Total Immersion: An Unexpected Journey
Hail and well met everyone in Middle Earth. It has been quite a long time since I set foot into the Lotro forums (or the game for that matter). It has been over ten years (12 years to be exact) since I last worked on one of the Total immersion stories, but I still hold great memories of that time, and of all the wonderful people that I met on my travels.
Life can take many turns during it's course, and my life is no different. Having run multiple stories over the years (Theo's story took over a year to complete alone), I found myself exhausted from all the work required to play the stories and write them. Although Middle Earth and Lotro is very dear to my heart, I left the game and moved on to other things in life.
Occasionally, I would come back to the forums and read the stories, reflecting back on the exciting adventures and the many great friends I met during them. Absolutely nothing could raise my spirits than to come back here and read the stories once more. When I did so, I always thought about returning to the game - but very much like Frodo debating about leaving the Shire, I always said "not yet."
Several weeks ago, I happened on the forums and read a post in the role playing forums authored by Elben, one player that I gratefully met and befriended in the game so long ago. The topic of the thread was about reviving total immersion adventures in the game. Several other players (all of whom I shared adventures with in my stories) joined into the discussion.
Reading that thread woke something in me - a chance to once again walk through Middle Earth. I gave it great thought and the more I thought, the more I wished to do it.
Now, since it has been such a long time, I needed to re-install the game client. That is when I discovered, much to my dismay, that I could not remember my password. I attempted to reset my password, but to no avail. Alas, all my wonderful characters are gone.
However, that would not deter me, I thought. Simply create a new profile and return once more to my beloved Middle Earth.
The next step was to come up with a story idea. I tossed about several ideas, but none of them I liked. By chance, I was looking through the Lotro wiki and stumble upon a set of quests that had been added during my long absence from the game. Instantly knew what the story was immediately.
I must first get through the starter quests before entering Middle Earth with everyone else - after that I will begin my adventure. So, should you see a lone Hobbit strolling down a lane somewhere, take time to say hello and perhaps even share a grant adventure with me!
TOTAL IMMERSION RULES
1. Travel: I will only travel on foot or by regular mounts and absolutely no swift travel horses or map recall use. Except when in a quest, lair, dungeon, combat, etc, I will walk everywhere - I will allow myself to run for short periods of time, however, when undergoing general overland travel.
2. Chat / Speech: I will always stay in rp character at all times during Chat. I will chat in OOC when it is necessary however, since there are times I might want to talk to someone out of game.
3. Food and Rest: I will follow the LOTRO day/night cycle closely and force myself to rest at a safe location such as an inn or in a town if such an inn is not available. The day/night cycles are:
Dawn
Morning
Noon
Afternoon
Dusk
Gloaming
Evening
Midnight
Late Watches
Foredawn
I must rest during the night cycles of Evening, Midnight, Late Watches and Foredawn each day (or at least camp/rest for four cycles each day/evening). I can hang around an inn, for example, and rp a bit with other players, but no going out into town to shop or craft, etc. This is to simulate my character actually resting. During the rest time I must eat a meal of some kind - perferably hobbit food. I should also try to rest at least once during the day, to sit and enjoy a bit of a second breakfast or perhaps a cup of tea.
If I am away from a town or settlement, things will become more tricky. I will attempt to find a safe spot to camp for the evening - this means halting my journey and actually sit my toon down for rest.
5. Promoting Realism: This rule is a catch-all for such things as no jumping off high cliffs, swimming with armour on, jumping around while I am moving, jumping every fence I come across, etc.
6. My Tale: As always, I will keep a log here on this thread of my travels. I will not partake in any quest that is not detailed in the general story line. This will probably limit my level advancement considerably. For sake of the adventure, I will be using the Shire calendar during the story:
7.RPing a Hobbit: My character for the story is your typical, sensible hobbit, not a hero or adventurer, and I am going to play him as such. I completed the Hobbit intro then went through his gear and sold off almost all his stuff - he after all only a hobbit. Of all the gear, I kept for him a woven cloak, a padded shirt, quilted legging and a honed dagger. In keeping with rping a hobbit, I will not use such gear as shoulder guards, helms, gloves or, heaven forbid, shoes or boots. Once Rory has "grown" so to speak, I may reward him with some special armour or a sword, very much like how Bilbo found Sting or was given his mithril shirt by Thorin Oakenshield.
