Featuring: Jon (Breefolk Human) and Farod (Breefolk Hobbit), Brenen (Dunadan Arnorian), and Gandalf (Istari)! Gandalf as Nob (Breefolk Hobbit).

Gandalf sits with Farod near the fireplace, smoking pipeweed from a pouch on the table. "The region is easy," says the old wizard with a wave of his hand. "The brand would have been a much harder guess indeed!" He takes another puff and exhales a long billowing cloud of smoke that is as grey as the robes he wears. "As far as selling it, there may be a market for it yet, I'll wager!"

Gandalf laughs, a deep rich laugh. "Indeed," he cries out, "Perhaps you should make its slightly foul taste--no offense!--a virtue! Perhaps you can make this Dragon's Nest a rare commodity for the serious pipeweed smoker!"

Gandalf puffs on his pipe with passion. Gandalf blows several small rings, which then form a halo over Dove's head.

Farod nods slowly as he hears the words, then he takes a time to think and answers, "To be honest, I bought this weed because it came late in the season, and we had a little harvest in our fields. But that's a good idea, I'm glad you like the taste of it."

Brenen ducks in from the foyer, stamping snow off her boots, then proceeds to brush a few flakes from the shoulders of her cloak as well. Cool grey eyes take in the various occupants a moment before she weaves through the tables, heading for a particular one in the corner of the room, it would seem. A good place from which to observe, back to wall...

Walking in from the door to the foyer, a tall, heavyset man comes into the common room, shuffling his feet on the floor, nodding to a few people seated. "G'day Maple," he mutters to the barmaid as he approaches the bar and pulls up a stool, placing his bulk on the small chair. "I'll 'ave an' ale then, if y'don't mind, dearie," he mutters sullenly. "Y'can put it on me tab."

Gandalf coughs up another cloud of piepweed smoke. "It certainly has an unusual bitter taste," he notes wryly. "Perhaps it would be better with some ale to wash the soot down with." He cranes his head about. "Nob! Nob! A round of drinks for the table, if you would! And tell Barliman I want to see him after a while. Not now, but after a while!"

Having reached her destination, Brenen carefully unclasps her cloak and drapes it over the back of her chair before she settles artlessly into the seat. A drink would be just the thing, but after the barmaid finishes with the notable guests gathered; she can be patient.

As the woman walks in, the old wizard meets her gaze for a moment, then almost impreceptibly nods his snowy head, before his attention is drawn to the other, more boistrous man at bar. He folds his gnarled hands together, letting the piep dangle unaided from his mouth, causing a clicking noise as he speaks, the pipe stem tapping against his teeth. "I am indeed thirsty, Master Hobbit, but the sharp tang of this weed cannot be attributed solely to my dry mouth!" He takes the pipe out of his mouth and gestures at the hobbit across the table. "Should you make a new brand, might I suggest you mix in something a bit...smoother? Perhaps some Southern Star from the Shire?" He calls out again suddenly, "Nob! Nob! An ale before I roast you!"

The barmaid returns to the bar with a mug of brown, foaming ale and places in before the heavyset man. "Enjoy," she mutters, turning aside to service other customers.

"Thank'ee, Maple," says the man as he picks up the mug and pats his pockets, removing a pipe and a pouch. "What's this?" mutters the man to himself as he roots around in the pouch, "No tobbacco, eh?" He sighs, looking around the room.

"You there, Mister Overhill, isn't it?" He calls across the room to Farod, interrupting the hobbit's conversation. "Got any pipeweed to spare, Mister Overhill sir?" He coughs, turning around to face the little person.

Gandalf turns his gaze again onto the big man, tapping his pipe stem onto the pouch of weed on the table. "Try some at your own risk," he advises sagely before taking another puff.

Gandalf smokes his pipe contentedly.

Gandalf blows a fat, agile ring which quickly proceeds to follow Brenen about the room..

