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OOC - Author's Note:
This entry recounts a live RP session which revolved around the IC introduction of new player characters to the Company of the East Road - open to all. It is part of a chronicle aimed to be weekly called "Signs Along the Road". If you would like to join the Company and use this RP hook to do so, please reach out to Naridalis.
This session was held on 15th June 2025 | The next session was held on 22nd June 2025, and you can read about that here. | A quicklink to the previous session can be found here: here.
“The Pipeweed Plot”
In the warm stillness of a Shire morning, peace clung stubbornly to the cobbled lanes of Michel Delving, but those with keen eyes might have noted a rising tension beneath it. Something was amiss.
Naridalis arrived quietly, responding to a summons from Mayor Will Whitfoot. The message had been brief, hinting at a vanished item and unease ahead of the summer festival. She waited in the square, her expression unreadable, until familiar figures began to arrive.
Mervedis greeted her first, cheerful and warm, though slightly confused. She had come on other Company business, but upon learning of the trouble, she pledged to remain and help. "After all," she said with a smirk, "this will be payback for all the work the Company has been slacking on."
Next came an unfamiliar elf, who introduced himself as Oirano. Polite, poised, he had an ageless air about him. Naridalis regarded him curiously, offering a respectful bow. "You have the bearing of one who has walked long among the stars... elder of our kin, perhaps even from Valinor itself."
Their gathering grew with the arrival of Sulgalion, a familiar ally. He greeted Naridalis warmly and bowed to the others. “Stars have shone upon our meeting indeed!”
Together they approached Mayor Whitfoot, who welcomed them with a heavy sigh. “Welcome all, members and allies of the Company. A treasure’s gone missing,” he said. “A barrel of the finest pipeweed... vanished from Mr. Pindlewick’s cellar. The festival’s near, and folk will be crushed without it. We must find the pipeweek, or at least the culprit.”
Mr. Pindlewick stood nearby, fidgeting nervously. “Aye, there were odd noises that night,” he added, “shuffling, whispers... I dared not investigate. A few neighbours mentioned a cloaked figure lurking near the cellar door.”
The Company asked for details. Mervedis inquired about the type of pipeweed, it was Longbottom Leaf. Oirano pressed for specifics: the location of the cellar, who had access. Mr. Pindlewick explained that only he, his apprentice beside him, and a ‘Merriweather’ the delivery hobbit had keys. There was no sign of forced entry. “If I were to guess,” he said, “I’d start with the overgrown garden next door... it’s rarely tended and has a few old sheds.”
A hobbit passerby, Littleblades, stopped briefly to greet the Company. Though he hadn’t seen anything himself, he noted that he’d passed some pipeweed farms on the road to Hobbiton. He wished them luck and departed.
Oirano asked whether Mr. Pindlewick still had his key. The hobbit grew visibly uncomfortable. “That is rather a personal question, isn’t it? I assure you, my keys are safe and sound.”
Sulgalion suggested a dog might track the scent. Naridalis agreed that a keen nose might help, but no such hound was presently with them.
Naridalis concluded the interview. “Some of us shall begin with the overgrown garden and the sheds, and may speak with Old Merrow and the miller’s boys as you also said… perhaps even track down this Merriweather fellow wherever he may be.”
The party dispersed toward their chosen tasks, the Mayor’s concerns echoing behind them, along with a steady refrain from a passing hobbit about an upstart in Hobbiton gathering quiet support.
The party gathered briefly outside of Pindlewick’s shop, forming a quick plan. Naridalis and Oirano would take to the cellar, inspecting it firsthand, while Mervedis and Sulgalion crossed into the neighbouring garden plot to investigate the overgrown sheds.
Seeing that the shop appeared locked up, as Pindlewick had said, Naridalis and Oirano opted to examine the cellar where the theft had occurred. Around the side of the shop, a small, wooden, cellar hatch could be found, tucked beside a crooked barrel rack. Sulgalion was first to note a lock on it, but as it turned out, it was not closed. The hinges creaked as it opened and the two descended.
In the cellar’s gloom, the air smelled of damp wood and tobacco. Naridalis uncovered a scrap of dark cloth on a nail, and later, a faintly scented parchment hidden beneath the stairs, its words nearly lost to time. Oirano found little else, though both noted the disturbed dust and tracks where barrels had once stood.
Above, the garden yielded more. A shed, long forgotten, bore marks of recent passage. A helpful cat led Mervedis to a bundled stash, dried leaves and old parchment. Within it, Sulgalion pieced together a faded label reading “Longbottom Leaf.” The scent would match that of the cellar. The trail was clear now: the stolen goods had been hidden here. Drag marks in the soil where also spotted by the elves, leading away from the shed and towards the neighbour’s house.
Regrouping outside the garden’s edge, the party pieced their findings together. Naridalis held up the parchment she had retrieved. “This was hidden beneath the cellar stairs,” she explained. “Smudged... but clearly once marked as a label. The scent matches.” Mervedis presented the bundle from the shed, confirming that it too bore the same sharp, smoky aroma. “This is the same leaf,” she said. “The one taken.”
Naridalis nodded, her eyes narrowing. “Then it was moved here. Deliberately hidden, not merely lost.”
They followed the path to the adjacent cottage, where the neighbour, a Mr. Merrimac Fairbairn, resided. Naridalis knocked firmly on the door, flanked by her companions. After a pause, a hobbit with wary eyes and weathered hands answered. “I’ve heard you lot talking,” he said cautiously. “What business have you with me?”
“We seek the truth of the matter,” said Naridalis calmly. “About the pipeweed, and the trail that leads to your shed.”
Mervedis offered a parcel of lembas with a friendly smile. “A gesture of peace,” she said. “We mean no harm.” Merrimac eyed the bread warily, then accepted. “Well… I suppose you may as well hear what I’ve got to say.”
At first, he was defensive. “Aye, the shed’s mine. But I haven’t touched it in years. Too overgrown to bother.”
But Naridalis pressed gently. “The cloth found in the cellar matches your sleeve. And the scent of pipeweed clings to you still.”
Cornered, Merrimac wavered. Then, with a sigh, he spoke. “I… I admit it. The pipeweed was taken. But it wasn’t for greed. It was Merriweather… he’s more than my cousin. He’s the upstart folk whisper of in Hobbiton. Said we could change things. Said the Mayor’s time was past.”
Oirano and Sulgalion questioned him further, but Merrimac faltered. “It was meant as a statement,” he said, lowering his voice. “To disrupt the festival, cast doubt on Mayor Whitfoot, stir the folk to ask questions. But now… I see what it’s done. The worry. The mistrust.”
Naridalis studied him carefully. “Change may be needed, Merrimac. But not through theft. Not through shadows and fear.”
He nodded slowly. “Aye. You’re right. Take what’s left. Return it. I’ll speak with the Mayor, face whatever comes.”
The Company stood together in the soft light of evening, the mystery unravelled, but its meaning less simple. The Shire, so long a haven of comfort, was no longer untouched by unrest. Beneath its green hills, new tensions stirred.
The pipeweed had been found. But the road ahead was less certain.
And so they turned from Michel Delving, the mystery laid to rest… but the journey not yet ended.
[The stories continue in future "Signs Along the Road"]
