Picnic At The Bonfire Glade

[Mithadan]

RPG Owner: Bethberry

Picnic at the Bonfire Glade


http://www.picnichouse.com/images/Brittany1.jpg
http://www.picnichouse.com/images/Royal%20Stafford1.jpg
http://www.picnichouse.com/images/Wide%20Weave1.jpg


At the time, no one had really paid much attention to the odd fellow as he made his way along the Great East Road. Later, some would argue that people were just imagining him. Others insisted it had to have been him. Some few even alleged to have seen his yellow boots. Then there were those who claimed that the meddlesome wizard was responsible. One intrepid soul even wondered if it could have been the disappearing hitchhiker. Most scoffed at that idea as ridiculous: “Huh, he doesn’t even belong in Middle Earth.” What could not be denied, however, was the appearance of the baskets themselves.

Strangely, just at dusk one night, wicker baskets and hampers had begun to appear at the entrances to smials and barrows all over the countryside. Some even found their way farther afield throughout Eriador it was said. Hobbit and ent, wight and wraith, man, dwarf and elf, even balrog, orc and troll--all received anonymous baskets. When people had had a chance to talk about it, why, it was even said that a ghost ship sailed out of the Havens laden with wicker baskets, sailing west for maiar and valar.

Of course, there was something not quite right about the baskets. Something had been left out. Indeed, in The Shire, the hobbits’ first gleeful delight with the mathoms was tempered by this discovery. The plates and cups, the cutlery, the cloths and napkins and glasses were all fine and lovely and very nice indeed, thank you very much, but the total omission of any manner of foodstuffs was quite disheartening. Hobbits the like of Miz Lobelia sniffed and turned up their noses at the irregularity of it all. They wouldn’t even consider calling on friends and discussing the finer points of the baskets. More than a few orcs were said to have thrown the baskets, wicker and dishes and all, into the fires to keep the furnaces burning. And rumours persisted that some elves looked down upon the workmanship of the baskets, saying they weren’t as good as wicker in the old days. There are those in Arda with no imagination.

More curious souls pondered the omission and decided to rummage more thoroughly into the baskets. Napkins were unrolled, tablecloths unfurled, dishes unpacked and restacked, glasses tipped over. Those who persisted were rewarded with the discovery of something cunningly hidden in the bottom folds of the wicker weaves. A small, hand-written note on parchment paper.

“Come, while the days are yet hot and the earth still warm to our feet, to a Picnic in the Bonfire Glade of the Old Forest. Let us gather to mark the waning of summer and the fellowship of the Dead. Bring your baskets that you might partake of the dinner. But mind your way in. Where Tom and Goldberry have dominion, Sauron has no might, and so there is no need to fear the disturbances of orcs and bullies. Yet remember that the Old Forest is so very much more . . . alive . . . and it harbours still grievances and grudges against all manner of two-legged (and two-winged smilies/wink.gif) creatures for their foul treatment of the Earth. Those not thoughtful of how they tread should be forewarned. Best to bring as well what stories and songs, what tales and yarns you would speak forth to hold the dark at bay and to enchant the Forest as we gather ‘round the bonfire after feasting.

Meet behind the hedge at the Brandybuck Gate to the Old Forest on Tuesday, September 18 at 4 pm EDT”

Food and fright. Now, if this wasn’t something to raise the love of adventure in even the most timid of hobbits, the most jaundiced of wraiths, or even of elves mired in ennui, nothing would.

[ September 18, 2002: Message edited by: Mithadan ]

[ September 18, 2002: Message edited by: Mithadan ]

[Bêthberry]

http://www.torania.com/fellow/fr159asplund.jpg

There were those who tried to sneak in early, of course, some jostling to reach the tables first, others simply eager for adventure. A particular few were hoping to learn more about their enigmatic benefactor. These early birds met with no great misadventure, just a drenching as Goldberry's washing day cleared away the dust of summer drought in preparation for the Picnic. Weather could be unpredictable in the Old Forest.

By the appointed time, quite a crowd had gathered by the Brandybuck Gate. They looked beyond the hedge and saw the gnarled branches and twisted roots of the twinning trees and the dark shadows. Some might have had second thoughts. Yet the coolness under the branches was rewarding, invigorating, and off in the distance they heard haunting, enchanting music.

"Tolkien"--Brodbingnagian Bards (http://play.mp3.com/cgi-bin/play/play.cgi?orig_url=AAICQiOR)

'Tis a cheating piper, come to bear us away, prophesied one voice. Wrong story, someone else muttered. But many feet began to catch the beat and the baskets suddenly seemed lighter and the Forest brighter. Besides, everyone was hungry.

[ September 18, 2002: Message edited by: Bethberry ]

[Bêthberry]

Not far into the Forest, someone saw an old signpost newly painted. And an enticing announcement of the party fare. Much excited pushing and shoving ensued as the crowd sought to read the notice. Finally, one of the elders in attendance, Ioreth, all the way from the Halls of Healing at the White City, called for quiet. I shall read it aloud to you, she said, if you will all just step back a bit. The murmuring and pushing receded. Ioreth began,

Well, of course, it starts with fresh greens. These seem a bit predictable. Mixed greens with radishes, warm 'tater salad, apple and walnut salad, carrot and raisin salad Here a slight cheer went up. eight bean salad, chilled asparagus, and cucumbers with dill. That's a fair bit of fibre.

Then there's chicken and leek pies and Mobray pies and Stilton cheese and herb pies.Quite a murmur of interest went through the crowd at that news.

Ah, we're to have dishes of vegetables, too. Baked mushrooms with sausage meat, cabbage cooked with bacon, pepper and butternut squashes, cauliflower, corn on the cob, roasted potatoes.

At this point, an impatient voice was raised. What's to drink? Ioreth nodded agreement that this was significant and waved her hand to assure the crowd they would be pleased.

It says here, ginger mead and cider, a modest number of ales and lagers, wine, watermelon and strawberry punch, lemonade, and tea. And wait, there's some small print: No coffee. A groan met this news but it was quickly swallowed up by laughter.

Ioreth continued. The main dish is beef, roasted on a spit, and lamb skewers with tomatoes and mushrooms. We're to have breads white and brown, rye, and buttermilk bannock.

This is all too healthy, called another voice from the crowd. What's for treat? What're the sweets? The crowd took up a chant of Treats, sweets. Treats, sweets.

Ioreth looked back at the Notice and sighed. No chocolate. No cheesecake. Groans of disappointment ran through the crowd.

But we do get apple barley pudding, raspberry fool, and fruit pies galore--peach, cherry, buckleberry, rhubarb and strawberry, blueberry. And fresh fruit as well. And cherry meringues and hermit cookies.

Ioreth's voice was growing dry by this time. A young whip yelled out, Well, what are we waiting for? Let's find the Glade.

There was no disagreement with that sentiment. Everyone took to the road posthaste, but the route was narrow and slow going. The crowd tended to stretch out and many went off in other directions, seeking faster routes.

http://www.ourforests.org/graphics/road.jpg

[ September 19, 2002: Message edited by: Bethberry ]

[Rimbaud]

One of these, a tall, angular figure, had hopped over the low hedge and into the verdant lawns that stretched beside the meandering path. Under his arm was tucked a battered blue notebook. Dressed in sombre grey he was, although a sash of blue around his waist made a striking impression. It went well with his eyes, passers-by noted. His hair was brown and tousled and many of the hobbitry who walked past thought he looked a little vague, a little distant.

"Never can tell with the big folk," some muttered but they flashed their smiles across the hedge at him, as he ambled along.

The press of the crowd had been discomforting for our strolling poet; now that we have him to ourselves, we'll observe what he does. The poet was humming, a note per footfall, and those with the sharpest of hearing would have recognised the tune. A Baggins or two had sung the song in years past.

Occasionally he paused, opened the notebook and scribbled with his quill - dipping it into the tiny inkwell hidden in his pocket. Much of the poet's life was stored in those pockets, but that's a story for another time...

Here's some of what he wrote. No sooner had he navigated the hedge than he stopped and wrote this : What is life, if full of care, We have no time to stand and stare...Anybody watching would have seen him frown to himself and mutter. He scratched the words away and closed the book.

The sun continued its path across the sky and the party goers contnued their journey of discovery. Our poet stumbled once or twice. The reason? He kept looking upwards, at the clouds, scudding across the canvas of the sky. He stopped a little later and wrote: I wandered lonely, As a cloud... He hated this more than the last, observed some laughing hobbit children who had followed his weaving blue sash through the fields. He tore that page out and let it float away, borne by a zephyr away, over hedges, nestling finally in a patch of tall yellow flowers.

What happened next? Well, our intrepid poet and his travelling companions saw pennnants fluttering in the breeze and could hear a great commotion! The road went on and on, but more and more people chose the fields as the road curved away from the colourful banners that streamed in the lush green fields...

[ September 18, 2002: Message edited by: Rimbaud ]

[The Fifth]

There was a scream, as various hobbits ran from the clomping of hooves. However, they were also a bit curious. A black, menacing steed trotted towards the hedge. Upon a ragged saddle sat a Ringwraith. The wraith held a familiar sight in one of its gauntleted hands: A wicker basket. It looked out of place and a bit comical from the black, tattered robes he wore. He had travelled all the way from the land of Mordor. Why the other Nazgûl didn't get one as well, he didn't know, but he supposed that only one was enough. As not to cause too much chaos, the sheath under the folds of his robes were but vacant of the cruel blad that was once fitted snugly inside. In his other hand he helds the reins to the horse.

He tugged on the reins, the horse stopping with a snort and a whinny. The other hobbits, men, elves, and dwarves were making their way towards a path to the forest and conversing merrily on the way, although some races left each other alone. Many pairs of eyes looked at the Ringwraith curiously as he observed at where they were going. Pulling on the reins again and tapping the horse's sides with a metal boot, the Ringwraith galloped towards the Glade. But, alas! he knew that Sauron had no power in this place; but he did not care, he wanted his curiousity sated.

Following the banners, he soon reached an open, green field, wild and untameable. A line of people, a bit more scattered than the crowd at the Brandybuck Gate, continued to walk and to make their way. The children clutched onto their mother's blouses and dresses as the wraith's constant aura of fear passed them by. After that, they continued to giggle and play.

[Alkanoonion]

A tall figure walked out from under the trees and stepped onto the path; looking back he saw a large crowed stretched out along the road. The Elf was dressed in bright blue pants and a classing yellow top. The yellow in his top went well with his blond hair and the blue pants went with his eyes.

In his hands he carried the picnic basket that had appeared strangely one night, He had almost chucked the basket way believing that is was some kind of joke but curiosity made him look deeper into the basket to find and invitation to a picnic at the Bonfire Glade.

Looking back down the path he noticed that the crowed had begun to get closer so he moved on.
Some time later he noticed pennants fluttering in the breeze and he could hear a great commotion!

Not wanting to be crushed in the growing crowed Alkanoonion decided to leave the path and moved on into the lush green fields to investigate the commotion....

[ September 18, 2002: Message edited by: Alkanoonion ]

[Ransom]

As the crowd streamed toward the Glade, a stooped figure on a small, ragged pony slowly trotted with them, trying to avioud drawing any attention to himself and failing miserably. He gazed with some ammusement at the antics of the little creatures that ran underfoot. They gazed back at him. None of the hobbits had ever seen anyone like him, and he had never seen a hobbit. Ransom belonged to a tribe of nomadic people that lived in the far east, beyond the weak tribes that had allied with Saurun. His face was wrinkled and leathery, sporting a short beard and dark eyes. He had lived most of his life outdoors and the sun had left a brownish mark on his normally yellow. For his people spent most of his time outdoors.

He wore a suit of leather and iron armor over chain mail, suggesting an elevated social status. Indeed, his father ruled over one of the larger tribes that annually tormented the tribes that dwelt near the Rhun. On one of these raids, he had discovered a strange basked in his personal belongings. He had pondered the message on the bottum of the basket, going so far as to consult one of the tribal shamans. The elder had mumbled something about the gods before directing him to the land of the Stunted People (dwarves). There, a friendly dwarf directed him to a caravan of dwarfs seeking the source of these strange baskets.

He ran a hand through his pony’s main, and unconciously checked for the three quivers that his people always traveled with and the straight sword that his father had taken from the bodies of a group of fair-haired riders. He held a strung composite bow in his left hand to allay his fears, and the reigns in his right hand. The sacred basked hung from the sadle, bumping gently against his supplies.

Most of the crowd avoided him, and he had taken care to give any possible enemies a wide berth. Ahead, he saw penants and banners floating in the wind, reminding him of the tents that his people lived in. He rode on, seeking the great being that had sent the basket to his people.

[VanimaEdhel]

Menelduliniel and Estelarion had dismounted and walked with their horses when they heard the revelry...

"Ai! What is happening in this glade?" Estelarion, the tall, dark-haired Elf asked Menelduliniel as they approached.

Menelduliniel, clearly the shorter of the two by at least 4 inches, looked at Estelarion and her face broke into a grin, "Why, have you been in the wild so long you have forgotten what a party looks like?"

Estelarion gave her a look and said warningly, "Menelduliniel: no. Every time we join a party or a group, we end up fighting. And, generally, I end up getting shot for you. So: no: no parties."

Menelduliniel's looked at Estelarion pleadingly, with a laugh still in her eyes, "Come on! I never get to have any fun! Please?!"

"Elbereth Gilthoniel! No fun? You must be jesting!"

"Estelarion!" Menelduliniel took Estelarion's hand and held it between hers, "Please. I promise: no adventures! I mean: these are Hobbits! What trouble could these sweet, peaceful creatures get into?"

Estelarion sighed and shifted his weight. She always got her way with him. He sighed again, and took her hands off of his, "All right. Fine. But: at the first sign of fighting, I am leaving."

Menelduliniel shrieked in joy, clasped Estelarion around the neck, kissed his cheek, then ran ahead to the party. Estelarion patted the horses, Salkadome and Amanroch, and left them. He knew that, unless there was danger, they would remain there. And, if there was danger, the horses would seek Menelduliniel and him out.

He trotted up and caught up to Menelduliniel as she was introducing herself to some Hobbits and already smiling. He knew that smile...

Ai! I am getting shot or stabbed before we leave here. I can feel it! Estelarion said grumpily to himself. He then put on a smile and laughed with Menelduliniel...

[Kueronez]

A figure watched the crowd move steadily towards the glade.
Kuero was high up in a redwood tree watching silently. She had been sitting there since the early morning, waiting.
Her long hair was braided and her quiver and bow securly fastened on her back. Kuero watched interesting folk go by. Hobbits, elves a wizard and even a human, who seemed to be writing then would tear it out of his book with disgust. The hobbit children would then run after the loose paper, catch it and begin to read it aloud, then giggle. The lone human took no notice however.
Kuero's family had recieved one of the baskets. Her father said it was nonsence and was about to throw it out when Kuero had said she wanted to keep it. She had dissembled it out of curiosity's sake and found the peice of paper. It wasn't hard to see the little peice of paper with her keen elfish eyes.
Suddenly her pointed ears made out the sound of a running horse. And sure enough ten minutes later there sat a Nazgul. He cluched in his hand one of the wicker baskets. Noiselessly Kuero jumped from tree to tree trying to get a better look. All of a sudden the wraith looked up at her. She was just about to jump to another branch, so she had one arm extended and her knees bent. She didn't know what to do, so she waved at it. The wraith looked shocked then angry. But Kuero remembered that the forces of evil did not work here.
Kuero jumped down and started to walk towards the wraith, she was facinated with it. Since she was looking up at the wraith on horse-back, she didn't see the Young-elf that had bent down to retie his boot. She tripped over his leg and fell to the ground with a thud.
Slowly she picked herself up and tried to look not too embarressed. Which she failed miserably, her face was bright red smilies/redface.gif. She looked up at the wraith, she swore if Nazgul could laugh he'd be howling. She scowled at it and turned toward the elf she had tripped over.

[piosenniel]

She was late. It had been a long trip, and somewhere along the way she had dropped the basket. Now what would her Lady think of that!

Lassiël stood at the gate and looked down the path, a few stragglers hastily making their ways down it, leaving a haze of dust in the air.

Under the trees, it was cool and more inviting. The air thick with old murmurings. She stepped onto the leaf carpeted floor, and felt the hum and rustle of the leaves increase in intensity about her. She smiled and made her way surely toward the appointed place.

Branches, leafed and bare, young and old, reached down to touch her green robes as she passed.

[The Fifth]

The wraith looked down upon the elf-girl who apologized to the other. Although none else could see, he grinned to himself. Foolish elves! he thought. He pulled upon the horse's reins. The horse, at first bending its neck down to chomp at some grass, pricked its ears bak in annoyance; but one of the lessons that the horse had learned earilier is to never disobey the Nazgûl, its master.

So it reared up, its eyes white-ringed, kicking some dust at the elves, as the Nazgûl wanted to mock them, and soon galloped off towards the glade.

Soon the wraith arrived. The horse was extremely exhausted, for it had galloped hard and madly towards the Glade. The Ringwraith dismounted the beast and allowed it to collapse onto the ground, its armored chest heaving up and down. The wraith abandoned the black horse and trotted down towards the Glade.

Already, a few people were gathered there. It was a peaceful-looking place, glowing bright green from all of the foilage, trees, and the grass. Even with the wraith's foul presence, the place seemed wholesome. There were was plenty of space for people of all sorts to place blankets on the floor and spread out the dishes. There was a long wooden table at the end.

[Ransom]

Ransom dismounted in a patch of grass where several other guests had left their horses. Barebacked steeds of the elves and the heavy chargers of the Gondorian knights grazed alongside several ponies and a lonely black horse. He set about making himself presentable in the fasion of his people. Ransom pulled out a fourth quiver, filled to the brim with arrows, and clipped it to the wide belt that encircled his waist. His sword was slung over his shoulder, and the long feathers on his helm received a minute amount of attention.

Finally satisfied that he was presentable, he reverently removed the basket. A quick peek inside assured him that the offering for the hosts was still inside. And so, holding his bow in his left hand and the basket in his right, Ransom left his horse and continued on foot to the Glade, stopping every so often to gaze at other visitors.

