Elendor - Tuesday, November 21, 2000, 2:34 PM

The Prancing Pony - Common Room
Contents:
Jorin
Froin
Bifur

Standing near the bar is a rather short but stout figure. His brightly mailed chest stands out as he gets the attention of the barkeep. In a harsh, gravelly voice, Bifur calls out, "Akh! Service if'n ya please! A Gondorian ale!" With a smirk and a roll of his eyes, he adds, "That is, if'n ya ain't sold outta that brew as well, master barkeep..." The aged dwarf smiles toothily, apparently rather pleased with his little jab at the bartender.

A dwarf a bit taller than Bifur, stands by his side with travel garments, looking at the crowd near the bar. "Nay.. no table.." he mutters in a low voice.. then, turning to Bifur, he shout "No table!!". He then turns to the bartender and shouts, just to be heared over the crowd "One more for me, ain't?"

A cool breeze accompanies Gerthan as he walks into the common room of the Prancing Pony. The door into the room squeaks shut on its rusty hinges behind him. He nods to a few people he knows, though he doesn't stop to talk to them. Instead, he weaves his way through the afternoon crowd and makes his way over to the bar. Stopping a little short of the bar, he smiles at the dwarves talking of drinking. He finds an empty stool at the bar, next to one of the dwarfs, and takes a seat, ordering an ale for himself.

Glancing briefly over at Froin, the old war marshal grunts loudly, "Any luck findin' a weed dealer yet, Master Froin?" As if he weren't even interested in hearing Froin's response, Bifur turns to look towards the entryway. He eyes Gerthan with a long gaze, as if appraising the man. Following a disinterested sip from his mug, he shrugs his shoulders and complains, "Akh, I'll have ta have the guild bring a wagon out here so ole Barliman can restock the good stuff. No dwarven ale indeed..."

With little warning a fellow of just over 4 feet, clothed in a deep green outdoors cloak, makes his way into the common room followed by two dwarves of similar size and appearance. The trio of green clad dwarves pause at the doorway, stepping aside to let Gerthan through, and whisper amongst themselves a moment before the lead fellow, bearing a smoking pipe and a great deal of gold jewelry, steps forward and takes a seat at one of the corner alcoves. From his little niche he watches appreciatively as his pair of comrades clomp up to the bar to tend to the refreshment needs of the group.

As the crowd opens a bit to let Gerthan pass, Froin takes a long sip from his tankard, weting his long blue beard and giving a sigh of satisfaction as the golden ale runs through his throat. "AAhhh.." He acomodates his belt and asnwers Bifur's almost-a-question "Aye.. I have seen no dealer.. let's see if I have more luck today.". Then his sips again and turns to see the three dwarfs entering the room.

Taking a long draft of ale, Gerthan lets out a sigh of contentment. "Mmmm. It's been quite a while since I've had a proper draft of old Barliman's," he says to himself, more than anyone else. Turning his attention to the dwarf standing closest to him, Bifur, Gerthan says, "Pardon me, my good dwarf, but I was wondering what business you and your folk have in Bree. I've been away in the Chetwood hunting, and I haven't heard much more than a little bit of gossip as to why you are here."

Belegur comes into the common room from the foyer.
Belegur has arrived.

Bifur grunts loudly, raising his mug slightly in the direction of the dwarves who just entered as if in greeting. Motioning over to the other dwarves, the old war marshal muses to Froin, "Friends o' yers?" Again, without waiting for an answer, the aged dwarf turns his attention to the human seated just next to him. Bifur appears to be in no rush to answer Gerthan's question, taking quite some time to look over the human. At last he responds in a harsh, gutteral voice, "Akh, our business is business... if'n ye take me meaning." As almost an afterthought, he adds, "Of course there are other matters as well..."

The dwarf seated in the corner runs his fingers through his lengthy brown beard thoughtfully as he waits for his lads to return with a fresh drink, and as is usual with him, his thoughts are drawn toward business. His hand drops instinctively to the pocket of his blue hued tunic and a short scroll with much wear is drawn out. Searching eyes scan through markings of ink which only the trained eye of the trader could decypher, but judging by the dwarf's face something doesn't quite add up. A glance of impatience is shot toward the duo of dwarves at the bar and Jorin's attention is suddenly drawn to the two dwarf-folk whom he had not even bothered to noticed upon his entrance. The cross look of the Ereborian turns into an expression of uncertainty and faint recognition at the sight of his kinfolk from the west.

