Discontented

“Well I guess the legends are true,” Quidalf said. “They took the treasure out of the Spider Holes and didn’t suffer one lousy sting.”

“Not true,” Hidalf spat.

Hidalf’s pint was topped in white froth, though part of it was now on Quidalf’s cheeks.

“Look, this whole place was rebuilt from the treasure they retrieved. All are happy and well … better off.”

“True,” conceded Hidalf. “Though the dwarf, what’s his name? His arm was screwed and he sort of hung out here for a few months.”

“Eventually he moved on and the family got back to running the Inn … though repairs were done properly and not by the band-aides that hobbit did with spit and toilet paper.”

“Ya, money changes everything!”

The hobbits knew a whole lot about the local area, and a whole lot about what they shouldn’t be concerned about. The Inn they got loaded in was different and they knew all the reasons why.

“If only we could get a chance like those guys did,” Quidalf said. “To think that the Spider Holes are just a league down the road and had a ton of gold in em. I’ve been by there a thousand times and didn’t realize shyte.”

“You’ve never dared to swat a fly, let alone kill one of those giant spiders, ya doofus!”

Hidalf laughed, though he’d lived his whole life in the area and had always steered clear of the holes too.

“We need a caper to get us off the ground. I need some action and Ms. Longbottom is looking a little hot over there.”

Hildaff looked across the smoke filled room.

Jenny Longbottom did indeed look good. She bounced on the oaken table, hoisting her tankard high, froth sloshing and dousing the table so as to make it even more precarious.