Featuring: Filby, Dharlon, Slago (Shirefolk Hobbits), and Turgwa (Isendrim Half-Orc)

Turgwa (Squint-Eyed Southerner, Bill Ferny's friend, etc)
An unsightly looking soul. The figure before you appears to be a homely looking human who
stands roughly six feet tall. His black hair is shoulder length, greasy,
and unkept. The uncombed strands of hair are clumped together and fall
haphazardly around his face. This individual has a sallow face with sly,
slanting eyes. His eyes give this man a dark and daunting appearance. His
thin lips conceal to only to a certain extent the man's visible overbite. His
chin is well defined and dimpled.

This daunting fellow is garbed in the attire that resembles the style of the
southern men of Eriador. His gray shirt has several small holes just
underneath the neckline. He has broad shoulders, long arms and big hands. A
dark green cloak is draped around his shoulders like a cape. Around his waist
is worn a think black leather belt with a plain metal closure. The gray
shirt is tucked into brown pants. Upon his feet are brown leather boots that
end just below his knees. Both the pant legs and the boots have several mud
stains on them as does the back of the green cloak.

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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Dharlon
You see a hobbit standing only 2'8". He appears just about of age, and proudly wears a shirriffs cap atop his head. He is wearing a neon green shirt tucked into light tan pants, and wears a dark brown cloak over all this. There is a bulge in the shape of a long cyclinder down his left side. Curly brown hair peaks out from his hat and down his forwards, though not quite reaching his deep blue eyes. On his cloak is sewn in a felt badge reading 'Dharlon Took-Eastfarthing' and under that is a red stripe.

Slago
A short pudgy hobbit stands before you. He is rather tall for a hobbit but you could never tell by his weight. His curly brown hair and piercing brown eyes are hidden under his bright red hat. On his body, is a blue shirt and a pair of orange trousers. On his shirt, a little pin sticks out, it reads "Eastfarthing Shirriff". Sticking out of his bright red hat is a little green feather showing that he truly is a Shirriff.

~~~

As the raving Shire Patriot Party members continue to rally outside the Delving Inn, another voice sounds just on the other side of the door, and a sharp series of raps indicate that someone is knocking.

"Le - ach! Uch - Let me in!" A shrill voice coughs from outside. "Hack - uch - open the - uch - door!"

Shire Patriots Party march about, shouting as Filby approaches, "First come boats, then come beards--before you know it, we'll all be weird!"

You walk into the inn.
The Delving Inn(#9495RM)
Pushing the front door open, the din of merriment rings in your ears. The tavern is dominated by a large bar opposite the door, lined with swivel barstools. The bar is lined with swivel barstools - some resting higher than others. Several casks at the end of the bar hold a variety of ale, wine and mead. A slot in the wall allows a partial view of the kitchen and its large cast iron stove. Succulent meat roasts on a semi-circular fire pit can be seen next to the bar, its tantalizing aroma alerting your olfactory sense. Ironwork beside the door holds several cloaks as the oil lamps dotted around the inn light your way. Portraits of the past Mayors of Michel Delving line the walls which have been painted a striking deep red and are trimmed with intricate woodwork.
A narrow staircase leads upwards to the lodging quarters of the inn. ettees situated in the corner next to the door are accessorised by comfortable red cushions. The serving wench, Eyebright, stands behind the bar ready to serve. You have entered The Delving Inn, gathering spot of the Delvings.

Contents:
Dharlon
Slago
Turgwa
Shire Chronicle Paper(#19928M)
Findoc Brandybuck (Game: Walnut Shells)(#11059enM)
Eyebright(#19795LM)
Obvious exits:
Stairs leads up to the guest rooms of The Delving Inn.
Out leads out to Michel Delving.

Slago jumps up from his chair, still gazing at the stranger he yells "WEhat the heck was that crack!"

Clearing his throat the ugly fellow finally speaks. His voice is deep and hoarse. It cracks slightly as he speaks, "You can say that I am from Bree if you like" The unsightly fellow continues to speak despite the fact that the hobbit is looking out the door and talking about Filby. "yes, you can say that I am from Bree" He does not jump or react at all to the cracking sound outside the door as he continues, "But what do you mean that you have never seen a big folk of my sort. Have you never seen a human before?"

A few young hobbits rush to the door and open it a crack, then quickly pull it open to let someone in... an aged halfling wheels himself inside, seated in a wheelchair, coughing and hacking.

"Wha - uch! What - at is all - that ruckus about!" he coughs and sputters as his face reddens. "Why is - cough - why is there a riot outside? What's happening?"

The door is forced open, as an old man and an SPP member shove in. Dharlon slams the door before anyone elsean make it through. He shoves the SPP member towards Slago "Aprehend him on charges of disturbing the peace!" He then turns to Filby "It's a long story. But to make it short, the SPP [censored] have something against our big folk friend here." He motion ot Turwega "Say, what's your name anyway?"

