Festival Logo
The Brandywine
Festival
"In a hole in the ground there lived a Hobbit. Not a nasty, dirty, wet hole… it was a Hobbit-hole, and that means comfort."
— J.R.R. Tolkien, The HobbitThe lanterns are being lit along the Brandywine. The smell of roasted meats and fresh baked seed-cakes drifts on the October breeze. From every corner of The Shire, Hobbits are lacing up their waistcoats, tucking their pipes into their breast pockets, and setting off down the road.
Before you join them, settle into this comfortable chair. Let us tell you everything you need to know.
Scroll onward, dear Hobbit. The story awaits.
What is LARP?
The Brandywine Festival is a Live Action Roleplay — a game in which you step bodily into a fictional world, playing not just a character in your imagination, but breathing life into one in the world around you. There is no stage. There is no audience. Everyone is a participant.
Think of it like improv theatre, but rather than playing for a crowd, you play with your fellow Hobbits. Every gesture, every word, every gift you press into another Hobbit's hands becomes a thread in a story that belongs to all of you.
The Brandywine Festival is built on three sacred pillars:
A welcoming world where you assume the best of your fellow Hobbits.
A world full of Hobbits can only exist if everyone plays their part.
Everywhere you look, you should feel you are standing in The Shire.
There is no script. No Health Points. No dice. Just you, your Hobbit, and the stories you make together.
Concerning Hobbits
Hobbits are a good-natured people who like a life of peace and quiet. Standing between two and four feet tall — about the height of a large dog — they are half the height of the Big Folk. They live somewhat longer than Men, averaging ninety to a hundred years, with thirty-three marking the age of adulthood.
Though inclined to be portly, and never in a hurry unnecessarily, Hobbits are nonetheless nimble and deft — and they possess from the first a near-supernatural art of disappearing swiftly and silently when they wish not to be seen.
They love to dress in bright colours — most fondly yellow and green. They enjoy six meals a day when they can get them. They are hospitable, delighted in parties, and deeply, devotedly fond of presents — which they give away freely and receive with equal enthusiasm.
On birthdays, the celebrant gives and receives presents. Gifts are often re-gifted — these trinkets are called Mathoms. Hobbit homes are crowded with them. At weddings, only flowers are gifted.
Hobbits know a song for nearly every occasion — walking songs, laments, tavern songs. Stories are equally beloved: passed over a mug of ale, told by the fire, or whispered as rumour across the Festival grounds.
"They are an unobtrusive but very ancient people… and they are inclined to be fat in the stomach; they dress in bright colours… wear no shoes, because their feet grow natural leathery soles."
— J.R.R. Tolkien, The Fellowship of the Ring (Prologue)The Shire
In the North-Western part of Middle-earth, in the region called Eriador, lies The Shire — home of the Hobbits for the last fourteen hundred years. In the year 1601 of the Third Age (Year 1 of The Shire Reckoning), the brothers Marcho and Blanco led their kin into the land gifted them by the King of Arnor. That kingdom has long since fallen into ruin. The Hobbits remember only the brothers, the green fields, and the river.
A densely wooded strip east of the Brandywine River, bordered by the dark and whispering Old Forest. Home of the Brandybuck family. Technically not part of The Shire itself. The High Hay hedge keeps the forest at bay.
The de facto capital of The Shire. Here sits the Mayor's office, the Mathom-house (a museum of wonderful useless things), and the offices of the Postmaster. Located in the Westfarthing's White Downs.
Home of the Great Smials — the many-tunnelled ancestral mansion of the Took family, and seat of the Thain. Set in the Green Hill Country of the Westfarthing.
In the Northfarthing — site of the storied Battle of Greenfields, where the Goblin King Golfimbul was defeated by Bandobras Took, and the game of golf was invented.
It is currently October 7th, Year 1418 of The Shire Reckoning (T.A. 3018). The harvest is in. The lanterns are lit.
From Every Corner of The Shire
The Shire is divided into five parts: the Four Farthings — North, West, South, and East — and Buckland, across the Brandywine. Hobbits from every one of them are making their way to the Festival. Which one does your Hobbit call home?
Farthing
A quieter, less populated land — home to the storied Greenfields. Hobbits here are known to be sturdy folk. They speak of the Battle of Greenfields with great pride, and may keep an old (Mathom) goblin blade above the mantle.
Farthing
The heart of The Shire — home to Michel Delving, Tuckborough, and the famous Took and Baggins families. Pipeweed grows abundantly here, and the Westfarthing Hobbits consider themselves something of The Shire's aristocracy.
Farthing
The sunniest corner of The Shire and the warmest. The finest pipe-weed in all of Middle-earth is grown here — Longbottom Leaf and Old Toby among the celebrated varieties. A Southfarthing Hobbit without a pipe is a rare sight indeed.
Farthing
Rolling farmland between The Shire and the Brandywine River. The closest Farthing to Buckland. Hobbits of the Eastfarthing have a closer relationship with the Bucklanders than most — and arrive at the Festival ahead of the others.
land
East of the Brandywine, bordered by the Old Forest. Home of the Brandybuck family and the Master of Buckland, who hosts the Brandywine Festival itself. Bucklanders are considered slightly odd by Shirefolk — they lock their doors at night, and they swim. Voluntarily.