[ September 18, 2002: Message edited by: Ransom ]

[ September 18, 2002: Message edited by: Ransom ]

[Eol]

The winds was soft and sweet, much as summer always did. Every hobbit, elf and Man had crossed up the leaves to a glade far beyond the sycamore that stood not too far away. Beneath it was quite an unsual sight. Amusing was the plight, not of the fallen elf, but of the rags upon its steed. In one hand the reins and in the other a basket of wicker, made not more then two winter nights since. ' I remember those reeds ' The oak thought, ' Those reeds spoke of the waters that helped them grow, of the sorrows and of the woes of plight of those not in Aman'.
Children giggled while the women laughed, it was not a day of sorrow, but of glee. Even the jays and the swallows echo them in their whistles and tweets. The oak laughed, the branches rattled and knocked, the jays remained while the swallows flew away. ' Am I to bring my own pain and not seek after this parade? '

[Bêthberry]

Suddenly a strange gust of wind came blowing down upon the assembled guests, but at the last it rounded in upon itself, turning and twisting in its path, so that none was touched.

Well, none but one. The Wraith found himself (itself?)turned upside down, spiralling up, up, and into an ancient yew tree, where he hung, cloak twisted around the needled branches. The same gust shook an apple tree nearby, and several apples rolled over the ground, to rest at the mouth of the panting steed. Then the wind strangely assumed an echoing cheer, so that people swore they could hear:

Yes, gallop, do gallop, do gallop you may,
But slacken the stirrup and loosen the bit,
For in the Old Forest even horses do play.

The steed shook its head and helped itself to the apples, snorting up at the Wraith caught in the tree. Another strange burst of wind shook the yew and the Wraith tumbled free, unhurt but dishelved and somewhat chagrined. smilies/wink.gif

[ September 18, 2002: Message edited by: Bethberry ]

[Gandalf_theGrey]

* Meanwhile, a Cloaked Guest carrying a basket came riding bareback. Strangely enough, he was on a black horse very much resembling the wraith's. Though the horse was still a bit lean from having been underfed until just recently, a shining jet black mane and coat indicated otherwise glowing health. *

* Since the Cloaked Guest had changed his plans to attend what was sure to become a Picnic of Legend, he was only now just coming upon Crickhollow. The Cloaked Guest squinted under furrowed brows as he passed a house there, for wasn't that the pony cart of that fat, gaudy merchant Podo Cotton of Overhill parked outside? The Cloaked Guest was certain he recognized the pony and cart from the stables at the Trade Inn of Sarn Ford, though no Hobbits were to be seen. A faint aroma of coffee beans rose up from the cart on the wind. *

* The Cloaked Guest shrugged it off, lit a fresh bowl of pipeweed, and continued on to the Gate at the edge of the Old Forest. The ends of fireworks protruded from his picnic basket. The basket was marked with a "G" ... for "Guest," perhaps. * smilies/smile.gif

[ September 18, 2002: Message edited by: Gandalf_theGrey ]

[Marileangorifurnimaluim]

In the deep shade beyond the glade, a pair of eyes watched the gathering.

Solemn they were, and patient. They took in the little people, already laughing and dancing, chattering like birds on a summer's morning. And the elves, ah, yes, the glistening elves, shimmering like stars, their voices like rainfall! The eyes widened briefly at the Nazgul, looked thoughtful at the curious barbarian, reverently handling his simple basket as if it were made of spun gold. Hmmm.

Those eyes watched, waiting still. They had grown very doubtful about this party, once it was read there would be no coffee. Or chocolate for that matter. Hm.

A piece of paper fluttered into the trees in the direction of those eyes, catching in the branches. Odd, how only one tree of so many was stirred by that breeze...

[The Fifth]

The wraith landed on the ground, making a few leaves crunch. He eventually stood up, shaking off some leaves from his cloak and robes, straightening out his hood as well. He glanced at the steed, munching happily at the apples.

The Ringwraith looked up. "Curse thee, forest-wind!" was all that was heard, a hissing and thin, cold voice.

He was angry now that he had left his blade at the Dark Tower to rust, so that he may hew all of the trees, one by one. That would teach them not to mess with the Nazgûl! However, he remained silent. When the hobbit-children giggled at his misadventure, he let out a horrible screech that could be heard all the way from Bag End.

[Susan Delgado]

The large white dog trotted leisurely through the gathering crowd. Everywhere he went, people stopped and stared. It wasn't taht he was unusual; on the contrary, he was a very ordinary dog, it was simply the context of seeing a dog wandering through the crowd as if he belonged. In fact, he did. His name was Feaer, and he was no ordinary dog.

As he moved through the crowd, he wasn't looking for anything in particular; he was scouting for his mistress, an elf maid named Elenachliel, who was waiting in the trees beyond the glade for his word. After surveying the party for a few minutes more, Feaer sat down, lolling his tongue in a doggy grin. He seemed the epitome of canine contentment.
Mistress, this is a good place. It's full of all the people!
Elenachlieil emerged from her hiding place, wondering exactly what the dog had meant by "all the people". When she came in view of the Glade, she smiled in understanding. She'd never seen so many different races together in one place before. Still grinning, she rushed to join the festivities, clutching her basket to her.

[Bêthberry]

A smaller breeze, gentler, wafted on the air. The Wraith snifted, tense and angry at first, but then watched as three white rose petals floated onto his cloak.

The hobbit children watched in wide-eyed amazement. They would have liked the flower petals, too, and were envious of the Wraith, but that voice warned them away.

The dishelved poet, unnoticed by most, had watched the proceedings with baited curiosity from the side. The white rose petals, however, drew forth his interest and he quickly turned to another white, a blank page, and proceeded to scribble something franticly on it. "The air is like a white, white rose..." No, that wasn't right. He sighed and turned to a new page.

[ September 18, 2002: Message edited by: Bethberry ]

[Gandalf_theGrey]

* Coming upon the Gate, both Gandalf and his steed stiffened at the sound of an all-too-familiar screech. Alerted, the wizard instinctively steeled himself to be on his guard, though yet trusting full well in the wholesomeness of Bombadil to keep the peace on his land. For he could not say with certainty whether the Ringwraith was well within the bounds of Bombadil's realm, or hovering dangerously near a border. *

[piosenniel]

'By the One!' said the figure in green just stepping from the trees. 'His children still have no manners!'

[The Fifth]

The Ringwraith stepped back as the flower petals wafted into his hood, into the black emptyness that was his face. He snorted, a bit like a horse, but seemed to take this as a gift from the wind.

He plucked out a couple of the petals, and cast them away, watching them float off and gently touch the hobbit childrens' noses, who shouted in glee at them and tried to catch them, but they drifted back towards the wraith.

His steed stood up now, fully rested. The horse turned its head and trotted off to join the other horses who played merrily, glancing at its undead master for a moment.

[Belin]

With the white rose petals, another flower drifted into the glade, or at any rate a hobbit named for one. Barely too old to chase the petals, she watched them float away with a peculiar grin that almost erased the shyness from her face. This would be a party, indeed! Her sisters didn't know what they were missing, refusing to enter the Old Forest.

She turned indignantly at the sound of a low and immeasurably sweet voice making a rather sour remark. As the voice would have it, she, Pervinca Took, had no manners! The figure in green was only a few steps away, so Pervinca drew herself up to her full height of 3'2", took one or two steps forward, and put on her sternest frown. She didn't notice that the lady's mouth twitched slightly in amusement, because she had already begun her lecture.

"No manners? Is it manners, I ask you, to lurk in the bushes at a party? Is it manners not to introduce yourself? Would it be manners, then, to make remarks about the manners of others? Is it? ...oh," she added, suddenly dropping her voice to a whisper as she finally noticed that the person she was addressing had a light in her face, and a grace in her bearing, that the hobbit girl had never seen before. "Are you an elf?"

It was at that moment that Lassiël began to laugh, but quietly, and with a certain merriment that managed to escape being offensive. "Truly I apologize," she said, in a voice that was itself recompense.

[ September 19, 2002: Message edited by: Belin ]

[GreatWarg]

The fox moved forward cautiously, pausing every once in a while to sit. The Master had told him to watch Old Man Willow, and keep him from causing any trouble to travellers, but simply the reason why he had posted a beast to watch the cranky old willow was a wonder to the fox. Lady Goldberry and the Master were gathering many plants and honey and fruits in the past day, and that aroused curiousity of any good beast living in the lands. After all, it seemed like a feast was going on, if the fox knew anything! And as any wayfarer knows, foxes are quick to curiousity and excitement.

Coming to the hedge, the fox could hear a raucous. There was a clammering of hungry Dwarves complaning, a collection of hobbits from Bree and the Shire laughing and merrymaking, a Ringwraith (How strange indeed! the fox had thought) Men from Rohan and Gondor, an odd Man constantly staring around and then quickly writing in a book eventually tearing out many pages, and even old Gandalf! Gandalf! Now this is a surprise! What would a wizard be doing in such merrymaking! the fox wondered again. But he was becoming impatient, and wanted to go take a closer inspection at the horses prancing and dancing around the field. Several deer were also gathered there, and many birds in the trees.

It seems I have not come too late for the merrymaking! the fox thought, sitting down and watching the growing excitement with keen eyes.

Many hobbit children were now dancing around the Ringwraith, singing merry songs, and the poor Ringwraith looked very embaressed indeed, in a ring of hobbit children, all laughing and singing and merrymaking. Several of the hobbit grown-ups were now joining in, mouths wide with laughter. A good collection of Men from Bree were also watching with interest, occasionally bursting in laughter and applause when some jest was made.

The mostly kept to themselves, watching everything happening around them. The odd Man which the fox had noticed before was now watching the hobbit children and scribbling something down into his peculiar book. A few moments later he was again ripping the page out, letting it fall to the ground, where an inquisitive hobbit lass or lad would pick it up and read it aloud to his or her friends, all of them giggling.

A strange little white dog barked, dancing with his mistress, a tall maiden. The fox's red plume-like tail swayed in time to the music of a pipe. The very odd Man, whom the fox seemed to think was quite likeable really, was again scribbling in his large book. The fox raised a mud-brown paw, licked it, then fidgeted with his whiskers. All this merrymaking was making the fox in a mood to dance.

[Child of the 7th Age]

The child rode to the edge of the glade. Her blonde curls bounced against her back as she raced her pony as fast as she dared. She was a human child, about thirteen years of age, and evidently from a family of some repute. Her gown was made of the finest silk. Her green eyes widened with mirth as she saw the pennants waving, and the tables filled with food.

She cocked her head behind her shoulder to see if her nursemaid had caught up with her yet. A small hobbit called out to the girl, "Pearl, your mother will kill me if I lose you! So hold in those reins until I can ride beside you." Cami bumped and thumped up and down on her small grey cob, the wicker basket with its invitation banging against the pony's withers.

Pearl's laughter rang out like a bell, "Mistress Cami, I promise not to run away. Only I was so excited to see all these fine folk. For we've ridden long and far from the coast of Lindon to come to this party today."

Then she dismounted and looked about in wonder at the Elves, and Dwarves, and hobbit kin who filled the glade to overflowing.

[ColletteTook]

Collette smiled happily from a table.
What a rare and splendid occasion this was! She had wild and tangled curls that had been pulled back into a rather ugly ribbon that was an unrecogniable shade of brown or perhaps indigo.
She had a plain hobbit face and plain hobbit clothes, indeed the only idividual feature she would ever pride herself upon was her bright green eyes, which were shining brightly in excitement at the moment as she watched all the different guests arrive, a picninc-basket in hand.
She had been there since the early startings of arrivals and watched happliy for faces she knew, but majority was only people she would love to know, fair elves, young and older hobbits from bree and all farthings of the Shire, There were men from the great White City and even delving dwarves that had come all the way from the lonely mountain (though she knew nothing of these regions, except from the wonderful stories she had heard throughout the duration of her childhood.
Her eyes caught Pervincia's, who was a relative of hers and she went amoungst a group of hobbits to gossip happily.

[Birdland]

A thin, grey figure, in mail and armor, came riding through the trees - literally - on a grey horse. As they passed through shafts of sunlight, both horseman and steed would be washed out by the bright rays, only to reappear as they entered the shade of the trees.

"Confound it, Mesulwyth, slow down! Do be a good horse for once." said the ghostly knight as his ghostly steed spied the apples and pranced towards them, totally ignoring his rider's sawing on the reins. "Dratted charger. It is quite impossible for you to eat those. Now do be still." Mesulwyth performed a ghostly capriole of annoyance.

"Oh, bother!" The basket under the ghost's arm began to slip, and he had to reconstitute his ectoplasm in order to retain a grip on its handle. This meant he lost his hold on the reins. The ghost horse trotted towards the other mounts gathered around the apple feast, passing through them like a cold wind. All the horses, including the two wight mares, shivered their skin uncomfortably.

When the basket was found at the Dark Door, (left by someone who had knocked loudly and then ran), Sir Pellandor had thought it was a misdelivery. No one living in the Paths of the Dead could eat picnic food; not so much as a pickled egg. So why would he receive such an invitation?

Then he read the reference to "ghost stories". Of course! Obviously someone required his expertise. The living could hardly be expected to get the old tales right.

Pellador had been a loose ends ever since the Curse had been lifted, and hadn't really been out much since that last ride through Pelagir. The Picnic at the Bonfire Glade sounded like just the ticket. Something to shake the grave dust off, as it were. He hoped some of the Rohirrim would show up, so they could reminisce about old times.

Floating down off his steed and untangling the reins, he spied the black-cloaked Nazgul surrounded by the laughing, jeering halfling children. Of course, the specter was merely Undead, where as Pellandor was completely Dead, but he didn't want to be considered a snob. He resecured the again sagging basket, and raising his translucent palm in greeting to his fellow haunt, sonorously intoned "Hail!"

[ September 19, 2002: Message edited by: Birdland ]

[ September 19, 2002: Message edited by: Birdland ]

[The Fifth]

The wraith glared no more at the children who danced merrily about him, screaming with laughter. He instead, looked at the ghostly warrior, examining the ghost curiously. He then hissed, "Hail? Go float back into the barrow thou came from!" Of course, the Ringwraith had thought that this was a Barrow-Wight, who was, of course, under the command of his Lord, the Witch-King.

He reached towards the scabbard for his blade, but then drew his hand back. O Melkor! he thought, remembering that he had left the weapon at "home". He walked away fom the ring of dancing hobbits, breaking it up. The robes he wore covered his feet, giving him an appearance of drifting towards the center of the Glade.

However, the children regrouped. The Ringwraith indeed seemed angry; you could see it from the bitterness in his already hate-filled eyes. The children didn't seem to notice; they were too busy laughing at the poor wraith.

[Estelyn Telcontar]

„Help!!! Heeellllp!!!!!!“

Goldberry heard high-pitched cries from the direction of the Old Forest. ‘Oh dear,’ she thought, ‘hobbit tourists again, I suppose! Why must they always rush into the Forest without reading the FAQ sign at the gate? If only they would learn to use the search function – they would reach their goal faster and without getting into trouble with Old Man Shark- uh, Willow.’

Her eyes softened as she gazed at Tom, snoring serenely on the sofa. ‘Poor dear, he’s so tired after having the night rescue shift. I guess I’ll take care of it myself. But,’ her chin lifting resolutely, ‘I absolutely will not sing that nonsense!’

And so it came to pass that the entrapped hobbits very soon heard the strains of a lovely voice:

“You just call out my name
And you’ll know, wherever I am,
I’ll come running…”

[Child of the 7th Age]

A small lad stood by the side, gazing at the figure of Sir Pellador and his ghastly opponent, the Nazgul. He marvelled at the Nazgul's discourteous response. This was certainly not chivalry! The knight was so surprsed that his visor slid open to reveal great foggy spectacles that looked as if they were covered with ice. Sir Pellador looked vaguely familiar to the boy, but he could not place the scary Nazgul.

When Pelladore removed his spectacles to clean them, they slipped from his hand and fell to the ground. He peered down at them from the back of his steed, and then over at the boy.

"You, there, young fellow, who are you?" he halooed. "Would you retrieve my spectacles?"

"My name is Blister, squire of Sir Eek, and you look dreadfully familiar." He surveyed the great knight up and down, and went to pick up the spectacles.

Blister solemnly nodded, "Ah, yes, it comes to me now. But where is your brachet?"

"I believe he is coming soon. I have left him home with Miss Piggy."

Blister shook his head, but then looked up with despair into the eyes of the knight. "I think you and I have made a colossal blunder. For we are from another time and place, and will surely get tossed from this merry gathering since we are not "canon." And yet," said the boy. "I did receive a wicker basket with an invitation, while my foster brother did not."
The lad looked extremely puzzled.

"Do not worry, for you will see much here that is known to you. Over there are a people who live in the Shire. And yonder, on a distant shore, stands the Blessed Lands. For we are from a region of great importance called "Source" and are thus free to join in these revels."

"Now, if you will excuse me, I must deal with this Nazgul.

Then Blister spied a lovely lass with blonde curls, for which he had a definite weakness, and he went off to introduce himself to Pearl.

[ September 19, 2002: Message edited by: Child of the 7th Age ]

[piosenniel]

'An elf?!'laughed Lassiël. 'You do me honor to place me among the First Born!'

She bowed toward the doughty hobbit. 'Nay, say rather I am handservant to a Lady who wished to honor those who have called this gathering.'

The hobbit stepped back shyly, discomfited, despite the warmth and lightness of the lady's bearing.

'Ah! But come now! Where are my manners?' said Lassiël in a soft, inviting voice. 'My name is Lassiël. And what might yours be?'

'Pervinca Took, ma'am!' came the hobbit's courteous answer.

[ September 19, 2002: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[Elenna]

They all looked up as another horse came trotting towards them. It was a huge gray stallion, and on its back sat an elf-maiden. Before her she clutched a gray basket, intricately woven.

"Mae govannen! I am Elenna, from the House of Elrond, and I hope to be allowed to join your party - I have brought food!"

[Rimbaud]

Upon seeing the ghostly knight, our peerless poet gave a start! Quite a sight the knight was too, although a little indistinct at times. Hurriedly, the poet snatched for his book and started scribbling. In my house there lives some ghosts, Mischief is their second name... The poet looked for a long time at these notations shaking his head sadly. He crossed through the words and snapped the book shut. This quite startled a hobbit lass right before him, and caused a fox, trotting past on errands unknown, to look reproachfully at him.

The hobbit child, a small mass of brown curls and green tunic, waved a muddy piece of paper at him triumphantly. She jumped up and down, her head barely reaching the height of his belt.

"Mister! Mister! Your paper!" squeaked she, her voice shrill beside the hum of conversation from the adjacent road.

"Hmm?"

"You have been dropping your papers, sir, not to impose or no..."

"Ah," said our poet, a little bewildered by the unbridled energy of youth. "Yes, I see."

"Here it is sir, should you want it still!"

