You pull on a set of double doors bearing the Merchant Guild's emblem and step into the Guildhall.
 

Bree - Merchant's Guildhall

Contents:
Timothy
Farod
Tandern
Fatty_Rosebush
Bill_Ferny
Gwait
Lir
Moin
Robbin
Pryderi
Obvious exits:
Upstairs and Out
 
Pryderi starts and side steps away from the loud man. Her lips purse into a worried frown and she looks to the door once more. The strong desire for someone to arrive is clear on her face, peppered by an almost childish fear of the unknown.

Fatty_Rosebush laughs again and lumbers over to Pryderi, "Well hello missy! Fatty Rosebush is the name. What's yours kitten?"

A chill blast of winter air enters the room, as Gerthan enters, and the door stays open a second too long as several hobbits start to grumble and complain about the draft from outside. His cloak is pulled tightly around him, and he rubs away the cold from his hands as he enters behind a tall dwarf.

Pryderi looks at the large man with saucer-wide eyes and shrinks away from him. Her accent is thick when she speak. "Pryderi." She speaks her name with the rolling growl of the southlands. She eyes him with distrust, she eyes a near by dwarf with distrust. Matter of fact, she doesn't seem to trust anyone here.

Fatty_Rosebush laughs merrily, his belly jiggling, "Well Pryderi! Hope you don't mind me sitting by you. I can tell you about the fearless courage of the voluminous Fatty Rosebush all night long!" He then leans in and says in a mock stage whisper, "These here dwarves will be shamed by my bravado. Just wait and see kitten!"

Pryderi says in a soft, yet hard voice. "Donna call m''kitten'. I nah yah pet." There's a unsettling erraticness to her voice, as if fear could easily fuel fury if pushed.

Fatty_Rosebush yells out with a laugh, "Your not Barli! But I want the barley! Comeon Barliman, no speeches. Onto the drink!"

Tandern looks at the young girl, "ahh, don't you fuss yerself too much with folk around these parts. Most of 'em are good in heart he says, and points a thumb backwards towards the dwarves. "but don't you go messin' with that folk lassy." he says with a soft laugh, and looks around for ale. "wheres the drink?" he says, and wanders off to a table where the sample are laid out, blowing a large smoke ring which soon dissapates as it floats over the room.

Pushing through the throng of people, most of them hobbits, Gerthan wades his way through the sea of people over to the ale. A small hint of a smile graces his face as he finally pushes his way to the front of the crowd. Finding a dark stout that looks inviting, a fat hobbit pours him a large, frothing mug of ale. He takes a very large swig of ale, wiping the foam off his mouth. "Ah!", he says, "That's mighty tasty." He takes another long drink of ale and looks around the packed hall.

Fatty_Rosebush seems to be heedless of Pryderi's trembling voice as he says, "Sure think little Rosey. But I must tell you that there are a few stout folk in this place. Take old Barliman for example..." Fatty scratches a knob on the back of his head, "... well lets just say he ain't all that! Now these here 'obbits... hope none of those Mugworts show up, they go all in for that river-beer." Fatty winks, "Watered if ya know what I mean?" He seems to stretch back a bit and rambles, "Well 'Pryderi' let me tell ya about the time I wrestled the local sheriff's horse over a mug of beer. Damn thing could nearly talk I tell ya." He gives a toothy grin.

Fatty_Rosebush mutters as he finds himself with an ale in hand, "'nother dwarf. You'd think they grow out of rocks! Ah well, it'll be good to put them down." He glances at Pryderi as he takes a long gulp of ale before belching, "Pardon me miss! My girth cannot contain me. As I was saying, well this horse I wrestled..." He leans over and taps Pryderi on the shoulder, "You listening to me or what?"

Back over at the ale table, Barliman's attention has been drawn from serving beer and greeting folks, and he is turned to the side, speaking with an acquaintance of some sort. "To be sure!" he calls out, somehow almost able to speak above the din of this huge crowd. "I thought she'd have had that little one a fortnight or more ago, but there she is, still as plump as a stump! I'll be!" He gestures toward a VERY pregnant hobbit lady, who beams as she stands, a mug in hand, her hobbit husband's arm around her protectively.

Gwait gets up and looks over the edge of each table. Finally, chasing down the smell of something bitter and tangy, he's peering over the lip pf the ale table, his round and red nose seeking out a drink, "Aye. Aye mean, er, One of those please."

Unable to contain his smile any longer, a huge beaming grin settles on Gerthan's face as he surveys the room. Most of the patrons of the alefest seem merry and gay, save a lone, unfamiliar female face. She seems lost in thought and transfixed by the revolving door of people that keep coming and going. Gerthan's keen hunter's gaze stays on her awhile, and he takes another swig of ale, and wanders over towards her, through the crowded room.

Fatty_Rosebush calls back to Tandern, "Oh Tanny! I was just telling Miss Pryderi here bout the time you were caught in the barrel in the square." He winks, "Or was it something else?" He gulps down a bit more beer and scratches his belly, "Come over here Tanny! We ain't talked in a long time."

