Logs-More Gossip

Combe
The village of Combe rests deep in a wooded, stream-cut valley. The village
itself is cut in two by the stream, simply known as Combe Stream. The stream
itself is tree-lined for much of its course, with a gap in the trees where a
wooden bridge has been constructed across the water. This section of the
village is the northern half, and is sprinkled with several houses of the Big
Folk. The walls of the valley rise behind Combe to the north, while to the
east and west are and Orchard and Farmland, respectively.

Obvious exits:
Gate leads to Austin's Orchard.
Pathway leads to Riverside.
Bridge leads to Combe.

================================== Bree Time ==================================
Real time: Tue Dec 09 02:30:46 2003
Bree time: Twilight <about 8 PM> on Sterday of Autumn - November 27,1430
Moon Phase: Full Moon

Breelands Weather
The twilight autumn air is cool but pleasant around you. A light drizzle
trickles from the sky.
===============================================================================

Evening has come to Combe, and already the autumn mists are swirling up from
the stream to soften the well-kept landscape. The first lights are twinkling
in the windows of the scattered houses, warm and welcoming - and anyone with
any sense has either gone home for their dinner or is about to.

From the fields to the west, a soft bleating arises, and it's from this
direction that the shape of an old man emerges through the mists, the dirty
fleece he wears for protection from the cold already beaded with moisture. He
trudges as slowly as the elderly bitch padding along by his side, and
grumbles to himself as he goes. "Wall needs fixed. Young folk today just
can't do a job right." Then, a little later, "Hope Sally's got the dinner
ready. Eh, Lassie?" The dog doesn't even look up.

Altimos, known by friends simply as Alty, wanders into view from the
riverside path with a lantern held aloft before him in his left hand. His
right hand holds his walking stick as he moves with a sure foot along the
side of the river in hopes of reaching some place nice and warm for the
evening. A whistle is upon his lips so it's the light of the lantern and the
whistle which procedes him. Not that bright if bandits are about, but he's an
optomistic type halfling and so feels in a trusting mood this eve.

Coming across the bridge is a woman- somewhat wide in girth, and not
particularly tall either. A worried look is on her face and a few stick of
bread tucked under her arm as she bustles along, head bowed and facing the
ground as she goes and wavy brown hair falling about her face- which has
begun to wrinkle just slightly- lines of stress etched into her forehead as
she mutters to herself- mostly about the state of her house, shopping and
cleaning to be done, and- as always, concerns about her sons.

"That's the truth," grumbles the wall. "Inferior piece of work, and there's no
saying otherwise." The very heavy mist surrounds a small figure, the voice
well-known in the Breelands for its grating quality. Wilbert Thistlewool
leans down and fingers the wall, chirping, "Oops," as the stone crumbles and
snaps, leaving him with a bite of the rock in his hand. "What's all this,
then?" he asks, squinting at the approaching Breelanders. "It's a fine time
to interrupt my thinking, but it's also good time for me to return to the
house."

Alty pauses in his step just a moment as he recognizes Wilbert's voice ahead
near the bridge, recalling his personal reservations and his attempt to usurp
his election to mayjor by spreading rumors about corruption and criminal
activity. But... such things in this hobbits mind don't last for long cuz
he's not the type to hold a grudge, well.. not for more than one season
anyway. He regains his gate with his lantern held aloft as he comes up off
the lower riverside path to approach the higher path to the bridge, nearing
that area as he stops his whistling.. won't do good to be whistling and miss
out on overhearing any good conversation tid-bits.

The weary-looking dog lifts a whitened muzzle to sniff the air, then lets out a
bark and starts lolloping slowly in Altimos' direction, pale coat flashing in
the dusk light.

The beast's master, whom some at least might recognize as old Hugh
Bramblefleece, halts in his tracks when the wall answers him back, peering
suspiciously. "And just who might /ye/ be? Ye don't look like a labourer,
that's for sure." His shaggy head dips to peer dully in Wilbert's - with the
result that he completely fails to notice the approaching Tasselberry woman
(hard as that is!).

Alty's eyes widen, darn his luck at visiting Combe for each time some massive
dog (at leastwise compared to his own size) comes lumbering at him to terrify
him. Alty screeches out in a high pitched call of panic, "Aaahhh.. back I
say.. I'm not good eating.. too salty!" and starts to do a paniced bit of
dashing about. Alty tries to dart around small trees and bushes with his
lantern throwing shadows about as he darts here and there around, trying not
to get eaten by the dog, "Good doggie... Good doogie." his voice sounding
more like panic than comforting and convincing.

