**Birthday Party in the Barrow** (May, 2005)

[Estelyn Telcontar]

It was a dark and stormy night; an icy wind was blowing over the Downs – it seemed to wail and whisper uncannily between the black shadowy shapes that were enshrouded by mists. It was a night to chill the heart as well as the bones.

Then a pale light shone in the blackness, seeming to come from a remote distance. It beamed out of the open doorway of a huge mound – a barrow. Yet instead of instilling a sense of dread, it emitted a warm, welcoming glow. Many candles gleamed, a wasp of pink haze could be seen in the opening, and there was a whiff of a light, flowery scent.

An apparition floated about the barrow, straightening a tablecloth here, picking up a fluff of dust there. The cold stone floor was covered with soft rugs, tables were set up in obvious anticipation of being filled with good things, and comfortable chairs were distributed for the expected guests. She (for the apparition was definitely female in form, though not clearly visible) then patted her dark locks into place, removing the silver circlet from her head with only the tiniest of regretful sighs - it was, after all, merely a toy for the role she played otherwise. She then straightened the name tag pinned to her feminine yet practical clothing (unfortunately, the foggy touch of her fingers blurred the letters so that only an “H” was recognizable) and sat down at the grand piano to play a piece while waiting for the appointed hour.

Which wights would come to the party? she wondered. What would they be like without the usual accoutrements of their masks? She knew some well enough to be sure that she could recognize them in their unbodied forms, and especially looked forward to the appearance of the great Barrow-Wight himself. It was sure to be a memorable occasion!

[Tigerlily Gamgee]

Soon another apparation appeared. She came bearing ale for the other wights, for she is also known as the "hostess of spirits." She wore a nametag that read "Tig," because that's a name that she's been given by others of the dead. Her real name remains a secret (well, not to everyone). She wore a long, flowing skirt and a black top to match. Her hair was long and of a strawberry blonde color. She smiled at "H" because it's been such a long time that she's gathered with her fellow dead from the Downs. She felt glad to be back home and couldn't wait for the rest of the company to arrive.

[Imladris]

A ghost weaved in and out of the shadows as she hurried toward the barrow. In her hands she clutched a steaming pot of freshly brewed coffee the steam of which curled above her head in a foggy mockery of a crown. A green velvet bag dangled from her wrist, and she was blissfully unaware that the roguish wind was striving to tear it away from her.

As she entered the golden glow from the light of many candles, it could be seen that many of her features had faded with the passing of time, though it could be conjectured that she had once had brownish hair of medium length and eyes that may have been dark or light. The most obvious fact about her was that she was short. Her nametag, which was pinned half hazardly on her shirt, bore the scribbled name of "Sonja".

She smiled briefly to H and Tig when she entered the barrow, nodded to them both, and then set the pot down upon the table. As she waited for the others to arrive, she rocked gently back and forth against the wall.

[Lalwendë]

The little creature remained hidden for the present, lurking as one of many shadows beneath the tables. She was not invisible as it was not possible to completely disappear, but she knew how to hide herself; if anyone had been looking they might have seen the shadows move now and then and thought how odd it was that they had the shape of an arm or a leg.

She had come a long way from the marshes, but the journey had been no effort. All she had to do was wait for a passing traveller and catch a hold of their horse or their cart and she had a free ride. The traveller would never know she was there but for the strange sight now and again of what seemed to be a wide, toothy smile with no form around it.

Under the table she watched them gathering. Ghosts of forkypeds, they might not be so solid any longer but their long legs were still a danger to a little creature like her, and she decided to wait until she felt sure of them. Some of her kind might be more bold and go about nipping and biting at the forkypeds for fun; she could see that these were only spirits and that would not have much effect, and besides, she was not such a tricksy creature. All the same, as she watched, an impulse came over her that she could not help. The white linen of the tablecloths hung over the table edges temptingly and she reached out her fingers to tug at it.

[Celuien]

Outside the barrow door, a ghostly figure paced in the early morning mist. It drifted to and fro, as if debating whether or not to enter the barrow and join the cheery gathering within. At last, she - it was indeed a she - gathered her courage, and tugging at her unruly chestnut curls, stepped over the barrow threshold.

A hush fell over the gathering as the figure entered, for none of the assembled guests could recall seeing her before. In the sudden silence, she glanced about the room and called, "Greetings! Though I am an unexpected guest, I hope that I shall be welcome, for I have lurked on the Downs for many years, waiting for the right time to make my introductions."

A voice called from the back of the barrow, "Why have you not joined before?"

"Ah, that is a long tale," she replied. "Let it suffice to say that the time demands of life as a soon-to-be third-year medical student are, well...demanding, and I have very few minutes left to post. Indeed, I have come today only to wish the Downs a most happy birthday, and then I must go back to studying for my final exams. Yet I hope to return to the Downs soon, for I have greatly enjoyed reading the wonderful posts here."

With that, the ghostly form drifted to a table and scribbled the name "Nichole" on a nametag. She then opened the large black case she had been carrying on her shoulder, took out a viola and joined in with the music coming from the grand piano.

[wilwarin538]

A young ghostly figure was making her way to the barrow at this time. She could here the soft sounds of a piano and a stringed instrument. She was a very quiet girl and slightly shy but she slowly stepped inside the barrow.

She was wearing a long flowing white dress with a small butterfly sown in one side, her name tag was pinned to one of the dress's thin straps, it read "Wilwa" though some at the barrow party knew her real name she liked this one much better.

She nodded to the other guests at the party and as she placed the cake she had brought on a table she noticed that the table clothe moved slightly as if someone had tugged it. With a small grin on her face she moved towards the piano and viola players and joined them with the sounds of the light blue violin she had also brought with her.

[littlemanpoet]

A faint glimmer wafted on the chilly breeze toward the barrow from the Edge of Faerie. As it came closer it was revealed as the spectre of a middle aged man with wire rimmed glasses and a serious loss of hair, sporting beard and mustache. He sighed and closed his eyes, enjoying the piano and viola, wishing he had remembered his french horn, but thought better of it considering he was so out of practice. Better to read one of my overwrought poems, he thought.

"Greetings, Esty, Tigerlily, Immy, Lal, and Celuien! Happy Birthday to the Downs!" He was glad the group was still small when he got there, for he was really quite uncomfortable in large crowds, especially in such close quarters, as his hearing was not too good at all. He was intrigued by the med student, Nichole, and hoped to see more of her at the Downs.

He floated to the table and filled out a nametag scrawling the Greek word for Little, using modern lettering. It is my real name after all, he said to himself. Then he scrawled "LMP" in the bottom right just because it felt better to have it there. He suddenly remembered the gift in his pocket, and pulled out a couple of spectral stencils he had ordered special for the occasion. One was a picture of a round door on which was scribed, "Home is where a Hobbit is", and the other was a Dragon staring back at the viewer with one red eye open. He placed these and an ink pad and stamper on the name tag table.

He sniffed the air, pleased with the warm fragrances and the homey feel. Then he went over to the musicians and began to hum in harmony with the tune the viola played, in a pleasant tenor voice; humming because he really wasn't that quick of wit to come up with words on the spot; and he wished that he had memorized one of those ditties by the Subcreator of Middle Earth. Ah well. Always wishing for more than he should. He settled to enjoying the music.

Another ghost in a white dress came in just as he did, whom he had not noticed at first; she pulled out a violin, enriching the music. LMP smiled and continued humming.

[The Barrow-Wight]

Aaaaeeeeeee!

Aaaaeeeeeee!

Aaaaeeeeeee!

The Barrow-Wight slapped the snooze button on his Screaming Hobbit™ Alarm Clock and faded back toward to sleep. Nasty hobbits

It was too early to wake, even if there was a party going on, but he couldn’t stop wondering if he had put all of the treasures in the safe. It had been bothering him all night, and he had rolled about on his cold slab for hours, moaning in his sleep. Last year’s gettogether had been a great success, except for several Nûmenorean swords and a set of silver spoons that had gone missing. He suspected one (or more) of the hobbit specters to have taken them. Nasty hobbits

As he again dropped off into the oblivion of the grave, the Barrow-Wight reminded himself to refresh all of the protection incantations before the barrow became too crowded with little, pilfering wights.

[Hilde Bracegirdle]

Hilde ducked her head in at the door to see who had already arrived. She did not appear to be too terribly late. The food had remained untouched, and looking over top of her spectacles she could barely discern slight wavering forms milling about the barrow.

Quickly working her way over to the table, she emptied her arms, leaning her ever-present moth eaten canvas bag, crammed with notes, Yes CD’s and a good supply of Nexium against the leg of the table. The spectacularly ugly bird on the bag stared out dolefully at the assembly. A big bowl of lime gelatin salad that rested in the crook of her arm was carefully placed on the table. Hilde had puzzled over what such a crowd might enjoy and thought that the green oozing mess, delightfully and properly insubstantial and yet comforting and old fashioned was the right choice for the occasion.

As she set down the salad, a stack of nametags and a few rubber stamps caught her eye. Thinking for a moment she looked first at one stamp and then the other. She smiled to herself, took both and daubing them in ink stamped a name tag, writing underneath in a strong and rather lacelike script “G” with the appropriate rune and a few flourishes beside it, before plunking on her shoulder.

[wilwarin538]

As she finished up the song she was playing a ghost messenger came into the Barrow with a message for her saying there was some bussiness that needed taking care of imediately. :( Sadly she left the barrow to take care of that bussiness not to return till later in the afternoon.

[Estelyn Telcontar]

The pianist enjoyed playing together with the viola and violin - had they had time, they could have mastered a trio sonata, she thought! However, as was so often the case in her life, there were other matters to be taken care of, and she did want to greet the guests personally, so she played a closing cadence and then thanked Wilwa. "That was fun! I didn't know you play violin. By the way, I like your butterfly - I'm rather a butterfly fan myself." She waved as Wilwa left for the time being.

Then she turned to greet Celuien/Nichole. "I'm so glad you decided to show up, literally! It's nice to be able to meet you; maybe some of our discussions will entice you to post there sometime. Good luck for your exams!"

She smiled at Tig - "You're looking great, as always! (proof here (http://www.hallsofmandos.net/cgi-bin/i/Tigerlily%20Gamgee.jpg)) I was sorry to hear that your audition for the LotR musical wasn't successful; we would have been so proud to have you there! But who knows what wonderful roles time may bring you."

She stopped to look at the name tag Sonja had pinned on, her brow furrowed slightly. Then she called out, "Imladris! It's you! It's a good thing there was a clue, or I wouldn't have recognized you. It's a long way from the fan fiction forum to come here - I'm glad you did!"

Her ever watchful eye, accustomed to keeping a look out for trouble, saw the slight movement of the tablecloth. "Lal! Did you come alone? Oughtn't davem be here to keep you out of mischief?! Now you behave, or I'll get back at you in August!"

"Hi there, LMP!" she called out to the first male who entered the barrow. "I hope you brought something to read to us - a poem, perhaps?"

Her sharp ears heard the alarm clock, but she knew that The Barrow-Wight would show up unexpectedly, whenever he felt like it. No sense in hoping too soon...

She laughed over the bowl of green gelatin. "What an appropriate food choice! 'G', eh? Hmmmmm, let me guess - Gloria? Gail? Gwen? Oh well, maybe I'll find out some day. And no, my 'H' is not for 'Hilde'!"

[Hookbill the Goomba]

After making a dramatic, yet largely ignored, entrance, a small, oddly dressed spirit floated over to a nearby table and placed a dusty (an probably corked) bottle of wine. He had stolen it from an unsuspecting hobbit that was attempting to dump it in the Brandywine.

"Life is wasted on the living," he had said "Don't deserve the hair on their heads."

His red shirt and black waistcoat glittered in the dim light, despite them being transparent. His nametag bore the name "HRH, sir Prince George" But that was crossed out and new words were placed under it, "Hookbill". And in his hand was a long flute of beautiful make. Decorated with the signs of Elves, and pictures of Trees.

Grumbling, Hookbill 'sat' on a chair near to a lamp and quietly eat from a bag of peanuts. He hated peanuts of course, but he ate them in order to hold the effect of being mysterious, which he totally failed to pull off. Keeping his 'cool' Hookbill floated around the other guests and attempted to spot the Barrow Wight.

"If B-Wight was here," he said to himself, "I think we'd know it."

"Talking to you’re self again?" some one asked.

"Yes," replied Hookbill cheerily, "it's the only way I can guarantee intelligent conversation."

[dancing spawn of ungoliant]

Dancing spawn of ungoliant approached the Downs with her heart pounding. She was a bit nervous as usual when going alone to strange places. Suddenly she realized that she had left her name tag home. Her heart beat quickened even more as she entered to the barrow. There she stood bashfully squeezing a violin in her one hand and a gift - a painting - in the other.
Laughter, music and the cozy furnishings of the barrow got her into a party mood. It seemed that her timing had been perfect. She wasn't the first nor the last wight to arrive. She waved at the others and went to greet them.

Dancing spawn was so excited that she completely forgot to be nervous. She tied her long hair up in case she would play the violin for it's certainly a most uncomfortable feeling when your hair gets stuck between the violin and it's shoulder piece.

For a while she tried to follow a lively conversation of some wights she wasn't quite sure who they were (their name tags didn't reveal very much) but soon she sat down near to the spot the musicians had been playing.

[wilwarin538]

Wilwa walked back into the Barrow thinking that she had missed the intire party, but she was wrong the party at still only just begon. She found a small corner to put down her violin and her gift (a set of silver spoons to replace those that had been stolen from the wight the year before) so she could walk aourd freely.

Her long dark hair was now put up on one side with a butterfly pin that matched her dress. She wandered around, a little shy, to try to find someone fun to have a conversation with.

[Celuien]

Celuien finished the melody she had been playing, and carefully returned her viola to its case. She turned to Esty and LMP. "Thanks for the welcome!" she said. "It's great to be here. Now that I've finally taken the plunge and registered, I'll definitely jump in on the discussions, especially after finals are over in a couple of weeks." She then headed over to the table of food with a previously unnoticed box that she had left beside her instrument case. The box was opened to reveal a large chocolate cake decorated with green sugar sprinkles. After placing the cake beside the lime gelatin salad, Celuien walked around the barrow, taking in the atmosphere of the growing party.

[Lalwendë]

Lalwende had been spotted just as she was about to tug at that irresistible white cloth and send whatever was on the table tumbling to the ground. These wights were clever creatures, it wouldn't be easy to get away with much sneaking in this party. Her hand dropped away from the cloth and she gave a little wave to Esty. There would be more chances for mischief later no doubt, she thought as she looked about her for the gift she had brought, a large jar of very strong elderflower wine.

Creeping out from under the table, she placed the jar on top of it and then scuttled away to the other side of the chamber as quickly as possible. She had seen a nice little corner where she might crouch quietly and watch who came in. As she passed Esty, she whispered "davem is busy doing tricksy things". She was here alone for now, and she thought she would begin by watching who was there and listening to what they were saying.

But before she got to that quiet little corner, she spied a large bowl of cold, yellow custard, something she simply could not resist.

[Tigerlily Gamgee]

Tig slowly drank an ale, for she's never really been one to drink many of those at once. She went over to the piano to see if she could sing along. They picked a song that she new well, and she began to sing along to entertain the Wights.
"Well, I may not have gotten cast in the LOTR musical, but that doesn't get me down... I still love to sing" she says.

[Nurumaiel]

Nurumaiel crept into the barrow, rather shy as was her wont, but not without a secret hope that someone would take notice of her and speak with her, and not without a secret guilt that perhaps she should be a little less shy. She was altogether satisfied that the party had fallen on the first of May, for it was the same day of a celebration in the family, and she was dressed up for both occasions. Perhaps the long, full, white skirt, trimmed with lace at the neck and sleeves, with one touch of colour where the long red sash wrapped around the waist, was rather out of place in a barrow; but it was what she wore for the family celebration, and she hadn't time to change. Thank goodness it was a party; perhaps she wouldn't be the only one wearing a dress, though, of course, she had grown used to the odd stares that were cast at her every day she went out. She felt secretly very relieved that she had put her hair in pin-curls the night before, though she had agonised over how ridiculous it was to waste time over such wickedly stubborn hair, and other more murderous thoughts.

The travel to the barrow had not been extremely long and strenuous. Spring was perhaps consenting to come to her home at last, for the sun was shining up the breeze-quivered fir branches, and beyond the forest, in the low sloping hills, the grass was green, and little wildflowers of red, blue, purple, yellow, and white sprang up in little tufts and blended together in a hand to make a cheerful bouquet.

Under her arm she carried her fiddle case (and, in her free hand, a guitar which she was quite certain Helen would recognise), wondering if she would have enough courage to play it. To play the fiddle at a little family gathering was not so very hard; but in front of all these people, friend and stranger alike! It was one thing to write Liornung's tunes of myth and magic; it was quite another to play her clumsy own.

As she found a dark, dusky corner to set her fiddle in, hoping that nobody noticed her, but hoping that likewise someone would ask her to play (odd confusion of thoughts!), she looked at her name tag, or rather what was left of it, with a little frown. Of course the two-year-old had wanted to stick it on himself, and naturally it had ripped from the resulting tug-of-war. Now there remained naught but a llonely 'C.'

The first person Nuru noticed in the barrow was LMP, and that was, no doubt, because she had been haunted by guilt for a week because she hadn't yet brought a song, or for that matter any kind of sound, from Liornung.

From her dark, dusky corner she retreated, and shyly advanced towards the center of the room, casting a last glance over her shoulder to make sure her instruments would not fall.

[Formendacil]

The Council of Elrond occupied Formendacil's thoughts all night. Eomer of the Rohirrim, the senior member of the council was pushing for greater recognition of the Warg ambassadors. This was being strongly resisted by some of the more conservative members of the Council, such as Rimbaud. And the swing voters such as the Phantom were playing for strong concessions from either party before they voted.

Somewhat disgruntled, Formendacil woke in his home in Fornost, and looked at the clock. Then he remembered what day it was, and cheered up slightly. There was a big party going down in Cardolan, and he (and everyone else in middle-earth it seemed) had been invited.

He dressed, selecting his favourite three-piece black suit to wear (suitably adorned with Elven pins and tie-clips), and a nice neon-green tie, to match the decor of the barrow. He toyed for a moment with strapping on his favourite sword, but decided the hilt didn't match his tie-clip, and went with the medium-length one instead. Then he selected his neon-green cloak (which he only ever wore to the Barrow, elsewhere it just looked ridiculous), and headed out the door.

Shadowfax was waiting outside, borrowed for the occasion to get people to the Barrow quickly. The noble steed would allow none to ride him, but he had consented to pull a carriage, perhaps encouraged by the example of Nahar, who was carting the Valinorean contingent over the Helcaraxe.

After a smooth, but disorienting ride, Formendacil spilled out in front of the Barrow. Thanking the horse, he headed in through the door, and to the name-tag table.

Pulling out a blue Bic pen from his pocket, and ignoring the fine felt pens laid out at the table, he selected a name tag a jotted "Michael" on the top and ~Formendacil~ on the bottom, with a sort of regal scrawl separating the two. Then he peeled off the back, and slapped it onto his jacket, where the cloak feel and covered it anyway.

He then headed for the kitchen, to deposit the foods that he had brought. The invitation had said to bring what you like, so he had brought homemade Ukrainian perogies, homemade sausages, and homemade applesauce, all parts of his cultural heritage. He then unloaded a container of fresh mushrooms and a sumptous cheesecake, some of his personal favourites. Then he deposited a container of Fresca pop on the counter. As a diabetic you could never take for granted that people would supply diet pop.

Then he hung up the backpack at the entranceway and headed into the party. It was still fairly small, but getting energetic and rather lively. Formendacil hoped to run into someone he knew and get a good debate going about Balrog wings or something. Heaven knew he'd be lost if someone from the Green Dragon tried to talk to him about roleplaying on the Downs.

Then he caught sight of the snack bar. Someone had opened a bag of sea salt and pepper chips. Debate could wait, this was food. On a mission, he set off for the snack bar.

[wilwarin538]

After chatting a while with some of her fellow wights, Wilwa noticed that the grand piano was free. She slowly glided over to the piano and sat on the stool. Her long slender fingers traced the keys for a moment and then started playing as she sang. She sang her favorite song softly and slowly.

The leaves were long, the grass was green,
The hemlock-umbels tall and fair,
And in the glade a light was seen,
Of stars in shadow shimmering.
Tinuviel was dancing there,
The music of a pipe unseen,
And light of stars was in her hair,
And in her raiment glimmering.....

[Encaitare]

Another spirit drifted along, muttering under her breath. "Stupid Long Island traffic... takes you hours to get to the next county, much less the Wight's Barrow...." However, she was in good spirits (if you'll forgive the unintentional pun) as the door opened and she could see the cheery light coming from inside.

She entered the barrow, noticing with satisfaction that many people were already present. The "she" in question wore a long skirt and boots, and many pieces of jewelry which she would describe as "funky," including a costume jewelry brooch, courtesy of a now-dead great-grandmother, which most people would describe as "tacky" (the brooch, not the great-grandmother). She was, of course, wearing other pieces of clothing as well, but they do not merit further description. Additionally, she had braided her blonde hair the night before, so now it fell about a freckled face (hers) in long waves.

Scanning the growing throng of Downers, she realized that she had forgotten to pin on her name tag. She whipped out a fancy quill pen and turquiose ink from her special quill-and-ink holster and wrote "Enca(i)" on the tag before attaching it to her shirt, taking care not to stab herself with the pin.

Enca was happy to see that several of her esteemed associates appeared to be of musical inclination; she had indeed brought her flute, her pride and joy and, with any luck, her ticket into college. A spirit dressed in red and black was holding a flute as well. As she approached, she read his name tag: Hookbill.

Before she reached him, though, she bumped into Estelyn, aka "H".

"Evening," Enca said. Esty returned the greeting. "You know, a funny thing happened on the way to Ithaca when I was visiting the college there. I actually saw an Esty Street. I would have stolen the sign for you, but, you know, it's illegal. That's why it's called stealing."

