November 5, 2965…
As Maethordan moved through the bustling streets of Bree, the people of Bree glanced at him suspiciously – but he kept his focus forward and arrived at the Prancing Pony without more than people whispering and pointing as he strode past them.
Inside the Prancing Pony it was very different; people were moving about, drinking, singing, sharing stories of this and that, and not a single person stopped to look at Maethordan.
Maethordan moved through the crowd and spotted Barnabas Butterbur. He placed his hand on Barnabas Butterbur to stop the rotund man from moving; despite his size, he moved with a quickness inside the Prancing Pony.
“Oh!” Barnabas Butterbur let out a squeal of surprise, though through some uncanny means, spilled neither drink that was in his hands, destined for a nearby table. “You startled me, sir. What can I do for you?”
“Gandalf told me to speak with you, about meeting some people here,” Maethordan answered in hushed tones.
“Meeting people here?” Barnabas Butterbur gave it some thought. Then he thought about it more. Then he thought about how Gandalf might turn him into a newt if he didn’t remember what was asked of him. Then he thought about what his life would be like a newt. Then he wondered if Nob could possibly run the Prancing Pony? His mind screamed in horror and brought him back to the real world. “Oh, yes!” He finally said, “I do remember! I do remember! They’re over there, by the fireplace.”
Maethordan turned to see a barding, and two people of Bree – a man and a woman – sitting at a table – looking at one another.
The barding, Maethordan noted, though sitting, he guessed stood five foot ten, which was decently tall for a Barding. The barding’s dark hair and tanned skin indicated that he had seen plenty of time on the road, despite his well-kept leather shirt and some common looking pants. Maethordan’s eyes were drawn to the Barding gaze which seemed focused on a hole near his left knee.
Which meant the other one was the Man of Bree – the messenger – that Gandalf had mentioned in the note. The note mentioned how this Messenger was known for his stealth – but from here, he now wondered if perhaps the wrong person was seated at the table next to the Barding. This man of Bree was anything but quiet, as his jovial voice called out to the woman next to him, “Ah, lady Foxglow! We meet again!” Hobart clinked glasses, beer from his pint spilled and splashed all over himself. “Oopsie-daisy!”
He stood and pulled a rag from his shirt to pat himself dry, then offered it to the strange-haired Bree woman next to him, who Maethordan assumed to be seamstress.
The woman blanched at the offer of the damp rag as Hobart shoved it back into his shirt and sat down again. “It is nice to see you, Master Rushlight,” she muttered over her tea, just loud enough to be heard if he was trying to listen.
Hobart had long blonde hair matched with an equally long blonde mustache, short dirty beard, and slightly unsettling chest hair which is somehow always visible no matter what outfit he was wearing.
The Messenger was a loud man, which Maethordan considered to be a problem on the road, but he was also very cheerful. So long as the man’s loud mouth did not endanger them, his positivity in this darkening world could be much needed.
The Bree-Woman looked like no other Bree-Woman, which made Maethordan suspect that she was not native to Bree. With her hair pulled back and held with a blue ribbon, she held her cup of tea between her hands, pressed to her lips as her equally blue eyes studied the stranger who had just come in - Barnabas Butterbur had just pointed the man in this direction, which probably meant that this was the Ranger of the North that would soon be escorting them to Weathertop.
Fay looked at Lodin, “I think that’s him. The one that will take us where we need to go.”
That’s when she took notice that Lodin seemed focused on the tear on his pants on his left knee and she considered if it would be wrong to charge her companions for her work, the amount of which would be extensive by the looks of it. She was glad, as her hand went unconsciously to her handbag at her side, that she’d brought extra thread.
Though she’d been quite forward with Gandalf – there was something about him that always pulled that out of her – she was soft spoken, and she is quite certain that no one other than Teelia, the waitress, had heard her order her tea. Even then, there was a small chance it was more from familiarity that Teelia had known she ordered a tea. Teelia had known of Fay, but did not know her – they had both attended the classes that Anna Wintermoss taught, at the same time, but never spoke. Teelia had made several attempts to speak with Fay, but Fay always withdrew from her. Now Teelia and Fay exchanged pleasant hellos but never spoke more than that when they passed one another in Bree.