The most important aspect in rping a hobbit will be during quests. Rory is not Bandobras "Bullroarer" Took and he is certainly NOT a warrior. Thus, should quests call for combat, I will need to seek the aid of other, non-hobbit players to aid him in completing the quests. Rory will be able to help in the combats, but he will certainly not be charging into a wolf lair all by himself! This also means no random slaying of mobs during his travels.
8. Death and Defeat: Since I love a challenge, I will add in a final rule, even more restrictive than with my first Total Immersion story. Theodoras cannot be defeated by any means during the story - should this occur, he will be considered truly dead.
Chapter 1: A Call to Adventure
Chapter 2: Worries From Waymeet
Chapter 3: Into The Wolves' Den
Chapter 1: A Call To Adventure
Rorbadoc Banks was seated in front of his family's smial, enjoying a crumpet and a bit of tea. His clothes and hands were quite dirty, for his father had him working the family garden that morning. This Rorbadoc did not like, and wished to be anywhere else, yet he could not disobey his father.
Who is Rorbadoc you ask? Well, there is no reason you should have ever heard of him, let alone any other Hobbit in the Shire. Hobbits tend to be unobtrusive, which is to say they are not easily noticed or do not draw attention to themselves. Rorybadoc was no different.
He had grown up in the Marish, specifically the village of Stock. The Marish bordered the Green Hill Country to the west, The Water to the north, and Brandywine to the east. The Great East Road and the Stock Road ran through and merged at Stock.
The Marish was a fertile region in the Eastfarthing of the Shire. Although the farmlands south of The Water and on the western banks of the river Brandywine were rich in soil, it was also boggy and damp.
Rorbadoc, or Rory as most in Stock called him, had spent his entire life up to this point in the Marish. As a young lad, he would often lead his friends out on excursions into the countryside when ever he had the chance. They often played games in the woods, imaging themselves to be great and lofty knights or warriors battling against imaginary enemies and foes. On these pretend adventures, he imagined himself as some stalwart defender of the group, clutching his tree branch that served as his sword, protecting them against dragons and other deadly adversaries.
Other times he went wandering by himself around the Marish, always seeking some hidden corner that had as yet escaped his finding. On one of those solitary excursions, he had wandered into Woody End. He had stopped to pluck some flowers from a glade when he heard a sound in the distance. He stood up and strained to hear the sound. At once there came to his ears an enchanting song of exquisite beauty, followed by laughter. He could not understand the words, but they were like magic to the young Hobbit. Then the song and laughter fell silent.
The next day, when Rory paid a visit to the Golden Perch Inn, he proclaimed that he had heard elves in the forest. Of course, the other hobbits there laughed at him for being so foolish. Of course he had not heard elves, they cried, mocking him. Most likely the young hobbit had gotten himself wrapped so much into one of his fantasy treks that he had imagined the entire thing.
Rory was quite bruised by the response, for he was certain that he had heard elves that day. Yet the young hobbit pushed it to back of his mind and never spoke of it again.
So, as I was saying, Rory was enjoying a bit of breakfast that fine morning after his hard work. As he sipped his tea, there came a call from the lane in front of the smial where he sat. It was none other than Postman Smallburrow, out on his daily route delivering the morning mail.
'Good day Master Smallburrow,' Rory called out as the postman approached. 'A fine day to walk your route, wouldn't you say?'
The postman grumbled something, then strode up to young Rory and sat an envelope on his lap. 'I've been sent a letter?' he gasped in astonishment, almost tipping over his tea. 'To whom was it sent from?' he asked with a rushed voice.
The postman only shrugged and turned back to the lane.
Rory set down his tea cup and took up the letter. The front was handwritten in a crisp, flowing script unfamiliar to him. It read:
From: Bingo Boffin, Boffin Manor, Michel Delving, The Delving Fields
To: Rorbadoc Banks, Stock, The Marish.
Now, who is Bingo Boffin, thought Rory quietly. He turned the envelope to the back, but there was no other clue as to the reason for the mysterious letter. With bated breath, he carefully opened the seal and took out the letter from the envelope. Opening it, he found the same elaborate script written just like on the front of the envelope. Excitement started to whelm up in Rory as his eyes eagerly began to read the letter.
