Featuring (all Shirefolk Hobbits): Torvo as himself and Udalgar; Olfo as Clodo, Filby as himself; Firobrus, Terry, and Shirriffs; Nelleman; Bunto; Willowfoot; and Frodo as Lillyfoot and Will.

White Downs
The White Downs are prepared for the Free Fair, an event which happens only once every seven years in celebration of the election year, culminating at the Lithetide. The Downs themselves are rolling uplands, perfect for grazing, but the sheep have all been rounded up and placed in a pen not far off. Pavilions, tents, and booths of all shapes, sizes, and colors decorate the Downs, some featuring games and competitions, others belonging to merchants from all over the Shire and beyond, attempting to hock their wares, from barrels of pipeweed and fresh mushrooms to rare coins and exotic artwork. The booths are set up in a ring around an unusually flat area, to feature various competitions. A large stage towards the back holds an enormous ballot box, guarded by the three West-Farthing shirriffs. The scent of rabbit stew wafts across the downs.
Obvious exits:
West leads to Far Downs.
East leads to Gates of Michel Delving.
Links Field leads to Bandobras Took Memorial Golf Links.

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RL (Arizona) time is Sun Feb 11 17:27:45 2001 (+time).
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IC time is about 7 PM on Monday Afterlithe (July) 13, 1422 S.R.
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IC Weather Conditions
It is simply sweltering outside. Any sensible hobbit wouldn't stay outside for too long, without a cup of cool lemonade in one hand on this Afterlithe day.
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Filby
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This individual is an old hobbit (he's so short... what else could he be?). This aged halfling is clad in an elegant red suit, a bejeweled pocketwatch often glinting from inside a pocket. Beneath his suit is a yellow waistcoat, and blue trousers falling down to just above his pale, balding feet.

The old fellow's face is a mass of wrinkles, his nose jutting out by a few inches, supporting a pair of small metal-rimmed spectacles. A pair of slightly pointed, "elvish" ears and a rather shiny bald head bordered by a tangle of wild white hair tops this strange little figure of a hobbit.
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Clodo
Average in height there stands a hobbit before you; cheeks ruddy and crimson in their hue, perhaps leading some people to beleive he is hot, but it is simply his skin's pigment. This hobbit's hair is thick and quite amazing in its curly tendensies. The golden buttons of his green tunic look as though they will soon burst from his unbeleivable stomach. Clodo's weight is indeed much, his bare feet standing on the floor firmly. He stands on average sized legs covered by blackened trousers. He is obviously a well-off hobbit, his foothair combed back neatly.

Ladyslipper
A primly dressed ladyhobbit.

Oldo
An old hobbit in a blue tattered but distinguished overcoat, covering most of his dark brown trousers. His bare feet are quite hairy, and do not seem to have been looked after very well. However, this hobbit is bent over so far that if his head were to be facing the same way as his neck, he would be staring at his feet. He is quite short, and holds a knotted wooden cane to steady his weight on. He is wearing thick spectacles that don't seem to be doing him much good, for when he tries to look through them, he tends to squint. His thick gray hair seems to have been cut short recently. His chin quivers visibly when he talks, and when he walks, it seems undescribably odd, as if it isn't natural.

Willowfoot
Willowfoot stands 3'2". He is dressed in green and grey, leaning on a walking stick which is made from woven willow branches. He is young/middle aged with a pot belly. He loves to joke and always has a sparkle in his eye. He loves to chat, so long as there is liquid refreshment nearby as...aherm...his throat gets extremely dry from time to time.

Nelleman
This is Nemo, a hale hobbit just past his tweens -- fresh-faced and ruffled, as if he has just travelled a ways through windy weather. Not particularly tall, but he is heavily built, with thick arms and mole-like hands fit for miner's work. Sepia bangs curls untamed and falls down his sombre forehead threatening to obscure his dark, serious eyes. He might appear a little coarse at first glance, but summer has brought a sprinkle of freckles to the bridge of his nose and cheeks lending him a boyish appearance, augmented by a tendency of his lips to curl up into an easy smile.

You find him dressed for the season in a pair of knee-long, slate-grey breeches with flowery needlework down the sides, and a loose-fitting shirt of a light ochre colour.