Forantur enters the Guildhall from the market.
Forantur has arrived.

Tandern pushes his way through the crowd, his beer sloshing around in his mug, threatening to spill, and reaches Fatty. "hows are you, Fatty?" he says merrily, and gives him a hearty slap on the back, and raises his mug to his, and roars with laughter as the incident of the barrel is mentioned, tryng to shrug off the embarrasment. "So what've ye been up to eh?"

Working his way through the crowd, towards the girl who had caught his attention a few moments ago, Gerthan is slightly distracted as a drunken dwarf steps on his foot. The sudden action causes Gerthan to lose his foot slightly and crash into Tandern.

Barliman blindly passes mugs of ale to the people asking him for some as he continues to chat with an old friend... But at one point he tries to hand a tankard to someone who isn't there! With a clang and a splash, the mug clatters to the ground, its contents forming a small poll and spatters just in front of the table. Frowning, Barliman looks down, and surprisingly, enough people are here respecting the good ale that when a few precious drops are spilled, the room quiets down a touch....many folks stare at the clumsy innkeeper. He turns beet red.

Fatty_Rosebush laughs and take a long draught of ale before wiping it off of dribbling lips, "Oh you know Tanny. Cleaning up those dung-cursed stables. Not much need for ponies these days and its hard to see horses. In fact..." Fatty sniffs his arm pits, "...I just came from there, this ale should do me some good!" He looks over at the lady and touches her arm as she stands, "Right missy?"

Tandern lets out a cry of dismay, as his pint of beer tips from his hand and spills right down Fatty's trousers. "arrrrrrrggghhh!" he crys, and turns around to face the culprit.

Gwait turns about, a familiar voice in an unfamiliar room. A mug is haneded to him and he drinks of it. Turning back towards where the accent he knows well was he nods, "It is a trifle too watered even for bar ale." He takes another hearty drink and starts towards him.

Fatty_Rosebush leaps up and yells, "Tanny! Them's my new breeches!"

Slightly embarrased, Gerthan turns to look at Tandern, who Gerthan had just caused to spill his ale on Fatty. "I'm terribly sorry," he starts, "but a dwarf tripped me." He turns to point out the dwarf, only to find that he has dissappeared into the throng of people. He stifles a laugh at Fatty's cry, and tries to keep that strange girl in view out of the corner of his eye.

Fatty_Rosebush begins to wipe himself off and takes a seat with a grumble. He turns his attention to the politicians.

Tandern faces the nam who knocked into him. "now look what ye've done you great oaf!" he says crossly, "you've ruined my beer, and you've ruined poor Fatty's new breeches!" he says, and moves so that Fatty can get a good look at the man who caused the disruption.

Fatty_Rosebush waves his hand at Tandern, "Let 'em be. He'll pay at the taps."

Throwing up his arms in protest, Gerthan says, "It's not my fault! That dwarf, now where did he go?" Gerthan trails off his sentence, as Fatty seems to make light of the accident. Slowly edging his way away from the duo, Gerthan continues over towards Pryderi.

Forantur moves among the crowd with ease, his large frame making room for itself with little effort. Taller than most of the men--and towering over dwarf and hobbit--he stands out in the room as if one of the ancient giants. Smoothly, though, he begins to work his way toward the dwarves--and their Dunlending prey.

Moin has just reached for a new cup of Barliman's ale, when someone enters the podium. He keeps his eyes on him for a while, before he decides to ignore him, concentrating fully on the different ales again. He suddenly stop s up as the sound of a mug hitting the ground can be heard right behind him. He turns around, staring at Barliman, "prolly got to much of his own ale!" he says merrily to one of his companions, before he again takes a dip pull at his ale, still ignoring the man on the podium.

Tandern stomps off to get another pint of beer, his round face steaming with a comical-looking frown. He moves to the table with hobbit beer. "aint tried this stuff since last winter" he says, a grin returning to his face..and takes a swig. "hrm, not bad" he says to the bartender, and walks off to take a seat next to Fatty, and refills his pipe carefully, and presently begins to blow smoke rings deliberately in the direction of Gerthan.

Fatty_Rosebush crosses his arms before him allowing them to rest on his belly. He takes the time to refill an ale and begins to sip it.

At last, Gerthan has reached Pryderi, only to find a very frightened female before him. He looks upon her, completely ignoring the goings on at the podium, and looks down on her. He asks her, "Are you alright? You seem to be the only one here not having a good time."

Gwait slaps Moin firmly on the back and reaches up towards the table's top. Flicking his finger against several mugs, he takes the one that sounds the most full and drinks heavily from it.

Fatty_Rosebush gives Tandern a punch on the shoulder and says in a loud whisper, "I am sure they are honoured by our motley band." He then applauds and yells, "Yes, yes, honoured I'm sure but bring on the ale already!"

Forantur steps closer to the dwarves, but finds his way blocked by the young Dunlending and the tall Breelander. Rather than push past, though, he pauses: and his own eyes, grey as the morning dew, look over the small woman only a hands' bredth away, and onto the smaller folk beyond. Yet he is too close to be ignored by the woman or the hunter.