Hullo there, and well-met! I hope this missive is not intruding upon anything important, and if by unhappy chance it is, then I am sure you will disregard it and take no offence. But it is my very sincere hope that it does not intrude, and instead is met with some degree of interest and curiosity in the matter I propose. For, you see, I have need of some help with a small matter, and...
Well, I say a 'small' matter, but I do not know how long it might take. It could end up being quite a 'big' matter, as these things go! But we will not know until it is quite under way, will we?
If you are interested in learning more, I ask that you please seek me out at my comfortable hobbit-hole just north of the Town Hole, in Michel Delving, being the principal town of the Shire.
Yours in need and looking forward to your positive reply,
Mr. Bingo Boffin, Michel-delving
Rory stopped reading, his hands falling onto his lap. He stared off for a while, his mind racing back and forth as to just what exactly this “small matter” must entail. The hobbit's fervent mind imagined all sorts of things as to this grand mystery. Perhaps this Boffin fellow had stumbled onto some great cashe of treasure and needed aid to uncover it. Or perhaps the Boffin Manor was being preyed upon by some loathsome monster and he needed Rory's aid in slaying the terrible beast.
In an instant, all thought of other chores that his father had sent out for him that day were utterly forgotten. Rory could think of only one thing: he must make haste to Michel Delving with all haste! He carefully put the letter back inside the envelope then sprang up from his stool and ran into the smial, all the while crying out for his mother and father.
Straight to his room he flew, calling out in a loud voice and he flung the door open with a flash. 'I must be off to Michel Delving come the dawn,' he shouted as he swung his pack off the peg beside the bed. 'Master Bingo Boffin, of Boffin Manor, has requested my service for some great need and I must make haste!'
He then turned with a flash and opened the wardrobe and took out his finest trousers and shirt. Hastily discarding his dirty clothes, he quickly got dressed. 'I don't know how long I should be away,' he shouted again. 'Perhaps week, maybe more.'
Next, Rory reached under his bed and took up something wrapped in a piece of cloth. For a moment, he only gazed at it with nervous eyes. Then he carefully pulled back the cloth to reveal a somewhat rusty but serviceable dagger. The hilt was plain, as was the blade, but to the young hobbit it was the stuff of legend, a great sword that had slew both dragon and troll alike.
Rory had found one day near the river while out on one of his solitary adventures. He did not know how to came to be there, but he cherished so. Rarely did he ever remove it from its hiding place, certainly not since the day his poor mother found him with it in the yard one day.
Flying from his room, he ran towards the kitchen, bent upon snatching some food for the trip to Michel Delving. That is when he run straight into his father. At once Rory grimaced as he was taken by the ear and sternly reprimanded.
Rory could not later recall just exactly what his father was saying. Something about “Don't be a fool and run off to Michel Delving”, or perhaps, “You'll learn to be a proper hobbit, sensible and hard-working, if it takes all my strength.”
Rory was promptly marched to his room, hung up his pack and changed into his chore clothes. The poor young hobbit spend the rest of the day working around the yard, under the very close supervision of his father. Not until dusk came and the sun had begun to set was he finally released for dinner then bed.
All through the day, Rory had certainly not forgotten about Master Boffin and his letter. Rory knew that he never possibly convince his father to let he go. The only way to accomplish this was by stealth. The young hobbit waited until long into the night when he was certain that his parents were fast asleep.
Then, with great and quiet care, he gathered his things and crept from his bedroom. For a moment, he thought that his father had heard him and was stirring awake, but after a long pause, he could clearly hear his father's deep snoring once more.
He quietly opened the front door, then softly closed it behind him. Outside, the moon was full in the dark sky and stars lit the heavens above.
'A fine night for a stroll under the stars!' he said softly, throwing a glance over his shoulder towards the front door. He shouldered his pack, slid the dagger into his belt at is side, then strode out to the lane. Turning left, he began to make his way down the lane towards Green Hill Country.
As I had mentioned earlier, Rory had never left the Marish before. He knew that he must pass through Green Hill Country, after that Tookland and finally the Delving Fields to reach Boffin Manor. He tried desperately to recall the maps of the Shire he saw in school as a lad. He thought that me might be able to reach the easternmost edge of Tookland by mid-morning and that a second day of marching would bring him to Michel Delving. At least that was the plan.