"Ah, but what's a word's worth?" asked our pentametre practitioner, with a twinkle in his deep blue pools of eyes.

Flustered, she thrust the dirtied parchement into his hand and scampered off, curls bouncing.

Our poet sighed, but being a man of curious nature, decided to question the approaching apparition as an intellectual aperitif before his appetite for appetisers overcame his aptitude for the application of conversation.

Making his customarily unobtrusive path to the undead steed's flank, he peered up, shielding his eyes from the sun as it filtered through the treetops.

"Good day," cried he. "What brings so lifeless a lord to this unexpected festivity?"

[Child of the 7th Age]

Pearl ran over to Elenna, with Blister following just behind. She graciously curtsied then asked to poke her noise into Elenna's basket. The sweet smell of fresh lembas came floating up along with many other fragrances.

Pearl looked up in surprise. "There's not only wonderful food in here, but many lovely flowers as well which can grace our tables.

[Elenna]

Elenna smiled at Pearl. "They are a gift from Elrond, Lord of Rivendell, child. Flowers for the eyes and lembas for the tongue, as well as a few fruits and things. Do you wish to help me set them out?"

Pearl smiled and nodded. Elenna held out her hand and the human child took it. Together they walked off toward the tables.

[Cuthalion]

A tall Elf, sporting a new set of black riding leathers and a picnic basket entered the Glade. He flung his leg over the head of his horse and slid off, a grin lighting his face as he saw his friends Meneli and Estelarion, quarreling as usual, standing in the midst of all the activity, she craning her neck in all directions, he with an eternally exasperated look on his face.

He paused briefly as he beheld the nobly tattered Ring-Wraith, then shrugged his shoulders as he eased through the crowd toward his freinds. He scooped Meneli up in his arms and swung her around. Estelarion looked at him quizzically, grinning. "Well met, both of you! So, what's this all about?"

[Mithadan]

A figure dressed in black breeches and shirt under a grey cloak trudged disconsolately through the Forest from the Barrow-Downs. His Master, the Barrow-Wight had sent him to attend a picnic in the Bonfire Glade. He tripped over a tree root and sprawled face first into the dirt.

Sitting up, he plucked some yellow leaves from his collar and hair and rose wearily to his feet. As if he had not had enough to do! In the past ten days he had put down a petty rebellion in the lands not far south of here, put out some flames elsewhere, dueled with an Elf, been smacked on the shoulder with the flat of a sword, been kissed by an Elf (OK, that wasn't so bad). On top of it all, he had been subcontracted out to invite a pile of Elves, Dwarves, Men and Hobbits to some party in Gondor (lazy git, that Elessar, can't even send his own invitations) and then had to arrange for hordes of Wargs, fires, storms, avalanches and floods just to mess with the travel plans of those guests. He was tired...

"Oh well," he muttered. "At least I'll get something to eat. Maybe some spirits..." A grey mist coalesced next to him and took the shape of an ill-favored lady in tattered finery. About her feet were innumerable cats. The spectre hissed companionably at him.

"Begone Beruthiel!" he cried. "Perhaps later I shall set thee upon unsuspecting picnickers for my amusement!" The spirit vanished, leaving behind twelve cats who began rubbing against his legs. "Wait! Take the cats with you..." But there was no reply. He continued on toward the Glade, brushing stray cat fur off as he went. Amazing how even black cats can shed white fur on black clothing, he mused. The cats followed him, mewling as they went. Such is the life of a lesser Wight.....

[Eol]

"Ho hum, I have not see the such as you in a while past."

The oak called out to the walking wight. "I must apologise for the root, I forget that they get that way." The branches shimmed. " Tell me now, wight, are off to the foray in the glade in the distance away?" The oak dropped a few leaved down on the wight and the circling cats. "I too would like to see, but I am root bound, as most are to be."

[Ransom]

Ransom slowly meandered through the crowd, picking up sniplits of conversations. Most of the conversations did not interest him, but a few were noteworthy. Here was a scruffy looking man madly scribbling on some sort of tablet. Up ahead were a trio of woodelves. There was wandere cloaked in grey. He recognized a few being as wood elves, for his people had once ventured to the edge of Mirkwood on one of their raids before being repulsed by the elves.

Steering clear of the menacing wraith and the ghostly knight, he felt a furry object brush against his leg. It was some sort of small dog, with a beautiful read coat and a bushy tale. Said fox stopped his thumping his tail and looked upwards. Man and animal stared transfixed for a moment before the fox returned to watching the small Stunted ones dance around the wraith.

Quite frankly, he was a tad bit confused. His people always began their feasts by giving their hosts gifts. But no host occupied the two large chair at the head of the longest table, and no one else seemed to be searching for them. Surely these people honored their hosts with gifts. Didn’t they? And so, Ransom ambled on through the crowd.

[ September 19, 2002: Message edited by: Ransom ]

[Birdland]

"Hail? Go float back into the barrow thou came from!"

Pellador, having retrieved his glasses from the helpful young Blister, looked askance at the black-cloaked ruffian. Hmmmph! His "barrow" constituted an entire mountain, whereas this Undead Upstart obviously hailed from one of those cobbled-together ant-hills on the Downs. Still, wouldn't do to start off the festivities on the wrong foot.

Pellador floated alongside the Wraith, feet trailing languidly through the air six inches off the ground. "Fine form you display with that black robe, good Sir. Almost looks as if you were gliding. Good material, too. Is it Elven?"

Ghost and Wraith glided through a herd of cats, who immediately hissed and retreated into a young fox trotting through the area.

[ September 19, 2002: Message edited by: Birdland ]

[Mithadan]

The Wight blinked twice and stared up at the tree. Then, acting as if trees spoke to him every day, he responded, "Um, yes sir...uh, Ma'am...uh, yes, tree. I am bound for the Glade. Ouch!" One of the cats had chosen to insert its claws into his calf at that moment. "If I return this way, I shall give you news of the events, and certainly send others over to speak with you, root-bound as you are."

Looking about to make sure no one had seen him talking to a tree, he hurried on.

[piosenniel]

Pervinca had made her excuses, once the introductions and a few pleasantries had passed between them. She had spied the food, and it drew her on.

Lassiël drew back under the trees and watched the gathering for a few moments. Such life! Discordant at times, to be sure. But lovely, nonetheless.

She heard the comment of an elder tree come from a distance. 'Ah, he wishes to attend the festivities, and sighs because he cannot.'

Hastening to the place from whence the voice had come, she stood before the old and mighty tree, and regarded him gravely.

He stirred lazily when she touched a low hanging branch. The leaves greened about her fingers and a curious sensation of liveliness spread toward the trunk. He came to full attention as she addressed him.

'Rootbound?! I think not, Master Oak. I know no one at this party and have need of a companion. It would be pleasing if you would accompany me - at least to the edge of the glade. There you and I might watch the festivities, and enjoy some pleasant conversation.'

She smiled impishly at him, and he felt his roots loose themselves from the soil about them. He flexed them and found that they had become limber now and capable of movement.

'Come then!' she said, grasping the handlike branch he offered her. 'Let us make our way, and see all we can.'

The trees about them opened a pathway, closing silently behind them as they made their slow approach to the party.

[Eol]

The oak walked along the elf, pleased.

"It has been ages since past that I been though these parts. No reason has drawn from the post that I have love so dear. A party people cheer: of the tarts, fruits and pies. Oh the wine and the drink will be plenty, I see." The ancient tree laughed. "Ah about your youth brings life to the ancient libs they do! It would be good to see my friend the ash, the pine and the yew. Thank you, friend, for a reason to come and join with you."

The oak saw the the cats wandering between the bushes and the trees. "My what a sight, these cats, are to see!"
The oak returned the attention back to the companion. "Tell me, friend, what wind brings you, as it seem far from your hearth? "

[ September 19, 2002: Message edited by: Eol ]

[piosenniel]

'An Elf!' she thought to herself. 'Again I am mistaken for one of the First Born.' She shook her head. 'Has it been so long that all memory has faded, even from this Ancient Forest? I wonder now if this is why she sent me?'

She turned toward her amiable companion and responded to his question. 'A fair wind and a swift ship brought me over the straight and starry way, my friend. Far, indeed, from my hearth!'

They had reached the edge of the glade, stepping just past the line of trees which ringed it.

'Do you wish to rest a while here?' she asked the oak. 'Or shall we continue on in to the midst of the festivities?'

[Eol]

"I shall rest here, as this place is fine for me. I can see the festivities and enjoy the laughter. Go one now, friend and enjoy yourself.I am bit of a old for such things!"

[ September 19, 2002: Message edited by: Eol ]

[Elenna]

As Elenna and Pearl set the flowers and the food out on the table, Elenna gaped at the variety of people that had gathered for this party.

"Is that a wight?" she asked herself as she saw the shadowy figure some distance away. "And a wraith?" She fingered the hilt of the dagger she held in a shoulder sheath under her tunic. But then she noticed that no one else was alarmed by these partygoers, and she relaxed, turning her attention back to the flowers.

[Eol]

The oak tree laugh and slid the root back into the ground. From the the edge ended, the varity of people could be seen: hobbits, elves, humans and wraiths.

"Curious indeed!" The ancient tree shook its branches and adjusted its bough. The forest was loud, more so then before. Many of the trees were talking. There were still many who had not awaken yet from their slumber. The whole seemed to vibrate with activity. This was quite a party. As a sentry, this was quite unusal.

[The Fifth]

"Elven?" hissed the Ringwraith. "Of course not! For I come from the land of Mordor, and I serve the Dark Lord!"

He looked back at those who stared at him and his new ghost "friend" with his invisible face. He then looked back at Pellador.

"Where do thee come from?" He asked, a bit curious. Sniffing the air for a moment, he could detect the scent of elves.. yuck... and.. a fox? All of these strange new scents mingled in and confused the Ringwraith quite a bit.

[Bêthberry]

Three owls burst forth out of the thicket at the edge of the Glade as the branches of the viburnum, elderberry and illex bushes swayed and then were parted to reveal a woman of middle height and indeterminate age. Her copper-coloured hair was plaited down her back rather than wreathed around her head. Instead of her usual knee-high boots, her feet were covered by leather sandals, tooled in oakleaf designs and tied around her ankles with leather laces. She wore not her usual green jerkin but a long yellow tunic-dress which fell near to her ankles. It was held at each shoulder by silver pins enamelled with designs of rosemary, sage and borage leaves. At her waist she bore a belt of silver worked in a chain of clematis bloom and hydrangea petals.

She stumbled out a bit, but kept her balance as she wiped spider webs from her dark blue cloak and shook leaves and even a twig or two out of her hair.

Oh gracious. You are all here already and I am late. Why, did you all take the short route and not the long way? You missed strolling through the trees? They are so very much excited by all you two-legged creatures. Why, they haven't seen so many people here since the hobbits bur--well, perhaps I'll save that story for later. Oh but I do see some of you have been quite particular about how you care for the Forest. Why, at least two, no three if I am not mistaken, of you are not even leaving your footprints behind.

Forgive Goldberry's brief appearance. This is the busiest time of the year for her, preparing for the splendors of autumn. But at least we have yet the last few mellow days of summer. Thank goodness the tables are prepared and laden with food! I'm thirsty if you are not. Allow me to draw the first pint of beer. And I'm sure there's lemonade and punch for those with milder other tastes.

The woman then proceeded to hammer a wooden spigot into the first barrel, caught the brew in a mug, and raised it high to all:

A drink to the health of the Forest,
A toast to the wealth of the Downs,
May all of you placate the spirits,
Afore you leave these grounds.

The huddle of hobbit children started to giggle watching the woman say this, for a spider web still was caught on her cloak and hand, and it appeared as if she was going to swallow the web as she sipped the mug.

[ September 20, 2002: Message edited by: Bethberry ]

[VanimaEdhel]

Estelarion and Menelduliniel greeted Elendur warmly, embracing him. They watched as he moved on to greet others he knew.

Menelduliniel looked around in awe at all that gathered around her.

"There must be royalty here!" Menelduliniel whispered to Estelarion, "I wish I knew who everybody was!"

"That is a wight, that's a fox, there's a white dog, there's a wraith," Estelarion said, uneasily. He had been uncomfortable since the wraith and the wight had showed up. The undead were not known to be pleasant party guests...

Ai! I am definitely getting stabbed tonight! Estelarion kept thinking to himself, sourly. He had been very hesitant to leave their baggage by the tree, as his bow and his trusty meat cleaver (OOC: compliments of Ransom's character, Revanas, in a previous RPG) were packed away. However, Menelduliniel had seemed thrilled to dispose of her weapons.

Estelarion looked around and saw she had disappeared. He looked around quickly, and saw her approaching the wraith.

Elbereth Gilthoniel! Estelarion thought, Here we go...please do not make him mad, Meneli...

--------------------

Menelduliniel made her way towards the wraith.

"Suilannon!" Menelduliniel greeted the wraith, formally, smiling excitedly, "May I ask who you are and what brings you here?"

[ September 20, 2002: Message edited by: VanimaEdhel ]

[Alkanoonion]

After watching the party from the edge of the field Alkanoonion decided to join but was feeling shy. “Ah I know what I need”, "I see that the food is prepared and the beer open maybe I will have a drink to calm my nerves"

As he made his way across the field a cat that had suddenly appeared from out of no ware tripped the elf. The elf made for a comical appearance in his bright blue pants and a classing yellow top trying to keep his balance windmilling his hands, the basket which was at this time still in his hands went flying across the field and landed in a wine vat making a large splash.

Feeling embarrassed by the accident the elf quickly grabbed the basket out of the vat. And then quickly made his way back to the edge of the field…

[GreatWarg]

The fox had taken to wandering the crowd, occasionally talking to a tree or two, and even a few of the Wood Elves from the distant realm of Thingol. The wraith seem ill pleased at the fox, for some reason or another, so the canine let it be. The peculiar poet was also looking at the crowd, and the fox had had a nice brush with him.

Quite a likeable Man, really, the fox had thought. But the horse spirit was quite unnerving, and so also was the knight. Some sort of walking dead horror was there.

A gentle wind blew, and several more rose petals swirled around the field in little gusts of wind. They all seemed to be attracted to the Ringwraith, however strange that may seem. A white rose petal touched the fox's nose, and the fox sat down, smiling at it.

But at that moment, he heard Lady Goldberry singing, singing a song of soothing calm, that was evidently to several travellers who had been caught in Old Many Willow's nets.

I do hope they are all right. I was supposed to see to it that none get caught. Perhaps I should seek out the Lady? With that in mind, the fox immediately dashed off to Lady Goldberry and the Master.

[Lugbúrz]

Parties are very boring things, awfully stupid, in fact they are a complete waste of time, especially if you get invited to them, and more so if you don't get any presents (for yourself, that is), to speak the truth there is only one way to enjoy a party.

It is with these profound words of wisdom that I take you to this party, a party long long ago, from a gala... ahem! As I was saying, people make complete fools of themselves at parties, and that is why I like them so much.

Now I take you to a familiar scene: A Party.

Why is this party being thrown? It seems it is to celebrate the world still standing on warm feet.

Where is this party? Actually we'll have to get a larger view of to tell you that... Middle Ea... well not that large... Ah, yes, in a good old forest.

These party animals, these! They seem to have deforested a good patch just to make merry! O, you say that was done a while ago to prevent trees taking over the land? I'd say!

Here we see our typical party goer, in fact he has partied so much that he's dead. But he still wanted to make it here, and what does he have to say? He asks us to always keep our word. Wonder where he comes from.

And now we see that there are always those people who like to wear costumes, the talking tree, the talking fox, the talking elf... wait a minute, an elf!! Ooooooo, defintely an elf, actually more than one of them.

There are the usual peoples from far away, some small dwarves, some smaller dwarves, with beards in their feet, some Wraith, some Wight, wait a minute, let us see what the Wight has to say... what? He says he's been doing some work for King Elessar? Now excuse me but with the ringwraith here don't you think that is a bit of a spoiler? I mean, are you quite sure you belong here... Ahem! Next time we choose people who don't own this place, okay?

Now where were we, ah yes! The classic problem in parties, is that the host is often completely sidelined. Let us ask this cloaked gentleman who the host is: Tom Bombadil? Who're you my kind Sir? Gandalf! So tell me dear Sir: Who is Tom Bombadil? Where did that wizard go?

Now we shall show you the festivities: there are lots of baskets all around the place, looks like a pot-luck. Let's ask this nice Nazgul what is in his basket. Nothing? Ah, yes, always those who think they can have a feast and bring nothing to it. Filthy wraith. Let us ask this very small girl. So all the baskets are empty?

What an interesting party this is!

[Mithadan]

The Wight walked carefully into the Glade. Carefully because the cats were still crowding about his legs. Funny animals, cats. If you step on them, they hiss and spit and use their claws to try and climb up your leg, presumably to get at your face. Not quite sure though, didn't wait around to find out. Now I just walk carefully instead.

He walked slowly through the growing crowd. Behind him he heard hisses and people crying out things like "Ouch". He noticed that the other guests were giving him a wide berth. Must be the cats.

The Wight proceeded to the refreshment stand. A man was serving chilled ale, just the thing after a long walk. "Might I have one please?" he asked. The barkeep poured a pint and turned to serve it...and froze.

"What is it?" he asked.

"You're a Wight!" the barkeep cried.

"Well, yes. Don't be concerned. What do you think I'll do? Steal your soul?" He smiled.

The barkeep fainted dead away, dropping the pint as he fell. Why do they always do that?

[GreatWarg]

The fox sniffled, overhearing a comment about some Wight. Really, some people are just so... The fox stopped frozen in its tracks. There happened to really BE a Wight, standing there calmly and naturally, staring at a man who had fainted and was now sprawled across the ground, beer staining his white shirt and wetting the ground around him.

When they say you don't know what you might meet in the Old Forest, they really do mean it, don't they? the fox thought to itself. The odd poet, seeing the Wight, quickly dipped the feather quill into his pockets and quickly scribbled something in his book. Once again, the page ended up on the ground.

Well hullo, Wight. Good to meet you, the fox said politely, nodding his furry red head at the undead creature. What brings you to these parts? Though the answer was quite obvious.

