**Birthday Party in the Barrow** (May, 2005)

[Estelyn Telcontar]

It was a dark and stormy night; an icy wind was blowing over the Downs – it seemed to wail and whisper uncannily between the black shadowy shapes that were enshrouded by mists. It was a night to chill the heart as well as the bones.

Then a pale light shone in the blackness, seeming to come from a remote distance. It beamed out of the open doorway of a huge mound – a barrow. Yet instead of instilling a sense of dread, it emitted a warm, welcoming glow. Many candles gleamed, a wasp of pink haze could be seen in the opening, and there was a whiff of a light, flowery scent.

An apparition floated about the barrow, straightening a tablecloth here, picking up a fluff of dust there. The cold stone floor was covered with soft rugs, tables were set up in obvious anticipation of being filled with good things, and comfortable chairs were distributed for the expected guests. She (for the apparition was definitely female in form, though not clearly visible) then patted her dark locks into place, removing the silver circlet from her head with only the tiniest of regretful sighs - it was, after all, merely a toy for the role she played otherwise. She then straightened the name tag pinned to her feminine yet practical clothing (unfortunately, the foggy touch of her fingers blurred the letters so that only an “H” was recognizable) and sat down at the grand piano to play a piece while waiting for the appointed hour.

Which wights would come to the party? she wondered. What would they be like without the usual accoutrements of their masks? She knew some well enough to be sure that she could recognize them in their unbodied forms, and especially looked forward to the appearance of the great Barrow-Wight himself. It was sure to be a memorable occasion!

[Tigerlily Gamgee]

Soon another apparation appeared. She came bearing ale for the other wights, for she is also known as the "hostess of spirits." She wore a nametag that read "Tig," because that's a name that she's been given by others of the dead. Her real name remains a secret (well, not to everyone). She wore a long, flowing skirt and a black top to match. Her hair was long and of a strawberry blonde color. She smiled at "H" because it's been such a long time that she's gathered with her fellow dead from the Downs. She felt glad to be back home and couldn't wait for the rest of the company to arrive.

[Imladris]

A ghost weaved in and out of the shadows as she hurried toward the barrow. In her hands she clutched a steaming pot of freshly brewed coffee the steam of which curled above her head in a foggy mockery of a crown. A green velvet bag dangled from her wrist, and she was blissfully unaware that the roguish wind was striving to tear it away from her.

As she entered the golden glow from the light of many candles, it could be seen that many of her features had faded with the passing of time, though it could be conjectured that she had once had brownish hair of medium length and eyes that may have been dark or light. The most obvious fact about her was that she was short. Her nametag, which was pinned half hazardly on her shirt, bore the scribbled name of "Sonja".

She smiled briefly to H and Tig when she entered the barrow, nodded to them both, and then set the pot down upon the table. As she waited for the others to arrive, she rocked gently back and forth against the wall.

[Lalwendë]

The little creature remained hidden for the present, lurking as one of many shadows beneath the tables. She was not invisible as it was not possible to completely disappear, but she knew how to hide herself; if anyone had been looking they might have seen the shadows move now and then and thought how odd it was that they had the shape of an arm or a leg.

She had come a long way from the marshes, but the journey had been no effort. All she had to do was wait for a passing traveller and catch a hold of their horse or their cart and she had a free ride. The traveller would never know she was there but for the strange sight now and again of what seemed to be a wide, toothy smile with no form around it.

Under the table she watched them gathering. Ghosts of forkypeds, they might not be so solid any longer but their long legs were still a danger to a little creature like her, and she decided to wait until she felt sure of them. Some of her kind might be more bold and go about nipping and biting at the forkypeds for fun; she could see that these were only spirits and that would not have much effect, and besides, she was not such a tricksy creature. All the same, as she watched, an impulse came over her that she could not help. The white linen of the tablecloths hung over the table edges temptingly and she reached out her fingers to tug at it.

[Celuien]

Outside the barrow door, a ghostly figure paced in the early morning mist. It drifted to and fro, as if debating whether or not to enter the barrow and join the cheery gathering within. At last, she - it was indeed a she - gathered her courage, and tugging at her unruly chestnut curls, stepped over the barrow threshold.

