[Formendacil]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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