Fay wore a black cloak with fine silver work embroidered along the edge, the cloak itself in good condition despite being well used as an advertisement of her handywork, should the apothecary business be running slow.
Maethordan approached the table where three travelers sat. The clothes he wore were simple but made of good quality, dark and sturdy material which was old and had been patched multiple times. The patches on his clothes were of dark leather and are well secured with simple stitching. He carried a sheathed sword with a bow and shield on his back. Hide armor poked out from beneath his flowing cloak.
Despite time on the road, a young, handsome face could barely be made out from underneath the hood. Bright, emerald-green eyes surveyed all around and eventually focused on the group. A few stray unkempt black hairs hung down from beside the face and out of the hood. He stopped by the table and leaned in and whispered just loud enough for you all to hear, "Are you three here at the request of Gandalf the Grey?"
Without further preamble the hooded man pulled up a stool and sat as he leaned in again and whispered, "Will you be ready to move in the morning? We still have a way to go."
Fay looked up at the newcomer to the table, “Greetings,” she said softly as he joined them.
Hobart stood and greeted the Ranger loudly as he firmly shook with both hands. Hobart was 33 years old, but all his days in the sun made him look as if he might be 40, or even older.
Lodin looked at his pants and then back at Maethordan. "I'll need a change of clothes, if we are to leave early.”
Fay looked at Lodin, then back to the Ranger, who had not yet given his name, "Do you know why Gandalf has requested our assistance? It seems you have some knowledge of where we are going."
Leaning in again the young man admitted, "To be honest I do not know. All I know is that I am to take you to Weathertop Sorry, I have been remiss and not given my name, it is Maethordan."
“ I'll go talk to Butterbur,” Lodin said and stood up and walked away with purpose, looking for the proprietor.
As Lodin walked through the Prancing Pony, he could hear a local musician in the corner, singing songs of dragons and flame, and Lodin paused for a moment – the word “dragon” catching his ear. He listened to the musician for a moment, the song seemed to be a variation of the story of the Hobbit, Bilbo Baggin’s encounter with Smaug, the dreaded dragon. Lodin yearned for that – to find a dragon – and face off against it, to be worthy of the name and heritage he bore.
That’s when he saw Barnabas Butterbur, as he was speaking to several people seated around a table. He turned to leave that table and gave a small squeal of surprise. "Master Lodin!" He looked around and saw that Lodin needed to seek him out. "Do you need another mead? I can send Teelia over immediately to deliver a drink if that's what you should need!"
Lodin gestured downward with his hands and said, "No, no, my good sir. My new companion seems eager to leave as soon as possible, and my clothes are in an unsightly state of disrepair. As it is past time for the local shops to open, I wonder if you have any travel clothes I could purchase so as not to be a burden on my new companions?"
Barnabas Butterbur looked around the busy tavern. The candle lights flickered, casting shadows throughout the room as Barnabas Butterbur's eyes strained to see through the smoke and haze of the room.
"Where is that blasted hobbit," he muttered aloud, though he'd clearly not meant for the words to be heard. "Ah, there he is! Nob," he shouted, "Nob, come here for a moment!"
A young hobbit quickly moved with ease through the crowd. His brown eyes were sharp, but his brown, earthly colored hair was disheveled. "Nob," Barnabas Butterbur said, with a ton of affection, much different than he'd sounded a moment ago. It was clear that Barnabas Butterbur, despite his external appearance, clearly suffered from stress very easily, internally. "Nob," he repeated, "see if you can't find Master Ellwin. He was here not too long ago. Master Lodin is in need of some traveling clothes, and Master Ellwin often had spare clothes he'd made."