A hush fell over the gathering as the figure entered, for none of the assembled guests could recall seeing her before. In the sudden silence, she glanced about the room and called, "Greetings! Though I am an unexpected guest, I hope that I shall be welcome, for I have lurked on the Downs for many years, waiting for the right time to make my introductions."

A voice called from the back of the barrow, "Why have you not joined before?"

"Ah, that is a long tale," she replied. "Let it suffice to say that the time demands of life as a soon-to-be third-year medical student are, well...demanding, and I have very few minutes left to post. Indeed, I have come today only to wish the Downs a most happy birthday, and then I must go back to studying for my final exams. Yet I hope to return to the Downs soon, for I have greatly enjoyed reading the wonderful posts here."

With that, the ghostly form drifted to a table and scribbled the name "Nichole" on a nametag. She then opened the large black case she had been carrying on her shoulder, took out a viola and joined in with the music coming from the grand piano.

[wilwarin538]

A young ghostly figure was making her way to the barrow at this time. She could here the soft sounds of a piano and a stringed instrument. She was a very quiet girl and slightly shy but she slowly stepped inside the barrow.

She was wearing a long flowing white dress with a small butterfly sown in one side, her name tag was pinned to one of the dress's thin straps, it read "Wilwa" though some at the barrow party knew her real name she liked this one much better.

She nodded to the other guests at the party and as she placed the cake she had brought on a table she noticed that the table clothe moved slightly as if someone had tugged it. With a small grin on her face she moved towards the piano and viola players and joined them with the sounds of the light blue violin she had also brought with her.

[littlemanpoet]

A faint glimmer wafted on the chilly breeze toward the barrow from the Edge of Faerie. As it came closer it was revealed as the spectre of a middle aged man with wire rimmed glasses and a serious loss of hair, sporting beard and mustache. He sighed and closed his eyes, enjoying the piano and viola, wishing he had remembered his french horn, but thought better of it considering he was so out of practice. Better to read one of my overwrought poems, he thought.

"Greetings, Esty, Tigerlily, Immy, Lal, and Celuien! Happy Birthday to the Downs!" He was glad the group was still small when he got there, for he was really quite uncomfortable in large crowds, especially in such close quarters, as his hearing was not too good at all. He was intrigued by the med student, Nichole, and hoped to see more of her at the Downs.

He floated to the table and filled out a nametag scrawling the Greek word for Little, using modern lettering. It is my real name after all, he said to himself. Then he scrawled "LMP" in the bottom right just because it felt better to have it there. He suddenly remembered the gift in his pocket, and pulled out a couple of spectral stencils he had ordered special for the occasion. One was a picture of a round door on which was scribed, "Home is where a Hobbit is", and the other was a Dragon staring back at the viewer with one red eye open. He placed these and an ink pad and stamper on the name tag table.

He sniffed the air, pleased with the warm fragrances and the homey feel. Then he went over to the musicians and began to hum in harmony with the tune the viola played, in a pleasant tenor voice; humming because he really wasn't that quick of wit to come up with words on the spot; and he wished that he had memorized one of those ditties by the Subcreator of Middle Earth. Ah well. Always wishing for more than he should. He settled to enjoying the music.

Another ghost in a white dress came in just as he did, whom he had not noticed at first; she pulled out a violin, enriching the music. LMP smiled and continued humming.

[The Barrow-Wight]

Aaaaeeeeeee!

Aaaaeeeeeee!

Aaaaeeeeeee!

The Barrow-Wight slapped the snooze button on his Screaming Hobbit™ Alarm Clock and faded back toward to sleep. Nasty hobbits

It was too early to wake, even if there was a party going on, but he couldn’t stop wondering if he had put all of the treasures in the safe. It had been bothering him all night, and he had rolled about on his cold slab for hours, moaning in his sleep. Last year’s gettogether had been a great success, except for several Nûmenorean swords and a set of silver spoons that had gone missing. He suspected one (or more) of the hobbit specters to have taken them. Nasty hobbits

As he again dropped off into the oblivion of the grave, the Barrow-Wight reminded himself to refresh all of the protection incantations before the barrow became too crowded with little, pilfering wights.

