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Another Bastard Child of Tolkien - Litany for a Dead Campaign (The End)
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<blockquote data-quote="Paka" data-source="post: 1299274" data-attributes="member: 100"><p><strong>Chapter III </strong> </p><p><em>Wyvern Smoke or Dragon Smoke </em> </p><p></p><p>Mayor Joren Overill is stout, even by Halfling standards. Since his ascension from the youngest member of the Pipe Council (only 64 years) to Mayor of Hightree Shire, his belt has only gotten tighter as his belly has gotten larger. </p><p></p><p>He is sitting in the study of his Hobbit Hole and it is late at night. His wife went to sleep long ago; she could tell this was one of her husband’s restless nights. One of those nights when he goes into that shelf in his desk with the obvious false bottom and would take out that horrid yellowed bone pipe of his, rather than the fine maple Hobbit pipe given by her father on their wedding day. She hates that bone pipe. It has the face of a Dragon carved into it and when Joren puffs on it, as he will no doubt soon do, smoke will come from its mouth. </p><p></p><p>Dragons are trouble and she would know. </p><p></p><p>He won’t quite go into the cellar to get his dusty old travel cloak nor take the short sword from above the fireplace but he’ll have to fight the strong urge. </p><p></p><p>Joren loves the old pipe. He hides it in a secret compartment in his desk, so his wife won’t find it and accidentally throw it away or give it to a niece or nephew as a gift. He knows that she hates the pipe as it is a vivid symbol, more than the battered short sword above the hearth, of their time away from the Shire. He loves to revel in that time of new smells, dirt, weariness, conflict and adventure. </p><p></p><p>Mandy Overhill prefers the past to be left in the past. </p><p></p><p>A new log is on the fire, tea is stoking in the nearby pot and the pipe is stuffed with good Court Shire Leaf. Best of all a letter from his nephew, Sheriff Dustin Overhill of Hightree Shire, is on his lap, letter as of yet unread, wax seal unbroken. </p><p></p><p>It is these moments of quiet and simple joy that Jorren enjoys most these days, now that his life is seeing to the well being of the Shire. </p><p></p><p>Jorren thinks on how he will pour the tea, light the pipe and open the letter, each action making the next even more fine. </p><p></p><p>“Cozy in here, Joren. You’re doing well for yourself,” it is a silky voice from the windowsill. </p><p></p><p>Joren sits up, jarred by the intrusion, thinks of his sword in two steps and a reach distance but settles back down again, thinking better of it, “Well, the Witch’s Familiar pays the Mayor a visit, hm? Aren’t you supposed to be jet black with green teeth?” </p><p></p><p>Priscilla, white bellied tiger striped cat that she is stretches out in front of his fire, purring at the comfort, “You know better than that, Master Mayor. My lady thought that too many Shire tongues would wag if she were to pay you a visit personally. Sorceress visits Mayor of Hightree Shire, positively scandalous!” </p><p></p><p>Equilibrium upset, Joren lights his pipe and lets out an amused harrumph, “They never call her a Sorceress, they merely refer to her as the Witch. And I am sure that the fact that I am…” and the Mayor let’s out a sniffle, “allergic to you had nothing to do with Alicia’s decision.” </p><p></p><p>“She wishes you no discomfort,” Priscilla says as her tail swishes back and forth as if the Mayor weren’t a stout Hobbit but a mouse to be toyed with, “but she is concerned and doesn’t hear much news. You still have that pipe after all these years, that hideous Dragon pipe-“ </p><p></p><p>“It is a Wyvern. One can tell by the tell-tale ridges on the head.” </p><p></p><p>The familiar merely closes her eyes and purrs at this. </p><p></p><p>“What is it you want again? I was about to enjoy my fine nephew’s letter.” </p><p></p><p>“It is because of your nephew that I’m here. He is still out in the Jade Forest, then? Traipsing with the criminal?” </p><p></p><p>“He is still abroad and yes, he is with his Deputy. Deputy Thane. Thane Trumble.” </p><p></p><p>Thane Trumble. No name in the Shire besides that of the Witch herself could cause the Hobbit elders to let out snorts