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Charlene

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Home Behind & World Ahead

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made by: liztopher with help of some friends


heavily based on: lotr, the hobbit




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She had spoken to him. Sort of. Well, she’d at least looked at him and crooked up her pretty petite mouth into a sort of half smirk that she only ever saved for customers who tipped her. He didn't even tip her. Granted she had first proceeded to accidentally splash an entire pint of ale on him without so much as a, “sorry,” but that was completely besides the point at the moment.


Teddy Mumford walked along the dirt roads soaking wet and with a delighted skip in his step. He got home twice as fast and delicately placed his sopping scarf on the dainty little coat hook. The warmth was certainly welcome, but he decidedly had a lot of warmth in his heart today. He was beginning to think his pursuit of the prettiest, nicest, sweetest, girl in Hithegrove ( hell, Algorn even) was a bit of a failure. Now he had an invigorated sense of hope. Girls like her were good at handing that out at just the right moment. It's not like Teddy didn't know she was a completely horrible hobbit, but she always twirled her curly dark locks and smiled like the sun when she had just made someone cry. It was wonderful.





“Right then!” he clasped his hands together, deciding to get himself some dinner for his small stomach ached for the feel of some fresh food. First and foremost, Teddy changed into a loose smock and some ratty old overalls, and then went about filling his home with the scent of herbs and spices and all things wonderful. His stomach grumbled in protest, and it would be a lie to say he wasn't taking one too many tastes as he went about making his stew. Mary had come around the other day with a basket of freshly baked buns. Teddy figured it was too much to assume they were a peace offering, but they’d go lovely with his goulash.





Maybe he would have done a bit more than rub a cloth through his ale-scented curls, he was fairly sure no one was about to come calling. Or knocking. It was late and everyone was cozied up and ready to eat or sleep. It’s not like he’d get any well-meaning visitors at this time of night. Or any visitors, really, which was preferable to not-well-meaning ones. His stew was bubbling away over the fire, and his buns were warming up all nice and toasty. Teddy decided to lie back with an old quilt that still smelled faintly of his grandfather’s pipe weed and an older leather-bound book explaining the varying types of mushrooms and where to find them. Of course mushroom collecting was oft considered a mundane thing to do with a granny, but Teddy would argue that mushrooms were most interesting and flavorful. Sometimes even deadly. Wasn't that exciting?





The hobbit glanced up from his book, eyes flitting to his pot of stew not far from the living room. His home was comfy and cluttered as could be. And maybe comfy was a.. nice way of putting it. For all intents and purposes he didn't understand why Mary was so fussed about not having inherited much. The hobbit hole was small and his grandfather had all manner of the strangest tastes imaginable. For example, a book detailing traits of brown capped mushrooms.




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Now wasn't this place quaint. It was small, to her liking, though it almost felt a little too small. Having stepped ahead of her companions, Oyrdd was looking for something rather particular as she stepped down the wagon, boot, and hoof trodden paths. One thing that certainly could be said of Hithegrove was that they were not keen on strangers. Glancing up a thin path past a gate towards the door of a hobbit hole, she caught a glance of an even shorter woman harshly closing her curtains.


"Charming." stated the elven girl, a thin smile crossing her entertained lips. She supposed she didn't look as becoming as the women here, lurking at patios in male attire. She wore a set of light grey furs, a tweed-like black cloak (hiding her figure), and a pair of thin leather boots. To put it frank, she was most likely mistaken for a male in this light, though it hardly bothered her. She was rather enjoying having her business kept to herself and it certainly kept her identity hidden. Adjusting the pack over her shoulder, including the long bow slung across her back, Orydd settled her hands around the ends of her silken chocolate hair, finger-less gloved hands contently occupied for the moment.


With the night growing, so did the cold. Oyrdd didn't particularly notice as she passed from home to home. With dinner upon Hithegrove, not a soul strolled with her along the roads. She could see a small group of children playing down in one of the fields and a few lonesome hobbits smoking on their front porch. Aside from that, all was quiet. From what she had been told, others were going to meet her here at this burglar's home. Regardless of that fact, she could hardly believe it do to the lack of traffic. Then again, Orydd could have been early for the meeting. A smile slipped over her lips. Of course she was early! Who would have though any less from the Queen of the dead King?


Cockiness aside, Orydd nearly passed exactly what she had been looking for. Pacing back three steps, she gripped the gate of a particular fence. Eyes wide, she stared hard at the blue ember of a symbol crackling upon a large and wide doorway. She had found it - finally. From the looks of it, she was truly the first to arrive at the home. The lights were dim inside, though not enough to say no one was home. The light was inviting her towards the doorstep, enough that she didn't even bother with knocking. Usually doors would be locked and she'd then resort to knocking, but on this chance occasion the burglar had forgotten to lock his keep.





"Mumford.. the Hobbit?" she inquired aloud, pushing the door lightly and allowing it to swing slowly on it's hinges. Reaching out, she grabbed the door once more and closed it behind her. Her boots made a particular thud against a wooden floor she wasn't accustomed to. Glancing a bit around the foyer, she determined that the man had to have been a collector of sorts. She couldn't tell what of, but there were dozens of trinkets scattered neatly amok the home. Taking a few more steps, she realized that she had moved into the line of site of a chair sitting by the fire. In this chair sat a hobbit frozen in his tracks.


