2004 Barrow-Downs’ Birthday Celebration!

[The Saucepan Man]

The Saucepan Man had no difficulty making his way through the crowd that thronged the Party Field. The clamour of his pots and pans assured that all were aware of his approach and instinctively made way as he passed. Partygoers of all every conceivable description were gathered there chatting excitedly in small groups, enjoying the entertainment on offer, or simply helping themselves to the startling variety of food and drink on offer. Elves, Dwarves, Hobbits, Men, and even an Orc, were all availing themselves of the delights of the party. He nodded to friends old and new as he went, momentarily stopping to enjoy the antics of a juggler outside one of the beer tents, before tossing some coins into his hat and moving on. Catching sight of a familiar shade of green, he ambled noisily up to a mound raised amidst the party trappings.

“Happy Birthday, old chap,” he remarked cheerily as he stood before it.

Reaching into one of his pots, he took from it a small pouch. Attached to the pouch was a small label which read “Stardust of Zîgg’ï”.

“Enjoy!” he said with a twinkle in his eye, as he placed it on the mathom table.

Coming to one of the food tables, he unhooked two of his pans and tipped the Pop Biscuits and Toffee Shocks contained within them onto some empty plates. He grinned mischievously as he imagined how the Toffee Shocks might go down with Hobbits’ voracious appetites. From another pan he produced a large helping of Lemon Jelly, remarking to himself that it might be appreciated later when guests exhausted from a surfeit of dancing were looking to mellow out.

The Saucepan Man then made for one of the bar tents. He sat himself on a stool at the bar and asked the barman for a tall glass filled with ice and a slice of lemon. Unhooking one of his kettles, he poured a surprisingly clear liquid into the glass before retrieving a pouch from a pot and filling his pipe with a good measure of Longbottom Leaf. Suitably settled, he sat back to enjoy the pleasant atmosphere that surrounded him.

[symestreem]

After playing four rounds of dancing on her fiddle, symestreem bowed out (no pun intended) and went to look for some food. Mortal by birth (at least that's what her mother told her), she was a hobbit if you looked at her appetite.
Resisting the urge to steal the entire plate of chocolate cookies, she wandered among the buffet tables, listening to the other partygoers. Was there anyone she knew here? It was too crowded to see. She dodged the hobbit children stealing drinks from the beer barrel and wandered off to mingle.

[piosenniel]

‘Ah, Umbariel!’ Pio looked the Elf up and down remembering their first meeting in the Green Dragon. The face of another who had once accompanied her, Bebberyn she thought, flashed into her thoughts for a few moments. A guard of Dol Amroth she thought. A half remembered story of corsairs accompanied the man’s face.

‘You have been in Lorien, have you not?’ Everdawn’s face looked serene, as if she had come to terms with the passing Age of the Elves. ‘Time passes a little slower there, under the golden leaves. I have three children now. The twins, Isilmir and Gilwen, are six years old. Little Cami is five. They have not come yet to the party, but will be here when it begins to get dark and the fireworks start.’ The two women spoke for a few more minutes, their heads bent close together, red and silver intertwining. Then a familiar sight caught Pio’s eye and she excused herself saying she hoped they would see one another again.

There by one of the food tables stood the Saucepan Man, looking quite sly. He was dumping things from out his pans . . . treats for the party goers. He’d clink-clanked off by the time she’d got to the table, and her eye strayed to the enticing sweets he’d brought down from the top of the tree. ‘Toffee shocks! Oh my,’ she said laughing at the thought of greedy Hobbits gobbling the goodies. ‘Best I should leave a note beside them.’

Toffee Shocks: Quite Good! she printed in a clear hand on a card she’d found in her vest pocket. But be warned! Take a small bite only. It grows larger in your mouth until it explodes!

She helped herself to a Pop Biscuit and a stray Google Bun and wandered off to see to the other guests. Behind her, the trees, their leaves moving in the soft breeze, were making a wisha-wisha sound . . .

