Hobbits are fascinating creatures, aren't they? They don't care much for other races, and what they think of them. The Big Folk are too clumsy and obtrusive. Dwarrows are too rude and greedy. Elves are excessively tall and haughty. Hobbits were once hunted for their skills, and have long since become a reclusive race. They have a short stature of normally no taller than 4'6 and no smaller than 2'0. Growing no hair on their bodies other than their heads, and feet; their feet are large and thick-soled, and their ears pointed. They have clawed fingers to help protect them, as well as sharp teeth. The sense of smell belonging to a Hobbit is very strong. Hobbits are also quite feral. Descended from a race of wild elves, they had long since adapted to their chosen environment.
They come of age when they're 33 years old. Children are trained in the art of stealth, just in case their home is discovered, and strength is developed by roughhousing with other Hobbits. Medical skills are taught to those who show an aptitude in them. Hobbits have a wolf's mentality when it comes to pack. They obey those of higher ranking. The Thain is their primary Alpha. They listen to the elders and push the authority of others instinctively. As a rule, no Hobbit carries a weapon, other than their claws and teeth.
Now that that's all settled, we'll begin with the story.
A wizard clothed in gray made his way up the narrow path and to the smial waiting at the end. There he was greeted by a half-clothed hobbit lying splayed out in the sun.
The young hobbit barely looked up murmuring, "Good Morning".
The figure in gray peered at him. "Do you wish me a good morning, or mean that it's a good morning whether I want it or not; or that it is a morning to be good on?"
Now the hobbit looks up at the wizard, considering. "All of them, I suppose. It's nice and sunny, perfect to sunbathe in. I feel that it's a good morning, so I don't care if you do or not. If I'm not good; I'll get in trouble, whether it's morning or not."
"I'm looking for someone to go on an adventure." The gray stated.
"An adventure, those things make hobbits late for snack and playtime. Dreadful things they are. You won't find anyone looking for an adventure in these parts." He went back to his sunbathing, doing his best to ignore the meddlesome old man. "Good Morning. We don't need or want any adventures over here; try over the Hill or across the Water." He was trying to unsuccessfully end the conversation.
"Quite a lot of things you use good morning for," said the wizard. "Now you mean to get rid of me; which won't be good until I leave!"
"Yes, yes, you are an annoying old man," by now Bilbo was getting tired of this. "Let me think for a moment. I don't believe I know your name." He said, unamused.
"You do know my name, though I don't believe that you remember I belong to it. I am Gandalf and Gandalf is me! To think, I have lived this long to be good-morning by the son of Belladonna Took, as if I was selling buttons at the door!"
"I believe that I would've preferred it if you were selling buttons at my door. At least that would have been far more useful than having this conversation. Is the name Gandalf supposed to mean a lot to me? Yes, you gave Old Took a pair of magical earrings, told adventurous tales at numerous parties, and lit up fireworks designed to look like flowers, of all things. Not to mention you're the cause all the elders are tightening the ropes on us all because you seem to like taking us on adventures and returning us different then when we left; if we returned at all!"
"Yes, I am Gandalf. I am pleased that you do remember me after all, even if those memories aren't quite as pleasant as I'd have hoped. For your grandfather Took's sake, and that of your mother's; I will give you what you've asked for."
"If it's not peace in the warm sun until playtime, or you leaving I don't ask for anything," Bilbo stated crossly.
"Yes you have; twice now. In fact, I'll send you on this adventure. Very amusing for me, very good for you- profitable as well, very likely- should you ever get over it."
"Sorry that I'm not! I don't want any adventures today, or any other. Come for play if you'd like! How about tomorrow? Come tomorrow! Goodbye, and Good Morning." At that Bilbo finally gave up and retreated inside, muttering about old wizards who don't know when to shut up, and about maybe having an extra drumstick.
"Now why on a beast's backside did I ask him to play time? It's not like he'd be able to after all, as old and frail as he seems." He then went to one of the pantries to grab a much-needed drumstick to cool his ire.
Gandalf, however, had not yet left and was looking rather closely at the round green door of the den. As if making up his mind the wizard nodded and with the tip of his staff drew an odd looking symbol, turned, and left. Never the wiser, Bilbo was munching on his third drumstick hoping that the wizard wouldn't show up the next day.
By the next morning, Bilbo had just about forgotten about Gandalf. While he may have an excellent memory, he only remembers things he deems important; in others words, not Gandalf. Bilbo was wrestling with his friends when the doorbell rang.
"Alright, cut it out! We have a guest." Bandorbas Townsend, an Alpha-like Hobbit in charge of watching over playtime in the Baggins den, called out.
At once all hobbits stopped their roughhousing, some in the middle of pinning another down, others trying to get unpinned, and more in the motion of biting, kicking, or clawing. Opening the door Bandorbas spots a dwarf.
"Dwalin, at your service." He spoke with a bow.
"Bandorbas Townsend, at yours." He bowed back and stepped to the side. "Please come in. Hang your cloak on one of the hooks."