Udalgar
A tiny hobbit with an obese build, somewhere in his forties. He has short, curly brown hair. His hazel eyes peek out from a freckled face. He is wearing a tangerine shirt, over which is a cream-colored waistcoat with gold buttons. His indigo trousers go down to his callous feet, and are held up by a pair of tan braces with copper buckles. On his head is a teal hat, and on his back a vermilion cloak.

Torvo
A diminutive hobbit with a heavy build, somewhere in his thirty's. He has long, curling light-brown hair that hangs low on his face. His hazel eyes peek out from a good-natured face. He is wearing a sky-blue shirt, over which is a green waistcoat with brass buttons. His indigo trousers go down to his hairy feet, and are held up by a pair of black braces with gilded buckles. On his back a crimson cloak, that keeps him covered from other people noticing him around. Hidden in side the cloak his features are cut off from the others to notice.

Around his neck is a red ruby, hung by a piece of leather that has been given to him by a traveler. On his side sits a blue bag that has everything needed to travel along.

~~~

With the sun high in the air, on it's arc to set again just slightly after lunch time, no clouds in the sky, yet it is still very hot outside on this Afterlithe day. Hobbits all around are carrying glasses, and mugs obviously full of a drink that might attempt to cool them down. Some hobbits sit in the chairs infront of the platform, as the boxs on each side of the platform is full of old mayors and past candidates. Huddled with a bunch of, hobbits this time, more then the two he had help him last time, Uldagar, sits on the platform recounting the votes over and over again, with many more hobbits helping. Standing up moving to the podium he speaks to the crowd,"Fair hobbits, welcome to the recount of the mayor election. We shall be a couple more minutes with the count just to be sure this time and yet no trouble is caused. If any of the candidates would like to speak up on their behalf please do so now, while we finish up the counts." Turning back around Uldagar walks back to the ballot box and continues to count with the rest of the hobbits.

Walking into the fair grounds in the back, comes Torvo Bracegirdle. Walking close to the platform hearing what is going on, Torvo sits in a chair near the front wanting and waiting for the new mayor to be announced. Taking a sip of his drink to keep him cool enough for this day, with a small grin on his face he looks around trying to see if he knows anyone around, yet finding not a single soul he pays close attention to the podium for who will be saying something hopefully.

One such hobbit--with a large mug of ale in his hand-- is in the box labeled 'Former Candidates'. The upper two buttons of this hobbit's blue weskit are unbottoned, and quite often a hand reaches up to wipe the mounds of prespiration from his brow. Indeed, Mister Clodo Baggins--former mayoral candidate, politician, and head of the Shire Patriots Party-- looks miserable in his seat as he sips ale from the monstrous mug in his hands.

"This heat!" Mister Baggins exclaims, looking over to Ladyslipper, who sits at his side. "I don't think I can take another day of it!"

From his seat on the podium near Udalgar, Filby Pott clears his throat and frowns. "Well I, for one, would like to say that this should not have happened in the first place. We all know who will win anyway, so there is no need for this. It's obvious that -I- am the public's favourite." He shakes his head. "How outrageous..."

Among the crowd is Nemo - he has made himself comfortable on a cloak, spread out on the grass. Leaning on an elbow he awaits the result with ... well, not a whole lot of excitement - that heat /does/ put a damper on most exertions.

Oldo hobbles into the scene, grumbling loudly but unintelligibly. In his right withered hand he clutches a cane, in his left he scratches his grey scalp. He mutters something and trudges further forward into the area.

"An outrage is what I call it, really," Ladyslipper murmurs to Clodo. "Honestly, everyone knows that poor Mr. Pott simply is not qualified! I mean, the poor fellow. . .well, Mayor Whitfoot he isn't - I heard that he served ALE at his party. . .and after accepting monies and endorsement from the NTL!"

"So I've heard!" Clodo replies, shaking his head in disgust and drawing another long sip from his mug. "Not to -mention- how he... manhandled!... me at Dharlon Took's coming-of-age. Mister Pott is certainly -not- the Mayor I'd want."