Slago grabs the SPP member none to gently and shovs him onto a table with his hands behind his back, "Make one move mister and I'll beat you with this staff!" He whispers harshly under his breath. Then louder for everyone to hear he asks, "Do you really want me to take him to the lockholes with all this hobbits out there?"

Turgwa ignores the question about his name completely. He turns towards the bar and coughs out an order, "what does one have to do to get a mug of ale around here anyhows. Tis a shame that I have had to wait so long to be served. The servers at the prancing pony would have had a mug in my hand before I had the chance to sit down. They also would have had a plate of food before me before the chair stopped squeaking as I sat in it."

"Wh - what is this?" coughs the old hobbit in the wheelchair, his coughing fit dying down. "Is there a reason for the entire S.P.P. to be parked outside the door? Have I come all the way from my home only to be assaulted by these heathens? By Marcho's feet, this is ridiculous!" He wheels himself toward a table, scowling fiercely.

Dharlon's eyes look over the crowd, and they stop on one hobbit figure "Gene! You're still here! Mind holding this door for me?" Gene sighs and stands, and walks past Dharlon mumbling "Is there anything you DON'T plan to ask me to do tonight?" He sighs at Gene and says "Oh there quieting down. Just make sure no one else gets in here." He then says to Slago "Just hold him here for as long as it takes."

Dharlon then says to Eyebright "A dwarven... no two dwarven ales." He skips the use of all manners entirely.as he sits down and rubs his head, and swears again. Eyebright looks fairly offended and surprised, but gets the ale's anyway. Dharlon passes one to Turwega and says "So what brings you down to the shire?"

Dharlon hands Eyebright a few coins. Eyebright smiles and brings a glass of dwarven ale to Dharlon.

Slago looks at Dharlon with an incredulous look on his face and asks, "You want me to carry on an intelligent conversation with a Big Person and hold down this rambuncuous hobbit at the same time?" Slago looks at Eyebright and asks, "Do you have any rope behind the bar there?"

Nodding his head the squinty-eyed fellow says, "Well that is more like it. Tis a sad day when one can not even find the common courtesy being extended to a traveler in an Inn. " He takes the mug and takes a sip from it. As he pulls the mug away from his face, a bit of foam from the ale sticks to his upper lip. The ugly man uses the back of his sleeve to wipe the white froth from his face. He burps loudly before saying, "I don't believe that I said what my business was did I? Strange how many of you little folks keep asking that very same question."

"Utterly ridiculous..." rambles the old hobbit, reaching his table and pushing aside a chair to make room for his wheelchair. "When I become Mayor the S.P.P. will be the first thing I abolish!" He wheels into a comfortable position, legs under the table, and calls on the barkeep. "Hoy!" he calls, "Hoy, Miss Smallburrow! My tea, come now, don't make me wait!"

Dharlon raises and eyebrow and says "If I didn't know better, I'd say your avoiding the question..." He raises his mug to his lips, takes a sip, and promptly spits it back out "This tastes awful! Does all Ale taste this bad?" Eyebright casts a glance toward the rude Took. Dharlon then sets the ale down and shakes his head "I'm really losing it here... I imagine the paper will have a feild day..." You note that the pounding has stopped.

Eyebright rushes toward the old hobbit. "Excuse me, Shirriff," she apologises to Slago, hurrying across the room. "I'm sorry, Mister Pott..." she sighs as she reaches him. "Tea, eh? One minute..." She rushes toward the door to the kitchen to give the cook the order.

Turgwa peers towards Dharlon and asks, "and what was the question again sir?" After he stops speaking his glare turns towards the old hobbit in the chair with wheels. The ugly fellow just shakes his head back and forth a few times.

Filby turns about to have a good look at the gathering. Naturally, his gaze is drawn to the relatively large person sitting in the inn. "Hello..." he mutters to himself, "and what have we here...?"

"You there," he calls to the man, "what brings you to the Shire, if I may ask?" He swivels about to get a better look at the other. "We don't get many of your sort in these parts!"

Dharlon shakes his head and sighs "Never mind, if you don't want to tell me, don't. But if you have anymore trouble with the SPP, talk to me. Name's Dharlon Took. Me, I'm getting some sleep." With that, he stands up, leaving his ale undrank, and makes his way up the stair. You can however, hear a snort at Filby's comment.

Looking at the old hobbit in the chair with wheels, the squinty eyed fellow responds, "Now did I not just say that all of you little folk keep asking the same question. Surely you all have something better to ask than that same question?" He takes another sip from his ale before speaking again. His voice is rather assertive as he says, "And what is it that you are doing here sir? What business do you have in these parts if I may ask?"