As the lane turned west, it dropped to the bottom of a slight hill, it disappeared ahead, rolling away pale gray into the darkness, between high hedges and dark wind-stirred trees. Now he marched along, occasionally humming, often tramping in time for a mile or so without saying anything. The stars swung overhead, and the night got late.
By late watches he had reached a crossroads. The lane he followed continued on towards the west, but another one turned to the north through a clump of trees. Though Rory did not know it, that lane led to Woodhall, a small and unimportant but very idyllic village lies almost hidden in a depression in the hills
It was by foredawn when Rory came into a region of rolling hills and scattered forests, here the lane began to descend once more. After short distance, there came a sound up ahead. It was the heavy, trotting sounds of boots.
Rory stopped and crouched, straining his eyes in the darkness to the sounds ahead. Suddenly, at the bottom of the slope there can a Man in view. He openly held a sword in his hands, and Rory caught a glimpse of the man's sallow face with sly, slanting eyes.
The hobbit hobbit waited, still crouched, too fearful to move, fully expecting the man to spot him or come up the lane closer. Yet, the man paused, glanced about, then turned to march back down the lane away from Rory.
As the man disappeared into the gloom, Rory let out a soft sigh. 'I have never seen a man in the Shire before,' he exclaimed quietly. 'My father has told me tales of late of strange folk at the borders of the Shire, and within them , of late, but to see one myself!'
Chapter 2: Worries From Waymeet
Rory had marches along until nearly dawn when he finally halted to rest. Despite his eagerness to reach Michael Delving, the young hobbit was spent from the night's march. He found a nice patch of ground under a rather large elm tree after a brief search of the area – pulling out his blanket from his pack, he laid it out carefully. Setting down his pack and dagger, he laid down, staring up at the stars until at last he was fast asleep.
When Rory awoke, it is after noon-time and the day was as bright and cheerful as any other. He sat up on his blanket and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. Glancing about, he smiled,
'I think a bit of breakfast is in order before I take to the road once more,' he said aloud with a grin.
By the time his breakfast was over, and his pack all trussed up again, it was two o'clock at least. As he ade his way further westwards, the sun overhead grew somewhat hot, and Rory was now not much enjoying the trip at all.
As he continued through the hilly country Rory came upon a crossroads. To the left, the road led southwards towards Tuckborough while to the right the road led away north to meet with the Great East Road.
Turning northwards, marched on as the afternoon turned towards dusk. Rory soon noticed that the road began to go downwards, leaving the hilly country behind him. Not long after, he found himself standing on the Great East Road at last. Rory turned west and headed down the road.
By nearly dusk, Rory had reached Waymeet, a major crossroads along the Great East Road. One road leading north ran to Rushock Bog and on to Ered Luin, and a road south past the Southfarthing Gate and beyond. A great many other hobbits were about as he strolled through Waymeet. Some were local hobbits, while others were making their to various places in the Shire.
Presently, Rory came upon a lone hobbit standing by the roadside. She was dressed in a delightful purple dress, complete with a nice green neck scarf. To Rory's astonishment, the lass was hurriedly wringing her hands and a look of desperation and fear was evident upon her face.
Rory slowed his pace as he neared her. 'Good morning!' he said with a wide smile. 'I am Rorbadoc Banks, on my way to Michael Delving.' He looked at the poor hobbit with concern. 'Far too good a morning for one such as yourself to be in such a fright. Whatever is the matter?', he added, trying to lighten the somber mood.
Between sniffled and tears and stifled cries, Rory soon discovered the hobbit's plight. It seems that Dora Brownlock – that was her name – had a farm not far from Waymeet, and a beautiful farm it was, complete with her own flock of chickens.
However, just last week, a pack of ravenous wolves had invaded her farm, overrunning it, and sent poor Dora running off for his very life. She had apparently been staying temporarily in Waymeet, while she tried desperately to figure out how she was going to rid her farm of those wolves.
'When the wolves chased me off my farm, I didn't have enough time to collect my babies!' she added after a spell. 'My poor darlings...what was that? My chickens, of course! If those wolves have gotten hold of them, I just don't know what I'll do!'
Rory nodded solemnly, as he listened to her frightful tale.
'You can save them for me, Rorbadoc,' Dora said at once, a moment of hope filling her face. 'I know you can!'