"Early, am I?" she inquired, a thick smile lacing her sharp, though feminine, laugh.





"You know what they say, Mumford. The early bird strikes the worm, and I am the first at that!" with what she had said she stepped forward and further into the man's home. Taking a deep bow, as she had to be honorable and wise like that of her kin, she greeted the hobbit.





"Ory Thoraeus, at your services," she offered, remaining calm as her lie was blatant in her muffled words. Though, as she rose she noted something odd, of all things, Mr. Mumford looked far from inviting.





"Are you feeling ill?" she inquired, her brows furrowing into an expression of concern.
 
Before they reached Hithegrove, Orydd had gone on ahead to the house of their burglar, the Hobbit. Teddy Mumford, as they had said was his name. Dain had his suspicions. Though he had never met such a creature, and theirs was certainly a rare name among any but their own kind, Dain was aware of how innocent they were - loving food, drink, parties, all sorts of merriment. There was a reason great songs and ballads were not written of the deeds of their kind.


His suspicions were only confirmed when he set eyes upon Hobbiton. He could appreciate their simple lives and blissful, if perhaps ignorant. way of living. It was a peaceful place, with beauty in that same simplicity, but it was not for him, nor any of his Company. Theirs was a darker path, and it was only to get darker before the end. Just one of these soft-bellied creatures would have a heart attack the first Orc or Warg they encountered - not to mention would be like to do something stupid, endangering them all. They weren’t fighters, smaller even than Dwarves, but without a Dwarf’s ruggedness, roughness. How could they take back a Mountain from a dragon when they were so concerned over a Hobbit? Dain digressed.


He followed the winding dirt paths, through the little Hobbit-holes made in the sides of gentle, green hills. He was followed for quite a ways by a group of children, curious and excited about the newcomer, until the adults shooed them away, clearly wary of their unexpected visitor. He paid little attention to those he passed, looking instead at their doors, for a mark he knew was to be found there. Dain’s company was not completely comprised of Dwarves, there were one or two humans, a wizard and an elf who had petitioned to help in their quest. This horse must belong to one of them. With his pony next to the others, he opened the gate and stepped up the stairs to the round hole. It was closed, and he knocked. He had manners after all. But with such pressing matters ahead of him, he did not have much patience. When no answer came, he opened the door himself. He could hear voices coming from somewhere inside and followed them.





While most goods and houses of Men were just big enough to a Dwarf to be uncomfortable, this Hobbit hole was almost too small, though much better by comparison. He came to a room which held a Man, or rather, woman he did not recognize, and the Hobbit that must be the same Mumford fellow they were looking for. “Ah, they’ve begun to arrive already. Good.” He disliked being the first to arrive to company he did not know. It didn’t make for good conversation. “So, you must be Master Mumford.” He looked as an ordinary Hobbit, nothing particularly spectacular about him, nothing that comforted Dain in the least that he had been chosen to join them. In fact, he seemed rather.. scrawny, by Hobbit standards - hardly anything on him. Despite this, Dain said nothing about it, such things were best left until the others of the Fellowship arrived and the wizard joined them. The look of surprise on his face told the Dwarf that this was not in fact the evening he had been expected to have, which did nothing to ease his mind either. “Dain Ironhammer.” He introduced with a nod of his head, though he left it at that. He turned to the woman, quite a few inches taller than he. Clearly of the race of Men, she looked hardened and traveled. “I do not believe we have met, lady.” Her beauty was a tough sort of beauty, not like the women in the cities with their powders and paints, but stern and strong. Her dress was of the South, the land of the Gamberyl.


“Well, Master Mumford, I’ve heard tell of the renowned hospitality of Hobbits. We have traveled far, food sir! Don’t be rude!”
 
A delighted laughter, replicated by a voice's tone as bright as bells, as the owner pointed with her little, dainty hand at the object of her amusement, her fibrous, translucent wings flapping in equal excitement as her sapphire-blue eyes looked at the assembly of... houses, which appeared rather similiar to caves in their foundations, the night-sky doing, apparently, little to impede the little fairy's sight.


Smiling and laughing, she kept pointing around them, at the houses, at the odd villager, hobbits, as they were called, the last of whom were finishing their day's businesses and going to their homes to escape the dark of the night, visibly perturbed by the sight, not exactly that of the fairy, but rather the massive, immaculately armored man upon whose right shoulder she was perched, the grip of a massive warhammer looming over the other from beneath his blue cloak, the fairy even with her small form easily looking down at the village around them from the sheer height of her seat.


However, the cold of the night, and of course the late hour itself, were making themselves more and more noticeable, though the unfamiliar sights around her kept her awake, the cool air made her shiver, noticeably.


Immediately, even with the aim of his path, a particular cave-house whose doorway was marked with the symbol he had been told would be the group's meeting-place, the knight halted, helmeted head turning towards the trembling fairy.


"Are you cold, little one?" his voice, deep tone befitting his form, thought not his actual age. She answered with a sad nod.


Carefully, he led his left hand up to scoop the little humanoid from his shoulder, while his right reached behind for his cloak, which he then slowly wrapped around her small form, keeping her arms and head free, of course. His work done, she, now warm once again, attempted to give the knight a thankful hug, her short arms certainly not being sufficient to reach around his metal-encased torso.