[Hilde Bracegirdle]

Hilde ducked her head in at the door to see who had already arrived. She did not appear to be too terribly late. The food had remained untouched, and looking over top of her spectacles she could barely discern slight wavering forms milling about the barrow.

Quickly working her way over to the table, she emptied her arms, leaning her ever-present moth eaten canvas bag, crammed with notes, Yes CD’s and a good supply of Nexium against the leg of the table. The spectacularly ugly bird on the bag stared out dolefully at the assembly. A big bowl of lime gelatin salad that rested in the crook of her arm was carefully placed on the table. Hilde had puzzled over what such a crowd might enjoy and thought that the green oozing mess, delightfully and properly insubstantial and yet comforting and old fashioned was the right choice for the occasion.

As she set down the salad, a stack of nametags and a few rubber stamps caught her eye. Thinking for a moment she looked first at one stamp and then the other. She smiled to herself, took both and daubing them in ink stamped a name tag, writing underneath in a strong and rather lacelike script “G” with the appropriate rune and a few flourishes beside it, before plunking on her shoulder.

[wilwarin538]

As she finished up the song she was playing a ghost messenger came into the Barrow with a message for her saying there was some bussiness that needed taking care of imediately. Sadly she left the barrow to take care of that bussiness not to return till later in the afternoon.

[Estelyn Telcontar]

The pianist enjoyed playing together with the viola and violin - had they had time, they could have mastered a trio sonata, she thought! However, as was so often the case in her life, there were other matters to be taken care of, and she did want to greet the guests personally, so she played a closing cadence and then thanked Wilwa. "That was fun! I didn't know you play violin. By the way, I like your butterfly - I'm rather a butterfly fan myself." She waved as Wilwa left for the time being.

Then she turned to greet Celuien/Nichole. "I'm so glad you decided to show up, literally! It's nice to be able to meet you; maybe some of our discussions will entice you to post there sometime. Good luck for your exams!"

She smiled at Tig - "You're looking great, as always! (proof here) I was sorry to hear that your audition for the LotR musical wasn't successful; we would have been so proud to have you there! But who knows what wonderful roles time may bring you."

She stopped to look at the name tag Sonja had pinned on, her brow furrowed slightly. Then she called out, "Imladris! It's you! It's a good thing there was a clue, or I wouldn't have recognized you. It's a long way from the fan fiction forum to come here - I'm glad you did!"

Her ever watchful eye, accustomed to keeping a look out for trouble, saw the slight movement of the tablecloth. "Lal! Did you come alone? Oughtn't davem be here to keep you out of mischief?! Now you behave, or I'll get back at you in August!"

"Hi there, LMP!" she called out to the first male who entered the barrow. "I hope you brought something to read to us - a poem, perhaps?"

Her sharp ears heard the alarm clock, but she knew that The Barrow-Wight would show up unexpectedly, whenever he felt like it. No sense in hoping too soon...

She laughed over the bowl of green gelatin. "What an appropriate food choice! 'G', eh? Hmmmmm, let me guess - Gloria? Gail? Gwen? Oh well, maybe I'll find out some day. And no, my 'H' is not for 'Hilde'!"

[Hookbill the Goomba]

After making a dramatic, yet largely ignored, entrance, a small, oddly dressed spirit floated over to a nearby table and placed a dusty (an probably corked) bottle of wine. He had stolen it from an unsuspecting hobbit that was attempting to dump it in the Brandywine.

"Life is wasted on the living," he had said "Don't deserve the hair on their heads."

His red shirt and black waistcoat glittered in the dim light, despite them being transparent. His nametag bore the name "HRH, sir Prince George" But that was crossed out and new words were placed under it, "Hookbill". And in his hand was a long flute of beautiful make. Decorated with the signs of Elves, and pictures of Trees.

Grumbling, Hookbill 'sat' on a chair near to a lamp and quietly eat from a bag of peanuts. He hated peanuts of course, but he ate them in order to hold the effect of being mysterious, which he totally failed to pull off. Keeping his 'cool' Hookbill floated around the other guests and attempted to spot the Barrow Wight.

