The great East Road cuts through the heart of Bree, and at the centre of the town stands the inn of The Prancing Pony. Known locally just as The Pony, it has stood for as long as anyone in Bree can recall. Rising above the cobble-stones of the East Road and looking out upon the Green, it is always a welcome sight to both locals and weary travellers. Though its most common patrons are Bree locals, it sees its fair share of Dwarven travellers moving between Dale, the Lonely Mountain and the Iron Hills in the east and the Blue Mountains in the west, or the occasional Hobbit of the Shire. The proprietor even claims his grandfather once hosted an Elf that was travelling west to the Great Sea.

On any given night, The Prancing Pony is filled with the sound of raucous laughter and the scent of fine food and fresh beer — all of it under a cloud of aromatic pipe smoke. Even during the day, a few patrons can be found either enjoying a brief reprieve from their daily work or exchanging idle gossip. Day or night, regardless of the season, a crackling fire is set in the hearth and a soothing golden glow can be seen in its frosted windows. All who step under the lamp and signboard (showing a fat, white pony rearing up and ‘The Prancing Pony’ in white letters) and enter The Pony are welcome, by order of the inn-keeper, Barnabas Butterbur. Even the ill- favored Rangers are given a table when they patronize his establishment, though always one in the back and away from the regular customers.

Those looking for lodging will find simple, comfortable rooms with warm feather beds. Barnabas even makes sure to keep a few smaller rooms on the ground floor of the inn to ensure the comfort of his Hobbit patrons. Though not as grand as an Elf hall or as cozy as a Hobbit smial, travellers will be hard pressed to find better accommodations west of the Last Bridge. Guests can even pay a few extra silver pennies for a hot bath to wash away the dirt of the road, and are assured the comfort of their loyal mounts, who are well-stabled in The Pony’s sheltered courtyard. Simple but hearty food fills the belly of all who visit, and partners perfectly with Barnabas’s Best, an ale brewed on site and served fresh.

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Spring of 2965, The Prancing Pony common room

The fire is warm, the beer frothy, and the worthies of Bree have gathered in the common room of the Pony to sing songs and make merry. This night, there are two groups of strangers as well as the locals — a pair of Dwarves as well as a trio of strangers from over the mountains. The inn is full since news have spread of Milton arriving with news from the Shire and Buckland and everyone -especially the hobbits of Bree- are curious to hear any gossip from the west.

Larry manages to secure a table for all of you and Barnabus set your drinks down in front of you with a huff, winks and immediately scurrys off to another table.

Nor, fresh in from the road hisself, stares with hungry eyes at his shepherd's pie. Taking his quart tankard, he raises it to his companions - "Glad to see allaya again, that's for certain. Well met." - and takes a drink.  "Now, Milton, let us in on your news, what do you hear from where you were?"
This message was last edited by the player at 10:34, Sat 13 Jan.

Life in the Shire and Buckland is trudging along mostly as it always have been, Milton can tell you but there are some interesting news. A Took hobbit by the name of Paladin have begun tilling land and planting seeds among the chicken farmers of Whitwell which have caused quite the stir. The miners of the Brockenbores have started to suffer from a coughing sickness that no one knows that cause of and the fishing competition to settle the feud between the Hobbits of Haysend and Deephallow is the talk of Buckland.

Perhaps the part of his job which tended to bother Milton Mudbottom the most, was that he seldom could enjoy the first and second helpings of any tavern meal while it was hot! His mother had taught him not to speak with his mouth full, doing so was the hallmark of bad manners. News-hungry folk would pester him and pepper him with questions so that he felt he must give them some answers, enough to satisfy them until he could take another bite at least! But then would come more questions and pleas for tidings of such-and-such or so-and-so!

It had been a while, so with a heavy sigh he pushed his barely touched plate back a little and politely addressed those who seemed to thrive on gossip... another bad manner his mother had warned him against.

"I've a few letters, let me see," he fished a small bundle from his pouch and began to pass them around to the faces he could recognize that matched the addressed names.

