The Town of Bree

[Elbereth]

"Welcome to Bree!" The Gatekeeper bellowed as he warmly welcomed another group of wandering visitors into the bustling little town. A common scene now as the highways of the north filled with tradesmen and visitors from the South. Men of all races, dwarves, hobbits, even an occasional elven folk would pass through the dark wooden gates of Bree, each seeking the hospitality and rest it provided inside. Greeted with a warm face and a mug of foaming beer, a visitor could enter the town a stranger, but leave feeling they were leaving a second home.

However, the natives of the town had mixed feelings about the constant flow of strangers entering in and out of their town. Some embraced the visitors with open arms...many because it helped them make a profit...others for entertainment, since with each new face came a new story or adventure to be told. Others in the town...many who lived here for generations were suspicious of the strangers and often felt threatened by their unusual nuances and customs. Occasionally, a conflict would arise, but for the most part Breelanders were peaceful people, and the problem would find a resolution before it reached its boiling point. However, whether the Breelanders liked it or not, the vistors would keep coming, keeping the small town busy trying to keep up with their strange and exotic ways.

[Elbereth]

Finigan Breeland came from one of the oldest and most influential families in Bree. A descendant of the founder of Bree, his wealth and influence in the tiny town was greater than anyone in that small town could imagine. It was because of this very fact, that he was the most suspicious of the strangers that came into town.

"Holigans and Riff-raff I tell you! They tumble into our proud city and muddy our streets with their grime! How can we let this happen?"

For years this was the old man's mantra, and he would spend his days grumbling in seclusion from his balcony window as each new face entered through the gates of the town. However, his son Finigan (the eighth Finigan Breeland, in a long line of Finigans) was a very different sort of man. Finigan VIII had an inner quiet that contradicted the loud brashness of his elder and as his father's caretaker, he remained a rather private man of little spirit. But he was a kindly man and unlike his father never liked to judge anyone before giving them the benefit of a doubt, and whenever his father worked himself into his fits...he would reply calmly "Yes father, it's a travesty..." and then shake his head and walk out of the room. Finigan knew best not to upset his father any more than he already was.

Then one fine day, without warning, Finigan VIII's life changed forever.

[King Aragorn]

Ellesar came riding toward Bree. She was on her way to the Shire, and didn't want to go any farther. "Maybe they have an inn that I can stay in for a few days." she said to herself. She rode up to the gate, and dismounted. "Excuse me," she said to the gatekeeper. "Is there an inn in this town?"

[Elbereth]

The gatekeeper, a portly, slightly balding man named Ruffus Littlehill stared down at the woman before him, his eyes squinting from the brightness of the sun. Scratching his stubbled beard....he replied "Yes'm miss. You came to the right town...we got about the best little Inns in these here parts. But first before I can let you in...I have to ask you a few questions...I hope you don't mind?"

The woman nodded her reply and Ruffus proceeded by picking up a sheet which he read slowly in order to get the right effect.

"According to Breeland laws written with the authority of Bree municiple council of founding fathers, you are to answer the following questions....

number one! State your name."

The woman opened her mouth to answer...but Ruffas proceeded, cutting her off before she could get out a syllable.

"Number two! Where are you from?"

The woman looked up at the gatekeeper in confusion...Was she suppose to answer the question or wait until he asked the next question. The pause seemed painfully long, but just as the woman was about to speak, Ruffas, who was still looking down at the sheet of paper before him, blurted out...

"And number three! State your business."

The woman looked up at the Gatekeeper in anticipation of more question...but he only looked down at her with his simple crooked grin.

"Well now lady....are you going to answer the questions or will you be on your way?"

[Elbereth]

"Finagin!!!! Finagin boy! Get me my cane! I'm going out to the Prancing Pony."

The younger Finagin, who was reading in his study down the hall, sighed audibly before placing his marker in his book. "What now?" he thought but instead yelled back. "One momment father!"

Finagin Senior was standing on the balcony, scowling in the direction of the infamous Prancing Pony and mumbling inaudibly to himself when his son came bearing his father's inticately etched wooden cane.

"Your cane, sir."

Finagin Senior grabbed the cane from his son's hand and bent over the railing waving his cane in the air toward the Prancing Pony. "LOOK! Just look at that place!!!! That was once the pride of the town and now look at it! Brimming full of holligans and dirty foreigners. It might as well be called a Brothel than an Inn!!! Someone has got to put a stop to it! And I have the right mind to do that myself."

"Come now dad! Don't you think you are overreacting?" Finagin tried his best to reason.