"If B-Wight was here," he said to himself, "I think we'd know it."

"Talking to you’re self again?" some one asked.

"Yes," replied Hookbill cheerily, "it's the only way I can guarantee intelligent conversation."

[dancing spawn of ungoliant]

Dancing spawn of ungoliant approached the Downs with her heart pounding. She was a bit nervous as usual when going alone to strange places. Suddenly she realized that she had left her name tag home. Her heart beat quickened even more as she entered to the barrow. There she stood bashfully squeezing a violin in her one hand and a gift - a painting - in the other.
Laughter, music and the cozy furnishings of the barrow got her into a party mood. It seemed that her timing had been perfect. She wasn't the first nor the last wight to arrive. She waved at the others and went to greet them.

Dancing spawn was so excited that she completely forgot to be nervous. She tied her long hair up in case she would play the violin for it's certainly a most uncomfortable feeling when your hair gets stuck between the violin and it's shoulder piece.

For a while she tried to follow a lively conversation of some wights she wasn't quite sure who they were (their name tags didn't reveal very much) but soon she sat down near to the spot the musicians had been playing.

[wilwarin538]

Wilwa walked back into the Barrow thinking that she had missed the intire party, but she was wrong the party at still only just begon. She found a small corner to put down her violin and her gift (a set of silver spoons to replace those that had been stolen from the wight the year before) so she could walk aourd freely.

Her long dark hair was now put up on one side with a butterfly pin that matched her dress. She wandered around, a little shy, to try to find someone fun to have a conversation with.

[Celuien]

Celuien finished the melody she had been playing, and carefully returned her viola to its case. She turned to Esty and LMP. "Thanks for the welcome!" she said. "It's great to be here. Now that I've finally taken the plunge and registered, I'll definitely jump in on the discussions, especially after finals are over in a couple of weeks." She then headed over to the table of food with a previously unnoticed box that she had left beside her instrument case. The box was opened to reveal a large chocolate cake decorated with green sugar sprinkles. After placing the cake beside the lime gelatin salad, Celuien walked around the barrow, taking in the atmosphere of the growing party.

[Lalwendë]

Lalwende had been spotted just as she was about to tug at that irresistible white cloth and send whatever was on the table tumbling to the ground. These wights were clever creatures, it wouldn't be easy to get away with much sneaking in this party. Her hand dropped away from the cloth and she gave a little wave to Esty. There would be more chances for mischief later no doubt, she thought as she looked about her for the gift she had brought, a large jar of very strong elderflower wine.

Creeping out from under the table, she placed the jar on top of it and then scuttled away to the other side of the chamber as quickly as possible. She had seen a nice little corner where she might crouch quietly and watch who came in. As she passed Esty, she whispered "davem is busy doing tricksy things". She was here alone for now, and she thought she would begin by watching who was there and listening to what they were saying.

But before she got to that quiet little corner, she spied a large bowl of cold, yellow custard, something she simply could not resist.

[Tigerlily Gamgee]

Tig slowly drank an ale, for she's never really been one to drink many of those at once. She went over to the piano to see if she could sing along. They picked a song that she new well, and she began to sing along to entertain the Wights.
"Well, I may not have gotten cast in the LOTR musical, but that doesn't get me down... I still love to sing" she says.

[Nurumaiel]

Nurumaiel crept into the barrow, rather shy as was her wont, but not without a secret hope that someone would take notice of her and speak with her, and not without a secret guilt that perhaps she should be a little less shy. She was altogether satisfied that the party had fallen on the first of May, for it was the same day of a celebration in the family, and she was dressed up for both occasions. Perhaps the long, full, white skirt, trimmed with lace at the neck and sleeves, with one touch of colour where the long red sash wrapped around the waist, was rather out of place in a barrow; but it was what she wore for the family celebration, and she hadn't time to change. Thank goodness it was a party; perhaps she wouldn't be the only one wearing a dress, though, of course, she had grown used to the odd stares that were cast at her every day she went out. She felt secretly very relieved that she had put her hair in pin-curls the night before, though she had agonised over how ridiculous it was to waste time over such wickedly stubborn hair, and other more murderous thoughts.