The robust woman, now coming well enough along the bridge to see the
drestruction of a nearby wall, pauses for a moment in her stride, giving a
gentle shake of her head. For a moment, her gaze falls on Hugh and his dog,
and she clears her throat- hoping to draw attention to herself before having
to make some kind of greeting; "Good evening, Mr. Bramblefleece.." now she
looks upon the others assembled and moves forward toward the wall- after all,
the whole situation looks interesting- Mr. Thistlewool destructing property
again, and a whole congregation of folks come to watch. "Good evening," she
now greets the others.

"Off to the house, now, yes," mumbles Wilbert in an aborted attempt at Not
Socializing. For undoubtably his efforts to avoid seeing people will only
result in meeting them face-to-face, or, since he is on the diminutive end of
the height spectrum, meeting them face to neck. The man stands, looks at
Hugh, and says, "I'm not a laborer, but, kind sir, you're...er...well, to be
honest, I've never really labored, but don't hold it against me. Now like I
was saying."

But the train of thought eludes him, leaving Mr. Thistlewool with his mouth
open, staring in confusion about the group.

Alty cries out in his shrill voice as he darts around, trying to elude the dog,
"Llyna.. save me.. call off your dog," not quite realizing its not her dog
and figuring all dogs in this area probably belong to her in some fashion.

Hugh glances at the piece of stone in Wilbert's hand. "Ye were sayin' somethin'
about the wall?" he prompts. Then gives his own diagnosis: "Likely them
youngters 've been climbin' on the wall instead of usin' the gate." And who
should appear but the mother of 'them youngsters'. "Why, good evenin' ta ye,
Mrs Tasselberry," he exclaims heartily, trying to make the best of it. "Trust
yer well - an' yer family too?"

The dog, meanwhile, continues its snail-like plod towards Altimos, seemingly
ignoring the hobbit's yells - though it does halt as the lantern is waved
around, letting out a bark and sniffing worriedly.

Alty darts about frantically, his lantern throwing long shadows as it passes by
trees and bushes. The halfling though is quite nimble and swift and a
difficult target to catch, though the dog seemingly doesn't wish to make a
meal of him to onlookers. Still though, the halfling has 'issues' with dogs
it would seem for he squeels like a little girl as he runs about, "Save
me!... Save me!... A half breed warg is upon me!"

The woman- now revealed to be Rebecca Tasselberry looks first at
Wilbert-somewhat critically, as if trying to figure out where she knew him
from, before looking to Hugh again- "Yes, yes, quite well. Left the twins in
Bree-proper just this morning after a good talkin' to, though I doubt it'll
do any good..." now, those wisened brown eyes turn on the hobbit, and an
eyebrow raises in question. "What's he up to then? No wargs in these parts,
surely- little dog there's got to be as harmless as a little mouse, no need
to go waking half of Combe, surely.. Calm down there!!" She scolds- as if
talking to her own children... now she looks to Wilbert- apparently hardly
thinking between each set of speach. "Who're you, then? Why do I think I know
you? Seen you around? Have family in the area?"

"We built a wall like that once," remarks the little man, pointing across the
town. "Over on my cousin's lan--what *is* he doing?" Given Wilbert's own
dislike of most living things, it's surprising that he isn't the one shouting
for help, but you see something new every day. "Hobbit chased by senile
canine. It's enough to make me laugh. Ha." What comes out is the most
singularly bored chuckle that ever existed, followed by a stare into the
darkening evening landscape.

"Walk a bit faster, and you'll easily outrun that poor dog!" calls the man to
Altimos. "Now where was I?" he asks again, scratching his chin. "Something
about a wall? Oh yes. Mrs. Tasselberry, you probably know my wife, Anabel
Thistlewool. We don't actually live here, just visit occasionally...the
relations in the town...er. I'm a cousin of Giles Thistlewool, of the farm by
the mill."

All the ruckus catches Hugh's attention, and he glances in Altimos' direction.
"She'll not touch ye, little sir," he calls out hastily, before demanding
more sharply, "Lassie! Here!" The elderly dog completely ignores the cry, and
he sighs. "Her hearin's not what it used to be," he explains apologetically
to his two companions, starting to hobble away from them and towards the slow
dog and nimble hobbit. Only to halt in his tracks as Wilbert gives his name.
"Thistlewool - ye wouldn't know a Wilbert Thistlewool, would ye?" he queries,
twisting his head back round. Seems poor Altimos will have to endure the
attentions of the dread 'Lassie' a little longer.

