Years of being called pig by the man of Bree hasn’t made Noffer anymore of a lover of the hobbits. “It’s the hobbits that always make the mess”, not us! After a few run-ins with the bounders at the storage silos it was time for him to find greener pastures.
Noffer had made it’s way east. Eventually making it across the Misty Mountains he found the Beorning lands very suitable to his kind of enterprise. Even the folk there seem be more wilder then the elfs and ruffians of Bree.
Noffer took some pigs under it’s wing. And what some never expected to happen came to fruition. The pigs of Rhovanion started to soar. Carving out a little market for themselves. During the harsh years of the war of the ring they opened their mud pits for all that needed them.
Dean wasn’t the only one busy with a letter. Visitors from the distant Anduin had arrived in Michel Delving.
The cooking guild wasn’t ready to share their piece of the cake anymore. Old arrangements seem to be collapsing like a bad souffle.
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