[Kransha]

Hands still clasped in front and thumbs twiddling away, Kransha made his way through the crowd yet again. He hadn’t had good exercise like this in a while, but he hadn’t had a drink in a good while either, so he headed very ceremoniously and forthwith towards the bar tents and multitudinous buffet tables that speckled the area like spots on a spotted gorcrow, if such a thing existed. Kransha distinctly remembered eating a spotted gorcrow, or at least seeing one hanging from the sticky mass of webs in Shelob’s cave back on Cirith Ungol janitorial duty, but he couldn’t place the exact look of the aviary creature that, for all he knew, was a figment of his orc imagination brought on by a night of partying on Gorgoroth Party Plain.

Fetching a small plate for himself, Kransha sauntered jollily to the lavish tables, decked with every sort of food imaginable. He quickly rooted through the finest delicacies, omitting every imperfect foodstuff from his very sight as he dipped conservatively into the well of edible material. As he continued on into the nearest bar tent to sit down in a more subdued atmosphere, he looked down hungrily at the platter he’d constructed for himself, which at the moment consisted of a Everholt Boar Burger, some cheesecake stuffed with strange-scented Gallows-Weed, several ample strips of lemon-sprinkled venison, a trio of bramble pies, and a whole handful of Turkish Delight (to be devoured first and foremost).

He took a seat coolly on one of the jutting bar stools. Smiling to himself over the food, hovering above the plate like a ferocious feline ready to pounce, he made the dire mistake of looking to his right. The poor orc couldn’t help but stare at the figure he saw, which, in his keen green eyes, could barely be called a figure. It looked much more like a brimming mass of twisted metal, but after Kransha gave it swift inspection, he found that this ‘person’ was more or less a mass of pots, pans, and a number of things that were either pots, pans, or something else. The orc always avoided rudeness, but he found his beady little orbs fixed irreverently on the being, his jaw narrowly avoiding a long fall to the floor. He took acknowledging notice of a girl who was curiously rattling an oversized stick against the pan man’s pots. He managed to turn his eyes away, nodding politely to the fellow as the smell of his food wafted through a pair of great nostrils set upon his snout.

As he refocused on the food, he felt a very horrible feeling come over him. He knew what it was instantly, and resisted the urge to utter some foul curse in the Black Speech as he realized what was happening (his mouth was too busy pouring out saliva for him to say such a thing anyway). Orc genetics did funny things, as Kransha knew. Now, Halflings and their kin obviously had a love of food, but there relishing of it was more in fun. Orcs had a very primal way of dealing with food, and even a cultured uruk such as Kransha could not fight his hereditary instincts. He fought them all the same, but it was too late already. The orc’s head plunged forward with ravenous intensity and, for almost a minute, was buried in his plate, from which a veritable cornucopia of gnashing and munching noises emerged as the contents of Kransha’s plate splattered everywhere around him in a surprisingly wide radius. Bits of Turkish Delight soared across the innards of the pavilion. After a lagging moment of extremely loud eating sounds, the orc emerged from what remained of his delicatessens. As he pupils halted their dilation, Kransha realized what he’d done.

“Blasted orc table manners.” he mumbled with caustic irritation to himself as he attempted to clean the great mess from his chin and face. He looked around very nervously; fumbling with a handkerchief stuffed into his coat pocket and swiped all the clinging venison chunks from his lips. As he dabbed mercilessly at his face, he felt another uncomfortable sensation surging up his throat. The hapless uruk, whose day this most certainly was not, let loose a rather incendiary belch that blew his empty plate right off the bar and over behind it, where it flew forward and ripped right through the pavilion wall. As a shocked shriek could be heard from outside, Kransha promptly covered his mouth and gulped.

“Excuse me.”

[ElberethVarda]

Elbereth nervously put her hand to her hair to make sure her kerchief was in place. Her hands were cold and sweaty; this was the first time she'd been here and she was nervous. What if my friends aren't here yet? I wouldn't know what to say to strangers, Elbereth thought nervously. She took a deep breath and straightened her royal blue linen skirt and matching bodice. She brushed the soil off the silver embroidery on the neckline, and stepped inside.