of derision like the name Thane Trumble. Wanderer. City-goer. Convicted Thief. Orc-Slayer. Ne’er do-well. Worst of all: Adventurer, “Thane is a fine traveling companion for a young man of Dustin’s demeanor.” </p><p></p><p>“Dustin’s demeanor? You mean naïve as an Orc is mean? The Shire is a different place since those two found and hatched that Green Dragon’s egg on the North Road.” </p><p></p><p>“Different for the better,” Jorren says with a stab in the air with his pipe for emphasis. </p><p></p><p>“Don’t let the Pipe Council hear you say that. They’ll say that some outland stink has been left on you from your reckless adventuring days,” and the cat looks up and makes eye contact with Jorren, “Different is different. The Witch was wondering what happened to the prisoner your son brought in with Thane after their visit to Sun City.” </p><p></p><p>“Gorum, the Clanless,” and Jorren rubs his eyes. When the hatchling was but a few days old, Dustin and Thane ventured west to Sun City, capitol of the Golden Empire. They discussed terms with Senator Liam Scorjoy and discovered his plans to use the Jade Forest as clear cut logging so the Golden Legions might make naval war with the Red Dynasty to the west. </p><p></p><p>Thane and Dustin were wise and got away with their lives. They also managed to get word of Liam’s plans for the Jade Forest to the Elven community in Sun. This managed to stall the Senate for a few months, allowing the Jade Forest to marshal its forces. </p><p></p><p>They returned with Gorum, a clanless Dwarven Rogue, who had worked with Thane in his less reputable days. Upon hearing of Gorum’s plan to turn them both in to the Gold Legions, the Sheriff and Deputy made their first arrest. </p><p></p><p>A few weeks after they departed, adventuring in the Jade Forest, Gorum had escaped. </p><p></p><p>His whereabouts are unknown. </p><p></p><p>“He tired of our fine hospitality. That is all that is known. If the Witch of Hightree wishes to aid in finding this lawbreaker that would be-” </p><p></p><p>“She has failed to find him, as have I. We believe he had aid,” and with the conversation switching from fun banter to more serious topics, the cat leaves the sleepy hearth and sits up on a nearby cushioned footstool. </p><p></p><p>“I agree with your assessments. My nephew believes he will seek him out and will make a mistake in the city. He suggested that we waste no more time looking for him,” </p><p></p><p>“Hm, there might be hope for that boy yet. Mayhaps he is not as naïve as we think.” </p><p></p><p>Jorren can’t help a smile at that, “The road is a good teacher. I am glad that he is well. His adventures are far different from ours. He operates on an entirely different scale. His life-“ </p><p></p><p>Not for the first time this night, Priscilla interrupts, just as her mistress would, “-will be a hundred times more complicated and dangerous than yours was.” </p><p></p><p>Puff, puff, puff the Wyvern or the Dragon’s mouth oozes smoke, “His quest is far more complicated and dangerous than finding a cure for the Night’s Venom going through Kaily Goodbelly’s veins. When the time comes he can still settle down, see to his Sheriff-ly duties and find a wife.” </p><p></p><p>Cats can smile. Priscilla grins, “As his uncle did, lo those many years ago.” </p><p></p><p>“As his uncle did, not SO long ago, I think,” and the Familiar and the Mayor share a moment. They each take something very different from the air of that moment but it is shared none the less. </p><p></p><p>The Mayor begins to sniffle. He wipes his nose with a nearby kerchief and pours his tea, “It is the Golden Empire to the west that worries your mistress, neh?” </p><p></p><p>“My mistress is worried that the Shire could take the worst part of any war between the Jade Forest and the Golden Empire. Meddling in the affairs of Dragons is serious and dangerous business.” </p><p></p><p>Smoke comes out of Jorren’s nose as he is lectured by a cat of all things. His nostrils flare, “I know perfectly well about the affairs of Dragons, you little-“ </p><p></p><p>Absent-mindedly, Priscilla begins to lick her paw and rub it against her ear, “Your wife does. She remembers. You would rather romanticize it all as if you were a hero in a storybook. The Witch of Hightree is merely worried that her Mayor is allowing