Our intrepid staff know no limitations in their quest for the estate pipes that you love to see on our website, as demonstrated by three recent adventures from our files.

Fredo Baffins

Fredo Baffins was in a tough spot indeed. He was smaller than a human; he was a Fractionling far from his home in the tiny countryside hamlet of The Chire, and he was trapped. This cave was entirely without light; he could see nothing, only feel the thick spider webs that adhered him to the damp, cold wall. The great spider Kebob would soon return to devour him. She was ravenous, gigantic, ancient, and permeated with evil; he shuddered at the memory of her corpulent, hairy body and glistening, clicking fangs. A head shake helped clear his thoughts. He could move his arms, but his legs and torso were immobile. As mightily as he struggled, the web would only dig deeper into his flesh and press him more tightly into the rock.

Fredo knew that this was the end for him. He and his companion, Whamsize, who had disappeared and was probably already eaten alive, had traveled for weeks only for their mission to Mount Gloom be so catastrophically terminated. They had had a good life in the Chire where they would eat and drink with friends, smoke pipes, and laugh. It all seemed impossibly deep in the past. Now he had nothing left and no hope.

He felt in the pockets that weren't obstructed by spiderweb, but he had no knife. Wait — what was this? His pipe! He had long ago smoked all of his tobacco, but perhaps the simple comfort of holding a trusted pipe in his teeth could ease the horror of his situation. There, it was better with his pipe properly perched. Let the spider come; he would face his fate as a pipe smoker should.

Perhaps his eyes were fooling him, but he thought he saw the glow of light approaching. Yes, it was light. And then a voice called.

"Hello! Anyone here? I'm looking for pipe smokers!"

That certainly was not the abhorrent voice of Kebob. Perhaps there was hope. Then he saw the source of the light: a flickering flame held aloft by an approaching figure, a man by the looks of him. Fredo knew that men were sometimes dangerous, but some were friends. He spoke. "Hello?"

And before him stood a man with a jovial expression, an infectious smile, and a dapper mustache. He was wearing a cap, smoking a pipe, and was illuminated by the flame that he held. Fredo thought that he recognized that hat.

"Is that a driver cap?" said Fredo.

"Technically, it's a paneled Gatsby flat cap. My colleagues and I have been scouring the globe looking for pipe smokers, and it looks like I've found one."

"I thought that I recognized you! I love your Mystery Tobacco Reviews. You're Shane Ireland of Smokingpipes!"

"Indeed I am," said Shane, and he turned his head to strike a pose, emphasizing his heroic profile. "And you are?"

"Fredo Baffins of the Chire."

"Oh yes, we have many customers in the Chire. What are you smoking, friend?"

"Well, nothing at the moment. I have no tobacco and I'm a bit indisposed. You should flee as quickly as you can. There's a giant spider roaming about here, and she's perilous."

"There are all kinds of creatures in these parts. I gotta say, I don't much like those little goblin things that are everywhere. I caught a couple and they are not pipe smokers. I don't think they even chew tobacco, though they certainly spit. Here, friend, let me help you down from there; let's see, those webs look about the diameter of a 50 ring gauge cigar; I have just the thing." Shane placed his Kiribi pipe lighter on a rock outcropping to provide light, reached into a pocket, and withdrew a cigar cutter.

"That is a very fine tool you have there," said Fredo.

"Yes, it's a Les Fines Lame Le Petit cigar cutter with brass-hexagon patterning. This will make short work of these webs." Shane quickly began cutting the ropey ligatures as he smoked and hummed. Suddenly Fredo cried out.

"Behind you! The spider comes!"

Shane turned to see Kebob's immense form speeding toward him, her fangs clicking in anticipation of another meal. He took a deep pull on his pipe and exhaled a great cloud toward the spider, which froze in confusion, turned, and sped away into the dark.

"Spiders don't like smoke," commented Shane as he dispensed with the last of Fredo's constraints. At last, the grateful Fractionling was free.

"Now we must do something about your lack of tobacco. You wouldn't have any spare pipes you'd care to trade, would you? What's your preference in tobacco?"

"I have only this one pipe, I'm afraid, and I could not part with it. It's elvish and dear to me."

"Yes, that's a fine pipe with Northern Elvish design cues, and it appears to have been influenced by Dwarven smiths from the Haggard mountains region. I can see why you love it."

"I sent some pipes to Smokingpipes before my journey and believe I have store credit. I am particularly partial to C&D's Apricots and Cream. It reminds me of home."

"Excellent, let me check something." Shane paged through his cell phone for a moment and said, "Oh yes, you have plenty of store credit. I have some Apricots and Cream with me." He opened his jacket to reveal dozens of inside pockets filled with pipes and tins of tobacco. "How many tins would you like?"

"Mount Gloom is only a week or so away, so two tins should suffice. But I must find my companion Whamsize before departing."

"Perfect, I have two tins right here, there you are. Companion, you say? Does he smoke pipes?"

"Yes, he does. He's another Fractionling like me. We all enjoy pipeweed."

