Hobbiton, a village in the Shire. Named towards the very end of The Hobbit...
And so they crossed the bridge and passed the mill by the river and came right back to Bilbo's own door.
'Bless me! What's going on?' he cried. There was a great commotion, and people of all sorts, respectable and unrespectable, were thick round the door, and many were going in and out - not even wiping their feet on the mat, as Bilbo noticed with annoyance.
If he was surprised, they were more surprised still. He had arrived back in the middle of an auction! There was a large notice in black and red hung on the gate, stating that on June the Twenty-second Messrs. Grubb, Grubb, and Burrowes would sell by auction the effects of the late Bilbo Baggins Esquire, of Bag-End, Underhill, Hobbiton. Sale to commence at ten o'clock sharp. It was now nearly lunch-time, and most of the things had already been sold, for various prices from next to nothing to old songs (as is not unusual at auctions). Bilbo's cousins the Sackville-Bagginses were, in fact, busy measuring his rooms to see if their own furniture would fit. In short Bilbo was 'Presumed Dead', and not everybody that said so was sorry to find the presumption wrong.
The return of Mr. Bilbo Baggins created quite a disturbance, both under the Hill and over the Hill, and across the Water; it was a great deal more than a nine days' wonder. The legal bother, indeed, lasted for years. It was quite a long time before Mr. Baggins was in fact admitted to be alive again.
...and named again at the very beginning of The Lord of the Rings, and passim.
When Mr. Bilbo Baggins of Bag End announced that he would shortly be celebrating his eleventy-first birthday with a party of special magnificence, there was much talk and excitement in Hobbiton.
Credit for current WFE goes to former founder of the region Hobbiton, Mr Hobbit!
High resolution version of regional flag
J.R.R. Tolkien's own drawing, The Hill: Hobbiton-across-the Water, high resolution version
Article featuring J.R.R. Tolkien's drawings, including the Hobbiton illustration
Baggins family tree by New Zealand artist Daniel Reeve.
Welcome to Hobbiton, Stolkland. Enjoy the dreamy hobbit region.
Merry Christmas & Happy Holiday Season!
Eat like hobbits, drink like dwarves, sing like elves, dance like Tom Bombadil and Goldberry, round and round under the sun and stars.
It's a season of well-wishes, therefore requesting some embassies with other Tolkien regions.
Greetings from TAO. Just passing through on WalkAbout.
Would like to tarry for a bit but ...
“The Road goes ever on and on
Down from the door where it began.
Now far ahead the Road has gone,
And I must follow, if I can,
Pursuing it with eager feet,
Until it joins some larger way
Where many paths and errands meet.
And whither then? I cannot say”
Thank you to those who helped Hobbiton against its zombification. Fog from the Barrow-downs was enveloping everything, it seems, but we made it. The lazy Shirriffs might want to keep a better look-out next year.
just to inform that im frodobaggins
my role is glorfindel. Nobody take it.
*Glorfindel left his sleeping condition. he stood up. the sun was shining in the window and it was going to be a marvellous day. He headed to the Hall of the house of the flower to have his breakfast.*
I'll be ...
*Tuor is standing on the ledge of Idril's Balcony talking with her about Beren and Luthien*
Tuor: Hmm, I wonder if we could visit them someday....
Idril: But we cannot leave Gondolin, or we cannot YET.
Tuor: I am building an emergency tunnel going northwards, incase Sauron and Morgroth *spits into the distance* learn of us....
Idril: Ah, well we could escape to The Southern Colonies and Falas
meanwhile Glorfindel quickly finished his breakfast consisting of some fried eggs and went out to walk in the city. he was off duty today and he liked it.
A grey and unassuming old elf named Corcondil (Cor) wove his way through a market in Gondolin, his head wobbling about in the clouds, whistling tunelessly, and paying no heed whatsoever to the folks he stumbled into along the way. Cor was of the Lambengolmor, the Loremasters guild made up of historians and linguists. And he was meant to have been at his studies, though was called out to the streets by the cool, fresh air and a general aversion towards doing real work.
I do not know the figures of Middle Earth, prior to LOTR, all that well, so I am a bit hesitant to attempt to RP an established character, and would prefer to just make up someone, if that's alright with you all?
