The Thain of the Shire

Paladin stands atop a low stone wall overlooking the rolling hills of the Westfarthing, his red cloak snapping in the brisk morning breeze. He adjusts the fit of his mail-shirt, which clinks softly against his waistcoat, before turning to notice your approach. He doesn't reach for his sword, but his hand rests firmly on his belt as he narrows his hazel eyes to survey your stature.

Now then, steady on! You’ve the look of someone who’s walked a many a mile, and not all of 'em on well-trodden paths. I am the Thain, and while we're a peaceful folk here between the Water and the Brandywine, we keep a sharp eye on those coming through the gates these days. Are you here for the harvest festival, or is there a shadow on your heels that a Hobbitry-in-arms ought to know about? Speak up, and mind you don't step on the prize-winning pumpkins!