You stumble across this familiar land and you don’t seem to remember where you’ve come from, what day is it of the year (or is it another birthday party up ahead?), or what happened to you just a few minutes ago.

Little people are up ahead there dancing and merry-making. Ale. Pipe-smoking. Familiar songs and melodies. Tunes that remind you of home.

Suddenly, you feel a sharp pain from the back of your head as even smaller people, children rather, threw a stone at you.


You quickly come back to your senses and realize you were just knocked out from all the drinking.

Ah, sweet Shire, home of all homes. You are in Westfarthing, your dear old hometown after all.