Shy in Shire
When money started to disappear, Tarnon needed to move. Anyway, a week of intensive gem-working, gold-shaping and evaluating gave him enough skill. So he parted with the bearded folk and with a warm in the heart he saw, as they smiled when saying goodbye.
Shire was supposed to be the next stop. He wanted to try the famous hobbit brews and food. Of course, some silver was needed for it. The grazing plains and picturesque groves didn’t seem to offer any work, but first impression was mistake. Here was a problem with wolves, there with spiders… easy money. But something didn’t fit in this. How could it be, that the locals could not handle this? To gather a dozen of men with forks and clubs and drive away annoying critters? When he wanted to ask, he suddenly noticed it. Around, there were mostly old people, women and youngsters. Nearly no strong, adult men. This happens only when there is…
War.
Tarnon started to curse so loudly, that his throat began to hurt again. And he forgot he’s still in the village – hobbits were looking at him, scared, and were returning to homes and closing door. His grim stature in grey hooded cloak didn’t improve the impression.
Bugger, bother, what have I done again. Must control myself. He urged his horse and galloped away. He could not know, that there is a rumor among hobbits of a hooded rider with a nasty voice…
An inn would be a great place. Such places are open to nearly anybody. As he was riding along the river, he noticed a settlement with a big garden inn. He asked for directions the nearest person with exaggerated respect.
“You are in Stock, young man,” said a hobbit granny, who was tending to her flowers. He looked around and recognized the place – he was passing here a few weeks ago, but now it was beginning of summer and everything was greener and covered in leaves.
A short while after he was sipping a spicy lager.
After some time a worried hobbit addressed him. “Excuse me, sir, you look like you can handle yourself… And also in a fight…”
“You have a good eye, sir,” replied Tarnon, whispering. “I try to keep my daggers hidden, it usually scares people.”
The hobbit introduced himself as Harfoot. He explained him, that there is a young woman missing, and witnesses told she is held by brigands in the hills.
Brigands again. When it will end? And this time they kidnapped a young girl. The rogue clenched fists and nodded. “You can count on me, mister Hurryfoot.”
After several hours, his hands were covered with blood up to his elbows. Stab from shadows or open assault with whirling blades. Seventeen, eighteen.. After two dozens slit throats he stopped counting.
Then came a real surprise. There was obviously a robber boss in the middle of the camp but further... some ugly muscular men. Half-orcs, growled Tarnon. Their lives ended quickly too.
When he set the hobbit lass free, a unspeakable feeling of good work done flooded his chest. Yes, this makes sense.
Also halflings were grateful for his deed. They invited him to stay for a few days lasting party. Tarnon had to decline. It was time to move on. His rucksack was filled with brigand loot and his shady contact in Bree was paying nicely.
And apart from this, there was still unfinished business in northern Bree...