Wiping a few more beads of prespiration from his forhead, Mister Baggins pauses for a moment, looking about the field where a multiplicity of hobbits have founded their places. "Not that Whitfoot's much better... what with that ale-tax a while back. But I suppose he's the lesser of the two marrow eaters," Clodo notes wryly.

After time passes Uldagar stands up tturning around, and wipes the beeds of sweat that rests on his forehead. He then walks up tot he podium pushing people aside that he was working with,"The votes have been counted, and counted again! The results as followed. Will Whitfoot 90 votes, Filby Pott." He takes a couple minutes to wait and catch his breath,"Filby Pott 115 votes. Filby Pott is the new mayor!" With that Uldagar turns quickly walking back to the box with the paper in his hands and leaves the podium open for anyone that wishes to go up to speak.

Rather than scream, shout, or celebrate as one might expect a winning candidate to do, Filby merely sits in his seat smiling, his eves narrowing. "Of course," he notes quietly, "it was apparently I who was destined to win. The best hobbit has won." He crosses his arms in front of his chest triumphantly.

Nelleman barely manages to roll onto his back, from which position he wearily imbibes something from a silver flask. Either the spirits held within or the news awakes him, but he suddenly becomes a lot more lively as the result is announced and perks up considerably.

"No! Preposterous!" Clodo shouts from his box, standing up and waving an arm about menacingly. "It... can't be! I demand a recount!" Flopping back into his seat, Mister Baggins waves a hand in resignation, shaking his head vigourously.

Willowfoot strolls in and sits on a stump. He takes out his pipe, fills it carefully, and light's it with a long match. Stretching his legs out in front of him, he blows large rings into the air. He clears his throat and remarks loudly 'And what about this Ale tax? Do you think a tax on the necessities of life is fair?. Hurumph ! Tis an outrage! What are you going to do about it ? I don't care who has won, I demand Justice !'.

"Oh, enough with the recounts!" Ladyslipper sighs loudly. "Really, Mr. Baggins, *do* take control of yourself. . .'tisn't becoming!" Shaking her head, she fans, looking on primly. "I'm considering moving, really. . ."

"You would demand a recount, Baggins," spits Filby upon hearing Clodo's rant. He looks down at the fat hobbit, smiling grimly. "Sit down and hush up before you cause as much trouble as usual." He laughs and stands up, wobbling with his lame left leg. "Thank you, citizens of the Shire!" He bows carefully and slowly, then stands. "It was, of course, obvious that I would win! As for those of you who voted for my opponent..." He crosses his arms again. "Well, I am sure that I shall forgive you in time." He continues to laugh and smile to himself.

A gasp issues forth from Clodo's mouth, but he eventually does calm down, and relaxes in his seat. "I just... Filby Pott -cannot- win!" he exclaims with fury in his tones, sinking down in his seat and sipping ale. Seemingly, he ignores Mister Pott's comment to him.

Uldagar just looks up at him shaking his head, mumbling to himself and to the rest of the people around him,"I can see it now the Shire is in a lot of trouble." Standing up he puts on a smile,"Thank you Mr. Pott and congratulations for winning the election. May the years as Mayor be good to you."

Willowfoot reaches into his pocket at draws out a very ripe tomato. He takes careful aim and launches it at Filbys nose.

Nelleman stands (the heat making him light-headed for a second there) reacting to the general hubbub of the crowd. He seems about to applaud the victor, but something about Filby's gloating manner and snide remarks makes it les appropriate somehow ... a little dazed (again, probably just the heat), he picks up his cloak and starts to make his way through the hobbit-gathering.

Filby dodges the thrown fruit, but not without toppling back into his seat with an OOMPH. He shakes his head, then looks out at the crowd at Willowfoot. His nostrils flare, his eyes widen, and his face turns red as he splutters. "Why I... Shirriffs!" He calls to the three law enforcers standing nearby. "As the new -Head Shirriff- I -insist- that you apprehend that... that..." he sputters and points at Willowfoot, "Him!"

