Featuring (both Shirefolk Hobbits): Dolphus and Fadinild

Woodhall
You have arrived at a tiny settlement, no more than a few holes burrowed into the wooded hillsides. The woods press down upon the settlement in all directions but the east; this is because the woods are halted by The Stockbrook, a clear stream bubbling merrily nearby in a northwest direction towards Stock. Near the banks of the stream, the trees are decidedly more sparse. Looking across the river, there are hardly any trees, and the ground is marshy and visibly soft, delineating the border of The Marish. Large toadstools grow copiously on the opposing river bank, and a dilapidated rope bridge suspended between two trees links Woodhall to The Marish. Nearer at hand a few lights twinkle in the village of Woodhall.A squirrel is gathering nuts in one of the trees, making a scratching sound.

The rain pours relentlessly from the sky, battering down upon window panes with its unsteady rhythm. The sky is a melange of melancholy blacks and greys, with thick clouds looming overhead. Tines of lightning strike in the distance on this Foreyule/Yulemath night. The waning crescent moon soars above the horizon encircled in twinkling stars.
Contents:
Fadinild
Obvious exits:
South through the woods and West

Fadinild
A 2'6 foot Hobbit of ovalish build, about the size of a shortsword and a skip stone taller. Fadinild has deep-set dark green eyes that contrast well with his light, curving face and thin lips below his regal nose. Fadinild wears a long leather cape dyed bright brown over a tight-strung deep brown tunic that attaches to baggy forest green trousers with a black sash, tied at his left hip and bearing a silver clasp on the front. Fadinild is a stout fellow, and a bit chuby at that but just slightly below being titled rotund. His ankles and feet are laden with curly auburn layers-- complimenting his long and even more aubern-coloured hair, telling the tale of just entering his middle-aged life.

Dolphus
A midsized hobbit, seemingly in his late forties, this fellow is neatly dressed and well-groomed. His hair, neatly brushed, is light brown and curly; his dark green eyes are situated just above a fairly small nose and a rather large mouth.

This hobbit's clothing is simple but functional: a brown wool cloak over a green shirt, and a pair of blue-dyed wool pants. His feet are as bare and furry as any other hobbit.

==============================================================================
RL (Arizona) time is Fri Mar 30 15:09:40 2001 (+time).
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
IC time is about 5 AM on Monday Foreyule (December) 3, 1422 S.R.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
IC Weather Conditions
The rain pours relentlessly from the sky, battering down upon window panes with its unsteady rhythm. The sky is a melange of melancholy blacks and greys, with thick clouds looming overhead. Tines of lightning strike in the distance on this Foreyule/Yulemath night. The waning crescent moon soars above the horizon encircled in twinkling stars.
==============================================================================

~~~

It is cold, dark, and raining in the shady woods of the Woody End; yet oddly quiet, as the Shire only begins to awaken from slumber. Candles begin to flicker in the windows of Woodhall, points of light in houses and holes bringing life to the otherwise lifeless forests. Quiet sounds of halflings emanate from the buildings and smials roundabout.

Just to the north of the village, in a conspicuously thick tangle of trees and shrub, something stirs: the quiet noise of movement in the bush. But quiet it falls again after a moment's time, tranquility taking control once again save the constant drops of chilling precipitation.

Fadinild turns towards the sound, raising an eyebrow.. "Who could that be at this hour?" He whispers to himself before opening the large round door in the hillside and wandering outside, hastily pulling his sash tight.

Fadinild says, "Hello? Who's there?"

Quite suddenly, a small flurry of hair darts out of the bush, toward the town. Then a sound: a bowshot. An arrow buries itself in the ground just a few feet ahead of the animal, and the hunter's quarry darts off westward, plunging into a thicket.

"Oh dear..." mutters a voice, and a hobbit emerges from the bush, a bow in hand. "I almost had it." Sighing, the figure steps down a small bank into the northern fringes of the hamlet of Woodhall.

He pricks up his ears. "Who's there?" he asks, looking around. "Well I am, I should say: Dolphus Burrows, Bounder, at your service. But who might you be?" The rotund hunter looks about curiously.

Fadinild frowns a bit as he looks toward the thicket the animal darted into. "Why, I'm Fadinild Took! I don't remember you from anywhere.." he scratches his head nonchalantly. ".. More important, why are you shooting at poor little animals?"

His eyes fixing on the Took's home in the hillside, Dolphus shoulders his bow and hurries ahead to within twenty paces on Fadinild. "Ah, yes... you must pardon my intrusion. This would be Woodhall, if I am correct?" After a quick glance about the sleepy village, Dolphus nods. "Well, I suppose it would be... locely place. But to answer you," he says, "I have a perfectly good reason for hunting rabbits... or conies, if you prefer. I've been in the bush for some days now, looking for a wolf that was reported a while ago in the Yale; I've been without fresh food that whole time. At any rate, I seem to have gone at least five miles off my trail." He wipes the rainwater from his face and hair, then bows to the Took. "Again, my apologies for disturbing the peace."

Fadinild grunts at the hunter. "Why not hunt the -fox-?" he utters, stretching the O. "And I accept your apology.." He turns back to the brush before gesturing to the hunter. "Come in if you would, I have tea and scrumpets set out." With that he wanders back inside the hole.

Nodding contentedly, Dolphus steps the remaining paces to Fadinild's hole, stepping onto the theshold and closing the round door behind him. "Well, I certainly appreciate your good generosity, Master Took! Such hospitality is not to be found elseplaces I've been." He removes his cloak, folding it and placing it under his arm.

"And, ah, about the rabbit..." he starts. "Well, fox just does not cook very well... not nearly as well as coney." He looks over his shoulder to his bow and quiver, then chuckles embarrasedly. "Pardon the weapons, good sir... shall I place them down here, or leave them outside?"

Fadinild wanders over to the counetr and picks up a brass plate with delicious-looking cheese scrumpets and a pot of wildberry mint tea. "Oh, its nothing, we folk here in Woodhall have no needs to be unhospitable.. It gets very lonely mind you.." He sits at the table and ushers the hunter over. "Just set your weapons down near the door, no problem at all." He smiles and pours a cup of tea for each of them as the hunter sits down. "By the way, what is your name? You never mentioned.."

"Thank you, kind sir," nods Dolphus, placing bow and quiver by the entrance. He pulls a short dagger from his belt and tucks it inside his quiver. "My name is Dolphus Burrows, dear sir; a Bounder and purveyor of fine goods by trade." He takes a seat by Fadinald at the table, picking up a teacup and sipping silently. "Though I am afraid I've naught to buy or sell on my person at this time."

Fadinild smiles contently "Ah, a Bounder! I thought you were but a food-gatherer.." He picks up a cheese scrumpet and takes a hearty bite. "What news have you of the outside? Gossip?" He leans back and gazes forward.

Smiling, Dolphus takes another sip. "News of the Outside? Not much to speak of, I'm afraid... mostly rumours from Bree and beyond." He pauses for a moment, closing his eyes as though contemplating something, then turns back to his host. "Well, there are some rumours... rumours that Goblins are abroad, and of Trolls no longer quite so dim-witted. Likely fairy-tales made up by cowardly Big Folk to explain what they do not understand, but of some small note nonetheless."