Alty darts around with a wide arch to bring him closer to the people at the
bridge, stopping near them as the dog catches up to him. The halfling is
breathing a bit harder than normal, though apparently nimble by nature and
quick he's fit enough to not be wheezing from all the running he's been
doing. It's a bit of nervous looking about with the light of his lantern at
Rebecca and at the dog as it nears that he realizes he won't be eaten after
all. He still looks a smidge nervous, such is his feelings of inferiority in
protecting himself from things which might attack him. Still though, he steps
two steps closer to Wilbert due to his reputation he figures he might be
someone good to be near if he gets attacked by the dog after all. The little
fella (Altimos) listens up at the conversation going on, to those speaking,
then the dog, to those speaking, back to the dog, a nervous sort of
whimpering, "good puppy" on occasion softly under the voices above.

"There was a great-uncle Wilbert Thistlewool," adds the little man helpfully.
"He's long since dead, of course, though he hung on for a good while, uncle
Wilbert." Mr. Thistlewool (the Younger) shifts his position and stares ahead,
as if thinking; this shall serve only as a reminder of just how absent-minded
the fellow can be. "A good man, if a bit ornery at times."

A blank look washes over the woman's face- perhaps it's her way of expressing
deep thought and concentration. "Thistlewool!?" Rebecca is suddenly snapped
back into life and a look of realisation now finds its way onto her features.
"Ah, Thistlwool, Anabel! Of course! Ah- Mr. Thistlewool- back from your
adventure? Heard rumors I did, but you're probably plenty sick of talking
about it I'm sure- haven't seen you since you returned though, whenever that
was- sure you had a jolly holiday. And Giles of course- comes in to get
bread, yes yes, it all makes sense of course... and you're visiting Sally are
you, Mr. Bramblefleece? Lovely girl, that one.. lovely." Rebecca babbles on,
apparently unaware of anyone who might be wanting to inerupt her apparent
never-ending stream of babble. Now she looks to the hobbit. "Careful- dogs
can smell fear, I've heard!" And now back to Hugh and Wilbert.. "Mr.
Bramblefleece, this is Wilbert Thistlewool here of course."

Alty's eyes widen at Rebecca's words and he snifs his own armpit, then cups his
hand in front of his mouth to breath/sniff his own breath and then flinches
as if he can smell it as well. He takes another step towards Wilbert while
looking fearful at the dog now and bumps into Wilberts leg solidly.

"Mmm," Hugh grunts to Wilbert, shaking his head. "No, I meant the feller from
Bree proper, little man. Has an interest in the Council, they say. I'm
lookin' fer someone who knows about them things ta help me make a Complaint."
The capital letter on that last word can almost be heard. As Rebecca speaks,
his mouth falls open. "So /this/ is Wilbert Thistlewool?" he asks her,
blinking. Then murmurs to her out of the side of his mouth, "Must be
somethin' wrong with a feller who forgets his own name." He eyes the small
man a little suspiciously now.

The dog, Lassie, meanwhile, pads slowly up to where Altimos stands, and reaches
out a curious muzzle - to sniff gently not at armpit, nor at the broad mouth,
but the curly hair atop the hobbit's head. And Wilbert's leg, of course,
given it's nearby.

Two eyebrows raise up. "Oh yes, and there's *me*," adds Wilbert with shades of
humility. "I'm not quite dead, though I fear there's men out there who would
prefer it that way, after our little...er...holiday, I suppose. Yes, that's
it." A nervous cough follows. "I was just heading back to my cousin's for
dinner before certain hobbits ruined by *appetite* good day Mr. *Mortimus*."
This last bit is said all as one sentence, sternly, a sort of reminder as he
inches away from the dog.

"You see, sir, I don't often get requests for anyone seeking my company, you
could say. It's not as if I forget my own name but really it's more that I
forget my own...er...my own *presence*. I get so carried away in the affairs
of the town." Another way to say that he's absentminded and also has a nasty
habit of gossip on the side, but he does sound convinced that this is the
Best Thing. "I've connections to the council, yes. Complaint? I've a few of
those myself, and I could probably find time to bring yours in as well..."

An amused smile now finds its way to Rebecca's full, red lips as she watches
the hobbit smelling himself, though she says nothing more, but turns back to
Hugh with a sorrowful nod of her head. "Yes, this is Wilbert here...I know,
yes, it's quite terrible- say his little holiday changed him so he can't
think straight anymore.. Maybe he got a bump on his head while he was away-
affected his memory..." Despite the fact that this whole comment should be
kept rather hush-hush, it seems as though Rebecca has gone to little trouble
to keep it this way...

