Sackville
You're in a tiny village, the ancestral home of the Sackville-Baggins family. The shabby-looking front doors of a few hobbit holes are visible in the side of a small hillock. An air of seediness pervades the area. A sign pointing west reads "Hardbottle due west". One of the hobbit holes is larger than the others. In front of it, there is a large garden with fruit trees. To enter the garden, you have to pass through a small wicker gate. There is a sign attached to the gate.
Contents:
Othro
Rod Prudhomme
Obvious exits:
Sackville Manor leads to Sackville Manor.
Pipeweed Barn leads to Pipeweed Barn.
West leads to Hardbottle.
North leads to Sarn Ford Road.
Southeast leads to Sarn Ford Road.

Holdo
The shadowy figure reveals himself! He is an older fellow, his hair rather white, topped with a large, sinister top hat. His face is shrouded by the hat's wide brim. His lower face he keeps hidden behind his caped arm. His clothes are all black: black suit, large black cape, black pants...

Ortho
Ortho is a Hobbit of average height and girth, who looks to be at the onset of middle-age. His longish sandy-coloured hair is tied back with dark-green ribbon into a neat pony-tail. His light-brown eyes dart from side to side, seemingly trying to quickly take in everything around him. To protect himself from the cold, Ortho wears ankle-length doeskin breeches with dark-blue leather boots covering his feet. A heavy, dark-grey hooded cloak covers the black, woolen shirt underneath. The shirt seems to have gold and silver stars and comets sewn into it.

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RL (Arizona) time is Mon Apr 16 13:01:53 2001 (+time).
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IC time is about 11 PM (time for a late night snack) on Wednesday Afteryule (January) 22, 1423 S.R.
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IC Weather Conditions
The snow has ceased, leaving a beautiful landscape of snowdrifts, but passable roads. It is chilly, but not unbearable out on this Afteryule/Frery night. The waning gibbous moon soars above the horizon encircled in twinkling stars.
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~~~

Othro is busy washing the front door of Sackville Manor with a rag and bucket.

Othro mutters to himself, "It's amazing how dirty snow can make everything!"

Sneaking out from behind a tree, a caped figure steps slowly into Sackville, looking warily over his shoulder. He stops for a moment, sniffing the air, then hobbles carefully along the ground into town.

Othro is so taken up with his job, he is oblivious to everything around him.

Othro mutters, "Who would have imagined that such little feet could make so much dirt?"

Othro starts singing a little ditty to himself as he's cleaning, "When I was but a little tiny boy, with a hey ho, the wind and the rain ..."

Othro continues, " ... a foolish thing was but a toy, for the rain it raineth every day."

Othro puts down the rag and stands us, wiping his brow.

Othro admires his work with some frustration, "I wonder how many years of grime are on this door?"

Slipping silently across the road, the caped person slips behind a tree near the Sackville estate, peering over his caped arm at Othro and the door nearby. Slowly and stealthily, he hops over a fence and into the Sackville family garden, stepping behind another tree and peering around it at Othro.

Othro is still oblivious to the caped intruder's presence.

Othro gets back on his hands and knees to continue washing the front step.

Othro starts singing again, horribly out of tune, "Oh mistress mine, where are you roaming?"

Othro continues croaking, "Oh mistress mine, where are you roaming?"

Othro wrings the dirty rag out in the sudsy bucket, "Oh stay and hear, your true love's coming."

Othro tries to sing up high, failing miserably, "Who can sing both high and low."

Othro continues, "Trip no further, pretty sweeting. Journey's end in lover's meeting!"

Othro finishes up with a big vocal flourish which could curdle milk, "Every wise man's son must KNOW!!!"

Othro clears his throat a bit.

With that sour note, the caped figure covers his ears in agony, salling over and groaning. "Augh!" he cries as he lands on a patch of daisies.

Across the silent white road from the south a small and - against the white snow - dark figure approaches the small and peacefull village. It makes little progess, this figure, as it wanders away from the road frequently, to investigate a barn or a tree. Still, it's path wanders into the village and in time it's soft steps bring it close to the working hobbit.

