-Still with me? Good. things are about to get a lot worse, I'm afraid.
Tolkein must be spinning in his grave at the moment-
Deep sleep was very much a luxury to Nob; he very rarely got much of it, and it was always disturbed by either raucous noise (for Bree was the town that never slept) or by nightmares. Nob hates suffering from his silly nightmares; they all stemmed from his altogether ridiculous phobia. Once he had told Bob of what he had dreamed, and had been mercilessly teased by the stablehand ever since.
As the sun's first light filled his little room, Nob supposed he had better check up on that drunk man. Just to make sure he hadn't died in the night, and there wasn't anything to clean up. Many a morning, Nob had to clean the floor of the Puke Room, only for it to be soiled again the following night.
This morning was quite refreshing. The drunk was sitting up, smiling. This was irregular; usually inmates of the Puke Room had the temperament of one of those nasty Black Riders, and skin pale as the dead.
"Looks like it's going to be a nice day today," the man commented. "By the way, where am I?"
"Prancing Pony, Bree," Nob replied. This often happened.
"Oh, I know that. This just isn't my room."
"You were-"
"Very drunk? Oh yes. I suppose I probably was. Gonâd the Gallant, by the way. And you are.?"
"Nob, sir." Nob was still amazed by this man's ability to recover so swiftly, after last night's state.
"Nob, what a lovely name. Tell me, Nob, what are you doing here exactly?"
"I was checking to see if-"
"Tell me, Nob," Gonâd interrupted, "do you like your job?"
"Well-"
"I wouldn't, either. I own an inn, you see. Used to, at any rate. My servants were always surly because they hated the work. Doesn't matter now, anyway, they're running the place while I'm away. Do you like adventures, Nob?"
In his time, Nob had been asked many a strange question by those in the Puke Room. For example, one woman had inquired as to whether Nob could knit her a similar pair of foot-warmers to those on his own feet. That wasn't as bad as the time he'd been mistaken for a cloak-stand though.
"I've never had one, sir," Nob said.
"I can't promise you an adventure," Gonâd said, "but I'd love for you to accompany me home. Long journeys are so incredibly boring when one is alone. I think I should like your company. Just for talk, and you could teach me that delightful song I heard yesterday. The one about what an elf- maiden has under her skirts."
Nob giggled. Despite the tedious, repetitive nature of work in the Prancing Pony, that was one song that constantly amused Nob. It was coarse, crude, yet incredibly funny. "I should be happy to teach you it. And to walk with you."
"Excellent, excellent," Gonâd enthused. "I was concerned about having to make that lonely long journey. I'm sure you'll enjoy it as much as I will. You already strike me as excellent company. I suppose you'd better pack your bags. Travel light, we're walking, you know."
Nob couldn't obey swiftly enough. Travelling light was of no difficulty for him; he possessed little. In fact, much of Nob's pack was made up of pipe- weed. He had no idea how much he would be able to acquire on his travels, so it was best to go prepared. On the way to the door, Nob realised he had forgotten his pipe, so made sure to pick that up, and store it in his pocket, for it would most probably be his most important item.
Butterbur was still asleep, so Nob slid a hastily scrawled note under the door (he wasn't fully sure whether Butterbur could read or not, but it lifted his conscience slightly). And Nob was ready to leave Bree and embark on his own adventure. He was sure there would be excitement, danger, and certainly far more exciting than a monotonous life at the Prancing Pony.
With one last wave to Bob, who was mucking out the horses, Nob walked with Gonâd away from Bree and on to an adventure.
Deep sleep was very much a luxury to Nob; he very rarely got much of it, and it was always disturbed by either raucous noise (for Bree was the town that never slept) or by nightmares. Nob hates suffering from his silly nightmares; they all stemmed from his altogether ridiculous phobia. Once he had told Bob of what he had dreamed, and had been mercilessly teased by the stablehand ever since.
As the sun's first light filled his little room, Nob supposed he had better check up on that drunk man. Just to make sure he hadn't died in the night, and there wasn't anything to clean up. Many a morning, Nob had to clean the floor of the Puke Room, only for it to be soiled again the following night.
This morning was quite refreshing. The drunk was sitting up, smiling. This was irregular; usually inmates of the Puke Room had the temperament of one of those nasty Black Riders, and skin pale as the dead.
"Looks like it's going to be a nice day today," the man commented. "By the way, where am I?"
"Prancing Pony, Bree," Nob replied. This often happened.
"Oh, I know that. This just isn't my room."
"You were-"
"Very drunk? Oh yes. I suppose I probably was. Gonâd the Gallant, by the way. And you are.?"
"Nob, sir." Nob was still amazed by this man's ability to recover so swiftly, after last night's state.
"Nob, what a lovely name. Tell me, Nob, what are you doing here exactly?"
"I was checking to see if-"
"Tell me, Nob," Gonâd interrupted, "do you like your job?"
"Well-"
"I wouldn't, either. I own an inn, you see. Used to, at any rate. My servants were always surly because they hated the work. Doesn't matter now, anyway, they're running the place while I'm away. Do you like adventures, Nob?"
In his time, Nob had been asked many a strange question by those in the Puke Room. For example, one woman had inquired as to whether Nob could knit her a similar pair of foot-warmers to those on his own feet. That wasn't as bad as the time he'd been mistaken for a cloak-stand though.
"I've never had one, sir," Nob said.
"I can't promise you an adventure," Gonâd said, "but I'd love for you to accompany me home. Long journeys are so incredibly boring when one is alone. I think I should like your company. Just for talk, and you could teach me that delightful song I heard yesterday. The one about what an elf- maiden has under her skirts."
Nob giggled. Despite the tedious, repetitive nature of work in the Prancing Pony, that was one song that constantly amused Nob. It was coarse, crude, yet incredibly funny. "I should be happy to teach you it. And to walk with you."
"Excellent, excellent," Gonâd enthused. "I was concerned about having to make that lonely long journey. I'm sure you'll enjoy it as much as I will. You already strike me as excellent company. I suppose you'd better pack your bags. Travel light, we're walking, you know."
Nob couldn't obey swiftly enough. Travelling light was of no difficulty for him; he possessed little. In fact, much of Nob's pack was made up of pipe- weed. He had no idea how much he would be able to acquire on his travels, so it was best to go prepared. On the way to the door, Nob realised he had forgotten his pipe, so made sure to pick that up, and store it in his pocket, for it would most probably be his most important item.
Butterbur was still asleep, so Nob slid a hastily scrawled note under the door (he wasn't fully sure whether Butterbur could read or not, but it lifted his conscience slightly). And Nob was ready to leave Bree and embark on his own adventure. He was sure there would be excitement, danger, and certainly far more exciting than a monotonous life at the Prancing Pony.
With one last wave to Bob, who was mucking out the horses, Nob walked with Gonâd away from Bree and on to an adventure.
