There's Dragon Smoke Afoot
As a steady hum ruminates about the the Pelennor, a short, stout fellow comes stumbling in through the great gateway into the fortress city of Minas Tirith. He is definitely not Gondoran, and yet, despite clearly having travelled down the North-way, most certainly not Rohirrim or Dunlander either.
Local Gondorans watch the stranger gamboling across the market square, he desperation becoming more and more apparent. As he approaches, they gradually realise this is not only not a Rohirrim, nor a Dunlander, but seemingly not of any strictly "man" race, being far too short for his obvious age, and carrying as much curly black hair upon the tops of his bare feet as upon his head.
"Drag... Drag..." the Hobbit pants, as he comes to a stop, "Dragon... Smoke." And collapses upon the cobble stones.
In his pocket is found a note; "Dear stranger, you, or perhaps one or two of your fellow countrymen, (if you would care to suggest any), are cordially invited to an RPG in The Shire, home of this poor exhausted hobbit sent league upon league to enlist the help of any who would be interested.
"Should your interest, or that of your aforementioned countrymen, happen to have been piqued, kindly travel, at your soonest convenience, to The Green Dragon Inn, c/o the thread - "The Farthings and Beyond - Shire Free RP." There, agreements and handshakes may be made with one Periantar, hobbit, adventurer and all round nice guy.
"Yours sincerely, in presumption of your acceptance and due pleasure,
"Periantar, Esq."
Periantar:
I am a multi facited hobbit, for I am a gardener;
a leader, hobbit second regiment of the HDS;
and fireworks meister of TISAPA.