"Mornin' Sir," bare hands cast aside the hood of the sheepskin cloak, revealing a smiling face, "mighty cold to be workin' with water here."

She is interrupted by a scream.

Othro nearly jumps out of his skin, "What, what?"

Othro says, "Goodness gracious, my dear lady, you scared the living daylights out of me!"

Othro looks at Clary more closely, "Was that you who screamed just now?"

"Eh, no, Sir," she gazes at some bushes nearby, "That came from over theres." Her hand waves to soem bushes growing near the Pipeweed Barn.

Othro raises an eyebrow, "Really?"

Sitting up from the hard ground, the caped hobbit glares at the clump of withered flowers. Stumbling on his long cape, he falls over once again onto a patch of snow. "For goodness' sake, what is that racket?" he mutters, untangling his garments. Suddenly, upon hearing Othro's call to Clary, he runs behind the tree again and glares at Othro.

Othro drops the rag in the bucket with a !plop! and walks towards the indicated bushes.

She nodds vigorously and takes a step back to allow the hobbit to investigate.

Othro turns to the new arrival, "Sir, can I help you? Are we playing some sort of hide-and-seek game here?"

Othro puts his fists on his hips, looking at Holdo incredulously.

Othro turns to Clary, "Madam, do you know this gentlehobbit?"

Having been spotted, Holdo steps out from behind the tree and promptly trips over his flowing cape. "Augh! What do you mean, hide-and-seek? Just what are -you- doing here, may I ask?" He stands up, yanking off his cape and folding it under his arm. "Ahah, My business is my own." He sneers at the other.

Othro says, "Well, I never!"

Slowly Clary followed Othro as he confronts the Mysteriously Caped Hobbit. "Eh, No, Sir," she almost jumpes back as Othro turned so suddenly to her, "Never seen 'im before."

Othro says, "Sir, I'll have you know that I happen to live here."

Othro wags his finger at Holdo, "So stop being so impertinent before I call the Shirriff on you!"

Othro looks around to see if there is a Shirriff in the village.

"Well, perhaps you do. And perhaps you may call a Shirriff!" He begins to back away slowly. "But that shall be no avail for I -- ahem -- I am Holdo! Now that may mean little to you people, but it is indeed most important! For I... ah, I... well, it is important nonetheless!" He glances over his shoulder at the fence some yards behind him.

Othro says, "Holdo? Holdo what, perchance? What family had the unfortunate occurance to bring forth such a barren rascal?"

"Ye did try to hide behind this here tree, Sir" Clary turns to face the caped stranger, "and you are wearin' them odd black cloathes. And now you're about to run to them fences overthere. Seems to me that you were sneaking around here." She moves sideways towards the fence herself, "Never heard of no Holdo fellow, why's he so important?"

Othro explains, "We here in the Southfarthing have our worries with strangers coming around. It's bad enough when it's the bigfolk barging in on one, but to have our fellow Hobbits acting this way is unpardonable!"

Othro is fuming quite a bit now.

Stopping a moment to search the back of his mind, Holdo mutters. "Well, I am... Holdo... Boff... Brace... Bag... uh... the Mysterious! Yes, I, aha, am Holdo the Mysterious!" He continues to back toward the fence. "And," he remarks to Clary, "I am very important... leave it at that." He takes another nervous glance backward.

Othro takes a step closer to Holdo, looking him up and down, "Well, Mr. Holdo, this is a proper residence here, and I expect guests to behave properly, not skulk around like a ghost."

"If ye're so important," Clary inquires "why is you trying to hide?"

Othro nods at Clary's comment, "Very true madam, very true."

Turning back to Holdo, Othro remarks, "I'll have to call in my cousin Lobelia, if this should continue."

"No! Anything but that!" Holdo stiffens, now some two yards distant from the fence. "I'll not suffer the wrath of Sackville-Baggins... I shall leave now, should it please you..." With these words he turns and dashes toward the fence, but trips and falls again on the snowy ground. "Augh!" he cries as he scrambles to his feet.

Othro doesn't know what to make of this strange fellow.

Othro walks next to Clary, "Have you seen this person before? Has everyone gone mad?"