But the gesture itself did not go unnoticed, nor emotionally unappreciated.


Keeping her close to his breastplate, the knight resumed his walk, soon reaching the door he had aimed for earlier. Upon knocking, for which he had to bow down quite noticeably, he noticed that the door was not locked, while the voices within foretold that some conversation was taking place. However, his education, something which, over the last few years, he had learned to cling to as another support for his sanity, forbade that he simply entered without explicit allowance by the house-owner, even if the symbol would suggest that it was the right residence, it was already rude enough that he arrived at an hour so late, after all.


Thus, he simply knocked three times with his free hand, the other still occupied with keeping the fairy wrapped in the cloak, but otherwise he remained silent before the door, not wishing to needlessly stir the neighbours from their certainly well-deserved sleep.
 
She shivered involuntarily against the cold of the evening as the horse trotted its way up the well worn path, glancing around at her surroundings this was definitely the land of the Hobbits or 'Halflings' as her superior had called them. Small houses, suited for those of a much lesser height were lined up each side of the path, the area deserted of beings Catherine assumed would be around, she'd really needed to ask someone for directions.


"What kind of orders ended with 'You'll know it when you see it' anyway?" she sighed, causing a long plume of warm air to rise from her helmet like the smoke from a fire, curling its way upwards before dissipating into the night. Catherine stretched her arms out, before rolling her shoulders to stave off the aches and clacked her heels against the horse's flanks, willing it onwards. How did you recognise a meeting such as this anyway? Surely there was no beacon to draw you in, no extravagant banner to greet you. Then she rounded the corner, and saw the Knight in the doorway.


He looked large, taller than a normal man by at least a head and shoulders, there were few creatures who fitted this profile, and fewer still who would greet you with open arms on a cold night such as this. She approached cautiously her horse still announcing her presence as she approached the small hill-house and its rounded doorway. She stopped a few meters away from him, still on the narrow road, Voulge pointed at the man and one hand on her mounts reins she addressed him. "I must ask" she said loudly, "Who are you, and what is your business in a land such as this?" she considered something for a second before adding, "It is hardly commonplace I would think, to see an individual such as yourself within the realm of the Hobbits".


'Know when I see it hmm?' she thought to herself, it was true this situation would attract the attention, but she doubted very highly her superiors could have planned something such as this. It would be a long night, that was for sure.
 
"Well crap" Auriel Starthruster exclaimed as he walked past a sunflower patch. "I'm lost."


He had been walking for several days; it was now clear to him that he should have taken the left at that Hollowed Tree. He knew little about these lands, but judging from the odd door shape and size, he was in either a land full of children, or hobbits. Then again, he knew of little difference besides the feet.


The large armored man, and what appeared to be a feminine boy wearing armor on a horse, were not either.


"OI!" he shouted towards the two in a voice slightly hoarse from lack of recent use. "So, is this an inn you're arguing over, or a brothel or what?"
 
For the barest of moments, the woman's voice had the knight freeze in place, before he caught himself, turning around to face her, though he could not hold himself from subconsciousely keeping his form between her gaze and his fairy.


"Greetings..." he gave her a court bow, or at least tried to, as just now his leg appeared to have the idea that just now the right time had come to stumble on a non-existent obstacle, turning the obeisance into a fully-fledged kneel instead as he attempted to catch himself.


An awkward silence followed, the knight looking up at the mounted soldier-female. Though, it was quickly interrupted by the fairy's bright laughter, the little humanoid having wriggled free from the cloak to instead fly above the two, looking down at them excitedly.


"... Tyrann. Tyrann, my name would be, Tyrann Streiter, milady."


Shaking his helmeted head for a moment, gulping down the instinctive fear within his gut, the knight rose again, the cloak billowing on his back once more "Milady, my apologies, if my presence here... disturbs you." he was speaking slowly, choosing his words carefully, though he made sure to keep his voice just at a volume for her to hear "However, a quest brings me here, a quest for the highest good, which, as I was told, would have its beginning here- by this symbol, I mean to say-" he uttered, gesturing with his right at the blue-colored ember.


Again, a short, awkward pause followed, which the fairy, incidentally, used to once again seat herself upon the knight's shoulder. "This would be Navi, milady. And, would you, perhaps, lower your voice? I am certain there are people wishing for their night's rest."


The notion of the plea was quite destroyed when from not very far a leather-geared man approached them, shouting to his heart's content.


Navi clapped her dainty hands at the newly-arrived figure, laughing all the while, the recent disturbance having dissolved all prior exhaustion, though she would most likely go for the cloak soon again.


"I would assume neither, sir." Tyrann replied, turning to face the man "Though, perhaps we are all here, sir and milady, for the same of reasons, a quest for goodness. Would that be so, mayhaps?" his gaze switched between the mounted soldier and the rather ragged newly-arrived.
 
Auriel stared at the knight for a good twenty seconds, judging his behavior. He could only surmise that he'd never set foot outside a wealthy castle, judging from his speech and mannerisms. Nonetheless, he was making an offer.


Auriel reached into a sack and removed several bloody deer pelts. "I got these skins" he waved them around a bit, a few dull red droplets splattered off. "I need to trade them for money soon. They're getting kinda... sticky."
 
Her attention drawn by the Knights companion which was now hovering nearby she almost missed his introduction.