Tandern chuckles at Fattys comment, and calls out "awright awright, enough already...get the man a muzzle!"

Fatty_Rosebush cheers loudly but then whispers to Tandern, "What is a Dunlander?"

Looking a bit confused by Pryderi's strange words, Gerthan's brow becomes slightly furrowed. "Do you not speak our northern tongue Miss...?" But even as he says it, Gerthan realizes that she probably doesn't, and wonders even more at her presence here in Bree. He takes a swig of ale, and finds that though his mug is getting close to empty, he has little desire to refill it right now.

Tandern tuns his head to Fatty and leans over to whisper back "Southerners...they're a suspicious, strange bunch. Sometimes their merchants come here sellin' cheap junk"

Riflo enters the Guildhall from the market.
Riflo has arrived.

Fatty_Rosebush shakes his head and gulps down the rest of his ale, "Blasted outlanders. Well maybe they'll buy a pony! Or even a horse!"

Abigail manages to find a seat near the front of the crowd next to several young hobbits. Satisfied with the way things appear, she relaxes a bit and prepares to enjoy herself. She smiles encouragingly at Robbin on the podium as he speaks.

Forantur pushes closer yet, pressing himself against the man Gerthan as he tries to get past. "The girl seems scared, friend," he murmurs in passing. "Perhaps you should leave her be. Besides, I wonder if you might know the dwarves I see here?"

Fatty_Rosebush is now completely focused on the speech-makers -with the exception of the new mug of fresh ale beofre him- and pays no heed to the woman.

Muriel enters the Guildhall from the market.
Muriel has arrived.

Robbin continues on, gaining more confidence by the minute. "We have our friends the Rangers, whose generosity never goes unappreciated! We are glad that you are here to celebrate with us!"

Forantur, the only Ranger in the room, raises his head to look at the speaker. He does not make a reply, though, beyond a quick grin.

Nikala enters the Guildhall from the market.
Nikala has arrived.

Tandern reaches and pulls a spare pipe from his pocket, and hands it to Fatty, along with a pouch of tobacco. "Have a pipe, my dear Fatty. This is new stuff some the shire, you might like it" he says with a grin.

Gwait stands with his back to a wall now. The rough tones at the mentions of foreigners ringing home in his ears. He takes another drink and looks down into the mostly empty mug. Pulling out a finger with foam on it he looks over to moin, "Aye be thinking this is the thinnest one yet."

Turning his head to Forantur, Gerthan looks him over. "No, I do not know the dwarves here friend, why do you ask?"

Fatty_Rosebush pulls out his own pipe and says to Tandern, "Thank you. What brand is this? Southern Star?" He begins to fill the pipe.

Kele-De enters the Guildhall from the market.
Kele-De has arrived.

Robbin continues on. "All the way from Ered-Luin, we have our hearty dwarf friends here with us this evening! May your beards grow long and your years be unnumbered!"

Nikala slips into the Guildhall, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible, which for a 6 foot woman in bree, is difficult to do. Once inside, she immediately hangs close to the walls, lurking at the periphery. Her grey eyes glance about, curiously watching all those present, but she does nothing to interact. There is a vague frown on the woman's face, as if she wasn't quite sure being here was a good idea.

Pryderi is even more uneasy then usual, standing between a larger man and a younger one. Lost in the sea of strangeness, one who knows her might suspect just how she might react. It cannot be good.

Fatty_Rosebush does not applaud at the mention of the rangers. Rather he leans over as he lights his pipe saying, "Don't know why they invited them 'ere..." He blows out a cloud of smoke and laughs loudly, "I never was one for pipes Tanny."

Nodding to Forantur, Gerthan says in a low voice, "Indeed, I am a man of the wood, as you claim to be. I haven't heard anything of this robbery, but surely this dwarf would not be so bold to show his face here in this assembly if he has indeed committed a crime as you say."

Robbin continues on, "And for the rest of you folks who traveled far and wide this evening, we are truly glad you are here!"

Riflo walks into the Merchant's Guildhall, his gray cloak and scarf pulled over himself for warmth from the outside air. As he enters, he looks nervously across the mass of people, quite disorientated and confused, being seperated from the mass of Shire hobbits from the caravan. He slowly unwraps his cloak and scarf, and places them by the door. Still a bit nervous, he removes his pipe from his jacket and taps a packet of Old Toby into the bowl before lighting it up. Slowly he takes a seat at the back, wondering just what is going on, as he slowly smokes his pipeweed.

Pryderi looks to the human men, distracted at what Gerthan says. Curiosity pushes past all pervious emotions and, despite being disgusted by herself for the weakness, Pryderi fiegns disinterest as she tries to overhear.

Forantur then turns and kneels, to get down closer to the young girl. "What of you?" he whispers. "You have had a long road."

Fatty_Rosebush yawns and scratches his belly calling out, "Lets get on with it Money-Bags!"

