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A seditious sandwich-wrapper?

Tags: Brandebras,  Damlur,  Silverbeard,  Mayor

Short Summary: Brandebras is handing out anti-Dwarf leaflets the sandwich stall's customers when Master Silverbeard (Damlur) happens by
Date (real-life): 2010-11-18
Scene Location: Bree: Market North
Date (in-game): June 3051
Time of Day: Morning
North Market(#4804Rto)

This section of Bree comprises Market North, on a street running north-south. To the north is the Great East Road and the well-known Prancing Pony. South are more shops and stores, as the market continues on in that direction. This area is quite noisy from the many traders, vendors, and other folk about.  The smell of fine food drifts through the market, attracting more hobbits than Big Folk.

The summer air is very hot and dry around you.

Obvious exits:
 Round Door leads to Tunnelly Pipeweed Shoppe.
 General Store leads to General Store.
 Blacksmith leads to Blacksmith's Shop.
 South leads to Bree Market - South.
 North leads to At the Sign of the Prancing Pony.

================================== Bree Time ==================================
Real time: Thu Nov 18 14:47:57 2010
Bree time: Midnight <01:23:51> on Trewsday of Summer - June 21,1451
Moon Phase: Last Quarter Moon

Breelands Weather                               
The midnight summer air is very hot and dry around you. The sky is clear and the moon shines brightly.

It's a fine, clear summer morning, and although the shops are only just opening their shutters it's already hot. Looks as though it may be another scorcher, and many of Bree's hobbit population seem to have had the same idea - gathering supplies for a picnic. A queue of customers with wicker baskets at the ready has gathered in front of the sandwich cart, and the apple seller is already doing a good trade (not of apples, of course, at this season, but she's made up little tubs of strawberries).

Brandebras Bywater is one of those up early today and must have already eaten, for there are a few sticky patches on face and waistcoat. The hobbit has a small leather satchel hung over his shoulder and it's open and bulging. As he trots down the line of food cart customers, he hands each one a scrap of parchment.

Responses are mixed, to say the least. A hobbit-matron passes it to her little boy, who immediately starts to make it into a paper 'bird'. One elderly gentlehobbit pulls out his spectacles and starts reading. Whilst a third hobbit merely grunts his thanks as he uses the parchment to wrap his sandwich in.

[Damlur(#30238)]     Walking into the market, with what may be a quiet sigh at all the folk, is a Dwarf. Not just any Dwarf, as his bejewelled, silver beard or walking stick can show. No, this is Master Silverbeard, wandering Dwarf smith and a possible mayoral candidate.

    He begins to walk through the market, apparently hoping no one badgers him with questions. But 'tis probably a vain hope.

Brandebras doesn't look as though he's about to do any badgering. At the sight of Master Silverbeard he gives a squeak and his cheeks redden fit to match the strawberries he's been eating. Nervously he tries to push his way into the line of customers for the food cart - it looks suspiciously as though he'd like to hide. Alas, his wish is not granted. "'Ere, you!" A hobbit farmer from Staddle elbows him in the ribs. "Wait yer turn."
"Mother, he /pushed in/!" exclaims the little boy, waving his half-formed 'bird' in the air excitedly.

The old hobbit-gentleman looks up from his reading and peers short-sightedly around. "No more Dwarves in Bree? Boycott the election now? What exactly /is/ this?"

[Damlur(#30238)]     The commotion attracts the attention of the Dwarf, but it seems more the 'No more Dwarves in Bree' that really do it. He stumps over to the line, eyes glittering beneath his hood as they sweep along the folk.

    "What is this about no Dwarves in Bree?" Rumbles Silverbeard, in what may or may not be a displeased tone.

The elderly hobbit looks up. "It's what it says here," he replies primly, thrusting the (rather tattered) piece of parchment in Damlur's direction. "Did /you/ write it?" he enquires with evident disapproval.

On said parchment, in a reasonably clear hand, is printed:
    No More Dwarves in Bree!
    No Outsiders for Mayor!!
    Bring back Mayor Bywater!!!
    Boycott the election now!!!!

"Does it really say that?" the food cart vendor asks. "Here, let me see." He grabs a parchment from a customer and holds it upside down. Clearly he's not one of those who holds with 'learning your letters'.

[Damlur(#30238)]     "Why would /I/ write it?" Rumbles the Dwarf, arching an eyebrow in question at the elderly hobbit before reading the parchment. A scowl forms beneath his beard. "I do a good amount of business in Bree, so I certainly would not encourage others to keep me or my fellow Dwarves out. It seems someone is rather, hmm, disapproving of the rumours they hear.

    "Of course, if the rumours /I/ hear are true, this 'Mayor Bywater' is lucky to have escaped without being hanged."