Finigan Senior's face turned red and then he roared, "OVERREACTING!!! NONESENSE!!! You may turn your cheek to the problems of the town if you please...You have always been weak minded like your mother, but I WILL NOT!!! You can sit here like a meek little bird boy....I'm going with or without you! And probably best without."

He then turned abrubtly and hobbled off of the balcony terrace, leaving his son speechless with helpless anger. How he wished he could show his father he wasn't weak, but he never did have the nerve to stand up to him. If only he could tell his father what he really thought of things. Boy would that shut him up quick. But Finigan knew he could not...or could he?

Suddenly his mind came to life. "Why can't I tell him? What do I have to lose?" A smile then formed on his face and his eyes began to sparkle with excitement. He would tell his father everything he wanted to say to him for all of these years he was hidden behind his submissive quiet. His father would blow his lid...but for some reason, that didn't bother him anymore....Finagin had enough.

With his new sense of empowerment, Finagin marched out of the house with his head held high as he made his way through the crowded streets toward the Prancing Pony.

[King Aragorn]

Ellesar looked at the gatekeeper indignantly. "Of course I'm going to answer your questions." she replied coolly. "As for your first question, my name is Ellesar. I come from Minas Tirith, and my business is my own. I wish to stay in an inn for a few days. If that's all right with you."

What is it with people wanting to know my business? It's alright to tell them if I had business in the town, but I don't. she thought as she stared at the gatekeeper with her icy blue eyes. "Are you going to let me in or not?" she asked curtly. "If not, I'll take my money elsewhere." she turned her back on the man, and began to prepare her horse to leave while she waited for his answer.

[Elbereth]

"Minas Tirith!! Well!!!" The Gatekeeper exclaimed, drawing out the last word into two syllables.

"Why didn't you say so in the first place! No explaination needed little lady....we here in Bree understand how important the affairs of Minas Tirith are. Say, in fact...the old king of the land used to be a frequent patron of our very own Prancing Pony back some years ago...we are a might proud of that if I do say so myself.
It just busts my buttons to think that I get to drink in the same pub as the king used to drink in....Why I always say....what is good in Bree is good enough for royalty...and indeed it was. And you know, even when he was king he would come back to ole Barliman's Inn....well you can't beat that, now can you?
So you say no more....say no more about it...you come right in little lady and don't forget to wipe your feet your feet now" Ruffas, the gatekeeper said laughing and snorting at his little pun.

[King Aragorn]

"Thank you. Do you think you can direct me to the Prancing Pony. I think that I would like to stay in an inn my grandfather used to visit." She stopped preparing her horse, and entered the town, stopping just inside the gate. "Is Butterbur still around?" she asked the gatekeeper politely. "Also, do you know how far away the Shire is?"

[greypilgrim]

Riding up to the town gate was a tall figure in black. He sat atop his horse, face hidden under a black hood. In the night he was barely perceptable, a shadowed man on a nameless hose. A small black bird was perched on his shoulder.

He sat there for some minutes as the night drew on, noiseless, unmoving, peering at the town gate as if his stare alone could smash it down. He turned his head a bit, whispering unknown words to the bird, and it flew over the gate and into the town, while he waited. A few minutes later, it returned and relayed the information requested by his master. A slight tilt of the head three times left, twice right, and a few flappings of his wings told Manchester all he needed to know. The town would be sufficient for him this evening, also, there were none of his known enemies within.

He approached the gate..."Gatekeeper!" The gatekeeper was a bit nervous around him but after some small pleasantries Manchester entered the town. Of course his horse was taken care of properly, and he walked through the streets towards The Prancing Pony, hood drawn up, focused straight ahead. His bird (named Simon) was up on the roof of the place, waiting. He saw the sign hanging there...The Prancing Pony along with the familiar pony on it. He grunted and entered, removing his hood revealing rugged features and firey blue/grey/green eyes.

Ignoring everyone in the area and heading straight for the bar, he brought out some silver pieces and set them on the counter. "A mug 'o 1420" he said the barkeep, "And a regular 'ol sandwich". He of course paid for the meal and didn't tip the barkeep either.