"I am a soldier, not a noble. I don't even have a high-rank, so you can cease with the overblown pleasantries."


She was still considering his words when another figure approached, she brought her horse around to face him, lifting the tip of her weapon slightly. They both seemed to be men, yet this meeting was supposed to draw together a variety of races, or so she had been told...


She sighed and dismounted her horse with a small thud as her boots hit the trail beneath her. Removing her helmet and tying it to a belt around her waist she left the buckler attached to her mount and tied the bridle to the small fence surrounding the household, if you could call such a dwelling a house.


"It does seem to be as you suggest" she confessed to the knight, "and if we are all here for the same reason, I suppose it would be best to meet our host."


She moved to lean the Voulge on the wall of the small house, next to the rounded doorway.


"I am Catherine Jackson, daughter to a Farming family, and A soldier from the Plains, but you may call me Jacks if you insist."


She turned to look at the leather-clad figure.


"And what about you, you look like a Hunter or Ranger, what is your name?"
 
Stuffing the skins back inside his bag, the strider placed a hand towards his chest and gave a cheek splitting grin that could easily seduce a sleezy barwench.


"My name's Auriel Starthruster. Son of Garrett Starthruster. You may not have heard of me, but I'm a decent swordsman and a damn fine woodsman."
 
"My... apologies, milady Jackson, and, as for you, sir Starthruster, I am certain your abilities will be put to the test soon enough." Tyrann said before he, with Navi once again seated upon his shoulder, turned to the door and resumed his knocking and waiting.


 
Teddy was in the midst of impishly smiling over the various nauseous effects of the woolly milk cap, when the sound of his opening door and a certain voice caught him off guard, “Mumford the Hobbit?” it called, and he whipped his head around post-haste. He could have sworn he had locked the door, and even then, it was not custom for people in Hithegrove to just come barging in at such late hours. His brows furrowed ever so slightly as he turned, taking in the figure which by no means matched the voice. Her eyes were all bright and fluttery, like he’d been expecting her. He’d never so much as seen a elf in his life, let alone a female elf.


“Excuse me?” he sputtered as she went on about birds and worms like they were old friends, and then introduced herself and asked him how he was feeling. “Do I know you?” he asked, and shifted uncomfortably for a moment until his attention was turned to yet another stranger. A dwarf. A dwarf who apparently also did not know the use or purpose of knockers. He had a nice one. It was shaped like the head of a wild boar and made of brass.


This new visitor looked entirely out of place in his tiny-sized home. Even more so than the elf. “If you two don’t mind,” he closed the dusty old book and stood to his full height, which wasn't much when faced with these two. They were obviously lost. And so he said, “I am a Mumford,” and idly wondered if his sister was having wild parties without him. “And I think you two might be lost, perhaps you're looking for my great Uncle. Lovely fellow, very.. robust,” there were many Mumfords in Hithegrove because most of his family were about as obsessed with their significant others as he was with the hobbit-ess down in the tavern.


“Now that we have that all cleared up, haha..” he puffed out his chest but didn’t feel remotely intimidating as these two figures looked as battle-worn as any adventurer, “Best be on your way, off to find the right Master Mumford. Quick! While the night is young!” That name.. certainly did not roll off the tongue. Not at all. What a term for a tavern-cook, “If you don’t mind..” he placed his hands on his hips and pointedly looked at his round wooden door, still slightly askew, “I’m about to eat my dinner.”


As if on cue, the lid of his stew pot began to clatter. He looked to the door once again, and then back to the two intruders, like you might do to a couple of stray little animals who just so happened to wander in. Only these two were not met with the same graces he may, say, offer to a lost little wild thing begging for a bit of food.


Teddy quickly realized they were not leaving. Not at all.


“I should hope you two don’t have.. um, friends,” The hobbit tried to look stern, then, which was laughable in wake of the obvious size and strength difference going on. Still, these people were not savages (so he hoped). One must respect the basic courtesy of knocking and leaving when the host asked and not barging in on a perfectly lonely evening that was meant to be spent eating and reading and sleeping.


His eyes flitted back to his pot of stew, still angrily bubbling away, as if begging to be eaten.





KNOCKNOCKNOCK!




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"Brilliant."


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"No, apparently, but you will," stated the female elf, a thick smile carving it self across her lips. How typical. The poor old hobbit had no idea why they were here and for what. Just as the smile appeared, so did what looked like a Dwarf man.





"Just as early as myself," answered the elf, her hands reaching for the straps of her sac and weapon. She lifted them and settled them on a heavy set trunk just off the side of what looked like a small hobby table and books. The items made a considerable thud, heavier than one might expect the elf to be holding. "If you two don't mind.." carried on the hobbit in a rather rude tone.. it appeared that Mumford surely had a mouth on him, though he was completely wrong. Orydd stood just long enough to listen to the man's explanation. Her brow cocked ever so slightly with humor. This one had to have been one of his best. The poor hobbit didn't even know the beginning from the end of what he was trying to say.


"I do not believe we have met, lady.." The Dwarf piped up, allowing her to turn and crane her neck downwards at such a short creature. "Ory Thoraeus." she repeated while the Hobbit continued to babble on.