[Gandalf_theGrey]

* Dismounting from the black horse Midnight, Gandalf strode towards the glade. A steady and determined clopping of heavy hooves followed. For Midnight wanted to follow the wizard, and would not willingly be stopped. The former wraith horse at first exchanged a wary stare of recognition with the current wraith horse gulping down apples. Snorting, the now free creature soon turned away from its former stable companion and concentrated on making its way into the picnic area behind Gandalf. Whereas Gandalf had physically restrained Midnight from entering the doors of the Trade Inn at Sarn Ford and the log cabin hideout of the Rangers, the grey-clad Cloaked Picnic Guest now smiled encouragingly at the horse, welcoming Midnight to come along. *

* Except for these two, the path was now empty, tread smooth by earlier arrivals. Gandalf thought he sensed something. A strange melding of disjointed almost-memories, mingling with a cacaphony of voices, voices high and shrill with merry laughter, deep and low with hidden whispers. It was as though the throng around the feasting tables were every single one of them looking together into Galadriel's mirror simultaneously, swirling the water into a hundred shades of blue and green, sweeping around to create a whirlpool of alternate pasts, presents, and futures. Guests of a myriad of races converged on the Bonfire Glade Picnic. The whole of Time Itself converged as well ... now bent, now straightening, now a flickering chimera, now solid reality. *

* The convergence of Time weighed down the wizard, wearying him so that he bent imperceptibly lower on his staff. Midnight brushed against his side, offering to be ridden. Gandalf declined this kindness, with an affectionate pat of the horse's mane. *

* Approaching the edge of the glade, a fox darted across the path with a basket in its mouth. *

* Catching sight of a man from so remote a part of Middle Earth that even Gandalf was puzzled as to where he came from, the wizard bowed a greeting. The man was dark-haired with a slight beard, wearing a helm notable for its plume of long feathers, and he carried four quivers. *

* Then Gandalf and Midnight came upon the source of the screeching they'd heard earlier ... a Nazgûl. Gandalf readied himself mentally against the wraith, just in case. *

* Meneli and Estelarion shouted a greeting from across the greensward. Gandalf smiled and returned their wave, and began making his way over towards them. It was only natural that these two Elves should be here ... and even more in keeping with their usual tradition of eager fun-loving impetuous haste, that they should arrive before he did up the Greenway from Sarn Ford. *

* Suddenly, Gandalf laughed good-naturedly and looked over at a long-time friend. His weariness was lifted by the mirthful puns that came to his mind through the words of Bethberry's toast:

"May you placate the spirits" -- Now, that would refer to the red wine he was about to drink.

"Afore you leave these grounds" -- Yes, that surely must have been coffee he smelled on the way here. *

* And then there was the odd chance that maybe even Gollum had received a picnic basket. *

[ September 20, 2002: Message edited by: Gandalf_theGrey ]

[The Fifth]

The wraith noticed the snort of a horse. He could recognize that snort immediately: it was his former steed. He then sensed something else. One of the three Elven Rings.

The Ringwraith drifted towards the cloaked guest, leaving the ghost behind. He also saw the horse, who was now named Midnight. A new sense of hate came within his already tormented, dark mind.

"But Alas! old enemies have arrived!" The wraith hissed, apparently greeting his 'old enemy' who had slain him about a month ago. But, after his spirit had floated off into the sky, it journeyed towards Mordor, where Sauron himself granted the wraith another body. From all of that, he was quite weary of the world.

He examined the cloaked guest, looking for any visible weapons. He was sure that the wizard-enemy was doing the same, and noticing that the sword from his sheath was gone.

And so with that, he strode over towards Midnight, gurgling angrily at the horse. The steed whinnied loudly in response to this, rearing up from the hateful fear that the wraith emitted, the horse's eyes becoming white-ringed and wild once more as painful memories came back to the horse's mind. The wraith had also noticed that all of the armor had been cast off.

[Cuthalion]

Grinning broadly after his reception, Elendur looks around for other acquaintances and spies Revanas on the other side of the Glade.

Giving a wide berth to both Nazgul and cloaked wizard, he strode over and hailed his friend, who looked startled at first then greeted him warily. Both of them felt out of place in such a setting, Elendur in a way more so as he had never been to this forest of ii-repute.

[ September 23, 2002: Message edited by: Cuthalion ]

[Elenna]

Elenna, walking over to get a mug of ale, stifled a giggle when she saw the barkeeper pass out after seeing the wight.

"Honestly," she thought to herself. "This is a party, not a war."

Then she picked up a tankard and filled it from the barrel herself. Handing it to the darksome wight, she then poured another.

"Well, friend Wight, what brings you here, and what scared yon bartender so?"

[piosenniel]

Lassiël caught a glimpse of a familiar figure. She walked toward him, and he smiled at the elanor and niphredil which sprang up where she trod.

Taking a glass of red wine from the table near him, she saluted him, her eyes twinkling merrily in greeting.

'How nice to see a familiar face and renew old friendships!' she said, smiling and raising her glass to her lips for a sip. 'It's good to see you, Olorin. How do you fare?'

[Mithadan]

The Wight nodded to the passing fox before responding to Elenna. "Not the slightest idea, thank you. But it happens often. I visited the Prancing Pony once. The fat barkeep chased me out with a broom." He sighed. The race of Man doesn't seem to take to me, really. Don't understand that there's business and pleasure and never the twain shall meet, I guess." He drained his pint. "Ah, speaking of business..."

Elenna excused herself hurriedly and found a less haunted corner of the picnic.

[Bêthberry]

Our narrator continues his efforts:

Most assuredly most did seek faster routes. They were arriving at the Glade and beginning to mingle far in advance of the mysterious host or hostess (although that elf Elendur in that vat could be mistaken for the enigmatic host, if taste in haberdashery meant anything).

They also arrived far in advance of that most merciful of ice-breakers, the opening of the kegs. Now that was an installation (instillation?)devoutly desired. Why that woman chose to present herself attired in spider web and dried leaves is anyone's guess. Perhaps some kind of family ritual or style.

I suppose this picnic began as many such events do, although this particular Hot Earth Society did display a remarkable sense of wit and purpose. There was a fair bit of aimless movement to and fro, here and there, as more and more of the guests approached the Glade and sought positions advantageous to their interests, like seeking like in many cases or their very opposites for those with a taste for more daring company. Some weren't quite sure who they should chat up. Where was Gandalf when he was needed? This is an expected party after all.

Certainly that gracious elf Kueronez deserved better treatment at the hands of that Wraith, but, after all, what can one expect of the Nazgul? He certainly was making a scene of himself and provided quite the entertainment for hobbit young. Now, often the innocence of youth can produce bad manners, but so far this Blister and Cami and the quiet one with the beribboned hair whose eyes and wit take in much had behaved not outrageously. So too that human Pearl. Still, they were being heard rather than seen. Yes, hobbit young are more forward these days. Just look at how that Pervinca Took upbraided the Mysterious Green Lady. She floateth lovely as a cloud. Hmm. Perhaps I shall pass that on to the poet.

Speaking of poets, I wonder if 'tis true what is said of him, that he discards wantonly pages of verse and paper. Does he think whence comes those pages? The Forest shall gain its recompense. He shall be made to recite thrice over, I think that I shall never see a poem lovely as a tree. Although such doggerel mayhap offend the taste of the goodly Dame who rescues hobbits. Sadly, it might send her running, in directions away from the Picnic, not a happy state of affairs for those who would know more of her.

Obviously these are new age elves come to the Picnic. They have left the dour ones home moping. Good for them. But as for dignity, I should say this Meneldulineil and Estelarion, this Elenachliet, this Cuthalion and one Elenna-of-the-Homework-Blues, well, perhaps dignity is not compatible with this enthusiasm and joie du vivre which they display. So be it.

And ah what wonders come forth from the equinox sun. A veritable Aesop's Fables. The dog Feaer that talks. A talking wall--a brick wall? More cats than Madeleine had beds. And ent that old oak wonderful. With all respect, he is a pure feat of imagination, a marvellous creation. Let him give Old Man Willow a run for the money. And the Fox, cleverly sniffing out the action. Some grapes, shrewd Reynard?

And this source, this Sir Pellandor, this always-deferred referent. Capital fellow. He shall prove the challenge when those Hollywood writers are forced to deal with this Picnic. Unless they look to real talent and hire me. Or Underhill.

And would that many in Eriador had the good manners of the ancient easterling Ransom, a credit to his tribe. He deserves the commendations of the lady in yellow and blue, if ever she ceases that prattle with the Wight.

And what pray tell are These eyes in the woods? Sounds quite too suspiciously like a maudlin Canadian rock group. They bear watching. Or dragging out.

And for Eru's sake where did that pompous bit of hot air come from--the one who assaulted the Wraith--assaulted a wraith, no less. Who let her into the party? Mean-spirited party pooper.

The numbers swell. Events proceed apace.

[ September 21, 2002: Message edited by: Bethberry ]

[Elenna]

"Well, I suppose I should be glad that he is here for pleasure..." Elenna muttered to herself as she wandered over the grass. "Still, he is an interesting character."

Clutching her tankard in her hand, she glanced around, looking for someone a little less frightening to speak with.

[Aradaewen]

All activity ceased as the picnic-ers heard their newest arrival. Indeed, they heard before they saw her, for she was unused to such enclosed space as forest. Trees tried to squeeze out of her way, and she took great care not to squash any seedlings. When she entered their midst from the northeast, all present felt their jaws drop. A red dragon, maybe a touch smaller than the legendary Smaug of the Lonely Mountain, this glittering collossus (sp?) arched her neck proudly and they caught the familiar sight of a wicker basket. When she spoke, though it was a whisper, the low rumble caused some of the more delicate-eared creatures to cover the features, "I see that the festivities have started. I'm sorry if I have interrupted anything?" Nobody answered, just stared. She shrugged, placed her basket on the ground, and curled up in the smallest area her massive bulk would allow.

[Bêthberry]

The woman in the gold tunic-dress noticed that people seemed to be avoiding the Wight despite his pleasant intentions. This was a pity, always to be trailing clouds of doom. She walked over to him jauntily, wiping away what spider webs she could, although they were clingy, and smiled the most beatific smile she could upon him.

Have we met before? I don't recall seeing you in your current state, she said. It wasn't an original line, but it would have to do, seeing as it was fitting.

I beg your pardon? he inquired politely. He was the soul of politeness and patience, it appeared. Or the empty soul?

Well, I mean, you must be a new one. A new Wight. I don't remember you.

Should you? he asked with some curiosity.

Well, I grew up in these parts, right on the edge of the Downs. I used to play hide and seek with the Wights among the standing stones and barrow mounds.

It was the Wight's turn to look incredulous as he was taken a bit aback by this claim. You don't say, he said and then slightly blushed--well, as much as a wight can blush-- at the banality of the line.

Oh indeed, yes. We used to play tricks on the Numenoreans when they came to fell the forest. If it weren't for the Wights, no doubt the Old Forest here would have been lost as most of the others were as well.

This was news to this Wight. He had never quite imagined the Numenoreans in that light before.

And you don't fear the Downs or the Wights? he asked somewhat suspiciously.

Oh no, she answered. You might say death has no dominion over me. She giggled and then smothered a chortle at the line. She had not donne such a bad line in some time--well, at least not since Wednesday. But I do respect them tremendously.

[ September 20, 2002: Message edited by: Bethberry ]

[VanimaEdhel]

Menelduliniel, seeing that none of these strange new creatures seemed to care at all about her, went over to Elendur and embraced him again.

"I am sorry I did not say 'Suilannon' in more words, my friend, but look at all these guests!" Menelduliniel said excitedly.

As she said that, the dragon sauntered into the clearing.

"Elbereth Gilthoniel!" Menelduliniel shouted in surprise. From across the glade, the wraith gave a shout of pain. Menelduliniel flinched, "I am sorry!" she shouted in apology. Meneli grabbed Elendur's arm, "Look at the dragon, Elendur! Look at the dragon! By the way, how is Allegra?"

[GreatWarg]

The fox continued trotting on his way, making a ring around before bumping into the red dragon.

O hullo, Mistress Dragon! I do hope I haven't interrupted your snooze. I was watching how Gandalf and the Ringwraith would fare. They seem to be staring daggers at one another, the fox said politely, delighted at finding (maybe) someone to talk to who would understand. I'm from around here, you know. The Woods aren't that bad when you get used to the trees whispering, but the beasts leave the trees alone, and the trees go on their own way. Where do you come from, if I may inquire? The fox was rather talkative, and enjoyed a good long conversation. In fact, to tell the truth, other foxes often wearied of hearing him speak so much so quickly, and the slower beasts like bears rarely caught anything that was said.

[Aradaewen]

The dragon was happy to speak with such an obliging creature. "My name is Rada, and I am the sister of Smaug. (gasps from all within hearing range) I came to the Lonely Mountain looking for him and was driven off by the dwarves and men there. I am have no idea why that is, and I cannot find my brother." The fox eagerly filled her in about Smaug's reign of terror...

[Ransom]

“Daddy, where are we going?”

Revanas shifted unconforatably in his saddle. Chashing orks to Mordor was easy compared to taking his nine-year old daughter to a party. This is not to say that she was a naughty child. By all accounts, she was very well behaved.

“We’re going to the picnic, remember?”

A beautiful wicker basket hung from Revanas’s double-bladed glaive, where his daughter insisted that it looked nice. Revanas could invent his own fighting style and take on any ork in hand-to-hand combat, yet he still did not understand how a picnic basket looked pretty on a weapon. Shrugging, he grabbed both the glaive and the basking, keeping the former and allowing Sara to carry the latter.

They made a rather comical pair. One was about an inch over six feet and armored like a turtle. Another stood barely above three and a half feet. One carried a seven foot weapon over his shoulder. The other lugged a two-foot long picnic basket.

The clearing appeared like a thunderhead in a clear sky. It seemed to open out of nowhere, and both Revanas and Sara took some time to survey the growing crowd. A red dragon seemed slightly miserable in one courner, and a barbarian that looked vaguely familiar wandered through the heavily laden tables.

Apparently Menelduliniel and Estelarion were here, and Menelduliniel was gracing another group of innocents with her social skills. Hmph.

“Greetings, friend Revanas.”

Revanas turned to see Elendur emerge out of the swirling crowd. It was good to see a familiar face here. They conversed for a short time before a clear elvish voice interuppted them.

"I am sorry I did not say 'Suilannon' in more words, my friend, but look at all these guests!"

Menelduliniel never seemed to run out of energy, and she was clearly showing it.

"Elbereth Gilthoniel!" Menelduliniel shouted in surprise. From across the glade, the wraith gave a shout of pain. Menelduliniel flinched, "I am sorry!" she shouted in apology. Meneli grabbed Elendur's arm, "Look at the dragon, Elendur! Look at the dragon! By the way, how is Allegra?"

Sara did not give Elendur time to respond before dropping the picnic basket and enveloping Menelduliniel’s legs in a hug. “Auntie Menelduliniel! I missed you!”

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ +++++++

Across the field, Ransom caught sight of the newcomer. How could he forget this man?

They had met over three ago. Ransom was returning from a raid on a Easterling caravan when he ran across a lone fighter houlding off a dozen orcs. A dozen arrows later, the two men met for the first time by knocking each other flat. Their friendship had lasted until the present.

Ransom turned around and rambled back towards the enterence, careful to keep in the shadows. He drew his sword slowly. Sara caught sight of him, and knew what was coming next. She simply clung to Menelduliniel’s leg and winked. Twenty feet…fifteen feet…ten feet.

Ransom dash the last ten feet toward Revanas and swung the flat of the blade at Revanas’s right side. For the fifth time in two years.

Revanas took the blow and staggared, grabbing the glaive and spinning around. Landing two quick blows to the barbarian’s helmet. “Ransom, you fool! Of all places to meet you!”

Both men dropped their weapon, and Ransom gently put down his basket. Both men embraced with several loud clangs. Revanas quickly noted the confuzed gaze of his friends. He quickly explained, “Old friend.”

[ September 20, 2002: Message edited by: Ransom ]

[ElanorGamgee]

Rowan scurries down the dirt road as fast as her little hobbit feet can carry her, a wicker basket tucked under one sun-browned arm. The dust stirred up as she hurries along dirties her toes and drifts up to her nose, making her sneeze.

Oh, bother! What a nuisance! the tweenager thinks as she lifts the nicely-written note up before her grey eyes. She scans the message again and then tucks it back into the basket in aggravation. The prospect of a picnic is lovely enough, but her mother had not derived the same pleasure at the arrival of the basket on the step of their humble cabin. “More charity!” Mrs. Ploughman had exclaimed, folding her arms sternly and sniffing with indignation and pride. “We may not be rich folk, but we aren’t going to start takin’ fine donations from our betters, an’ that’s a fact.” And so her daughter had found herself quickening to the Old Forest to return the fancy dishes, not without regret.

As she nears the forest, Rowan feels a twinge of nervousness. The note had hinted at mysterious beings, and she had heard a good tale or two about the shades said to haunt the woods. The trees seem to tower before her, and as she advances Rowan feels that she is being buried alive.

The hobbit gathers her courage, follows the weaving path and, after a while, begins to hear snatches of conversation. She comes upon an unusual sight. Before her stand all manner of guests that could possibly be expected: men, elves, hobbits, ghostly specters, animals, and even a large dragon. Rowan stops in her tracks and considers leaving the basket in the road and running all the way home. But that would be quite rude, and, besides, the prospect of venturing back into the silence of the woods all alone for any amount of time is very unpleasant indeed. The hobbit lass sighs and creeps forward, avoiding eye contact and trying her best to remain inconspicuous as she seeks out the leader of the merry gathering.

[ September 20, 2002: Message edited by: ElanorGamgee ]

[Rose Cotton]

When Rose had seen the basket on her doorstep she thought it was a delightfull treat but didn't pay much attention to it. She set it on the table for futher inspection later.

When later came Rose sorted through the contents admireing them as she went untill she found a small slip of paper bearing an inventantion. At first she was positive that she would not be going but at the last minute the prospect of a picnic made her change her mind.

So the young hobbit, bairly out of her tweens, traveled to the Old Forest hoping she was not too late.

*****************

Rose spent a great deal of time stumbling though the forest grasping her basket firmly to her side trying to find where the picnic was. Finally the sound of voices drew her to the spot. The party already seemed to be long started. Rose pulled her hood off of her golden curled head and set out so find someone to talk to.

[ September 20, 2002: Message edited by: Rose Cotton ]

[GreatWarg]

You don't say? the fox responded, eagerly listening.

Who would've known? Ole Smaug? The very same Smaug? the fox gasped. A large clanking sound and the ringing of a blade clashing armour drew the fox's attention for a moment to two Men who were hugging. The fox blinked.

One of the Men smiled nervously at the crowd of onlookers. "Old friend." Quite an interesting way of greeting an old friend, the fox thought, shaking his head disapprovingly.