Nob, without saying a word - leaving Lodin perhaps wondering if the hobbit was capable of speaking - quickly dashed away into the crowd - and before Lodin realized what was happening, returned with a tall human. "Lodin, I presume," the human extended his hand. "The name is Ellwin Greenland. I understand you're in need of some travel clothes?" He looked Lodin up and down, "You're a big fellow, with those arms, but I do believe I have some spare clothes I could offer you. Barnabas Butterbur tells me you are friends of Master Gandalf. I will bill him for the clothes," he smiled. "Come with me to my shop and I can get that for you."
Back at the table, Fay cleared her throat, "My name is Fay Foxglow. I am an apothecary and scholar, at least of sorts." Finishing her introduction, her hand moved to her mouth, and she started to chew on her thumbnail while looking Maethordan over.
"Are you a Ranger? One of the men that live in the wilderness around Bree? You dress as one."
Fay studied Maethordan for another moment then looked back to the man talking with Lodin, "Ellwin is not a foe, he is a good man."
“Well, if we’re leaving soon, I would like my stomach full,” Hobart said and stood. He looked around the crowded tavern for Teelia, who had been their server. Unintentionally, Hobart obscured Fay’s view of what was happening – but Hobart saw it. Though Hobart spent most of his time on the road and little time in Bree, he’d been in town enough times to recognize trouble. As he was looking for Teelia, Fred and Harry Stoneacre , twin boys who grew up in trouble, more often than not. Hobart's gaze followed them and noted that the Ranger had already spotted them as well, gesturing that he too believed these two had ill intentions as they seemed to follow Lodin and Ellwin out the door.
As Lodin and Ellwin exited the Prancing Pony, going down the small flight of stairs, Ellwin turned to him, “So where does he have you going, if you don’t mind me asking?”
“I don’t mind you asking,” Lodin began, “but I am afraid I can not say.”
“Gandalf,” Ellwin laughed, “always a mystery with that one and his companions.”
Stepping out of the shadows, a human emerged, the moonlight gleaming off the blade of a small dagger. “You’re a stranger here,” the man’s voice slurred the words. “We don’t welcome strangers here in Bree. I saw you sitting with the witch, Fay. She’s not normal either. Not from here. I bet she killed her mother and grandfather, and Anna, her friend, disappeared. Too coincidental if you ask me,” the man’s words were running into one another. “I saw your horse, stranger. You can leave that here. I will take it. But you need to go. And go tonight.”
Ellwin raised his hands. The man, stumbling out of the shadows was none other than Lenny Appleton, a local boy who found himself on the wrong side of the law, and now frequently kept company with questionable ruffians. He would be far more dangerous if he wasn’t usually drunk. Lenny was thin and lanky, his arms almost nothing more than bones, but despite his weaving due to his intoxication, he seemed to move like a serpent. His brown hair was unkempt and his hazel eyes lacked focus. His red shirt was tattered and stained, his grey leather pants riddled with holes and patches.
The door to the Prancing Pony opened, and out stepped Fred and Harry Stoneacre. The twins looked exactly alike and dressed exactly alike – their blond hair was long, both with long beards. The only way to tell them apart was Fred had a scar over his right eye. The story goes that Harry tried to give himself a matching scar, simply because his twin had one, but the scar never kept.
Ellwin shook his head, “Don’t do this, boys.”
“If the man leaves and takes the witch with him, and leaves the horse, everything will end just fine and no one gets hurt tonight,” Lenny managed to get the words out. He leaned against the wall as the world seemed to dip and sway around him.
“Listen to Lenny,” Fred said, brandishing a dagger.
“We don’t want trouble,” Harry added, “we just want the horse.”
Fellowship Points:
4 (1 per player) + 2 (Gandalf) = 6
Eye Awareness: 2
Lodin: Failed Perception Check
Fay: Failed Perception Check
Maethordan: Successful Perception Check
Hobart: Successful Perception Check
Note: For Fay, Maethordan, and Hobart, you can easily get to the front door - though you'd need to inform Fay of what's going on as she missed it