"As for friends, Little Hobbit.." she started as she straightened her back. To say the least, she was humoring the hobbits word of 'master'. No one was a master but herself. "There are several others, so you might want to start on some silverware," she notified, finding the hobbit all too funny. He really was trying to be rather strong willed, but he'd never beat the likes of a elf. With that said, she motioned towards his rather small table set for one.





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"There's some more now." she grinned cheekily, going for the door and swinging it wide open from the previous "half-cracked" position it was in. "Greetings!" she chimed. "Come in, come in my friends."
 
The smell of food cooking, and the immediate sight of a young elf-girl made Auriel quite sure that this was a tavern. He walked inside, giving the Ory his name with another toothy grin.


Now, judging from the size of the house, and the short boy with hairy feet, he guessed that Teddy must run the place, though he didn't ask or give a name. Instead, he pulled the bloody pelts back out of his bag; some blood dripped onto the table.


"I'd like some ale and a bowl of whatever's in that pot. I'll pay you with these." he stated matter of factly.
 
Entering the house demanded from Tyrann a rather deep perpetual bowing, which did not do well for his dignity, no doubt. It did, however, serve much for Navi's amusement, as shown by her, quite enjoying the warmth of the house, flying inside, directly in front of the knight's helmeted head, waving at everyone.


Having managed to enter what he assumed to be the living room, where the ceiling was just a bit higher, he turned around to the elf, again gulping down his fear "Hail..." he gave as good a bow as he could manage in his position "... milady- many thanks for letting us enter, and my apologies for sir Starthruster's-" he gestured to the rather loud man who was truly waiting for someone to take his order in exchange for his pelts "- apparent confusion regarding the workings of the housing. My name is Tyrann, sir Tyrann Streiter. I assume this would be the exact place where someone would find the companions for the quest for goodness?"


Just now noticing the other occupants, the knight quickly turned to face them, dwarf and hobbit, he gave another courteous obeisance "My greetings to you, sir and sir, I would assume that one of you would be the house's keeper?"
 
Catherine watched the two go inside ahead of her, stopping in the doorway to take in the sight of the Elf and dwarf within, yes, this made more sense, if what she'd been told (and it wasn't a lot) was correct then this would be quite the mish-mashed little group assembling in this miniature house.


She stopped just inside, standing near the doorway to what appeared to be a kitchen. Catherine was unsure what to do now, she had no idea how many would be assembling, or at what point this 'meeting' would start. So she deigned to introduce herself to those present she had not met yet, giving her name and profession.


"Do we know how many others will be in attendance?" she asked aloud, hoping one of the group would know.
 
Teddy was far too busy fuming over them thrusting him into the position of dinner-party-host without even so much as a quick warning, that he took no notice of Orydd off to peruse his stew. But then he did notice and quickly jumped into action ( though not before cringing at where she had thrown her wares ), “Now listen here, I was not made aware of this and I’ll have you know-,” and just as he began to wave a stern finger at his visitors ( which was completely ridiculous ), yet another few came barging into his home. Now, Teddy’s home was not meant to hold so many strong presences. He had a bad enough time hosting hobbit groups too big, and while they all certainly fit one way or another, the air was growing far too clustered and crowded for his taste. He turned, features fixed into an absolute scowl, and promptly placed his hand back at his side. Well, as if one wasn’t enough! “Oh, more visitors, lovely.” They were going to break all of his heirlooms with their lumbering. He just knew it.


Teddy could be stubborn and obnoxious and very selfish, however as most selfish people, he had some mind for self-preservation. As he contemplated scurrying past the elf and the dwarf, and locking himself in the cellar, he got a good look at this Dain Ironhammer. And then another at the slightly-more-petite, if not just as pristine looking Orydd, the Knight, Tyrann who only looked remotely honorable because he was the most polite, the very-confused human man and the lovely looking woman. Teddy blustered like an old man, and then promptly gave up any last protest on the tip of his tongue. It tasted a tad too bitter sour, and spelled out danger.


“I'm the owner of this home, Hobbit hole to be um, exact.” if he couldn't force them out, he could certainly be rude and scare them off! His features scrunched just so, and he gave the Tyrann fellow a pointed look. He would be pressed to find any hobbit hospitable to a group of perfect strangers all weighed down by weapons, thank you very much.“I hope you lot like stew,” he muttered, shouldering past Orydd and reaching for his mittens. They were embroidered with a number of flowers and he was not embarrassed in the slightest. The hobbit lifted the stew pot from the flames with a tut tut and placed it down on the trivet in the middle of the dining table. After fetching the warmed buns (of which there were all of ten) he went about retrieving a whole nine extra bowls from his cupboards.


“Won’t find a better stew in Hithegrove,” he said, chest swelling warm with pride because it was true. Then he remembered that he was not among friends and frowned, placing down each of the bowls. Only four matched each other.“And don’t just throw your things anywhere, there is a coat hook,” he looked to Orydd for a painful five seconds before taking a seat and beginning to ladle out the stew. "I'd like some ale and a bowl of whatever's in that pot. I'll pay you with these." One of the men said, throwing a handful of bloody pelts onto the table for a nice exchange of his wonderful, stomach warming food. Oh god, not the table cloth he had recently made. "Oh no- get those rancid things off the table cloth! I-I'll give you ten bowls if you just.. get.. off- those, them, NOW!"