Rory looked at her with astonishment. 'Me?' he said with a gasp. 'But I am no warrior! Pulling weeds from my father's garden back home, or cleaning my mother's pots and pans, are the only skills I possess! Why don't you talk to one of those Bounder fellows for aid, or perhaps one of those stout dwarves that sometimes pass through the Shire?'
Yet, the pleading look in Dora's eyes halted Rory's rather hasty declinations. He sighed softly. 'Very well, I will what I can do about driving these wolves from your farm,' he said, trying to sound confident.
Dora clapped her hands with joy. 'Follow the road north up the hill and out of Waymeet, then take the first stone path to your right. You'll see a sign for my farm at the correct crossing. Quickly! You must save my little darlings!'
Rory nodded, then turned back to the road, and began following the north road to which Dora had pointed out to him. As he walked, terrible and frightful things began to creep into his mind. Visions of snarling, fanged wolves filled his thoughts as he walked, each growing larger as he went further down the road. By the time he had reached the stony path leading to Dora's farm, he had imagined that the farm was now overrun by a pack of wolves so large as to dwarf a horse, and in such a large number that only an army of old would win victory in battle against such a foe.
Rory turned onto the stony path with hesitation, Rory's hands began to shake and a sweat broke over his brow. As he went further along the path, his movement slowed, as if each step taken was dragging the weight of many stones behind them.
As he neared the farm, the sun was just disappearing from sight of the west. The farm lay in thick shadow, though he could make out the farmhouse and fields surrounding it. Rory stopped and knelt underneath a tall maple tree beside the path. Straining his eyes, he looked out over the farm. Somewhere, he could hear the soft clucking of chickens. Perhaps the wolves had left, he thought with not great hope.
Much to Rory's dismay, however, he suddenly spotted something in the deep shadows ahead. A dark shape prowling in the nearby fields, a wolf-like shape. With growing apprehension, his eyes darted about where he could see several pairs of shining eyes in other places on the farm.
'Gracious me!' uttered Rory with great worry. For a long moment, he was frozen in place, filled with far too much fear to move. A thought raced across his mind to turn and run down the stony path as fast as his furry feet could carry him.
Yet, the image of poor Dora now entered his thoughts as well. She was counting on him in her time of need, he thought bitterly. Rory took a deep breath, quietly drew his dagger, and stood up.
For a moment, he gazed out over the farm, trying to assess just how many wolves there were. He could make out three at least, but he feared there were more about. Then a thought crept into his mind. Perhaps he would not have to fight a single wolf? Maybe he could sneak in and pluck up the chickens into his pack under the cover of darkness?
It was not much of a plan, to be sure, but it was the only one Rory could think off. With one last look ahead, Rory began creeping towards the nearest field, Reaching the stone boundary wall, he knelt down, not daring to poke his head over the top.
With a hard swallow, he gathered what courage he could muster. Pacing his hands on the top of the wall, he peered into the field ahead. Luck was with the young hobbit it seemed, at least for now. The field was empty of wolves, save for one on the far side. Turning his ear forward, he could hear the clucking of a chicken in the bushes along the western side of the field – a rather comfortable distance from the wolf.
Trying to stifle the clattering of his teeth, he scampered over the wall, then stopped. Glancing over to the wolf, he began to sneak forward as quietly as he could. He had only taken a couple of steps, when there came a soft, squishy sound under his foot. Rory looked down as he raised his foot from the ground. There was a patch of wetness in the earth, and a few white feathers.
Rory looked down in horror. It was one of Dora's chickens, he thought, at least what was left of the poor thing, having become a meal for one of those wolves!
The hobbit glanced quickly about then continued through the field towards the bushes. There he found one of Doras chickens mindlessly pecking away into the soft earth. Carefully picking up the chicken, Rory opened his pack and placed it inside.
'Hush!' Rory whispered as the chicken began to squawk in protest. 'Lest both of us become the next meal for one of those wolves!'
Rory crept through the bush to seek another chicken. Emerging on the other side, he found himself staring straight into the eyes of one of the wolves. The wolf seemed as surprised to see the hobbit as much as Rory was to see him, and did nothing at first. For precious moments, the two stared at one another.
Suddenly, the wolf howled and sprang forward. Rory fell back as the wolf's jaws clamped stuck mere inches from his face. Crying out, Rory lashed at the wolf with his dagger, and he could feel the blade cut into it's back. The wolf howled in pain and drew back.