"I think I saw him outside," said Shane. "Why don't we get out of this cave? I'll find Whamsize and send him to you after I see if he has pipes he'd like to trade."

Fredo was enormously relieved. He would reunite with Whamsize, complete their mission to Mount Gloom, and finally return home to the Chire, all thanks to Shane Ireland and the trade-in program at Smokingpipes.

Parunzel

Parunzel was forlorn, smoking one of her favorite pipes in the great tower where she was held captive by a repulsive ogre. Her pipes were her one respite, her one medium of comfort. She puffed out the window as she did every day, and fretted about how to escape. The ogre Skog had told her that she was the only brightness in his life and he would never let her go unless he was to acquire a new pipe that could replace her in his affections. He too had many pipes, but they were of medium quality and he pined for an artisan pipe, like a Skovgaard or Eltang. Alas, Parunzel had no way of acquiring a pipe that would satisfy Skog, and she had no pipe of her own that would meet his requirements. She had nearly accepted that the rest of her life would be spent gazing out of her window.

On that day, however, something unexpectedly broke her routine. A voice called to her from the courtyard below. "Hello in the tower!" it shouted with confident authority. "Is there a pipe smoker up there? I saw the smoke from afar and recognized the most-excellent aroma of Mac Baren Navy Flake."

She ran to the window and looked down to see a remarkable figure on horseback. He was tall and radiant, athletic, and clearly refined in aspect. Only a prince could possess such tranquil composure among the bones and armor of those who had tried and failed to rescue her over the years. This must be the prince who would finally whisk her from this dreadful tower and return her to the home she missed.

"Hello, good sir," she called. "Would you deign to visit with me? I shall let down my long hair for you to climb."

"That would rock," said the figure, and Parunzel heaved her magnificent red hair out of the window. Soon the stranger had climbed the locks and was standing before her.

"I thought I recognized the signs of a fellow pipe smoker," he said, looking around the prison. "Nice digs you have here."

Parunzel was shocked and excited to recognize this man. "Oh my goodness," she said, her heart aflutter. "I scarcely believe my eyes. I have seen your videos and read your articles. Pray, tell me, fair sir, are you not Truett Smith of Smokingpipes?"

Truett smiled and struck a pose, gazing toward the sky for the best effect in revealing his heroic profile. "Why yes," he said, "I totally am the one they call Truett Smith. How rad of you to know me."

"Is that a man-bun?" asked Parunzel. "Few men can make that work. Only the most masculine and courageous can wear a man-bun." Her heart beat in her chest with an infatuation she had not felt since her imprisonment. She realized that in her distraction, she had allowed her pipe to go out, and she relit. Truett lit one of his own pipes.

"I was wondering," said Truett, "if you might have any spare pipes that you no longer want? Smokingpipes is looking for estate pipes and is prepared to make a generous offer."

Parunzel's heart lubbed hollowly. "Oh," she said. "I was hoping that you had come to rescue me."

"Can do, let's party on! What's your story, here? Looks like things could be better."

Parunzel related her circumstances and told Truett of Skog's requirement that only a new artisan pipe would compel him to release her. "What a most non-triumphant situation, but I may have a most-outstanding solution," said Truett. "Have you any old pipes that you no longer want and would be willing to trade in?"

"Why, yes," she said and rushed to a drawer where rested the pipes that no longer interested her. "I have this handful. They don't get much smoking time these days. It's wasteful, I know, and I know not what to do with them."

"Very nice!" said Truett, examining the pipes with the loupe he always carried and confirming that their condition was good. "They aren't top-of-the-line, but the credit earned from trading them in would earn this, for example." He extracted a beautiful Tom Eltang smooth Eskimo from a pocket. "It isn't a Snail grade, which is a rare category, but it's close in grain quality, and as you can see, it's most-excellently made."

Parunzel's face filled with delight and she smiled radiantly. "That's perfect!" she said. "It's exactly what Skog has been dreaming of! He will surely release me when he receives this pipe. Thank you, I am saved!"

"My pleasure, ma'am," said Truett. "And now I've gotta get going."

"Will you not take me with you, kind sir?"

Truett turned from the window and took her hand in his. "Nothing would be more awesome, tower-babe," he said. "But I'm on a most-important mission and must not delay. I seek more estate pipes for our Restoration Department."

"That is indeed work of great import. God's speed, and may you find what you seek." Parunzel rushed to pack her possessions, saved at long last and grateful for the Smokingpipes estates trade-in program.

Sir Creighton of Rutherford

The bones and blood of his companions scattered the entry to the lair of the dragon Growloth as Sir Creighton of Rutherford huddled between two boulders to smoke a pipe and strategize. He was outmatched and all of his party was now dead. He was the last hope for the neighboring villages. If he failed to defeat this dragon, untold numbers of his countrymen would soon be homeless and starving, or worse, immolated and consumed. The dragon had been burning crops and leveling homes for a fortnight and the people could endure no more. He had no hope left, however, and knew that his own bones would soon join those of his friends to decorate and landscape the home of this foul beast.

"You are doomed, knight" growled the dragon's deeply resonant voice from within his abhorrent lair. "Come in, coward, so that I might render your flesh and burn and pulverize your remains."