[Narya]

" 'Tis a fine town, me-lad!" Cried the innkeeper. A stout and sturdy fellow with bright red cheeks and a pair of dark brown eyes entered the inn from the backdoor bringing with him a crate of plump tomatoes freshly picked from the keepers garden, his name was Rubus Longbottom and an orphan from Hobbiton he was. Been working with the innkeeper since he was in his tweens, and been a fine lad since then. He had other opinions of Bree but kept them all to himself, thinking that bad opinions of the town will make him *****, and he'd loose his job and indeed the roof on his head. He's been missing the Shire too much to agree with the old man though he was a decent fellow no doubt. He was never abroad...and Rubus had been trying to convince him to visit his hometown for almost a year now. But the innkeeper always had a busy day at the inn and Rubus was never succesful in pointing out why the Shire was better than Bree.

"Them muttons roastin' fine, sir, but the potatoes will be a nasty business. Them rats got to the fine sack at the back, and all I was able to salvage were the crop form last seasons. New ones all chewn up. Nasty blighters!" He said, looking at the potatoes with scorn. "What shall I do with'em?"

"Make a stew, add some carrots and a few herbs. That'll cover for the meantime." The inn keeper added. "A fine time to be having them rodents too. The King will pass by this place soon. Today I reckon." Then he placed a keg of the finest brew in front of Rubus. "Hurry up me'lad...We have a long day ahead." Then smiled and patted the young hobbits' head. Rubus smiled, and continued cutting up the potatoes and peeling them then the carrots and the celery.

This will be a day to remember.

[spirit]

A figure comes walking up to the Gates.
"I heard that this town needed a ber-keeper, and I sent a messenger to ask if the job was still available, and ~I was told "Aye it is.""
Everyone was surprised to see the Lady standing there at the gates, because the they were expecting a man, not a woman.

[King Aragorn]

((Astaldo, were you trying to do my charcter in your last post?))

[Astaldo]

((Astaldo, were you trying to do my charcter in your last post?))
Well sorry guys but I had not read the rules before posting it and when I did I forgot to delete the post. I'm very sorry. Pretend that it was nevere there.

[greypilgrim]

"thanks, that was some good stew." Manchester said the barkeep. It was a strange evening, all kinds of people were showing up in Bree. Whats going to happen next? I'll just smoke a pipe and relax for a bit... he thinks...Somethign will happen sooner or later...

[Triandra]

Aurelia, Lady from the West,rode up to the gate. She jumped off her horse, and knocked on the gate. She waited for the gatekeeper to open the gate to let her in.

[Sangahyando]

It was an average Thursday for Salazaar Magonius, his weekly stroll through the Chetwood to fetch some silver pieces from the small banking system in Bree.

As he came over the last ridge on the hill he saw Bree. The Prancing Pony Inn was visible from the top of the hill as the hustle and bustle of a large company of Elves wandered through the village down the road and out along to Imladris. His father, Phineas Magonius was at home with his mother, Bellatrix out in the field pick onions and tomatoes for dinner. Considering the vigorous rush of the Breelanders, Salazaar arrived at the bank with relative ease and turned the precise lock mechanism of the brass doorhandle.

'Greetings, Salazaar. Do you wish for the usual withdrawal?' asked Faramir, the bank teller.

'Perhaps, another thirteen odd silver pieces for a bottle of matured mead. Thanks, Mr. Belgae,' replied Salazaar with a suave tone of voice.

Salazaar's quick withdrawal, gave him the opportunity to dash down and get that bottle of oak-matured mead he was hoping for from the liquor distillery, while he still had time. He continued to wander down the streets of Bree, but when he reached the pigeon post ran by the Elves he saw a sight not fit for a simple hobbit...

[HobbitGirl]

A young woman, barely twenty years of age, stood about thirty feet in front of the gates of Bree as still as a rock parting the waters of a stream. And indeed, the travelers flowing in and out of the town parted around her as if she were no more than a rock, but she paid them no mind. Her hazel-green eyes wandered over the town, tracing the edges of every building, rising with the hills that stretched into the distance.

She gave no mind to the people that stared at her clothes--the plain, brown, travel-stained trousers, the ankle-high, tan, soft leather boots edged with dried mud, the plain, dark green cotton shirt and the tattered grey cloak all made her look quite the rouge indeed. And yes, she had wandered, yes, she had ranged, yes, the sword, Tristasse, sheathed at her side had tasted blood in skirmishes and battles time and again.

But none of that mattered anymore. Fiara Romita was home. She was home.

[sauronbill]

A glow had appeared suddenly in the night and with it a huge cloud of smoke. Under the night’s sky the village burned. Huge flames covered the houses, the ground and even part of the forest. Screams and cries were heard, and shadows could be seen scattering around the oblivion. The eyes of the tall man left the scene only to rest on the one responsible for this destruction.