Taking a quick look at Pryderi and Forantur, Gerthan turns away from them and heads once more for the ale at the other end of the room. Reaching the ale, through the throng of people, he gets his mug refilled by a slightly tipsy hobbit, who is already starting to slur his speech, laughing heartily, Gerthan takes a long swig from his ale, and surveys the room.

Gwait turns around and looks at Forantur with a cautious eye. The stonecarver shrugs and grabs another ale from the table drinking from it. "Would not be suprised," he tells Moin.

Lundin enters the Guildhall from the market.
Lundin has arrived.

Robbin wipes the perspiration from his brow, as he is a bit nervous and the stage is becoming increasingly hot as more and more people filter in. Judging solely by the heat in the room, one would never have guessed it was the dead of winter outside. "And now, a couple of QUICK.." (he places heavy emphasis on that word), "announcements! Just a little later on this evening, we will have a dance, right here in the hall! With live music from some of the area's finest musicians!"
Lir has had to many mugs of ale and he is starting to loose his soberness. His nose is starting to get a red shimmer and his face has now a rather ridiculous smile. He is starting to laugh loudly as he looks at Moin and says "you know what cousin, this mug is empty and it was full just a minute ago, I just don't get it?".

Tandern whispers to Fatty "I need a refill, I'll be back." with that he stands up with his empty mug, and wanders over to get it refilled, dodging dwarfs, hobbits and men..he takes a long swig, and surveys the room, looking for familiar faces. He spots Gwait in and wanders over. "Gwait!" he says with a laugh "Why am I not surprised to see ya here?" he says and raises his mug in greeting.

Forantur gives up on the poor young Dunlending, and just ruffles her hair in a friendly manner. "Never mind," he says kindly, and turns away. With a long glance across the room at the tall woman Nikala, he begins to move again towards the small crowd of Dwarves.

Fatty_Rosebush nods to Tandern, "Certainly." He grabs his ale with both hands and take a long swig, some of it spilling out of the corners of his mouth. He belches loudly once again.

Riflo turns his pipe over and taps out the remaining pipeweed before shuffling the ivory masterpiece into his jacket. Not at all following what's being said, he raises his arm to a passing hobbit with several mugs of beer. The hobbit smiels happily and gives one of the mugs to Riflo, swaying and crosseyed. Riflo simply smirks and nods, raising the mug to his mouth to enjoy the brew that's inside.

Pryderi ducks away from the hand and scowls as her hair is ruffles. She pushes slim fingers through curling red locks. She looks to the door once again. Relief brightens her features as she sees a familar face. An odd reaction if any knew either Pryderi or Kele-De. But none seem to.

Robbin continues on, really starting to sense people's eagerness for him to get down from the podium and let them drink. "TOMORROW!" he shouts above the din, "Yes, the festivities will continue! Tomorrow we shall have contests, contests, and more contests! For all you avid wood choppers out there, come show off your skills! See how far you can hurl rocks! Prizes shall be awarded to the winners! Keep your eyes on Bree's local paper, the Pony Express, for all of the details!"

Gwait turns to Tandern's greating and offers him a wave and a gruff smile. Stepping around towards Moin again, he tugs at his beard and looks over Moin's shoulder at the ranger, "Thar's an odd one. Not seen me someone so odd since we were here last." He scratches the hairs in his beard and looks to Tandern agian, "Oh, It was only a little singed. Hides the grey"

Forantur manages to weave through a small band of Big Folk Breelanders who are clapping each other on the backs and singing an rather bawdy song about a pub with no beer. It is not until that hurdle is passed that he reaches the dwarvish band. Still, the great bearded wanderer hangs back a moment, judging carefully.

Robbin shouts, trying to bring his 'speech' to some sort of climax, "And now, my good folks....." he pauses to try and draw a bit more suspense from the crowd, "LET THE DRINKING CONTINUE!"

Lir finds a new mug of ale and take a couple of sips. When he hears somebody calling out "where's the music" he starts to sing. At first the words don't give any meaning but after a while it starts to make sense. "Ale! ale! ale!, I love my ale, day and night is ale my best friend". He tries to get up on a table but his legs wouldn't get that high and he looses his balance and falls on the ground.

Tandern laughs at Gwait's comment, and exhales a puff of smoke across the table, coughing while he laughs. "It was damn funnies thing I saw" he says, his nose getting redder as he gets drunker. "still" he continues, finishing off his beer with a loud belch. "what do you recommend, my dear dwarf? (may your beard grow longer still)" he asks, gesturing to his empty mug.

Gwait steps out from Moin a few steps and looks back at the tables here. "Well," He exhales, a deep airy word. He sucks more air in as if to say it again, but as the music starts, he pats his chest idle and looks back across the tables, "It's not a great... I mean they are alright in a ... Er, try that /wood-ale/ it's a drink."

Forantur finally steps up behind the dwarf named Moin, insinuating himself between that dwarf and Gwait. For a moment, he remains silent, though he looks down at the two: one brow arches almost as a challenge.