Alty listens to the conversation as much as he can mange, but whent he dog
comes at him and sniffs his head she can't take it no more, bolting, he turns
and darts off into the darkness, his lantern offering flits of light as it
swings before him as he runs off into the distance, "Aaaahhh." his voice can
be heard for nearly 1/4 of a mile as he runs and runs and runs towards
Llyna's house/orchard.

"Little .. holiday?" Hugh echoes, glancing expectantly at Rebecca. He seems to
have believed her words implicitly, for there's noticeable reluctance in his
tone as he turns to Wilbert once again. "Aye well, I'm sure yer a busy man,
wouldn't want to bother ye ..." The words trail off as Altimos's yelling
reaches his ears. "Now, what's /that/ all about?" he wonders, staring after
the halfling for a moment before he notices Lassie still sniffing eagerly at
Wilbert's leg. "Oy! Here, girl!" This time the words are accompanied by a tap
of his staff on the dog's rump, and whereas speech alone had no effect, at
the tap she turns to pad back to her master quite biddably.

"Busy. Yes, yes, of course." But only if you count sitting on the front steps
and giving 'friendly advice' to passer-bys busy. In fact, after leading an
Exciting Life for a few weeks, the man has almost considered doing something
to relieve his boredom besides what other idle Breefolk do (gossip, steal,
bother the neighbors, drink ale) and perhaps even find himself a career. But
that shall have to wait. "Busy." Wilbert restates this last bit and lingers
there for a while. "In fact," he adds with excitement. "I'm so busy that I
now remember what I was originally going to ask. Would you mind moving? I
need to walk home before dark."

Rebecca nods eagerly to Hugh, then watches as the hobbit runs off- one eyebrow
raising though only briefly, before her attention turns back to Wilbert. "Oh-
but what's the hurry Mr. Thistlewool- we've only just started talking, and
there's plenty of time left before it gets pitch, and you need to be home
safe! I mean, I'm certain you can spare a few more minutes for a friendly
chat- take time out of that busy schedule of yours, as it were- how is Anabel
after all, I heard she was quite a wreck after your disappearance.." A quick
turn to Hugh, with hardly a breath spared in between. "Have you met Anabel? A
lovely woman- absolutely lovely." back to Wilbert- "You be sure to give her
my regards now, will you- and tell her we must catch up again, for tea, and a
chat."

Hugh eyes Wilbert rather ..oddly.. as he moves a foot or so away. "Forget
things like that often, do ye?" he enquires with deceptive meekness to the
man, before responding to Rebecca's gushing. "No, I've not met an Annabel,
far as I know. Could be young Sally'd know her." He pauses for breath, then
prompts his companions gently, "An' ye were saying somethin' about a ..
holiday, weren't ye?" Seems Rebecca's not the only one with an interest in
gossip.

"Tea, of course," says Wilbert, stepping around the others. "I'll be sure to
tell her to stop by while we're about here, because coming over in the winter
can really be a dreadful task. Good evening to you both, and sir, stop by
Giles' farm over there with your complaint; I wouldn't be to busy to bring it
up at all. After all, every citizen must be cared for. Good evening."

With that, the smaller man shuffles off, leaving unanswered questions. He
chucks a small object behind him; anyone taking the effort to find it would
only find what was formerly the wall.

"Holiday, yes.. well, it was said Mr. Thistlewool here.." Rebecca trails off,
looking somewhat disappointed. "Yes, tea- make sure you remember!" (Said
sternely- to make sure he does, in fact, remember, what with forgetting his
name and all) "Good evening Mr. Thistlewool, have a good night!" Now, as soon
as he's out of hearing range, Rebecca turns quickly back to Hugh. "Yes, well
you know he disappeared? I've heard it said that he went on some kind of
holiday, somewhere east, maybe? To get away from Bree, as it were- much like
my Megan, I think.. But I suppose that story seems more plausible than his
kidnapping, anyway!" And she nods her head, matter-of-factly.

Lassie lets out a single bark and plods a little way away, her questing nose
parting the damp grasses in search for the object Wilbert had dropped, just
in case it was some tasty treat. Alas that it is not.

Hugh, for his part, watches Wilbert leave and shakes his head. "Not sure I want
ter ask a man like that fer help," he grumbles. "Feller who can't even
remember his name - an' if I were ye, I'd send someone else with yer
invitation, Mrs Tasselberry." By now he's turned back to Rebecca, and he nods
sagely as he listens to her gossip. "Ye reckon he jist got the wanderin' bug
and went gallivantin' furrin parts? Ah, but where would a man get the money
fer that?" There's interest in his brown eyes as he peers in the direction
Wilbert's now vanished.