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Orydd stepped aside and closed the door when the last pair of feet stepped foot into the small home, actually shutting it completely before turning and raising her arms lightly into the air. "Welcome, welcome." she insisted, hunched forward to not hit her nearly fully-covered head on one of the hanging lamps in the hall. Her lucid body ambled into the small, but humble living quarters, where she could actually stand fully and speak with one of the polite men of the trio. She smiled beneath the silken fur in front of her mouth, raising her chin to properly converse. "Apology accepted, such actions don't bother me but.. certainly," she waved her thimble fingers in the direction of the Hobbit, who was fuming over every little thing they did. "Theodore has to say otherwise." she grinned, lowering her hands and cupping them together at her waist. "Ory Thoraeus at your service." she bowed as well, eye lashes fluttering with such pride. "This is the meeting place for those matters, yes. We are looking for a burglar correct? Master.. Mumford here was the best choice we could find, and such matters will be discussed at dinner." she cleared her throat, making her feminine voice less noticeable to her peers. "I have no word of who comes and who does not."
 
Auriel did a short arm pump before putting the pelts away again. He was eating well tonight. Although, he did confirm hobbits to be rather... flustery. He took a seat in a too small chair before looking around the place.


For a tavern, this place was rather much like someone's home.


Probably just the hobbits liked it cozy.
 
"Either way, many thanks, sir Mumford, for your hospitality, I am certain it can not be a simple task to house those such as us in the rather... small premises you possess." carefully, the knight reached out for his fairy, who readily landed on his open palm, waving at the other occupants of the house all the while "Navi... would like to express her thanks as well, she found it rather uncomfortable outside."


Seeing as how it would be unlikely to find a chair fitting to hold his entire mammoth and armored frame, the knight settled with simply sitting down on the ground at side of the table, trying to take as little space away as he could, waiting for the others to seat themselves.
 
Baznif scrambled through the bracken on all fours, unmindful of how it snagged against his clothing or the branches poked into the skin of his exposed hands and face. His face was a mask of worry as he frantically searched for his missing hat. A wizard's hat was more than a simple covering of Baznif's shiny dome. A wizard's hat was more than just a badge of office. A wizard's hat was a wizard's pride and joy, their very fountain of confidence, and in some extreme cases, their very ability to cast magic stemmed from their hat. A wizard with his hat on was dressed, all other clothing optional. At least, according to Baznif. He continued to crawl forward in desperation, wincing as his knee came down on the trailing edge of his beard. The once white, and quite magnificent if he was being humble, beard was fast turning slimy and brown, with not a few leaves stuck into it.


"Drat, damnation and hellfire!" Baznif howled as the bracken suddenly gave way to a shallow drop, sending the wizard tumbling down to land on his hands and knees in mostly clear water. The fish darted away from the ripples he created, frogs croaked and abandoned their perches on lily pads for the safety of the water. Baznif mournfully stared down at his reflection in the water. He took in the stained robes, the cuts on the face, the ruined beard, and the crumpled hat. He blinked, then slowly raised both hands to feel the brim of the hat seated securely on his head, the white feather firmly affixed in the headband. The wizard leapt to his feet with a spryness that belied his age. He let out a mad cackle, and slowly began a shuffling, hopping dance to the shore. With sopping clothes he waded onto the shore, pausing and surveying the land around him.


"Now where did I put my staff..."


~~


Two hours later, armed with staff and hat, and dry if not clean clothes, Baznif once again found himself walking down the road worn by untold years of feet and carriage wheels. He grimaced, noting how low the sun was sinking in the sky.


"Damn lazy sun, in my day it stayed out twice as long and was half again as bright!" He grumbled, angrily shaking his staff in the general direction of the setting sun. Grumbling to himself, he flexed his weary knees, contemplating his long journey to...where exactly? He used the end of his staff to scratch his head as he contemplated his destination, then shrugged, deciding any direction was as good as any. "Now how did that travel spell go..." Baznif asked of no one in particular, pulling a white powder out of one of his pouches. Sprinkling it in a spiral pattern, he took up his staff in both hands, raising it above his head and began chanting in the mystical language. "Isha Ahayai Isha Tensai Iadouch houtou otau okok!" He finished, pointing his staff in the direction of intended travel.


Much to his surprise, a bolt of flame shot from the end of his staff, igniting the bracken he had so recently clambered through. Baznif cast a look to the left, to the right, and then settled for a much easier transportation spell. Hiking up the ends of his robes with one hand, and holding his hat securely with the other, he set off in the opposite direction of the blaze with a sprint much inconsistent with his apparent age.


Gradually his hurried flight slowed itself to a more dignified walk, the wind his assistant as it blew the smoke away from his direction of travel. He drew himself up as he gradually began passing signs of habitation, tiny houses, tiny fields, and tiny fences. Hobbits. Baznif spat to the side as he slowed his walking pace, double checking his money pouch as he did so. He gave a little shudder as he thought about their little hands, and little eyes, walking around telling great big lies. Their little noses, and teeth, walking around with no shoes on their feet. Disgusting. But what was a wizard to do? It had become apparent, even to him that he would need to either stay the night in this village, or attempt another transportation spell. Resigned to his fate, Baznif mentally prepared himself as he walked deeper into the village, eyes on the lookout for perhaps a tavern or an inn, anywhere to stay the night. It was his nose, catching the scent of some stew or perhaps soup that led him to the hobbit hole with the funny marking on the door, one not seen on any of the other doors he had passed.