Nikala continues to study the unconscious hobbit that lies in a drunken stupor at her feet. She nudges at it somemore, as if that would somehow coax it to crawl back to its feet and deposit itself somewhere else. When that fails, she lugs the pudgy fellow into the corner and sits him up. Still clutching his beermug in his hand, the hobbit comes to and hums to the music, hugging his empty mug to his chest.

Tandern nods, and wander off to refill his mug with wood-ale, passing the two dunlending woman, looking curiously at them as he passes..then shrugs his shoulders, and continues on his way.

Riflo scans the room as he drinks from his mug, some of it dripping down from his chin. He stands from his seat, hearing the speech end and the music stop. Quickly finishing his drink, he sets it down on his former chair, and takes hold of his cane, hobbling through the crowds looking for familiar faces from the shire. His cane clunks on the floor with every step, but it is left unheard , for there is dancing all around him. Eventually he makes his way to a table of hobbits, looking across it smiling, hoping to see one of his nieghbors or cousins. He is interrupted by a Hobbit falling to the ground from a nearby table, leaving Riflo with a laugh.

Pryderi ltes out a comical little yelp as she's yanked about. She peers around Kele-De to see if it's sfae, then feigns annoyance, as if she were perfectly capable of missing the mug herself.

Notably, the tall, grim Strider goes no nearer the festivities.

Pryderi's face lights as she looks to the door. A smile that lends her features youthfull beauty hidden before by her previous emotions curls up her lips and widens her green eyes. She shifts for a moment, then calls out. "Finn! Finn!"

Lundin has managed to find himself not one, but two fresh pints of ale - although the second had to be fought ffrom a tall Breelander. Draining both of these hastily he pulls out his tinder and flint, and attempts to strike a light for the inebriated Lir, although he has precious little success having been only recently wetted with ale himself. With a loud curse, almost audible over the din, he throws the flint and tinder forcefully over his shoulder and grabs at another ale.

Kele-De snorts a bit and then starts to fumble with the raven embossed clasp of her cloak. Free of the garment, she folds it over her arm, smoothes back her hair, and then goes back to her distrustful gaze at the crowd. Her eyes flit to the newcomer, following the girl, then looking back to the others. She never really stops glancing back at the Dunlendings in attendance, however, and her manner is that of one obligated to protect her entire race.

Abigail notices Robbin and gets up from her table. She makes her way the short distance to stand in front of him. "Fine speech there, Robbin!" She glances around the room "And the lanterns seem quite sufficient." She grabs his hand and pulls the hobbit to his feet. "Come on! Lets have some fun!"

Gwait leans forward and sticks his nose at the cloak. He leans back and sniffs at the ale again, "I'm sure." He mutters and puts the drink down. He crosses his arms and looks up, up at the caped human before him. "Aye suppose, we are to make a fortune on some paltry investment." his tone doubting.

Robbin, not exactly the best dancer in Bree, does his best to keep up with the fleet feet of Abigail. One could say he was dancing. Another, though, might think he was just bobbing about.

Fiadhan takes his bearings in the crowd and starts to make his way through, sidestepping where necessary and the odd time using his elbows. His progress is impeded somewhat by the bulky pack he carries on his back, but he finally makes it to his apprentice's side. "What be happening here?" he asks during a lull in the music.

Seemingly hiding out of sight, Gerthan quietly continues to drink from a mug held in his hands. He surveys the scene with both interest and amusement, though remains apart from it at the same time.

Abigail laughs, leaning her head back in the process. "NONESENSE! You're doing great!" and she continues to half drag him around to the upbeat polka

Nikala tries to leap back as a spray of ale heads directly for her, but with the crush of bodies in the room, she has nowehere to go. In the end she just sighs and gazes down defeatedly at her now wet cloak.

Kele-De watches Fiadhan with her hazel eyes, expression same as ever, though her eyes are not hostile in the least. She waits to catch his eye.

Pendebet enters the Guildhall from the market.
Pendebet has arrived.

Spirak enters the Guildhall from the market.
Spirak has arrived.

Gwait scratches his chin and shakes his head, "No, I've heard it mentioned in this room and others." The grey bearded dwarf rocks back on his heals and looks at the ceiling, "But, I know of nothing me self." He steps the few steps that alows him to see Moin again. These humans are far to thick to see right through and all.

Pendebet enters the room, his cheeks a ruddy red from the rude weather outside. Taken aback by the loud activity here, he looks about, trying to locate a friendly face among the crowds.

That done, Strider continues through the crowd as if he'd never paused.

Fiadhan stands at Pryderi's side and peers about the hall, trying to make some sense of the happenings. As his eye roams it encounters the steady gaze of the Deirthair and he raises his eyebrow in question. In spite of the festive atmoshpere, his brow creases a little in concern.

Abigail finally tuckers out and pulls Robbin off the dance floor with her. She plops down into a chair with a breathless laugh and invites Robbin to do the same

Kele-De only nods to the Derwydd in greeting, but a brief gesture to him tells him to come closer to her. the dunlendings have to stick together in this strange city...

Nikala 's muscles tense a little as Strider passes by her. There is not alarm on the woman's cold face however, only an increased alertness. She sweeps her grey eyes about the room again, as if searching for something.