The elderly hobbit blinks at Damlur. "Well, someone wrote it," he points out reasonably. "And I know it wasn't me - excuse me, you young fellow-" He tries to hobble round the red-faced Brandebras, who is left facing the very Dwarf he'd tried to give a bad name.

"That's not true!" the hobbit bursts out, suddenly fierce. "It wasn't Torebras' fault things - well, went wrong."

The murmurings of the watching Breehobbits (the ones whose mouths aren't filled with food yet) are diverse and divided. There's plenty of mutterings against 'that Byewater', but someone else exclaims, "Did you hear that? The Dwarf wants to bring back hanging! Why, we're /civilized/ folk!""

[Damlur(#30238)]     "I said nothing of the sort," says the Dwarf quickly and firmly. "I was merely commenting that he was lucky to be banished and his wealth taken. If, some how, I /am/ chosen as mayor, my work will be more akin to cutting and polishing a jewel: the goal to take something, improve and leave it's beauty revealed to all. Trade and defense are my primary concerns."

    Those glittering eyes flick to Brandebras, a soft snort escaping Silverbeard. "From what I have heard, the blame rests squarely upon his shoulders. If he did nothing to prevent the circumstances, he is just as liable."

This time Damlur's words win him some approval. "A jewel," the hobbit-matron echoes, a smile on her face. "How pretty!" And she flashes the Dwarf an approving smile.
"But Ma," there is a tug at her sleeve, "I don't want to be cut."
The hobbit-matron doesn't try to answer that, merely retorts sharply, "I /told/ you to share with your sister. Look, she's crying now."

Against the backdrop of the little hobbit-girl's hiccuping sobs, Brandebras protests, "Torebras /did/ look after defence. He let your folk dig all those funny ditches, out past Staddle. And he liked trade. And ..." he runs out of inspiration, then falters uncomfortably, "and he's a hobbit. It's just not right to have a Dwarf for mayor. I don't care how much the Breeguard paid you!"

[Damlur(#30238)]     "The Breeguard has paid me /nothing/," counters the Dwarf. "And it is not Torebras that concerns me, but the current state of affairs; after all, you have had another mayor since Torebras. My offer of smithing service to the Breeguard has been paid in nothing but silence, and those higher still do nothing but prevaricate. Does /that/ sound good for trade? Would you not like to see Bree built up? Stone roads and stone buildings, steadfast against everything?"

There is a chorus of approval at that last.
"Aye, that'd be right."
"Got me cart stuck three times on the way to town today."

And disapproval ...
"What'd we want with stone buildings? Folk oughter live in nice comfy hobbit-holes."
And from the elderly gentlehobbit, a loud sniff. "More building means more taxes. Let the Town Council raise the tithes and they'll be charging us to live in our own hobbit-holes next!" He raises his cane as though about to rap someone - Brandebras? Damlur- but in the end, having given the marketplace the benefit of his considered opinion, he just hobbles off.

Brandebras, amazingly, doesn't say anything at all for a long while. There is a thoughtful expression on his round face.

[Damlur(#30238)]     "The stone buildings would only be for the Men, of course, and anything above ground. Hobbits can still live in their hobbit-holes; I am a Dwarf, after all, and would not deprive anyone the pleasure of living under ground," says Silverbeard smoothly. "Nor would it be all at once, but a series of improvements over time. If needs must, I shall contribute some of my own horde and sell jewels to get the funds for it. I do not wish good Breefolk to have little in the way of coin; it harms trade."

This time there is a shocked silence when the Dwarf has finished. Then one or two hobbits start whispering and wagging their heads, the words 'hoard' and 'jewels' being loudest. Clearly Master Silverbeard has made quite an impression, though whether it's favourable or no, only time will tell.

Brandebras blinks. "You've got a whole hoard?" he asks, hostility forgotten in his amazement. "How did you get it?" He leans forward eagerly - then someone hollers across the Marketplace, "There's deliveries waiting, Master Bywater." The young hobbit blushes. "I'd better go, I said I'd help deliver some of the groceries," he explains in a fluster, then dashes off, 'No More Dwarves in Bree' leaflets spilling out of the satchel in all directions as he runs. He is muttering to himself as he goes: 'build', 'trade', 'jewels', and then, just as he disappears from earshot, 'tell Torebras'.

[Damlur(#30238)]     "I /earned/ it, of course. Dwarven smith work is appreciated, and there are those that pay well for it and not only in Bree and the Shire," says Silverbeard. "Do you think I came from the Blue Mountains with naught by my clothes, pony and skill?" An eyebrow is arched briefly before the Dwarf turns his attention to the others.

Date added: 2010-11-21 14:54:39    Hits: 66
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