"Did you take a picture for the signs gallery?" Esty asked.

Enca sighed dramatically. "Alas, I had no camera. Not even a nifty camera phone. My phone is old-school, I guess. That's okay, though. It calls people. I don't need to be able to run a space station from it or anything."

She then came to Hookbill. "Hello, fellow flautist!" she said to the peanut-munching spirit. "Or do you say flutist? I prefer flautist, quite frankly -- it sounds fancier. Speaking of fancy, would you fancy a duet sometime tonight? Looks like we've got a miniature orchestra assembling," she said, nodding towards the piano and two spirits with a violin and viola.

Enca hoped they were in tune.

[wilwarin538]

As Wilwa finished her song she heard a few applause coming from various places in the room, she smiled and walked over to the food table. She smiled again as she noticed already half of her cake was eaten, half of another cake was also eaten.

They must like cake, she thought as she walked over to greet the two flautists ;) . After she said a quick hello she went to tune her violin.

[Estelyn Telcontar]

The mysterious Ms. H disappeared briefly to the back of the barrow, where the cooler regions were, to retrieve and open the bottle of champagne she had brought. She wanted to take advantage of the occasion to show the guests that Germany had fine sparkling wines. (As a European resident, she normally used the word "champagne" only for the product of that region of France, but there were high quality bottles from other areas as well.)

Since the bubbles foamed and frothed, and the wraiths did not consume much, she was able to pour a glass for each guest that wanted one. She walked around the room, greeting each person and hoping that she would have time to come back for more conversation as the party progressed. For now, she was satisfied that so many were conversing, making beautiful music together, and enjoying the good food.

[Hookbill the Goomba]

"Hello, fellow flautist!" said Enca to the peanut-munching spirit. "Or do you say flutist? I prefer flautist, quite frankly -- it sounds fancier. Speaking of fancy, would you fancy a duet sometime tonight? Looks like we've got a miniature orchestra assembling," she said, nodding towards the piano and two spirits with a violin and viola.

Enca hoped they were in tune.

"Flautist, flutist, its all the same to me!" Replied Hookbill holding the flute to his mouth and playing a little melody to go along with the other musicians. They were just about in tune. Hookbill tended to go off on tangents during their play, improvising and making amusing noises. Enca was quite taken back by his unusual style as Hookbill did a little dance as he played. After their song, many applauded Enca's performance, but scowled at Hookbill and his unusual Flute playing.

Listening to Wilwa's song, Hookbill began to wish he could sing. It was an unreachable goal unfortunately, as his tong was transparent and his lips were see-though. He made his way over to Wilwa to congratulate her.

"Greetings," he said holding up his bottle, "Would you like some... erm..." he studied the label and thought for a moment, "Would you like some... wine? I know it looks like its been stored in a leaky cellar for fifty years and has had dead things floating in it. But I assure you it is of the finest quality."

He took out his flute and plaid a friendly tune (something along the lines of Boureé by J.S. Bach) before turning around to see people looking displeased with his performance, but all the same, they took his 'wine' and drank it merrily.

[Tigerlily Gamgee]

Tig looked around and smiled at everyone, but she then slipped away unnoticed. She had a job to go to and had to put off partying until later. She really hoped that things would still being going strong upon her return. She would hate to miss The Barrow Wight himself. She also wondered if The Phantom would show his face (in a manner of speaking), or Bethberry, for she had known them for quite some time amoung the dead. Nevertheless, duty called and she had to float away for a while. She assumed that no one saw her, and floated away.

[Child of the 7th Age]

Child stood at the entrance to the barrow, peering leerily through a crack in the stones as she pondered whether to go inside. She had promised the party organizer that she would help serve drinks and food, a job with which she was throughly familiar. But now that the day was actually here, Child was having serious misgivings. It was one thing to go to a party cloaked in one of her barrowdowns personna. It was quite another to drop her mask and show a hint of the woman who lay hidden within.

Child could hear familiar voices and merriment emenating from the shadowed recesses inside the barrow. It sounded as if the others were having fun. Well. she fumed, it was easier for them. At least when they came to the Downs, they had no more than two or three alternate identities. As one of the wights stationed in the Shire, she was in an altogether different situation. Over the years, she'd gone by dozens of names and identities. Only Piosenniel could claim more notches in her belt. Child was even having trouble remembering the original name that she had been born with.

Before coming to the party, she had sat down to write out a name tag. There were now a dozen names scrawled untidily onto the tag, most of them carefully lined out with a red pen. At the very bottom of the tag, two names were still readable: Camilia Goodchild, and Sharon, the 7th Age Hobbit. Child vaguely recalled that at least one of these had something to do with the name she went by in 'real life' but, for all the tea in China, she could not remember which was which. With a sigh, she pulled a red pen from her pocket and scratched through the final two names. Then, she wrote in even smaller script: Camelia, the 7th Age Hobbit followed by two very large question marks.

With a sigh of resignation, Child pinned the nametag back on her T-shirt, rubbed a few dirt spots off her well worn blue jeans, and floated in through the stonework......

[wilwarin538]

When Hookbill offered her some 'wine' she sadly declined, being only 14 she couldnt drink. She listened intently to his flute playing though some people didn't look like they were injoying it, she was. Wilwa went over and told him so.

[littlemanpoet]

LMP told Nurumaiel not to give it another thought so long as Liornung said something in the next little while.

Seeing that there was a lull, he found a place where he could gather everyone's attention, and then spoke in a loud voice.

"I've brought a little bit of poetry and I thought I'd read it off to celebrate this happy fifth birthday! Well, here goes!

These limericked eulogies ain't fictive,
nor laced with off color invective;
they're strictly fact
with more or less tact,
and all from a deceased perspective.

People were looking at LMP as if he had lost his marbles. Undeterred, he plowed ahead.

davem was a knowledgable fellow;
at the top of his lungs he would bellow,
'My peculiar gnosis
is not myosis,
so stop saying my brain's turned to jello!'

"Ooh," said someone, "wait till I tell davem what LMP said about him!" LMP's knees shook in his trousers. But he took up courage and tried another one.

Derufin was not fastidious;
his housekeeping skills were perfidious;
in every nook
he'd leave a book
and declare that Bunce's cleaning was hideous.

There was a lone snicker from one of the corners.

Aiwendil, master of zen,
enlightened nine tries out of ten;
to show his technique
he'd let out a shreak
and strut round the room like a hen.

Dead silence.

"Um, this next one's a little rough. Maybe someone can help me out with the last line."

Sharon liked her Tolkien with gin;
saying with raised glass and a grin,
"Like Frodo's two faces
my thinking embraces...

"So, does anybody - um - wish to try his or her hand at a final line that rhymes with grin?" LMP looked around the party guests for someone to relieve him from his embarrassment.

[wilwarin538]

" a fish with a fin????" Wilwa said with a giggle, her cheeks turning bright pink.

[Estelyn Telcontar]

"all the nicks that I wrote on my pin!" Esty/H called out spontaneously, having noted with amusement the difficulty that the said member had with choosing a name.

[littlemanpoet]

LMP grinned. Maybe this wasn't going over so badly after all.

"Anymore offerings for the final line?" he asked. "Sharon?"

[THE Ka]

Late as usual, another wraith enters the crowded room. At first it just looks like one wraith, then at a slight turn it revealed that Ka has brought all of its guises and avatars... Which forms a large crowd around the actual ghost in question. Some are in cabaret, some look like they have just crawled out of The Graceland or The Vogue in Seattle, some have paint all over them and paintbrushes in hand with their thumbs in hitchhiker position, others are protesting littering and animal abuse, and still others are reading or discussing what fun they have that the downs. One or two are being gloomy or stubborn of course... None still at this party, gets to see the true Ka.

From within the beehive of guises, a small harmonium chimes a simple little song of mysterious origins...

Ka's guises then begin to greet everyone in their own manners and share coffeecake.

[Child of the 7th Age]

"Honestly, Littlemanpoet! When will you learn to behave yourself?" Child came crashing through the wall with little of the finesse of the younger parrtygoers. She had one hand perched on her plump hip while the other was wagging in the air in Imp's direction. "Even if I am polite enough not to take your head off, surely Aiwendil or Davem or what's his name Derufin will surely oblige. And if you're going to accuse me of something, you might as well make it something interesting, other than simple overindulgence."

Child cleared her voice and harmoniously recited:

Sharon liked her Tolkien with gin;
saying with raised glass and a grin,
"Like Frodo's two faces
my thinking embraces
all the multitudes of sin
that makes Mordor spin....

"Alright, alright," she growled in response. "I could have done better. Only my barrow is a mess, and I couldn't find my rhyming dictionary in all the piles of stuff left sitting around."

[wilwarin538]

As Wilwa was slowly sneaking away from the group infront of LMP, because of her embarassement, a large group came in and drew everyone'es attention towards them. Since there attention wasn't on the last line of the poem and her ridiculous answer she calmed slightly and headed towards the newly arrived guests. But suddenly Child ran in through the wall and then the focus was again changed to something else.

[Hookbill the Goomba]

The antics of Child and Littlemanpoet had amused Hookbill. He stayed quiet and sipped on some Wine in the corner. Wilwa had been embarrassed by something, but Hookbill had hardly noticed, being preoccupied with the complaints he was receiving. He decided to put his flute away for now, until every one was a little more relaxed... or drunk.

[piosenniel]

‘Whoa up, Thistle!’ The rough dirt track from the edge of The Downs to The Wight’s barrow was rutted and strewn with sharp-edged, flinty stones. Pio wound the reins round the cart’s brake and hopped down for a look-see. It was dark and the stars, in honour of The Wight’s birthday had hidden themselves behind fat, threatening clouds.

She was an aging spectre, at best; her once Elven sight now dimmed from the bright lights of one or two or three or so light shows. A youth spent, or misspent as some had told her, under the evil influence of traveling bards . . . musicians of one sort or another . . . magicians, she called them. Dylan from the North Countree, playing and singing in the ruins round Evendim. Jimi, come back from across the East Sea. And Ginger, the cream of drummers.

‘Well those days have flown now, haven’t they?’ she said, kicking at one of the lesser stones stuck in the dirt. A woof from beneath the warm blanket on the cart seat came as an assent from her traveling companion. Max, the aging Pug. He raised his grizzled head and cocked a doggish eyebrow at her. ‘Yes, my sole duty in life now is to see to your comfort, your majesty,’ she said with a grin. She kicked once more at the offending stones.

‘I’ll bet The Wight planted these here himself to keep unwelcome visitors out,’ she snorted. ‘Fat lot of good that will do. Esty’s opened the door and I for one, intend to get a nice ankle bracelet to match the one for my arm I nicked a couple of years ago.’ She twirled the slender silver band on her left wrist, smiling as it glittered in the pale moonlight. She’d lived a long time in the Shire, and the idea of mathoms was firmly entrenched in her mind. To her way of thinking, the whole of The Wight’s treasure horde was a gigantic mathom pile.

Of course she’d brought something to leave in place of what she took. A couple of credit vouchers for Himself to spend at Funagain Games and Board Game Geeks. That should appease him, keep him occupied for a bit, while she perused his never worn stock of old jewelry.

‘We shall have to walk in from here, my dear,’ she said, stuffing the rotund Pug in her old leather knapsack. ‘By the One, you’ve put on a few pounds!’ Into the side pockets went some fireworks left over from last year’s party. She shouldered the pack, and fished out from under the cart’s seat the cake she’d made. ‘Great thing, this 7th Age invention . . . Tupperware,’ she thought to herself, thumping the sturdy plastic with her finger.

Pio smoothed down the wrinkles in her ghastly green T-shirt, the one with the lovely and lethal looking sword emblazoned on the back. She leaned over, causing her canine passenger to utter a yelp of displeasure, and dusted off her short, tattered denim breeches. As she righted herself, one hand served to ruffle the short dark hair shot with silver that stood out from her head.

Down the road, they went, Pug and Mistress . . . following the sounds of spectral music and song, until the entry way was reached . . .

[littlemanpoet]

"Well, Child," said LMP with a grin, "that wasn't strictly to the limerick form, but I'll let it go." He turned and looked at the newest entry. "What ho! There's Pio! Now, I need a limerick for her!"

Pio and Max came down the hill,
mathoms from Barrowwight for to shill,
but woudn't you know it,
she'd no place to stow it
except for a tupperware..... uh.... em .......

"darn, that last rhymed word always stumps me....."

He quaffed from a cup of punch Nuru had snuck into his hands, hopeful for an idea from the others present.

[THE Ka]

The crowd of the Ka clapped at Child's wonderful poem and humility - even though it was a wonderful crafting of words. The crowd continued to pass out the homemade coffeecake that had been prepared by the real ka, since none of the guises could even boil water...

Ka contemplates sending them back to it's barrow, if they cause any problems... ;)

[wilwarin538]

Mill?

[littlemanpoet]

"Do I hear 'mill'?" LMP looked around. "Going once, going twice...."

[Estelyn Telcontar]

Esty 'H' had retired to a well-lit corner of the barrow to read a highly exciting chapter of her favourite book. When she was finished and had written down a few thoughts (http://forum.barrowdowns.com/showthread.php?t=11890) in hopes of getting an interesting discussion started, she came back to the partying crowd. Still under the impression of what she had read, she shivered slightly and looked around the barrow surreptitiously to make sure there were no spiders around.

[wilwarin538]

I said mill!

[Child of the 7th Age]

I shouldn't have come. I knew I shouldn't have come. This just proves it!

Child sat demurely in the corner throwing darts of mental venom back at Imp . Even so, she had to admit that Esty/H and Wilwarin's responses had shown considerable class, certainly more than her own.

Her personal talents did not extend to rhyming poetry. With a push and a shove, she could manage some blank verse where nothing had to match or rhyme, but her best hope for achieving any real recognition lay in her voluminous scholarly treatises that touched upon various obscure minutia in the context of Middle-earth. She had tucked one bulky volume under her right arm and brought it to the party as a present for the Wight. Child wasn't sure if the Wight had any interest in reading 1,373 pages on "The Wingless Balrog, or Why Fordim Hedgethistle is Definitely in the Wrong". However, the book could easily double as a heavyduty paperweight. Perhaps B-W could find another use for the thing, if Balrog reading wasn't his fancy.

Child sat in the corner and vegetated, chastising herself for her inactivity. She should be out circulating and mingling with the other guests, or at least serving the drinks as she had promised Esty/H. Instead, she was having a serious angst attack. Child squirmed in discomfort. Coming in your real personna had definite drawbacks. No character in Tolkien that Child had ever read about had serious attacks of angst. Frodo, it was true, sometimes had little ones, but at least his case had extenuating circumstances. All the other 'good' book characters were generally quite sure of themselves. So where did that leave her? Her RPGs read like Middle-earth soap operas, with half the battles taking place deep inside her character.

For one minute, Child had a horrifying thought: What if she didn't belong in Tolkien's Middle-earth at all? What if she really belonged in Peter Jackson's move? Come to think of it, her RPGs and fanfiction read a lot more like the cinema version than anything Tolkien had set down on paper. Child shuddered uncomfortably and made a mental note to hide her stories from Davem and Lalwende lest they brand her with the tag "movie fan", a fate almost worse than death within the confines of the book forum.

Unwilling to face this grim prospect, Child wrenched her thoughts back to the barrow and went off in search of Esty/H to see if she could help pass out drinks.

[Hookbill the Goomba]

Not one to be left out, Hookbill felt he should add some poetry from his homeland into the air. He spent some time devising something suitable, in an upbeat mood, after all, this was a Birthday Party. He stood upon his table and cleared his thought.

Now, once, although his time is long due
There was old man, dressed in blue
he never wandered far from his home
There were many, who would pick a bone,
With him while he still had time
So he'd sit and wait till the weather was fine.

He'd dance about while some made a toast,
to the business of the one who'd boast,
No one would catch the old man in his land
But there are no battlements that are manned

While the old dogs howl with sadness
We know that the willow grows in madness
No one has ever caught him, he's the master
Do you know him? No one is faster.
He'll never be seen down by a mill,
His name is Tom Bomba-

At that moment, Hookbill slipped off the table and landed in a water bucket. There were cheers and laughter as Hookbill staggered to his feet.

"His name is Tom Bamba-" He began, but then collapsed in his seat.

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Fea sauntered happily through the door. She looked at her uncandied arms, for the first time in days not seeing some of many good looking guys attached to them. She spun in happy and, really, immature circles, dancing her way into the middle of the room and enjoying all the attention. Remembering the all important name-tag, she ran over to the table, depositing a large and unobtrusive looking bag on the table. Once the phantom gets here, she thought, then the fun will start.

Grabbing up a black gel pen, Fea took a piece of paper that obligingly already said "Hello, my name is:". She paused for a few moments, wondering which of her many nicks she cared to use today. She decided to start with a flowy and somewhat pretty looking "Fea". Following that, one could read a crossed out "Grace", a scribbled out "Professor", a hastily erased "Swans"... I may just tell that story later. she thought with a laugh.

Finally deciding on "Fea", she tossed the scribbled out name tag in the recycling bin and started over, carefully writing in small print at the base of the tag: "It rhymes with play-a, not pea.", pinning the piece of paper onto the left pocket of her beat up dark-washed jeans, miraculously hole-less, as was her custom. Making her way to the snack table, she snatched up some brownies while gracefully depositing some home-made chocochip cookies... The best I've ever had, as so many people informed her.

She ran bouncily, after so many hours sleep, over to LMP. "I'm back!" she cried. "Boston was awesome, if I do say so myself. I swear by Eru that that is the cute guy conglomeration of the world!"

Calming down slightly, she smiled at Esty. "Thanks for the invite. I hope you don't mind my being late... I was out of town all weekend and spent most of today sleeping off my fun. No," Fea looked at some of the others, "not THAT kind of fun. I don't drink. But according to rumors I..." she trailed off, staring angrily at a blank Barrow-wall. Somebody poked her from behind. "What?" she asked confused. Her attention span was notoriously short. "Oh yeah... Well, I'm just going to forget about those idiots and have fun here. At least now I don't have people giving me "five second, ten tops" to glance at paintings by Titian. Those people just have no sense of amazement over..." Fea trailed off, seeing looks of boredom on some faces, confusion on others, and random interest on a few. "Sorry..." she apologized. "I just got home last night. Fabulous trip... hope you don't mind my rambling on too much. Now that I'm here, the party can officially start!" she added with a big wink.

[piosenniel]

Except for tupperware, L'il!' Pio threw out as she entered the barrow. 'Just throw out the 'a' and use a diminutive.'

She grinned at the aspiring poet. She placed the container on one of the tables set up for food and prised out her creation.


http://metahtml.sourceforge.net/tutorial/diy/3/cake_green_s.gif


'Happy Birthday, Wight!' she called out to the dark corner at the back of the room. Placing her card with its game vouchers on the gift table, she accepted a glass of sparkling wine from H.

Delicious!

Someone handed her a nametag and a marker. She hated those sticky paper things. Always forgot them. They'd go through the wash and dryer and bond with a determined will to some of her best shirts.

In a bold hand, she printed ~*~ P ~*~, and affixed it to her bare calf, just above her new tattoo. 'No need to spill all the beans at once,' she said. 'Keeps 'em guessing.'

[Estelyn Telcontar]

"Tom Bomba-parsley? Sage? Rosemary? Thyme?" Esty/H asked, barely able to speak, since she was doubled over, helplessly laughing over the nonsensical poetry. She loved playing with words herself, and always enjoyed it when others did so.

"Dill!" Hookbill called out triumphantly.

[Lalwendë]

Lalwende hovered near the bowl of custard, remembering how her claims about its magical properties had been discounted. She laughed to herself, thinking how a demonstration might not go amiss, and that urge to create some mischief hadn't gone away. But then she looked at the crowd. There they were, the erudite, the witty and the talented. What good could her display do? She slunk away from the table and helped herself to a large mug of ale.

She was no drinker, her mad thoughts were usually enough to keep her entertained, so the ale soon had an effect and she found herself chuckling at the antics of the wights gathered around the chamber. The flute music made her feel even more merry and she whistled along tunelessly. She loved music, but had no ear for singing, and whistling was as close to singing as she ever dared to get. When Hookbill put the flute away she was disappointed. Maybe she could get him to play some more later.

But then she heard a familiar name and started to chuckle again. A limerick about davem? How he would laugh! She had to tell him.

Edging into a corner, she focused her mind and thought of the words. Soon she was laughing again as davem said what he thought of it. He didn't forget to joke about her obsession with osanwe, as ever. Lalwende was a bit red faced now, not just because of the ale, but because she had been reminded of one of her pet subjects. Could she ever go at least a week without mentioning it? She didn;t think so.

She soon shook off her thoughts about herself though, she had drunk enough ale now to make her feel more relaxed, and slowly she appeared. Instead of odd glimpses of a smile or a shadowed arm or leg, she looked more like one of the forkyped wights. Feeling encouraged, she shook out her long hair, and went across to where most of the fun seemed to be. Her skirts jingled as she went, barefoot, to listen to the limerick contest.

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Fea quickly joined in with the limericks, eschewing the inappropriate ones that she had learned in the company of so many young men.

There once was a dark stormy night
Where I travelled with naught for a light.
But I got here unbruised
And maybe amused
Some guests of our good Barrow-Wight!

[wilwarin538]

Since the party was livening up so much all feelings of embaresment or shyness was completely wipped away frowm Wil she pranced over to the piano again(dancing more then walking), doing afew twirls as she went, her white dress circling around her and sat down at the stool again. Instead of playing a slow song like she did before she played faster, happier music to match the limericks being read out.

[Hookbill the Goomba]

"Dill!" Hookbill called out triumphantly, "Tom Bombadill! And you shouldn't jest Mss Esty. He's an important man. No one knows quite who he is, save The Professor!"

Hookbill leaped out of his seat and was about to embark on a long debate over the identity of Bombadill, when he suddenly spotted the Cake Pio had presented. He smiled and apologised to Esty for his harsh words.