Quickly Clary moves towards the stranger, "Now don't be makin' things so difficult, you'll hurt yerself. " she holds out a hand to him, "Here, we mean no harm. " She chews her lips before adding, "Forgive me, Sir, but you seem, eh, confused. Perhaps yer memory will return if you take a little rest and some hot tea."

She shakes her head as she looks sideways to Othro, "No, never seen 'im before."

"Bah!" cries Holdo, scrambling away and grabbing his cape. He climbs quickly over the fence and starts running in a northeasterly fashion.

Her hand still stretched out and her mouth half open Clary just looks after the running stranger. "So rude this fella, he must have lost his hobbit senses." Finally she withdraws her hand and turns to Othro, "We should go after 'im, I reckon, he might hurt himself."

Othro shrugs, "Why should we? He wasn't very curteous to us."

Othro looks at Clary quizzicaly.

"Aye," she nodds, "but it's mighty cold and them fancy black cloathes didn't look so warm." She sighs,

"Well, if keeps running he'll be warm enough though."

Othro throws up his hands, "Very well, I'll go fetch him."

Othro starts walking after the black clad Hobbit, "Sir! Sir! Wait a moment, don't run away!"

Othro +shouts "It's too cold for all this tomfoolery!"

Holdo stops, places his cape over his shoulders again, and turns to Othro and Clary. "Feh!" he shouts, quickly turning and running off through pipeweed fields...

Othro turns back to Clary, "You see? He's out of his mind!"

Othro starts walking back to the house.

Othro arrives back next to Clary again, shaking his head, "Well, I tried, madam. He wouldn't listen."

Silently Clary watched the two hobbits marking the beatifull white carpet with hobbit feet. She nodds to Othro as he joins her, "Aye, no use in running around in the snow like we was coneys." She frowns, "He'll be back, I reckon, hope I didn't cause you no trouble."

Othro shakes his head, smiling wearily, "Not at all, madam, not at all."

Othro straightens his clothes a bit, "I'm sorry, but I believe we never introduced ourselves."

Othro bows slightly, "My name is Othro Sackville, currently residing here at the Manor. And who might you be?"

She laughs merrily, "Was just about to say the very same thing. Me is Clary, Clary Smallburrow." Clary makes a little curtsey, "At your service, Sir."

Othro says, "Ah. Smallburrow, Smallburrow, of the Michel Delving Smallburrows?"

She smiles, "They are family, but I was born near Long Cleeve."

Othro tilts his head to the side, an astonished expression on his face, "Long Cleeve? Really? What brings you so far from home?"

"I live in Michel Delving, these days, with Eyebright though I still come home to me folks often. I was visiting friends in Whitwell and decided to take a long way home."

"A very long way if you ask me. I don' t understand why everyone seems so smitten with travel these days."

Othro nods, "I've only been outside the Southfarthing three times myself, young lass."

Othro's eyes narrow, "Don't your parents worry about you?"

Othro says, "I know I would if you were my daughter."

Othro stares off into space, "Now with boys you expect that ..."

Othro gets lost in thought.

"I know very little about everyone, but," she pauses and a blush deepns the red on her cheeks even more, "Me is to be a painter and new lands is always welcome.". Her eyes gaze off in the distance, before she looks at Othro, "We're been shepards, Sir, me parents don't worry when I'm outdoors." She chuckles, "they'd have died long ago if they would."

Othro nods, seemingly understanding, "I see, I see."

Othro suddenly turns back to you, all business, "Well, what can I help you with today? Are you looking for something to paint?"

Othro says, "I'm afraid I'm not much of a model. Not much to look at."

"Always, Sir." Clary smiles, "You'd be surprised how well a model you'd make. If you want yer portrait painted, or that of a dear relative. I also do posters for shops, or labels for wine and pipeweed."

Othro nods, "Well, if we're going to talk business, why don't we go inside. It's too darn cold out here."

Othro looks to you for approval.

"That'd be great Sir," Clary's face shines bright against the grey sky, "Thank you, Sir".

Othro grabs the bucket and rag he had been working with and heads indoors.

Othro walks into Sackville Manor.
Othro has left.

Clary walks into Sackville Manor.
Clary has left.