After a new large sip of his beer that almost finishes it, Froin glances at the dwarfs taking seat in the free table. He examines the one in the rich garments and turns to Bifur opening his mouth to ask a question, but the old dwarf is asking him the same question.. "Err.. no.. haven't seen them 'fore". Then, turning to the bartender again, "Ay Bart, gimme another one of this golden, ain't!" He gives no attention to Gerthan's question.

The lack of recognition on the part of Froin doesn't seem to bother Bifur at all. In fact, he repeats his greeting to the dwarves in the corner, raising his mug in acknowledgement and smirking slightly, though he says nothing. With a turn towards Gerthan, Bifur's harsh voice rumbles, "In truth, I be lookin' fer a... ahem..." Bifur clears his throat a moment before continuing, "a friend o' mine... a fellow who goes by the name Kruin. One of me folk... though I expect ye ain't seen any of me kind seein' as ye been huntin' the Chetwood, eh?"

Shaking his head, Gerthan says, "No, I doubt I have. Is he supposed to be meeting you here in Bree?" He takes another drink of ale, and looks into his mug, weighing whether or not he is ready for another round. He puts his mug down and continues on, "You might want to try asking Niebel. He's a hobbit from these parts, and he is always sticking his nose where it don't belong, so I reckon he might know where your friend can be found, if he is around here, that is."

Leaving the empty tankard over the bar and taking the new full one, Froin turns to the important looking dwarf seated in the table and nods, staring curiously at the emblem of his chest. Then, he lifts his beer and takes a sip, smiling. After a while, he notices the man besides Bifur and gives him a short nod, with a grin. He approaches the table with the three dwarfs in it, and says "Maybe our cousins are so kind to.."

With a smile, sharing Bifur's words of greeting, and barely noticing Belegur, Froin drops himself in one of the free seats, without waiting for Bifur to join them. He sighs in relief leaving the tankard over the table and glancing over the three dwarfs. "Well.. a wonder I keep my accent, cousin, since I've been out from our lovely mountains for more than a century, but maybe a few words with my brothers and it's done! Luin's accent again!" he exploits in a noisy laugh and takes a sip. "I'm looking for a good weedpipe dealer" he takes off his own pipe "Do ya know one?"

Jorin stands slowly from his seat in the corner of the commons, aided with a heave of exaggerated breath, and begins a purposeful stride toward the dwarves at the bar. Snatching up a few ales from the barkeep, one of the Thane's comrades notice his superior headed in his direction and nudges the other fellow, who leaps forward to offer his assistance. The Thane waves off his companion with a sigh, but before he can proceed further he is intercepted by the dwarf Froin. "Ah, my kin from the Blue Mountains!" he shouts over the general din of the common room, and then continues more quietly, "I'd know that accent anywhere, cousin. Please, do sit down." Shifting his weight and turning back to his chair he seats himself first and, looking up, says, "What brings you here, cousin?"

 Taking a sharpening stone out of his pocket, the aged dwarf by the bar starts examining it. For a minute or so, it seems as if the dwarf has forgotten the conversation he was just in. But after a bit, his attention again turns to Gerthan with a somewhat thoughtful glance. He appears about to speak when Jorin's exclamation interrupts. Appearing a bit peeved at first, the irritation quickly dissipates as he finds the source of the disturbance. Smiling broadly, the old war marshal raises his mug once more and says in a loud voice, "Ta Dain, King Under the Mountain, may his beard ever grow longer... a welcome sight ye are in this town, cousins..." With that disposed, Bifur turns to Gerthan again and smirks slightly, "Now then... this Niebel fella ye be speakin' of... where might I get a hold of this hobbit?"

Finishing off his ale, Gerthan blinks, as if coming out of a daze. He puts his mug on the counter, promptly orders another one, and turns to Bifur. "Now then, what was that I was saying? Ahh, yes! Niebel, that dratted troublemaker. Yes, if anyone in town knows where to find your friend it would be him. He's often here in the Pony, but as I've been out of town, I'm not sure where he's gotten himself holed up these days. You can't miss him, though, always trying to be the center of attention and all..." He trails off as another mug of ale arrives, and he starts to work on it.

Belegur speaks again to Maple, who is cleaning mugs behind the bar, over his cup. Those nearby might catch his words, questions about Bree and the conditions of the road, and any news of bandits or other disturbing things in the neighborhood, to which the barkeep seems happy enough to gossip about, chatting on while cleaning and serving. These are local concerns, after all, and seem apology enough for Belegur's rough appearance which matches the rough words of the dwarves, or perhaps Maple knows him well enough regardless.