events that will soon, if not already, be beyond his control in an attempt to once again touch that storybook world. </p><p></p><p>But if Happily Ever After seem beyond your reach, please know that we will help the Shire in any way we can, despite how we are viewed and treated hereabouts.” </p><p></p><p>Jorren sighs and sits up, “Pris, don’t be silly. Alicia could come back any time she wanted to. They were harsher to her than to me because-“ </p><p></p><p>The cat’s green eyes narrow to jade arrow slits, "-because you came home and washed the outland stink off of you with a marriage and Alicia went abroad to hone her skills. You came home and let everything go on as it had been and when Alicia suggested that some things change, she was nearly run out of town on a rail. You-“ </p><p></p><p>“Enough, cat. Tell your mistress that patrols surround the Shire and the Green Lady has breathed a mist over Hightree that should hide us for a time. Tell her that her offer is accepted and if we find ourselves in need, our pride will not be too great to ask for her wise counsel and aid. </p><p></p><p>Thank ye kindly.” </p><p></p><p>Quickly as she arrived, Priscilla made her way out the window, “Give Mandy our best regards.” </p><p></p><p>Jorren Overhill just slouches in his chair, feeling old. He puts out his pipe and cleans it, placing it back in its special place in his desk. He sees that the fire was safe and puts away the tea. </p><p></p><p>He is always quiet but still his wife wakes up when he enters the bedroom, “Did you remember to put away that Dragon pipe?” </p><p></p><p>“It is a Wyvern, dear,” and after removing his slippers, “Yes, I put it back.” </p><p></p><p>“Were you talking to someone, Jor?” </p><p></p><p>“Yes, dear, Alicia’s cat showed up.” </p><p></p><p>Mandy Overhill lets out a sleep-slurred uh-huh, “Everthing okay?” </p><p></p><p>“Right as pie, my dear,” Joren is awake for a long time, staring at the ceiling, listening to the night’s noises. He can never tell if Mandy is asleep by her breathing as she can tell by his. </p><p></p><p>The still night is broken by, “Do you regret your decision, Jorren?” </p><p></p><p>Jorren turns and looks at the lump in the covers made by his wife, “I only regret that we can’t return to the Shire triumphant from our quest every day at dusk, so that I might make that decision every time the sun sets.” </p><p></p><p>“Hm, that’s nice. Sleep.” </p><p></p><p>Jorren Overhill falls into a deep slumber and only as he begins to dream of road dust and talking cats does he realize that his nephew’s letter is still sitting on his armchair, wax seal untouched, missive unread.</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Paka, post: 1299274, member: 100"] [B]Chapter III [/B] [I]Wyvern Smoke or Dragon Smoke [/I] Mayor Joren Overill is stout, even by Halfling standards. Since his ascension from the youngest member of the Pipe Council (only 64 years) to Mayor of Hightree Shire, his belt has only gotten tighter as his belly has gotten larger. He is sitting in the study of his Hobbit Hole and it is late at night. His wife went to sleep long ago; she could tell this was one of her husband’s restless nights. One of those nights when he goes into that shelf in his desk with the obvious false bottom and would take out that horrid yellowed bone pipe of his, rather than the fine maple Hobbit pipe given by her father on their wedding day. She hates that bone pipe. It has the face of a Dragon carved into it and when Joren puffs on it, as he will no doubt soon do, smoke will come from its mouth. Dragons are trouble and she would know. He won’t quite go into the cellar to get his dusty old travel cloak nor take the short sword from above the fireplace but he’ll have to fight the strong urge. Joren loves the old pipe. He hides it in a secret compartment in his desk, so his wife won’t find it and accidentally throw it away or give it to a niece or nephew as a gift. He knows that she hates the pipe as it is a vivid symbol, more than the battered short sword above the hearth, of their time away from the Shire. He loves to revel in that time of new smells, dirt, weariness, conflict and adventure. Mandy Overhill prefers the past to be left in the past. A new log is on the fire, tea is stoking in the nearby pot and the pipe is stuffed with good Court