"No, sorry, nothing this trip," he would say over and over again to those who received nothing. "I should hope to have a shorter route the next, you'll most likely have something then."

Finally, he managed to wad a roll into his mouth and shrug his shoulders at further inquiries. His mother would have been ashamed, but the trade-off for the broken manner was a funeral due to starvation!

"Good to see you again Nor, what a slog I had! Rain and wind, wind and rain! If not for my webbed feet, I might still be on the road!" He wiggled his muddy toes for the dwarf to see. A longstanding joke was that the folk of Frogmorton had adapted over time and only lacked a bill and feathers to be completely at home in the damp area where the Water slowed to a crawl.

"Pass the honey please? Oh, this pie is splendid... shame it's grown cold. Tell me, have the dwarves any remedy for coughing? I mean to ask, are there maladies associated with mining? It's quite a concern of the Brockenbores. Of course this is the season for sickness I suppose."

Nor finished his supper and first ale while Milton went this way and that, always stopping to give a piece of news or share a friendly word; a real talent, Nor thought.  Mush as he's like to be more ... naturally social, it not only wasn't really him, he spent so much time in the wild, that he was rarely with other people anyway.  Then a look of confusion crossed his features - actually, when he was escorting travelers and caravanners across the lands, that was definitely 'with' other people.  He took another considered draught of the ale.  I wonder why I didn't factor them in...

But then Milton mentioned his odd feets, and the weather, and asked him about the miners "Ah yes, mm-hmm.  Miners.  There's a great many remedies for that, ya.  All home remedies, of course, and every Mam has one.  Funny, I should my mam's, though I don't.  Hmmm.  There was a selection of mushrooms, some spelt flour, the antenna of some little cave crickets, a bitter root, was it cheroot?  And some wild onions.  I should get it, if ever I get back.  I'll write her, and give it to the next merchant going thataway.  Good idea, Milton, lad.  & I'll also work on my own.  Brilliant.  Now, you eat, and I'll tell you of the small group of dwarves that I walked with to near on the Last Bridge; not much of a story, but who knows who you'll meet, or meet again..."

Milton was already deep into his second helping, his bushy eyebrows raising in satisfaction to find that this bowl hadn't grown completely cool during his imparting of the news to the eager patrons of the Pony. He'd have written down Nor's remembrances of the remedy if not for the spoon he was wielding in one hand and the plump roll slathered in marmalade which he brandished in the other.

When he finally paused for a drink and a breath he asked, "Remind me Nor, what sort of a journey would it take to visit your mother in person? I find myself in between routes at the moment, why not obtain the recipe and deliver it to the Brockenbores ourselves? I so enjoy seeing new places. In fact, many say that dwarves have no mothers at all! Children of stone and bone. If I were to meet her, I could witness on your behalf! What do you think?"

The break was brief, because the third helping had just arrived, this one steaming and hot and begging to be sampled immediately. His appetite was certainly that of a hobbit, but Milton lacked the girth of the majority of his kind. His belt had far too many notches left over instead of too few, which caused him to tuck the end behind and let it dangle above his knee. Too, his face was leaner, his fingers slimmer, his body more slender. His clothes were baggy and hung from him not unlike a child be-robed in his father's wardrobe. Many hobbits, to look upon him, would consider him underfed and thin to the point of ill-health. The first of those assumptions wasn't far from the mark, as many who hailed from the region of Frogmorton in the Eastfarthing were poorer than their kin. Swampy ground, mosquitos and other disadvantageous conditions made life hard for the humble folk who toiled where The Water slowed to a crawl. Though most of them were farmers, many were they who had missed second breakfast and elevensies far too many times.