The travel to the barrow had not been extremely long and strenuous. Spring was perhaps consenting to come to her home at last, for the sun was shining up the breeze-quivered fir branches, and beyond the forest, in the low sloping hills, the grass was green, and little wildflowers of red, blue, purple, yellow, and white sprang up in little tufts and blended together in a hand to make a cheerful bouquet.

Under her arm she carried her fiddle case (and, in her free hand, a guitar which she was quite certain Helen would recognise), wondering if she would have enough courage to play it. To play the fiddle at a little family gathering was not so very hard; but in front of all these people, friend and stranger alike! It was one thing to write Liornung's tunes of myth and magic; it was quite another to play her clumsy own.

As she found a dark, dusky corner to set her fiddle in, hoping that nobody noticed her, but hoping that likewise someone would ask her to play (odd confusion of thoughts!), she looked at her name tag, or rather what was left of it, with a little frown. Of course the two-year-old had wanted to stick it on himself, and naturally it had ripped from the resulting tug-of-war. Now there remained naught but a llonely 'C.'

The first person Nuru noticed in the barrow was LMP, and that was, no doubt, because she had been haunted by guilt for a week because she hadn't yet brought a song, or for that matter any kind of sound, from Liornung.

From her dark, dusky corner she retreated, and shyly advanced towards the center of the room, casting a last glance over her shoulder to make sure her instruments would not fall.

[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.

[wilwarin538]

After chatting a while with some of her fellow wights, Wilwa noticed that the grand piano was free. She slowly glided over to the piano and sat on the stool. Her long slender fingers traced the keys for a moment and then started playing as she sang. She sang her favorite song softly and slowly.

The leaves were long, the grass was green,
The hemlock-umbels tall and fair,
And in the glade a light was seen,
Of stars in shadow shimmering.
Tinuviel was dancing there,
The music of a pipe unseen,
And light of stars was in her hair,
And in her raiment glimmering.....

[Encaitare]

Another spirit drifted along, muttering under her breath. "Stupid Long Island traffic... takes you hours to get to the next county, much less the Wight's Barrow...." However, she was in good spirits (if you'll forgive the unintentional pun) as the door opened and she could see the cheery light coming from inside.

She entered the barrow, noticing with satisfaction that many people were already present. The "she" in question wore a long skirt and boots, and many pieces of jewelry which she would describe as "funky," including a costume jewelry brooch, courtesy of a now-dead great-grandmother, which most people would describe as "tacky" (the brooch, not the great-grandmother). She was, of course, wearing other pieces of clothing as well, but they do not merit further description. Additionally, she had braided her blonde hair the night before, so now it fell about a freckled face (hers) in long waves.

Scanning the growing throng of Downers, she realized that she had forgotten to pin on her name tag. She whipped out a fancy quill pen and turquiose ink from her special quill-and-ink holster and wrote "Enca(i)" on the tag before attaching it to her shirt, taking care not to stab herself with the pin.

Enca was happy to see that several of her esteemed associates appeared to be of musical inclination; she had indeed brought her flute, her pride and joy and, with any luck, her ticket into college. A spirit dressed in red and black was holding a flute as well. As she approached, she read his name tag: Hookbill.

Before she reached him, though, she bumped into Estelyn, aka "H".

"Evening," Enca said. Esty returned the greeting. "You know, a funny thing happened on the way to Ithaca when I was visiting the college there. I actually saw an Esty Street. I would have stolen the sign for you, but, you know, it's illegal. That's why it's called stealing."

"Did you take a picture for the signs gallery?" Esty asked.

Enca sighed dramatically. "Alas, I had no camera. Not even a nifty camera phone. My phone is old-school, I guess. That's okay, though. It calls people. I don't need to be able to run a space station from it or anything."

She then came to Hookbill. "Hello, fellow flautist!" she said to the peanut-munching spirit. "Or do you say flutist? I prefer flautist, quite frankly -- it sounds fancier. Speaking of fancy, would you fancy a duet sometime tonight? Looks like we've got a miniature orchestra assembling," she said, nodding towards the piano and two spirits with a violin and viola.