Rather than obey Filby's orders immediately, the three Westfarthing Shirriffs look at each other in confusion and shake their heads.

Willowfoot shakes his head and remarks, 'A total waste of a perfectly good tomato. Nevermind I'll have a cabbage next time.'

Orders, fruit and innuendo fly through the air as Nemo depart the White Downs and heads towards Michel Delving, dragging his cloak behind him. Politics ...

Nelleman leaves the Downs, heading eastward.
Nelleman has left.

From behind the ranting crowd a short hobbit in a cloak and hood appears. He holds up his hands and cries, "My fellow hobbits! You have been cheated! This person is -not- the new Mayor!" He steps forward toward the podium. "I have proof that Filbert Pott is not the hobbit you think he is!"

Clodo stands from his seat, glancing up to the platform where this new hobbit stands. His countenance that of a hobbit whom has just become quite shocked, Mister Baggins says, "Sh! Let's hear this lad!"

Uldagar Bolger, however, steps forward and says,"What?! No!! Not another recount!!"

"I should say he isn't!" chortles one of the former candidates sitting in the box by Clodo, nudging the Baggins with his elbow and winking. "Come on Pott, you old coot, go on and explain this one!" He laughs jeeringly at Filby. "What did I tell you, folks, Pott's no good!"

Filby flushes upon hearing all this. "What -- I -- Shirriffs, as your employer, I -order- you to arrest this villain! And as for you, Clayhanger," he turns to the former candidate, flushing red, "I -shall- see you in -court-!"

"Go on, Pott! I'll see you -outside- the court, you old idiot!" Mr. Clayhanger continues laughing until he is red in the face.

The three Shirriffs sigh amongst themselves. This time, though, they do follow their orders and, hesitantly, walk down the podium's steps toward the newcomer...

An uproariously chuckle--not unlike one after a sour triumph-- is evoked from Clodo's lips, and he points to Filby as he does so. "Fool! Who's the fool now, Mister Pott?" the young Baggins jeers, slapping a hand on the wooden part of the box in front of him.

"As I say," cries the newcomer, raising his arms to quiet those who might interrupt him, "this hobbit is not who you think. Of course we all think of the Baron as an eccentric old hobbit who lives peacefully in his house on the Downs. But," he says, his voice lowering in tone, "there is more. I have here... undeniable proof that Baron Filbert Pott is a common crook, cheat, and criminal."

The Shirriffs stop in their tracks and turn to Filby. One of them pipes up, "Eh? Wot's all this then, sir? Wot's he talkin' about?" He crosses his arms and looks warily at the aged halfling.

"I knew it - knew it, knew it," Ladyslipper murmurs darkly from behind her fan. "The truth will *always* come out, I say. . .there's no way around it. . . ." Pulling down the fan, she musters a bright smile, grinning primly.

"Well then! Let's hear it, m'boy!" Clodo encourages from his place in the Former Candidate box.

Turing from the Ballot box Uldagar looks down at from the platform,"Yes please tell us what you know and make it quick!"

"Yes, Pott, explain yourself now!" shouts Firobrus from the box, winking to Clodo and Ladyslipper. "I'd like to see you get out of -this- one!"

The old Pott turns and stares at the hooded halfling with a scowl. "This... is... an outrage! Shirriffs, I -demand- that you lock up this upstart at once! I am the -Mayor- and -I- make the rules! Now!" He fumes, his eyes wide and his face red.

"Hold, friend Shirriffs!" says the cloaked person, "you need not follow this person's orders." He takes from his cloak a folded sheet of paper. "For here is my proof." He clears his throat and prepares to read the evidence...

"First on my list," starts the cloaked hobbit, reading his paper in a loud voice, "Mister Pott -was- seen placing an ample amount of extra votes into the ballot box by an anonymous source late at night twelve days ago. That alone is enough to incarcerate a person, but there -is- more..." He pauses a moment.

Gasps go up amoung the crowd, but none is as loud as Clodo's. A permanent grin upturns his lips, and he finally retakes his seat--listening.

Looking over some of the ballots, Uldagar takes them and throws them back in the box waiting for more information from this hobbit.

