Pippin

Pippin sits on the town council of Sunton, and is the first person the party met on coming off the Northern Bridge in session 3. He is named with Merry as one of the two rich councillors of whom it is said that nobody knows what else either of them does.

He is a halfling, four feet one and a half inches tall, and dresses loudly: poofy scarlet clothes head to toe, a silvery breastplate worked with gold over them, an enormous feathered hat, and a fancy spear that is not made of wood but of what looks to be silver and gold. He carries a pocket watch and consults it as though it were a calendar.

He talks constantly, in a voice meant to be a whisper and failing, and is proud of his city to the point of tedium. He was born in Sunton, went away for a number of years, and came back about twelve years ago. His hair is grey under a very good dye job.

What can be read of him

Niðrerir studied him closely over dinner and found genuine, honest curiosity and an apparently kind man glad to welcome strangers to a city he loves — and behind that, something walled off that he has not let down.

Two other things sit against that reading. When the boy from the ferry clutched his little chest, a flash of real anger crossed Pippin’s face as he looked at it, seen by three of the party and by nobody else. And when Asher went for his coin purse, Pippin looked him in the eye, glanced over each of his shoulders, and nodded once — and two goliaths with their sleeves ripped off took Asher by the shoulders and sat him down where he could be watched. They call Pippin boss.

He returned the incident as a joke and let it go.

“It was just a funny joke, right?”

Asked what he does when he is not on the council, he says he does not do much any more, that he is retired, that his busy days are behind him and he just helps where he can.

His parting advice to the party was: just try not to be weird.