Enca hoped they were in tune.

[wilwarin538]

As Wilwa finished her song she heard a few applause coming from various places in the room, she smiled and walked over to the food table. She smiled again as she noticed already half of her cake was eaten, half of another cake was also eaten.

They must like cake, she thought as she walked over to greet the two flautists . After she said a quick hello she went to tune her violin.

[Estelyn Telcontar]

The mysterious Ms. H disappeared briefly to the back of the barrow, where the cooler regions were, to retrieve and open the bottle of champagne she had brought. She wanted to take advantage of the occasion to show the guests that Germany had fine sparkling wines. (As a European resident, she normally used the word "champagne" only for the product of that region of France, but there were high quality bottles from other areas as well.)

Since the bubbles foamed and frothed, and the wraiths did not consume much, she was able to pour a glass for each guest that wanted one. She walked around the room, greeting each person and hoping that she would have time to come back for more conversation as the party progressed. For now, she was satisfied that so many were conversing, making beautiful music together, and enjoying the good food.

[Hookbill the Goomba]

"Hello, fellow flautist!" said Enca to the peanut-munching spirit. "Or do you say flutist? I prefer flautist, quite frankly -- it sounds fancier. Speaking of fancy, would you fancy a duet sometime tonight? Looks like we've got a miniature orchestra assembling," she said, nodding towards the piano and two spirits with a violin and viola.

Enca hoped they were in tune.

"Flautist, flutist, its all the same to me!" Replied Hookbill holding the flute to his mouth and playing a little melody to go along with the other musicians. They were just about in tune. Hookbill tended to go off on tangents during their play, improvising and making amusing noises. Enca was quite taken back by his unusual style as Hookbill did a little dance as he played. After their song, many applauded Enca's performance, but scowled at Hookbill and his unusual Flute playing.

Listening to Wilwa's song, Hookbill began to wish he could sing. It was an unreachable goal unfortunately, as his tong was transparent and his lips were see-though. He made his way over to Wilwa to congratulate her.

"Greetings," he said holding up his bottle, "Would you like some... erm..." he studied the label and thought for a moment, "Would you like some... wine? I know it looks like its been stored in a leaky cellar for fifty years and has had dead things floating in it. But I assure you it is of the finest quality."

He took out his flute and plaid a friendly tune (something along the lines of Boureé by J.S. Bach) before turning around to see people looking displeased with his performance, but all the same, they took his 'wine' and drank it merrily.

[Tigerlily Gamgee]

Tig looked around and smiled at everyone, but she then slipped away unnoticed. She had a job to go to and had to put off partying until later. She really hoped that things would still being going strong upon her return. She would hate to miss The Barrow Wight himself. She also wondered if The Phantom would show his face (in a manner of speaking), or Bethberry, for she had known them for quite some time amoung the dead. Nevertheless, duty called and she had to float away for a while. She assumed that no one saw her, and floated away.

[Child of the 7th Age]

Child stood at the entrance to the barrow, peering leerily through a crack in the stones as she pondered whether to go inside. She had promised the party organizer that she would help serve drinks and food, a job with which she was throughly familiar. But now that the day was actually here, Child was having serious misgivings. It was one thing to go to a party cloaked in one of her barrowdowns personna. It was quite another to drop her mask and show a hint of the woman who lay hidden within.

Child could hear familiar voices and merriment emenating from the shadowed recesses inside the barrow. It sounded as if the others were having fun. Well. she fumed, it was easier for them. At least when they came to the Downs, they had no more than two or three alternate identities. As one of the wights stationed in the Shire, she was in an altogether different situation. Over the years, she'd gone by dozens of names and identities. Only Piosenniel could claim more notches in her belt. Child was even having trouble remembering the original name that she had been born with.

Before coming to the party, she had sat down to write out a name tag. There were now a dozen names scrawled untidily onto the tag, most of them carefully lined out with a red pen. At the very bottom of the tag, two names were still readable: Camilia Goodchild, and Sharon, the 7th Age Hobbit. Child vaguely recalled that at least one of these had something to do with the name she went by in 'real life' but, for all the tea in China, she could not remember which was which. With a sigh, she pulled a red pen from her pocket and scratched through the final two names. Then, she wrote in even smaller script: Camelia, the 7th Age Hobbit followed by two very large question marks.

