The Saucepan Man lay contentedly below a great oak tree which grew on a raised part of the Party Field, sipping at the strange concoction that flowed unceasingly from his kettle and puffing away on his pipe. He was glad that the Barrow Downs Club Band seemed to have gone down so well, and had himself greatly enjoyed the tributes of the other party guests, whether recited, sung or simply written and added to the Party Tree. Following the performance, he had clattered and clanked his way through the party, chatting to the guests and enjoying the entertainment on offer. He had even taken it upon himself to dance a merry jig to a tune played by a young lady with a fiddle, although the resulting cacophony meant that those nearby were grateful that he had limited himself to just one dance.
As Saucepan watched the continuing merriment, he noticed a contingent of Orcs arrive and make their way towards Pio. He felt a momentary twinge of concern, but that was soon dispelled by the memory of his pleasant conversations with Kransha and Fordim Hedgethistle.
“It takes all sorts,” he thought to himself, a maxim which, it occurred to him, might equally apply to the party itself, and indeed the very Downs that he was pleased to call his home.
He had come to his present vantage point to enjoy the fireworks, which had been quite the most spectacular that he had ever witnessed. But now that they were over, he was content simply to lie there in the cool evening breeze, enjoying the happy atmosphere and reflecting upon what a success it had all been.
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