“How many more Vanja?” cried the tall man in anguish. He opened his arms to emphasize his fury. “How many more villages shall be burn? How many more lives shall you take until you are satisfied?” The small figure did not answer. A cry came from the man’s lips and his fist lashed out toward the figure, only to be stopped inches from it by an invisible force. A cruel smile formed in the child’s lips.

“One more,” he said his voice deep and diabolical. “One more and I shall be content.”

The tall man retired his hand slowly. Then he fell on his knees, sobbing uncontrollably. The child went to him and put his hand on the man’s shoulder whispering words of comfort. The man however, didn’t stop sobbing.






That morning two strange characters appeared at the gates of Bree. One was a tall, wide shouldered man dressed in a blue cloak of wool and holding a golden staff. The man’s face was adorned by a trident black beard and blue eyes. The second was a blond haired child with also blue eyes and an angelical face. He was dressed in a simple brown shirt, ragged trousers and shoes. The man walked slowly, constantly leaning on his staff as if a huge weight rested in his shoulders. He took notice of the girl at the side of the city gate.

“Pardon, my lady” said the man stopping and turning to face her. The child stopped at his side and looked at the girl with a curious expression. The man’s voice dropped to a charmingly tone. “Could you please direct me to nearest inn? I would be forever in your debt,” he gave a turn to his free hand and produced a rose……

[Lailonniel]

A large grey horse cantered with a steady beat towards the gate of the small town of Bree. The horse bore an elf maiden. Her long legs draped over the bare sides of the horse. She wore a green tunic with brown breeches. Worn leather boots adorned her feet. A grey cloak covered her shoulders, it was weathered and stained. She bore a sword, sheathed at her side and a bow and quiver hung on her back.

She approached the gate and stopped the large grey stallion. Her crystal blue eyes stared at the large wooden gate ahead of her. This was her first time she had traveled to Bree. She had heard many stories and tales of travelers that have came to Bree. They always talked about the delightfulness of the people and the quality of the inns. Her long golden blonde hair blew in the wind as she nudged Archades forward, towards the gate. She slide off and gave a tap on the gate.

"Hellooooo!!!" She cried, trying to get the gatekeepers attention.

[HobbitGirl]

Before Fiara Romita could so much as take a step into the gates of Bree, into those gates she had waited so long to return to, a deep voice reached her ears. Though her fair, freckled face remained an impassive mask, the Ranger's olive eyes, the only window to her soul, flickered up and down the cloaked figure with suspicion apparent in them.

The golden staff drew her eye, as it would for anyone, but the man's blue eyes drew her gaze as well. One didn't see very many blue-eyed folk this far from the Southlands. Her analytical gaze flickered over the child after one last sweep down the man's cloaked form. His babyish, angelic face clutched her heart immediately; though Fiara had been hardened by long battles and long roads, she was not yet so hard and unfeminine that the sight of an adorable child couldn't make her coo...at least on the inside, where no one would see.

But when that rose slid out of the man's sleeve, Fiara's impassive countenance cracked. She looked up at the goatee, raising an eyebrow.

Okay, now that was a bit much.

"I can see you're not from around here, good Sir," she said politely, making no move to take the rose. "You and your son's fair eyes are rarely seen around Breeland, to be sure, but the true giveaway to any Breelander is that you do not know of The Prancing Pony." She nodded at the gates and at the road beyond. "This road will take you straight to it."

She afforded the cloaked man and his unbearably adorable son each a respectful nod. "Good luck in your travels."

The Ranger turned towards the gates, turning to leave them. She had no intention of letting the overly-flattering man know that she, too, intended to head for the Pony. She really had no desire to spend more than thirty seconds in the company of a figure that was so inexplicably apt at making the hairs on the back of her neck bristle.

[sauronbill]

The man's eyes followed the Ranger as she walked into the city and merged with the crowd.

"Pretty" he said, and a smile crossed his face. The child frowned and shook his head.

“Why must you always fall for pretty women??” he asked. “Frankly I am getting tired of playing the “cute son - loving father” game you use with every woman. If I had a copper coin for every….”

“So what is one more?” asked the man. The smile had not left his face, and now his blue eyes had a clear expression of mocking. He raised his free hand, showing a gold ring on his index finger. “Come now, do it for me?”

“All right, all right, “said the child turning his eyes. He smiled and raised his right hand showing a similar gold ring in the same finger, “for you, old friend. “

“What can you tell me about her?” asked the man lowering his hand.