With a sigh of resignation, Child pinned the nametag back on her T-shirt, rubbed a few dirt spots off her well worn blue jeans, and floated in through the stonework......

[wilwarin538]

When Hookbill offered her some 'wine' she sadly declined, being only 14 she couldnt drink. She listened intently to his flute playing though some people didn't look like they were injoying it, she was. Wilwa went over and told him so.

[littlemanpoet]

LMP told Nurumaiel not to give it another thought so long as Liornung said something in the next little while.

Seeing that there was a lull, he found a place where he could gather everyone's attention, and then spoke in a loud voice.

"I've brought a little bit of poetry and I thought I'd read it off to celebrate this happy fifth birthday! Well, here goes!

These limericked eulogies ain't fictive,
nor laced with off color invective;
they're strictly fact
with more or less tact,
and all from a deceased perspective.

People were looking at LMP as if he had lost his marbles. Undeterred, he plowed ahead.

davem was a knowledgable fellow;
at the top of his lungs he would bellow,
'My peculiar gnosis
is not myosis,
so stop saying my brain's turned to jello!'

"Ooh," said someone, "wait till I tell davem what LMP said about him!" LMP's knees shook in his trousers. But he took up courage and tried another one.

Derufin was not fastidious;
his housekeeping skills were perfidious;
in every nook
he'd leave a book
and declare that Bunce's cleaning was hideous.

There was a lone snicker from one of the corners.

Aiwendil, master of zen,
enlightened nine tries out of ten;
to show his technique
he'd let out a shreak
and strut round the room like a hen.

Dead silence.

"Um, this next one's a little rough. Maybe someone can help me out with the last line."

Sharon liked her Tolkien with gin;
saying with raised glass and a grin,
"Like Frodo's two faces
my thinking embraces...

"So, does anybody - um - wish to try his or her hand at a final line that rhymes with grin?" LMP looked around the party guests for someone to relieve him from his embarrassment.

[wilwarin538]

" a fish with a fin????" Wilwa said with a giggle, her cheeks turning bright pink.

[Estelyn Telcontar]

"all the nicks that I wrote on my pin!" Esty/H called out spontaneously, having noted with amusement the difficulty that the said member had with choosing a name.

[littlemanpoet]

LMP grinned. Maybe this wasn't going over so badly after all.

"Anymore offerings for the final line?" he asked. "Sharon?"

[THE Ka]

Late as usual, another wraith enters the crowded room. At first it just looks like one wraith, then at a slight turn it revealed that Ka has brought all of its guises and avatars... Which forms a large crowd around the actual ghost in question. Some are in cabaret, some look like they have just crawled out of The Graceland or The Vogue in Seattle, some have paint all over them and paintbrushes in hand with their thumbs in hitchhiker position, others are protesting littering and animal abuse, and still others are reading or discussing what fun they have that the downs. One or two are being gloomy or stubborn of course... None still at this party, gets to see the true Ka.

From within the beehive of guises, a small harmonium chimes a simple little song of mysterious origins...

Ka's guises then begin to greet everyone in their own manners and share coffeecake.

[Child of the 7th Age]

"Honestly, Littlemanpoet! When will you learn to behave yourself?" Child came crashing through the wall with little of the finesse of the younger parrtygoers. She had one hand perched on her plump hip while the other was wagging in the air in Imp's direction. "Even if I am polite enough not to take your head off, surely Aiwendil or Davem or what's his name Derufin will surely oblige. And if you're going to accuse me of something, you might as well make it something interesting, other than simple overindulgence."

Child cleared her voice and harmoniously recited:

Sharon liked her Tolkien with gin;
saying with raised glass and a grin,
"Like Frodo's two faces
my thinking embraces
all the multitudes of sin
that makes Mordor spin....

"Alright, alright," she growled in response. "I could have done better. Only my barrow is a mess, and I couldn't find my rhyming dictionary in all the piles of stuff left sitting around."