"Do forgive me," he pleaded, "I can get rather uppity on subjects like on to this." He then drew his flute and played the tune he'd devised to go along with his poem. A few wights sung his song as Hookbill Danced a top of his table once again, obviously not learning from the last time and he fell off once again.

[littlemanpoet]

"Fine rhymes there, Hookbill and Fea! Fine indeed!"

"Hmmm, Pio, I dunno. Hmmm.... I have it!"

Pio and Max came down hill,
mathoms from Barrowwight to shill,
but woudn't you know it,
she'd no place to stow it,
so took wine and drank her fill!

"But maybe we can work up another one."

Child had tucked under arm
a tome full of balrog charm
proving that wings
were useless things
when it came to causing alarm.

Oh! And one more, since I've gone and taken a peek at Esty's busy-work while we've all been partying.

In Esty's considered opinion,
Shelob and all her minions
are daunted the more
by the Lady of yore
than the brightest star in the heavens!

"Where's that wine? I'm thirsty!"

[Firefoot]

"I'm going to be late..." muttered the ghostly figure to herself. Firefoot urged on her likewise ghostly horse (whose name, oddly enough, was also Firefoot) a little faster as the Barrow-downs finally came into sight. She breathed a sigh of relief when she realized that others were still arriving as well. I must not be too late, then.

There was little that could be called friendly about the place, with jagged stones lining the walk and a chill wind blowing over the numerous barrows, yet Firefoot found herself looking forward to this party very much indeed, all the more so after having unfortunately missed the previous year's party.

Upon reaching His Wightness's barrow, she dismounted, bidding the horse to wander about as he wished. She entered the barrow, drawing back a dark green cloak, borrowed specifically for the occasion, to reveal a nice pair of jeans and a lighter green T-shirt (but no foot covering). She walked over to the table and set down her gift, an odd thing whose purpose she did not know. It was black and green in color, though, and interesting enough to look at in its own mysterious way. It seemed appropriate.

She then pinned on her nametag, which had scrawled on it simply "Firefoot."

Until this point she had paid little attention to the others who had gathered, but now she finally did. There were plenty whom she could talk to, but for the moment contented herself to take a seat on one of the plump chairs and enjoy the limerick contest. Sure enough, she soon found herself grinning at the entertainment.

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Fea waved as Firefoot came in, beckoning her over. Firefoot declined with a nod, so Fea continued.

"Were you aware that we should all wear crowns?
For we've proved ourselves not to be clowns
When we signed up on here.
We all made it clear
That it's brilliant folks who inhabit the 'Downs!"

[Estelyn Telcontar]

Esty/H applauded LMP's and Fea's newest efforts amusedly, then walked around the room, looking at the various clothing donned by the wights - what a variety! There was Nuru's lovely dress, 'Michael'/Formendacil's green tie - both snazzy and appropriate - various jeans in various stages of wear and tear, interesting jewelry - in short, all a fashion-interested eye could appreciate. She tasted the many interesting foods and drinks - cakes, especially chocolate, were always irresistable; and homemade specialties beat any restaurant food. She nipped at the elderflower wine and chuckled over Enca's account of the Esty Street sign - now that would have been an interesting sight!

The gift table was filling nicely; she hoped The Barrow-Wight would show up soon to see how highly he was regarded by his guests. With a wave at Cami and Pio and a promise to have time for a chat later, she approached Formendacil and Hookbill; "Do tell me," she said, "if the Balrog is an enigma, then do you think that Tom Bombadil has wings?"

[littlemanpoet]

Woot! Woot! Feanor! Way to rhyme it! Way to shine it!

[wilwarin538]

I wish I could think of limericks like the, Wilwa thought as she continued to play happily. She was glad to see Firefoot come in. Well there are still people coming, but were is Mister Wight?

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Fea smiled widely, laughing happily at LMP. Her sense of humor had been lost on most peers this weekend, so recognition at the party made her grin.

"Another?" she asked with a big grin.

[Hookbill the Goomba]

"Wings?" Said Hookbill, still lying on the floor, and a little dazed (so he did not notice the sarcasm in Esty's voice) "I can't see what importance that bears at all, Mss Esty."

Hookbill then leaped to his feet and peered about the room. He straightened his waistcoat and placed his flute back in his pocket (it came apart so it could fit there). Sipping on a glass of wine he was already regretting, Hookbill Staggered back to him chair only to find that someone had already taken it.

"Ah well," he sighed, "it's only solitaire."

"I beg you're pardon?" said the Wight in the chair, "What has Solitaire got to do with it?"

"It's an old expression," explained Hookbill, "Oh, never mind."

[davem]

Davem turns up to complain about the noise, nicks a bottle of Old Winyards while nobody's looking & stomps off into the night for a quiet smoke, muttering about 'the youth of today...'

[Estelyn Telcontar]

Esty/H to davem: :p

[wilwarin538]

wilwa to davem: :p

[Hookbill the Goomba]

"Now, now Esty" said Hookbill, "Don't cause trouble. :p"

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

"I saw that!" Fea cried at davem's retreating back. "Old folks of today..." she muttered. "No sense of fun." She smiled broadly allowing everyone to see that under no circumstances was she to be taken seriously.

"Davem's gone and come"

Fea cried,

"And he nicks Ol' Winyards for fun.
But I think he'll return,
More drinking to earn,
'Cuz ol' davem forgot to grab rum!"

[Lalwendë]

Lalwende just knew davem would do that. Nothing could interrupt his quiet smoke, except a bottle of Old Winyards. She knew all too well how merry he'd get after that and gave him a conspiratorial wink as he stomped away.

[Hookbill the Goomba]

Hookbill, was amused by this little poem and decided to add another small one of his own.


But alas! With old Davem gone,
Where shall our drink come from?
For all our songs, who here can boast
We all still await, our esteemed host!
So, with Davem, let us not start a fight
Instead, let us await The Barow Wight!

Hookbill bowed to the small group of Wights who had heard his poem.

[Child of the 7th Age]

That Davem ! Wasn't it just like him? To come nipping in from the Books forum and make off lickety-split with a fine bottle. One of these days, Child vowed, I shall drag him down to the Green Dragon Inn and stand him up on one of the tables, and not let him out till he's come up with a poem for the entertainment of our guests.

As she saw Littlemanpoet whisking by, she reached out a hand and tapped him on the shoulder. "You do know the way to a matron's heart. Praise me and I'll have little to say. But mention my "children"--the flesh and blood ones, or the ones in print--and I'll definitely forgive your earlier nonsense." With that Child saluted Imp and again went about her business of passing out drinks.

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

"Yeah," Fea said with not a little bit of amusement shimmering in her hazel eyes, and her cheeks flushed with laughter. "Where is our host? Dreadfully impolite, not to even roll out of bed to greet his guests. For all he knows, we could be sneaking off with all his treasures." She laughed merrily, turning to Formendacil. "Of course I'd like a drink." she winked at him. "So kind of you to offer. I'd just love a Fresca. My favorite soda, you know."

[Hookbill the Goomba]

"Ah, Fea," cried Hookbill, "Have you not heard of being 'fashionably late'?" Fea shook her head ad Hookbill took out his flute again and played a very short, yet cheery, tune. "But yes, if he were to arrive now, it would be less than fashionable. Unless, of course, he has a ring of power and is already here! Or perhaps he is pursuing Davem for the wine he took."

[Estelyn Telcontar]

Esty/H stifled a yawn with a discretely held hand and wondered - could she sneak off for a few hours of sleep? It was late in her homeland, and she needed at least a minimum of rest. Apparently she had used up her contigent of all-nighters in younger years, reading. Cami and Pio were there to help with the hosting duties, and what with the miracle of modern technology, she could relive the missing hours in the morning. She waved a cheery and weary farewell to all, then drifted off to her own barrow.

[davem]

Davem staggers in, recites a dirty limmerick about the Barrow Wight & an amorous lady troll, challenges everyone to a fight & collapses in a sozzled heap in the corner...

[littlemanpoet]

"You do know the way to a matron's heart. Praise me and I'll have little to say. But mention my "children"--the flesh and blood ones, or the ones in print--and I'll definitely forgive your earlier nonsense."

"Nonsense? I'm just channeling Eodwine of the Gap myself!" LMP winked. "Hmmm.... Lessee...."

Miz Bella the Tûk from the west
gave all of her students a test:
"Draw me a dragon
with its name tag on
and I'll make one come here as a guest.

Ah, there goes Esty, six or so hours ahead of us western land folk, going beddy bye. Night night, Esty! We'll trink plenty to your health! Be sure!"

[Ealasaide]

Ealasaide slid quietly in the door and looked around to see if she could see any familiar faces. Not seeing anyone right away, she cast a glance down at the dog at her side and smiled. The dog, a gold-colored coyote mix, panted up at her with a friendly expression and wagged her plumy tail. Ealasaide shifted the hot plate of broiled salmon to her other hand and scratched the dog behind the ears. Idly, she looked around for the long table where the food was to be left for the party. Finding it, she walked over and added her contribution to the row of dishes and blushed slightly. Mostly salads and desserts...

"Oh, dear... out of step with the world as usual..." she murmured to the dog at her side, then made her way over to the table where the nametags had been laid out. She picked one out and embossed it with a large "E", taking special care to jazz it up with a bit of interlace. Before setting the pen down, she took a long look at it and, not finding the nametag quite artistic enough, pushed her silver bracelets back on her arms and added a few flowering vines around the edges and took another look. Since it still did not look quite complete, she reached into her pocket and pulled out a bit of wire, a wire-working jig, and small set of pliers. A few moments later, she sighed happily and pinned the nametag into place on the shoulder of her green cotton blouse. A small length of silver chainmail hung down from the underside of the tag, its ends ornamented with freshwater seed pearls and tiny silver bells. At last, it was right. Should she make one for the dog, too?

She was just thinking this over when she looked over her shoulder and realized for the first time that she had created a small logjam at the nametag table already. Blushing more deeply, she stepped out of the way quickly and apologized to the folks behind her. "Ooh, sorry," she stammered. "I'm afraid I got a little carried away." She stepped a little farther into the room, where a number of fellow wights had already made themselves comfortable, playing music and reading poetry, and again looked around for familiar faces. She saw a few that she thought she recognized, and smiled pleasantly in their general direction, but, being neither a musician nor a poet herself, she happily ceded the floor to them.

Ealasaide pushed her striped hair - blond and ash brown - back from her face and with a quick word to her dog, retreated into a shadowy corner with a glass of strong red wine in one hand and a chunk of cheese from the buffet table in the other. She put the wine glass down on a nearby end table and took a small pocket knife out of the pocket to which she had recently returned her wire-working gear and proceeded to split the chunk of cheese between herself and the dog. She had never been quite comfortable at parties, instead preferring wide open spaces and the company of only a few companions, but this was one party she had not wanted to miss.

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

"What are you doing?" Fea heard called from an alternate dimension. Flustered, she responded.

"I'm... um... checking my e-mail?"

"That's not your e-mail."

"Well... it kind of is, see I get PMs, which are like e-mail, and I..."

"Right."

"Well actually, I'm writing limericks."

"Oh, well in that case... actually, no case about it. There's a pile of clothes waiting for you to fold them."

"Aww, but Mom..." Fea looked at her mother, hoping that the sad puppy-dog look might appease the woman's house-cleaning plans for her. No such luck, Fea thought sadly. Her companions watched open-mouthed as Fea carried on an entire conversation with thin air. Turning, Fea looked back at everyone.

"Sorry guys... my mom's being lame. I've gotta go clean." she sighed in a long-suffering way. "Maybe I'll be back later. I've got to get online and um... I dunno.. I'll look for excuses. Da Vinci! That's a great excuse. I've got a research paper to write and..." Fea's voice trailed off as an etherial hand reached into cyberspace to drag her away to do laundry. "Bye everyone! Don't lose my bag! It's... a suprise! For when the phantom gets here!"

[Hookbill the Goomba]

After pocking Davem with a stick proved to be less fun than previously expected, Hookbill got to his 'feet' and yawned. Back in his old time period, the sun had set hours ago and the moon was already high. Taking his flute one more time, Hookbill played a small tune to get the attention of anyone who'd give it to him.

"Fare you all well!

To you all, May you're days never grow thin
But, Davem, please go easy on the gin!
Would you Give my regards to our host?
That, in happiness, he may have the most,
Of course, I'm sure of him we're all a big fan
But just wait till you see The Saucepan man!
May this celebration not be fell
Farewell!"

[Firefoot]

Though enjoying herself immensely while watching and listening, Firefoot soon found that she desired to do more than watch the proceedings. She was no poet, least of all on the spur of the moment like this, so she looked around for some other company.

Ever a dog person at heart, the newest arrival, or her dog, rather, caught Firefoot's eye. At a closer look, Firefoot realized it to be Ealasaide. Smiling, Firefoot wandered over and greeted, "Welcome to the party! Nice dog."

[littlemanpoet]

"Great goodbye there, Hookbill! May your hangover be ever so gentle in the morning!"

The party goers seemed to be either leaving or plowing into "first supper", so LMP snuck out the door for a bit of fresh air, counting on being back before long.

[Ealasaide]

It was a instant before Ealasaide realized that she had been spoken to, but the words, "Nice dog!" caught her attention. She glanced up and saw Firefoot standing in front of her and smiling down at the dog.

Ealasaide grinned. "Thanks! Her name's Codijune. Are you a dog person, then?"

[Lalwendë]

Lalwende laughed loudly when she saw davem come staggering back in, she knew that the Old Winyards would take effect quickly. His smoke rings would grow more egg shaped and he'd collapse soon. One sniff of Barliman Butterbur's apron and he was bound to fall over.

The limerick was amusing, but she saw how everyone looked puzzled when she shouted out "Who wants a feight?". What did everyone want a 'fete' for? Weren't they at a party already? Lalwende snorted with laughter, but she knew if she'd said it, then everyone would have been asking her why they wanted new feet.

The ale was making her a bit tired, too. She knew that she'd be joining davem in that crumpled heap soon, but all the same, she decided to see if she could stay up a little longer.

[Firefoot]

Firefoot tried the name out. "Codijune. That's cool." She knelt down, letting the dog sniff her hand before giving her head a friendly scritch.

"I love dogs," she said, in response to Ealasaide's question. She stood up again. "I have one at home, but I had to leave him there today."

[Ealasaide]

"Oh, I wish you could have brought your dog!" Ealasaide answered with a touch of regret. "They could have had some fun running around together. What kind of dog have you got?"

[Firefoot]

"He's a sheltie - a little bit smaller than Codijune," answered Firefoot. "His name's Marco." She paused. Marco would have fun here, more fun than at home. "Maybe I'll be able to run home and get him later."

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Fea slid back through the door quietly. "Shh" she said... "Don't tell my parents I'm back. They think I'm doing homework, but I snuck away."

Seeing that the limericks were trailing off in her absence, Fea walked up to Firefoot and Ealasaide. "You guys are talking about dogs... can I join you?"

[wilwarin538]

Wilwa got up from the piano, her fingers getting tiered, and pranced over to the large group of people reciting the limiricks and laughing at davem. She danced around even though there wasnt music playing anymore until she plopped into a chair to take a rest.

[Ealasaide]

"A sheltie! Great little dogs..." Ealasaide smiled. "Codijune is half coyote, but her other half is collie. She and Marco are cousins in a way." She looked down at Codijune, who wagged her tail agreeably. "That would be great if you could bring him later. Codi would enjoy having a friend to run around with."

Just then a third person, Fea, joined them in the corner.

""You guys are talking about dogs... can I join you?" asked Fea.

"Of course," answered Ealasaide. "Are you another dog person, then?"

[Encaitare]

"It seems that our host is indeed rather late.... late as in the late Wightbarrowwight," Enca observed. She too had been snapped back into what some people might call "the real world" in order to help push an old car from one side of the garage to the other. Go figure.

Rather thirsty from the minimal manual labor, she sought out a drink. Being but 16 (therefore no Old Winyards allowed for her) and of the opinion that champagne was quite possibly the foulest thing ever created, she came upon a pleasant-looking bowl of punch.

As she looked around, Enca thought that this was one of the best parties she'd ever attended. Anything that combined the undead and verse had to be pretty good, she decided. And since it seemed that the limerick game was slowing down, she figured she may as well see if she couldn't start it up again. She climbed onto a chair with her cup of punch and announced,

Where in the world is our host?
I do hope he's not comatose.
So in the meantime
We can have punch and wine
But I think that champagne is gross!

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

"Dog person indeed. Three over-grown lap dogs at home. A pure German Shepherd, a pure Golden Retriever, and a mutt. All too big to be laying on my lap, but none of them are aware of it." Fea smiled, glad to have found a somewhat quiet corner. Her mood swings were as notorious as her attention span, and right now she felt like a bit of quiet discussion.

[THE Ka]

The crowd around the Ka soon ran out of coffeecake. After walking around for awhile, Ka felt thirsty. Though Ka was not found of ale that much, it would suffice. A small glass full was selected and passed to the center of the group. While drinking, a thought ran by Ka that since it was May Day, maybe it should pass out flowers, though it wouldn't be much of a surprise to the reciever. Leaving through the floor, Ka left its crowd at the party and collected the needed supplies.

Soon returning, ka found that its crowd was rather lost boubing around hither and tither. Collecting the group together, ka instructed the party to pass out the flowers politely of course, and say 'Merry MayDay!'. After settling down in a very dark corner at a single table, Ka's crowd spred out in the party with gifts in hand. At the table, Ka pulled out a sketch pad and began to draw.

[Firefoot]

Firefoot grinned, commenting, "But of course. The bigger the dog, the smaller they think they are, but the smaller the dog, the larger they think they are."

Before either could reply, Firefoot heard, Supper! "I'll be back," she promised, ducking out of the conversation. "And I'll bring Marco."

[wilwarin538]

"Thank-you, and Happy MayDay to you too" Wilwa said with a smile as one from the Ka's party came to her and gave her a wild yellow daisy. She smiled with a grin and softly strummed a guitar, that she had found sitting nearby, to keep her self amused until the arrival of the Barrow-Wight.

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

"It's true, Firefoot," Fea began just as her companion rushed off in search of food. "If you'll excuse me, Eala, I think I'll go cause some mischief in that direction."

Supremely unconcerned with the rest of the party's business, Fea made her way over to her previously mentioned large, unobtrusive bag. Slinging it carefully over her shoulder, she sauntered toward an empty corner. "Now where... is... that... toy?" she muttered to herself, digging through the depths of her bag. Random possessions flew through the air as partiers glared at Fea, who showed no signs whatsoever of noticing that a large stuffed rabbit holding a plastic eggplant had just hit Hilde in the back of the head. "Now I know that I packed it..."

[Ealasaide]

Ealasaide smiled benignly and waved as her human companions departed once more in search of food and excitement, leaving her alone once more with her dog.

"Merry May Day!" a new young woman said and handed her a flower.

"Thank you!" Ealasaide answered. "And a Merry May-Day to you as well." The other woman smiled and disappeared back into the crowd of partiers, gracefully ducking a flying toy on the way. Codijune jumped up to sniff at the flower Ealasaide had been handed and when Ealasaide held it down for her, she took it gently between her teeth and tugged. Curious at what the dog intended to do with the flower, Ealasaide let go. Codijune lay down and, holding the stem between her paws, proceeded to shred the bloom into a pile of colorful petals. When she had finished, she stood up and shook herself as though hugely satisfied with herself.

Ealasaide laughed and, with a surrepticious kick of her boot, shoved the pile of shredded flower under the long tablecloth of the end table where she had placed her wine glass. "Shhh!" she admonished the dog. She picked up her glass and took a deep draught of the smoky cabernet, a mischievous twinkle rising in her dark brown eyes. If she had known that the party was going to be this pet-friendly, she would have brought the cat, as well!

[wilwarin538]

Suddenly Wilwa had a great sourge of courage. She got up on her chair and cleared her throat, and recited, byfar, the worst poem that was recited that night.

O Wight, O Wight
O where could he be?
For he is someone I do not see.
Is he near?
Is he far?
Is he at a bar?
O Wight, O Wight
O where could he be?

[Firefoot]

Firefoot returned a little while later with not one but two shelties on leashes. She quickly spotted Ealasaide and headed in that direction. Marco walked calmly at her side while the other gawked about, giving a soft bark. "Hush, Maggie," murmured Firefoot, knowing full well the correction would do little good.

Both dogs' tails began to wag at the sight of Codijune, Marco's slower and Maggie's quickly. Firefoot smiled, keeping them back at first as she approached Ealasaide and Codijune. "The bigger one is Marco. The brat is my mom's dog, Maggie, who just had to come along," she explained. The term 'brat' was used with utmost affection that was clearly evident in her voice. As if to emphasize the point, Maggie woofed again, still wagging her tail, this time at Codijune. Firefoot sighed, grinning. "What am I to do with you, Maggie."

[Assasin]

A tall ghost came in through the door dressed in dark green cloak, black trousers, and a cream tunic with a dark vest over it. Her tall riding boots were covered in mud as if she had rode through the rain to come. She had medium length brown hair and blue-grey eyes. When she came in she put on a name tag that said "Lauren" for that was her middle name. She then proceded to talk to some friends who had arrived before her.

[wilwarin538]

Wilwa noticed the new arrival and went over to great her. "Hello Lauren. You have the same name as my sister. Its nice to meet you."

[Ealasaide]

"Two Shelties!" exclaimed Ealasaide in surprise as Firefoot returned with two of the long-haired little dogs. Codi, who was not on a leash, walked slowly toward the newcomers, wagging her tail. She touched noses with Marco, but as she approached Maggie, the little dog gruffed sharply, although her tail wagged quickly. Codi stopped, her large pointed ears trained forward. Then, she lay down and placed her shaggy head sideways against the wood floor.

When Firefoot made an exclamation of surprise, Ealasaide smiled. "No matter how small the other dog is, Codi's always the smaller dog," she explained. "It's her coyote instinct. That's how they show submission." After a moment, Codi got up and gruffed playfully at the other two dogs, trying to get one or both of them to chase her.

"Uh-oh..." said Ealasaide softly. She reached out to catch Codijune's collar before it was too late.

