((This isn’t meant to be an assault directed at anyone in particular. Many of the characters I make fun of are brilliant creations and I wouldn’t wish to offend people. Feedback much appreciated!))
Graeme Tenderlarch, the Mayor of Bree, sighed as another stack of prosecution orders were dumped on his desk. ‘These just came in Mister Mayor,’ said Tim, the town clerk, giving a sympathetic smile.
‘Can there really be so many crimes committed in Bree?’ asked the exasperated Mayor.
‘Seems so sir,’ Tim said patiently, ‘You know those Southerners.’
‘Except it’s never the Southerners is it? It’s always some sort of street urchin or warrior from Dale,’ he collapsed into his chair and looked at the pile of papers dejectedly. Really he was lucky that Bree had such a well organised police force, or rather three or four well organised police forces, yet somehow he didn’t feel very lucky. ‘Whatever happened to our town, Tim? I remember when it was just chubby innkeepers and chirpy Hobbits, when the worst villain in town was a bloke who didn’t feed his donkey properly.’
‘Times change, sir,’ said Tim, shuffling a little closer. ‘We have to accept the Bree-lands have developed into a service based economy. The agricultural model just isn’t sustainable with all these Orcs about.’ He was right, and Graeme knew it. A guild of assassins had recently set themselves up next door to the butchers. The sausages had tasted a bit odd ever since, but with the nearest pig farm now a goblin fortress there was nothing to be done. It was fortunate that there were twice as many wild boar as people in Bree-land. Donning his suit of plate armour, now cheap due the primitive local forges’ ability to produce high-quality steel, the Mayor lumbered down the stairs of the Town Hall. At the bottom he was greeted by Katheraen Rawthrush, the Captain of the Bree-town Watchers (not to be confused by the Bree-land Watchers, the Watchers of Bree-town or the Watchers of the Bree-town Watch). Katheraen, a young woman, deserved credit for overcoming the patriarchal nature of Bree-land society and landing such a senior job. There were some who whispered that she had got the job just because of her pretty face but Graeme dismissed that as nonsense. All women in Bree were strikingly good-looking anyway. ‘News from Trestlebridge, sir,’ said Katheraen, ‘the town’s been burned by Orcs.’
‘I haven’t time for trivial matters like that now Captain.’ Graeme always liked to give an impression of being busy. In fact he always made sure he was standing up when a visitor entered his office.
‘But this is important!’ stressed Katheraen. ‘We need to respond to this threat!’
‘Can’t one of those Gondorian lords deal with it? There seem to be a lot of them about lately; I’m surprised that municipal officials like ourselves are still in work.’ The Mayor walked to the door with Katheraen on his tail. ‘Anyway, there must be the odd Éored knocking about somewhere.’ With that he stepped outside to see an Elf beheading a Dunlending in front of the fishmonger’s. The Mayor sighed.
