Hobbit

Raffles entered the main bar area of the pony that morning in good spirits...

He was well rested, well fed and hopeful for the day ahead. 

Barliman had tipped him off that Leecher Cartwell, in Combe, might be interested in some of his finds from the marshes... the thought of a positive result from that particular debacle would have been enough to lift his mood by itself ... but at breakfast Aggie had handed him an envelope, the contents of which were a few silver coins and a rather lengthy note of apology from Eldo Swatmidge.

Barliman Butterburr murmured a suitably non-committal response, with the practised ease of someone used to listening in to at least three conversations at once, whilst tending bar, and feigning interest in yet another would be adventurers tales. His eyes and ears taking in just enough information to stay abreast of the various conversations, shifting his focus to where it was most needed... or the juiciest information could be gleaned.

Raffles didn't notice, or if he did, he wasn't offended, and carried on

'Ate all my sausages she did'

Raffles stumped through the staddle gate and down into Bree, his brow furrowed, carrying the general demeanour of a hobbit that has not only missed lunch and afternoon tea, but one who had now found out that his dinner has been burnt as well.

He hadn’t imagined the life of an adventurer would be quite like this when he set out from Stock on the long walk to Bree.

The region known as the Weather Hills was once home to several fortresses of Cardolan, including a great tower atop Amon Sûl, the highest of these hills. In the year 1409, the forces of Angmar swept through the region, bringing down the Watchtower of Amon Sûl. Afterward, the Dúnedain did not return to re-establish their hold there as they could no longer spare the number of men needed to do so.