[Firefoot]

Maggie lunged after Codijune, and was stopped short by her leash. She gave Firefoot a look which clearly stated her disgruntlement. Unfortunately, this was all the encouragement that Codi needed. She slipped out of Ealasaide's reach nimbly and stopped a few feet away, inviting the Shelties to come after her. Marco was now caught up in the spirit of the game, and darted back and forth on his loose lead. Maggie put her front end down on the ground, wagging her tail in the air. Then she barked again.

Firefoot instinctively tightened the leashes. "Come on, guys. You aren't going to go chasing all over the barrow."

However, this did not help with catching Codijune. When Ealasaide tried calling her, the dog's attention shifted to her, then back to the other dogs, not moving, though clearly ready to. If only we weren't in a corner, thought Firefoot. As it is, the only way we can go is toward Codi, which will make her run... And Maggie and Marco were not helping. Marco had settled down slightly, but Maggie was clearly acting her wonted part of instigator.

Suddenly Firefoot had an idea. She slipped her hand into her pocket and pulled out a bit of meat from dinner which she had saved for the dogs. "Who wants a piece?" she asked, deliberately slipping a piece to Marco. Maggie forgot about Codijune for the moment and put her small white feet on Firefoot's leg. Firefoot let a piece down to Maggie, watching Codijune to see if she was tempted.

[Oddwen]

'Twas the very dinnertime of evening, when Oddwen finally sauntered to the 'Barrow to join in the festivities. There she was met by a door. Fortunately, she'd met with these sort of obstacles before, and could drawn on experience to overcome.
Immediately after this fearsome foe, she was met by a table with some nametags upon it, and several felt pens lying nearby, lonesome and horizontal. An idea flared within her foggy brain, and she was compelled to place the word "Alice" upon one of the labels, utilizing one of the felt pens laying near. After a moments thought, in infintesimal lettering, she placed this vulgar prose below the name:

When dealing with Barrow-downer Alice
Be aware her jests are said without malice
For being in a gravemound
Has caused her tofound
That she'd rather live in a palace!

And lo! she peeled the backing off of the label, and stuck the label upon her vivid orange and yellow hawaiian-style shirt! And started thinking normally (for her)!

Throwing prose to the wind, she single-mindedly headed for the cheesecake.

[THE Ka]

As Ka sat in the corner, seemingly unaware of everything around something suddenly caught it's eye. It was a rabbit holding an eggplant, that flew through the air with grace.

" Nice rabbit." Ka thought and began to sketch again, but another thing caught it's eye. One it's guises was now standing atop a milk crate, being a living statue of something or another. Hanging from its neck was a sign that read: "Happy Birthday BarrowDowns!" and below in smaller print read: " Also, Free hugs provided..."

ka rolled their eyes and thought, " What next? Free facepaint?" and returned to the sketch pad.

[Bêthberry]

The sky was darkening, although none in the barrow party were in any state to observe the passing into the west of the substitute light of the sun. Few at first noticed a small brown bird winging its way to the barrow.

Wyrd it was, the faithful falcon of Bethberry, who was herself enmeshed in proceedings somewhat similar to those here, an annual rite of celebration for the passing of a year. Parties, as we all know, belong to the realm of fairie, where sometimes our heart's desire can be met and sometimes spurned and more often simply given some sort of shrift, either short or long, depending upon the particular nature of the inhabitants, be they fair or foul, incarnate or symbolic. So, there was Bethberry trapped in story, betwixt this real world of which the invitation spoke, and this ether world of barrow down. Who is to say which spoke of fictional treasure and which spoke of truth? It would take a davem to know, a Lalwende to acknowledge, and a Fordim to pronounce upon, even leading aside for consideration such possibilities as a littlemanpoet could rhyme upon, or a Kuruharan to barter, or a Lush to drink to, or a Squatter to fulminate upon, or a Rimbaud to pun with, or an Aman to plead with, or an Heren Istarion to dig up, or a Thenamir to theologise about, or a Mark to speak in tongues about. Hesty could always play as the vessal righted itself! Perhaps a Son of Numenor could write an ode to pineapple which would put the right spin on things. Well, there were many other ways to characterise Bethberry's cauldron of story, at least as many as there are Barrow Downers. Whether that is one or many, of course, the discussion about the trinitarian aspects of Eru had not yet decided, to say nothing about what Eomer wore under his kilts or Boromir blew upon, or how many pots went into making a SaucepanMan, or how many breakfasts would fill up Pimpiowyn or how many children would be the right number for a hobbit. Well, two hobbits, that is.

But this is to digress, in a manner most unfortunate for parties. But that is the nature of Bethberries, who seem to take most unfortunately a serious line to the interpretation thereof. Seriouser and seriouser!

To return to the party: Wyrd, his head low, wings outspread at a degree that would make a balrog envious whether he had any or not, flew in and out amonst and between the various party members, some of whom he recognised as denizens of Rohan, his mistress's current home in Middle-earth. At last he spied the table resplendent with gifts and the other laden with food.

Two baskets Wyrd held in his beak, and tired indeed he was. The first basket he let fall upon the gift table, where it was meant for the Barrow Wight. In it lay a letter--no, not one of Tolkien's letters for gaming, nor one of those foreign ones, but a real honest to goodness communication, with a map outlining a quest for the Wight on his journey west, and more particularly, outlining the way back, to ensure that no matter how interested he became in his next adventures, he would always be able to find his journey back to the barrow wence his fame first spread and where he still had many faithful admirers.

The second basket Wyrd let fall upon the table of delectables and comestibles. It held all manner of sweet confections, berries covered in chocolate, cereals mixed with marshmellows, licorices of many frostings. And a brief note,

"Fellow Downers,

Alas and alak and foresooth and welladay and--here the writing trailed off, as if someone had grabbed the sheet of parchment and insisted she desist and then it continued in a very different vein--

Oh, all right. I'm in a jam here and cannot get away. Have fun without me, as I'm sure you will."

the note was signed,

"Boysenberry and fried chicken our specialties"
Knott's Berry Farm,
Orange County, California"

The note fell under the table where Lalwende had first been hiding but was found the next day by Hesty the Hostess with the Mostest.

"Curiosier and curioser," she opined. "I think our Beth has fallen on adventures in some strange wonderland." Little did she know how much the Jabberwock lurked in the words of Rohan's moderator.

[Fingolfin II]

Fin II burst in late, as usual, carrying drinks and a big smile on his face. His shadow wound it's way through all the ghostly patrons even unto the centre of the Barrow-Wight's wight itself.

'Five years?' he proclaimed to the world (or the Wights) at large, with a smirk on his face. 'I've arrived four too late.'

Nevertheless, there was a spare chair at the Quiz-Roomer's table. As his tired and ethereal frame sunk into a comfortable mini-barrow, he was dimly aware of a name tag floating within arm's reach. He put it on and so became known as the frightening and dashing "A".

[Ealasaide]

Smelling food, Codijune's black nose instantly began to twitch. Watching the little Shelties being fed meat out of Firefoot's pocket, she let out a soft whine and trotted forward, a hopeful smile on her face. Just behind the two Shelties, Codi very deliberately sat down. It was her only trick.

"What a good girl!" exclaimed Ealasaide with a touch more enthusiasm than was really warranted, but as she did so, she flew forward and attached the leash she had had draped loosely around her own neck to Codi's collar. She gave the dog's thick coat a vigorous runching, then winked at Firefoot. "Thanks! For a minute there, I thought we were off to the races. And that wouldn't do at all - particularly since I am trying very hard to be unobtrusive."

Firefoot grinned and, with a great deal of effort, reached past her own dogs to give Codi a little bite of meat. Codijune stood up to eat her treat, but as soon as she had gulped it down, she sat again, giving her new benefactor a fresh, very earnest stare. Her plumy tail brushed the floor behind her.

"Now you've done it!" said Ealasaide cheerfully. "You've got a friend for life."

[wilwarin538]

Wilwa noticed the time and was disappointed to find out it was time for her to return home. Sadly she hadn't gotten to see the Barrow Wight that night but she had school in the morning and it was late in her city. She gathered up her violin and looked in the direction of where her cake had been, it was completely eaten. She smiled and headed for the door, waving at those who noticed her quietly leave.

"Happy Birthday Barrow-Downs hope there's another five more to go." she said to anyone in hearing distance and she walked out of the barrow reflecting on how much fun she had had that day.

[Hilde Bracegirdle]

“Fortunately the chance of emus is only 60% today!” Hilde said rubbing the back of her head with one hand and turning unique sculpture of a rabbit holding an eggplant over in the other. “Half scale I should say, may a bit less,” she mused setting the thing down on the floor beside were she settled earlier to scribble a few paragraphs in her notebook. Standing up, she abandoning her half written post, and adjusting the large wooden barrette that had slipped down her straight graying brown hair walked about trying to find Cami. She could have sworn she’d heard her mention something about gin. That would be a welcome tonic to for this already stiff neck. But of course the after a sleepless night and hectic day one runs the risk of becoming a beaming yet breathing houseplant with such medicine.

Walking over to the table that held the nametags, she pulled off her tag, grabbed a flair and squeezed in ‘IN’ after the “G”. She was tempted to place it on her neck but settled for placing it on the other shoulder. Hoping for that to dispel the pain, she looked around and saw that Ealasaide had arrived. With a broad smile on her broader face she stood stiffly at attention and saluted both Ealasaide and Codijune, who seemed to be enjoying the gathering.

Shuffling over to the wall, Hilde leaned heavily against it and promptly began snoring even before she hit the floor. Goodnight, enjoy yourselves all you lovely wights!

[littlemanpoet]

LMP sauntered back in and passed Wilwa on her way out. He smiled. "Farewell and goodnight, Wilwa! I overheard your poem. Loved it!" She smiled in return and left.

LMP had returned with not only Eodwine tucked inside, but Falco, Harreld and Garreth too from the White Horse Inn, and therefore he had, of course, brought a keg of stout to help continue the loosening of various and sundry inhibitions, codifications, cerebriations, and so forth. And he even decided that if "that's not a real word", he'd start making them up on the spot just because.

He made his way up to the table, set down the keg for the best pouring, straightened his nametag, which still said the same thing as before, which was not entirely unsurprising, since frankly anything can happen in the ether of the barrowdowns (within magical reason and approval of mods of course!).

He reached into his vest pocket and pulled out a pint glass, and poured it full of the darkest, richest looking stout. He put it to his lips and sipped, and sure enough, it was the darkest, richest tasting as well. He was especially glad that things were turning out to be a lot bigger than first appearances might indicate, because that meant that his capacity for the stuff was certainly larger than in RL as well. Ah, it was going to be a great party for the remainder of the night. He sat down in a comfy and very big chair, and thought up more words that had never existed before.

[Meneltarmacil]

Meneltarmacil entered, not dressed in last year's finery nor in his green Ranger's cloak that he wore often as the character Thoronmir in RPGs, but in the green jacket he often wore in the real world. Somehow, he had managed to get all the way to Middle-Earth from Virginia, but had no clue exactly how he had found himself here. He brushed part of his long blond hair out of his face and surveyed the scene. Perhaps he could discuss the New Movie Script with Oddwen, or impress people with his knowledge of dinosaurs and other prehistoric creatures. If nothing else, he might be able to scare Nilpaurion Felagund out of his wits if the latter arrived...

He set down some tortilla chips along with a bowl of salsa. He did not mention the fact that the salsa was Extra-Extra-Extra-Extra Hot and could cause one's head to produce fire and smoke, however...

[Formendacil]

Formendacil had spent most of his day pigging out at the snack bar, which is not a good thing for a diabetic to do, but he taken his insulin (discretely slipping off to the little boys' room between limerics), and had generally just pulled up a seat at the snack table (which the Barrow-Wight frowned on, but he didn't seem to be looking), and generally ate from all the dishes present in a most hobbit-like manner.

Thoroughly sated, and benignly munching on a bowl of celery sticks, he was thus somewhat taken by surprise when Esty came over with a question intended to start a wise-sounding and intelligent discussion.

"Tom Bombadil, winged???" he said in food-induced daze, thinking that only a fool would ask such a question. "Of course not."

Then he realised that he was talking to a Moderator, and should perhaps elucidate. Besides, he had a reputation to uphold. No Burrahobbit, he!


"It should be fairly obvious," he said, "that Tom Bombadil is not winged. The renowned Master Bombadil was described as being like a Man, but closer in size to a Hobbit. Neither have wings, and surely, if Tom had had wings, then it would have been noted by the Hobbits. They might not have noticed such a thing in their haste to get Merry and Pippin out of the Old Willow, but they still had two and a bit chapters to mention the fact, not to mention that the panic-scene (and included description of Tom) was written afterwards, and surely so important detail would be noted? Afterall, it was mentioned that Legolas had brown hair and round ears, and that's not crucial to the story."

The end bit regarding Legolas hair and ears was intended as a joke, and Formendacil sat back, and gave Esty a broad wink, and waited for someone to have his words sink in, thus starting off a delicious round of frivolous Legolas-debates. Meanwhile, he grabbed another stalk of celery.

[Firefoot]

"I'm sure I do," grinned Firefoot. She put the meat back in her pocket. "That's all for now," she told the three dogs. "You never know when I might need it again." They all watched her for a moment more to make sure that no more food would be forthcoming. Finally convinced that it was not to be, they turned to other things. Marco, clearly tired, lay down at her feet. Maggie's tail began to wag once more as she pawed Codijune.

"Don't you think it's getting a little late to play?" Firefoot asked Maggie. It was getting late, where they came from, and those chairs were beginning to look extremely inviting.

"I think we'll be turning in for the night," she said. "I'm sure these guys will have a chance to play tomorrow."

Ealasaide nodded. "Good night, then."

Firefoot wandered over to the comfortable looking chairs and happily plopped down in one. The Shelties jumped up beside (or, rather, on top of) her. The three were soon happily fast asleep.

[Celuien]

Celuien glanced at her watch, astonished to find that the evening had already flown away. But time runs fast in good company. Although she regretted not having a chance to greet her esteemed host, she knew that she must leave, as her trip to class in the morning would be a long one. And so she raised her glass of wine and proposed a toast to the Barrow Wight. "Thank you for founding this site and the lovely party! May the Downs continue on for many more years." With that, she drained her glass and said her farewells. Gathering her belongings together, Celuien headed to the door and vanished into the dark mists that had gathered in the quiet hills.

[Gurthang]

Suddenly, a shadow appeared at the door. It was a man! Men did not come often to the Barrow-Downs, and never at this hour. Yet another look showed that it was not a man, but a body. The lifeless form appeared grey and dreary. He carried a sword in front of him with both hands, and wore a dark cloak that hid most of his features. He was of a tall sort, but did not look to be stout. No one at the party recognized him, for he was not a member of the Downs. His reason for coming was different.

A voice arose then, though the man's lips did not stir. The few that remained started as they realized that the sound was coming from the sword!

"Greetings and Happy Birthday! I have come to partake in the festivites, such as I can. I have come with the aid of one who exists only to carry and serve me. I am Gurthang, the Black Sword, Brother of Anglachel, Destroyer of Glaurung, the Bane of Turin."

A pleased gasp spread through the barrow, as well as a few giggles at the slightly over-dramatized entrance. The party went back to normal. Gurthang faded into the background, adding a bit to each conversation over the course of the night, but never lingering at one for too long.

[Ealasaide]

Having said goodnight to Firefoot and the two Shelties, Ealasaide decided that turning in for the night sounded like a very good idea. Before doing that, though, she looked around for Hilde Bracegirdle, with whom she had exchanged salutes a short while earlier. She intended to have a quick word with Hilde before finding a quiet corner where she and Codijune could retire for the night, but, upon locating her friend, saw that Hilde had already dropped off to sleep. She sat with her back against the wall, snoring contentedly ...and loudly enough to rattle the windows in their frames, if there had been any windows in the barrow.

Catching sight of Hilde's nametag with the cryptic "GIN" dashed across it, Ealasaide grinned, wondering if gin might have had something to do with the volume of her friend's snores.

"Oh, well," she sighed. "Goodnight, then! And goodnight to all my other fellow wights!" With that, she found a secluded spot on the floor nearby and curled up on her side, pillowing her head on her arm. Codijune curled up, in turn, in the nook behind Ealasaide's knees and with a single deep sigh, dropped off to sleep. Ealasaide lay awake for a short time listening to the ongoing merriment of the party on the other end of the room, then she, too, was overtaken by slumber.

[THE Ka]

Ka glanced at it's wristwatch, it was already 7:15 p.m. (Pacific time zone of course!). Not exactly too late for a party, but late enough for one that began earlier this day. The guise on the milkcrate was joined by a few others of Ka
's avatars who all took on different roles from the play of The Importance of Being Ernest, in a way that even Wilde himself would be in confusion.

" Great, I leave them alone for a couple hours and they're turing a party into a sideways show."

Ka put down the sketch pad and just stared out of the darkness at the party as one by one, members began to leave. Contemplating on leaving would be a good thing to do, but cleaning up afterwards would help whoever was left with the job. Thinking ahead, Ka did not grab a nametag, or was not able too because there were already about fifteen other guises with something along the lines of " ___ Ka" with an aspect filled in. Waiting, ka sat until guest really began to head home to help clean up the remains of a wonderous party. Making sure of course to keep the guises there to help as well, this time without face paint.

[Assasin]

It's nice to meet you Wilwa, is this party much fun?

[Orominuialwen]

A rather short, plump tweenaged girl approached the Barrow. She looked very much like a Hobbit, and was often told so, but the lack of hair on her feet proclaimed that she was most definitely human. She had a large black case holding an instrument of some sort strapped to her back, and was holding a dish covered in a checkered dish towel. With her was a tweenaged boy, her little brother. He appeared to be much her junior (for she looked rather older than she was), but in fact they were only three years apart. He carried a large pot of something from which the unmistakable smell of mushrooms escaped, and the two talked excitedly as they walked. A black warg followed at some distance behind, looking as if it did not really want to be seen in public with the two youngsters. Upon closer examination, the warg appeared to have a pair of shadowy wings on its back, but it was difficult to tell in the dim light.

"I hope Saucepan Man will bring his band again this year," the girl said, "I heard they were great last year."

"It's too bad we couldn't come then," her brother replied. "I just hope this party will be as fun as everyone said last year's was."

"Just so long as you promise not to spend the whole time sitting in a corner reading a book, like you do at every other party we go to."

"Hey! I resent that!"

The two reached the sinister looking door to the Barrow and went inside. The warg waited a bit, and then followed them inside, so as to look like he had come separately. The two siblings stopped first at the name tag table. The girl grabbed a pen and a tag, then hesitated over what to write.

"What should I put?" she wondered to herself. Finally, she settled on a translation of a translation of her name, and printed "Alassë" in rather girlish handwriting. Underneath, in smaller letters, she wrote "Oromin" and "Lady Harriet", so as not to confuse those who knew her by other names.

"Do you want me to write yours, too?" she asked her brother, "At least that way people will be able to read it!"

"I resent that too!" he said as he scrawled "High King Fingolfin" in handwriting that somewhat resembled heiroglyphics. Underneath, he wrote in parentheses "Not HKF!"

"Come on, we'd better put down all this food before it gets cold," Alassë/Oromin told her brother, and the two headed towards the food table.

[Formendacil]

Unfortunately for Formendacil's predatory instincts, either nobody caught his loaded reference to Legolas' hair, or else no one wanted to bite.

As it appeared that his explanation of non-winged Bombadils (now there's a question, he thought. If Tom has a last name, does that mean there are other Bombadils? He filed that away for future reference).

It was getting late. Almost his bedtime. Not that a distinguished man such as he could not stay up all night, but the party was winding down a bit, and he was rather tired- and full!- and it seemed most sensible to find a quiet corner of the barrow and fall asleep.

Unfortunately, between snoring and what partying was still going on, it was a bit difficult to find a quiet corner. Eventually, he settled on a large, well-ventilated broom closet. After a bit of judicious de-brooming, and the removal of all shelves and cleaning ingredients, he moved in the for night, hanging his sword, suit-jacket, and vest on the hooks ordinarily occuped by brooms, and then took his nighttime insulin, before curling up in his neon-green cloak, and promptly fell asleep.

"Night all," he mumbled to the closet as he fell asleep. Best of all, there was no alarm to wait for in the morning.

Hmm, he hoped breakfast would be as good as lunch/dinner/supper/assorted snacks had been that day.

[THE Ka]

Ka looked out, no one seemed to have any interest in cleaning up the party, even though it was falling into a state of sleepyness. Everyone had eaten their fill, and it began to take effect. The crowd that had hidden the ka was now rather tired and had ended their play with little clapping from members. They slowly but surely returned to the ka as it played a melancholy melody upon chimes that gave it a musicbox effect on the room. They floated and followed all in a state of stoic attention to the music's origins, whilst others would believe a musicbox lived in the dark corner.

Should it go home?, thought the ka. Helping to clean would be best, even if no one joined. Then, Ka noticed more guest had arrived and one of the members retired to the cleaning closet. Giving a moan of disatisfaction in these events, ka became restless. To help, or leave home? Below these concerns lived a different, more personal fear. Reveal one's self? Members were still at the party, even if they were comatose from sleep and food they would wonder were the crowd had gone.

Suddenly, though, out of no apparent concern to once thought pervious fears, ka instructed it's crowd of avatars to gather cleaning supplies, no deviations. When supplies had been rather forcefully attained from the cleaning closet ( and a member grumply disturbed from sleep) the crowd was instructed to clean up anything left out of place, and to leave the food table and guests unaranged. They calmly and quietly followed instructions, floating about sleepy members with complete ignorance of them, yet making sure not to alarm them.

Then, from the dark corner, Ka appeared in it's true form. 'It' was a tall young miss, dark hair highlighted with red hairs of parental origin enclosing a long pale face, dark blue eyes and a slavic nose above a thin little mouth always held too tightly, as commented by her relatives. The face in complete study, as would be told by friends of this creature, upon first impression would seem to the viewer 'mystifyingly angered' or 'darkly pessimistic', and that the old proverb, "don't judge a book by its cover" applied to this event. The body, was clothed in a dark length of fabric, of highly victorian importance, and attension given to detail so that it look like she had stepped out of a 'Pride and Prejudice' of her own making. looking around, Ka viewed to see if it was okay to continue. Nothing really happened, and with a smile she tied her hair up with a ribbon and said:

" Well, time to catch up." and with a garbage can in hand, made the rounds about the abode.