A few of the hobbits lads and lasses giggled. 'Aw, look! Even the fox thinks it's funny!' The two Men were rather red that they had shown such 'affection' in a crowd, and having a fox chastise them.

If you would kindly excuse me, Mistress Dragon, the fox said politely, moving towards the Man in armour.

[Gandalf_theGrey]

* Confronted by the Nazgûl's dread greeting, the Cloaked Guest maintained a steady gaze. He drew back his cloak enough to reveal the same Elven sword which earlier had leapt like a blue lightning bolt to pierce the foe now standing before him. *

If you fear this blade, do but tell me, and I shall relinquish it to the safekeeping of the family of the Eldest, Master of the Old Forest.

* Gandalf then turned, calling Midnight gently by name. *

You are free to stay or go as you wish, Midnight. If you return to the field where other mounts await their masters, I shall bring you a picnic supper presently.

* At that moment, Gandalf heard a voice from home hail him. *

Lassiël! Well met, handmaiden of Yavanna. smilies/smile.gif You honor this party, to leave the Uttermost West willingly, in order to attend.

* Gandalf bowed low. *

As for how I fare, the answer must be "by the way," as I am a wayfarer ...

[Aradaewen]

"Yes, of course," Rada excused him. She watched him go, thinking that it was such a pity creatures like that didn't come in bigger sizes- they were quite tasty, but that one wouldn't make half a mouthful. She shook her head. She had promised someone (never mind who) that she would behave herself and not chomp anything but the prepared food at this picnic. She settled down into the comfort of her own coils, and closed her eyes... Mistress Dragon, huh? She liked that...

[ September 21, 2002: Message edited by: Aradaewen ]

[Carnëiach]

The wind sprite floated through the forest. The basket was being floated with great effort by one finger of air. *If this continues Im going to have to go corporeal and man i hate that.*
She had no idea how anyone had found her home; how would anyone know exactly which part of a certain tree she happened to be residing on which particular night? She was going to be sure to do one of two things; Congratulate him for finding it, or kill him for taking away the mystery of her existence...she wasnt sure which...
The sounds of a party carried along her silvery form and pleased she rushed forward, ignoring the gapes of astonishment at seeing a floating basket. The life energies of the being flitted all around. She saw one of indetermite form and drifted towards him. The wraith sat at the bar, seeming rather depressed.
"Good day sprite."
The wight greeted the elemental as if she was a land crawler! This must be the one who had left the basket with her. He didnt seem at all menacing though, especially for a wight...
*Good day, sir wight. I-* She started the introduce herself but then realised that the wight was squinting at the air on his opposite side. She laughed, like a summer breeze and his head shot around to that side again. She switched sides and gently tickled his ear. Once more he turned sharply, with a look of frustration on his face. The sprite went to his other side and allowed her corporeal form, which was like that of an elf, shimmer out of the air.
"Sorry my dear wight. I couldnt resist. Especially as you found where I live and yet are unable to see me!" She found it impossible to be angry at the slightly bumbling wight. He turned swiftly to face her again and jerked slightly as he saw the beautiful young woman who sat there.
"Are you...you werent there before..I-" He stopped and took a breath, although it wasnt of course nessesary. "Youre an elemental arent you?"
"A wind sprite, yes. And you are..."
"Im a...wait a minute, how come you havent fainted yet?"
"Well I seem to have caused enough faintings of my own when people saw a basket flying through the air."
The young (well, he looked young anyway) smiled and seemed on the vereg of giving a small laugh. How can I be mad at him? Hes very sweet and obviously not much more at home in that form that I am in this...although those are fantastic clothes...excluding the cat hair...
She smiled back at him, pouring herself a drink. Soon they fell into easy conversation...

[Maikadilwen]

The old trees seemed to bend away, as the large creature came crashing through the wood. She was used to a lot more space than this. A few times along the road she even had to crouch and squeeze her body through the trees, but she had received an invitation and she was determined to go to this party.

She stopped for a moment to think. It had all been very strange. She had been resting in her wonderful lair, when suddenly a wight had been stumbling through the darkness with a basket. Though knowing that a wight wasn't exactly the most nutritive she could catch, she had started chasing him anyway for having the nerve to wake her up from her sleep. The chase had ended with the wight throwing the basket back over his shoulder and it had hit her on the head.

Later, when she had regained consciousness, she found that something had changed. She felt an urge to see light and hear laughter and, noticing the invitation to a picnic, she picked up the basket and went on her way to this party though it was a long travel from Cirith Ungol.

She had taken a quick bath in a river on the way and now whe was finally here in a strange forest with strange trees.
Suddenly she felt a little anxious. Would there be enough food?
She moved closer to where she heard voices and laughter and slowly she emerged from the trees.

The laughter and talking stopped abruptly and everybody turned around, wide-eyed. She jumped as a group of small, furry-footed creatures started screaming. She noticed a small group of elves staring at her, one of them with a tight grip on a....meat cleaver????

Realizing the threat, she crouched and swiftly dropped the picnic basket she had brought and used one of her front legs to push it toward a lady in a golden dress who stood next to the very same wight who had delivered the basket.

[ September 21, 2002: Message edited by: Maikadilwen ]

[Carnëiach]

The Wind Sprite (whose name is Saristhri) felt a long thin and rather sharp object poke her shoulder. Someone was poking her with a stick?! Well, we'll see about that...ignoring the rather stricken look on the wights face and the sinking feeling inside her she turned, speaking to the offender as she turned.
"Well excuse me, theres no need for rudeness, especially when I only wear this body temporarily you cant take advantage of it by- Oh dear god its a giant spider." She finished calmly although her golden ever changing eyes had widened considerably.
"I am SSsshelob..." The dark figure hissed.
The sprite looked rather confused, upset, baffled and angry all at the same time. She held up a finger and seemed about to say something before lowering it. Opening and shutting her mouth several times she wagged her finger at the giant creature. She sighed and turned to the wight, who looked just about ready to run.
"Little help here?!" She said in barely a whisper.

[Bêthberry]

Out of the corner of her eye, while she was chatting with the Wight, Bethberry finally spied Gandalf making puns with Yavanna's handmaiden. She wondered if anyone other than Gandalf and herself was aware of how extraordinary was Lassiel's presence here.

Bethberry also saw that the menagerie was growing. Well, where else but the Old Forest could animals feel free to show their social side? smilies/smile.gif As long as Dr.Doolittle didn't show up. There was no way he could be source or canon. Perhaps she ought to order another side of beef for the spit....

[Elenna]

Elenna laughed as she saw Ransom and Ravenas "fight". Unlike several of the others, she was well versed in the greeting rituals of warriors. Putting down her tankard, she strode over to where the two fighters stood chatting amiably.

"Well, gentlemen, it seems that you two know each other from way back. I however, do not seem to know anyone at this fine gathering."

[GreatWarg]

The confrontation with Gandalf and the wraith ended before the fox could get there, so, rather disappointed, the fox began to follow Gandalf. Except he was making rather unusual puns (as they say in the Barrow-Downs) with a rather beautiful Maia. Oh yes, animals can tell the difference usually between a Maia and a Valar, and a handmaiden of Yavanna was something this fox couldn't resist to get a closer look at.

Stopping a few feet away from Gandalf and Lassiel, the fox sat down, his throttle-brush tail swaying, listening to Gandalf talk and talk and talk.

[piosenniel]

Lassiël poured another glass of wine for her friend and motioned toward the fox.

'We have an audience, it seems!'

She took a small wreath of niphredil from round her brow and twisted it into a smaller circlet. Placing it at a rakish angle on the fox's head, she stepped back and regarded her handiwork.

'Ah! Now my bold Reynardine, you are indeed costumed for the party!' She smiled at him impishly. 'Do you drink, sirrah? May I offer you some spirits?'

[Rimbaud]

Absent-mindedly composing for their vulpine companion, the poet strolled to where the be-webbed lady stood. "Charlotte?" asked he impudently, and to her outrage, winked at her! The nerve of the man! She wished to tell him in strident terms of her age and standing but something in the raffish smile gave her pause for thought. The worrisome wordsmith felt more fully familiar than she had forethought.

She glanced at the page he held before him; noticing that his eyes remained on her, whilst the quill continued its spidery path.

Fox in the snow,
Where do you go
To find something you can eat?
Because the word out on the street is you are starving.
Don't let youself go hungry now;
Don't let youself go cold.
At least not any more.
What do they know anyway?
They read it in a book.
What do they know, anyway?
You read it in a book tonight.

Some foul modern verse, she assumed. No scansion, and as for metre! She despaired. Yet she smiled back and said, "Welcome, oh poet-litterer of ill-repute. What brings so insalubrious a character to this fine gathering?"

His eyes rolled, encompassing the horde of wraiths, wights, dragons, ghosts, miscellaneous hobbitry and overly mysterious men and women.

"For shame!" quoth he, "that so gentle an entrance as mine be graced by so tart a greeting! At least a drink, for the Forest parches the word-thieves such as myself."

She gazed at him steadily. The dragon belched far behind them and some scorched hobbits squealed. She sighed. It would be a long day.

[GreatWarg]

Nay, m'lady, I only wished for a closer look at the beauty of one whom is a Maia and from the Blessed Realm. I do believe you are a handmaiden of Yavanna Kementari? the fox said politely, bowing in a comical fashion. (At least to the eyes of a Man.)

And I am right in believing that you are Gandalf the Grey, in the same order as Radagast the Brown? the fox said, turning a cheeky grin to the wizard. How wonderful, and splendid for a beast such as I to see two such guests of the Master! The fox inhaled the sweet scent of the niphredil. A fragrance such as of summer lingered about Lassiël, laden with boughs of flowers.

Well met, indeed! the fox said. He thought his rather handsome self must be quite charming indeed, to catch the attention of such a Maia.

[ElanorGamgee]

Rowan enters the crowd, her round eyes wide. She nods politely to a few hobbits and slips quickly by the more frightening “big people.” It had been ages since she had seen anyone taller than a hobbit; it must have been twenty years ago, when she was but eight years old and an old man in a grey cloak and pointy hat had come to the Shire for some event or another with a huge assortment of squibs and fireworks. He had not frightened her, although the adults did not much approve of his presence, insisting that he would be nothing but trouble. Her mother had called him a wizard, but Rowan heard very little about that sort of folk and decided that it must be a special kind of old man. For all she knows, all elderly men might be called wizards. Now that she in such a large crowd of big folk, she decides that this must not be true, for she little believes that many of these old men would be able to create and send up such fireworks, and none wear pointy hats.

The girl had been so deep in her musings that she bumps into a guest. “I’m terribly sorry-” she begins before looking up and seeing two dragon eyes looking down on her. Rowan shivers, remembering all the tales she had heard of dragons, especially those who like to snack on hobbits that run away from home. Of course, she realizes that most of these stories must have been made up to frighten young hobbits into good behavior, but she cannot help but wonder if there is a little truth to them. “-very sorry indeed…” she stutters, managing a feeble smile and curtseying while trying to balance the wicker basket under her arm.

[ September 21, 2002: Message edited by: ElanorGamgee ]

[piosenniel]

She laughed merrily at the starry-eyed fox before her.

'A sweet-tongued rascal, I see!' she said, nodding her head at him. 'My Lady will be delighted that there are those in Arda who still recall her.' She bent to adjust the flowery crown once more.

'Come sit with us if you will, for a while.' She indicated a space on the bench she had just sat down on.

Then turning back toward Olorin, she asked him, 'How came this great forest to be so over-shadowed and so sad? It grieves me to see it so.'

[ September 21, 2002: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[VanimaEdhel]

Menelduliniel hugged the little girl.

"Sara! Elbereth Gilthoniel, am I glad you are here!" The wraith shrieked in pain again, and Menelduliniel grimaced guiltily, "Let me go introduce you to everybody!"

Menelduliniel and Sara ran off together, hand-in-hand: little girl and 5'10" Elf.

Estelarion laughed at how much they were alike in heart, though.

"So, Revanas, how is life treating you? Well, I hope," Estelarion said, embracing Revanas.

[Aradaewen]

Rada grinned happily. Her burp had slightly heatened some nearby creatures- halflings, she thought- but they'd live. She watched the surrounding picnic-ers having a good time and sighed. She and her brother used to have such wonderful adventures. Roasting cattle and blazing houses and impaling men and elves on their bare claws. What fun! Pity she couldn't find him. She stretched out again, her patience rapidly diminishing as she waited for the servers to bring whatever food was coming...

[Ransom]

"So, Revanas, how is life treating you? Well, I hope," Estelarion, said, embracing Revanas.

“Ah, life goes on. I’ve opened up a forge in Laketown, where my expertise is in great demand. Sara is happy, and she’s growing to look like her mother. Our trip here has truly been a delight. However, that was ruined by Ransom here.”

Revanas took the time to give Ransom a friendly bonk on the head. Ransom banged his gauntlet against Revanas’s breastplate before answering. “Ya, ana my trip was ruined by ‘Evanas.

Ransom knew only very basic Common Tongue, mainly for trade with the Dwarves, and his vocabulary and grammar were generally poor.

Ransom and Revanas set about the arduous task of educating the two elves on the history, customs, and general background of Ransom’s people. Of course, this took quite a bit of time for both men were long winded and thickskulled, an advantageous attribute considering their greeting rituals. They would have continued for much longer if not for the approach of one female elf.

"Well, gentlemen, it seems that you two know each other from way back. I however, do not seem to know anyone at this fine gathering.”

“Indeed, we have known each other for quite a whiles, Lady Elf. Ransom’s thick skull keeps on saving him from death.”

“Revanas enemies die from the sight of him.”

Their friendly blows indicated to the bemused elf that their statements were simply play.

Ransom was the first to formally greet her, inclined his upper body slightly forwards and bowed his head and offered the customary greeting of his people.

“May the Everlasting Blue Sky forever watch over you, Lady of the Forests, and may the spirits of your ancestors be with you until the end of your days.”

[ September 21, 2002: Message edited by: Ransom ]

[Bêthberry]

Bethberry held the poet's gaze for some time as she considered his froward words, so at odds with his gentle manner, and then she calmly scanned the guests. Yes, they were finding their groove, in that odd metaphorical echo of days gone vinyl, and she need not attend so much to them. She turned her gaze back upon the poet and scanned his face to take his measure in a manner almost as impudent as his own. She recited to him:

We wove a web in childhood,
A web of sunny air....

He raised an eyebrow as if to say, 'And?...'

Be cautious, I would advise you, Word-thief, of claiming for me the name of 'Charlotte,' for I could be doubly Charlotte, and yourself bear not a small resemblance to a Branwell who was ensnared in that selfsame web. Yet I would not wish to assign you his fate, although it is one with which apparently you are already half in love.

She smiled a maddeningly aloof half-smile, which nonetheless managed to signify that libations at least need not be ever-deferred.

Come, Word-thief, you need not plead so pitiously to quaff your thirst. Let us find a glass and other company with such a taste as ours for wordhoards.

With that, they meandered gingerly to the wine barrels, cautiously avoiding any entanglements with Shelob and watching not to trip over any Wilburs that might have been set loose in the ever-growing menagerie that was claiming the Picnic.

[ September 22, 2002: Message edited by: Bethberry ]

[Bêthberry]

The narrator shuddered. If this wasn't a fine how do you do, he thought to himself. Here's everyone at a party in honour of the equinox and here's no one remembering any other party on this day. For shame. They hardly deserve to have this displayed upon the picnic table so prominently.

http://www.cakesacrossamerica.com/fallleavescake4.jpg

The narrator stood, faced west, and bowed. Bilbo and Frodo, I at least salute you.

Muttering some more to himself and not bothering to record anything, the narrator then shuffled off for a quick nap, perhaps having imbibed a bit too much wine too quickly before eating. It looked like the tables weren't completely set anyway.

[ September 22, 2002: Message edited by: Bethberry ]

[VanimaEdhel]

Menelduliniel and Sara's frolic around the area was interrupted when they rank right into Shelob.

"O-o-oh...p-p-pardon us," Menelduliniel said hastily and shakily, "M-m-mistress spider. Do not eat us or anything of the like...please?"

The spider glared at the tall Elf and the short girl for a second, then laughed. Menelduliniel and Sara laughed nervously for a bit as well, then quickly made their way across the glade. The noticed the spider's eyes still following them though.

Oh dear, Menelduliniel thought, watching the great spider worriedly...

[mark12_30]

A young, teenage hobbit stepped up to the wine barrel, poured himself a glass, poured two more to the surprise and suspicion of several people around the table, and without waiting to be questioned, and slipped sideways around the table to Bethberry. "Pardon me, " the hobbit said to the dreamy-eyed man standing beside her, "but I believe I owe Bethberry a glass. And if I may make so bold, " he continued, "I hear rumor that there is a latter-day hero-- or is it two?-- who deserves our accolades on this particular day. Please, tell me more about them, so that we may make our toast in a fitting manner."

Bethberry loked down at Gamba with astonishment. "Why, that was quite sophisticated, " she crowed. "Well done."

Gamba grinned, immensely pleased. "Thanks. I had Phura coach me, and I've been practicing for days. So what are their names again?"

"Bilbo, and Frodo Baggins. Two very great heroes. Their daring exploits and profound self-sacrifice are matched only by their literary capabilities, and their writing and poetic skills." She shot a dripping glance at the man beside her, who raised an eyebrow.

Gamba shot the poet a sympathetic look. "I get the same reaction from people, mister, " Gamba said. "Nobody thinks much of what I write, either. Maybe in another age we'd get along. In the meantime-- To Bilbo, and Frodo Bag Ins. May their songs never be forgotten. And may their memories be celebrated, and their heroism remembered as long as heroism is held dear."

Bethberry joined Gamba in the toast, and the poet hurriedly helped himself to a glass in time to join in.

Bethberry turned to Gamba, impressed again. "That was beautiful!" she said.

"Thanks, " replied Gamba. "It's what they say about the Battle for Taur-Na-Fuin every year at the memorial. I adjusted it a little. I'd better go and find Birdland. " And with a friendly nod to the poet, Gamba wandered off, carrying the third glass, and looking for one opalescent lock among the tangled raven tresses.

[mark12_30]

Gamba passed a sharp-looking fox speaking with a greycloaked old man, and stopped, and simled. "Hello, " he said to the fox. "Your voice sounds strangely familiar, although I can't place your face at all. Happy Birthday, Bilbo and Frodo, cheers!" He turned. "And you, sir, " he continued, "remind me of Ancalimon as he would have looked a bit later in life. And that's a high compliment."

