What
Idle talk in the common room of the Prancing Pony.

Who
Bavor (#25001)................Jon Goatleaf
Leuvan Trackland (#???).......himself
Gerthan Greenbriar (#10530)...Gerthan Acirag

As the moon continues on its path over the leagues of Eriador the common room of the Prancing Pony is only a little less noisy and boistrous than usual: Big and Little Folk of the Bree-lands, travellers from the Shire and Dunland, even a few Dwarves, sit, eat, drink, and talk in the inn. Among these is farmer Jon Goatleaf, a large, heavyset fellow seemingly more brawn (or fat) than brain, sitting by the bar sipping on a mug of brew.

A strange man wonders into the Prancing Pony, looking unsure of himself. Takes off his hat and brushes the dust off his cloak. One can see that this is a man of the land, strong arms, tough hands and leathery skin. His eyes are deep yet kind. Walking over to the barkeep he asks him a quiet question. The barkeep jestures out the window. The stranger says "Thank you" and walks to the other side of the room. Whiping the dust from the window the man looks south and sighs.

The door to the famous Prancing Pony's Common Room creaks open on its hinges, bringing with it a warm draft of air that causes a few candles near the door to flicker. As the door is pushed open, Gerthan steps into view, and some of the disinterested patrons take a casual glance in his direction, before returning to their own conversations or quiet contemplations. The hood of his cloak is drawn over his head, and he pushes it back, causing a few drops of water to splatter off the cloak onto the floor below. Indeed, upon closer inspection Gerthan is almost entirely soaked with water. Although it is summer and far from the cold winter months, Gerthan walks over towards the fireplace, and quickly busies himself with lighting it, in an effort to dry himself faster. A plump hobbit waitress slowly makes her way around the room, finally arriving near Gerthan, and he quietly orders something from her, before getting the fire started. He takes his cloak off and sets it next to the hearth. Casually running a hand through his hair, he turns from the hearth and surveys the room.

Jon seems to be enjoying his drink, as he orders another glass, having drained the first a moment ago. "Hoy there!" he calls to a server. "Hoy, another mug o' brew, if y'please!" A moment later a cup is set before the Breelander. Sipping a bit more, he looks about the room. Taking note of the rather waterlogged Gerthan he chuckles, and calls, "A tad wet out there, eh? Watch out for 'at water, then, a real bother it is..." He turns back to his drink and continues to sip.

Shaking his head at Jon and Leuvan, Gerthan says aloud, though not really to anyone in particular, "Aye, it's a bit wet outside. It's good weather if you like feeling like a drowned rat. But what goes around comes around, I've 'eard said. An besides, this recent heat has been nigh on being untolerable, this rain certainly is doing the land some good, if not me."

He pauses as the hobbit waitress comes around with his order, a large mug of ale. Gerthan takes a large draught of ale and sighs happily. He takes another drink of ale and continues surveying the late night crowd at the Pony.

The stranger looks around the room and sees the chubby man accross the room. Seeing that he too is a farmer (by the cut of his clothes and his strong hands) he gently smiles and walks toward the kind looking man.

Leuvan says, "Good weather we are having?"

Leuvan says, "I hope this rain touches my crops, they certainly need it."

"Hmm? Um, indeed..." Jon turns to see the other. "Ah, I suppose so, good for th'crops, I s'pose." He takes another sip of ale and nods. "So... your a farmer too, eh?"

Turning his attention away from the Pony's patrons, Gerthan turns back to the fire. He stares into its burning heart, seemingly mesmerized by its flickering flames. Perhaps lost in thought, or just tired from a long day's work, Gerthan ignores all around him.

Leuvan afraid he has somhow insulted everyone, with his simple question continues the conversation.

Leuvan says, ". . .ahhh, yes I am, I hav...had a farm near the South Downs."

Leuvan says, "Just came up the greenwat this morning."

Loosens his cloak, as he does you can see that the left sleave has been torn nearly completely off. Checking his pockets he finds nothing but lint and a piece of paper. Clearing his thoat he orders a mug of water, at his embarrassment he drinks it quickly hoping no one will notice.

"Ah, I see. The Greenway, then?" He scrutinises the other just a bit. "Well then... I don't s'pose y're one of 'em Dunfolk from 'way south, then?" Jon looks to Leuvan with confusion.

Leuvan says, "No I only lived about 30 leagues from here"

Leuvan says, "My name is Leuvan Trackland, my father hailed from Bree. This is the firs time I have ventured far from Andrath and the South Downs."

Jon sighs just a bit. "Oh-ho... 'at's a relief, then... all them Dunnies comin' up North 'ere, bothers me, y'know?" He takes a long gulp of ale, draining the cup. "Anyway... a pleasure t'meet you, Mister Trackland sir, I 'ope y'enjoy life in Bree as much as I do!"

Leuvan smiles, relieved to have finally made some friendly relations with one of the Breefolk. "Yes, well I am glad to be here. I hope my stay will be long and happy" Taking a second to compose himself he asks, "And where is your farm, Mr. . ."

Jon smiles and grabs the other's hand, shaking vigorously. "Goatleaf, sir, Jonathan Quincey Goatleaf (Jon to me friends)! Farmer extrordin... extr... first-rate!" He grins proudly (and rather stupidly) at the newcomer.

Leuvan chuckles at the good man. ". . .Mr. Goatleaf, Jon. I am glad to meet you. I would offer you some beer or even some of my finest Pipeweed, yet I am sad to say I was" feeling a bit sorry for himself he continues "robbed on my way to Bree." He smiles "well if one is going to start all over this is the way I guess."

Leuvan orders another water from the portly bartender

The big Goatleaf nods. "Aye, I know what y'mean... can't say I've been robbed, though, but I 'ave 'ad me share of uncomf'tble situations, if y'know what I mean. There was this time, don't y'know, when me cousin -- leastwise I think he's me cousin -- told me off for no reason a'tall, y'know! Good ole Sean... why if ever I get me 'ands on him, why I oughta..." He goes into a bit of a tirade, mumbling about something or other, before turining back to Leuvan. "Right, then! Well, Mister... Trackland, was it? I'd best be off 'ome, the wife'll be 'spectin' me back anytime now, y'know, an' it's a bit of a long walk t'Combe, y'know." He stands up and, with a rather wobbling, off-balance bow, stumbles out the door of the common room and out of sight.