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 ]
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