The Dastardly Case of the Dead Man’s Tale (Part the Third)
(Being a letter and a field report sent to Bounder Roliman Primstone of the Watch by Deputy-Shirriff Lancogard North-took, on assignment; sent by direct eagle-post)
DWALE’S HOLLOW, DWALING, Northfarthing in the Shire, on this the 5th day of Solmath:
The Dastardly Case of the Dead Man’s Tale
CASE STATUS: Active and Developing
Lance to Roliman, greeting: what follows can and should must be added to the official case file as this situation develops.
Firstly, Rollo, I make no apologies for the means of getting this report to you – but I can only imagine the surprise of having a ruddy great eagle appear overhead with a letter addressed to you! All I can say it, thank your lucky stars that we have access to such a useful and reliable bird as Her Ladyship’s Windwalker, an’ that you can tie to.
I want this report to get to you as fast as I can, but I also have to be as accurate as well; so forgive if bits drop out or bits get unexplained, I shall clear it all up when chance permits.
There have been alarming developments in this case, and these only confirm the theories that Applecider and I discussed. There are dark things with dark purpose creeping into the bounds, and for the foreseeable future, myself and the good Applecider are the ONLY Shire-authority north of Oatbarton.
We arrived in Dwaling on the 1st of Solmath and did a precautionary scouting of the town – what was left of the town. The entirety of Dwaling had been overrun by ruffians of the Big Folk, with parts of the hamlet put to the torch. We fell back a ways and encountered some of the remnant of Dwaling, holed up in the glass-works of Dwale’s Hollow. Bolingbroke and I interviewed the prominent hobbits still present, and the tale we got was a nightmare: ruffians started encroaching on Dwaling about a month past, but the local hobbits did little enough about it. Later the ruffians became bolder, and last week they ran the citizens out of town. And to complicate matters even more, goblins have moved in and occupied the heights above Dwaling at Bleakleaf Crest – so now we have a two-pronged problem about to stab us silly!
Now, I know the Rangers made it clear that they would handle things and for us not to stick our noses in – but there were no Rangers in sight or hail, hobbits burned out of their holes, and goblins setting up for squatters hard by. Applecider and I decided that Dwaling must be dealt with first – but doing that meant clearing out the ruffians – but who else to do such but we two! So we entered the town, with Applecider taking the high road near the bakery, and myself taking the low road near the town hole and offices. And what a race to see who got there before the other!
Now Rollo, I must make report of the means used to deal with these ruffians. I, by the gift of Her Ladyship of the Elves, am possessed of several phials of what she explained was “Ironfold Oil”, a wondrous concoction by which any arrow dipped in said oil would burst into flame upon loosing and splatter the target with flaming goo that ignites even the wettest and toughest hide. As for Applecider, she’s a dab hand with twin blades she picked up in foreign parts – but her musical arsenal is what brought down the ruffians she faced. Harsh and raucous noise emanated from that lute of hers in what she describes as “my Power Chords of DOOOOM!” Between my flaming bolts, and her screeching and bellowing like a gammer what caught hobbit-tweens stealing pie, the twain of us actually put most of the ruffians to flight – but Dwaling is still reduced to cinders, and it will take the locals a long time to recover.
(In amongst all the chaos, I could discern a name the ruffians kept using: “Sharkey”. I’ve heard that name someplace before, though here in the field I can’t recollect – I shall have to look notes over when I get back, unless that name means something to you, Rollo…)
Returning to Dwale’s Hollow to have a bite and a think, we spoke more with the dispossessed hobbitry regarding the situation at Bleakleaf Crest – only to find out that said goblins were not just squatting and raiding, they were harvesting – and the harvest was the large spiders of the woods south and east of town. Such a reek I can hardly describe floats on the airs above the hollows, and even Applecider is hard put to describe what might be broiling or boiling up there. With the ruffians in Dwaling properly sorted, we shall turn our attention to the goblins and set them to packing post-haste.
LANCE
