At the heart of Esgaroth, was a large mansion which was where the Master of Esgaroth lived. The Master's name was Calamar, but everyone in Esgaroth called him "Calamar Moneybags" due to his selfishness, greed, and corruption in the city. This caused Calamar to become paranoid and feared that the people of Esgaroth would try to overthrow him. His chief aide Alfrid was very loyal to him, and would keep him abreast of the goings-on throughout the city.
At mid-morning, Calamar woke up from bed as Alfrid steps inside the bedchamber.
"Rise and shine sire." Alfrid said.
"Oh." Calamar groaned. "What is it now Alfrid?"
"I have some improtant information to give you." Alfrid addressed.
"Spill." Calamar insisted.
"Bard the Bowman continues to disobey our rules in Lake-town." Alfrid began.
"He always disobeys our rules, Alfrid." Calamar groaned loudly as he tried to get out of his bed.
"All this talk of civil unrest." Alfrid said. "I know a lot of people have been stirring the pot, sire."
Calamar stands on his feet, wearing his nightgown while Alfrid grabbed empty's the Master's chamberpot out a window.
"Gah! Auh!" Calamar cried out in pain. He stumbles about and immediately sits down to rub his knees. "Oh blast it, not again."
"Gout playing up, sire?" Alfrid asked.
"No, its the damp." Calamar said. "It's the only possible explanation. Now get me a brandy."
Alfrid complied and passed him his drink.
"The mood of the people, sire, it's turning ugly." Alfrid informed more about the news.
"They're commoners, Alfrid. They've always been ugly." Calamar said as he drank. "It's not my fault that they live in a place that stinks of fish oil and tar. Jobs, shelter, food, that's all they ever bleat about."
Walking down the stairs to the hall room, Calamar and Alfrid continue talking.
"It's my belief, sire, they're being lead on by troublemakers." Alfrid informed about the troublemakers in Esgaroth.
"Then we must find these troublemakers and arrest them!" Calamar suggested fiercely as he drank another glass of brandy.
"My thoughts exactly, sire." Alfrid agreed to his point.
"And all this talk of change must be suppressed." Calamar continued his suggestion on what to do. "I can't afford to let them rebel, band together and start making noises. The next thing you know, they'll start asking questions, forming committees." The Master pours yet another tall glass of brandy. "Launching inquiries."
"It's all fun in games before everything collapses." Alfrid brought in.
"Collapse? Oh please Alfrid." Calamar drank from his wine glass. "I don't like hearing that word... in my presence."
"I know sire." Alfrid nodded. "But like I said, Esgaroth is dying. Sooner or later, everyone here would have to leave and settle somewhere else. Probably somewhere in the south."
"Yes that's true." Calamar understood his point. "We would all have to leave. The Northrons of Rhovanion must make a difficult choice in these dark times."
"Dark times?" Alfrid asked, sounding confused.
"Orcs have been seen wondering about in these lands." Calamar explained to him after he finished and placed his glass down on the table. "I fear they might take advantage over us."
"What do you suggest?" Alfrid asked.
"I suggest we find a newer location." Calamar suggested.
"Rohan, sire?" Alfrid answered.
"No Rohan is too poor and less civilized in my take." Calamar declined.
"What about Gondor?" Alfrid asked.
"Gondor... hmm... Gondor." Calamar thought. "Alfrid, I think that will be our destination."
"I remember a time during the Third Age, Gondor was ruled by the mighty Kings and Queens." Alfrid explained his story. "But sadly, the line has been broken..."
"... and its ruled by the Stewards." Calamar added. "If only I could take that position, I would do whats best for the people."
"Out with the old, in with the new." Alfrid added.
"What do you mean?" Calamar asked.
"What I mean is sire, I've been hearing talks about an election." Alfrid said.
"An election?" Calamar exclaimed. "That's absurd! I am the leader and ruler all of the Northrons of this region. Elections are forbidden."
"I don't think they'd ask you to stand, sire." Alfrid said softly. "In this part of the region, there is no king."
"No... I am not a king or a lord." Calamar spat. "I'm just a master who governs this city as it now stands." He walks away. "It's falling into ruin."
Calamar opens glass doors and walks out onto his balcony, looking over Esgaroth.
"Shirkers. Ingrates. Rabble-rousers." Calamar muttered to himself. "Who would have the nerve to question my authority? Who would dare? Who…" He paused for a moment and began to realize something. "Bard." He hissed angrily. "You mark my words, that trouble-making bargeman is behind all this." He turns around. "No one else would have the…"
"Bollocks, sire." Alfrid said, holding a plate of food. "Ram and goat, sautéed in a lovely little mushroom gravy."
Back inside the quarters, Calamar was enjoying his meal while Alfrid was walking around.
"In an ideal world, sire, we'd arrest him." Alfrid continued his idea about arresting Bard. "But Bard has the favor of the people. They see him as a leader. Someone they can truly admire. Modest… intelligent… handsome… athletic."
"Yes, he's clearly modelling himself on me. But that's no crime." Calamar said as he finished eating his supper. "But Bard has been disobeying my laws, and that is considered... foolish."
"Foolish he may be, sire." Alfrid grinned. "But Bard is known to be related to Girion, the last Lord of Dale."
"Oh Girion, that man who failed to slay that beast." Calamar remembered. "His sons and daughters survived the terrible firestorm, and Dale has becoming nothing but a desolation." Then he began to think of something. "I wonder… I wonder if some ancient law might exist… that forbids bargemen from asking questions. Do you think such a venerable statute might exist?"
"Almost certainly, sire." Alfrid grinned and turned around to leave. "I'll write one immediately."
"You picked the wrong man to tangle with, Master Bard." Calamar said to himself. "I hope your watching yourself because I'll be watching you."