Now, the the wolf began to circle the hobbit, for it was now very wary of the biting blade. Rory held out his dagger, looking about for an avenue of escape, but there was none. He knew it was hopeless to try to outrun the beast.
The wolf howled again and came at Rory. Its jaws tore at his cloak then latched onto his leg. Rory cried out in pain and drove his dagger into the back of the wolf. The beast shuddered and drew its head back, blood dripping from its fangs.
Gathering its strength for another leap, the wolf let forth a terrible snarl. As it leapt forward, Rory turned aside as it passed and plunged his dagger into the beast's throat. The wolf thudded to the ground dead.
Rory winced at the bite on his leg; tearing a piece of cloth from his cloak. He quickly bound the wound as best he could. He then glaceed about, fearful that other wolves would be drawn to the sounds of the battle. When none came, he continued furtively on.
With a great deal of luck, Rory managed to collect all the other chickens in a matter of minutes – right under the very noses of the other wolves. With his pack beaming with clucking chickens, he turned from the farm and made his way back down the stony path.
Very soon, he was back in Waymeet and found Dora right where she was before. He Limped up to her – in a rather exaggerated sort of way I must say – and dropped his pack at her feet.
'There.' he said with an exasperated groan. 'I retrieved all your chickens, Dora. And not without a price!' He placed his hand on the bandage on his leg. 'One of those beasts tried to make me it's next meal!'
'You saved my chickens!', cried Dora. 'Thank you so much! I don't know what I would have done if the wolves had gotten my darling Rosy, or my precious Georgie, or my lovely Dottie!'
Rory's face brimmed with pride as she spoke, nodding his head in full agreement to her words.
'Someone needs to do something about these wolves, and I think that someone is you, Rorbadoc!'
'What?' he retorted loudly. 'Now see here, Miss Dora. I have done as you asked, with great risk. How could I, a lone hobbit, quite possibly deal with all those wolves myself?'
Dora looked desperately into Rory eyes. 'I don't know that I can go home until I know those wolves are gone for good! What if they come for my babies again? You were so brave to rescue my little darlings...I'm sure you could do something about the wolves. The awful beasts that attacked my farm came from the north...there must be a wolf den somewhere among the hills north of my farm!'
Rory looked sideways at Dora, wanting nothing more to do with wolves and farms and chickens. Then he sighed aloud, knowing that there was no other choice.
'Very well Miss Dora,' he muttered with a long sigh. 'I will do as you ask.'
Chapter 3: Into The Wolves' Den
Rory was seated on a wooden bench in the center of Waymeet. It was well past dusk and the stars glittered in the sky overhead. A cozy fire was burning, and several hobbits were about, finishing up last minutes tasks before the night drew too late. The young hobbit was munching on a late dinner, while talking to a lone hobbit who was tending to the various bags and packages laid on on his cart.
'Well, I don't mind telling you that to enter the wolves' den was not something to be taken lightly!' Rory said as he took a long drink from his mug. Digging his fork into his plate of taters on his lap, he spoke again. 'The very thought of facing the beasts rose fear within me something fierce, I must honestly say.'
The lone hobbit nodded quietly as he began to pack a crate on the cart.
'Yet go I did, as I had solemnly promised to Dora I would.' Rory lifted his head at the hobbit, who was the only listener to his tale.
'After a bit of rest, I strode back down the lane that-away.' Rory waved his arm towards the lane. 'I am not quite sure how far past Dora's farm lay the den, but it was at least an hour's walk.'
'As I went further on, the fear and apprehension grew in me,' Rory said after a moment of silence, shaking his head.
'How was I, a single hobbit, going to deal with a den of wolves?
'Finally, I came to a dirt path that led from the lane up a rising slope.' Rory sighed as he set down his plate and refilled his mug. Taking a long swallow, he continued. 'The sun had already gone down when I left the lane and the shadows had begun to drawn quite long among the trees.'
Rory shivered slightly, recalling the journey. 'The gloom became much thicker among the trees that lay to either side of the path, and it was eerily silent, as I made my way forward.'
'I had not gone too far, when there came a howl away down the lane – not too close, mind you, but not far enough! For a moment, there was silence, then the first howl was answered by another. I knew right then that I had found the wolves' den.'