Immediatly, the noise and smells nearly overcame her. She clutched her basket tightly and looked for a sign of her friends; sqeaky hammers, an Agent lofty shirt, mabye even a penguin. Anything.

[Saraphim]

The crowd around the gate had cleared somewhat by the time Saraphim strode up the lane. A huge, wicked smile was on her face, a leather pack on her back, and her best dress was dancing lively around her feet in the dust.

As the mischievous-looking young woman walked imposingly through the opening, she looked around as if daring the party-goers to dispute her late appearance. None did, of course, and Saraphim marched resolutly up to the tree and mound and opened her pack.

Out came a wad of packing material that was soon divested to reveal an ornate dragon carving, made of some green stone, and polished to an glorious shine.

Setting the carving carefully on the table, Saraphim stepped back and yelled: "Congratulations, O Wight of the Barrow-Downs!"

Having shown proper respect, Saraph turned and left to find a good pint, and perhaps her friends.

[Eowyn Skywalker]

"Oooo!!! A PARTY!!" Eowyn Skywalker screamed, because she hadn't realized that there was a party going on, and she loved parties as much as food, and tormenting Luke Skywalker.

The elvish, hobbitish, humanish girl jumped around. "Happy birthday, Barrow-wight!" she shouted, as she felt the need to make herself heard. After screaming delightedly, she entered into the party scene, and made herself at home around the food, one destinctly hobbit personality, though she was quite human.

After eating some food (she never ate too much...), she pulled out her gift to the Barrow-wight, a shiny medal pole, complements of the Middle-earthian conspiritors of the purple dye, and left it (nicely wrapped) on the table by the barrow-- a rather creepy place, in her opinion. And how did a barrow get to the Shire? Eowyn Skywalker wondered, but gave up on wondering. It was, after all, a party. And that could explain everything, including the twisted canon.

She decided to look around to see if there was anyone that she knew in the whereabouts, as, being a party, there should've been a few people that she knew.. or knew of.

Eowyn looked around, but there was no sign of squeaky hammers, medal poles, purple dye, garlic (for which she was grateful, though she herself was known for the garlic at times), or anything else that she recognized, though she thought she knew one female, an Elbereth Varda, but she wasn't too sure. She was not that well known around those of the squeaky hammers.

Ah well, Eowyn Skywalker sighed. There was only one way to figure out if she knew this one. She straightened her cloak, and went over to talk to the blue-clothed female that may've been of Rivendell.

[Oddwen]

From the cold North strode a figure. At first glance, it appeared to be wearing a Jawa cloak (darn you Tweak!) but as it got closer, it settled into a young woman wearing a homemade cloak affixed by a pin that read "Down with Low-Carb!"

After wiping the snow from her glasses, she strode purposefully up to the gate and through.

Looking around, the party seemed to be off to a good start. The table did seem to be indeed laden down with all kinds of good, wholesome food. Her pan of applecrisp soon joined the melée.

She then edged over to the party tree, skirting the mound at a respective distance and climbed nervously up to the stage. After staring doe-like for a moment, she began to sing:


Without getting out of my chair,
I can learn all things of Tolkien
Without looking up from my screen
I can know the ways of Arda
The farther one travels, the more one misses
I'd miss the Barrowdowns
Without getting out of my chair,
I can learn all things of Tolkien
Without looking up from my screen
I can know the ways of Arda
The farther one travels, the more one misses
I'd miss the Barrowdowns
Search all before posting, I just love the color scheme,
Do the Wave for the Disco King!

"Though it doesn't give justice enough," she muttered as the hubbub caused by the extremely loud sitars died down. Hastily, she walked to the table and deposited her mathom - a small green glass bead, though cunningly made.

"I won't ask you to wear it," she called politely.

And now, off to the tables.