"He didn't used to be so forgetful, if I knew him any before he went away.."
Rebecca muses, her brow furrowing in thought, though only for a moment. "No,
no I trust him to deliver it, and I'll probably bump into Anabel before she
leaves anyway..." though- Rebecca's definition of "bumping into someone"
generally involves marching up to their doorstep and demanding to have tea
and gossip, occasionally it does happen that she manages to "bump"... "Well,
that's what I've heard, and I've heard he has plenty of money! Plus, it don't
cost all that much to go travelling- just look at my Megan; she's run off to
the Shire, and she's got hardly a coin to her name! How's she's eating and
accomodating herself I don't know- though I heard that Thatcher fellow is
with her- I don't know how well he'd do to provide for her, after all- they
hate each other, last I heard... but.. well what was I saying?.. Oh! Of
course! Yes, Mr. Thistlewool has plenty of money to spare for viting foreign
parts!"

Hugh looks unconvinced. "I know /I'd/ not have means ta afford it," he insists,
scowling. "And them as has money should be investin' it in the town,
rebuildin' the Town Hall and the like, not fritterin' it away on foreign
travel. Not that I'm criticizin' young Miss Tasselberry, mind!" he adds.
"It's very different ta go visitin' friends from a place where most folk are
decent and respectable than it is to go East. Heard they got bandits and all
sorts, out that way! Oh," he pauses a moment to ask casually, "Have ye heard
from yer daughter? Young Betsy's always askin' me when she'll be back, seems
ta think highly o' her."

Rebecca shrugs, her attention wavering slightly. "I suppose it's his money to
do what he will with it. After all, Mrs. Thistlewool can become a bit
overbearing sometimes; I don't exactly blame him for taking off... " Though
Rebecca nods in understanding. "Yes, yes, I know- the Shire is quite a lot
different then going somewhere unknown.. Though, I'm not sure if it was east
exactly- I've heard all directions from all folks, some even said he went and
hid with hobbits for all the time he had disappeared. He's small enough that
he could probably pass as one! Maybe he was hiding at the Shire!" A pause,
and another shrug- a look of concern again. "No, well, Jacob recieved a
letter some time ago but it didn't say anything about coming back.. It's her
birthday in a few days- I'm surprised she's not home; she is turning
Eighteen, after all... if she doesn't come home by the time winter fully
hits, I'll have to send the twins out to bring her home."

Hugh shakes his head. "I wouldn't do that, Mrs Tasselberry!" the words are out
of his mouth before he can stop them. "That is - I'm sure there's plenty of
folk who'd go look for you, folk as has experience. Mebbe one o' the
Breeguards would make the trip west? Or some merchant-types. Better sendin'
someone who's used ter travel, instead o' two young lads. Anyways, I'm sure
she'll come safe back," he ends, though his tone is more doubtful than
certain. He runs out of steam at this point, and falls silent as Lassie comes
plodding back, whining softly. "Want yer dinner, girl?" he guesses, looking
down, then announces to the world in general, "It /is/ gettin' a touch dark."

One eyebrow is raised at Hugh, though Rebecca doesn't look too impressed with
the ideas of sending strangers after her little girl. "Well, Adrian and Jacob
have done plenty of travelling- they're plenty used to it, but maybe you're
right..." a pause- a doubtful look on her face, too. "Yes, I'm.. sure she
will too- that Thatcher fellow will be taking good care of her.. " an
insistant nod. "Yes- he'll bring her back safely, I'm sure." Now, Rebecca
takes a glances around- eyes widening in surprise. "Yes! It /is/ getting
dark! James will be expecting dinner and I haven't even made it home yet!
Poor thing- he'll be sitting around his table waiting for me to arrive home..
Lucky Anna is there- she'll be taking care of him!" Now, she starts off,
homeward- "Good evening Mr. Bramblefleece!"

"Good evenin', Mrs Tasselberry," Hugh responds in kind, ducking his head. Quite
fortunate, really, it helps hide the sceptical expression that flits across
his face when 'that Thatcher fellow' taking good care of Megan is mentioned
(though the snort he gives is audible enough). He pauses a moment to let the
large woman get past, then hobbles after her rather more slowly, stopping
every now and then as Lassie sniffs at the air or barks at the rustlings of
some small nocturnal creature. "Wonder if that Thistlewool feller made it
home, or if he forgot he was supposed ta be goin' there?" he murmurs
thoughtfully as he walks. Alas, for tonight at least he's unlikely to find
out the answer ...