"Second," continues the enshrouded person, "Mister Pott -has- hired several ruffians to commit crimes, including petty theft and political mudslinging." He turns to the box for former candidates. "Mister Clayhanger, Mister Baggins... I am sure that you remember one 'Holdo the Mysterious'? If my sources are correct he was sent by our good Mister Pott to find or fabricate information on Mister Clayhanger, and cause bodily harm to Mister Baggins..."

Firobrus stands up, his face red with laughter. "I knew it, I knew it! Pott's a crook!" He slaps his knee and continues to chortle madly.

"Why I... you blackguard! How dare you do this to me?" Filby stands slowly hobbles forward, glaring at the other. "Who in the world are you to speak so of -I-, the Lord Mayor of Michel Delving and Baron of Pott Manor? -I-, the richest individual in Michel Delving? -I-, the Head Shirriff and Postmaster, the single most important hobbit in the Shire? Who are you?!"

"Aha! I knew it!" Clodo exclaims, in a manner not unlike Firobrus. "You're a fool, Filby Pott! A fool, I say!" The Baggins has an unmistakeable smile on his face as he makes his exclaimations. A chant goes up amoung the crowd: "Down with Pott! Up with Will!"

Hearing all of this evidence, Uldagar walks up to the podium knowing very well that there are shirriff's in the crowd, turning to them,"Good shirriff's arrest this Mr. Filby Pott!" With saying that not waiting for a response from them he turns,"Where is Mr. Will whitfoot? Step forward good hobbit!"

Three Shirriffs--the ones previously guarding the Ballot Box-- walk up to Filby, and two grab ahold of his hands. "Come along, Mister Pott. You're going to the Lock-holes!" one says, and begins walking to the east.

"Get off of me!" shouts Filby, slipping his hands out of the Shirriff's grasp. "I'm not going anywhere until I know who this... this... is!" He points at the cloaked hobbit. "Who are you that would speak so of me?"

"If you must know..." says the hobbit, placing his list in his cloak again and beginning to slip off his hood, "I am none other than..."

"Terry?!" sputters Filby in disbelief. "My nephew... how could you do this to me? After all I've done for you!"

"Yes," nods Terry. "I am Terry-the-Winkle. I couldn't let you win this election, because I knew that your mind was not as stable as you claim. I know that in reality you are as unstable as ever, and belong in the Marish Home. Go on with the Shirriffs, Uncle, to the Lockholes. You belong there."

"And jolly good time it is you gentlehobbits settled this properly!"

A hearty laugh accompanies a rather portly hobbit as he rises to take Filby's place. "Perhaps I might say a brief few words - thank justice and all that, wot?"

With Will coming up to the podium area, Uldagar steps back with a smile and then walks away off the platform knowing his job is done, and heads back to Michel Delving.

"I... I... simply outrageous!" sputters Filby as the Shirriff grabs him again, securely. "You'll never take me... never... never... you'll pay for this, Baggins... and you, Whitfoot..." He shudders, then groans, then falls silent. Exhausted.

"Yes - well - ahem!" Stepping up to the podium proudly, Will adjusts his ample weskit. "I would - just like to thank my public - and, in gratitude, I will be brief: but in anticipation of this auspicious occasion, I have arranged for a grand buffet - please exit to the Food Tent, where you will find an ample dinner courtesy of Will Whitfoot!"

"Huzzah!" Clodo encourages, and exits out a door at the back of the 'Former Candidates' box. "Down with Pott, up with Whitfoot! Congratulations, William... I'm off to the buffet!"

With that, Mister Baggins disappears amoungst a crowd of shouting folks, and eventually, into the food tent.

~~~

Here is a newspaper article related to the log:
MAYOR SELECTED -- White Downs: A new Mayor has been selected; or, perhaps, an old one. Will Whitfoot has retained his title as Mayor for the seventh Free Fair in a row, following two disputes over the votes, and the arrest of Filby Pott! Mister Pott originally held the vote, but a recount was called for--and granted, after a display of violence at the first vote-count. Mister Pott was proven to be the Mayor once more at the second counting, but his cousin, Terry-the-Winkle arrived with harsh words for the Pott family head, and he was jailed for tampering of votes, theft, vandalization, and conspiracy to commit bodily harm to a fellow candidate, Clodo Baggins. Most Hobbits agree, Mister Whitfoot should have been Mayor from the start. Fronto Boffin, reporting. -- Afterlithe 16, 1422