[piosenniel]

Max padded on silent paws behind Pio as she made her way down one of the winding, dark tunnels that led off the main chamber. Keeping an ear open for ghoulish chanting and eerie green lights, she poked into the trunks and old chests stashed about in the nooks and crannies. Old mouldering clothes, a few games and puzzles with pieces missing, a dog-eared thesaurus and some half finished poems.

One small trove of treasure was a crate of tawny port, bearing the insignia of The Bird and Baby. In a locked wooden box hidden behind the crate were a small number of very fine looking cigars. Loading the box atop the crate, Pio aborted her search of that tunnel and returned to the main room.

Hilde and Eala were curled up against a wall. One of them snoring. And there, curled up against her owner’s knees was Codijune. Max gave a puggish whine, hoping the dog would wake up. But both she and Eala simply sighed a bit and snuggled down more deeply into dreams. Nor was there any hope for Max that Firefoot’s three dogs would be waking soon. They were all deep in slumber tucked comfortably into a big chair.

Littlemanpoet looked comfortable, sitting in another big chair . . . alternating sips of stout with what looked like phrases savoured even as they fell from his lips. There was a pleasant look on his face as he did both activities.

Pio found a chair to perch in and gave a wave to lmp as she sat down. She held up a bottle of port and held up a cigar. ‘Let me know if you want one or the other or both,’ she mouthed to him.

Now where was Cami? Pio gazed about the room looking for the curly mop of graying curls. Little warps in Middl-earth time like this were the only way they could catch up on the progress of their various children . . . especially those of the fictional sort.

A young woman dressed in regency costume swept by with a garbage pail in hand. Pio raised her brows at the efficient, red-haired tidier as she picked up an empty wine bottle and a stray paper plate streaked with green jello. ‘Don’t clean too much, if you please,’ Pio asked THE Ka. ‘I feel quite at home amid the clutter.’ A thin spire of smoke from her newly lit cigar trailed up into the dark reaches of the barrow ceiling . . .

[Estelyn Telcontar]

H/Esty floated back into the barrow gracefully, the only person there who looked wide awake. Most were sleeping now, some, like LMP and Pio, resting with their favourite drinks and smokes, and THE energetic Ka had already picked up most of the mess invariably produced by any party worth its salted chips. "Thanks!" H called out to her, "You've saved me a lot of work!"

She was accustomed to the lack of activity at this time of day and indeed enjoyed a leisurely look around to start her daily routine. The conversations of the past night hung in the air, as wraith's words will, and she smiled over Formendacil's poke at Legolas, though she wished he could have been awake to hear the brilliant retort she had thought of - too late to be put to good use, as was so often the case. "But if Tom Bombadil has no wings, how does he get to the hobbits so quickly to rescue them?" was what she had wanted to say.

Interesting how the party had turned into a dogs' gathering as well, she thought; perhaps she should bring Ronya along - her Münsterländer was very sociable, loved a crowd, and got along well with other dogs, at least most of them.

When she was satisfied that everything was ready for the next onslaught of party guests, she settled down in a comfortable chair, put her feet up on someone's neglected backpack, and sipped a cup of green tea. She needed to gather strength, for the party carried on at least two more days!

[Lobelia]

Puffing and panting, a short, bespectacled hobbit hurried into the barrow, umbrella in one hand, plate of macaroons in the other. "Sorry I'm late! What a night! The umbrella turned inside out and I got soaked! But the food survived." She unwrapped her offering and the sweet smell of fresh-baked coconut treats wafted from the plate. "Hope you like them - I had to send to Harad for the coconut." Placing the dish on the table nearest the door, Lobelia adjusted her glasses and picked up a name-tag. She scribbled something unreadable on it and grinned around at the various shades. "Now, you don't really want to know my actual name, do you? Oh, well. It means "buttercup"..." Looking around, she spotted one shade in particular." Child, how wonderful to meet you at last. I have so enjoyed so many of your posts. On nights like this in the Shire, I make Bilbo let me use his Internet account so I can read them."
Grabbing a mug of spicy mulled wine, she mingled with the other guests, stopping by the Wight to wish it happy birthday.

[Hookbill the Goomba]

"Where's my Armadillo?" cried the obviously still half asleep Hookbill as he collapsed though the wall. Luckily as he was only a spirit, no damage was done. Scrambling to his feet, Hookbill was confused as to why the party was still going on. He had hoped to find his wallet that he'd left there the last night, but it was not to be.

"Have you brought a bottle?" asked the doorman, "It is a party, and you need to bring at least a Bottle."

"I was here last night," explained Hookbill, who was waking up slightly, "I brought a bottle of... erm... wine... I think. It was in this green bottle and had an orange label with a picture of a spider on it."

"YOU brought that awful stuff?" cried the doorman.

"Yes I did," said Hookbill wandering up to the buffet table.

[Hilde Bracegirdle]

Hilde woke up with a start at her accustomed hour. Looking around her, she saw that there were many bodies laying scattered about on the cold stone and some in comfy chairs. With a sudden sense of panic she checked her clothes and touched her hair. No, not a thin white gown and circlet, but she wore the same jeans and sweater as yesterday.

In her private fog, Hilde dug around in her bag for her Nexium. "We’ll be needing this," she whispered to Codijune who had raised her head from Ealasaide knee. Hilde’s stomach was on fire. Knowing that Ealasaide would be asleep, and wouldn’t be up for chatting just yet, she got up to look for a glass of water, or cup of tea or whatever to take her medicine with, and hopefully some sort of bland bread.

Finding her way to the tidied display of food, she saw some macaroons along side chips and glowing red salsa. Maybe just a little, she thought, debating with herself. How she loved good food!

With a plate heaped with cold salmon, chips and salsa as well as a goodly amount of macaroons, and a hot cup of tea. Hilde sat back down and carefully wrapped a macaroon in a napkin, slipping it in her bag for her daughter. Retrieving a CD player and shabby paperback copy of The Two Towers. She slipped a copy of Going for the One in the player and put her headphones on, throwing Codijune a chip before cracking open the book. Good food, good music, good book and good company. What more could she want. They'd have to peel her the ceiling soon!

[THE Ka]

Sometimes, when people themselves want to be an utter secret to the world, even if it is a barrow, it can be difficult for them to 'warm up' to other beings of their same accord. Ka felt a sudden rush of anxiety whenever another member (though there were few at that hour) mentioned or interacted with her, it would feel as if frame of her being, though quiet translucent, would crumble like stone on the floor.

Other members had begun to wake, and though not entirely ignoring the comments made by other members, ka continued to clean up what seemed too much of a mess. Soon, there wasn't really much else to clean or do, and the guises where now playing some game or another and had completely ignored most of the cleaning entirely. ka went back to her bag, and the corner and finnished reading The Picture of Dorian Grey in silence.

[Lalwendë]

The morning mists swirled gently about the stones and all was quiet after the night before. A shape appeared through the grey dawn, a small creature pushing a wheelbarrow. It was Lalwende, moving quickly over the dew soaked turf. She entered the barrow without stopping and a few minutes later reappeared.

In the wheelbarrow lay davem, sleepy but still clutching an empty bottle of Old Winyards in one hand, and his pipe in the other. He struggled to sit up but his head was sore and he decided it was far too much effort and lay back down again. "Just lay still now," scolded Lalwende. "We'll get to Mrs Butterbur's Pie Shop and have a nice fry up, that'll sort you out".

She pushed davem's arms back into the wheelbarrow and tutted before giving it a big push to get it going. "But I want a smoke!" wailed davem, trying to sit up again. He pushed down on the sides of the wheelbarrow with his hands, it gave a lurch and he was thrown from it. He rolled down the slope into the mist and Lalwende ran down after him, cursing.

"Will you do as you're told?" she snapped, hauling him back onto the wheelbarrow. And off they went, disappearing into the mist until only their voices could be heard, growing ever more faint until they too faded into the silence.

[Hookbill the Goomba]

The buffet table was still laden with many different foods. Although most of the best food had gone many hours ago. There were a few sandwiches, sausage rolls, and one or two cheesecakes. Hookbill took a plate and placed two sandwiches and a slice of cake and sat next to a small table. There were a good many wights sleeping on the floor near to him, one of them had a pouch of old Toby open and spilling onto the floor. Being careful, Hookbill took some and lit it in his long wooden pipe.

"Still no sign of B-Wight?" shouted Hookbill to a small group of Wights that were chatting and laughing in the corner, "Will he ever show?"

"Who can tell?" one said with a mouth full of food, "Barrow Wight comes and goes as he pleases. Perhaps he still sleeps."

[Witch_Queen]

She heard a familar voice. Hookbill is already here. Her black hair was pulled back into a pony-tail. The only hair still down was her white streaks in the front. The smoke from the pipes still lingered in the air. Slowly walking up behind the man Witchie decided to give Hookbill a little scare if she could.

She placed her soft white hands over his eyes. "Its good to see you Hookbill." Her journey to the party was one full of excitement but tiresome. "You know sometimes I actually do wish I lived in the trunk of my car. But then again I think it would be best if I had the car parked in Rivendell." She looked around to see who else she might recognize. "Do you mind if I hang out with you for a bit?"

[Hookbill the Goomba]

"Not at all," replied Hookbill offering Witch Queen a glass of wine, "the more the merrier." He took out his flute again and began to play a little tune. Some who were sleeping awoke, if only to throw things at Hookbill. Sitting back down in a huff Hookbill began to mumble something about people having no taste in music. He then picked up his pipe and began blowing smoke rings all about. Slowly he began yet another poem.

When spring unfolds the branchen leaf, and sap in the bough;
When Light is on the wild-wood stream, and wind is on the brow;
When stride is long and breath is deep, and keen the mountain air,
Come back to me! Come back to me, and say my land is fair!

It was the old ent's song. One which Hookbill had loved since the first time The Professor's work had been known to him. He was not a singer, and merely recited the poem while he sat in his chair.

[Estelyn Telcontar]

Esty/H decided that it was high time all these sleeping wraiths were roused; after all, the party isn't over until the fat lady sings, she chuckled to herself. She winked conspiratorially at those who were awake already - or still - and wafted over to the grand piano, opening the lid wide for more volume. Then she played a rousing march to the tune of "Happy Birthday".

"Welcome to the second day of the Barrow Birthday Party!" she shouted. The reactions were as mixed as the previous day's celebrating had been - some smiled, looking forward to more fun; others groaned, wishing that they had chosen their drinks more wisely last evening. Esty/H noted with a grin that some of the wights were missing - she had seen Lalwendë bring davem out and wisely refrained from commenting.

"I'm glad you came!" she greeted Witch_Queen, the first new guest of the day. "We have lots of fun planned for today's celebration - I hope you enjoy yourself!"

"Now," she addressed all, "how about a bite to eat, and then we'll warm up with some more music. All those who brought their instruments can join in - perhaps we can rouse The Barrow-Wight today!"

[Hookbill the Goomba]

"Now," Esty addressed all, "how about a bite to eat, and then we'll warm up with some more music. All those who brought their instruments can join in - perhaps we can rouse The Barrow-Wight today!"

"Here, Here!" Cried Hookbill waving his pipe in the air, "My his skin never fall off!" There was mixture of dim laughter and people saying 'I don't get it'. Hookbill encouraged the other flautists and musicians to begin to play in order to arouse the sleeping wights.

[Nurumaiel]

Nurumaiel was well-pleased with Esty's announcement, and she went to that dark, dusky corner to retrieve her fiddle. In the ever thickening crowds, she had begun to become rather overwhelmed, trying desperately to remember names and faces as passing hellos were said. And she wondered helplessly if she were too dressed up for the occasion. Well, it could not be helped. Besides, the dress was lovely.

She had tuned her fiddle just before she left, so she had no concerns about that. Her concern was that she wouldn't be able to play the music that the others were capable of. Perhaps she was not skilled enough; perhaps she hadn't any idea of how to play that kind of music at all. The Harvest Home was a rather familiar tune... but, then again, only with a certain type of musician.

"But, thank goodness," she murmured, "I think I'm capable of just playing about with the others... I hope!"

[Hilde Bracegirdle]

Putting away both book and CDs, Hilde got up and walked over to where a group with instruments was assembling. Ah the real thing! It was marvelous how so many knew how to weave this sort of magic. And as she plunked down close by to listen, she was greatful that the Barrow-wight had become so very tolerant of frequent guests.

Still the thought lingered in her mind that perhaps a disembodied arm might appear when least expected, and she was glad Ealasaide had Codijune to keep watch as she slept. Even the dead do not enjoy being disturbed, when sleeping. And Eala must have had a late night, indeed!

Taking out her barette, and shaking her head, Hilde perched on the arm of a small flowered sofa. Unfortunately, she looking more like Gloria Steinem than a proper hobbit, as she sorted with interest through the expensive and ancient baubles stewn on the side table.

[Maeggaladiel]

Maeggaladiel ran through the green trees, the wind rushing past her ears and the ground flying beneath her. Her eyes were wide as saucers and her hands were clenched into fists. The growling was louder now, and it was right behind her.

"Go away!" she screamed. Suddenly her foot caught on a tree root and she fell to the ground. Her momentum kept her rolling head over heels for a few moments before she came to a stop, slamming against a fallen tree.

The creature chasing her came closer. It was large, looming and....

"Johnny Depp?" Maeg said, confused. It was indeed Johnny Depp.

"Yeah. You dropped your iPod," Johnny said. "And I love you."

"It's not my iPod," Maeg replied.

"Oh."

There was a moment of silence.

"Wanna do the chicken dance?"

"Ok!"

Johnny turned on the iPod and they started to dance to the music.

"I wanna be your lover, baby,
I wanna be your man..."

Maeg woke up from the dream as the radio alarm clock switched on.

"Woo, that was weird," she said, vowing never to eat cookie dough before bedtime again. She looked at the clock.

"^&(*@@!!" she cried. The Barrow Downs Birthday Party had started ages ago! Running like a madwoman, she threw on the blue party dress and did her hair and makeup.

A few minutes later she arrived, slightly out of breath, at the party. She looked around. No Barrow Wight?

"Did I miss the entire party?" she grumbled, putting her gift on the table.

[piosenniel]

A new day it seemed had pierced the green haze of The Wight’s barrow. Partygoers were starting to rejuvenate themselves, waking from dreams. There was Eala, still sleeping - her dog at her knee. ‘Sleeps like the dead,’ Pio chuckled at her own poor joke. Hilde was up, though . . . and what were those shiny things just catching the light that her fingers were drifting through. Pio shut ‘The Atlas of Middle-earth’ which she’d been coloring in and put her colored pencils back into her pack.

Unfolding herself from the chair, she tucked the now cold remains of the cigar behind her ear. Max raised a Puggish eye and stretched out on the chair cushion . . . as if to say, ‘I’ll save this for your return.’ He soon fell back to snoring as Pio made her way to Hilde.

‘Good morning!’ she said. By the One! Pio thought to herself as the light from one of the crusted Noldorin lamps fell on Hilde’s hair. Reminds me of one of my icons from ages past . . . and hasn’t she aged well! She glimpsed a familiar bottle sticking out of the woman’s bag. ‘Little purple pill . . . know it well . . .!’ she laughed.

Pio’s gaze drifted down to where Hilde’s fingers played with the baubles. ‘Do you play or sing? she asked in casual conversation, her eyes on the alert for a promising piece of jewelry.

[Formendacil]

It is unknown if the singers woke up the Barrow-Wight, but it is certain that they woke up Formendacil. Still sequestered away in his broom closet, he woke with a bit of a start as the music, acting as a surrogate alarm clock, broke into his consciousness, and woke him from a most pleasing dream that had to do with the random acquistition of Lego.

Getting up and heading to the washroom, he tested his blood, discovered that he had eaten WAY too much the night before, took a correspondingly large dose of insulin, and then hunted down his backpack. Once he found it, he changed into a fresh suit of clothes. Twas no suit this time, but a more medieval costume. Once he re-emerged from the closet, he was dressed in blue jeans, golf shirt, and looked a good deal more causal than the day before. Once again, he slung his sword onto his belt, and pinned a small elven pin to his collar, and hung a medal of St. Joseph over his shirt.

Then he pulled his breviary out of his backpack, guiltily noting that he had missed both his Morning and Evening Prayers the day before. Heading down the hall, he found a quiet corner in the kitchen, where he began mouthing the Psalter. It was the feast of St. Athanasius, quite appropriate he thought, considering that he was in a place where there was bound to be a few people willing or able to debate a little religion. Formendacil didn't LOOK for such debates, but tended to enjoy them considerably when they came. He was bad that way....

[Firefoot]

Firefoot awoke to the sound of music and found herself buried under her two dogs. "Time to get up," she told them. "Come on; move." The pair hopped down from the chair, stretching. Firefoot did likewise. I wonder how long I've been sleeping... Not too late, it would seem; others were still asleep.

Clicking her tongue for the shelties to follow her, she made her way to the entrance of the barrow. She whistled for Firefoot (the horse) to come. A few moments later she was greeted by the horse, who stood awaiting her signal. Firefoot leaned over toward her horse and whispered, "Watch out for these two. They need to get some excercise, and I would not have them wander into a barrow by mistake." Not that she thought they would; animals were smart like that. The horse nickered in what seemed to be agreement, and Firefoot knelt down to unclip the dogs leashes. "Be good," she told them, "and come back soon." With that, the dogs were off, chasing after each other. The horse went trotting after them, ears up with interest. Firefoot grinned, confident that her dogs would be fine.

With that, she headed back into the barrow, intending to head first for the buffet, and then to find some other wight with whom she might talk...

[Hookbill the Goomba]

Hookbill's spirits were high. He was now wide awake and already enjoying playing his flute to the best of his ability, although many told him to shut up. He just smiled at them and asked if they had any requests.

"Get some flute lessons!" One said. Many laughed. Hookbill frowned and sat back down.

[wilwarin538]

Wilwa woke up this morning still very excited about all the festivities that had acoured the night before. She was still disapointed that she hadn't gotten the chance to see the Barrow Whight so she got dressed and headed back over to the barrow, wondering how many had stayed overnight.(she brought her light blue violin just in case)

Luckily when she arrived there was a large group of people playing music, and a song she new. She opened her case and ran over to join the group. As she played she noticed the BW still hadn't shown up. Maybe this would wake him.

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

After her mother forcibly encouraged Fea's laundry-doing, her father ousted her from his computer. She had waited all night and day to get back to the party.

She walked through the barrow-door the second day of the party wearing the same outfit she had worn to school... dark washed jeans, a black tank top, and a fitted white shirt with grey and black stripes. Little did her consort of the weekend know that it was chosen with him in mind... Or maybe he did know, as they had nearly traded shirts for the afternoon, Fea's white shirt for his Pink Floyd concert tee. Her jewelry was an eclectic mix of three necklaces, four bracelets, and a single earring. Her flipflops got kicked into a corner as soon as she passed through the barrow-door. Her mind was on the peanut M&Ms in front of her and the pile of papers to be edited before 5:00.

Waving cheerfully to a few somewhat hung-over members of the crowd, Fea made her way over to LMP. "Can I join you in making new words?" she asked politely. "And have you seen the phantom? I'm surprised he's not around causing mischief. My large and unobtrusive bag is sitting in the corner waiting for an appropriately mischivous companion to help me with."

[the phantom]

The Barrow-Wight is going to be furious thought the phantom as he took in his surroundings. The warm glow, the pink haze, the flowery scent- this isn't BW's style at all. I told him he should have had some of my castle crew take care of the decorations and such.

The Phantom waved his hand at one of the walls and immediately the flames of all the torches on that wall turned green.

That's a bit more like it.

A servant approached. "Here is a name tag for you, milord."

"Do you know who I am?" inquired The Phantom.

"Why yes, of course I do!" answered the servant in injured tones. "You are The Phantom. Everyone knows that."

"Then what purpose would a name tag serve?" returned The Phantom.

"Well...no purpose at all, I suppose...yes, I see your point," replied the servant.

"Good. Now, since you have wasted my time I believe you owe me some compensation," said The Phantom. "There is a small job I would like you to do for me."

"Of course," answered the servant, not daring to refuse.

"There are three trunks being guarded by my men out in the carriage. Bring them inside and set them next to that corner table, where Lady Fea's bag is. Then, I want you to guard them the rest of the evening."

"But sir!" protested the servant, "My service will be needed elsewhere during-"

"Yes, I'm sure you'll be needed to do many important things at this party, like the very important job you're doing now- handing out name tags," replied The Phantom. The servant's shoulders sank and his head drooped. The Phantom leaned in and spoke quietly, "Wouldn't you rather be doing something of greater value? Inside those three trunks are gifts for The Barrow-Wight. You will not only have the honor of guarding his gifts, but I will even let you hand one of the gifts to him when I present it."

The servant's head lifted and his eyes brightened. "I'll go fetch your trunks immediately!" he said, and walked quickly towards the door.

The Phantom walked over to the corner table and sat down. Fea left her bag here. I'm sure she'll be back soon.

[Hookbill the Goomba]

Hookbill leaped upon his table once again. Hoping to encourage people to sing and present new songs to lighten the sleepy mood. He played a little tune on his flute before reciting a new poem.

Come all ye minstrels, dance and sing
This is supposed to be a jolly old thing
So play you're voiles, and raise your voices
So that The Barrow Wight rejoices
Let our play ring out over the dell
That none can say that it is fell
Barrow Downs and Brandy wine
We all see the weather is fine
So SING! Of many different things
But mostly of The Lord of the Rings!

Some cheered, but others threw things at Hookbill, who had to quickly duck to avoid a tomato that was heading for his head.