Jorin smiles with an enthusiasm he has not showed in months and months at the recognition of Lord Bifur across the way at the bar. Unable to resist he once again raises his voice over the din, this time clutching his pipe he raises it into the air over his head. "Huzzah!" he shouts in reply to the hailing, "...And may your business never run dry!" A broad grin is etched upon his chiseled face as he returns his attention to Froin. "That's Lord Bifur over there, is it not? I wish to have a word with him before we leave this evening..." he pauses, allowing Froin to identify himself. "Eh, perhaps..." he adds with a snide nod, "Perhaps if I knew what exactly a 'weedpipe' dealer was..."

The old dwarf seated in front of Jorin sips again his beer and, reminding his courtesies, he looks somewhat embarrased as he says, "Uh.. I'm sorry I haven't introduced myself, cousins, my name's Froin and that standing there is Lord Bifur, you're right" and without waiting for the others to answer, he stands again on his feet. "And I'm very sorry the Closet awaits me, urgently" He finishes his beer with a large sip and drops it on the table, with a 'clank!', and heads his way to the Water Closet...

A rather harsh chuckle escapes the lips of the aging dwarf, though his expression seems rather stolid and business-like. Catching a brief bit of Belegur's conversation, Bifur chortles and can't resist a jab, "I ain't seen no disturbin' things... Not 'less ya count hobbits eatin' yer breakfast out from under ya as disturbin', eh?" Bifur doubles over in laughter, rather pleased with his little jab at the hobbit folk. After recovering himself, he takes a long drink from his mug and wipes his beard with the back of his hand, "Ahhhh... well then, if'n this be the place ta seek out this Niebel fellow, I suppose I'll need another drink, eh?"

Froin turns the knob to the door on the water closet and jiggles it a few times before hearing a muffled voice call out, informing him that it is occupied.

Belegur looks Bifur over with a steady eye, his forehead perhaps slightly creased at the gregarious dwarf's words. He evinces a slight shrug. Dwarf humor is hard for mortals to follow, they say. "Now then, good sir, what roads have you been on that are so clear of disturbing things? Can I assume you speak of the west road, with this talk of hobbits?" He punctuates his question with a sip from his cup. His articulate speech belies his wanting looks.

From the lead Ereborian, an uncomfortable smirk is given to the older dwarf as he removes himself from the table while a hushed chortle escapes the lips of one of Jorin's huskarl. Sharing pretty much the same sentiments, the Thane turns his attention to the goings-on at the bar, quenching his weariness with ale while he awaits a chance to speak with the dwarf-lord.
Nodding, Gerthan says to Bifur, "Where Niebel's concerned, you'll probably need more than one drink." He shakes his head in disgust, and continues drinking his beer.

Marmadoc comes into the common room from the foyer.
Marmadoc has arrived.

The question from Belegur draws a curious eye from Bifur. Sizing up Belegur for the first time, the old war marshal shrugs his shoulders indifferently, "In truth the roads I have traveled far outnumber those I have not... and of late, I have found few in these parts that offer any cause fer concern ta those well-prepared fer travel. But for the present, yea, I speak of the road west."

Marmadoc steps through the open doorway that leads out to the Foyer.
Marmadoc has left.

His ears perking up at the talk of travel from Bifur, Gerthan can't help but interject himself into the conversation between Bifure and Belegur. "Tell me," Gerthan says, "where have you travelled? That is, if it's not much trouble. I haven't been much abroad lately, and I would be interested to hear any news beyond Bree." He takes another swig of ale, and then lightly smacks himself in the forhead. "Ah! But forgive me, I haven't even introduced myself proper yet. I'm Gerthan, a hunter in these parts."

Belegur grunts in response to Bifur's rather roundabout answer, wondering if all dwarves take the long route to a question's answer. "You are the most dwarves," he motions around the common room, "I've seen in Bree for some time..." he pauses as Gerthan asks after news beyond Bree, and settles back with a supporting nod. No other Breelander seems remotely interested in such a report.

Standing up to his full height of four feet, Bifur offers his hand to Gerthan with a smirk and a tilt of his head, "Akh, if'n I was ta tell ye every place I been ta in me life, I'd bore ye ta death 'fore I finished." Shaking his head, the old war marshal glances at Belegur and adds, "I suppose that's on accounta more gold 'n silver ta be made elsewhere... " Back to Gerthan, Bifur grunts and strokes his beard idly, "Of late, I have stayed on the western side of the Misties. Rather mundane places... nothin' much beyond a few silvers ta be made here and there... not the news that would perk the ears of Breefolk, certainly"

The dwarfven trio in the corner pleasantly go about their much needed relaxation, the two subordinate fellows doing most of the talking while Jorin goes about refilling his pipe for another go. As he packs his tobacco he snickers to himself again, shaking his head wih amusement, "Weedpipe indeed!"