The child closed his eyes and joined his hands at chest’s height forming a triangle with his fingers. The next words he whispered so only the man could hear. “She is a wandering soul….Wait, she has tasted pain, and fear….and suffering, even…yes, even revenge….Ahhh, yess, the horror of war sits on her mind, and…..there is something else….something not….blaghhh, happiness, she is happy….”

“Happy? About what?” asked the man with curiosity

“Not of meeting you, that’s for sure,” said the child without moving. He kept his position for a few more minutes. The man waited patiently saying nothing to interrupt him. Finally the child opened his eyes and lowered his arms. “Well, she is happy about something, like that feeling you humans get when you return from the fields and greet your children.

“Love for your sons?” asked the man with a questioning look.

“No, no, no….” The child raised his arms and moved them to emphasize his point. “That feeling of like warmth, when you greet your family after a day on the field, or a long time absent…. Or when you see a house you lived in, or an old toy, an old friend….you get it?”

“Yeah,” said the man smiling. “She had the feeling of coming home.”

“That, yeah that” said the child nodding. “How did you know?”

“Well, if she had any of the feelings you have described, then she used to live here. And she has returned. Thank you, I shall use the information wisely.”

“No problem” said the child smiling. “Now could we go to that Prancing Pony place? I am starving. “

“Sure,” said the man and he rubbed his hand through the child’s hair. He stood and took the child’s hand. “The Prancing Pony, is it not a curious name?” The child nodded. “Come now, I will give my magic act tonight and please the crowd at the inn. Hopefully they like magic acts.”

“Hopefully,” said the child, and the two of them walked pass the gate and into the city.

[HobbitGirl]

As she had at the Gates of Bree, Fiara was compelled to stop again, nearly overwhelmed with a sense of pure, nostalgic joy. She stood on the street outside, a fixture in the crowd, oblivious and impervious to the travelers and revelers around her.

She stood and smiled at the sign hanging above The Prancing Pony. The white horse rearing up seemed more lifelike now than it had ever looked in her childhood.

It was the social hub of Breeland; it was the best place within dozens of miles to get a pint; it was the inn Aragorn Elessar himself had once frequented, long ago.

And it was, sadly, a more logical place for Fiara to stop upon returning to her homeland than her own house in Archet was. That house had too many memories...she would never think of it as her house, but that of her parents, and they had long since made the Final Journey. Besides, she had been away for so many years that Fiara doubted the Romita family home was still legally in her possession...like as not the abandoned place had been sold off years ago.

The nostalgic smile on Fiara's face turned to a rueful one, but just as quickly she shook off the sad feelings. The Ranger entered the inn, now eager to hear news and tidings of her homeland and the things she had missed.

She didn't bother to greet the innkeeper, since it was doubtful he would recognize her. Fiara hadn’t set foot in the Pony in eight years, since she was 17. It wasn’t as if the young woman had grown any taller in that time, but she had certainly changed. Long years of battle and long roads of loneliness had put lines in her face that hadn’t been present in her teenage years.

Instead, she headed straight for the bar and sat upon a stool, impervious to the surprised and lecherous looks of several drunken regulars already seated there.

She smiled at the bartender, pushing a loose strand of light brown hair out of her face and behind her ear. “A light lager, if you please sir,” she requested. Fiara had no desire to get drunk; losing her sense, sharpness and wit was completely out of the question for a Ranger, no matter where they were or in whose company. Nonetheless, Fiara was eager to once more taste the delicious brews of her homeland.

[YayGollum]

OOC: Hm. Does time work differently for this Fiara person? Because, back in two thousand as well as six, you wrote that she was barely twenty. Now, you write that it has been eight years since she's been around, when she was seventeen. But oh well. :rolleyes:

IC: A short, stocky, hairy, as well as hodge-podge type armoured man sniffed around and licked his lips at the sight of Bree's gate. He walked next to an intelligent-looking white horse, which he talked to quite conversationally, mayhaps looking a bit crazy. A large raven flew from his shoulder to the gate, where it squawked at the the gatekeeper. The man raised an eyebrow at the bird then turned to the gatekeeper. "Ah, don't listen to him! So, where's this? I think that it is Bree, but it has been a while. Good place for a rest, right?"

Upon confirmation that Bree could conceivably be employed for resting purposes, the trio sauntered towards the Prancing Pony with obvious familiarity. After abandoning the horse in the stable, the guy stomped into the common room. The bird flew to the rafters and hopped among them, observing plenty. The traveler let a shield clang to the flow as he deposited himself heavily on a stool and glared at the bartender with affected weariness. "Mead? And some fish, if you've got it!"