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

"Ah, so there he is!" Fea cried, making her way over to the phantom. "The party had been getting so dull without you. Three trunks, m'boy? Whatever could be in them? And of course one is for me."

[Estelyn Telcontar]

"Thank you for the song, Hookbill!" 'H' called out, applauding. "And thanks to all you wonderful musicians who have made this party special with your contributions. Those of you who were here yesterday heard LMP and others creating comical limericks and reciting them to us. Newcomers who'd like to carry on are welcome to continue rhyming, but I have a new competition for those who prefer prose discussions to poetry. Here it is:"

Clearing her throat for additional drama and suspense, she climbed onto a chair and announced, "It's time for the Barrow-Downs Crackpot Theory Contest! Yes, you heard right - do you have a crazy idea about Middle-Earth that you can't quite prove? Tell us about it, and we'll debate the pros and cons of it. Here's mine to start things off - you know, The Barrow-Wight always tells us to give examples when we post an idea.

"I postulate that Tom Bombadil has wings. How could he have come to the rescue of the hobbits in the barrow so quickly if he hadn't?!"

She climbed off her soapbox -- I mean chair, of course! - and waited with interest to see if anyone would take the bait. Perhaps Michael/Formendacil? Or the phantom? This could be fun!

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

"Of course Tommy 'ol boy has wings!" Fea cried from her spot beside the phantom. "Tolkien ne'er explicitly stated that he didn't, and he was wreathed in shadow at one point, which shows for certain that his arms were actually wings and could be used, given certain air currents and situations, for flight. However, the ostrich blood located in his veins made it extremely difficult to actually fly, and so the motion was more like running with winged speed than anything else!"

[the phantom]

"One trunk for you, my dear? Well, yes, that was the original promise- that I'd bring a few gifts for you as well, but I am afraid that I have not brought your gifts with me."

Fea would've glared at him for breaking his promise if he were anyone else, but he wasn't. He was The Phantom, and she knew that he never broke his promises. He merely rearranged them, and always for the better. She waited for him to continue.

"I didn't bring them because several of them were too large to bring," The Phantom said with a wink. "The roads through this part of Middle Earth aren't at all suitable for large cargo. I am afraid you will have to make a visit to my castle to claim your presents. How does two weeks from today sound?"

"Well, I don't know," said Fea with a playful grin. "I'm awfully busy this time of year."

"I'll even throw a party in your honor," The Phantom offered.

"I'd really love to, but I'm getting ready for next Fall's big trip-"

"I'll give you a gift right now to tide you over," countered The Phantom.

"I simply can't refuse, can I?" laughed Fea.

[Child of the 7th Age]

Child opened her eyes and groggily gazed around. Despite what Littlemanpoet had implied, she'd had no trouble with gin. But she had consumed a number of pints of ale and finally laid her head down on the table for several hours to snooze off the effects.

Again awake and alert, she glanced about the room and was surprised to see two dogs who had come to the party. Much to her surprise, she saw that they were with Pioseniel and Ealasaide. Her face belied her true feelings concerning the interlopers. Noisy, slobbering creatures! They looked too lively to be dead. Over the years, Child had lived with an assortment of dogs, all shapes and sizes, and frequently was left to clean up their messes in the yard and on the footpath. Why couldn't a dog be tidy like a cat? This was one subject on which the Professor had definitely gotten things wrong. There was nothing as appealing as a large purring furball!

Child reached down to unlatch her bag, looking for the plate of lox and bagels that she had brought to the party. The bagels were still there, but the lox had totally disappeared. Digging into the bag a bit deeper, she was surprised to find her dear, sweet Cornelius, his tummy round and firm, catnapping at the very bottom of the sack. Corny wiggled out of the bag and arched his back in disapproval as he spied the two dogs perched near their owners. The offended cat flung a jaundiced look at Child, one that clearly said why did you let these canine partypoopers come to this lovely gathering? And then, before Child could even lift a finger, her cat had leapt down and gone tearing across the room towards the two dogs with loud and menacing hisses.

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Laughing happily at the promise of more presents, Fea's severe mood swing over the willfull destruction of school property (that she had needed to use) was lifted once more. Who destroys CDs? she asked herself. And even worse, she thought with a grimace, who puts the shattered pieces in the C-drive of MY computer???

[piosenniel]

Max buried his head beneath the small accent pillow in the armchair. Who knew The Wight was into decorating? he thought to himself. Further ruminations included his thought that if he couldn’t see the cat, the cat could not see him. Unfortunately, his plump Puggy backside offered a tempting target for The Beast . . .

Pio wandered over to where Child stood, and dipped her arm into her friend’s bag. ‘Bagels! Yumm!’ she fished around for the lox or at least a smear of cream cheese. Her attention was caught by the mention of wings.

‘Hot sauce!’ she cried out. ‘And blue cheese dressing . . . and a few celery sticks, if you don’t mind.’

‘It’s a “discussion”!’ hissed a nearby serving-wraith. ‘Not the menu!’

‘Ratz! Well now you know why I’m never in the Books Forum . . .’

‘Indeed,’ sniffed the wraith, removing the stale cigar from its perch behind Pio’s ear.

[the phantom]

"Esty- you 'postulate that Tom Bombadil has wings'? You say that as if the matter is undecided. He does have wings! The speed with which he arrived at the barrow is good evidence indeed, but why must you focus on such circumstantial evidence when there is proof within the pages of Frodo's book, The Lord of the Rings?"

The other guests perked up their ears. The Phantom's awesome powers of logic and textual interpretation were the stuff of legend.

"If you will recall, Tom once sang-
'By that pool long ago I found the River-daughter,
fair young Goldberry sitting in the rushes.'
Depending on the species, rush can be anywhere from one foot to over three feet in height. If you visit the Withywindle valley, you will see that the predominant rush growing there is the juncas polyanthemus, which usually ranges from two to three feet in height. But, as you know, the plants of the Old Forest are extraordinary. The rush along the Withywindle are between four and five feet tall! Now, how could Tom have seen Goldberry 'sitting' in the rushes unless he was in the air at the time?"

No one knew.

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

"Ah, but what we are all forgetting, but what just came to my mind, is that Tom Bombadil cannot possibly have wings, because this mystery of his identity has been long since solved. How foolish of me to forget, but now, that is how it goes after a long day following little sleep and the dreading of needles and my final concert tomorrow..."

Taking a deep breath, Fea found that she was unable to continue. The phantom passed her a tall glass of lemonade (as there is, of course, nothing better for quenching thrist) and looked at her expectantly to continue. She obliged, standing before the gathered audience.

"You see... Tom Bombadil is the Witch King. Why else would he have felt so close to the 'Downs? Why else would he look sadly upon the ruins of old? Because it was his own fault! And don't you dare disagree, because you can't deny the most irrefutable proof of all: there is no place in the entire trilogy, nor any other tale, where Tom Bombadil and the Witch King appear at the same time! If they were separate entities, surely they could be witnessed together. And don't forget that Goldberry herself told the hobbits not to fear... why would there be need to fear the wraiths? Tom was their leader! His minions would no more come to his own home than an orc would walk up to the gates of Barad-dur!"

[Thenamir]

Thenamir, the spirit of capitalism, was broke again. Being a capitalist doesn't always mean one will be a successful capitalist, and his latest idea for making a million farthings, Selling foot warmers to hobbits, had failed as miserably as the last 50 or so ideas he had. Fortunately, being dead means that your expenses (like food, shelter, and clothing) are very low indeed.

He was roused from his musings by a banging on his barrow-entrance. He prepared himself to scare whoever should so intrude on his privacy, and was disappointed to find that it was only the postal-wight bringing his ghostly and insubstantial mail. "You know," he snapped at the departing mail-carrier, "you could just float through the door instead of making such a contemptable racket." The post-wight stopped for a moment, then turned around with a smirking grin on it's face and a multi-bolt crossbow in its hands, spraying Thenamir and his door with crudely-fletched arrows. One of them actually passed thru Thenamir, leaving no mark or wound in his ectoplasmic form. He closed the door, muttering about how many wights were going postal these days. "Some people should just go back to their bodies and live in the real world again for awhile," he thought in an insulting fashion.

He was about to toss the mail in the trash (he never got anything except junk mail and sale-circulars, and he'd been to enough wight-sales to last, well, an eternity) when he spotted the gold-engraving on what appeared to be an invitation. Having no social life to speak of he tore open the envelope and out drifted a vellum card from none other than the Divine Miss Estelyn asking for his presence at the Annual Barrow-Ball and Birthday Bash. "Just in time," Thenamir thought, "I'm down to my last hobbit foot in the fridge, and I could use some free grub." He arranged what was left of his insubstantial hair, assumed the appearance of a wealthy businesswight, and flew down the road at such speed that he actually raised a bit of dust of with his see-thru form.

Arriving at the party he floated thru the entranceway just in time to hear H positing her theory on Bombadil's wings. "My dear Miss H," he said in haughty tones as he swiped a pitcher of ale and a handful of finger sandwiches from a passing servant, "still spouting that old nonsense about Bombadil, are you? Everyone knows that Bombadil's wings were just metaphorical in nature. To be sure, I don't think Bombadil really exists. He's just a story that our fearless-leader-BW made up to explain why some tasty hobbits robbed his barrow blind and got away with it. And we here all know about BW's sleeping habits. The hobbits probably wandered in while he was on the slab and too lazy to get up and take care of the problem. And who can blame them for wanting to lift a few pretty baubles? BW has quite a collection...or used to, anyway."

Some of the gathered guests gasped that he should say such insulting things about their chief, but others snickered quietly, knowing he was probably right. For her part, Estelyn/H smiled at the latecomer and offered her pale luminescent hand.

[Ealasaide]

Ealasaide slept much later than she had intended and awoke to the sounds of music and shouted poetry from across the room. Yes, she discovered rather quickly, the party was still in full swing. She sat up slowly and blinked around the dimly lit room which had changed at some point from being illuminated by the warm glow of yellow-orange fire-light to the cool glow of green firelight, which lent the place a far more ghostly atmosphere than before.

"Fitting..." she muttered to herself and looked around for the dog. When she had fallen asleep the night before, Codijune had been nestled snugly into the nook behind Ealasaide's knees. Upon Ealasaide's waking, she was nowhere to be seen. "Probably over by the food table, begging for handouts... which sounds like the right place to be to me."

Ealasaide smoothed her sleep-tousled hair into a slightly less messy mess and walked over to the still heavily-laden food table, where she piled a plate with tasty morsels. She poured herself a mug of strong black coffee and looked around again for the dog. Still not finding her, Ealasaide went back to the spot where she had been sleeping and sat down on the floor to eat. Seconds later, she felt the gentle touch of a paw on her knee as Codi crawled out from under an armchair nearby and joined her for breakfast. The chair was set rather high on old-fashioned wooden clawfeet and had long skirts that had hitherto concealed the dog from view. Ealasaide handed Codijune a bite of cheese off of her plate and, having solved the mystery of what had become of the dog, began to look around for Hilde. She had seen her the night before, but, by the time Ealasaide had made her way over to speak to Hilde, Hilde was already asleep. Ever on different schedules, Hilde had apparently awakened early and taken off again to another part of the room.

"Ah, well," sighed Ealasaide. "I imagine we'll catch up to one another eventually."

She was just raising the last bite of a sandwich to her mouth when a bloodcurdling yowl tore through the air. Codijune, who had been sitting placidly at Ealasaide's side, instantly leaped up and with a mighty "WOWF! charged away across the room, trailing her six-foot leather lead behind her. Startled, Ealasaide made a lunge for the end of the leash, sending her plate and her mug of coffee flying. She missed her grip on the leash and the dog disappeared into the crowd of partying wights.

"CODI!" shouted Ealasaide. "Codi!" Not noticing that her green blouse was now stained with cold salmon and coffee, she pushed herself to her feet and tore after the dog.

[Ainaserkewen]

Aina came up behind where that startlingly huge group of party-goers were discussing Tom Bombadil. Aina had to remember her manners or be caught eye-rolling. Instead she approached quietly, much like a ghost, and laid small hands on both Fea's and the phantom's shoulders squarely.

"Didn't you guys bring any presents for me?" She pouted a bit.

They both turned from their conversation and looked blankly at Aina. She smiled again and inched her way into the circle.

"I think Fea's right," She spoke to the group, "When do we see Bombadil and the Witch King together? It makes perfect sense. And by the way, Hi everybody, sorry I'm late. I just flew in from Canada and my arms are exhausted!" She giggled at her own joke.

[Thenamir]

"I can't see the Bombadil/WitchKing connection," Thenamir offered, slapping a name tag on his lapel that read Hello, My Name Is TVS, "because old Angy bought the farm in the battle of the Pellenor. If the rumors are true (I personally don't give them any weight whatsoever) then the grey geezer Gandalf went to talk to him after the war was over. That is, until he sailed off to the end of the world, and good riddance too."

"If anyone were to ask me, and no one has so I'll say it anyway, I think the old King of Angmar, may he rest in peace, was actually Elrond. Here Elrond is, supposedly one of the wisest heads in Middle Earth, and he picks a hobbit, the scrawniest and most vulnerable critter available, and gives to him the one thing the enemy needed for complete totalitarian victory. Then he sends him off into the home court of the enemy with this veritable homing beacon hanging on his neck! It sounds to me like Elrond was in league with Sauron and was trying to make it as easy as possible for the Dark One to pick off the ring without blowing his own cover. You notice that Elrond and his bunch are nowhere near the final battles."

Thenamir/TVS sauntered off in the direction of the musical instruments, picked up a guitar and began tuning it.

[Encaitare]

"I just flew in from Canada and my arms are exhausted," Aina laughed, and Enca could not resist joining the conversation.

"I see that you too have metaphorical wings, then," she observed. "Or I don't see, rather. Say, phantom, what have you got in those cool trunks?" She peered at them curiously, but he only responded with enigmatic cheekiness, "Pictures of Bombadil and Aina flying." Her refused to say any more about it for the time, so Enca turned her attentions back to the crackpot theories.

"I'm not so sure about Elrond being in league with Sauron. Clearly Frodo had some sort of inside deal with Sauron, or why else would he volunteer to bring the Ring at great personal peril? And what about Grima and Treebeard? Forget that whole 'rousing of the Ents' business; it's obvious that Grima was mad at Saruman and gave Treebeard a few hints. You know, like 'Hey, the third massive stone block from the left is a little loose and if you yank it out then the dam will break, no problem.'"

Talking about her favorite slimy character made Enca wonder if Elianna would be joining them at the party -- not, of course, because she thought Eli was slimy in any way, but because then they could be fangirlish together.

[Estelyn Telcontar]

Ms. 'H' sat in a comfortable settee, fading into the background and listening to the others carry on what she had begun. That was a tactic she frequently employed, and she always enjoyed the results. She grinned at TVS, appreciating his theory and looking forward to hearing more from the other guests. Though she would likely soon leave unobtrusively for the beauty sleep she so desperately needed, she was sure the party would carry on merrily without her. And she had another day to look forward to...

[Ainaserkewen]

Aina peered at Enca, "Metaphorical wings? Doesn't every Canadian fly? I mean, from the lack of planes in our military to the few modes of transportation in extremely snowy weather, you'd think we all should be able to do it by now.

Someone passed Aina a nametag, some random servant of the BW apparently. He shoved it into her hand all the while muttering about people "arriving late" and "giving him more work" or some such nonsense.

"Hold on a sec! This says Shannon...I'm not supposed to give out my name..." Oh well, cat's out of the bag. She pinned it to her crisp white button down shirt. "I'll be whatever you want me to be I suppose."

[Nimrodel_9]

Nearly tripping over her long blue dress, Nimrodel stumbled in through a door. "Why did I even wear a blasted dress?" she asked herself. "Jeans and a t-shirt are my style!" She quickly forgot what she was wearing as she saw her friends. She smiled and waved to a few. She had been afraid everyone would be gone. With her job it was sometimes hard to make it to the Downs. She flipped her long, curly, brown hair over her shoulder and straightened her name tag that read Chels. She laid her worn copy of Return of the King on the table with her clarinet case and strode over to a group of ghostly beings.

[Lindolirian]

After sitting quietly in his traditional corner, Lindolirian begins to feel guilty about not properly introducing himself.
"Greetings good wights, old and new. It's wonderful to see you all here at our Fifth Birthday Party! You all seem to be enjoying yourselves with the festivities here, but I remind you that no party is complete without fun and games. As usual, I'll be in the Quiz Room ;) ready to take you on in celebration of five years of good discussion. See you there!"
And with that, the World's Tallest Hobbit retired back to his familiar old trivia, but still kept an open ear (or eye) to the main party.

[THE Ka]

Everyone was up, and Ka felt thirty. Now, she wasn't thirty for just anything, Absinthe seemed good, but just alittle since it was rather potent. Falling threw the floor again, Ka returned with a little of the liquid and her sitar of course. Her avatars were situated around and about the party, really doing nothing but just standing around, looking absolutely drained. Feeling rather sorry, Ka called them back and sent them home. All of them, which formed a rather long line into the abyss of the corner. First mixing the sugar and water she continued to sip the bitter contents of the very small glass, a thimble almost in size, Ka watched the party continue.

Where was the BarrowWright? Why would he miss this party? Even asking these questions, Ka did not alot of room to talk, since she had missed a couple of her own. Though it was true that one of her friends had a birthday fetish, it was still rather unusual for someone to miss their own party. The party had been running for two days now, and it was most like that BW would come at the last minute. Done with the small glass, she situated herself to play her sitar. Struming a few practice notes and some scales later, she randomly made up a song. In truth, she couldn't play a single song written for sitar and had gotten by with making them up for practice.

More and more people arrived, and even though the food bar was a little pathetic, the party was reaching it's prime.

[Thenamir]

She laid her worn copy of Return of the King on the table with her clarinet case

"Hey, Nimrodel_9! Bring your clarinet over and we can jam!" said Thenamir from where he was experimentally strumming the guitar.

"What shall we play? "I Left My Heart In Minas Tirith"? "My (Telltale) Heart Will Go On?" Or maybe "My Ghoul"? Perhaps some other song titles suggested by the audience (hint hint)?

[Nimrodel_9]

"Ok!" Nimrodel said laughing. Quickly she opened her case and began to put her instrument together. "A guitar and a clarinet! This will be fun! Are there any suggestions to what we shall play?"

[wilwarin538]

Would it be alright if I join you with my violin?

[Thenamir]

"If you can suggest a barrow-worthy tune, sure! The more the merrier!" effused Thenamir.

[wilwarin538]

Oh I don't know. How bout "I will walk one thousand miles(to get to the Downs)"?

[Lindolirian]

I have the oboe part of an arrangement of the soundtrack to Lotr:FotR, but sadly no guitar, clarinet, or violin. Perhaps it could be transposed... Anyone with the skill or knowledge?

[wilwarin538]

I believe all four instruments are in the same clef, or atleast the three I play are, not sure about the oboe.

[Hilde Bracegirdle]

Hilde laughed until she started coughing as she thought again about the question Pio’s had poised. Me play or sing? “Gads yes, I do to be sure, but let’s just say I have never been encouraged to pursue it!” she had answered with a grin. A bit of an understatement, really. And after Hilde had offered her a handful of homemade chidwa (heavily laced with red pepper) and a purple pill to go with it, or rather before it. Pio had sauntered off, with Hilde staring at her ankle trying to figure out just how to pronounce ~*~P~*~ . She was never much good at foreign languages!

But now that she had finished sorting out the trinkets on the table, untangling chains and matching sets. She looked at them appreciatively; they did look pretty authentic to her eye, despite the comments on the Barrow-wight taste in fine jewelry these days. But just as she was trying to decide if the were genuine article or simply neo-Cardolan, perhaps Numenorian or rubbish, a cat closely followed by Codijune whoshed by. And as Ealasaide scurried past quickly gaining on the animals. Hilde/GIN called out, “Hey Ealasaide! What to you make of these?” But Ealasaide seemed to have her hands full and held up a finger as if to signal that she be there in a minute.

Getting an uncomfortable feeling that these things had not been meant to be left out, Hilde scooped up the baubles and dumped them in an empty spittoon that looked remarkably like a golf trophy, sitting under the table. Picking up the spittoon, lest anyone actually attempt to use the thing, she set it on a high shelf, next to the hardback copy of Tolkien’s letters and the autographed Alan Lee print. She squinted trying to read the inscription on the side of the brass cup. Well I'll be, she thought, Bandobras Took! The old-wight's been hitting the Shire flea-markets!

[Encaitare]

Enca was feeling far more energetic and outgoing than she usually found herself, and so she drifted back towards the musicians in time to hear Lindolirian talk about transposition.

Music theory! Enca thought in geeky delight.

"No worries, Lindo," she informed him cheerfully. "Oboes play in the key of C, and so do violins. Most clarinets are in B flat, so you have to write the part a whole step (two chromatic pitches) higher if you want to play it on a clarinet. Guitars sound an octave lower than written, but you don't have to transpose at all."

"Oh... thanks," Lindo replied, now a little bit wiser.

"My, you are a tall hobbit, aren't you?" Enca then moved on to greet Thenamir, a spirit she'd heard about but rarely spoken with. "I can't tell you how great a pleasure it is to meet the spirit of our economic system," she said, shaking his hand.

Suddenly she got an idea. "I know a song we could play!" She sang the chorus of the song and grinned: "I wanna rock and roll all wight, and party e-ve-ry day!"

She then commenced headbanging, and wondered if anyone wanted to start a mosh pit.

[littlemanpoet]

LMP popped an eye open. Then he popped the other open. Then he opened his mouth as big as he could to pop his ears. Pop! Pop! Darned ears, always clogging when I sleep. He had been dreaming that he had gotten out of bed, made breakfast, driven to work, spent almost ten hours there, then come home again and had supper. Then he'd gone to his computer to see how things were going at the Barrowdowns Birthday party, when lo and behold, he woke up! Actually, he had been only in a doze for the last few hours, so he had overheard a raucous debate on the topic of Tom Bombadil's wings. Various and sundry persons had held forth to the great satisfaction of all involved, but especially themselves. LMP screwed up his face. He felt that certain points had been missed, and it was his job to clear it all up. He got his feet under him and stood up in the soft oversized green chair, and promptly tipped over, barely catching himself before he conked his head on the floor. He scrambled to an upright position and cleared his throat.