[Everdawn]

"I hope Ill see you again" Piosenniel had called to her before hurrying off.

The Everdawn closed her eyes and bowed her head once more, "Don't think on't, These last days are passing swiftly for me, and I will be gone sooner than I may know." she smiled.

She then let her strange grey eyes wander over the party until they came to rest upon passin hobbit children who were looking at her in awe. Elfsun knew that it was strange to see a Silvan elf in these parts, she meerly waved to them before passing. She came to a table away from the buzz of the general populus and decided that she would sit for a while before commencing her journey again.

Elfsun was sitting captured in her own thoughts when upon the stage infront of her a girl began to sing a very odd song indeed. The girl finished and spoke though Umbariel was still to mistified thinking about the song in question to speak praises right away.

"I though that was wonderful" she said eventually to the girl.

[Imladris]

"Ah, Imladris, I see you've also arrived. Looks like we're going to have to take a break from fighting the Mouth of Sauron at the Hills of Evendim for a few days. But hey, I'm not complaining. What do you think of the festivities?"

I turned and laughed. "Menel!" I would never admit it, but I was too lazy to say his full name. "Yes...whoever thought that fighting via the pen could be so tiring?"

He nodded, and I continued, "I don't know what I think about the festivities as I haven't really been here long enough to get involved." I craned my neck and saw a Southron in the tattoo business. "I suppose I could get a tattoo...or have a bit to eat..." I shrugged, and helped myself to some toffee shocks.

The toffee was smooth and delicious. I could feel the small bit begin to grow in my mouth, and smiled. With a sharp crack, it exploded and the inside of mouth was sprayed with shards of candy. Chewing on them, I asked, "Would you like one, Menel?"

[piosenniel]

Pio had made the mistake of asking the Elf with the violet eyes where she had gotten her contacts. Merisu wrinkled her brow, but barely, and with two flicks of her golden tresses had laughed quite prettily and wagged a slender, well manicured finger at Pio. ‘Silly! Gotten them, indeed! I was born with them!’

‘Yes . . .well . . .’ Pio was having trouble concentrating, entranced by the sight of the glistening strands of blond hair lifting gently in the playful breeze. It was with great restraint that she held back her hand from giving Merisu’s lovely locks a yank to see if they were indeed her own.

Taking a deep breath, her eyes focused on the toes of her boots (which were scuffed and worn – quite unlike the footwear of the Elf before her), Pio gathered her wits and invited Merisu to join her for a drink and a plate of savories. ‘You do eat and drink, do you not?’ she asked warily, thinking that perhaps the warrior-maiden had reached a state of perfection which precluded such things.

On their way to the food tables, a darkly clad, pasty skinned woman in a green scarf walked past muttering something about dwarf-tossing, ale, and Russian cures. ‘Dwarves are that way, Lush,’ called Pio as the figure passed. ‘And you are quite in luck – so is the Guinness and the vodka.’

Pio nodded at the Elf with the messy blond hair and the full, foaming tankard. Nerindel she’d heard someone call her. And it looked as if someone acquainted with Merisu had dressed the poor woman for the party. There she stood, tugging at the lacing to the bodice of her rather form-fitting dress, trying to give herself a little room to breathe. Pio watched as the Elf barely caught herself, her shoe catching on the hem of her dress as she strode along. Ale splashed down the front of her dress and she muttered an imprecation that would curl the toenails of an orc. Pio snapped her fingers and a serving wench appeared at Nerindel’s elbow with a fresh pint. ‘Over there,’ said Pio, drawing near to the wet Elf. ‘Behind the actors’ stage is dressing room and any number of much more comfortable outfits.’ She stepped back and looked at Nerindel from head to toe. ‘Breeches, I think and a soft tunic, loosely belted at the waist. And boots – find yourself something more comfortable. This is a party, not the court at Rivendell . . .’

Having reached the food at last, Pio placed a plate in Merisu’s smooth-skinned hands and bade her fill it as she wished. Pio herself picked the stuffed mushrooms and a small stack of chocolate chip cookies, topped off with a generous scoop of macaroni and cheese.