Milton settled into his chair, an accommodation of the proprietors of The Pony who had many hobbit folk as patrons in Bree. The table could adjust for the comfort and convenience of taller folk, but was presently at a height suitable for hobbit and dwarf. As he ate, he loosened his belt buckle a bit and undid the drawstrings at his sides which relieved the heavy leather jerkin he wore. Not so much armor exactly, but certainly more durable than an apron or coat, the hog-hide was tough enough to fend of sharp brambles and even jagged tree branches. He'd once even been bitten by a wolf, or so he claimed, and had matching streaks over one shoulder to prove it... or suggest it anyway.

His quiver and bow were draped on a hook near the door of the common room, both simply made and perfect examples of utilitarian hobbit-work. A woolen cloak hung from the same peg, muddied from recent travel, but simple as well. As a messenger, his travels took him along the popular routes, for the most part, but occasionally he'd attempt shortcuts or would need to make deliveries to more remote areas. As a once festival champion of archery, he was quite a shot according to those who'd seen him draw. But his curiosity and eagerness were too overpowering traits for him to have become a good hunter. Nevertheless, he'd found need a time or two to fend off unfriendly denizens of lonesome locations with bow and arrow.

"Any chance there's pie?" he asked as he let the last bite of shepherd's pie languish about in his mouth. He raised a hand to hide the violation of etiquette.

"Oh there's definitely pie!" exclaims Nor.  "You know Magreet in the kitchen loves her pies, and we all love'em too!" He takes another glup of the ale, and remarks "I'm not much for mixing my sweet and my savory, unless of course you mean the shepherds pie, which I imagine they're baking as fast as they can.  Hard to hurry a pie though.  Still, there's time for pie, as we wait.  Say, when was the last time you saw Gert or Perry?  Been a fair bit for me.  Hmm."

"Mmrawmmerry o ramphmeery?" Milton tried to clarify while keeping his mouth shut so as not to increase the manner violation tally.

He shook his head and glanced around the common room as if he might spot them when Nor had not.

"Three weeks, five days, and four meals, by the Shire Reckoning," calls a familiar voice. Gert can be seen hanging bow-case, quiver, and ruckasck from the pegs beside Milton's gear, her leathern cloak draped over them to dry and her spear, point wrapped against the damp weather, propped upright against the lot. "Shadowed Master Mudbottom south from Archet to Combe, southeast to Staddle, then south and west to Bree. I'd have arrived sooner, but had to report in with my superiors." Catching the innkeeper's eye, Gert indicates Milton's empty plate and Nor's flagon. She appreciatively returns Butterbur's acknowledgement, and turns her attention back to her companions. "How fare you all? What news of late?"

"Mmright dere!" Milton said, finishing his last bite and swallowing it down.

He grinned and wiped his mouth, with his napkin of course. "Please join us Miss Gert! Nor was just fretting over not having noticed you lurking about."

"Shadowed me you say? Well, I hope I gave you good sport. If you can follow a Bucklander without giving yourself away... well, I'll try a little harder next time."

"Nor and I were just considering a visit to his mother. Wouldn't you like to join us? She's something of an apothecary he claims. Some of the miners up in the Brockenbores have a strange cough. Nor says his mother can fix anything!"

Nor was definately pleased to see Gert, and made sure to say so.

He nearly choked on his ale, though, when Milton started on about visiting his mother.  "Well, well, let's not be too hasty, young master Mudbottom.  I'm from far far away, on the other side of the Iron Hills, the East edge and that's where my mother is.  And I haven't been back in, oh my, nigh on 15 years.  Or so.  The shock on her face, and accompanied by a hobbit and a human, no less.  Ha!"  He finishes his mug and beckons for another.  "I've come from the west, a ways past the Eastmarch where I sent off a group of my kind headed for the Blues.  Naught but blue skies as news." 

As you finish eating more of the hum of the people sift through to your ears you learn that the trio of strangers from the east are called Arna, Harald and Leif. They are are young merchants from distant Lake-town, who came west in search of new trading opportunities; they've brought wine from Dorwinion and clever trinkets from Dale. They are bound for the Blue Mountains, and know little of the geography of the lands west of the High Pass and you hear them eagerly talking to any local traveler who might know more of Eriador. The two dwarves keep to themselves and look deep into their cups.