"As to Tom Bombadil and his wings,
to which this and that theorist clings,
allow me to say that you're all missing
important facts. Now, no hissing!
You will notice in the book that never
are Tom, Gollum, and Balrog together!
Indeed, it is clear that these three
combined make up one entity,
whether dancing upon the green,
or getting under Sam's spleen,
or pulling a wizard down a fissure,
the three together make one Trickster!"

LMP finished with his arms raised, a big smile on his face.

[wilwarin538]

After playing some more music and being completely wrong about music theory Wilwa was feeling extremely tiered. She decided that instead of going all the way home that night she would curl up in a corner and sleep.

[Lush]

'Twas brillig. Lush, eyes bloodshot, streaked hair an utter mess, wearing a "Vote for Pedro" shirt and a pair jogging pants with the word "bum" stiched on the back, ran into the party a day late, pursued by disgruntled campus cops. She was accused of beating up a frat boy who wrote "Tolkien sux" on her Facebook message board; she was already hyped up on Red Bull, suffering from sever lack of sleep and shopping deprivation, and as far as she was concerned, the frat boy had asked for it. Lush shouted hellos and shook hands with friends and strangers alike as she ran through the party, occasionally turning around to throw a mug of beer at the cops, but that only encouraged them; considering the fact that they had spent most of the school year investigating such compelling cases as noise complaints and baby oil wrestling matches. Lush sped on through the entire party, and disappeared triumphantly into the East; towards the bedouin fires at night. The cops dared not follow her, because the State Department had issued another warning.

"Great party." Thought Lush. "Too bad I didn't get a taste of the buffet."

[Oddwen]

"Ah, thought Alice stalking towards the foodbar. "That was a long walk," she thought subconciously. But nevermind, food was after all, food.

Quoth the odd one:
There's nothing quite like tasty food
Nary a one will call it not good
So don't think me a fool,
If I profusively drool,
Pray hand me a towel, fellow frood.

And as she munched the last piece of cheesecake and other food that was decidedly not-hamburgers, she listened to scraps of the conversation idly. There was a musical revue gathering in one corner, a young lady with an extreme Smeagol/Gollum complex was trying to sort out her personalities in another, and several intellectual-types were trying to sort out wether Aina had wings, if Gollum was blonde, and if Tom Bombadil had pointed ears.

"Did Tom Bombadil have wings?" she queried quizzically, quickly quaffing a quart of quince. "Of course not. He had drumsticks. Extra crispy, with a side of coleslaw."

Searching around for someone to annoy - er, talk to, she espied from afar a fellow conspirator in the mischievous NMS, and ambled over.

"Dang," was one last thought. "I wish there was someway to transport my drumset into the Wight-Wide-World of Sports, then I'd show them some drums in the deep."

[THE Ka]

The musicians were playing and struming up tunes of their own when Ka paused with her sitar to listen. It was quiet wonderful indeed. She wondered about joining, or more of course, singing a song appropriate not so much to the tolkien theme, but that of being a wright in the downs.

Ka rushed back to her home barrow retrieveing a cello and putting her sitar safely to rest for another time. The guises were all crashed about the house in a artfully situated manner that made ka laugh. Returning to the party, she carefully stepped out of the dark corner and walked over to the members musing about tunes to play. Besides the weight of the bulky cello, Ka found that it took forever to reach them. Seeing Encaitare there was more of a relief than expected, it would really make a party if Lenny was here too, but we can't always have what we wish for. Approaching quietly, she asked in a very low murmur (as usual) if she could join and that she had a song worked up for the party.

[Formendacil]

Twas rather unfortunate, Formendacil thought, as he came in late to the Bombadil-debate. However, following his Morning Prayers, he had gone towards the food rather than the people, and had come in only as a fellow Canadian was debating whether Canadian wings were metaphorical or not.

Of course they are, he thought, at least on our planes. Whether or not the people have real wings is a whole other matter.

"If the debate concerning Tom Bombadil's winged-ness has more or less ended, then I have a crackpot question that is actually somewhat related," he announced. A few people looked over politely, but no one said anything.

"Okay, my question is this, how many Bombadils are there? After all, why have a last name if you are the only one? Either he should be Bombadil, without an adjective like "Tom", or else he should just be the enigmatic spirit named "Tom" by the Hobbits. Why the need for two names?

"My crackpot theory is that there are several Bombadils, all enigmas in their own way. And if it is true that the Witchking and Tom Bombadil are one, perhaps that could explain a few discrepancies in that matter. What do you think of my crackpot theory?"

"It's a crackpot theory, all right," said somebody.

[THE Ka]

Whilst sitting with the musical members, someone announced a 'theory' about tom bombadil's wings and such and or, if there was rather many of them who collectively worked much like Ka's guises. It was rather puzzling, but not that troubling, since it seemed to make sense, at least to her. What really was a troubling question was one that would plague ka for many a night. It is as follows: If Jack the Ripper and Sherlock Holmes were to get into a fight, who would win? Obviously, with the ability to collect DNA in this day and age, Jack would be canned. But, Sherlock had a cocaine addiction, and mostly likely would have gotten his supply from Jack, so, thanks to the 'War on Drugs', sherlock would be in the slammer too. Hmm... All was to depend on who survived. Or, would Sherlock be able to escape somehow, or know before hand that he could and bring Jack along after forming a friendship behind bars? Who really could tell...

Ka really wanted to share a song, but was waiting patiently for the other members to make up their minds. Some were amazingly clever rhymes, other well... you know...

It felt oddly nice to be among others, though Ka could never seem to strike up a conversation without safely building some social armor first. She really was becoming suched into the theories, and it wasn't a rare thought, since she loved them, even as crazy as they could be. As the musicians discussed ryhmes, maybe she could slip away and talk more theories... Especially that about Jack and Sherlock...

[Lathriel]

In the middle of the waking up process another girl came in. She hung her head in shame for joining so late. Well, she said to herself I did have lots of tests and exams to write. But now she was ready to forget all that. She walked to the table with scattered name tags which were mixed with empty ale bottles and foodscraps. Quickly she wrote Lathriel on her name tag leaving her real name behindin the real world as well.
Upon entering she had her brown hair down but now she suddenly decided to put it up since it was just annoying (and her hair had decided to be frizzy today!)
Since she hadn't eaten breakfast she immediatly headed to the table with food.
She also noticed the music being played and was glad that she had brought her flute.
"I'll join them later",she thought to herself.

[Hilde Bracegirdle]

More than One Tom Bombadil?! Hilde felt her brain curdle involuntarily. “No, no,” she shouted across the room. “There is only one Bombadil, but several Tom’s about. Tom is tacked on simply so they don’t have to refer to him as Mister Bombadil as well as to distinguish him from Tom the legendary Harfoot who also got sidetracked along the Withywindle .”

“But I’ve my own crackpot theory, along quite a different line. I think that either the Barrow-wight has been hitting yard sales or has rented these furnishings. For I for one have never heard of him sitting on a sofa, let alone this huge floral variety!”

Hilde looked over to the bookshelf. “And tell me why would he have a signed picture of Peter Jackson on his bookshelf? There is the real mystery of Middle-earth!”

[Estelyn Telcontar]

As the third morning of the Barrow Birthday Party dawned, 'H'/Estelyn made her preparations. This was planned to be the final day of celebration, although one could never be certain of events among persons with such a notorious lack of solidity. She opened the piano bench, where she had cleverly stashed away the present that had been prepared for The Barrow-Wight. Carefully cleaning crumbs and dust from one corner of the gift table, she placed a large book on it. Thereupon were engraved the words The Barrow-Downs Birthday Party Musical Guest Book (http://forum.barrowdowns.com/showthread.php?t=11893).

She played a flourish on the piano to get everyone's attention, then announced: "This book is our present to The Barrow-Wight on this memorable occasion. With so many talented musicions here, already making songs to fit the occasion, it is ready for your contributions. Please sign it with an appropriate line or lyrics, as you please. I hope you all have fun today in whichever way you enjoy most! Oh, and we're running out of food - shall we raid the pantry and do some cooking and baking right here?"

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Fea walked back into the party sleepily, having disappeared without trace the night before. "So sorry to have left so unexpectedly, Aina, but I had a prior commitment that needed taking care of."

Shuffling across the cold and clammy stone floor in her beat up flip flops with yet another pair of beat up old jeans, paired with a pale blue t-shirt and nine bracelets today, with her customary tech pencil resting behind her right ear, Fea rejoined the theorists.

"Now," she said, "comes the clincher. Balrogs so obviously have wings, given that they are creatures of shadow. Saying that wings don't exist because they are "of shadow" is on par with saying balrogs don't exist because they are creatures of shadow. However, these wings could very well be vestigial, and, if working at all, work only for short distances. Much like chickens. And given that balrogs, besides being shadowy, are also creatures of flame, we know that they are hot. Which brings me to my conclusion: Balrogs are made of chicken and they make the world's hottest chicken wings, available at any back-woods pizzeria... except Frank's." She wrinkled her nose in her tell-tale sign of distaste at thinking of Frank's' wings. She could only hope that at tonight's final concert of her high-school career, she would hit no wrong notes. Her mother would be sure to notice her sophisticated sneer if, for instance, she misread that thrice-bedamned F flat. Who writes F flats any how? she thought moodily. Why not just write E natural and get it over with?

Feeling the pull of reality, Fea looked left and right. 'Twas time to help save lives, she realized.

"So sorry to leave so soon, but I must give blood and comfort others doing the same! A responsibility I would love to NOT have, if you'll forgive my split infinitive, but it does seem necessary to my own sense of accomplishment. You'll all miss me, of course! Give my regards to our esteemed, but missing, leader." And with that, she turned on her heel and walked away.

------

"Oh yes!" she cried, her head and arm reappearing for a brief moment. "Take that!"

And with her final words, Fea left the party, not seeing where the large amount of lime green jello landed.

[The Barrow-Wight]

A blurry-eyed apparition stumbled through the dark maw of the inner chamber door and cast a baleful look at the various guests mingling in his home. The snooze on his hobbit clock was supposed to have lasted only ten minutes, but from the deep debris on the floor and the stack of empty kegs, BW could tell that he must have been sleeping for days. He wondered if he had been drugged and immediately went to the cabinet and counted the silverware. All there. Perhaps he was just getting old.

Though he had missed most of it, it was obvious that this year’s party, like those of the past, had been an active event. Pages and pages of conversation had appeared since he last closed his eyes, and like always, it was too much to read, especially when his schedule was so busy. Still, it was unlike him to snooze through such festivities, and he hoped everyone would understand. This year was different than the others. This would be the last in this barrow.

For centuries, the Barrow-Wight had occupied the same dingy tomb, only occasionally venturing out in search of a lost hobbit or two to add to the decor. It had served as his home, his castle, and his citadel against the ages, a place to rest his weary bones, or at least to rest in the weary bones that he had stolen so long ago. But the place just wasn’t the same since the Bombadil incident, and it was finally time to move on.

Property values in the part of the boneyard had gone up considerably since he purchased the place, and it was time for him to move into a nicer, newer, larger grave, but somewhere more rural, where he could get more square feet for his silver pennies. He knew the perfect place, and intended to float up the Deadman’s Dike to scout out a suitable new house. Word was that a local bigwig had erected a gaudy monument to himself and then promptly died, as if eager to occupy his eternal residence. The Barrow-wight was eager to try on some new skin.

But before he could inspect his new barrow, he knew that it was proper that he attend to his guests. Each and every one of them was an important member of the community, and it wouldn’t be right if he did meet with all of them. With one last look at the silverware, the Barrow-wight moved to the front of the room and began talking with the first person who looked him in the eye.



*** To allay any fears: This is not a notice of barrow closure or anything like that. It's just my way of saying I'm in the process of selling a house, buying a house, and moving (in the real world), and I am likely to be unattentive.

[Hookbill the Goomba]

Hookbill leaped upon his chair as he saw The Barrow Wight. He was about to once again recite a poem, but he was thrown off his chair by a brick that hit him in the stomach.

"No more o that nonsense!" cried the Wight who had thrown it, "You'll put us all in graves!"

"But we already are," said Hookbill, slightly winded, "Aren’t we?"

"Shut up!" Came the reply, "Just sit there and be quiet."

[Hilde Bracegirdle]

To the Wight in White Satin

(to the tune of: Nights In White Satin by the MOODY BLUES,
Beautiful Lyrics slightly butchered by one Hilde Bracegirdle)

Roaming the Barrow-downs,
Never reaching the end,
Posts I've written,
Never meaning to send.

Passages I’d always missed
With these eyes before,
Just how canonical the Silm. is
I can't say anymore.

But I love it,
Yes, I love it,
And it is HoME here.

Gazing at wights,
Some hand in hand,
Some post I’ve read,
I just can’t understand.

Some try to tell me
Thoughts they cannot defend,
Just what you want it to be
It will be in the end.

But I love it,
Yes, I love it,
And it is HoME here.

[Estelyn Telcontar]

'H'/Esty handed Hilde the Musical Guest Book (http://forum.barrowdowns.com/showthread.php?t=11893). "Here," she said, "you can write it down so that it will remain preserved for posterity. I hope there will be more such wonderful musical greetings forthcoming!"

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Fea ran, yet again unexpectedly, through the door, pausing only to pass out from the exertion. Upon waking, she reflected that it probably hadn't been a good idea to start running so soon after giving blood, especially given that she has low blood pressure, is small, and is outright petrified of needles.

"It's alive!!!" she cried of the Barrow-Wight in a rather Dr. Frankenstein-esque voice. "Well... sort of." she ammended, remembering her companions' state of existance.

"Glad you could make it, Wighty m'boy! Glad to see you. However, yet again, I must run, and I hope you'll forgive me for not staying, but my alter-ego is late to Physics, and she really must dash. Apologies, apologies..."

[Formendacil]

Formendacil woke up on Day 3 of the party with nary a clue as to how he had got there. The last thing he remembered was someone (Hilde? Hilda? Hildebrand? No... It WAS Hilde somebody-or-other) putting down his Bombadil theory.

He also seemed to remember something about the Barrow-wight, but he was Morgoth if he knew what it was...

Then he remembered that he hadn't taken his nighttime insulin the night before, and discovered to his disappointment (but hardly surprise) that he was rather hyperglycemic.

So he headed off to the washroom to inject a few cubic centimetres of Humalog into his system.

While he was there, he took a good long look in the mirror, noting that he was definitely in need of a shave- and a night's sleep in his own bed. However, his shaver was back in Fornost, and his sword was too unwieldy.

Whatever, he thought. Surely I can manage a dashingly-rugged Aragorn look. Or, rather, a slightly-rumpled Denethor look.

That thought was not altogether encouraging, so he returned to the party in search of food and distracting thoughts!

"Give us a song, Hookbill!" he called out, wanting to stir things up. Somebody through the chip-bowl at him.

Hey, it's food! he thought, digging in.

[the phantom]

"Ah- here you are at last!" exclaimed The Phantom as BW entered. "I know it is customary to be 'fashionably late', but I believe you missed your window."

"The Barrow-Wight is never late!" BW shot back, "Nor is he early-"

"Yes, yes," chuckled Fea, "You arrive precisely when you mean to, right?"

"Exactly!" he answered. BW's eyes fell upon the three large trunks beside the table. "And what are those?"

"They're trunks, duh!" giggled Aina. BW and The Phantom glared at her.

"They are gifts," said The Phantom. "Open the largest one," he ordered the servant guarding the gifts.

The onlookers gasped. It was a giant hand.

"I've had my people working on this for quite some time. This is cutting edge technology, Mr. BW. You won't be able to tell the difference between this hand and your old one- the one that the annoying little hobbit lopped off. My surgeons can attach it in a quick one hour operation. I brought them along in case you wanted it done right away. If you don't have time today, just call me and set up an appointment."

The Barrow-Wight smiled and gave a quick head nod to show his approval. All the guests applauded and cheered. The Phantom had certainly upheld his reputation as a master gift giver. "I heard he taught Celeborn and Annatar how to do this sort of thing," shouted Aina to the guest on her right.

"Open the medium trunk!" commanded The Phantom over the noise of the crowd. "Then, give the contents to The Barrow-Wight."

The medium trunk was long and narrow. The servant opened the lid and reached inside and then, one by one, he pulled out five beautiful Numenorean swords and placed them on the table in front of The Barrow-Wight.

"I heard about the theft," said The Phantom. "But after today, it will no longer be a loss. Each of these swords is extremely valuable. Why, this one right here was Elendil's first sword. Call up Master Elrond if you want the claim verified."

The crowd applauded and cheered again.

I wonder what he has in that little trunk? wondered Fea.

"You'll find out later," whispered The Phantom.

I hate mind readers thought Fea.

The Phantom smiled.

"I hope you don't mind, Barrow-Wight, but I would like to wait a bit before presenting my final gift."

"Fine with me. I've got plenty of things to do."

"Good. Then I will see you later." The Phantom vanished in a puff of smoke.

[Maeggaladiel]

"Huzzah!" cried Maeg. "Our ghostly host has arrived!"

It didn't matter that she herself was a day and a half late to the party-- The BW didn't know that!!

"Rather unfortunate to forget one's own birthday party, hmm?" she asked tauntingly, wrinkling up her nose.

[Hookbill the Goomba]

"Give us a song, Hookbill!" Formendacil called out, wanting to stir things up.

"A song?" said Hookbill, slightly recovered from the blow to the stomach, "I'm not much of a singer, but I'll present some poetry!" There were groans, but nothing was thrown yet.
Hookbill cleared his throat.

Once there was a mighty fog was on the Barrow hills
It was also by Brandy-Wine River and all of the mills
After all, our very own Lord Wight was sat upon gold
Despite his friends who told him he would grow mould
No Hobbit, Elf, man or Dwarf would move the Wight
With a sword in hand, he'd take anyone in a Fight

But our own Lords was taken back, by the sheer size
Of an elephant named Simon who was always telling lies
He swears and curses, but Simon will not leave this place
Without his fear share in gold and, of course, a happy face
But Mr Wight refuses to give up his gold to anyone!
No matter where on Middle Earth they came from!

It was a strange Poem, with crazy lyrics, but Hookbill enjoyed it. Some clapped, but others grumbled and told him to find other poetry that all would enjoy.

[Assasin]

Lauren got up from where she had been quietly sitting in the corner. "I've got a poem, though it's not as serious as Hookbill's. She cleared her throat and began,
The Horse and Rider
In the grey dawn, a man on a horse galloped across the plain, and looked up. A light, a flame, was in the east. The sun was rising and they sped away, away to the sun and the red morn.
Away to the sun and the red morn!
The light of battle was in the horse’s eyes, and the man was girded with sword and shield. Their call was to battle, to battle in the east.
Away to the sun and the red morn!
The combat was getting close, and the sensing the conflict across the plain the horse sped onward, it’s mane streaming in the breeze.
Away to the sun and the red morn!
The manbecame one with the horse their actions as one, their movements as one. They rode together as the sun filled the sky, to the battle in which both must protect their honor.
Away to the sun and the red morn!
At last the field of combat, the sun was now high in the sky. The man gave a shout and the horse nieghed in unison, as they rode together to glory, to death.
Away to the sun and war!

[wilwarin538]

This morning when Wilwa woke up she had sneaked out to go home and freshen up. She returned now pleased to see the Barrow Wight had finally arrived. She walked towards him to say hello and give him his gift smiling at the giant hand and Numenorean swords.

"Hello Mr. Wight" she said, handing him the silver spoons, which were in a clear case with a green tint, it was wrapped in a light green wrapping paper. The spoons themselves where silve with (you guessed it) green gems on the end." Happy Birthday to the downs, may there be many more years to come.

[Thenamir]

Thenamir/TVS winced at Hookbill's attempt at poetry. He turned to Estelyn/H and inquired "Is it possible that our dear friend Hookbill has another alias? I am reminded of a certain elf of our acquaintance named Vogonwe..."

He then returned to his guitar and began strumming, softly at first, then with greater volume and purpose as a song began coming to his mind.

(To the tune of Don McLean's "American Pie")

A long long time ago, In a darkened barrow-way,
A wight was sleeping, nightmare-like
Dreaming of his former chance to squish those men like little ants
Away up in the North near Deadman's Dike

The men of Westernesse did quiver
And many foes did he de-liver
But then he made a misstep
And fell without one more step

The wight awoke and then he cried,
Not sad, but lo, for joy inside,
He loves it in the afterlife,
The day B W died.

My, my this here Barrow-wight guy
He can party really hearty once he opens his eyes,
He slept too long, but this party still flies
Singin' "Hey man, all your ale kegs are dry!"
"Hey man, all your ale kegs are dry!"

Thenamir/TVS looked over at the Barrow-wight and grinned, and BW reluctantly pulled out more ale kegs from his vast pantry. In his real-life guise, Thenamir drank nothing stronger than Coca-Cola, but this is, after all, a death-day party, and what's a party without ale?

[Formendacil]

His sneaky mischief done, and with only minor throwing of food, Formendacil retired with a guilty smile to the kitchen.

He was more or less out of things to do, people to see. He decided to round up his things, and move them all to the hall, so as to facilitate departure when the time came. After all, the Barrow was one of the last places where one would want to be leaving things one might need, and was certainly not a place to overstay one's welcome.

Unfortunately, the corridor towards the broom closet where his suit and cloak remained hidden was blocked off, so he had to descend down a different passage in hopes of finding a cross-passage back to the first.

This was, he noted guiltily, rather fun, sneaking around the Barrow...

[THE Ka]

Ka was caught in a rush between theories yelled across the room, and songs sung between peoples in opposite places in the barrow. it was rather confusing, and Ka felt that a chair would bring some stability. Stitting down, she noticed that the BarrowWright had finally come.

" Finally, I was curious if they would arrive." Noted ka to herself.