Nearby she noticed the figure of Hilde Bracegirdle, husband in tow, standing at the Party Tree, their attention engaged by the well-wishes others had affixed there. Hilde, she saw, had pulled a piece of parchment from her own pocket, and smoothing it out had pinned it up with the rest.

Another had come up to the table and then wandered off. Symestreem the young woman was called, another of the partygoers had told her. ‘And she plays a mean fiddle,’ the guest had added, nodding her head at the stage the musicians used. And apparently is quite fond of chocolate chip cookies noted Pio as she watched the young woman disappear into the crowd with a handful.

Merisu had remained quiet for some time, but now she nudged Pio’s elbow and tilted her head ever so daintily toward three newcomers who had made quite an entrance. They were in good spirits and seemed glad to have found each other. Pio sent a server over to them with pitcher of drink and mugs and a platter of savory eats.

Two hobbit lads had run up by this time, hats in hand, to tell Pio they’d repaired a hole in the side of one of the pavilions and bandaged a passerby who’d been injured in the incident. An Orc, one Kransha she learned, had eructated as beings of his sort were want to do after eating, sending his plate flying through the fabric of the tent with great force. A Dwarf had been knocked in the head and it had taken the Beorn security force to keep him from going after the orc with his ax. ‘Secure the weapon,’ ordered Pio. ‘And give the Dwarf a small cask of those special Dwarvish spirits from Erebor. And the Orc – see if the fellow will try some ‘Beano’ before he eats again.’

The two Elves found a table near the music stage and sat down to relax. Pio shook her head in quiet amusement as Merisu’s pearly white, perfectly matched and even teeth bit into an overstuffed pasty and a bit of gravy dripped onto the bodice of her gown . . .

[Amanaduial the archer]

Aman sat like some watchful hawk on the sill of the topmost window of the Inn, swinging her feet gently as she watched over the pavillion on which the party was taking place. The Innkeeper had spent the last few hours rushing around attempting to give last minute orders, most of which she strongly suspected had been completely disregarded, and the peace of her high perch was very welcome. The sounds of the party wafted on the air towards her from below, sounding distant and pleasant like birdsong on the wind, the silk breeze swept her wavy brown hair from her face and she closed her eyes, sighing contentedly...

A sudden icy roar made the Innkeeper's eyes snap open and she very nearly fell off the sill, clutching it quickly with her slim fingers as her gaze shot down to the pavillion...

She relaxed and sent a scathingly raised eyebrow in the direction of the two hobbits who had disturbed the Wight. The gesture was utterly lost on the pair, of course, as they were scrambling away as fast as possible from the eerie barrow, wreathed in giggles, knocking several of the noisier mathoms from the present tree as they did. The Innkeeper recognised one as Cami Goodchild's youngest, Daisy, and the other as a possible Pimpernel Brandybuck. She was fairly sure he had been banned from the Inn, but ah well, it was a party, she was quite prepared to turn a blind eye to it.

"Miss Aman?"

Aman turned her head into the round attic window to see a sturdy hobbit tween standing a little nervously a few feet from her. He jumped when she turned, then edged forward a little to peer out of the window. With a whimper, he jumped back, then hastily tried to cover up his discomfort.

"Ah, Brando, won't you join me?" Aman teased, her green eyes glinting mischievously. Even for a hobbit, Brando Proudfoot had never been one for heights. He gave the Rohirrim woman a concerned glance, then shook his head.

"Dear me, Miz Aman, never will get used to that..." he muttered. "Anyway, 'just came to tell you that Goodwife Goodchild asks you to come down, she'd like to say good day - and I'd like you to come down and all, you're making me fair nervous here! - and that there are a few rather strange looking folk down on the pavillion..."