Gandalf laughed. "I'll take it, such as it is, " he replied.

"Well, " Gamba continued, "You haven't seen Birdland, have you?"

Both the fox and the wizard turned and pointed past a pair of trees to a mild altarcation, and Gamba brightened. "Thank you!" He marched past them, balancing Birdland's wine glass.

[mark12_30]

A large, mostly black dragon was facing down the dragon who had singed the hobbits. The black dragon's tail was lashing in anger, and now everybody was much more nervous than they had been with only one dragon in the area.

The black and white dragon stared the other dragon down, and flames licked the air between them. "S'cuse me, there, dragon. I'm a friendly lady, I am, and I don't go in for confrontation. But these little folks are my friends. Singe just one more hobbit, and my mercy will run out!" Shoots of flames burst into the air as punctuation, and the other dragon took a step back. He had come for dinner, not a battle. This wasn't on his planner for the day.

"Birdie!" called a voice amid the consternation, and the dragon looked down. "Gamba! Hello!"

"You'd better listen to her, " Gamba remonstrated to the other dragon. "She's formidable. She toasted the base of Meneltarma, she did."

"Oh, you've brought me a glass, you little dear, " Bird cooed, and shrank and melted down to little-lady size, her black tangled hair blowing in the breeze. Gamba placed a kiss on her cheek and she gratefully accepted the glass.

"To Bilbo and Frodo, inspirations to all of us who seek illumination, " Gamba intoned.

"My Goodness, " Bird exclaimed. "I mean, Hear, Hear! Cheers, Bilbo and Frodo!"

They drank, and Birdie turned to Gamba. "That was beautiful!"

"Stole it from Ancalimon, " Gmaba muttered. "Umm, that dragon is eyeing you again!"

Bird turned back to the dragon, drew herself up to her full height, and said, "I'll deal with you yet!" and promptly turned into a Jackdaw.

"Whoops, " cawed the jackdaw. The dragon smiled, suddenly delighted, and took a deep breath. The jackdaw suddenly disappeared, and a little voice spoke in Gamba's ear, "Let's move along, there's a good fellow."

"Birdie, you turned into a neekerbreeker?"

"Ssh, hush, " said Bird. "Wine, it was the wine. Keep moving."

[Gandalf_theGrey]

* Gandalf raised a brow in wonderment, though he maintained a peaceable demeanor and a respectful silence. What was the narrator talking about? Of course a goodly number of people remembered that September 22 marked the grand occasion of Bilbo's and Frodo's birthday! Why else, after all, would he have brought along fireworks in a basket marked with a "G"? smilies/smile.gif Gandalf smiled gently and lit a bowl of Old Toby. *

[ September 22, 2002: Message edited by: Gandalf_theGrey ]

[mark12_30]

Gamba sidled up to the greycloaked, bearded mystery, and whispered, "Ancalimon, you wouldn't happen to have another one of those dragon fireworks, would you?"

Gandalf_theGrey looked down at the hobbit, somehow strangely familiar, and said, "Sssh, lad, we like to keep these things a surprise, you know."

"Of course he does, " chirped the Neekerbreeker in Gamba's ear. "He's always got a dragon up his sleeve. One way or the other."

[ElanorGamgee]

Rowan is by now getting more than a little flustered. She watches the two dragons exchange words with awe, backing up slowly in case a battle of flame should ensue. Fortunately, the dragon she had first bumped responds with only a snarl, although a very frightening snarl it is, especially to a small, confused hobbit. Relieved but still nervous and rather disoriented, she begins to pronounce a polite greeting to the dragon and hobbit lad who have just arrived, when to her amazement the black and white dragon shrinks into a lady! Rowan is so taken aback that she can barely speak and simply nods to Gamba and Birdie. She watches again in silent awe as Birdie turns back to a dragon and then a jackdaw. What have I stumbled into? she asks herself as she nervously passes the wicker basket from one hand to the other. Then she hears an old, familiar voice.

“Sssh, lad, we like to keep these things a surprise, you know,” the voice says. Rowan turns slowly as an aged man in a gray cloak and pointed hat comes into view. “Gandalf!” she whispers under her breath, her childhood memories flooding back.

[ September 23, 2002: Message edited by: ElanorGamgee ]

[Child of the 7th Age]

Cami wandered into the picnic site. Her eyes were glazed, and her hair was standing on end. She looked exhausted. "Ohhh," she groaned. "I've had a terrible week. I have a dragon friend who's quite ill and who keeps muttering curses against Mitadan. Plus, I am still waiting for pms. from one dear friend who have not responded. But I thought a bit of a picnic would cheer me up. I am supposed to be at work right now, but I snuck out to attend the picnic."

Then Cami spied Gamba sitting on the ground and lolling. She was very angry, and strode up to the boy.

"Have you finished writing out that poem I assigned you? You must finish your diary entry before you attend the picnic!" Cami snapped.

Gamba shook his head and slinked away to hide under the table. "If only Piosenniel was here......she would get me out of this unpleasant jam," he mused.

[Bêthberry]

Snoring softly, the narrator was having a dream, but not a particularly comforting dream. He kept seeing all manner of beast, bird and character converge on him, seemingly wanting to use him as the feast. He woke in a bit of a panic.

What he saw at the Picnic did not bring him any relief, rather more of a headache. That Grey fellow apparently was doing a capital job and could be relied upon, but there was this new guest who brought all these other stories with her which kept intruding into the Picnic. What an anxiety of influence he was feeling. Sources and stories were bursting at their seams in quite an unseemly manner and spilling out into the Glade. Would this turn out to be a dyscatastrophe or a eucatastrophe?

[Rimbaud]

"Fear not," murmurs the perilous poet. "For if two narrators fail, there is always the third person."

Our poet jumps back as a gout of flame narrowly misses scorching his feet, encased as they are in a sturdy pair of boots. A nearby dragon looked at him laconically.

Our poet wanders off to find refreshments. Many of the guests were now seated around the glade and the noise of merriment filled the air, for all the disparities between the party-goers. If anyone noticed that a couple of hobbits were missing and that the dragons seemed well-fed, they were too polite to say anything.

[Maikadilwen]

Finding that apparently everybody at this feast were too scared of her to even say "Hello", Shelob decided that she might just as well get herself something to drink. Staggering through the growing crowd, she desperately tried not to step on anyone and though keeping several eyes on both of them, she made sure to steer clear of the elf with the meat cleaver and the strange human with the glaive. Wouldn't want to get too close to any of them. They might just "accidentally" use those, she thought while aiming for a huge wine keg. With the claw at the end of her front leg, she opened the keg and started to drown her sorrows.
Noticing a slight hunger spreading through her body, she wondered if anyone would ever miss the skinny poet standing next to her.

[ September 23, 2002: Message edited by: Maikadilwen ]

[Cuthalion]

Elendur,finding himself inexplicably alone, walked over and approached the Dragons with reverence as they had always held a particular fascination for him. The red Dragon was a beautiful creature and he found himself utterly entranced. "Greetings Great Lady, I am Elendur of Mirkwood and as I have never had the oppprtunity to converse which such a noble creature, I felt I must avail myself. I hope that you enjoy the festivities!" He reached out and stroked the scaly hide on her neck which she arched with pleasure, favouring him with an alarming dagger-like smile. He froze for an instant, then returned the smile, delighted to have survived the encounter.

[Elenna]

Elenna smiled back at Ransom and dropped into a neat curtsy, her midnight blue skirt swirling around her. "And may She who Kindled the Stars light your way safely home at journey's end."

Then she stood again, looking mischevious. "So, is there anything we can do for excitement here?"

Both fighters looked a little surprised to see the glint in Elenna's blue eyes.

"Seriously, friends. Don't think that because I'm wearing this cursed gown that I could not win at a contest of arms."

[mark12_30]

Gamba, hiding under the table halfway between the narrator and the perilous poet, said in a soft clear voice caught by both:

"I vote for happy endings. I'm tired of being stuck in a cave waiting to be sacrificed, and I don't want to fry either. So: eucatastrophe, please. Would somebody please pass that up the chain of command. And-- please, Mr. Perilous Poet, would you introduce me to this Third Person? So far, both my narrators have me in one heck of a jam."

This was punctuated by the sound of munching as the cave hobbit discovered and explored his very first Fresh Fall Apple.

[piosenniel]

Gandalf sat peacably smoking his pipe. Lassiël made her excuses and got up to meet the other party-goers. She still hadn't seen the person who had sent her Lady the kind invitation.

A small, petulant voice halted her in her tracks as she passed a frazzled hobbit chiding a tweenager who sat beneath a table.
"If only Piosenniel was here......she would get me out of this unpleasant jam!"

Lassiël crouched down and smiled at the young hobbit. She reached out her hand and drew him out. 'Piosenniel is busy with other matters today, young one.' she said,her eyes sparkling. 'Let me see what I can do for you.'

'Cami, isn't it?' She nodded to the hobbit. 'I'm hungry, are you? Let's load up our plates from these groaning tables, then sit down and get to know each other.' She ladled out a large cup of aromatic wine puch for the hobbit. 'Here, I think you can use this!' The appreciative hobbit took a large drink and shook her head 'yes'.

'Gamba! Come, help me get some food and we can sit together in the shade of that oak tree. We can listen to the music of the small band there and you can talk to me of how you know Piosenniel. And if you're up to it, we shall dance.'

She winked at him, then reached out gently and shut his dropped jaw with her finger.

[mark12_30]

"And to think, " Gamba murmured, glassy-eyed, "that I had just been thinking that this dream left a lot to be desired and I was going to try and wake up from it. Nobody pinch me. Nobody!"

And with that, he siezed a plate and a serving spoon, and began interrogating Lassiël about each and every dish on the table. She laughed as he heaped her plate three times higher than she ever would have, 'til she finally cried out "Stop, stop! I don't want to have to feed the leftovers to the dragons! They're so finicky, you know."

He turned to her, then, carrying her plate like a devoted servant and gazing soulfully up into her laughing eyes he said, "Lead on, bright lady, dragons and other creatures notwithstanding! Today I would brave them all."

Lassiël lightly spun in an easy dance-turn, and led the way towards the oak-tree, while Gamba followed, not noticing that he had spilled half the plate.

Behind them both, Cami, sputtering about teenagers and homework assignments and journal entries, poured herself a third glass of wine.

[Bêthberry]

The woman in the yellow dress and blue cloak festooned with spider webs was feeling frustrated. She had had two attempts at conversation stall, both that Wight and the Word-thief drifting off away from her attempts at frivolity and wit. It was particularly galling in that the Word-thief had decided to chat up that Narrator, for she had a bone to pick with his narration. He had left her out of the picnic altogether. Yes, indeed. The very invitations had suggested the Picnic was Tom and Goldberry. Well, here she was and nobody was recognizing that this party was hers as well as theirs.

*briefly contemplates singing "It's my party and I'll cry if I want to"--but only very briefly*

Well, she hoped she would have better luck making conversation with this Lady in Green. After all, there was some likelihood of spiritual similarity between them.

[Rimbaud]

The poet ceased his egress from conversation on seeing his erstwhile companion's downcast expression.

"Do not be despondent!" he cried, and grasping her by the arm he led her to a cask, where one hobbit flapped ineffectively on the ground, like a large beached flounder. Pouring a glass for the lady and himself, he nodded to the nearby Wizard, who was rummaging in his bag, and stood on the table.

Feeling rather heady, he exclaimed, "Welcome to the party! It is not my party, but rather someone else's!" With that he hauled his unwilling companion upon the table-top and slipped away, promulgating chants of 'speech, speech' as he made his way through the crowd.

[ September 23, 2002: Message edited by: Rimbaud ]

[Cuthalion]

Wandering disconsolately through the Glade, Elendur appeared to be waiting for someone, though who it might be he had no idea, as his beloved had told him she had no intention of showing up. Pondering the mystery of the fair sex, he quickly came to conclusion that Eru's sense of humour in creating them was more than a little cruel.

Sighing, he walked over the nearest table (which happened to be next to Shelob) and poured himself some miruvor. "What next?" he wondered.

[piosenniel]

Cami had declined any food, and dipped herself another cup of wine from the rather awkward punchbowl she had carried over to the oak, sloshing here and there as she approached her targeted seat.

'Sweet nectar of the vine is all I need!' she chirruped, then hicupped and plopped down with all the school marmish grace she could muster.

'It isn't miruvor, you know.' said Lassiël. 'And you're no elf as it is!' Cami giggled at the thought of a hobbit-elf.

'Gamba, help me please! Let's prop her up against the trunk so she can't fall over. Put the punchbowl next to her, and we'll leave a plate of mushroom pasties by her to tempt her.'

When they had gotten Cami situated to her liking, Lassiël wove a circlet of bright elanor and placed it on Gamba's head, adjusting it to her liking, and offered him her hand.

'Come, then, I believe I should like to dance. And you shall be my handsome partner!'

She smiled prettily at him, and he led her out.

[mark12_30]

Gamba's head swam as he looked up into Lassiël's eyes; she was over twice his height. He wondered what on earth he should do. This wasn't going to be the Sprinkle Ring, he guessed, nor would it be the Levanto game with only the two of them playing (although, he thought suddenly, he would have given his very blood to play Levanto while Lassiël played Piosenniel, but he quickly dismissed that thought.)

What to do? He didn't care. He would be a fool; he would trip over himself (but hopefully not over her!); he would put up with any possible embarassment, to only look back on this time for the rest of his life and know that he had actually danced with an elf-maiden, starlight or no starlight! Her eyes provided all the starlight he would need.

Some vague awareness of the ground beneath one's feet was normally needed for dancing, but Gamba had compeltely forgotten that such a thing existed.

[ September 23, 2002: Message edited by: mark12_30 ]

[Bêthberry]

The woman in yellow was almost toppled by the Perilous Poet's precipitous proceedings, perfunctory performance, and prompt disappearance.

Thankfully, he had picked a platform not compiled with platters of provisions and comestibles. She looked around.

Picnic guests. The domerel of Tom and Goldberry bids you welcome. The food is read. Come, feast now and forever hold your wine.

The rush of dragon and Shelob, of Fox and of hound, of hobbit and elf and wraith and wight nearly knocked her down, had Gandalf not managed to hand her his staff to steady herself as she jumped. It was indeed proving to be a long day. She sighed again.

[ September 23, 2002: Message edited by: Bethberry ]

[Child of the 7th Age]

Oh, dear, Cami had a splitting headache. She had a vague memory of working all morning to arm the sea-hobbits against the attacks of Sauron. She had another vague memory of sitting under the tree and drinking way too much. How could she be doing two things at once? But that's how it seemed at the Downs. One moment an honored heroine, and the next a tipsy hobbit lass. Such is life!

She decided to pull herself together. And then she had a terrible temptation. She knew she really shouldn't do this. After all, they were trying to make things more respectable at the Downs. And what she was thinking was not respectable. But she couldn't resist.

She took up two pieces of lovely ripe fruit and hurtled them through the air. She aimed one at Gamba, the scamp who hadn't done his journal entries, and the other at the fair Lasseil. Ker-plop! And then, in her loudest small hobbit voice, she called out:Foodfight! She made sure to say it in Westron and Sindarin as well. She even added in Quenya for good measure.

[mark12_30]

Gamba didn't even feel the fruit impact him, he was so enraptured by the dance that filled his entire being. However, when the lovely, glowing, starry face that his eyes so searchingly looked into was suddenly transformed by surprise and indignation, the dance stopped, and Lassiël turned open-mouthed and flaming-eyed to accuse Cami. "You!"

Cami would have danced with glee, as the picnic slowly reacted around her. But her headache prevented it. There was, however, no mistaking her guilt.

Gamba looked up at Lassiël. "Help me, Lady, " he said hurriedly. He ran towards a barrel of pickles, and together they set it upright on the ground. Lassiël studied him with sparkling eyes. "The lid. Help me."

They got the lid off. And then together they approached the cackling Cami from behind, tackled her, and then immersed her headfirst into the barrel of pickles.

They let her back up in a couple of seconds. She glowered at them, and then laughed. "Thanks, Mistress Cami, " Gamba said. "This is as good as the Snowbattle of Laedros. It'll need a song."

By then, articles of food were flying, the dragon was playfully igniting some of them on their way through the air, and hobbits were running around trying to seouse the fires with perfectly good beer and wine. It didn't work very well.

[ September 23, 2002: Message edited by: mark12_30 ]

[Ransom]

“Ahh. Feats of marshal skill. Killing things. I would enjoy competing with you. If we could find somewhere nice and peaceful.”

Ransom’s response came out in short spurts, for an errant fireball had chosen to impact in the midst of the group and forcing them to take cover. Luckily, only the grass had caught fire, and several helpful hobbits were already moving to douse the fire with assorted beverage, some alcoholic and some not. Said hobbits quickly discovered that wine makes a fire worse.

By some stroke of luck, no one had been harmed. Indeed, the small clump was slightly shaken, and Elenna’s beautiful dress was partially marred by ashes. Even the picnic baskets had survived. The group finished searching for possible damages and continued their conversation.

[mark12_30]

Lassiël and Gamba studied each other. Gamba smiled. "That poet was too serious, " he said.

Together they selected a few stuffed peppers. "Come on, Mistress Cami, " Gamba said, and handed an extra to Cami. Then they went off to find the poet.

"Lady Bethberry! Have you seen the poet?" Gamba called, and Bethberry lit up with a delicious smile. "Why, I have, " she said. "He went that way. Wait!"

And she armed herself with two servings of apple pie a la mode, and gleefully skipping a few steps, joined them. The four set off.

"You know, Mistress Cami, " Gamba suddenly said, "I'm not sure that Ancalimon would approve."

"I think they call him Gandalf here, " Cami said, unsteadily. "And you are probably right." She looked uneasily over her shoulder.

[Bêthberry]

Bethberry sat down under an elderberry bush next to Gandalf. She looked at him. She watched Cami. She decided this was all the Wight's fault. Too much over work. Nothing else could account for this complete display of ... of ... silliness. Yes, it was the Wights' fault indeed.Too much overwork. She moved farther back under the elderberry to be out of range.

[Mithadan]

The Wight wandered unsteadily through the crowd carrying his half-empty pint. Lacking significant physical substance, it did not take much to make him a wee bit tipsy. For the moment, he was free of the cats; they were busily feasting upon the remains of what the Hobbit had called a "Foodfight". Strange. Why fight with food? Blades were far more effective.