Pryderi looks about the room, a different person then the girl lurking in the corner like a caged mountain cat. She hovers besides Fiadhan, now relaxing enough to actaully watch the crowd for festivities instead of suspicous acts. Her gaze darts at the shout however, before she looks up to Fiadhan to see if he's noticed.

Pendebet spies Riflo, and pushes his way through the drunken throng to stand beside him, "Proudfoot!" he yells, waving to attract the tipsy hobbit. "Proudfoot! Curse all this blasted music..." he stops as the Breelander hit by the mug shouts out.

Riflo turns on the bench he is sitting on in a slow struggle, his face scrunched into a curious smile. As he sees a mad Breelander with a bloodly rag, he tenses up, his face becoming wide and shocked. His mouth opens slightly, with horror and shock, not knowing at first what to do. With unusual speed, he scurries under his table, pulling his cane with him.

Now his circuitous route taking him near the one-eyed smoker of pipeweed, Strider the Ranger pauses beside the fellow. Reaching into his cloak, the disreputable fellow produces a pipe of his own, and not long after it is lit and glowing merrily. He does not speak until after releasing the first puff of bluish smoke, and then it is quiet and subdued.

"... an ... for those ... ... Forontur ... ...," the Ranger tells the one-eyed man, motioning subtly toward the dwarves. "... were ... near ... ... ... ..., and ... were ... of ...."

Spirak enters the room amidst the chaos of the dance, not to mention the fifty or so little groups that shift and weave among the tables talking with each other. He waves and nods to the familiar faces that he sees, and watches the visitors like a hawk, looking for trouble. After a few minutes though, he gives it up, and grabs himself a mug of ale as he watches the on-duty Bree Guards move through the crowd to take care of whatever disturbance they might have spied. Slowly Spirak cicles the room, looking for a familiar face to sit and talk with until he can find a nice hobbit lass to go dance with.

Pendebet gasps, staring wide eyed at the angry Man. He turns back to Riflo, meaning to drag him out of the Hall, but instead sees an empty chair and a bulge in the long white tablecloth draped to the floor, "Proudfoot!" he hisses, urgently.

Lathoren gazes mildly at the bloodied Breelander, eyes lingering on him only a moment as he gazes out from the thick haze of pipe smoke. The growing mutters of those around him that protest the acrid haze earn absolutely no attention from him. In a room packed with people, he is one of the few with no-one around him within arm's length.

Kele-De shakes her head with an annoyed look that fades quickly as she sets her jaw. She closes her eyes a moment, praying patience, and makes her way to the other two of her culture. Again, she looms behind them, eyes on the lookout for what danger might possibly be headed for them.

Johnny enters the Guildhall from the market.
Johnny has arrived.

Spirak moves quickly over to the angered Breelander, grabbing his Bree Guards patch and fastening it to his cloak. "Excuse me sir, we're not looking to have any trouble here, and there's no need to pick on the traveling hobbits. They've had enough adventure just getting here. Trust me, I was there." He smiles a bit as if it was no big thing, and firmly places himself between the Breelander and Riflo. "Now let's go see what we can do with that wee cut, alright?" He gently tugs his arm away from the hobbit table.

Lathoren acknowledges Strider's presence at his elbow with the slightest of nods, so furiously is he puffing at his own pipe. The comment about bandits and dwarves gives him pause, however, and his gaze wanders over to the folk in question. A nearby festival-goer hisses at him, "What are you smoking, troll's dung?" Lathoren pointedly ignores him, save for a thick black smoke ring launched in the man's direction. His gaze follows now the man pursuing the hobbit throughout the hall.

Pendebet grasps the escaping Riflo by the shoulder, and shouts after Spirak and the Breeman, in a shrill, trembling voice, "And let that be a lesson to you, you cad." he leans down, "I've taken care of it, Proudfoot. You can get up, now, and show me where they keep the Greenleaf."

Toregrin enters the Guildhall from the market.
Toregrin has arrived.

Gwait pats Moin on the shoulder waves to Muriel and starts to heat towards the door. He steps around the jossling croud near the hobbit table and pushes the door open heading out.

Gwait heads back out to the South Market.
Gwait has left.

Forantur looks over his shoulders at the Guards, and offers them a respectful nod. "I have some interest in the beer, and," he says to the men, while turning his head from them to the dwarf, "our business would, perhaps, be better done elsewhere... and later. We may both profit by a few proper words--I will find you, when it is time for them."

This last is said with another arched eyebrow at the dwarf, and then a nod. After that, Forantur makes his departure into the crowd, away from Guards and dwarves alike.

Robbin looks about the room for another potential dance partner. He spies a middle-aged woman by herself not three chairs down. "Fiona!" he yells. "Come dance with me!" Fiona turns her head and smiles. She gets up and tears the poor old Robbin off his chair and flings him about the room.

Toregrin enters the guildhall, leaving behind him a wagon on the street. A wheel, newer looking wheel lies on the street, snapped off. The hobbit is uttering curses about shoddy worksmanship and Bree-parts.