Aman grinned widely at Brando then turned back outside, dropping her head back onto her shoulders and closing her eyes to the wind. "Of course there are, Brando. It's the Barrowdowns party!" Opening her eyes, she caught sight of something which made her eyebrows shoot up suddenly. "Brando...When you said strange...were you referring to the southerners, wights and various elven nobility...or to Daisy Goodchild who suddenly seems to have bright green hair?"

"I think you see my point, Aman!" Brando replied triumphantly. Aman laughed, then cast a slightly worried glance at the barrow where the master of the Downs had taken up residence for the party.

"Ah Brando...of all the bars in all the world, why did he have to come to mine?"

There was an awkward silence.

"Shall I take that as a 'you'll-be-down-in-a-minute', Miz Aman?" Brando ventured carefully.

"Yes, yes, do..." Aman replied, sliding her legs back over the windowsill. "Don't know what came over me...


OCC: All characters mentioned in my post, except Cami Goodchild and Piosenniel, are free for use.

[Orual]

Every thud of hooves against the road brought Orual one step closer to the party. She whipped her green hat off of her head, revealing a wind-tangled mass of bright red hair (with brown roots) above brighter green eyes. She looked inside the hat and was disappointed to note that some of the henna colouring her hair had rubbed off. Alas.

She dismounted and put her horse in the stable, then went to join the party. She adjusted her green tunic, smoothing it over her hips, and dusted off her brown breeches. She was travel-worn, but not entirely unpresentable, so she was happy. She just hoped it didn't rain, because she just knew that her hair wouldn't stay red if it did...

She passed through the crowd, talking to people here and there. As she was bidding one farewell, walking backwards, she tripped over something--someone--and went head over heels.

"I am so sorry!" she exclaimed, picking herself up and helping the other person up. She started dusting her victim off when she finally looked at the other person's face.

"Nuranar!" she cried, embracing her old friend. "Are you okay? I'm really sorry. How have you been?"

[Ithaeliel]

Ithaeliel arrived in the party field and searched around for a hint of instruction for newcomers. As she noticed the numerous guests trying to edge their way around her, she turned around to see what they were getting at, and she saw the large tree behind her which was now nearly covered with signs, posters and other such things. She read one and stepped back, furrowing her brow. "This is all in celebration of a barrow-wight! Why, how could people celebrate such a deadly, fell creature? If this isn't the most obscene thing I've ever--"

"Why, he's really a very nice man once you get to know him." Ithaeliel turned around to see two smiling orcs standing casually side by side. One was speaking to her. "He's got a cheerful disposition if I ever saw one."

The scream that came from the throat of that young elf made several pairs of ears reluctant to work, and many more heads than that were turned in the direction of Ithaeliel, whose face was now the color of the White Tree of Gondor. The two orcs blinked and fell back in genuine surprise while Ithaeliel stood frozen to her spot. After a few minutes, she managed to croak out a few words. "But... you're... orcs!" she spat the last word.

"Yes'm, we're orcs, as orcish as they come. Name's Kransha," said one.

"And I'm Fordim Hedgethistle. It's a pleasure," the other said as he bowed awkwardly.

Ithaeliel swallowed. "Well... yes, er, pleasure's all mine." She curtsyed politely and ran away quickly. It was best for her to just forget she'd seen them... she didn't take well with orcs.

The next place she found herself was at a dark hole beside a table was piled with gifts. "This must be where the wight is..."

A voice from the inside of the hole took Ithaeliel by surprise. "Why, yes, it is! Please feel free to leave whatever, and enjoy the party!"

The young elf maiden nodded and placed her mithril pendant on top of the pile. "Enjoy yourself as well, Mister... Wight."

Passing by the table stacked with all different kinds of food, Ith paused. "I didn't know this was a potluck. Oh, dear... all I have is lembas." She put down several nicely wrapped squares of lembas and moved on.

There was a stage nearby, and another performer had just come off of it. Ithaeliel smiled. "I'll bet no one else here knows how to sing gospel..."