Your Farthing shapes your Hobbit's accent, their stories, their pumpkin competitions, and how long a walk they've had to get here.
Those Who Keep the Peace
There is little in the way of politics in The Shire — thank goodness. But there are three offices of power that all Hobbits recognise, and a few more who keep the roads safe and the letters flowing.
Elected every seven years. Presides at banquets. Also serves as First Shirriff and Postmaster of The Shire.
Hereditary head of the Brandybuck family. Host of the Brandywine Festival. Leader of Buckland.
Hereditary title, mostly ceremonial. Calls The Shire-muster in times of emergency. Commands the Hobbitry-in-arms.
Twelve Shirriffs (three per Farthing) maintain the peace. Their caps bear feathers. The larger Bounders guard the borders of The Shire. They report to the First Shirriff.
Letters flow between the four Farthings via the Postmaster's service. Not all Hobbits are lettered — but those who are write constantly. The Postmaster is the Mayor, or rather, the Mayor is also the Postmaster.
The Outside World
Hobbits are an insular folk. The outside world rarely troubles them, and they rarely trouble it. But a Hobbit who keeps their ears open knows a little something about the strange peoples beyond the borders.
That's what Hobbits call Men. You won't hear a Hobbit say "humans" — that word isn't used in Middle-earth. Big Folk are known to be dangerous and unpredictable. Most Hobbits avoid them. Bree is the only place they truly live alongside Hobbits peaceably.
Strange and beautiful creatures, almost from the old stories. Some say they still walk the woods of The Shire, singing quietly, on their way west to the Grey Havens — and that once they sail, they never return.
They travel the Great East Road with packs full of intricate toys and tools to mend. Few Hobbits have spoken with one. Fewer still would call one a friend. Most are seen as curious, if somewhat gruff, passing tradesmen.
Hobbits know Orcs as Goblins. The famous story of Bullroarer Took — who knocked the Goblin King's head off his shoulders into a rabbit hole, inventing golf — is one every Hobbit child knows by heart.
Ruffians at the Edge of the Wood
It has not been an entirely quiet autumn. Those Hobbits arriving from the further Farthings have whispered of strange things. Unusual travellers on the roads. Men — Big Folk — who do not behave as the friendly traders from Bree. Men who ask sharp questions and do not take a polite refusal kindly.
These Ruffians — as they are quietly being called — seem to be lingering near the borders of The Shire. Some say they are looking for something. Or someone. Most sensible Hobbits choose not to think too hard about it and concentrate on their pumpkins instead.
Barely two weeks past, on September 30th, the Horn-call of Buckland rang out in the night — a sound not heard in over a hundred years. Black Riders tore through Buckland, searching for someone. The Bucklanders rallied together and drove them away, but the fear has not yet faded from their faces.
Some say young Frodo Baggins left Bag End in secret weeks ago. Where has he gone? No one quite knows. And there are those who speak in hushed tones of figures in black seen at the crossroads south of Bree. It is probably nothing. Surely.
For your Hobbit's purposes: be aware of these rumours, but do not let them spoil the Festival. If you encounter strange visitors, a Hobbit's wisest response is to hide, or to run — and to tell the tale over a very large mug of ale afterwards.
"Curious things, Hobbits. The one thing they fear above all else… is being invited to an adventure."
The 259th Brandywine Festival
The Brandywine Festival is an annual event hosted by the Master of Buckland to celebrate the harvest. The very first was held in T.A. 2760, to mark the first bountiful harvest after the Long Winter and the terrible famine that followed. Gormadoc "Deepdelver" Brandybuck declared that The Shire had survived, and it should be remembered with a feast of plenty.
A guest of note at that first Festival was the wizard Gandalf, who had lent his aid to the starving Hobbits. It was there that his legendary fireworks were first seen in The Shire.
Warm lanterns and blazing fires. Tables heaped with roasted meats, seed-cakes, and tarts. Dancing and singing. Games and gossip. Gifts exchanged freely among friends and strangers alike. And — if you keep your eyes open — perhaps a small adventure.
Five months of bitter cold. Thousands of Hobbits perish. Gandalf brings what aid he can. The famine that followed lasted two years.
The harvest is plentiful. Gormadoc Brandybuck declares a feast. The first of Gandalf's fireworks light the sky over Buckland.
Bilbo Baggins leaves with thirteen Dwarves and Gandalf. Returns laden with gold and fantastic stories that most Hobbits disbelieve entirely.
Bilbo vanishes mid-speech. Fireworks. Scandal. His possessions pass to Frodo.
Today. The Shire is still buzzing from the Horn-call of Buckland. The harvest is in. The ale is ready. And the Festival must go on.
Your Journey Begins
You know The Shire now. You know its rolling hills and its gossip, its ales and its customs, its songs and its history. You know who keeps the peace and who grows the finest pipeweed. You know of the Ruffians at the forest's edge and the strange happenings in Buckland.
Now it is time to create your Hobbit — to choose your name, your Farthing, your family, your favourite meal — and to set off down the road toward the Brandywine.
"The road goes ever on and on, down from the door where it began…"
— J.R.R. TolkienThe 259th Brandywine Festival — Buckland, October 7th, T.A. 3018
Hosted by Saradoc "Scattergold" Brandybuck, Master of Buckland