Sir Creighton had selected his favorite pipe, a Grechukhin Design smooth Blowfish. It was a shape that always lifted his spirits, even in his darkest hours. None of his other pipes were of the same caliber and this was a moment that called for his best. He filled his pipe but grew frustrated as he tried to light it with his flint and steel. He struck, and struck, and struck again, yet the sparks would not catch in his C&D Bayou Morning Flake. He didn't understand. He had rubbed it out properly and appropriately dried the blend, yet it would not light. Perhaps his steel was too worn and could not produce adequate spark. He struck again. Nothing. Accepting his bleak circumstances, he looked toward the sky for inspiration and strength.

A speeding streak appeared in that sky, accelerating across the clouds and seemingly approaching his position. He shielded his eyes from the sun and watched. A meteorite, perhaps? Maybe he would die in a fiery explosion upon impact. At least that would be preferable to the gruesome death planned for him by the dragon.

The meteor seemed to accelerate and aim toward him, and he crouched lower as it struck the ground with a mighty sonic boom that shook the countryside and left a crater in the earth deep enough to bury any good knight, and from the center of that cavity rose a figure who removed his flying goggles, replaced them with his glasses, and looked around blinking.

"I thought I heard the unmistakable sound of a pipe smoker trying to light his pipe with a flint and steel," said the man, who was garbed in strange attire unknown in this land.

The dragon's voice emerged again from deep within the cave. "What trickery was that earthquake?" rumbled Growloth. "I know of no knight who can shake the earth. What are you, knight? Are you perhaps more powerful than I imagined?"

"Hush, putrid dragon scum," called Sir Creighton. "I shall proportion your demise full swithe." He turned to the new arrival and was astonished. "I know not how this event bifalles, yet I believe I know you, good sir. Are you not Adam Davidson, the famous pipe maker and Restoration Manager at Smokingpipes?"

"Indeed, I am he," said Adam, and he turned to look upward, his cape fluttering behind as he posed his heroic profile. He scanned the surroundings. "What's happening here?"

"I wish we could meet in happier circumstance, friend Davidson," said Sir Creighton. "Sadly, our farewell is immediate upon our encounter. I meet the dragon in yonder cave to the demise of one or both of us. I wish only the leyser to enjoy one last pipe before, but alas, it may not be. My bowl accepts not the fyre I offer."

"Fire, you say? I could help with that. You wouldn't by chance have any pipes you'd like to trade?"

"I have many, though none equal to this Grechukhin Design, which I could not part with. But here are my others, and I would gladly exchange them all for a good flint and steel in this moment."

Adam examined the pipes in Sir Creighton's leather roll-up and returned all but two. "For these pipes, I can easily provide you with fire, if that seems reasonable. This is an IM Corona Old Boy and it works like this." He demonstrated.

"'Tis almost magic," said the knight. "I am indeed in your debt, friend. I would give these pipes and my horse besides in exchange for this queynte device."

"No need, I'll just apply the credit for your pipes to your purchase of the lighter. Thank you. Someone else will love these pipes. I must say goodbye now and let you resume your quest. I seek more pipes and must not dally."

Adam donned his flying goggles and sprang into the sky to rocket toward the setting sun, and as Sir Creighton was about to light his Blowfish, Growloth lumbered from the cave in a temper. "Ah, my end is nigh," said the knight to himself, sighing and lighting his tobacco. "But thanks to Adam Davidson and Smokingpipes, I shall have the honor of falling heroically with my best pipe in my teeth. May Growloth choke on it!"

The dragon charged as Sir Creighton was lighting his pipe but quickly stopped when he saw the flame and the smoke rising. "Wait," said Growloth. "What is this? I didn't recognize that you were a dragon like me. That explains the thunderous earth-shaking, and now you produce fire and breathe smoke. You're a cousin! A scrawny one, but nonetheless. Forgive me, I did not know."

The knight was shocked but quickly said, "That's right, I'm a dragon and this is my territory. I welcome you as a cousin, but you have no rights here and I must insist that you depart. We dragons do not share territories."

"As you wish. You had only to tell me earlier, friend dragon. Farewell." Growloth flew into the air and disappeared toward the horizon while Sir Creighton sighed, sat, and enjoyed the rest of his pipe, forever grateful for the Smokingpipes estates trade-in program.

As is now easily recognized, our Trade-In program offers enormous benefits, and we hope you'll take advantage of our offer of an additional five percent during the month of January 2022. Here's how:

1. For questions and answers, contact our Customer Service department:

Email: [email protected]
Phone: (888) 366-0345
Live Chat: "Contact Us" button at the top of the page.

2. Send us the pipes that you'd like to trade in.

The address is:
Smokingpipes.com
Estates
2 Highway 90 East
Little River, SC 29566

3. We will assess the value and provide an offer.

We'll contact you by phone or email, depending on your preference. The offer will include an additional five percent for the month of January, 2022.

4. Accept or decline our offer.

We'll return any pipes you decide to keep, at no cost for domestic shipping.