Shire Leaf. Best of all a letter from his nephew, Sheriff Dustin Overhill of Hightree Shire, is on his lap, letter as of yet unread, wax seal unbroken. It is these moments of quiet and simple joy that Jorren enjoys most these days, now that his life is seeing to the well being of the Shire. Jorren thinks on how he will pour the tea, light the pipe and open the letter, each action making the next even more fine. “Cozy in here, Joren. You’re doing well for yourself,” it is a silky voice from the windowsill. Joren sits up, jarred by the intrusion, thinks of his sword in two steps and a reach distance but settles back down again, thinking better of it, “Well, the Witch’s Familiar pays the Mayor a visit, hm? Aren’t you supposed to be jet black with green teeth?” Priscilla, white bellied tiger striped cat that she is stretches out in front of his fire, purring at the comfort, “You know better than that, Master Mayor. My lady thought that too many Shire tongues would wag if she were to pay you a visit personally. Sorceress visits Mayor of Hightree Shire, positively scandalous!” Equilibrium upset, Joren lights his pipe and lets out an amused harrumph, “They never call her a Sorceress, they merely refer to her as the Witch. And I am sure that the fact that I am…” and the Mayor let’s out a sniffle, “allergic to you had nothing to do with Alicia’s decision.” “She wishes you no discomfort,” Priscilla says as her tail swishes back and forth as if the Mayor weren’t a stout Hobbit but a mouse to be toyed with, “but she is concerned and doesn’t hear much news. You still have that pipe after all these years, that hideous Dragon pipe-“ “It is a Wyvern. One can tell by the tell-tale ridges on the head.” The familiar merely closes her eyes and purrs at this. “What is it you want again? I was about to enjoy my fine nephew’s letter.” “It is because of your nephew that I’m here. He is still out in the Jade Forest, then? Traipsing with the criminal?” “He is still abroad and yes, he is with his Deputy. Deputy Thane. Thane Trumble.” Thane Trumble. No name in the Shire besides that of the Witch herself could cause the Hobbit elders to let out snorts of derision like the name Thane Trumble. Wanderer. City-goer. Convicted Thief. Orc-Slayer. Ne’er do-well. Worst of all: Adventurer, “Thane is a fine traveling companion for a young man of Dustin’s demeanor.” “Dustin’s demeanor? You mean naïve as an Orc is mean? The Shire is a different place since those two found and hatched that Green Dragon’s egg on the North Road.” “Different for the better,” Jorren says with a stab in the air with his pipe for emphasis. “Don’t let the Pipe Council hear you say that. They’ll say that some outland stink has been left on you from your reckless adventuring days,” and the cat looks up and makes eye contact with Jorren, “Different is different. The Witch was wondering what happened to the prisoner your son brought in with Thane after their visit to Sun City.” “Gorum, the Clanless,” and Jorren rubs his eyes. When the hatchling was but a few days old, Dustin and Thane ventured west to Sun City, capitol of the Golden Empire. They discussed terms with Senator Liam Scorjoy and discovered his plans to use the Jade Forest as clear cut logging so the Golden Legions might make naval war with the Red Dynasty to the west. Thane and Dustin were wise and got away with their lives. They also managed to get word of Liam’s plans for the Jade Forest to the Elven community in Sun. This managed to stall the Senate for a few months, allowing the Jade Forest to marshal its forces. They returned with Gorum, a clanless Dwarven Rogue, who had worked with Thane in his less reputable days. Upon hearing of Gorum’s plan to turn them both in to the Gold Legions, the Sheriff and Deputy made their first arrest. A few weeks after they departed, adventuring in the Jade Forest, Gorum had escaped. His whereabouts are unknown. “He tired of our fine hospitality. That is all that is known. If the Witch of Hightree wishes to aid in finding this lawbreaker that would be-” “She has failed to find him, as have I. We believe he had aid,” and with the conversation switching from fun banter to more serious topics, the cat leaves the sleepy hearth and sits up on a nearby cushioned footstool. “I agree with your assessments. My nephew believes he will