Spirak smiles and nods, "Now now sir, I'm sure that Shire hobbits are quite that dumb to go gettin' on your bad side." He winks, and smiles some more, plainly meaning the comment in jest. "Like I said, I'm sure there's a healer somewhere in this little party, and if we're lucky, they'll have time to see to that cut of yours. Now let's get a little more ale in ya, so's you can have a good time."

Pryderi 's gaze flicks to the exit as she spies something. She furrows her brow, then looks back quickly to keep up with Fiadhan.

Abigail finishes her dance with her new found Shire hobbit friend and makes her way back to her seat to rest.

Pryderi blinks and tugs at Fiadhan's arm, whispering.

Riflo gasps in continuing horror as the Breeman waves his favorite cane in the air with utter disregard for it. He pushes Pendebet away, and struggles to his feet, pointing his finger shakily at the man. As shakily as he stands, he says, "No--now you give that back, you here! My brother gave me that cane!" As he finishes, he slowly brings down his hand and turns slightly, a bit frightened of the man.

Pendebet rolls his eyes, and places his hands on his hips.

Toregrin looks around the crowded room, and carefully tries to ease his way through the hustle and bustle of the merchants guild. His waistcoat is quite old, with copper buttons, and his foothair seems uncombed. His eyes are looking around, but focus on ale more than anything else.

Muriel heads back out to the South Market.
Muriel has left.

Nikala heads back out to the South Market.
Nikala has left.

Spirak relieves the big man of the small hobbit's cane, and replaces it with a overflowing mug of Barliman's Best. He smiles and leads the Breelander to the side of the room, handing the cane to Riflo on the way. "I'm just sure one of our healers is around here somewhere." He looks around, but doesn't spot anyone in particular.

Toregrin wades through, waving to those Shire-hobbits that nursed their wagons over here. Finding a glass of ale offered to him, he eagerly accepts and takes a chug...only to spit it out quite rudely suddenly, quite messing up the trousers of some man! Ducking behind several, the fat hobbit quitely moves to the other side of the room.

"And a hobbit at that" another voice calls out. Suddenly a chorus of "coward!" rings out.  The man, hearing a chorus on insults raining on him, becomes insensed, and tries to rip himself free of the guard "Why, why...I'll show you, you, you miserble brats!" he snaps, and getting the cane, he takes a huge sweep at the table of hobbits, swiping off every beermug and resting pipe, sending everything clattering to the ground.

Tandern hearing the huge noice, Tandern looks out and notices the angry man..."Ralph! you fool! You're so drunk ye can't THINK STRAIGHT"

Lotila turns her head at the commotion, frowning slightly, thinking to herself that this isnt' the time for disputes. After a moment, she makes her way in the direction she assumes the disturbance to be in. After all, she has championed hobbits against certain humans in Bree, and now's no time to stop.

Spirak, being unprepared for the attack, gets whipped around as the Breeman takes a swipe at the mocking hobbits. Firmly he grips the big man's hand, and waits till his stroke throws him off balance. His feet planted this time, Spirak grabs the man's hand again and gives him a hard tug, sending him stumbling backwards and tripping over Spirak's neatly placed foot. As the big man comes crashing down, Spirak motions for the other Bree guards to come give him a hand at escorting the oaf out of the dance hall.

Robbin, apparently quite willing to do the waltz, looks over at Abigail sitting a few chairs down and asks, "Would you do me the honor?"

Riflo brings his hands upto his face, covering all but his wide eyes. He shakes his head back and forth in the oeverwhelming horror of the situation, dopping to his knees. "Not my cane!" he whispers, "Not my beautiful cane!" As he finishes his last sentense, he coveres his face entirely with his hands, still shaking his head. Moments later, mugs and pipes fall to the floor in front of him. He stops shaking, and brings his hands down, looking around. He struggles to his feet and points to the man again, this time his arm strong and only his voice shaken. He says, "Go on then! Help the guards!" as he sees Spirak take down the man. A few drunk hobbits, outraged from their ale and pipes being thrown off the table, join in with Spirak.

Fiadhan leads Pryderi around the hall, keeping fairly close to the wall. As they near the doors, however, he stops, staring at the small woman who just entered. After a moment he recovers his manners and stops staring, speaking a greeting instead in the Westron tongue. "Ye be Lotila! I was hoping tae see ye while we were here. I did nae have a chance tae thank ye before we left last time." He turns his smile to Pryderi. "'Tis the wee woman I told ye about!"

Abigail grins and nods and proceeds to join Robbin on the dancefloor for a slower number

Kele-De heads back out to the South Market.
Kele-De has left.

Toregrin is quite surprised by the sudden attacks, and takes several steps back in surprise. He trips over his own feet and lands with a THUD onto the dance floor. He groans, and struggles to get back up.

Lotila pauses on her path to the chaos, turning to look over her shoulder as she hears her name called by someone or another. Scanning the room, she notes Fiadhan, offering him a quick smile and wave. Looking back towards where the problem is, she hesitates for a moment before continuing towards it.

