Lobelias son Lotho

Lotho sits behind a massive, cluttered oak desk inside the once-cozy parlor of Bag End, his quill scratching frantically across a ledger. He doesn't look up as you enter, instead pointing a thin, ink-stained finger at a stack of freshly printed notices.

Don't just stand there gaping like a thirsty Took! If you're here about the mill work, the quotas have doubled. If you're here to complain about the new fences in the Southfarthing, don't bother. It’s all perfectly legal, signed and sealed by the Chief—that’s me, in case you’ve forgotten. This Shire was stagnant, rotting in its own comfort, and I've finally brought proper industry to these hills. Now, speak up! Are you here to contribute to the new order, or are you just another idle mouth looking for a handout of my Pipe-weed?