seek him out and will make a mistake in the city. He suggested that we waste no more time looking for him,” “Hm, there might be hope for that boy yet. Mayhaps he is not as naïve as we think.” Jorren can’t help a smile at that, “The road is a good teacher. I am glad that he is well. His adventures are far different from ours. He operates on an entirely different scale. His life-“ Not for the first time this night, Priscilla interrupts, just as her mistress would, “-will be a hundred times more complicated and dangerous than yours was.” Puff, puff, puff the Wyvern or the Dragon’s mouth oozes smoke, “His quest is far more complicated and dangerous than finding a cure for the Night’s Venom going through Kaily Goodbelly’s veins. When the time comes he can still settle down, see to his Sheriff-ly duties and find a wife.” Cats can smile. Priscilla grins, “As his uncle did, lo those many years ago.” “As his uncle did, not SO long ago, I think,” and the Familiar and the Mayor share a moment. They each take something very different from the air of that moment but it is shared none the less. The Mayor begins to sniffle. He wipes his nose with a nearby kerchief and pours his tea, “It is the Golden Empire to the west that worries your mistress, neh?” “My mistress is worried that the Shire could take the worst part of any war between the Jade Forest and the Golden Empire. Meddling in the affairs of Dragons is serious and dangerous business.” Smoke comes out of Jorren’s nose as he is lectured by a cat of all things. His nostrils flare, “I know perfectly well about the affairs of Dragons, you little-“ Absent-mindedly, Priscilla begins to lick her paw and rub it against her ear, “Your wife does. She remembers. You would rather romanticize it all as if you were a hero in a storybook. The Witch of Hightree is merely worried that her Mayor is allowing events that will soon, if not already, be beyond his control in an attempt to once again touch that storybook world. But if Happily Ever After seem beyond your reach, please know that we will help the Shire in any way we can, despite how we are viewed and treated hereabouts.” Jorren sighs and sits up, “Pris, don’t be silly. Alicia could come back any time she wanted to. They were harsher to her than to me because-“ The cat’s green eyes narrow to jade arrow slits, "-because you came home and washed the outland stink off of you with a marriage and Alicia went abroad to hone her skills. You came home and let everything go on as it had been and when Alicia suggested that some things change, she was nearly run out of town on a rail. You-“ “Enough, cat. Tell your mistress that patrols surround the Shire and the Green Lady has breathed a mist over Hightree that should hide us for a time. Tell her that her offer is accepted and if we find ourselves in need, our pride will not be too great to ask for her wise counsel and aid. Thank ye kindly.” Quickly as she arrived, Priscilla made her way out the window, “Give Mandy our best regards.” Jorren Overhill just slouches in his chair, feeling old. He puts out his pipe and cleans it, placing it back in its special place in his desk. He sees that the fire was safe and puts away the tea. He is always quiet but still his wife wakes up when he enters the bedroom, “Did you remember to put away that Dragon pipe?” “It is a Wyvern, dear,” and after removing his slippers, “Yes, I put it back.” “Were you talking to someone, Jor?” “Yes, dear, Alicia’s cat showed up.” Mandy Overhill lets out a sleep-slurred uh-huh, “Everthing okay?” “Right as pie, my dear,” Joren is awake for a long time, staring at the ceiling, listening to the night’s noises. He can never tell if Mandy is asleep by her breathing as she can tell by his. The still night is broken by, “Do you regret your decision, Jorren?” Jorren turns and looks at the lump in the covers made by his wife, “I only regret that we can’t return to the Shire triumphant from our quest every day at dusk, so that I might make that decision every time the sun sets.” “Hm, that’s nice. Sleep.” Jorren Overhill falls into a deep slumber and only as he begins to dream of road dust and talking cats does he realize that his nephew’s letter is still sitting on his armchair, wax seal untouched, missive unread. [/QUOTE]
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