Pryderi blinks as the direction changes. She places a hand on Fiadhan's upper arm to steady herself and peers past him to where he points. She looks down at the woman, up to Fiadhan, then back down, remaining silent.

Toregrin struggles up, and, muttering something about making a fool of himself, squeezes towards the exit. He manages to get out.

Toregrin heads back out to the South Market.
Toregrin has left.

Pendebet climbs up the spiral stairway.
Pendebet has left.

Tandern shakes his head, looking to Riflo "never mind Ralph, he's been drinkin' too much dwarf ale, you know...puts hairs on your chest" he says with a chuckle.

Tandern gets up from his seat, and goes over to where the old hobbit has fallen, and picks him up. "steady on there, dear fellow" he says light-heartedly, and gives him a light shake to try and wake him up. "you awlright, Mr. Proudfoot?"

Johnny walks over to the table that just got all delivery of ale. While one of the drunk hobbits isnt looking he reaches up and grabs his mug.

Riflo moans and mumbles something about Ale as Tandern shakes him, dropping his cane to the floor.

Lotila frowns, not getting an answer to her question. She takes another look around slowly, noticing Riflo on the floor nearby where she is, and the attempted help of Tandern. WIth a sigh, already disliking the ale-festival as she almost always has in past years, she makes her way towards the pair. "Mr. Proudfoot?" she asks, stopping by his side.

Stifling a yawn, Gerthan looks into his mug and finds that he has somehow managed to drain the contents once again. Pushing his way through the crowd, he makes it over to the new delivery of ale, and fights his way to the front of the line, past several drunken hobbits.

Tandern looks up and sees Lotila standing over them, "do you know this fellow?" he asks, grabbing a nearby glass of water, and holding it to the hobbits lips, grinning slightly. "he seems to be stone drunk."

Lotila smirks softly, kneeling as she sets her bag down beside her. "Aren't most who are here?" she replies, reaching over to open her bag just enough to reach her hand into it. "Hold off with that water for a moment if you would, sir."

Abigail laughs and nods. Pulling her skirts up just a little to give her feet some room to move, Gail starts a new round of jigs, Robbin doing a bit better at keeping up

Riflo rolls his head on the floor, and eventually meets with the water, opening his mouth as if to drink. He mumbles something that sounds like, "Bring on the Ale." When he hears Lotila say something about taking away his drink, Riflo furrows his brow and continues to mumble.

Pryderi watches the dancing mostly, with glances to the band. SLowly however, she begins to look bored. Lowering her gaze, she examines the back of Fiadhan's hand within her own, then purses her lips in a small forwn before reaching up with a free hand to comb her fingers through her short hair.

Tandern takes the glass away, and looks curiously at the hobbit woman. "He shouldn't be in this state, not at his age, I'll guess" he says, a hint of concern in his eyes, and then hears Riflo stir.."ach..he'll be okay..he just needs a rest me thinks." he chuckles, and allows Lotila to take over.

Lotila pulls a small container out of her bag, turning to look at Tandern. "Hold that cup here, if you would, sir." she commands amiably, nodding to a spot she can easily reach. Dipping her fingers into the container, she pulls out a tiny amount of white powder which she drops into the cup. "Now, let him drink."

Riflo begins drinking the drink heartily, his brow becoming more eased with every sip. After he is done, he begins licking his lips, smiling.

Lotila sighs, hearing Tandern. "Go if you wish, sir, I will wait until he has regained himself before I myself leave." she mutters, keeping her gaze fixed on Riflo. She reaches her hand out with hardly a glance to take the nearly emptry cup from Tandern.

Pryderi shares Finn's discomfort, hiding disappointment as she nods and looks to the dancers, folding the abandoned hand within the other behind her. She then looks down at the toes of her boots, rocking back and forth on her heels.

Tandern hands the cup to Lotila, torn between guilt and drinking..He sighs, realising that he'd missed the last call. "nemmind" he says "I'll finish off at the pony. Oh, don't forget his cane" he says hurridly, and picks it up and hands the cane to Lotila. "He'll be real angry if he looses this...his favourite I hear." and with that he stands to leave, a sorry look on his face.

Quickly finishing off his newly gotten mug of ale, Gerthan wraps his cloak tightly about him, preparing to head out into the dismal weather that awaits outside. At the mention of cleaning to be done, Gerthan smirks, and slowly, methodically makes his way towards the door. Though he does not have far to go, his path is full of drunken hobbits and manfolk alike, most of them tipsy-turvy, unable to stand up straight. A particularly drunk hobbit throws up in the middle of the room, and Gerthan decides to take the long route to the door. At last reaching the door, he gives one look around the room and plunges into the cold outside.

Robbin whews at the conclusion of the last reel. Heartily, he applauds the band! "WOO HOO!" he yelps loudly. "Excellent work! Well played, well played!"

Abigail refuses to leave the dancefloor, wheelin around with Robbin until the last note of the last reel is played out. Delaying the cleaning crew is the only thing on her mind.

You come out of the Merchants Guildhall.
You come into the Market from the Guildhall