The old hobbit laughs in a dry, cracked tone. "Well, if you must know, good sir, I live here... I am Filbert Pott, a local business-owner here. I deal in pottery, food preparation, and pipeweed... yes, pipeweed..." he strokes his chin for a moment. "I hear you people -- er, men that is, big folk we call you -- I hear that among some peoples pipeweed is a valuable substance... I don't suppose you'd be nterested in buying or selling any?" He adjusts his spectacles and watches the other.

Turgwa's squinty eyes open wide for a brief moment as the old man speaks. He allows his eyes to close slightly again before he responds, "Well sir. I do indeed enjoy a good pipe full of your little folk leaf. I am in fact here looking for a fellow named Vedo Underhill. He is known to bargain a fair price for a barrel of pipeweed." Perhaps in an obvious attempt to not sound too interested in the pipeweed, the ugly man also adds, "of course my business here is not in that area. Though a little side venture might be arranged if the price is right."

"Ah, Underhill, you say?" nods Filby, stroking his chin. "Well, Vedo Underhill doesn't live here anymore... after the trial, I believe he fled to Bree... if he's returned, I don't know. But enough of that... I would be glad to sell you a bit of tobacco, if he could decide on a time and place? I'd have to check the current prices, of course..."

Turgwa scratches his chin as he responds, "doesn't live here any more you say? I thought that I heard that he was running for Mayor again. I saw a sign on the road saying so. But what ever you little folk do is your business. I will be in town for a few days. If you want to make me an offer on a few barrels of your weed, well I am sure that I would be willing to listen."

"Ah, well," nods Filby, smiling to himself, "that's very good... I'm sure I can find something to sell you. I know I have some Southlinch in stock, and I'm sure I could find something else should you like." He continues nodding. "Well then, you knew Vedo? I can't say I'd met him... I had heard a bit about him, of course, he was a rather infamous figure in his time. I'm sure that if he's out there anywhere you can find him."

Turgwa nods "My cousin Bronwyn knew the hobbit. I heard that when he wins the election that the price of pipeweed would be lower here than it is in Bree. I wanted to know if there was truth in that rumor." The ugly man lifts his arm and uses his pinky finger on his left arm to pick his nose. He uses the finger to route around the nasal cavity for about a minute before he pulls it out and looks at the fingertip. Content with what he finds, he takes the tip of the finger and places it in his mouth. He sucks on it for a moment or two before he lowers his arm back to his side.

Filby shakes his head and smiles. "Well, I'm sorry to disappoint you, Mister... ah, what did you say your name was? Eh, no matter, there's time for formalities later... but no, if Vedo is in the Shire, he is not running for Mayor. Only Will Whitfoot is running, and myself. I would like to see more trade with other peoples, of course... it's something I've depended on for years in my trade. And I'm sure that pipeweed will cost less to buy here if I win... and I will, of course."

Turgwa shakes his head, "No I am quite sure that this Vedo fellow is running for Mayor. I heard it myself at the green dragon a few days ago. If I was you I would be sure to campaign against him. I would point out why he should not win if you are so sure that you are a better man, er hobbit than he is. It would be a shame if all those folks voted for him because you did not say that his candidacy was a poor move on his part."

"I am sorry, sir..." explains Filby, "Vedo Underhill is -not- running. The candidates were Will Whitfoot, Willemina Took, Firobrus Clayhanger, Lillyfoot Lightfoot, Berredan Took, Clodo Baggins, and me, Filbert Pott. After the primary elections, Will and myself continued, and the outcome of our campaigning shall be seen at the Lithe Fair, in a few months. Vedo Underhill was not involved at all."

Turgwa stands from his stole and shakes his had as he chuckles softly, "Well then I am sure that this Vedo is the best hobbit for the job. He is playing it so sly that he has kept you from hearing the truth. It is brilliance on his part. He can campaign against you. He can now tell every one of your faults and weaknesses. But if you do not acknowledge his campaign, well then no one hears anything bad about him. He is surely a brilliant hobbit. No wonder he is so well known. Political genius. How can he lose if no one runs against him. Why you have practically already let him win. Wise is this Vedo, wise indeed."

Turgwa simply nods his head up and down a few times

"Ah..." says Filby, squinting a bit as he speaks, "I'm certain that Vedo is not running. But enough of that... I must be going... my tea has not come, and I must leave. The crowd outside has died down, and it is safe for me to leave." He wheels himself away from the table and toward the door. "Thank you for the conversation, sir, it was really a pleasure meeting you. Perhaps we can meet again to discuss pipeweed... here, perhaps, if that would work well for you." Before getting an answer, the old hobbit carefully opens the inn's round door and wheels himself out, the door swinging shut behind him.

You walk out into the street.