Turning his head to meet the man's gaze, Farod answers politely his question, "Here Mister, take a seat.", as he points the chair with his chin and says to Gandalf jokingly, "And don't do bad publicity you old fool!", and then back at Jon as he reaches for another pouch in his breast pocket, "Here, you can taste this, and if you guess where it was harvest, I will give it to you, and if you don't have it, you'll have to buy it my friend. A deal?", he askes, with a grin.

Ah good, the barmaid is free now; Brenen signals the woman for service. The maid promptly sighs and makes her way to that back table. "Ale please.." Brenen orders quietly, eyes flicking curiously to the smoke ring a moment, then to the old man. Mmmhmm..she smiles ever so slightly.

A glint comes to Gandalf's eyes that is not the light from the fireplace and he leans forward. "Old fool?" he repeats, his tone sharp. "Words can leave a more bitter taste than your foul weed, my good hobbit," growls Gandalf. Before the hobbit can receive more of a tongue lashing, Nob arrives with ales for all, giving one to the wizard quickly, then backing away.

"Ah, right..." mutters the man at the bar, pondering the hobbit's words. "Wull then... Staddle? No, no, that's not it... the Shire? Nah, o' course not." He taps his fat head with a pudgy hand, screwing up his face trying to think. "All right... eh, the South Downs, maybe? An' I'd listen t'y're friend there, just 'tisn't right t'speak bad o' folks ye don't know 'at well, I guess."

Despite the sigh, the service here isn't really that bad, for Brenen has not had to wait terribly long for the ale to arrive at that back table where she sits. She palms the woman appropriate coinage then leans back into her chair with a contented sigh as she sips on her ale.

"Nay," says Gandalf, answering for the hobbit. "Although Staddle was close. The weed was from the south slope of Bree hill. And could be more dangerous than bandits." He takes a swllow of ale and turns his gaze over the rim of his glass at the woman in the corner seat. "Quite a crowd here this afternoon," he says aloud.

"Ahh, right, then, sir." The big man nods his head in thanks, then turns to Farod. "Wull then, Mister Overhill sir... 'ere's a ducat, then, I'll take a couple of 'em pouches..." He takes a silver coin from a shirt pocket and prepares to toss it to the hobbit.

"Yes..quite a crowd.." Brenen echoes the old wizard, lifting her mug in a silent toast, though her words are spoken quietly. Grey eyes flick to the Breelander at the bar.

The old wizard raises a bushy eyebrow. "You must be a brave man, sir! Or perhaps one that does not know what he is getting into!" He eyes the hobbit across from him. "Your first sale of The Dragon's Nest! Quite an honor. I must advise you to put the money into a new crop come Spring." He puts away his pipe and picks up his hat from the back of his chair. "Nob! Tell barliman, I'll talk to him now." He puts the blue hat on his head and stands up. He picks up his staff from its resting place against the wall and begins to head towards the door. He passes near the dakr-haired woman and as he does, he says in a low voice, "Perhaps we shall speak soon as well."

"Perhaps so..' Brenen smiles slowly up at the wizard in reply.

"Ah... right. Can't be any stronger 'an some o' the other v'rieties I've 'ad. Long's it better an' Southlinch I'm 'appy. G'day sir." The man nods politely to Gandalf as he walks by. "Wull then," he calls as he turns to Farod, "'Ere's me ducat... just gimme the signal an' I'll toss it to ye."

Gandalf claps the big man on the shoulder as he passes. "You will be begging for a pinch of Southlynch before the evening is through, this I will stake my hat on!" says the wizard before leaving the room. "Barliman! Where are you, Barliman!" his deep voice can be heard shouting.

When Farod fails to acknowledge him, the bulky Breelander mutters and places the silver coin back in his pocket. "Eh, hobbits." He couchs and puts away his pipe and empty pouch. "Wull then... you there." He stands and calls to the woman standingin the corner. "'Ere, 'ave me drink." He walks places the mug down on the bar for her to pick up and walks out toward the door, shuffling. "Ahh, me wife's gunna kill me I'm so late-out..." He leaves muttering.