It was the third day, and things were beginning to wind down abit. The food table was rather scant, but the kegs were flowing making the atmosphere rather bubbly. Ka walked over to the gift table and placed a present on the table for the Barrow Wright. She hadn't known what they really prefered, but a top hat would have to do. Especially since it was in such a smashing box too. Everyone deserved a top hat, it completments anyone's head, that at least was one reason.

As usual, Ka felt like a loner. Walking about seemed to relieve her mind of it and it's plagues. Though, it became rather boring after about the ninth trip around the whole room. Seeing nothing better to do, ka sped home for awhile and gathered a canvas, paints, palette and some stuff for the starving food table, which in this case was a nice spinach goulash that she had never gotten around to eating ( Don't worry! It has only been living in my fridge for two days! :rolleyes: ). Returning, she found the same activities taking place and after making a stop at the food table, found a nice corner and painted everyone as they were, including the wonderful interior design of the barrow.

[littlemanpoet]

Seeing that not a soul was impressed with his Trickster theory, and frankly glad of it, LMP shrugged and got off his chair. He reached into his pants pocket and pulled out a pair of three foot deep congas and started setting up a back beat in 4/4 time. His personae, Eodwine, Garreth and Harreld, from the White Horse, wafted away from his person and pulled out brass instruments and started up a three part brass riff. Falco Boffin, normally not known for musical talent, not even singing, nevertheless reached into his back pocket and pulled out a bass guitar complete with amplifier and electrical hook ups and started thrumming for all he was worth. Then LMP started doing a somewhat bad job of mimicking Peter Gabriel.

you could have a grond ram
if you'd just lay down your orcs
you could have a nazgul flying
if you bring your doom sky back

all you do is call me
I'll be any Ring you need

you could have a big mumak
going up and down, all around Pelenno
you could have a hundred wargs, howling,
this abuse just never ends

all you do is call me
I'll be any Ring you need

I want to use a dwarven hammer
why don't you call for Dain
oh let me use a dwarven hammer
this could be the best, if only

show me round your hobbit hole
'cos I will be your honey and tea
open up your hobbit hole
where the tea is precisely at three

I want to be your dwarven hammer
why don't you call for Dain
you'd better use a dwarven hammer
put your axe at rest
I'm going to use a dwarven hammer
this could be the best, if only
I've got a dwarven hammer
let there be no doubt about it

dwarf! dwarf! dwarven hammer

I've seen a dragon
shed its skin
then came the new stuff
it went prancing in, it went prancing in
oh won't you show your Ring
and I will show you mine
show me your Ring and I will show you mine
yea yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah I do mean Rings
only Rings
they've been coming through
going to build that power
build, build up that power, hey
I've been feeding the dragon
I've been feeding the dragon
going to feel that power build in him

yeah yeah yeah
all day and night
et cetera

A few souls could be seen here and there grooving and moving to the tune. LMP had fun watching it all, and thanked the Valar for the chorus that suddenly backed him, made up of Fea, Eswen, and other various and sundry persons from various rpgs.

[Hilde Bracegirdle]

The familiar feeling that she would soon become a pumpkin crept over Hilde. She was not used to late nights, and stretched, bending her head this way and that before wiping dry her bowl and rejoining the party just long enough to wish them well. Carrying the transparent bowl in the crook of her equally transparent arm, she grabbed her bag with the other swinging it over her shoulder clumsily and crossed over to the table that held the gifts as the crowd listened attentively, grooving to LMP's show. Rummaging at the bottom of the bag, she drew out a bit of inheritance that she had never properly appreciated; a gaudy brooch she thought might find a better home with someone fond of such things.

But she found she was not prepared to leave the brooch on the table with the other gifts. Pulling off her nametag, she chuckled to herself. Scratching out what she had written there and over all scrawled ‘HILDE ->’ sticking it on the brooch. Quickly going to the bookcase with a clank she threw the thing in the spittoon, and turned to go.

Seeing that the Barrow-wight was in their midst, she started over to him with half a mind to ask about the photograph gracing his shelf, but thought better of it. Some mysteries are better off as mysteries. It was probably just a bit of mathom. “Wish I knew Master Bombadil, wings or no,” she muttered to herself. “Now there’s the one who would be like to get a straight answer about such things from the Wight himself, make no mistake!”

And so bowing low, first to the Barrow-wight and then to Esty/H, she thanked them both, and walked out her form, rapidly dissolving into the mist.

[Gil-Galad]

"Do not fear!" Gil-Galad boomed as he entered

"The mighty Gil-Galad has arrived, deafeter of the Normans, conquer of the dreaeded orcs of Bristol, cook of the giant chicken of Yorkshi- oooh breadsticks"

[Oddwen]

After waving her hand in Menel's silly grinning face for some hours, Alice finally walked off.
She had had her fill at the food table, so she was heading in the opposite direction when the BW awoke.
Immediately, the room grew colder and there was a darkness wherever he stood or walked. Hurriedly, she searched in her pockets for her gift - hankerchief, drum key, keys, other keys, spare change, lint...ah! A small box finally found, favorably fondled for a few moments 'fore being forked over to the intended recipient.

Inside was a small beaded pin. It would have taken her months to make in Real Life, however online time is relative and it had taken her a few sec...okay, she put a lot of thought into it. It depicted a rather dark looking gravemound, which was almost certain to contain all sorts of mold, moisture, stalactites, and treasure left with the body of some dead monarch to satisfy their souls in the afterlife. The B-W sniffed sentimentally, and placed it in a nearby tresurebox.

"Very nice," he said before being called off.

Alice snuck upon the newcomer Gil-Galad. "Hey Mr. Galad," she said. "I've got to know...do you type with boxing gloves on?" Before he could pop her glasses off with his One Cool Power, she sprinted off laughing.

[littlemanpoet]

LMP bid the Barrow Wight a happy deathday and many happy returns, then bid farewell to one and all, a most entertaining party it had been. He collected his various rpg personae, congas, bass guitars, brass, air fiddles and pipe dreams, and put them all in his front pockets. Out the front door he floated, humming odd bits of tunes.

[THE Ka]

It was late on the third day, and Ka had taken to making a portrait of the event. At first, most were sitting or being comatose, but as the party grew on, people moved about doing this or that, or decided to start new activties. This, as for anyone trying to take a picture through paintbrushes and oils, is rather annoying, but people are people and she could not challenge that. More visitors came in, and with them an addition to the scene steadily forming on the blank insperation. While, others left the scene which proved to be more of a challenge than the previous action on the member's behalf. To solve this, their last moments within the room were documented upon the space designated for them. For awhile, the food table too, changed. Like a rubber band, it expanded and shrank with people's hunger or mere cravings. By far the Barrow Wright was the easiest to document, for they did not bounce around as others had taken to and was the most interesting for the glow that emitted from this figure of both glady given freedom and sharp authorative reason upon other more suspicious acts within the membership.

The picture near completetion seemed to tell more than what it dictated. Showing not telling was it's policy, even though its subjects would have included a song or two to aid it's utter most importance. The scene seemed to change within the room, as Ka became more and more absorbed into her work. Painting a picture with an actual deadline within the creator's brain is like a crazied but still patient distance runner, you know what your up against, just not how many things will come your way.

Finally, some time later it was finished or for the painting part at least, it still had to dry, varnished, ect... Ka leaned back in her chair with a gruff of satisfaction. It looked wonderful. Removing the smock and cleaning the brushes in the kitchen sink of the barrow, she relfected upon it's appearance somewhere, maybe no where except in a closet until it was needed. She returned to find it still intact, and ready to dry. Taking care, ka lifted it up and returned home to the studio room within her residence and placed it in a protective corner to complete it's maturity.

After cleaning up a bit more, Ka returned to the party and sat in a lone chair against a wall. Again, back to observing the sight of celebration.

[piosenniel]

Max the Pug was whining at the barrow door. Too much singing and reciting for his taste and not enough quiet for sleeping. Not to mention the horrid beast of a cat that someone had unleashed upon the canine population. Even now his left haunch stung with the furrows left from the monster’s sharp claws. And being barrel-chested and a mite rotund, he could not bend far enough around to get his wrinkled and mashed-looking muzzle near the site of injury. His low whines proceeded to louder yelps until Pio came round and picked him up in her arms. ‘Yes we’re going. I’m sure old Thistle is ready to haul us back to the Shire, too.’

Others were in the process of saying their farewells to The Wight, so Pio took her time gathering up her pack, stuffing the dog securely in it; reclaiming her cake carrier, which served well to stash a nice bottle of port and the rest of the cigars. She was just heading toward the door, when she saw Hilde with a lovely brooch in her hand. The woman, she noted, hesitated at placing her gift on the table and instead made her way to one of the bookcases. Wonder of wonders! She threw the brooch into a spittoon on the top of the case.

Hilde left. And the rather nice spittoon seemed to wink at Pio as the light from one of the candle lanterns caught it. She made her way to the bookcase and fingered a few of the dusty and mouldering tomes. When no one was looking she snatched down the spittoon and stirred through its contents. Lovely baubles. Shiny and inviting. Most of them too gaudy for her taste. But there at the bottom lay a thin silvery chain with a small green stone dangle – a hand giving the ‘thumbs-up’ sign. She picked it out and setting the spittoon back on one of the bookshelves, she secured it about her ankle. Perfect, she thought, turning her foot this way and that to see how it looked.

Pio glanced quickly about, hoping no one had seen her. The way through the main cavern was filled with partygoers, as well as the hostess and birthday boy. ‘Shut your eyes, dear,’ she called to Max as she pressed herself against the back wall of the cavern and squeezed her way through the layers of stone and turf. She had never been all that adept at turning all misty and wraith like. There was too much of the Shire solidness about her.

Still she made the effort and was rewarded as her bejeweled ankle at last popped through the barrow wall and she found herself under a clouded sky. Thistle nickered and whinnied softly to her as she made her way round to where she’d left the pony.

With Max safely stowed on a blanket beneath the seat, and her treasures parked securely in the cart itself, Pio flicked the reins lightly and let the pony have her head. Back to the East-West Road they clip-clopped in a leisurely manner.

Under the starless skies the little cart and its passengers were hardly visible, save for the small orange glow of a lit cigar. And after a while, even it seemed only to be some small will o’ the wisp or firefly in the lengthening distance . . .

[Meneltarmacil]

Menel awoke from his unnatural sleep rather suddenly.

"I'm sorry, everyone, but my alter-ego in what some would call 'the real world' has been neglecting to post here."

"As far as Tom Bombadil's true nature goes... Do you suppose that he's really a Balrog in disguise? I'll admit it's a little strange, but think about it: Balrogs have unspecified magical powers, which could include the ability to transform, and here's the kicker: We're all sitting here discussing whether or not he has wings! What else could possibly fit that description.

Menel reachedfor a tortilla chip, dipped it in some salsa, and ate it. However, he had forgotten that he had actually put the salsa out there in the first place and was quite surprised when...

"WAAAAAAUUUUUUUUUUGGGGHHHH!!!!!!"

Smoke started coming out of Menel's ears.

"SOMEBODY GET ME SOME WATER!!!!!"

Menel started breathing fire.

[Firefoot]

"Farewell, everyone! Cheers, Barrow-wight!" called Firefoot. With the wrap-up of the party, it was time for her to be getting back. She was not precisely sure just where 'back' would be for the time being; it may be Rohan, or the Shire, or somewhere else. There would be time to decide later.

She made her way outside and looked around. Neither horse nor dogs were in sight, so she whistled. Shortly she heard the sound of hoofbeats and Maggie's trademark woof. They came into sight, but Maggie and Marco quickly departed again after greeting her briefly. The two disappeared into the barrow. "Gone to say good-bye to Codijune, I suppose," Firefoot mumbled. She mounted her horse to wait for them; as soon as they came back, they would leave.

They reappeared from the barrow, looking at her expectantly. "Ready to go?" she asked. "Then come on." She nudged Firefoot into a pace just slow enough for the Shelties to keep up. "Till next year, everyone," she murmured. And then they were gone.

[wilwarin538]

After chatting abit more and listening to some great songs Wilwa decided it was time to leave, for real. She waved good bye to everyone though pratially everyone was to drunk or tiered to ntice, then she walked out of the barrow laughing about everything that had happened in the past few days.

Hapy Birthday everyone! :smokin: :D ;)

[Gil-Galad]

"Do i type with boxing gloves on! well...yeah actually, more the challenge!"

[THE Ka]

She sat quietly watching everyone began to either wake up, or finally say their leaves as they left the party. Maybe she should too?

By far, for the Ka at least it was a party full of little social events or happenings and just much painting and mantience of the room's order, even as drunk as it could be. Her guises were mostly likely up at this hour, trying to make something to eat or trying to retrieve a book from the bookshelf in her absence. In a way, she did and did not want to go.

"Maybe a little longer", she told her self.

[Ealasaide]

As the crowd began to thin with many of the other wights saying their final good-byes and taking leave of the party, Ealasaide finally caught up with the dog who had taken off a bit earlier in a furious chase after someone's cat. She found Codijune standing under the buffet table with the cat pinned beneath her paws. She was giving the cat's coat a good licking.

"Oh, Codi..." she sighed and grabbed hold of the dog's collar, pulling her off the poor, soggy cat. Freed at last, the cat jumped to her feet and stalked away with as much dignity as she could muster, her bottlebrush tail quivering with anger.

Codi woofed softly after the departing cat, then looked up at Ealasaide and wagged her tail.

"Yes, I saw you bathing the cat," said Ealasaide. "I don't think she enjoyed it. You're lucky she didn't scratch your big ol' ears off." She bent down and took hold of the leash, figuring it was about time they took their leave as well. She looked around for the Barrow Wight, hoping to pay her respects, but found him already in conversation with someone else. Not being the sort to interrupt, she waved across the room and, placing her palms together, bobbed a quick, shallow bow.

"Thank you & a very Happy Birthday to the Downs!" she called. "May there be many, many happy returns of the day."

With that she turned and stepped through the door into the fresh night air. With each step she took away from the barrow, her image and that of the dog grew fainter and fainter until eventually they disappeared entirely, vanishing into the mist.

[Estelyn Telcontar]

'H' watched the guests (and their respective dogs) leave. The party had been fun, but "life - I mean, death - goes on", she reminded herself. She packed her beloved Yamaha grand piano onto a cart, thankful that virtual pianos were easier to transport than 'real' ones. Then shedding the 'H' identity and becoming the efficient, all-seeing Estelyn again, she headed for the broom closet. She would have to look around to make sure everyone was gone and had taken their possessions (and none of The Barrow-Wight's!) before finally closing the door. Then the occasion would fade into memory, memory would become legend, legend... - anyway, she would then sweep the thread into Elvenhome as a mathom - no longer useful, but not a thing that one would want to throw away.

She waited politely while the last party guests paid their respects to The Barrow-Wight...

[Hookbill the Goomba]

Patting the Barrow Wight on the back, Hookbill left the party with the sense of a job well done... or at least done. And not so much a job, more a sequence of events. But all the same, it had seemed a success. Hookbill floated over the Barrow hills before going back to the Old forest to learn more poetry from old Bombadill.

[Formendacil]

Having finally found the broom closet and retrieved his items, Formendacil timdly made his way back to where the party had been. Had been, for most of the people had left by now. Sneaking through the kitchen, he grabbed the last articles belonging to him, and then dashed for the door, hoping to make it out before the Barrow-Wight noticed.

Overstaying one's welcome was not a good idea in this, of all places.

He made it to the door with nary a hitch, and with a mental prayer of joy, dashed out into the Downs.

Oh megablox, he muttered. The Downs were covered in their famous fog. Just another adventure/mishap in the life of a crazy Tolkien fan.

I really should stick to LEGO, he thought, and set off into the mist.

[Mithalwen]

Having got word of the party late and had a fearfully long drive in an ancient car then getting appallingly confused in the one way system at Bree and thus making a detour via Tharbad, Mithawen's possesing spirit arrives just as everyone else is leaving. A tall black-clad figure with a lot of unkempt rusty blonde hair )think funereal and anxious highland cow)briefly emerges leaves her present on the step and beetles of again, desperately hoping that the car starts before anyone notices. It does and she heads back to her home on the coast, tossing a badge with "Adanverieth" written in tengwar on to the passenger seat and feeling quite relieved that she doesn't have to go through the ordeal of being sociable.

[Encaitare]

As she watched everyone filtering out of the barrow, Enca realized that it was high time for her to leave as well, what with two more AP exams in her near future. She therefore packed up her flute and said goodbye to her friends who were still remaining.

And then there was one last thing to do. She approached The Barrow-Wight, wished him a happy birthday, and handed him a large gift bag laden with curling ribbon. Inside was a fluffy green towel with the Barrow-Downs logo on it.

"It's a dangerous world out there, full of wings that may or may not exist," she told him gravely. "You need to know where your towel is."

With that, she doffed her befeathered fedora and bowed in parting.

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

"I must leave?" Fea whimpered as she returned for the final time. "But... but... this was so much fun..." She looked over to the phantom, wondering if he could once again read her mind.

"Yes," he said to seemingly no-one in particular. The last few ghouls looked around, wondering to whom this simple word was directed.

Ah well, in that case... the phantom is a weeny head and um... hey, I should really be doing stuff right now... oops... wrong dimension... and um... wow! I just got another compliment on how nicely I clean up! wait... yeah, so the phantom is a doofus.

He laughed helplessly as Fea's scattered thoughts reached his "ears". Do you always think like that? he laughed.

I... well... yeah. I tried to concentrate on one thing at a time, but there are so many things happening at any given time... like Trent just tapped his foot next to me... and it breaks my concentration. That's why sometimes my posts are really scatterbrained.

"Ah, well, m'boy, I suppose we ought to make our way to the door, but what, oh what, is there to be done about that beautifully large trunk? 'Tis your call... but it's sadly getting near time to leave..."

[the phantom]

"Yes, yes- what should we do with my final gift. BW isn't around... I suppose I'll have one of his servants take it and leave it someplace he'll be sure to find it."

"But what is it?" asked Fea.

"Coupons."

"Coupons? And here I figured you'd saved your best for last."

"I did. The coupons can be redeemed at any Phantom Construction Inc location. He'll probably work with the office in Bree. The coupons entitle him to a free furniture move as well as an entirely free newly constructed home of any kind- castle, house, or barrow (what he'll probably pick). He merely designs the home, picks the location, and my people will take care of the rest at no charge."

"Aww, that's very nice of you," said Fea, "but my gifts had better be just as good!"

The Phantom winked. "See you at my castle in two weeks. Bring some old grungy clothes- I thought we might do a spot of orc hunting in the mountains if the weather is decent."

Before Fea could respond, The Phantom melted back into the shadows of a poorly lit corner of the barrow.

[THE Ka]

Ka watched as everyone began to leave. It wasn't a good idea to play "i'm actually part of the decore, you see... ', in the BarrowWight's home, since she would soon be discovered, or would be confronted with new owners as the Wight moved away. Quietly getting up, ka glanced around to find only a few stragglers left. It would be time to leave now, she had to prepare for the arrival of Queen Melora of The Fantastic Celloness and her Rasputinanites (http://www.rasputina.com). What fun it would be in less than five days!

The room, now quiet and guilty with some clutter was bare and empty except for that of BW's plentiful gift table, where Ka viewed her presentation of a top hat being fitted by the Wight. They seemed to have liked it. She waved at the Wight in recognition, who after being viewed admiring itself in the mirror quickly removed it and gave her a smile and a glance of, 'Leave now before I turn you into a feather for this authorative headpiece...' She could just laugh at the incident.

Giving a slight wave in farewell, Ka left the barrow and into the mists for other haunts in her more favored hill in Eryn Vorn...

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Hm... two weeks... thought Fea as she made her way around the nearly empty barrow retrieving her lost items. Well... she thought, picking up a stuffed rabbit, this weekend I'm seeing a show, and next weekend I'm hosting a picnic, and then there is the art show with a large corner devoted solely to me... she smiled. I only wish I could mat the caracal... now that's one nice drawing. What, oh what, am I doing in two weeks time? Field trip for science... um... Things are just all adding up. I'm so busy this time of year. she thought. I wish he hadn't planned for mid-May... it's just so dratted inconvenient. He had certainly better post his plans in the Downer Dinner Party thread...

Retrieving her large and mostly unobtrusive bag, she looked inside, pulling out a tidily wrapped item about the size and weight of a small child. She smiled as she read the label:

To your own party, you sadly were late,
But as your guest, be sure I won't hate
You, and as for your gift, I simply must say
That the best gift of all to come all this way
Is brand-spanking-new life sized, and talking,
Singing and dancing and through-Mordor stalking,
(including feet with traditional shag):
A life sized and cool hobbit punching bag!


Fea hoped with all sincerity that this modest gift would appeal to her respected leader. After all, she thought... he never did get a chance to beat up those thieving little halflings, and what with that brand new hand that the phantom bought him, he should be quite capable of pounding this new toy into the ground.


With a final laugh and look around at the dreadfully dank and dark (and spookily empty) room, Fea remembered that she was supposed to be doing her English homework and while touching a careful finger to her nose to see if it was still bleeding from her own utter stupidity, she gracefully floated away into the night.

[Estelyn Telcontar]

Estelyn put on an apron and donned a scarf; cleaning the barrow would take some hard work, but she didn't mind. She hummed the tunes of several songs that guests had sung and was happy that a number of them had written theirs in the Guest Book (http://forum.barrowdowns.com/showthread.php?t=11893). She wrapped it carefully in order to bring it to its final destination in the Mirth barrow before wiping the tables and sweeping the floor.

The Barrow-Wight woke up after a hard day's night of attempting to be in at least two places simultaneously. Waving at his helper, he faded into the morning mists, in search of a new and better hobbit trap - umm, barrow. Estelyn opened the door wide to let in the sunlight that now shone brightly on the Downs. How appropriate! she thought. It was a fine day for sending the party memories westwards, to Elvenhome (http://forum.barrowdowns.com/forumdisplay.php?f=29).

Finally she blew out the last flickering candle, closed the barrow door, and walked home. "Well, I'm back!" she thought, rather unoriginally...