Mud and more mud

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. You can barely see the outlines of buildings in the dark: the only light comes from the windows of the Inn. Be careful not to step off into the mud beside the causeway!

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 Wed Dec 16 14:29:07 2009 (+time).

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IC Time is 23:27:21 on Trewsday, Halimath (September) 13, 1448 S.R.

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IC Weather Conditions:

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Puddles of cold water are dotted all around, and every few minutes another light shower adds to the water soaking the Shire. The sky is veiled in cloud, hiding any trace of the moon.

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It is only afternoon, but the grey sky above is so dull that one would think it later. Stock, never dry at the best of times, is being subjected to yet another day of rain. Puddles dot the ground, and here and there the puddles have joined up to form larger expanses of water. The local hobbit population doesn\'t seem to mind, going about business cheerfully. Right now, \'business\' is setting up a number of stalls and stands in preparation for the annual Finding Festival, to which Stock will play host this year. The air is filled with the sound of sawing and banging, together with the gabble of work-hobbits\' conversations in the low burr of the Marish.

One particular hobbit-gentleman looks slightly out of place in this scene. Torebras Bywater, long gaiters protecting his smart black breeches and umbrella held high over his head, threads his way between puddles, glancing this way and that. He stops to shake mud from one furry foot, a look of distaste on his face.

Holly Appledore has decided that this is exactly the excuse she has been wanting! For years! And with great and enthusiastic bustle, she has packed up her wares and joined the caravan to the Shire, sweeping her husband Hector along in her wake. Several of the other good ladies of Combe have likewise been inspired, and are there also and the small cluster of women stand together - alternately staring around and commenting in hushed voices on the Strangeness of It All and arguing amiably about whose carrot really is bigger, or whose pumpkin pie trumps them all.

One of them notices Torebras, and chuckles - but in a friendly fashion - and offers him a bit of advice: \"When\'s raining, oughtn\'t you be better off with boots?\"

Torebras turns his gaze on the speaker, tilting his head up - it\'s been a while since he had to do that - and frowns. \"Boots may be acceptable for Big Folk, but they are hardly suitable for a hobbit of my station. Hobbits were born with perfectly good foot-hair!\"

A glance round the locals would reveal that they, at least, are less fussy about adopting Big Folk fashions. Many of them go booted.

A moment longer, a sharp glance at the visitors, and Torebras enquires politely, \"You\'re here for the .. ah, Finding Festival?\"

The lady seems a bit miffed at Torebras\' dismissal of her suggestion. \"Just because you was the mayor..!\" she says huffily, but Holly gives her a mild glance, and smiles at the hobbit \"It would only be to keep your fine foot-hair clean,\" she says tactfully. Her smile widens and she is about to reply when the third of the trio pushes forward. \"What does that name mean?\" she asks eagerly. \"I\'ve asked and asked and no one will tell me! Does everyone find something?\"

Torebras does not share his younger brother\'s propensity for blushing, but at the first words he clears his throat and tilts the umbrella so that his features are hidden for a moment. At the final question he clears his throat again. \"I\'m afraid I am no expert on Shire traditions. Perhaps you should ask one of the locals?\" In other words, he\'s no wiser than the questioner. \"I\'m sure you will find plenty of interest here, of course. The Marish is certainly .. ah, quaint. Colourful. On most occasions.\" He glances up at the grey sky dispiritedly.

\"It\'s been an awful rainy fall,\" one of the women says unhappily. \"Ruint my turnips - rotted \'em right out of the ground!\" She glowers at Holly, who is trying not to look very smug (and failing). \"I\'ve told you, and told you, Joan - you should plant them turnips on a slope and the water runs off, instead of pooling down in that hole you got them in.\"

The third lady is looking around at the puddles with an air of satisfaction. At least it hasn\'t been any better here!

Turnips? When Torebras raises his umbrella his features register polite bemusement, but then his face clears. \"Ahh, you\'re hoping to enter the local produce contest? Commendable, quite commendable. It would be most satisfying if a Bree person were to win it, though I say it myself. What was it you had planned to enter?\"

\"A pumpkin,\" Holly butts in. She may be more placid by temperament, but she is clearly just as excited as the others. She smiles widely, her round face beaming. \"Might make it into pies when the judging\'s done,\" she adds. Joan gives her friend a reproachful glance and says with more dignity \"I\'ve got some real nice onions. Them round purple ones.\"

\"Pies?\" Torebras ears prick up. \"Now, that is good to hear. I remember your fine baking at social functions when I was ... ah, when I was in Bree.\"

He glances round at a shout, but it is only that one of the carpenters has split a board. He watches the workhobbits\' activity with a sniff for a moment, then turns back, a curiously wistful expression on his round features. \"Tell me, ah .. how is the old place doing? I would be most interested in recent news.\"

The third woman hasn\'t said so much so far, but now she sniffs, meaningfully. \"That - that /scoundrel/ who\'s got himself in as mayor!\" she says, indignation quivering in every pore. \"Why, he\'s not even around!\"

Holly makes a soothing motion with her hands. \"There were some foreigners round,\" she says. \"Never saw them myself, but I heard a good bit about it. Didn\'t seem to cause no trouble though, and paid up prompt. They\'re gone now.\"

Foreigners? Dear me, yes. I\'d forgotten what an unpleasantness they can be. The Shire seldom sees strangers, you know.\" Torebras manages to look rather smug. Then something else occurs to him. \"I do hope the current Mayor,\" his lips purse at these words, as though he had tasted something unpleasant, \"taxed them appropriately?\"

\"He let them just walk around with those huge horrible swords of theirs!\" May says furiously. \"I - I could have just SPIT!\" And she looks it too. \"In the Pony and everywhere!\"

At the mentioning of spitting Torebras takes a dainty step back, as though to avoid his feet being soiled. The fact that they\'re already covered in mud is neither here nor there.

\"Deary deary me,\" he says placatingly to May when he has satisfied himself that no, she is not about to spit here and now. \"That must have been most distressing for Bree\'s residents. I\'m surprised Mister Ferny allowed it.\" Of course it was he, rather than current Mayor Ferny, who introduced the scheme of taxing foreigners for the wearing of weapons rather than banning it, but there\'s no need to mention that, now, is there?

The women have forgotten about the contest, forgotten their cherished vegetables and pies their hopes of winning in this Foreign place. Eagerly they cluster around Torebras, voicing their complaints about the current mayor. Surely, though, he can\'t be all /that/ bad... he\'s not been voted out of office and no one has starved from too high of taxes!

Have they??

Torebras listens eagerly as complaints continue, puffing out his chest and murmuring things like, \"If I was Mayor I would ...\" and \"Back in my day ...\" Why, one would almost think he was planning a comeback!