands to his ears. He watches the sky open-mouthed, rapt with admiration. Thus it is that it takes a moment for him to realize Boldibad is speaking to him. He takes hands away from his ears only in time to hear the final few words. \"Goodnight to you too, Mister Bolger,\" he responds distractedly, and goes back to watching the sky in case there\'s one last firework to be seen.

What comes is something different: a sudden, panicked shout: \"The woodshed! The woodshed\'s burning.\"

Panic, of course, sets in immediately. Fortunately Stock is by the river, with no shortage of water or able-bodied hobbits to carry it: the fire will be quickly brought under control, and no doubt damage will be minimal, but still ... a night to remember, in more ways than one.