What Wiligar Took meets the repugnant Vandalo Brown-Brownlock- Puddifoot and hijinks ensue. Who Olfo Diggle (#16690)...Vandalo Brown-Brownlock-Puddifoot Filby Pott (#29680)....Wiligar Took, Miranda Burrows
Longbottom
This is Longbottom, a quaint village known best for the local pipeweed of the same name. The scent of the renowned pipeweed permeates the brisk fresh air. A few small cottages and leaf patches dominate the hamlet, though the surrounding areas consist of large plantations. There isn't much interest for one not interested in pipeweed or pipes, as Longbottom is a rural village. It is apparent that this village is mostly used for harvesting pipeweed as there is very little infrastructure Besides the few cottages, there are several business lining the single street that runs through town: a post office, a general store, and a precious bed and breakfast.You notice several fences delineating various pipeweed patches, and a white gate leads to the north, bearing the letter "H".
Contents:
Vandalo
Miranda Burrows (Vending: Pipeweed Permits)
Obvious Exits:
White Door opens into the Tin Whistle Bed and Breakfast.
Gate allows access to the Hornblower pipeweed fields.
Northwest leads to the Old Winyards Vineyard on the Sarn Ford Road.
Northeast will take you to Pincup.
Southwest is a route to the Sarn Ford road and southern Shire border.
White Door
A circular white door, with a nob right in the center. A sign reads, "Tin Whistle Bed & Breakfast."
Northwest
A broad dirt road leading northwest toward Whitwell and Waymeet.
Northeast
A trail leading through the pipeweed country and across the Southfarthing, in the direction of the Tooklands.
Southwest
A little-used path leading south toward Sarn Ford.
Contents:
Southfarthing Bounder Patrol
Sign for Pipeweed Merchants and Travellers
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RL (Arizona) time is Sun Dec 17 08:33:59 2000 (+time).
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IC time is about 3 PM on Trewsday Afteryule (January) 29, 1422 S.R.
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IC Weather Conditions
Snow buckets from the sky in earnest, coating everything with a thick layer of white. No sensible hobbit would be outside on this Afteryule day.
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Wiligar Took
A hobbit stands before you. A taller hobbit, a bit over three feet, Wiligar is clad in an expensive dull red waistcoat and a pair of well-tailored green trousers. A silver pocketwatch and a white handkerchief can be seen in his right pocket. Wiligar's neatly combed light brown hair curls atop his head, his slightly pointed ears peeking out. His feet, brushed and combed, are well-groomed and well-cleaned.
Vandalo Brown-Brownlock-Puddifoot
No shape so pitiable; no body so inferior exists in all the Shire, or indeed Eriador, as the largely depressionable beast before you. Filth upon filth are the inhabitants of his skin; indeed his skin seems to have tainted from its white, to a sullen gray--an always-present, all-to-evident drear that plagues the very pores of his skin in a constant fashion.
The hair--both on foot and on head-- are the only aspects of this sub-animal which define him (quite loosely) as a holbytlan. A hobbit, and one that never looked so deathly. The afforementioned hair is dark--almost black-- and it flows in a ratted, wavy, broken manner which can best be described sinisterly soiled and filth-covered. Indeed, a dank, putrid smell arises from both, which chokes your nostrils as it fills them.
Indeed, he must be the least hobbit-like of hobbits, for his form is not fat; but quite, quite small-- thin, wirey, sickly--his very bloodvains show faintily through his arms and legs.
And his clothing is no less dank... remains of what was once a beautiful weskit of yellow, outlined in the finest golden string, have now been torn into a repulsive mass of stankly rags. Grimy trousers, which once had impecably nice golden lace at the bottoms, are torn, frayed, and as unheygenic as the rest of this sour Shirefolk's form.
Miranda Burrows
A short and rather unbecoming hobbitmaiden. Her brown hair is a bit ratty and uncombed, and her face is quite homely. Her plump figure is situated rather precariously on a relatively tall stool, and her chubby legs dangle down like tree trunks. She is swathed in a bright yellow sundress with a floral pattern which unfortunately reveals her large, fat arms. She looks from side to side, occasionally running her fingers through her uneven hair, and a notepad rests in her lap.
INFO - Miranda's words of wisdom.
PERMITS - Merchants registered and approved.
MARKET - Market prices of various leaves.
The obviously inspectable details on Longbottom are:
-- fence -- sign
+Inspect fence
A white gate saying, "Hornblower Plantation." You can see fields of pipeweed (mostly Old Toby and Longbottom Leaf). Perhaps you should 'open gate' and take a peep, hoping the Hornblowers aren't oversuspicious.
+Inspect sign
A noticeable board in the center of town reads:
Longbottom: Her soil is her beauty
NORTHWEST: Whitwell, Sackville and beyond.
NORTHEAST: Pincup, Stock Road, and Tookland.
SOUTH: Sarn Ford Road
You wonder which path to take.
The Story
Two past lunch and snow still buckets from the sky, never wavering, covering the ground in a beautiful white snowscape. Small little hobbit children run about upon the wintery scene, throwing balls of white at each other and building snow-hobbits... Longbottom central seems generally merry this after-noon, save for one small subtraction.
