Legend 3: Vendor

See: Drumkit Also see Legends - specifically Legend 1 - Dwarf Goblin Wars - The Mirthril Gauntlet
Note: According to the Shadow Clan, their version of this legend has the protaganist as a Dwarf, not a Hobbit. Zoom 2021-12-14 21:00
As the Age of Man came full upon the Free Folk of Vendor, they looked for some hope against the power of the Vampire Lord Toscin who would raid the Vale in search of blood for his minions and hell spawn. The villagers gathered from valley and hilltop to discuss their plight in a simple Inn one fateful night, when Toscin and his bodychangers broke down the gate and killed nearly all, those that survived were envious of the dead for their nightmares knew no end. 
One day a grumpy Halfling limped into Vendor mumbling something about giant thieves and moving shadows. Such short folk were often spoken of but hardly ever seen, and certainly the stories of a people of happy contentment and songsters and playful folk, was in sharp contrast with the nearly foul mouthed ill disposed fellow. Maybe his wounds about the shoulder and down the left side and arm might account for some of his lack of good grace. Nevertheless he placed himself down in the corner of the Inn and asked for a meal that would strain a Maratasen on the hunt... and the Inn Keeper had a moment of hesitation on the payment of the fare, but silver was a high demand item with all these undead about, and to the amazement of everyone he ate every last bit. Staying at the Inn for a weekhe learned about the raiders and as always mumbling to himself, would utterhalf sentences about the dead staying dead, but his mind would always seem to drift back to "that stinkin' no good clumsy oaf.." 
After being put off at first by his mannerism and especially his horriblesinging that sounded 'as close to a drowning Dak as you can get without water...' the villagers were able to see past his style and a certain fondness seemed to grow. It seemed that no matter how depressed and hope- less things were looking the sight and sounds of the fellow would bring a smile and patronizing shake of the head. 
On the seventh night of his stay, the bodychangers struck again and thistime they carried off the odd grossly ugly donkey like animal that had seemedto have found him to participate in is adventures. 
This was intolerable for he had just named the beast and was making a saddlewith the name in it. Fury and noise were one as he stormed around the Inn making various comments about the uses of entrails and assorted other body parts in combination. Finally catching a glimpse of the shadow of the vampire bat crossing the full moon, his rage seemed to transform itself into a blue pulsing aura about himself. Jumping behind the bar he took out three pots and quickly covered them with a leather like paper that adhered instantly across the opening. Then drawing a Runewriter as if from mid-air he wrote upon the three and began to play upon them with his hands. The beat of the drums was echoed through the land and into the night and a strange magical mist gathered all of a sudden. (Having a slightly honey taste some were to say.) In not more than a minute's time the donkey came prancing back to the Inn's main door and the death knell screech of the body changers was a welcome chorus. 
Asking about the exact spelling of the Vampire Lord's name, he took out 30 pieces of silver and placed them on one drum, and then with a piece of the rare yellow mandrake root in the opposite drum, he set his pen to the task of writing the name of the Vampire Lord in the middle. With a firm snap he sent the drum to work its magic after mouthing the ritual of the arcane. Toscin, the Vampire Lord was no more. 
The following day the halfling and his donkey set off on their travels but not before writing the ritual down on the drums for all to examine should the need ever return...ever thankful to the little fellow and out of memory of his ways, there is to this day an inscription over the Inn: "No stinkin' Oafs allowed".