Rory fell silent for a moment. Then, he lifted his head to look at the other hobbit. 'Was there a lot of wolves, you say?' Rory said the hobbit, though the latter had not spoken. 'Bless me, quite a few!'
'I slowed my pace and knelt down under a tall tree. Even in the dim light, I could make out several shadowy forms prowling around the den.'
'Slowly, I crept forward, listening for the slightest for the slightest sounds. Suddenly there came from the dark a pair of glinting eyes. With a howl a wolf sprang from the darkness at me!'
The hobbit at the cart absentmindedly nodded his head.
'The wolf snapped at me, nearly tearing my cloak from my shoulders. It yelped and snapped its jaws at me, fully intending to make me dinner!'
Rory lifted up his hand as if clutching his dagger. 'I stabbed at the beast with my dagger and struck it. The beast did not like the taste of that blade!'
'The wolf became wary now, having tasted my dagger,' said Rory solemnly. 'It began to circle me, and ever I turned, my dagger held towards it. For what seems like a endless dance, the wolf finally seemed to draw the courage to attack.'
'With a howl that shivered me, the wolf sprang at me. I cried out as it lashed at me, but I struck down with my dagger. The wolf shuddered and fell to the earth dead.'
For a moment, Rory fell silent once more, as if reliving the battle with the wolf. After a spell, he spoke again.
'That was one felled wolf, I thought. Now to deal with the others. And how did I defeat the rest of the pack, you ask? Well, by the seat of my very britches!'
Rory sprang to his feet, imaging his dagger clutched in his hand. He thrust the imaginary dagger at unseen wolves in front of him. 'I found the wolves, one by one, dodging past their fangs as best I could,' he said with a grin. 'But sadly my cloak was not unscathed.' He lifted up the tattered edges of his cloak with one hand.
'Well, that's my tale,' he said with a sigh. 'I must now pay a visit to Dora and tell her of my success.'
He washed his plate and fork with water from his water skin. Placing the items into his pack, he stood up. Then hoisting the pack onto his shoulders, he turned to the lone hobbit. Slapping the hobbit's shoulder with a grin, Rory sped off down the lane to find Dora.
The lone hobbit hobbit looked at Rory with surprise, as if noticing the young hobbit for the first time. His gaze followed Rory as he disappeared down the lane, then shook his head before going back to tending to his cart.
Rory found Dora where she was temporarily camped along the side of the lane. He waved at her as she stood up from her blanket, and called out. 'I have returned, Dora, with such wonderful news!'
'I found the wolves' den as you asked,' he said smiling. 'They are no more.'
'Thank you for your efforts, Rory!' she cried aloud. 'We won't need to fear these wolves now that you've killed their leader!'
Rory was brimming at her fond words, then turned to her with a scowl. 'What leader?' he said nervously.
'What? You didn't see their leader at the wolf den?' she asked quickly. 'He won't be an ordinary pack-leader, that's for sure. The real leader of the wolves must be in hiding. Until we do something about the chief wolf, no one in the are will be safe!'
Rory began to shake his head. 'Now see here,' he said sternly. 'You asked me to deal with those wolves in their den. You said nothing about a chief wolf!'
At that, Dora's eyes began to well up with tears. 'There's been rumour of a scarred, old wolf spotted away from the rest of the pack,' said with a sniffle. 'In fact, across the road from the wolf-den north of my farm. I don't know what might have happened, but I think it's fair to say that this old wolf must be their leader, exiled for some reason.'
Rory did not like how this was going. At once, he felt very small and very along. He was no warrior of old, just a young hobbit, having played far too many childhood games with his friends.
'Now, I think I've done something terribly foolish, Rory!' said Dora with a fright in her voice. 'My neighbour, Jolly Smallburrow, is a true gentle hobbit, and I suspect he's something of an admirer of mine. Unfortunately, I mentioned this wolf business to him, and he swore to take care of it!'
'Good!' answered Rory, now very much done with all this nonsense. 'I have already been delayed far too long as it is. Let this Jolly fellow deal with this old wolf once and for all.'
But Dora did not seem to hear Rory's protests. She turned to look at him with pleading eyes. 'If you don't mind, would you please find Jolly before the wolf does? I'll feel terrible if something happens to him!'
Rory shook his head. What about if something happens to me, he thought bitterly.
'Jolly means well, but he's always trying to find ways to impress me. I hope you find him before that dreadful wolf does!'
