Featuring: Filby (Shirefolk Hobbit) and Turgwa (Isendrim Half-Orc)

Sitting uncomfortably on a stool that appears to be somewhat too small for him is perched an unsightly fellow. His eyes SQUINT as he looks at the plate of food that is positioned before him. The plate has a large steak upon it and several small broiled potatoes. The unsightly fellow pokes at the meat with a fork that he is holding upside down. Eyebright stands in front of him and is apologizing profusely, "I am sorry sir, but the cook just barely touched it with the fire. If it was any more rare, it would be raw." The unsightly fellow shakes his head from side to side as he pokes the meat once more. A bit of red juice flows from the puncture holes. He speaks, "I asked for rare, this is completely over cooked."

A very old hobbit sits in his in a wheelchair at a table in the inn, near the stairs to the guest rooms. He picks at the remains of a meal with a small metal fork, yawining occasionally. Beside him is a wooden barrel of something or another, clearly labeled as Southlinch pipeweed.

Grumbling loudly, the squinty eyed fellow drops his fork on the table with a clang. He pushes the plate towards Eyebright and says, "Well then fine. Bring me a raw steak. I have never had such bad service in all of my travels. I heard that you little folk were supposed to be master cooks. The Prancing Pony never seems to have any problems with their meat ever!" The hobbittesse take the plate and disappears into the kitchen. To the side of the room a small hobbit lad passes out of the inn while saying, "I heard that Vedo Underhill took a pie right from Mrs Maggot's windowsill."

"Excellent time to do so if he's running for mayor..." mutters the old hobbit in the wheelchair, overhearing the youngster's comment. "-If- he's running." He shakes his head, then pushes his plate aside and gestures to Eyebright. "Come! Take away my plate, I'm done with my meal! And be quick about it!" He coughs. "And bring me a cup of tea while you're at it."

The Squinty-eyed southerner looks over his shoulder towards the old hobbit in the wheel chair. He almost hisses as he calls out to him, "Wait your own turn old person. I was here first and she is tending to my supper. You can get yours after I am satisfied. " Turning back to the bar he says, "If that Vedo fella eats here, no wonder he resorts to stealing food elsewhere."

"Right, right..." nods the oldster impatiently, turning to see who he's talking to. "Fine. But as I was -- " he stops to take a good look at the large, squinting individual. "Ah... I remember you. You've been aroudn these parts for quite some time, haven't you? One of Vedo's supporters, aren't you? But no matter." He wheels himself around to face the Big Person. "I don't believe I'd introduced myself the last time we'd met... I am Filbert Pott, the Baron of Pott Manor, at your service, sir." The old hobbit nods to the larger individual. "And you are...?"

Huffing loudly the squinty- eyed southerner says, "I support myself and no one else sir. And my name is my own business, now shut your yap so I can eat in peace."

"Well..." mutters Filby quietly, staring wide-eyed in disbelief at the stranger. "One would think that one such as yourself would know better than to speak in such a manner to nobility. But no matter," he lets the matter go with a wave of a yellowed hand, "I'll let that go for now." The old hobbit glances at the barrel beside him, then smiles, turning his attention back to the other. "Ah, I say... I don't suppose you'd be interested in doing a bit of trade? I've got a barrel of fine pipeweed with me, and I've been looking for someone to take it off my hands. -Very- inexpensive, I should say."

Without turning back to look at the old hobbit, the Squinty eyed southerner responds in a sarcastic tone, "Very inexpensive you say. I am sure that in these parts that is the same as very rare." The unsightly fellow shifts in his chair uneasily and calls back towards the kitchen, "How hard is it to make a raw steak? Do you need me to come back there and kill the cow for you too?" The unsightly fellow settles back in his seat and huffs loudly before saying a bit more civilly, "how much are you asking for it?"

Filby chuckles slightly, folding his hands in his lap. "Well, normally it costs in the range of... oh, 5000 coppers. But, since I'm so desparate for customers, I've shaved the price down to 2500 coppers. And, since I like you, I'll give you a 200 copper discount and make it 2300 coppers." He smiles. "Does that sound resonable to you?"

The Squinty Eyed Southerner turns to look at the barrel of pipeweed sitting behind him and near the old man. He frowns and his eyebrows furrow. He shakes his head and says, "At this time of year, that pipeweed must be nearly nine months. I would be a fool to pay over 1500 coppers for it. The last little folk that called me a fool ended up in a chair like yours old man. I wonder where you would end up?"

"I beg to differ!" disagrees the aged halfling, shaking his head. "It's not at all that old. Perhaps... six months. But it -has- been kept in the best possible condition, and it should be just as good as a three month-old batch." He smiles again. "Well, since you drive such a hard bargain... I'll let you have it for... 1800 coppers. Not a penny less. And I'll throw in a boxed set of Nectarina Bracegirdle's most popular works just to make it worth your while."

The unsightly fellow huffs yet again, "Fine," he says. " But you are going to pay for my supper as well. And you can take that boxed set of refuse and use it start a fire." The squinty eyed fellow stands and walks towards the old man. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a few coins and tosses them to him. "There it is. Now give me my pipeweed." His eyes are narrow as he stares at the old man's face.

Turgwa +gives you a Silver Dime and 5 Silver Pennies.

"Thank you, sir!" nods Filby, gratefully catching the coins and bending over to catch any that hit the ground. "And since you've been such a good customer, I'll gladly pay." He removes a pouch from a pocket and opens it, counts its contents, then closes it again. "I think thirty coppers should cover it... and another ten, because it's been such a pleasure doing business with you." He tosses the pouch to the big person.

You +give 50 Copper Pennies to Turgwa.

Without so much as a word of thanks, the unsigtly fellow picks up the barrel and walks out the door.

Turgwa walks out to the street.
Turgwa has left.