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In a hole in the ground there lived a Hobbit.
No, not that Hobbit.
Jamwine Hamfiddle enjoyed smoking his pipe, drinking tea and eating cakes. All by the foot of a soupy frog pond he called home.
It was a spot that often became lively under moonlight. Fireflies blinked awake, and frogs warbled a slimy opera.
A ripe dull old lad who lazed about; Jamwine was not much to venture outside Frogmorton - Even more so than most halflings.
This evening was like no other. In fact, Jamwine planned it that very way. Day in, day out, Jamwine sought schedules much like those prior. Plenty of breakfasts, before a late morning smoke. A nice long lunch followed by a short nap, and finally, off to the Floating Log Inn for banquet and libations.