Through the snow, a huddled shape hobbles, trapsing along a small path through the centre of the town, muttering strange things to himself and no one else. The creature seems a normal hobbit, yet as children approach, they quickly back away--even some adults run from the beast! And then he settles comfortably upon a rock covered with the least snow, and looks around, and it becomes evident that he is, in fact, Vandalo Brown-Brownlock-Puddifoot, sickly as ever.
"For goodness' sake..." mutters a dapper-looking hobbit as he steps out of the Tin Whistle Bed and Breakfast, closing the door to the small establishment as he leaves, staring unbelieveably at the masses of snow heaped upon the ground as though the Fell Winter had come again. "This will never do... I hadn't expected this..." He looks about the portion of the town of Longbottom, catching sight of the rotund figure of Miss Miranda Burrows sitting foolishly upon a stool not far away.
"Hoy! You there, miss!" cries the halfling through over the howl of crying wind and curtain of falling snow. He runs toward her, a pair of large Bucklebury-made boots crunching on the heavy sheet, caling after her. "Please, madam! I need directions... I can see naught but this dreadful sheet of snow before my eyes, and thus cannot find the way to Old Vinyards, whence I would travel upon the morrow had this precipitation not hindered my travel!"
Miranda points northwest up the road. "Aw, quit yer fancy-talk whinin', it's up the road to the left, can't miss it."
He bows, "Thank you."
The young lawyer's conquest through the snowscape is given little attention by the asthetically sick--Vandalo remains upon his rock, without looking up from his ripped cloaks or his stained rock. Instead, the least hobbit-like of hobbits remains resting upon the snowy rock.
It doesn't take long, however, for the creature to glance up, upon the clothing of the newly-arrived hobbit, and he slowly rolls off of his small sitting-rock into the snow, and crawls to his feet.
"Hold on a momentsh...!" Vandalo calls after Wiligar, hobbling quickly as he can over to the lawyer... the homeless hobbit places an arm around the other's back. "Hullo therrrree..." he says, a bit of a smile curving his dark lips--surprisingly.
"Ex - excuse me... do I know you?" Wiligar Took, aforementioned lawhobbit of the Tookland steps away from Burrows and Brown-Brownlock-Puddifoot, somewhat flabberghasted at the audacity of this most scruffy-looking and odd of Shire hobbits. He removes the grubby halfing's arm from his person. "Wh - who are you, may I ask?"
He scrutinizes this queerest of the queer with careful confusion.
"Ol' Wiligar! Don'tcha remember me?!" is what Vandalo says, replacing his removed arm upon the law-hobbit's shoulder-blade. "It'sol' Vandalo! Yew're the one'oo defended m' perents back in court 'few years 'go!" his lips seem to curve a bit more--straining to their limit to smile.
"Don'cha 'member m'?!"
Wiligar Took stares in disgust at Vandalo Brown-etcetera. "No, no I don't... Mister Vandalo..." The lawywer takes a few steps back in the blinding snow, boots crunching as per usual. "Say..." he mutters, keeping both eyes on the disgraceful excuse for a drunkard, "This isn't some scam to part me with my money, is it...?"
"Ohhhhh... m'st'r Took... yew know me! 'Course it's not some 'scam to get yer money'!" the drunkard states, and Vandalo moves forthward as Wiligar moves back. "But I could yewse a cu'pl' coppers, if yew could spare!" He winks.
"S' tell me, Mister Took... how've yew been m'st'r Tookk, hmm? How're yew?"
"Please... sir..." Wiligar continues to stumble backward as the frighteningly ugly hobbit in desperate need of bath, manicure, and general makeover bears down upon him. "Please... don't... hurt me..." He curls his hands into fists and brings them up in front of his face. "I... I do know how to defend myself..."
This latest onslaught elicits a frightening response from Vandalo-- a chuckle, nigh truly a cackle: loud and cutting. So that the beast-of-a-hobbit seems about to wretch and let loose his repulsive innards onto the snow... but slowly the un-bathed hobbit calms and sinks into the snow, his lips having been stretched to their fullest point.
"Yew're such a kidder, Mister Took... such..." he murmurs to himself, more than anything else...
Wiligar puts down his hands and continues to back off, his boots crunching (as has been noted a number of times already) upon the snow, watching the disheveled halfling wretch lying on the ground in a pathetic manner. He mutters to himself. "My word... must call a Shirriff... can't have riffraff like this..."
Miranda just sits there.
This elicits even more chuckling from the snow-stationed hobbit--the white ground blanket seeming to become darker as the creature rolls around in it. Soon, however, Vandalo Brown-Brownlock-Puddifoot's cackles turn to coughs--violet attacks!-- and then they finally disperse, and he lays upon the snow... seemingly asleep...
"My word... I've killed him..." Wiligar stumbles backwards with pangs of guilt and grief as he sees, veiled through heavy snow, the form of Vandalo stumble and fall on the cold, hard ground. "Doctor... someone call a doctor...!" He turns and runs, fleeing the scene.