Gliding up onto the stage, Ith looked out upon the crowd. It was larger than she'd thought, but she had no problem singing in front of people. She opened her mouth, and the notes overtook the noise as she gave her tribute to the Barrow-Wight:

If there is Wight... If there is Wight!
If there is Wight in the soul, there will be beauty in the person.
If there is beauty... If there is beauty!
If there is beauty in the person, there will be harmony in the thread.
And if there's harmony in the thread, there will be order in the forum.
And with order in the forum, there will be peace in all the 'site.
If there is Wight... If there is Wight!
If there is Wight in the soul, there will be peace in all the 'site!

Everyone was dancing by now, and they cheered for the gospel elf as she bowed and ran off the stage. Ith had made her presence known at the party!

[Kitanna]

After posting her own birthday wishes Kitanna wandered around for a bit. She was drawn to the pavilion by a beautiful song. She watched as a woman with dark hair and equally dark eyes sang in Rohirrim, the Quenya, and finally in the common speech. The woman's voice captivated Kitanna and she joined in the applause when Arestevana finished her song.

As the woman stepped down from the pavilion Kitanna approached her to comment on the beauty of the song. "That was one of the most beautiful songs I have ever heard." Kitanna moved a long, black strand of hair from her eyes. "I wish everyone could do justice to the art of song."

[Child of the 7th Age]

Cami had rolled her eyes at her daughter's pleas to have a head of hair just like her Aunt Pio. Cami muttered a few words under her breath and promised to think of a way to get even before the party ended. Then she sauntered over to the spot just beneath the party tree, intending to add her present for the Wight to the mounds of gifts already heaped on the table. She had gotten hold of a giant size linen shroud and had embroidered it with bright green and yellow threads with pictures of gruesome things, thinking that the Wight might occasionally want a change of clothes. She wasn't sure if green and yellow were popular colors in the Barrow, but Hobbit folk were quite partial to them.

Rory had managed to get lost in the crowd some ten minutes after they'd come through the gate, but Cami still had the two girls in tow. Full of curiosity, Daisy was rummaging through the piles of gifts on the table, holding each piece up to her nose, scrutinizing it closely, and then carefully setting it down again. The girl's eyes widened with delight as she glimpsed a statue of a silver eagle that had gleeming green jewels for eyes. The gift had a tag on it with the single name Meneltarmacil .

"Ima, look! Look what I found!" Daisy grinned and motioned toward the statue. Before her mother could object, the lass seized the object at the base and yanked it up. Instantly, there was an ear-splitting shriek, one so loud and raucous that it caught the attention of all the partygoers.

"Put that thing down!" Cami commanded. "That's a present for the Wight and if he sees you fussing with it, he may not be too happy." Cami glanced nervously towards the bleak hole in the ground where the Wight had taken up residence of the duration of the party.

Frightened of the noise, the attention, and the mere mention of the Wight's name, Daisy hastily returned the present to the pile and stepped back from the table, obediently following her mother. The raucous shrieking immediately stopped.

"Mommy, is that thing 'ensorcelled'? Like the smart people were talking about in Books the other day?"

"Ensorcelled, my foot. I don't know about any discussion in Books, but that thing is mechanical. When you pick it up it bellows. But come...enough of this! Let's go get something to drink."

Cami nodded towards the girls, steering them to one of the pavilions where tables and chairs were set out. She went up to the barman and ordered two lemonades for her little ones, and a dacquiri for herself. By the time Cami got back to the table, Daisy had already found another diversion to amuse herself. She was seated on the ground banging with a large stick against a number of pots and pans that hung down from the waist of another gentleman who was seated at the bar.

Looking up embarrassed, Cami whispered to herself, "Oh, dear, that's Saucepan Man . Out loud she merely said, "I'm so sorry, sir. My daughter gets a little carried away. I'll tell her to leave your pots alone straight away."

Before the gentleman could even answer, Daisy looked up with a grin, "And look what I picked up from the sweets table earlier for Holly 'n me." With that, each of her two daughters stuffed a large Toffee Shock into their eager open mouths.....