Offering as an afterthought, Bifur adds, "But pardon me... I am Bifur, King's Marshal and Lord of the Realm in the service o' Dain Ironfoot, King Under the Mountain... " With that, he bows, though not overly deep.
Belegur blinks a few times as Bifur speaks much but says little about goings-on outside of Bree. Quirking an brow, he asks curiously, "...What realm is that, sir? And what Mountain?

Nodding again, Gerthan says, "Ahh! It is my pleasure to meet you then, Lord." Gerthan rises up out of his chair and bows in return to Bifur. "Who would have thought, a King's Marshall in Bree?" He scratches his chin absently, and his eyes gain a far away look. "Bifur, Bifur..." He repeats, seemingly trying to place where he might have heard such a name, if ever.
 

Bifur shakes his head and lets loose a harsh laugh, "Akh! What realm indeed... none other than that of the House of Durin. As fer the mountain I speak of, tis the Lonely Mountain. But that is far ta the east of here and I expect of no import ta ye folk, eh?" Finishing off his mug, the old dwarf shakes his head and chuckles, "A long way from home..."

Froin heads out of the Water Closet, grining to a fellow just standing near the door. "Do I have to set your pangs! and pongs! over your head, mister!" he shouts to the man scred man, that dissapears quickly into the Closet. He walks fast towards the table where he was seated and, reminding his ale was over, turns to the nearest corner of the bar and shouts over the crowd "One more golden gondorian, bart!" and as he waits for his beer, he turns to look out the scene.

Laughing a little, Gerthan says, "Of course! Bifur! Now I remember where I've heard your name before. It was a hobbit by the name of Bilbo that was talking about you, or your folk at any rate. I can't remember the specifics, but I think it had to do with bringing him a pipe, maybe?" He takes another drink of ale, finishing it off, and turns back to Bifur, "I'm not mistaken, am I?"

With a snort Jorin greets the returning dwarf. "Ah, cousin, glad you're back!" he says bemusedly, "You never answered my question before as to what you're doing in these parts." Adjusting his pipe in his lips he smirks and awaits an answer, failing to hide his curiosity.

Marmadoc says, "Bilbo... I recall mention of a Baggins of that name back when I lived in Buckland."

With a quick glance back to Gerthan, Bifur tugs on his beard, "Aiy! Ole Bilbo been runnin' his mouth 'gain?! Heh heh... the old codger probably gone batty by now. Though I thought his travelin' days were done fer. Fer sure I'da thought he'da had 'nough o' that. Always wantin' a hot breakfast that one... a wonder he ever made it. Still, a good fellow in a pinch..." Bifur's mind seems to wander even as he speaks. Suddenly he stands up straight and says "Akh, but that reminds me... excuse me, if'n ye please. I must find one of those blasted hobbits ta fix me room... a hobbit bed just won't do fer a dwarf..." With that, Bifur excuses himself and heads out of the common room rather abruptly.

Seemingly warming to a new spectacle in the person of this Bifur, Belegur motions for Maple to refresh his drink as he asks more questions along with Gerthan, although Belegur treats the dwarf, and dwarves, as a somewhat more novel concept than the hunter does. "So, you live in the house of this Durin, and Dain lives in a mountain far east of here. He is your King, and you are his liege-man, then," he mutters, getting the facts straight, "And why is he called ironfoot? Does he have a foot of iron, or does he just enjoy walking around so that those following get footsore?" The man's questions, while asked casually, can be appreciated perhaps as somewhat more discerning than some farmers.

The bartender looks embarrased as he walks towards the old dwarf, behind the protection of the long bar "I'm sorry the Gondorian Ale is out, mister.. err.. we got a supreme Shire Ale.." Froin shakes his head "How is it I just pissed the Gondorian and now it's out?" the bartender shrughs his shoulders and Froin looks very disppointed and ungry, but finally agrees "yea.. okey okey.. bring that mare's piss you call an ale and steal me my four coppers!" he pays as the bartender hands him the tankard and turns to Jorin again, walking towards the table. He drops in his seat and answers "I'm sorry, cousin, I've got an urgent.. well.." he coughs "I'm looking for a pipeweed dealer.. do ya know any who will steal me less than tha bartender there?"