Drawing himself up to his full height of not even five and a half feet, Baznif extended his staff to knock on the front door, the end leaving little scorch marks on the wood as it made contact. He hurriedly brought the staff up to his face and frantically blew on the end, attempting to extinguish the residual flame from the earlier fireball while he awaited a response.
 
Standing on the edge of the group and furthest away from the hobbit and his cooking, Catherine heard an impatient knocking at the door, followed by shuffling and mumbling. Thinking this must be more of the (un-)expected party, she turned away from the group and made her way to the round door. The soldier opened it, looking out into the dark night and recoiling slightly at the sight which met her.


A rather thin and unsettled man was staring back at her, twigs and moss caught in his eyebrows and beard, the latter containing a few very slightly singed hairs. He looked like one of the old drunks who so often ended up getting thrown out of taverns when she was assigned to guard duty. It was at that point he shifted slightly and something started blocking the moonlight, she looked up and was surprised to see the dark silhouette of a large conical hat.


The universal sign of a magic wielder.


"...You're a Wizard...?" she asked the dishevelled figure, unable to keep the doubt and shock out of her voice.


The words had escaped her mouth before she could stop them, and she stood waiting uneasily for the Mans response.
 
Baznif turned to see if the woman addressing him was speaking to someone else, completing a full turn to end facing the woman once again.


"Back in my day young uns had a bit more respect about them for their elders." He complained bitterly, thumping his staff into the ground to emphasize his point. A shower of sparks erupted, causing him to flinch away before recovering himself. "Girls didn't go about dressed as boys either, and it wasn't this cold, and the sun knew its place." He continued his tirade, casting a scowl at the armed woman in front of him. Why the nerve of these hobbits, the one in front of him appeared to be attempting to sneak an extra inch on him somewhere. "Of course I am a wizard." He said grandly, throwing his arms wide. "Perhaps you have heard of me? I am known as...Magic Johnson!" He exclaimed, before frowning. "No, that's not quite right." He stroked his beard, lost in thought for several seconds, absentmindedly drawing his beard into his mouth, chewing for a few seconds before spitting it out for the taste of mud. "I am Baznif the... Belligerent? Beautiful? Bodacious?" He lapsed into silence once more. "It is not important." He declared finally, waving his hand in the air as if to dispel the issue. "Back in my day, Hobbitses at least had the decency to invite a guest in instead of having them stand out on the stoop!" He said with a meaningful glare.
 
She winced slightly at the mans insults. Although, he did have a point, she had definitely been a tad rude to him. Wait, Hobbit?


"Oh, I'm not a Hobbit, the man who lives here is in the kitchen with everyone else." Catherine stepped aside to allow the man entry.


He seemed a little odd, harmful? possibly, but she figured if he was to cause trouble it wouldn't be on purpose. And besides, she didn't know who was supposed to be here, what if this man was an essential member of the party that had already gathered? and it wasn't as if there was anything he could do that the current assembled individuals couldn't fix, right?


"I'm Catherine Jackson, or Jacks. Whichever you prefer Baznif." she waited for him to enter and then closed the door behind him.
 
Baznif treated the woman, Jacks, with a condescending smile. "This is a hobbit hole, not a human hole, ergo Hobbit." He said, settling the matter once and for all. He was well aware of the rebelliousness of teenagers, but to declare oneself a member of another species? Hogwash. He stepped past Jacks and did a double take at the collection of figures within. Two human males, a male elf, dwarf, and another hobbit (proper sized). "This isn't a party, is it?" He asked cautiously. "Because I do seem to have forgotten to bring a gift..." He stopped as an idea hit him. Maybe this was a party for him? He searched his mind as to when his last birthday had been, before concluding that no, it was not a birthday party for him.


"Ah yes, introductions, I do so forget my manners some times." He added, before bowing so low that his hat topped from his head, exposing his bald head, gleaming in the candlelight. He collected the dropped hat with a smooth motion, perching it back on his head before adjusting it to a more jaunty angle. "I am Baznif the...Bodacious." He decided on the spur of the moment. Yes, that was surely it, right? "This is my hat," He indicated with an tilt of the head and a waggle of the eyebrows. "I am accompanied, of course, by my silver dragon Magicicada." Baznif glanced around, before leaning forward and winking conspiratorially, "She's a bit shy, you understand?"
 
The hobbit continued to ladle warm stew into each bowl, which was almost as big as his own rounded head and carefully placed them in the center for anyone to claim as their own. Teddy huffed, running the back of his hand across his forehead prickling with a thin layer of sweat. Never in is life did he imagine about serving the big folk, and not only that, but many big folk. “Oh no, thank you for coming at such uh..” he replied to the Knight while he scurried towards one of the cupboards and grabbed more bowls and tankards, literally trying his best to not throw each of them at the wall. “Ungodly hour, but hey, nothing is better than meeting new people.” He laughed dryly, setting them down before waddling down to his cellar to grab even more things. A barrel of ale, cheese, couple fruits and vegetables and a single bottle of his best red wine.