*changing character to Rog*
As late morning arrived to Gondolin, Rog unwillingly left his sleep and went down to the Hall of the House of the Hammer to have breakfast. He finished it quite quickly and decided to visit Tuor to discuss his helmet model, and how it will look*. In 5 minutes he was already at Tuors door, knocking.
* Rog and his house were mainly blacksmiths, and they made weapons and equipment for the other houses.
As Corcondil drifted through the tumult of the market stalls, the grey old elf affected an even more grey and elderly posture - exaggerating his stoop, shuffling more than was required for his yet-able knees and hip, occasionally colliding into a person or pushcart with professed clumsiness. His last "stumble" saw him lurch bodily against a pastry cart, sending the displayed arrangements into something of a disarray.
As the proprietor hastened to gather his goods which had been strewn about the counter, Cor backed away from the scene with apologies and prostrations and a couple of tarts tucked into the folds of his cloak. Turning a corner, the elf straightened his posture and began to stride purposefully down a side street, munching away happily at one of his pilfered treats.
Without anywhere special he had to be (besides his dutifully-avoided studies), he luxuriated in the bustle that was the seven-named city of Gondolin. An eagle flew overhead, and Cor idly watched its progress towards the encircling mountains while brushing stray crumbs from the front of his cloak.
"It's a good day," exclaimed Cor to no one in particular, though one passerby thought it might be him and so somewhat confusedly concurred. Cor paid him no heed. "A good day, indeed, perhaps to be made better by yet more mischief still..." The first tart had been finished, and the second was already being stalked by the old elf's preying fingers.
a little turn in my story since lindon doesnt respond:
As Rog was walking to Tuors house, happy about everything, he accidentally felt himself bump into something, or rather, someone.....
It was Corcondil.
"oh, I am....terribly sorry, exuse me..." he said, feeling sorry for the old elf.
Rounding a bend, and with eyes still following the shadow of the great eagle in the distance, it was Cor's turn to be surprised by a sudden impact.
With a jolt, the greying elf let out a startled cry and swung about to see what had struck him.
"Good sir! You have wounded me...see how I am wounded!"
And he opened his cloak to reveal a red stain. Then, dipping a finger and scooping up the reddish juice, he put it to his lips and broke out into a broad smile.
"Ah, but I am mistaken! 'twas simply jam! And so, as it would appear my wound is more confectionary than mortal, please allow me to introduce to you this clumsy fellow who so recently and rudely collided with your person - Corcondil, of the Loremasters guild. 'Cor' to my friends, among whom I hope to count you, as well!"
Rog coughed in his hand to suppress a laugh and said: "No problem, Master Corcondil, it was rather me who collided with you. Sorry for this question, but apart from the Loremasters guild, in which house are you? I find it ridiculous to not know your name!"
I am joining the chill RP. I am unsure how I can intertwine my story with the story of your characters, but we'll see. So far I will be minding my own business, unless there's some intersection at a later time or some interest from your behalf. I will also be reading your posts and see if I can contribute something.
In the far side of the Great Market of Gondolin, amid the noise and bustle of merchants and under the watchful eyes of the guards, Bachorndul was setting up his shop. Just like many of the traders nearby, he trades in garments, silk, fur, tapistry and other trinklets to express beauty for oneself or for your house - all for a price. From a distance, nothing seems off with him or his shop - the usual activity with customers coming and going.
But Bachorndul also has a business on the side; one where he sells exquisite or rare items and has his hands in a little bit of everything, all but armor or weaponry. He is trading in all your mind can fanthom - from the best tobacco of The Shire, to the beautiful gems of Doriath or even bottles of aged ale all the way from Dorwinion.
And demand is plentiful, considering that there is a lot of scarcity when it comes to items from the world outside of Gondolin's gates. The isolation of the city brings security to the people and prosperity to Bachorndul and his pockets.
The secret of his trade is still well secure, as none of the commoners and only a small fraction of the city's nobility know about the possibility of procurement of hard-to-find-items from outside the walls of Gondolin. For example, Dorwinion ale was served in a few select banquets around the city's finest, but no-one knew where the Ale came from or how it got into Gondolin, and no-one knew (including the host) about the supplier's name or his shop location - as all of the trades were completed via fences and proxies.
And so Bachorndul was setting up his shop for the start of an exciting new day.