As Belegur's questions fall on deaf ears at Bifur's departure, Gerthan seems to realize he is out of ale. Pushing his mug away from him, Gerthan orders up another mug of Barliman's Brew. He takes a long drink, and looks about, stopping on Marmadoc. "You lived in Buckland, then? What brings you here into Bree? I haven't heard of any hobbits moving into Bree since... Well, since I've been here anyways, at least, I don't think so... Hmm." He scratches his chin, then takes another drink from his mug of ale.

Marmadoc says, "Twas when I was younger. My parents travelled here often because we had some family in the region. I came to live with someone in town after they died."

Jorin raises an eyebrow to the older dwarf as he takes his seat once more. "I may know of a pipeweed dealer or two," he smirks, "...and if you're lucky they won't rob ye either!" The Thane takes another puff from his pipe, exhaling a long stream of soft fragrant white smoke into the ceiling. "..But I'm a far superior dealer than the likes of them." he muses.

Marmadoc says, ""

Marmadoc says, "Anyway, I have my own place now."

Absently running his fingers through his slightly unkempt hair, Gerthan nods to Marmadoc. "I see. Do you visit the Shire regularly, then?"

Marmadoc says, "Not really. I don't like to travel."

Marmadoc says, "I don't know many people there."

As several of the patrons start to clear out of the common room after the lunching hour, more and more tables free up around the room. Gerthan notices all this, and sighs, a little, perhaps because he had been waiting for someone, or for some other reason. In any event, he turns his attention back to Marmadoc, who is walking over towards the dart board, and says, "Well, if you don't like to travel, I guess Bree is as good a place as any to call home these days."

Marmadoc says, "Yes, and it's also easier to pick up on news of the outside world here. Not many big people travel to the Shire."

Marmadoc steps through the open doorway that leads out to the Foyer.
Marmadoc has left.

Froin sips the beer and grins "A mare's piss, I told ya". Anyway, he drinks all the tankard in two large sips. "If ya don't know a dealer here, I'll ask tha bartender on the morrow, now I'll go out there to the stables to see how my pony's cared. I'm sure he deserves a drink better than this!" He smiles and finally, he says... "I'm sorry, cousin, your name was....?"

The tobacco dealer, Jorin, nods to Foin thoughtfully. "See me tomorrow here in the commons if you'd like to do business, sir. Have old Barley fetch the Ereborians and we'll talk." says Jorin. He nods to his companions who draw out a few coins and head up to the bar to pay. With a simple nod the Thane dismisses himself and heads out the door followed closely by his fellows.

Froin steps through the open doorway that leads out to the Foyer.
Froin has left.

You step through the open doorway that leads out to the Foyer.

Foyer

You step out of the large doorway and walk down a few steps until you are once more standing under the archway before the Prancing Pony Inn.

Archway to the Prancing Pony(#22721RLnto)

Contents:
Malorie
Thomail
Bob

Thomail's grin turns to a thoughtful smile as he considers Malorie's words. "Just for a day..." he repeats to himself, then glances again at the sky. "Ah, if only it weren't raining. But we can't let the boards get soaked." He shakes his head and says, "I've nothing that you could do today. It's hardly a day for outdoor work anyway."

The girl stubbornly kicks at the ground yet again, seeming to punctuate a passing thought. "Aye." Malorie says curtly. Her brows furrow a bit, then she musters, "An' what work might you have on a day o' good weather?" Her green gaze is sharp upon the carpenter.

Thomail's grin breaks out again, theough a little sheepish looking, and he shrugs. "Well, you said hauling wood was a special skill of yours. It happens I've a load of boards on the ground to bring into the shop." He pauses and the grin fades. "But with the rain coming down this way we can't uncover them. It would be the ruin of them."

"Aye'n this weather will be th' ruin o me," Malorie grumbles. The doors to the Pony open and two hobbits half stumble out. Seems they've had too much to drink as they barely navigate the steps in chuckles and slurred speech all the way to the roadway. Malorie eyes them with some fair measure of distaste..or it could simply be the remnants of her recent musings. Casting a final gaze to the sky she once more brings her gaze to the carpenter and offers a cheerless and curt nod. "I'd better be gettin some breakfast," she says quietly, and turns on her heel to enter into the common room.

Thomail sighs. "I'd better be about business, too, I suppose." He looks out to the weather, then in towards the Inn as though debating which to attend to. The dry wins out as he turns to go inside. "Suppose I'd better hunt up Mr. Butterbur."

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