The small Hobbit sauntered into the room and plopped each item onto the table as well, making sure that his univited guests were warm, and at home. “Now help yourselves, uh.. if you want anything else let me know but please please, PLEASE don’t make a mess. Don’t break any dishes, don’t spill any ale.. just, don’t.” He clasped his hands together, glancing at each of their simple faces before turning his attention to the door. Any moment, he was about to pull the thin hairs from his head in utter frustration. “Please don’t tell me..”


Once the old man hobbled in the room, mud in his beard, clothes dirty and literally blinding everyone with his shiny bald head, Teddy almost went bezerk. He had to of been at the wrong place. A wandering drunkard from down at the tavern, possibly. “P-Party?” he spoke through clenched teeth, smiling rather awkwardly. Did he forget it was his birthday? No no, that wasn’t it. “Either way, welcome, I guess.” His fingers twitched, waving his hand at the copious amounts of food littering the tiny table while the old man went on about his dragon. He was bloody mad. “Eat.” He insisted, turning away to breath out heavily and rub his head. “Eat as much as you want."




⊰⋄⊱

​



Orydd ambled into the room everyone was held at and took a seat in one of the chairs, glancing down to make sure she wouldn’t snap the “doll-house” furniture in half with her bottom. She smiled beneath her veil, finding it rather humorous still how flustered the little hobbit was getting. “You know how to make your guests feel welcome, sir Mumford.” She mumbled and giggled lightly, pointed-ears wobbling.


Orydd leaned back in her chair and pushed aside the stew, knowing she couldn’t simply rip her viel off and eat in front of each of her companions like that. “Not very hungry at the moment,” she raised a finger, eyes darting to the Hobbit who placed the bottle of wine onto the table. “I will take a glass of that though.”


Yet another person decided to show, immediately making her stand to her feet and bow, simply showing respect especially for someone she will be traveling with for months on end and him being an elder. “I welcome you, Baznif.” Orydd greeted, raising her chin. “I am Ory Thoraeus, at your service.” The elven female then straightened her posture and pointed to the Hobbit, who turned away for a moment to collect himself. “Sir Mumford here, is rather delighted to have you attend this gathering.”
 
Not noticing the sarcasm behind the hobbit's voice, Tyrann gave him a courteous nod, before seeing how the wizened and rather self-proclaimed bodacious wizard entered the room. Ignoring his subconscious dislike for the magical man, as well as the rather ragged appearance, after all it was certainly a noble individual that, just like he, had purposefully joined the call to goodness, thus aimed to use his no-doubt powerful abilities solely for the sake of the innocent and the needy, thus the massive knight carefully, so as not to crash into the ceiling, stood up to bow before the elderly man "Greetings, sir."


Even if the simple presence of the man reminded the young knight of the ever-present burning sensation.


Ever clinging to that only half-understood etiquette of his, the knight added "Sir Tyrann Streiter would be my name, always a... pleasure to meet a user of the arcane.", though before this individual, an observant ear might have noticed that the knight's voice sounded strangely strained.


Settling down again, seeing as how the feast had already started, including Navi who, while Tyrann had introduced himself to the wizard, had busied herself with taking a bowl, filling it with some of the stew and setting it before where the knight sat. Taking an apple, the fairy perched herself right beside his bowl and began to nibble on the fruit.


Staring for a moment at the bowl in front of him in silence, the knight, looking around the table, spoke again, the tone of his voice betraying some shame "I must apologize, but, unless any of you insist, I would prefer not to take off my helmet, even while I partake in this no doubt delicious feast.", before he, carefully, took up one of the much-too-small wooden spoons, its handle all-too-easily enveloped by the knight's massive hand, as he, using his other hand to just slightly raise his headgear, led the instrument to his mouth, the entire process easily taking a minute.


Inefficient, but preferable to the alternative, he decided. Which lasted until he led the spoon away again and noticed that he had accidentally bitten the soft wood off close to its handle.


Staring at it for another silent moment, he carefully set the remnants of the spoon down, before asking into the table-round "I was told by a reliable source that a quest would have its start here, here, to be exact, in order to gather another member, in this case Sir Mumford. But, farther than that, not much was said. Would anyone here, perhaps, know what follows after?"
 
Baznif treated the Elf, Hobbit, and Knight with a smile that revealed all teeth present and accounted for, if substantially yellowed. "At least sissy-elf, half pint, and tin pot have some courtesies." Was his parting shot over his shoulder to the woman Jacks. He then ambled his way over to the table, procuring for himself a bowl, frowning at the small size. "Back in my day, we had proper portions." He said to the hobbit reproachfully while filling the bowl. Baznif used his staff to drag out a chair for himself, and once seated, placed it against the edge of the table, where it promptly slid to the ground with a clatter and a further discharge of sparks. "Don't make them like they used to anymore." He grumbled under his breath as he bent, accompanied by several cracks and pops, to pick up the offending staff.


Turning his attention to the stew, he stared speculatively at the portion of his dirtied beard now occupying the bowl. Carefully dragging out the sodden matte of hair he stroked it twice before snapping his fingers. With a puff of smoke, the various detritus, along with the bottom fifth of the beard, disappeared into the aether. Baznif stared in dismay at his foreshortened beard, before giving a philosophical shrug. Taking up the spoon, he raised the first spoonful of stew to his mouth chewing. He made a face, before pulling a flask from his pouch and adding a generous helping to the stew. He nodded approvingly as the second spoonful made its way into his mouth.
 
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