He found himself before one of the feasting tables. It bore an impressive array of delicacies. He selected a pasty on the very edge of the table, which was the subject of attention for a number of ants. Munching happily upon the pasty and its moving garnish, he wondered why the Barrow-Wight had never thrown a dinner party. He finished the first pasty and selected a second, heaping additional ants on it from a nearby plate. Delicious! I must get the name of the caterer.

[mark12_30]

"Lady Bethberry, " Gamba whispered in her ear, "I thought you were coming with us! Why are you hiding behind the tree? And what's this Wight you are worried about? Surely he'll be no match for your Apple Pie A la Mode."

[GreatWarg]

The fox nudged Gandalf's leg. I can't reach. Can you get me something to eat? he asked. Oh darn this fox body. Sometimes I don't mind it, but I would like to be taller to get something to eat. Of course the fox recognized Cami and Gamba and Birdland in all of her forms. In fact, he had first met her when she was a Neeker-breeker in Minas Tirith. But that would be a long story that won't come into this tale.

Eating a few morsels Gandalf had offered that were not busy flying through the air hitting unwary victims, the fox once again espied the Wight that seemed quite familiar. He trotted up to the Wight, who was busy picking ants and an assortment of other bugs off of food items, the fox sat down and cocked his head.

Hello again, Wight. Did you happen to be a mariner before? I can't seem to place your face, though I've met you before somewhere.

[mark12_30]

Cami, Lossiel, and Gamba finally spied the poet, and tiptoed round til they had him surrounded. He was pondering mid the flames that flickered at his feet, and the depths of his profound eyes reflected the fires-- or did the fires merely envy his eyes that were the windows into the fires of his soul?

Lossiel stepped forward, lifted her stuffed pepper, and with a voice full of pathos, cried,

Now more than ever seems it rich to die
And launched the pepper at him.

To cease upon the midnight with no pain,

cried Cami, as her stuffed pepper caught him just below the ear.

Then Gamba finished rapidfire with a stuffed pepper::
While thou art pouring forth thy soul abroad
followed closely by apple Pie ala mode:
In such an ecstasy!


Gamba siezed the poet by one hand, pulling him forward. "Dance, for the nightingale, man! Life is shorter than we know!"


The poet's rage was just beginning to kindle. He closed his eyes, because he could not close his ears.

T'was not, the grief that now he wore,
from clothing being now besmirched,
but deeper sorrow yet he bore
for descration of such verse!

Gamba thought his might be a good time to let go of the man's hand, and find another place to be. He fled, followed by giggling Cami and graceful Lossiel, who turned to look over her shoulder and sing a few more lines.

[ September 23, 2002: Message edited by: mark12_30 ]

[Orofacion of the Vanyar]

The gentle golden light streamed in thin rays through the tightly woven canopy of the Old Forest, fading slowly away as te sun set. Evening creaped it's way eastward through the tall, thick trees and bushes. A rustle of dead leaves, crumpling softly under hoof could be heard if one strained their ear. But this evening the Old Forest was a bit more alive than usual. Arcon sensed it, and drew closer.

The forest was not its typical dark demaenor, even through the thick oaks and pines there was no hint of foul play, and infact, the broad leaves of dark maples and the heavy willows seemed to give way to the stars that began to come out, and let moonlight come to their carpet of leaf and bush. Silky silver light played games with the deep greens of the forest, shimmering on the holly berries and on the drops of dew that still remained in small, sheltered puddles.

The was a gentle shimmer of milky light on dark hair as Arcon pulled his cloak back, letting the soft balmy evening wind float around him. He was travelling east towards Rivendell on an errand of knowledge, to learn more in the lore of art and music. Attached to his saddle was a small basket, with a note written in smooth black ink. The elf smiled as he read it again in his mind.

There was a shout, and another followed what seemed like a war cry that pierced the night air. "A battle in the Old Forest? Curious..." Arcon thought to himself. He came upon a glade, populated with a most peculiar but pleasurable variety of Middle Earth's creatures, man and beast, orc and wraith. "Truly this is a merry picnic," Arcon said, "Nay! A feast!" he cried spotting the huge assortment of food that lay on the table ahead.

Just as Arcon dismounted letting Getathane stroll through the forest, a bit of food flew across the glade, then another. "A waste to be sure," the elf said to himself. He stepped through the trees, his cloak flowing behind him. Off to his right he saw two familiar faces, and he smiled.

"So sorry I'm late, my affairs seem to tie me up at all the wrong times. Is there any food left, or has it found its way from table to forest bed in all the furry?" Arcon smiled warmly at his much missed friends Gandalf and Bethberry.

[mark12_30]

They slowed from a run to a walk, and Gamba turned and spied Elendur.

Something about the fellow's demeanor gave him pause, and he turned, summoning his best imitation of poetic gallantry. "Hello. You look downcast. Is the food not to your liking? Or is the company somehow incomplete?"

Lame, lame, lame. Phura could have done much better, but he waited for the fellow's response.

[Bêthberry]

Bethberry rose and ran to Orofacion. She took both his hands in hers and held them close, smiling up into a well-known and much-missed face.

It is has been too long, good friend, but I am overjoyed to see you were able to make a diversion in your travels. They both ducked a flying missile intended for the Perilous Poet and muttered something with a bit of bemused embarassment.

Well, 'tis like nothing of the more serious battles you and I and Gandalf have fought, but right now perhaps the release has a valuable function. It reminds us to be mirthful as we celebrate the success of strenuous effort. Perhaps Shall I attempt to find some wine for you or shall we simply sit here with Gandalf talking?

Bethberry looked around for the Word-thief, wondering if he would care to compose a dirge here under cover with them.

[ September 24, 2002: Message edited by: Bethberry ]

[Rimbaud]

Muttering to himself as he purged himself of the offending foodstuffs, our errant pen-wielder sat himself beside an odd assortment of individuals and re-opened his tattered book, mercifully untarnished by the broadside of delicacies.

I stand with thee, a table 'mongst fables;
My larder stocked, yet still not sated.
A wizard, a hostess - these are but labels,
For seems to me, this meet was fated.

Ai! The rain dost threaten our friendly gather
(Not bad for me, I need the lather);
Yet stir thee not, oh! gentle drinkers,
For here we have some fine old thinkers;
See staff-holder here and here a narrator
I a poet - my name comes later
Such assorted guests here with us linger
Lo! wraiths, wights and there a singer!

Between this motley crowd of hues
We must deny the rain its blues
For 'tis no time to shelter this day
For in this glade a feast is laid!

We must have fires, and laugh all night!
Mayhaps some stories of mirth, and fright.
A speech or two shall, I'm sure, be made
In honour of those who ring this Glade;
For lest we all sin and forget,
We are the guests of those who let
Our scattered band of merry players
Through the woods, in all their layers,
To this most hallowed glen of burning...
See! E'en the Wight is turning!

Raising his glass, a toast! A toast!
To our fair hostess with the most!
Yet that's no glass, within his fist,
That shines so fair, sunlight kissed!
"Tis a dagger, don't you know it!
Lo! It comes hence, for our poet...

With that, the poet slumped to the ground, the Wight's fell blade embedded in his tunic. A great cheer rang up around the Glade and there was much laughter and happiness.

Some of the hobbits were crying, comforted by the elders; "Don't worry there, lad, the foul verse is ended! The Wight has saved us all!"

[ September 24, 2002: Message edited by: Rimbaud ]

[Maikadilwen]

Sauron had no power over this forest, but one of Mordor's most loyal spies had received an invitation to a picnic in this forsaken place. Maika was the name she had been given and very fitting it was, for sharp indeed was her tongue as well as her black eyes. Her hair was black as the sky over Mordor itself, but apart from that she looked as innocent as any young woman could. Well...almost.
Roaming around in Bree, (actually close to winning a drinking contest) she suddenly found that a basket had appeared among her belongings, noticed the invitation and decided to take a look and then report back to Mordor.

Maika stopped and looked around at all the merry people gathered at the Glade. Men acting silly, elves so terribly fair and beautiful, annoyingly happy little hobbits and the cutest little fox. Aww, wouldn't we just love to cut off that tail.
She turned and sighed with relief as she spotted the familiar black robes of a Nazgûl. How nice to see a friendly "face". To her great delight she also saw a ghost, a glorious dragon and a wight.
She smiled her old wicked smile. "Maybe a party in a dull place like this will be fun after all. "

She went straight for the drinks and poured herself a huge mug of ale, turned around and took a better look at the strange gathering. Elven women in their fancy dresses (Ugh!) and mortal men showing off their skills. An elf with a meat cleaver in hand stood close to an over-armoured man with a glaive. What a pair, she thought, shaking her head and then jumped up on one of the tables to get a better view.

Then she heard the poetry. Foul and terrible poetry was burning her ears. Thankfully the wight soon put an end to that, the laughter returned and the feast could go on.

She couldn't help but to laugh when she saw Shelob, who by now was VERY drunk. A sad-looking elf and a hobbit were placed next to the spider and she raised her mug towards them with a smile, before dancing over to the wight who seemed to be without his master tonight. Placing her mug on the ground, she grabbed his hands and swirled him around with her. "Let's put some life into this party, shall we?"

[ September 24, 2002: Message edited by: Maikadilwen ]

[mark12_30]

Gamba crept forward, grimly fascinated by the hilts protruding from the Perilous Poet's corpse. He crept closer, closer, until he began to wonder whether he saw something stranger than anything he had seen at the picnic thus far.

While others milled about arguing whether they should accuse the wight of any crime and what they woul do if they succeeded in convicting him (since he was already dead), the poet's corpse began to assume a strange green hue, and shimmer a little-- almost as if a breeze was blowing across a still, green pond.

As he watched in horror, stifling a shriek, there arose from the poet's body a new wraith, hovering, rising, billowing a little on the breeze. Gamba seized the book of poetry out of the corpse's hands and rapidly leafing through, found the evidence he needed, as scenes and acts ripled through his hands. Now the shriek came whistling out of Gamba like a teakettle on the boil.

"Nnnnnnoooooooo! A Perilous Play-Wight!"

Everyone turned at the noise and a chorus of gasps issued forth.

[ September 24, 2002: Message edited by: mark12_30 ]

[VanimaEdhel]

Estelarion, too, found himself alone. He looked about, saw Elendur next to...Shelob? Oh dear...

Estelarion raised one eyebrow at the pair those two made. He went, got himself some ale, then looked around.

"Nooo! A perilous Play-Wight!" he heard someone shout. He raised one eyebrow again, as everyone gasped. He sighed, drained his mug, refilled it, and spied the fox that had been making his rounds.

Estelarion went over to the fox, and held out of big of meat to the fox.

"Suilannon, hû beleg (Hello, great fox)!" Estelarion said to the sweet creature, "Anìros aes (Do you desire food)?"

Estelarion looked at the creature kindly, holding out the food.

--------------

Sara soon abandoned Menelduliniel for some hobbit children that seemed to be her age (at least mentally). Menelduliniel sighed and looked around, lonely. She saw Gandalf, and went over to him.

"We meet again, Mithrandir!" Menelduliniel addressed the wizard, "What brings you to such a gathering? And whither are you going after this? Is it an adventure? Or are you simply patroling still?"

[GreatWarg]

The fox graciously accepted the food. Why thank you, lady!

The fox turned at the words perilous play-wight. And lo and behold, a fea was emerging from the poet's corpse. Nay, not a fea, a Wight! Several guests were not panicking. The fox shrugged. After living in the shade of the Downs for so long, and in the queer Old Forest, such things were quite natural.

What have we here? Our strange poet is a Wight! the fox exclaimed, moving closer for a better look. A hobbit trips over the fox.

[ September 24, 2002: Message edited by: GreatWarg ]

[Mithadan]

The Wight could not control himself. One verse too many. Sweeping out his blade, he ran the poet through. Let's see you make a rhyme with this! O untimely death...

Feeling invigorated, he was surprised to find himself swept up in some semblance of a dance by a simply hideous spider-creature. Its spinnerets swirled and its fangs oozed ichor as they swept about the glade.

Suddenly, he heard someone scream "...a play-wight!" He looked over his shoulder to see the coalescing figure hovering by the body of the poet. Well, this party was certainly looking up! Excusing himself from the vile clutches of the exquisitely foul spider (and promising a second dance later) he approached the Play-wight. "Hello cousin..."

[ElanorGamgee]

Rowan had been on her way to speak to Bethberry, who she now realizes is in charge of the picnic after the poet’s sudden recognition of the lady, when the man is suddenly stabbed by the Wight’s blade during the reading of his latest composition. The hobbit lass is too shocked to speak or move and simply stares with wide eyes at the corpse on the ground. To her greater horror, a ghostly form begins to rise from the body.

“A Perilous Play-Wight!” she hears a voice shriek. The hobbit does not need any further reasons not to remain staring in astonishment; she turns on her heel and dashes away as fast as her little feet can carry her, the dishes in her basket rattling as she goes. Unfortunately, she fails to see the fox in her way, trips over his body, and lands on the grassy turf next to him.

“Ouch,” she grumbles, momentarily forgetting her fright as she sits up and examines the damage done to her elbows and knees. “Ahem,” a voice says next to her. Rowan turns to see a rather annoyed-looking fox lying on the ground, his food spilled on the grass. The hobbit gasps and reddens with embarrassment. “I’m so sorry!” she exclaims, pushing herself off the ground and helping the fox up.

[ September 24, 2002: Message edited by: ElanorGamgee ]

[Gandalf_theGrey]

* The whirlpool of convergent time which had lapped at the edges of the wizard's mind while he'd walked up the trail to the glade had developed into a full-blown maelstrom once he actually stepped into the glade itself. It was quite a challenge to keep track of all that was happening, or might have. He got the sense that some picnic guests were attending the picnic during one year, while others attended during another year ... yet here was everyone all together at once. Years collided soundlessly, without most of the guests even being aware. *

* Gandalf remembered suggesting to Lassiël that for a firsthand account of the Old Forest's history, Bethberry was by far the most suitable one present for the telling of it. Goldberry too was steeped in the local lore. And none, not even our poet, could beat Tom for being "well-versed" in the ways of wood, water and hill. *

* A Hobbit named ... Cambi, or Cama, or Gamba, or Gimbi ... had approached, speaking as if he knew Gandalf well. Gandalf could not for the life of him remember who this Hobbit was, but for the present had played along and just went with the ebb and flow of the stray time-convergence current. There'd also been another Hobbit, Rowan, with whom he'd exchanged greetings. Gandalf looked forward to getting to know both of these Hobbits better as the party progressed. *

* Gandalf had fed chicken to the fox and fixed himself a plate of chicken, bread and butter, taters, mushrooms, green beans, and cheese. With the wizard's back turned, the black steed Midnight had helped himself to a picnic supper, sticking his nose full into a bowl of carrots and then a serving bowl of salad meant to serve several dozen people. A pail of water set aside to be brewed into tea served the horse as a convenient source of drink. *

* Gandalf had remembered laughingly ducking pies with Bethberry. Once grey robes had taken on the decided hues of cherry and lemon. Meanwhile, lemon and blueberry blended in quite nicely with Bethberry's dress of yellow and cloak of blue. *

* Arcon, a good friend who was always a welcome sight, was just now arriving. *

* Menelduliniel approached, and Gandalf told her he hoped she and Estelarion would provide musical entertainment after the feast. As to her questioning, Gandalf could understand her curiosity, because the original plan was to travel South from Sarn Ford to Tharbad. Now he simply answered that he was bound for Rivendell. He'd veered off the path towards Castle Maladil for the present, even though putting off the journey to Tharbad meant he'd have to backtrack. *

* Gandalf thought he'd seen and heard a poem recited by a wandering minstrel who kept losing or dropping his papers, but on looking around, the poet was nowhere to be found. Must be another instance of convergent time playing tricks on his mind, and the poet had been a shimmering mirage all along. *

[ September 24, 2002: Message edited by: Gandalf_theGrey ]

[Cuthalion]

Frantically scrubbing at his leathers after spitting miruvor all over himself in a most undignified fashion upon hearing the words "...a Play-Wight!" Elendur suddenly froze, having scarcely heard the words of the young Hobbit Gamba. For into his line of sight had walked a most intriguing beauty. He was instantly captivated by her magnificent hair and the air of exotic evil that surrounded her.

Tossing aside the miruvor, he determined to steal her away from her erstwhile dance partner. Suddenly the picnic had definite possibilities...

[Maikadilwen]

Not standing still for a moment, Maika merrily danced her way over to the food table where a hobbit had just tripped over the fox she had noticed earlier. Grabbing the fox, she spun around with him in her arms. "Are you aware that you are far too cute for your own health, my red friend?", she said with a wicked smile and rubbed his ears. "But these people don't feed you enough. Now eat and be happy". With those words she placed the fox on the table so he could reach whatever treats he desired.

She turned to take a closer look at the happenings. She stepped over to the wight she had just danced with and what appeared to be his distant cousin, and gave him a wink. " A PLAY-WIGHT? And an awfully handsome one that is. Now all we need is your master, the barrow-wight to come join us", she said with a smile and danced over to the poor Nazgûl. She grabbed his robes and planted a kiss on the nothingness under the dark hood. "Hello my dear old friend" , she laughed and swiftly moved back into the crowd.

[ September 25, 2002: Message edited by: Maikadilwen ]

[Elenna]

"Yes, a contest of arms would be interesting. But this dress is a total loss. Please excuse me."

Elenna grabbed a bundle off of the back of her horse and dashed to a remote clump of bushes. Quickly she changed into leggings and a tunic, buckled her sword around her waist, and braided her hair, tying it with a leather strap.

Then she ran back to where Ransom and Revanas stood. "Now I can compete!"

[Bêthberry]

The narrator observes the Picnic writing itself, or, rather, wighting itself:

Murder ! Murder most foul.

No, not that done to the poet's verse. Good poets die young. Rather, the Poet has evaded the Roman charge to die upon his own sword. He's laid the deed to the hand of another. This is the unkindliest cut of all.

Ah, yes, the poet has slaughtered civility. The best-laid plans of the gentle Wight, appearing for pleasure and delight, have been met by having business thrust upon him. And the nasty part at that, which is entertained so rarely by this particular patient, decent Wight.

And do the voices call out to avenge his honour? No, they do not, these ungrateful Dead. Instead, they clamour for charge and punishment, elevating the poet to Wight's status, ignoring the Author of us all, the Barrow Wight, and giving lament for the dead poet's society. If Barthes could see this now. *shakes head* Mad Frenchmen stick together.