Suddenly a dwarf who is all grin and beard burst into the Pony, throwing the doors to the inn open and loudly demands a drink. Shortly after his grand entrance he introduces himself as Jari and demands to know if there are "any brave souls in the inn who’d like to earn their fair share of a great treasure." He takes a good look around and especially looks at the three travelers from Lake-town as well as Milton, Nor and Gert.

Nor looks, mouth somewhat agape, new quart half-way to his lips when this Jarl character bursts in.  "Ohboy" he says under his breath, but still loud enough for Milton and Gert to hear.  "This will be the talk of the town before the next bell, I reckon."

Jari walks around the common room of the Pony engaging everyone in small talk as well as offering the opportunity for great treasure. He gets mixed reactions; the elders scoffs and dismiss the dwarf as a buffoon with his head in the clouds. Though a gleam lights up in the eyes of the youngsters -of which there are quite a few tonight- at the mention of adventure and treasure.

"Oh aye, he's getting the lads fired up for sure.  What think you, Gert?  A fools errand or something to it?  Milton?  Wager next ale that it's the same kind of nonsense we've all heard before?"

Gert leans close and keeps her voice low so the newcomer does not overhear. "Where there is treasure to be had there also lays danger," she observes quietly. "Were it an easy task to retrieve, why seek strangers' aid in doing so?" She raises her ale flagon to her lips. "It may fall to us to safeguard others from folly. We've a duty to all the Free Peoples."

"A good point, lass. Let's watch to see who seems interested, and then talk to him ourselves.  He might know us, he might not.  Let's not tip our hand too soon.  Milton, thoughts?"

OCC: Nor has Wary as a Distinctive Feature, and an Awareness of 1, as Favored Skill

Milton looked a bit forlorn at Nor's sudden change of heart concerning the visit to his Mother. He wasn't sure how the fellow had talked himself right out of the idea so quickly. He was about to ask some uncomfortable questions when Jari bounded through the door.

"Hullo there! What's this about treasure?" Milton asked his companions. "We've all heard tales of lost riches haven't we? Those who use their heads fill their purses. What do we have to lose?" The Bucklander was clearly caught up in the excitement of the younger patrons.

Milton got up and made his way over to the recruiting party, handing him a mug. "Treasure hunting can be hard work, but the telling of such endeavors can be even more thirsty work! Come Jari, let's hear your story!"

The dwarf is speaking with the three would-be merchants from the west when Milton approaches and he hears that they inform the dwarf that they are not adventurers; indeed, they were warned not to leave the Road, and so they regretfully have to turn down Jari’s offer. You do notice many wistful glances though, speaking of dreams of an easy fortune.

Jari turns around. "Ho there good hobbit and much obliged!" Jari swallow the ale in the mug he's holding in a long gulp, sets it aside and takes the fresh mug offered by the generous hobbit. He follows Milton back to the fellowships table and tells you of his scheme. "As everyone in Bree knows, I'm a noted explorer and treasure-finder. Dwarves have a nose for gold you see," he winks at Nor, "and I'm on the trail of buried treasure. One of my distant uncles, Great- uncle Bori, buried it long ago to hide it from bandits, and I'm the only one who knows the secret."

He belches before continuing with his story. "The treasure-cache is hidden in a valley to the north of Bree but I understand it to be the haunt of Wolves and worse things. Now I may be a great dwarf but I'm not a fighter — I need some doughty sword-wielding types to guard me while I search the valley. I can offer you equal shares of the treasure as payment if it’s found." He winces, clearly pained by having to admit that he has a little money to pay in advance.

A man in a dirty wool felt hat slides in next to Jari. "This sounds like easy money, friends. Count me in," he says. You do not recognize him as a local and his accent is outlandish.

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You can all roll for AWARENESS. No need to copy/paste the roll anywhere, I'll just take a look in the dice roller before I post next time.