Nimrodel!

Seems there's more than one identity-confused Elf wandering around here! ;)

Must be, eh? It's your turn, anyway. :p

Be hasty now, for there's something you don't see every day:

Lo, Hard Fast Ent.

Land of the Star, perhaps . . .

*Bump*
 

Firefoot?

I'll go ahead and pose an anagram. I can remove it if my previous solution was incorrect:

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

Raise d' alarm!! Ring d' bells!!! It's NightKnight's birthday!

~*~ Pio

Sorry, I forgot about this game. You were correct, pio.

Bringing this forward:

Raise d' alarm!! Ring d' bells!!! It's NightKnight's birthday!

And the party's in Ramdal!

Exactly!

Carry on!

~*~ Pio

Thank you.

I think people wanting to be elves need to make elven ID.

Lake Evendim

:)

~*~ Pio

Exactly! Your turn, pio. :)

Gazing with awe on the brightness of Goldberry's laundry, the wandering Ranger/Laundryman was moved to point out the line to his companions where the soft and fluffy and dazzling white towels hung . . .

Seen her towels, men?!

Hmmm . . . how about I give a hint.

Theoden's mother was often referred to in this manner.

~*~ Pio

That'll be Morwen Steelsheen then, at a pinch.

Exactly! Take the helm, if you will . . .

~*~ Pio

Taking the metaphorical helm . . .
 

The round pens.

I think you are trying for the North Undeep, of which there is but one*. Or am I wrong?

~R

*There were two Undeeps, for sure, but only one that was North. T'other was the smaller, the South Undeep.

Sorry for the delay.
 

Yes, it was the North Undeeps.

Your thread. :)

In the supermarkets of Middle Earth, war rages in the fizzy drink aisles. Indeed, rack foes have Lilt.

Only to be reconciled by stargazing
 

I have a sneaking suspicion that the answer you seek is Sickle of the Valar.

Subtle in its attempts to avoid detection, your most surreptitious of suspicions is nevertheless in grave danger of vulgar discovery through this most brash and indeed brassy of vindications. The floor, sir, if I am not bestowing too great a gift, is yours!

A poser with a paucity of preamble
 

Unaccustomed as I am to allow myself the unprecedented vulgarity of an admission to having correctly divined the solution to so prettily puzzling a problem, I thought as much.

I shall endeavour, sir, to prove my humble self worthy of your princely, nay imperial, gift. Truly for such a floor as this have palaces been raised and myriad hovels razed.

Without further ado, then - and naturally with a less than hesitant address to brevity - I shall proceed to lay before this august assembly an aptly agreeable anagram.

An admirable admonition, this: Rein in grog fads

Indeed, sir, what wonders you have raised from my most humble consideration. None other than the dread tower Orthanc, smooth-wrought and haughty, as it is encircled by the peculiarly non-traversable Ring of Isengard.

Sir, such is my unbounded honour at having so edifying an edifice entertain my capricious gift of floor, my nerveless frame shudders at the crass behaviour displayed by offering such a low gift again, so, may Jove and the Pemberton-Wolneys forgive me, but I must set my pickled grey matter to some great Scheme to foil any comfortable interpretation.

Verb sap, but I have need of many
 

As I believe the late Samuel Taylor Coleridge once very aptly put it, "yes".

You have, sir, correctly divined the nub of my enciphered gist, which indeed concerns the setting for that glassy edifice which was home to such wisdom and folly. Pray conjure us a conundrum of cunning complexity.

Sapping verbs make the wise words weep
 

As a gentleman, sir, you will no doubt be pleasantly unaware of the Seething Underbelly of our great Town, where I hear in the area known as 'the Docks' (how earthy!) that there are wharf love rites sold.

Dare I presume upon you sir, in your capacity as a Man of the World, to conjure for us a solution to this Sordid Conundrum.

Well anyone else can too, it's not that hard...

I find it pretty hard anyway, so a little hintssses might be welcome, if I may be so bold.

How's this?
 

Vertically challenged folks and where they live.

I'm stumped . . . but not without an answer, wrong as it might be:

As far as I can figure out - these are homeless Dwarves -- probably displaced since Beleriand sank; a lost clan - the Fardrivers. Modern day finds them living in France, in small trucks set low to the ground, selling garden statuary to elderly ladies of modest financial persuasion (the ladies, that is, not the Dwarves - they are quite wealthy, but hide it well)

My answer, therefore is:

~*~ L' Dwarves of the Loris ~*~

which is utterly in error, of course, but the best I could do at the moment . . .

~*~ Pio ;)

Mea culpa
 

For goodness sake, I muttered. It's not that hard. Where's that piece of paper with my notes. Here we go. Right - d, w, a, r, v, e, s, o, f, t, h, e....

So far so good. What's wrong with these people? Um. Hang on. Not even I can make Iron Hills out of i,l,l,o,r,s. Hmm. I missed out a word. Simple mistake, no-one can blame me for that. Such a small word... In.

Ah. And an H. :eek:

Hmm. Back away slowly 'baud, the thread is pio's for treating this blunder with casual good humour...

*the whispers of the fleeing Rimbaud echo mournfully down the halls of shame*

Euthanasia for Eustacia would be a drag, sighed Saki
 

Come now, come now. A much missed poster, nay a billboard of such luminosity is he, reminded me that although my folly here has been great, the show must continue.

This humble warthog that I am would offer the thread out again, but instead I'll tender a morsel so tender that all will tender to tend to the tending of it.

On glueing the coloured seed to his shirt,the hobbit laughed in a merrisome way. For now, he had a pip pin. Answers in a post please.

Such a conundrum . . .
 

Pippin, perchance?

Absolutely
 

That's fast work, Nilp. :)

The thread is all yours, so please post something riotously difficult

Ok . . .
 

The Road to Lower Middle Earth
 

I wouldn't say that the North-South Road was a particularly hard route, although how it does as a root is anybody's guess. ;)

You got it.
 

Must have been an odd accent! ;)

In accents strange
 

Routed by divergent phonology: once more my nemesis strikes down one of my utterances.

Fortunately the solution to this puzzle should transcend dialect.

ed. hated drool

Indeed
 

If you dare the peril of Dor Daedaloth, you need not a dialect. Or anything else, for that matter.