Humpf. All this would not have happened had that woman in yellow not gone cowering under bushes and mewling, "A dirge, a dirge. My picnic for a dirge." Doesn't she remember how the hobbits ruined this place the first time? And look, another has approached, Rowan, though it's a rough greeting she's received. Maybe this purported hostess is beginning to understand why I wrote her out of the invitations.

And what's this we have now? Love and honour making appearances. Who walks in with the power to make love groan? Nay, lay on, McElenna.

[ September 26, 2002: Message edited by: Bethberry ]

[piosenniel]

Lossiël shook the detritus of the food fight from the folds of her gown. A wreath of leaves askew on her brow, was set right. What had come over her, she wondered?

The fleeting image of a frenzied woman caught in the wild throes of pursuit came to her, and she shook it from her head. Another time, another age, she reminded herself firmly. 'Avoid the wine.' she thought to herself. 'Stay true to character in this age and time.'

She laughed, and moved beneath the shelter of the trees, regaining some measure of her dignity with each step. She stopped and turned and leaned against an old willow, its trailing branches affording her some obscurity as she watched the party flow on.

'What an odd place this all is!' she murmured to herself. A trailing branch, its leaves brown and sere, crept over her shoulder. She twined her fingers in it, thinking she should deliver the gifts her Lady had sent and then be on her way.

The willow stirred in its shadowy slumberings. A feeling of vigor, almost forgotten, spread then from branch to root. Green-leaved now, it shook its branches and stood straight and strong. Its rich, mellow voice woke her from her musings.

'Do not leave now, my Lady! Stay for a while among us. The trees of Arda Marred have need of you. Wake us from our darkling dreams.'

[mark12_30]

The Neekerbreeker, deciding that she had been silent for far too long, looked out from under the collar of the young hobbit whose shoulder she had ridden these past several hours. He was once again seated under one of the tables, munching an apple, looking out at all the spiders, wariths, and assorted wights and other Creatures.

Bird The Neekerbreeker chirped,

"Wee sleekit, Cowrin', timorous beastie,
O what a panic's in thy breastie!"

"Panic enough," replied Gamba. "This place is getting downright creepy."

"Wasn't it before?" Neekerbreeker replied. She junped down onto his forearm, and started rubbing her legs together in preparation for taking a bite out of him.

"HEY!" He knocked her flying. She was lucky he didn't squash her flat.

"Sorry, " Bird mumbled. "Hungry."

"Then change to something else!" snapped Gamba, eyeing her warily. Bird morphed back into human form, sheepishly, and got out from under the table.

"Vampires?" Gamba said with a shudder. "What next?" He got out from under the table, and went looking for Cami or Gandalf.

[VanimaEdhel]

Menelduliniel saw that Gandalf was not all there in thought. She thought it better to leave the wise Istar alone. She left him and got herself some ale. She saw Estelarion flirting with a male fox over at the other side of the grounds.

Well, at least he is having fun, Menelduliniel mused to herself.

She drank her ale and watched as Estelarion approached, smiling like a fool. They stood in silence, drinking...

[Bêthberry]

No one had seen Bethberry excuse herself from the culinary campaign, and, in a mood relatively subdued after all the hijinks, no one had paid particular attention to the north end of the Glade. Dusk was falling and the evening chill was coming on. The forest became ever more alive and aware--a fact which the picnic guests could now no longer ignore. Suddenly, light flared from the north end, illuminating faces in strange, dancing, distorted images.

http://www.1066.net/bonfire/2000/a10140125.jpg

The bonfire was lit, Bethberry reappeared, and in her calm voice, somehow made eery by the dusk, she said, Let the stories begin.

[Ransom]

“Let the stories begin.”

The Daughter of the River’s voice seemed to take a life of it’s own, fluttering from gust to guest. Everyone heard it, from the smallest animal to the dreaded Play Wight. Even the animals seemed to hear it, for all manners of fowl and denizens of the wild answered the call. The voice seemed to draw the guests toward the fire, promising much but revealing nothing.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ +++++++

Ransom considered Elenna’s request. He did not believe the People of the Wood competed in the same games as his own people. The memories of rough wrestling matches and mounted hunts reminded him of his home. But none of these games were suitable for a lady. He didn’t think she would appreciate being tacked and having an eye gouged out. Humph. These savages.

At the exact time, a very different set of thoughts were running through Revanas’s mind. He had never viewed his martial skills as entertainment or fun. He fought for the Feanturi, his blade brought release in the name of Mandos. He had always considered the use of martial skills as a waste of time. On the other hand, he had quite a bit of time to waste.

“Let the stories begin.”

So there was the hostess. She seemed unearthly in the dark, a cross between the Banshee and the Angel. Her words echoed through his head, compelling him to drop his conversation and come sit around the fire.

Revanas and Elenna followed Ransom’s lead. Revanas borrowed a few choice dishs from the tables while Elenna set up a small picnic area. Ransom tried to help, but it quickly became apparent that he had no idea on the ‘proper’ way to set a table. Sara skipped over and joined the group.

Elenna left the curiously heavy brown bag at the bottom of the basket, figuring that she had no business poking through Ransom’s personal items. Revanas returned, bearing much meat and other necessities of life. Ransom bowed to the east, chanting in a tongue never before spoken in the Old Woods. Revanas settled for a short prayer to She Who Weeps. Sara clumsily imitated her father. The odd quartet began to eat, making conversation before the stories started.

Ransom enquired of Elenna, “Lady, what part of the Dark Woods do you live?”

[piosenniel]

'Bethberry!', came the clear voice of Lassiël, stepping from beneath the shadows of the forest. 'I have come from far away and would know the story of the Bonfire Glade. How came these trees to be so sad. Can someone tell me of it?'

The trees seemed to lean in to hear her response. They murmured at the question, and their dry leaves rustled though no wind disturbed them. Long and ancient shadows, driven outward from the crackling fire, now inched in of their own accord.

'We are waiting, Bethberry. Will you speak?'

[Elenna]

"I am from Rivendell, friend Ravenas. Where are you from, both of you?"

But Elenna was hushed by those around her. The storytelling had started.

[VanimaEdhel]

Estelarion and Menelduliniel grabbed some plates, utensils, and food and went over to join Revanas and Elenna.

"Mereys na er (Do you wish do be alone)?" Estelarion asked Elenna and Revanas. When they beckoned that it was okay for them to sit down, he said, "Aarathyn o llie (We will sit with you)."

They sat down, Menelduliniel next to Sara, and Estelarion beside her, to listen.

[ September 27, 2002: Message edited by: VanimaEdhel ]

[Bêthberry]

From out the dark shadows stepped Bethberry, in answer to Lassiël's call. Around her neck a simple medallion, thronged with leather, shone with a pale aura, but it oft was hidden in the folds of her cloak as she walked. She walked around Estelarion and Menelduliniel, Elenna and Revanas and Ransom. She caught Gamba's eye and Cami's nod, couldn't see the Neekerbeeker, saw Maika kiss and run with Cuthalion overcome. She looked to see that the Fox was guarding Rowan. Shadows of dusk cloaked other guests.

Let me warm--or, rather, chill--my audience first before the tale be told, fair and welcome guest. Then we shall see who will remain to hear it.

Come hither, guests, and huddle close, for the trees will harken also to my words and as they lean in, beware the branch that, twining and shivering to this tale, would lay claim to your courage.

This is a tale to honour this night, September 28, for it happened not far from here.

Plates were pushed aside, mugs forgotten as the picnic guests shuffled forward, rubbing shoulder to shoulder for reassurance.

The story is "Fog", said Bethberry, her strongly coloured voice, a contralto, carried forth on the night-chilled breeze.

The whispered tales had been true and they had heeded them not. In a cold and clammy, dank, dark barrow, four grim hobbits lay frigid, sword across their throats, in thrall to the Barrow Wight, stone chilling their marrow, a darksome snarl misting the air, a cruel arm scratching the surface of their hope and throttling it.

Bethberry stopped, swallowed saliva to coat her dry throat, and continued.

None of them then snickered at the nonsense verse as Tom bested the Barrow Wight.

Dead silence met the sudden end of the story, followed by a few chuckles and laughter.


The laughter was not taken up by the Old Forest. There was something in the story of the Barrow Downs, however short, which kindled the memories of the trees. They shook themselves awake, as if from a long sleep....

(OOC: I shall be asking Mithadan to close this thread at midnight tomorrow, September 29, Grey Havens Day.)

[ September 29, 2002: Message edited by: Bethberry ]

[Eol]

The anicent tree listened to Bethberry's words and smiled, if a tree could smile.

"Ho hum, friends! Let spin my tale why my kin and I are what you see." The dark branches lowereed down and silence fell over the party.

"You see, many ages passed since I came to be. I am not old nor young, many cannot see. Since the fall of the two lights across the western sea, evil has slithered over these leaves."


"Númenóreans, you see, a Great race of Man they use to be. With their axes and saws, they hewn my cousins, three. They hewned down my brother, my sister, my wife, that make more then three. It was savage and strange how they contiued dispite the change."

"This change, you would think, was queer when seen. It happened, not long after, to my friend willow, still among us trees. Willow, you see, took revenge of those who cut too freely."

"The first was a man, hungery and eager for a quick harvest for his own treat. The blade was brought up, the branches came in close. There was a scream, a terrible scream. But no one heard it, you see. Because, that old willow, ate that man times three. More came, seeking that odd fellow, found the blade and the unfelled tree. They could never figure out the mystery."

"So I warn you this night, that even trees can suffer from plight. Loss and death can seethe into the very wood that can change. That change can happen to anyone, even me."

"Beware this forest,my friends, travel quickly. Many are hungery and seek a quick feast, little chlidren and hairy are the sweetest"

"I am a sentry, an Ent. These tree as sneeaky, quick at best. They smell fear and evil in the hearts and seek to be rid of it. Sauron is sneaky and caddy. He wants to dwell here, he wants to stay. Nay I will not let him claim what he did with my brethern: the yews, the berches and pines. Nay he will not take as he did Thranduil's kingdon, and destroy it, no spirit could remain."

The oak dropped silent, briging his branches up proudly, as many of the trees do.

[Bêthberry]

A chill spread throughout the Glade.

Roiling and coiling, a dank mist swarmed over the ground, covering root and burrow, tunnel and hole, making the terrain treacherous.

A dark wind whipped the flames of the bonfire, broadcasting sparks among cloak and gown and tunic.

The trees began to twist and lean; their branches snapped, switching air and ground. Moaning, they rose, all of one accord, and marched towards the guests.

[piosenniel]

Now were those gathered affrighted, and a great dread came upon them. And they drew together in the center of the Glade, huddled near the fire, seeking the safety of its light and heat. Chill gripped each heart as the fog flowed over the flames and dwindled them to sodden embers.

The trees pressed forward, slow and relentless. And the ancient rage of all their Ages went before them like a great howl. All within the Glade cowered now, and closed their eyes against the terrible shadow now approaching. Leaves rustled furiously, like the sound of myriad fell knives. Branches snapped in the air dangerously, cold whips to sting the flesh and spirit. 'We are doomed! All is lost!' came cries from the once merry guests.

Then did Lassiël step forth and a great Light shown in her face. And extending her arm, hand palm outward toward the trees, she turned full circle, and bade them stop. She tapped her foot once upon the ground, and their roots sank deep into the soil.

'Stay!' she bade the trees, in a voice that pierced the darkness of their hearts. 'Stay, and listen with me! I would have the story of this Glade and Forest, the justness of your long anger made clear to me. Then shall we see what doom appoints.'

A great silence, electric with expectancy, flowed then from the halted Forest. And Lassiël, held out her hand now to Bethberry, and said again:

'Tell us the story of this place!'

[ September 29, 2002: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[Carnëiach]

The trees began to lean, snapping their branches at the guests. "We are doomed! All is lost!"
The sprite rolled her eyes. "Oh please, thats not even origional!" She muttered quietly. Stretching out her arms she sighed and vanished into a sheen of silver in the air.
She floated on the breeze through the trees, murmering quietly and soothingly to the irritated and menacing boughs. In the camp Lasseil was seeking justice for them. The elemental felt the change of air between the trees and sighed with relief, drifting back to the camp and resolving herself near Bethberry. The mysterious one looked at her, smiling slightly.
"I was not aware we had an elemental gracing the party."
"Indeed. Please noble one, tell us the story of the glade." The sprites voice was like rush of birds in flight in the quiet morning and the woman of the forest smiled back at her.
"Then tales you shall have, sprite." She began, the colours of her voice weaving with the echoes of memories and magic.

[ September 30, 2002: Message edited by: Carnëiach ]

[piosenniel]

Lassiël retreated beneath the boughs and sighed.

'So be it!'

[VanimaEdhel]

Menelduliniel and Estelarion stood up and stepped forward.

"I am no good with ghost stories," Menelduliniel began, "But I do know a good song, if you will let me sing it..."

With that Estelarion took out his silver flute and began, Menelduliniel accompanying him in the slow, eerie, haunting song...

Iire i'Ithil erin fuin fanui
Nen or i'cew en yrn dol
Lle gliries an nîn en erin cuiant
Ta carant hûnamin mudoa lim
Hi erin amin golos amin non na baramin na vedui
Lle ones nîn rama en thoron
A amin gwilathon aen ar linathon aen
Ar yassen amin gimen i'hûl aew fuin
An i'eryn amin gwilen
Ar ned i'fuin raden lle na.
Ar garas golodh mellye u'naa thent
U'mithlye cant
Be i'ithil ar i'loth en nen
Libidlye yanwai, hînlye nai min
Non hwest en Ithil o lle.

Menelduliniel and Estelarion finished the eerie-sounding song to the silence of the others...

(OOC: Lyrics (originally in English) courtesy of "Samain Night" by Loreena McKennitt)

[Bêthberry]

. . . as if seemingly beaten. Then, charred branch and limb and bleeding stump stood quiet, letting the cleansing rain douse the fire and settle the ash deeply into the blackened earth, where its richness bore fruit in successive seasons. But the Old Forest has never forgotten. And none has ever apologized.

Bethberry stopped the mesmerizing tale, fearful that it would inflame unquiet spirits and uneasy guests. Would any take umbrage? Would any be inspired to atone?

As she looked around at embarassed, guilty eyes and hesitant,waving limb, she thought she felt a groundswell of frustration build, but suddenly the overcast sky thundered with pelting fury. A hard rain fell, stinging cold pellets which blocked sight and ripped leaf. Wind gusted in violent whorls, flinging hair and cloak and branch, even soil skywards. Goldberry's equinoctial storm forced passions into retreat. The trees hunkered down, branches wrapped tightly around trunks. The guests, sodden and chilled, huddled bare and cold in the full brunt of the storm until finally they were buffeted right into the trees. Yet branch upon branch then opened to shelter them.

As the grey dawn rose, the storm dissipated and the bedraggled guests unwound themselves from the trees' embrace. Stunned and subdued with a palpable sense of responsibility, they observed the Old Forest with new eyes and then slowly began to disperse to their various paths and trails, hoping to find the quickest way home. Just as most were leaving, Gandalf cried out,

Look, look to the hill in the west.

Tree trunks straightened and backs stiffened to follow Gandalf's gaze. There, at the top of the hill some claimed they could faintly make out Goldberry.


http://www.torania.com/fellow/fr187korablev.jpg


The Glade emptied to all but Bethberry and Lassiël, who stood, side by side, disheveled and wet, hair plastered around their faces, clothes drenched.

Well, said Bethberry to Lassiël, with polite deference but little ceremony, at least now you know why Dad always wears those outlandish yellow boots.

[ September 29, 2002: Message edited by: Bethberry ]

[piosenniel]

Lassiël took Bethberry by the hand, and led her to the center of the Glade. She shook the rain from her gown, and it shimmered like green leaves beneath a summer sun. In her face shown the clear light of Aman, and she bid the trees close in about them.

They came then, and watched her as from out the bag hung at her waist she took two saplings. 'These are yours to nurture and protect. They come from the garden of the Lady, herself, and are meant as a sign that we who dwell apart, still hold Arda dear. Light is in these trees, and hope is written on every leaf.' She knelt down with Bethberry and dug a hole for each sapling, one at each end of the glade. They placed each carefully within, and tamped the earth down gently round the roots. And now did the silver and gold of the young trees' leaves shine out with a great light, reaching even to the darkest shadow.

The old trees murmured in an ancient tongue and crooned a song of growing and of strength. Lassiël passed among them with Bethberry. And where she touched, the trees straightened and leaves and flowers thickened on the once bare branches. The air lightened in the Old Forest, and a certain sense of peace stirred in the Ancient Heartwood.

'I must go now.' she told Bethberry, having come to the edge of the forest. Eärendil hung low in the sky, a bright point of light marking his place. 'Fare well!' she called out to the Forest. 'And if it chance so, that my Lady should send me, I will come again another year to be with you.' From the nearest tree, a tendril of ivy reached out and briefly curled itself about her wrist and then withdrew.

She turned then, to Bethberry, and bade her fare well also. Then she stepped upon the Straight Way and the face of the world sank below her.

[Bêthberry]

The saplings shall have my care and nurture, Bethberry said as a parting promise to Lassiël. She then nodded good-bye and looked up to Eärendil, gently caressing the star medallion Strider had presented her with. A fresh fragrance spread over the Glade.

She turned to tidy the Glade of the garbage and dishes from the Picnic and discovered another virtue of Goldberry's washing up. She chuckled.

Thanks, Mum.

[ September 30, 2002: Message edited by: Bethberry ]

[Mithadan]

As the guests scattered and fled the Glade, the Wight stood smiling, waving his arms and shouting loudly. "Yes! This way! To the East and a bit to the North! There's a safe haven there! Just hide behind the stones and the trees will not catch you. Just hide there until evening and all will be well...." The Wight's voice shrank to a whisper, "Very well, indeed!"

Then whistling an eerie tune, he turned and followed the many guests who had fled to the East and a bit to the North. He checked his sword as he went. He was followed by a dozen cats, well-sated by the feast and goings on...

[Bêthberry]

The cats mewed and scattered in protest as several pebbles landed amidst them.

The Wight turned and none too soon, for a pebble passed, well, not exactly right through him, but close enough had the aim been more meanly meant.

Get out with you, Wight, laughed Bethberry in the sunlight. Be off to your barrow and leave off my guests. By sun and by song, by reed and by wood, all have safe passage in this Forest 'till night.

She stood with the wind tangling her hair, and with hey now! hoy now! floating through the air.

[ September 30, 2002: Message edited by: Bethberry ]

[ October 01, 2002: Message edited by: Elenna ]