[wilwarin538]

As Wilwa was slowly sneaking away from the group infront of LMP, because of her embarassement, a large group came in and drew everyone'es attention towards them. Since there attention wasn't on the last line of the poem and her ridiculous answer she calmed slightly and headed towards the newly arrived guests. But suddenly Child ran in through the wall and then the focus was again changed to something else.

[Hookbill the Goomba]

The antics of Child and Littlemanpoet had amused Hookbill. He stayed quiet and sipped on some Wine in the corner. Wilwa had been embarrassed by something, but Hookbill had hardly noticed, being preoccupied with the complaints he was receiving. He decided to put his flute away for now, until every one was a little more relaxed... or drunk.

[piosenniel]

‘Whoa up, Thistle!’ The rough dirt track from the edge of The Downs to The Wight’s barrow was rutted and strewn with sharp-edged, flinty stones. Pio wound the reins round the cart’s brake and hopped down for a look-see. It was dark and the stars, in honour of The Wight’s birthday had hidden themselves behind fat, threatening clouds.

She was an aging spectre, at best; her once Elven sight now dimmed from the bright lights of one or two or three or so light shows. A youth spent, or misspent as some had told her, under the evil influence of traveling bards . . . musicians of one sort or another . . . magicians, she called them. Dylan from the North Countree, playing and singing in the ruins round Evendim. Jimi, come back from across the East Sea. And Ginger, the cream of drummers.

‘Well those days have flown now, haven’t they?’ she said, kicking at one of the lesser stones stuck in the dirt. A woof from beneath the warm blanket on the cart seat came as an assent from her traveling companion. Max, the aging Pug. He raised his grizzled head and cocked a doggish eyebrow at her. ‘Yes, my sole duty in life now is to see to your comfort, your majesty,’ she said with a grin. She kicked once more at the offending stones.

‘I’ll bet The Wight planted these here himself to keep unwelcome visitors out,’ she snorted. ‘Fat lot of good that will do. Esty’s opened the door and I for one, intend to get a nice ankle bracelet to match the one for my arm I nicked a couple of years ago.’ She twirled the slender silver band on her left wrist, smiling as it glittered in the pale moonlight. She’d lived a long time in the Shire, and the idea of mathoms was firmly entrenched in her mind. To her way of thinking, the whole of The Wight’s treasure horde was a gigantic mathom pile.

Of course she’d brought something to leave in place of what she took. A couple of credit vouchers for Himself to spend at Funagain Games and Board Game Geeks. That should appease him, keep him occupied for a bit, while she perused his never worn stock of old jewelry.

‘We shall have to walk in from here, my dear,’ she said, stuffing the rotund Pug in her old leather knapsack. ‘By the One, you’ve put on a few pounds!’ Into the side pockets went some fireworks left over from last year’s party. She shouldered the pack, and fished out from under the cart’s seat the cake she’d made. ‘Great thing, this 7th Age invention . . . Tupperware,’ she thought to herself, thumping the sturdy plastic with her finger.

Pio smoothed down the wrinkles in her ghastly green T-shirt, the one with the lovely and lethal looking sword emblazoned on the back. She leaned over, causing her canine passenger to utter a yelp of displeasure, and dusted off her short, tattered denim breeches. As she righted herself, one hand served to ruffle the short dark hair shot with silver that stood out from her head.

Down the road, they went, Pug and Mistress . . . following the sounds of spectral music and song, until the entry way was reached . . .

[littlemanpoet]

"Well, Child," said LMP with a grin, "that wasn't strictly to the limerick form, but I'll let it go." He turned and looked at the newest entry. "What ho! There's Pio! Now, I need a limerick for her!"

Pio and Max came down the hill,
mathoms from Barrowwight for to shill,
but woudn't you know it,
she'd no place to stow it
except for a tupperware..... uh.... em .......

"darn, that last rhymed word always stumps me....."

He quaffed from a cup of punch Nuru had snuck into his hands, hopeful for an idea from the others present.

[THE Ka]

The crowd of the Ka clapped at Child's wonderful poem and humility - even though it was a wonderful crafting of words. The crowd continued to pass out the homemade coffeecake that had been prepared by the real ka, since none of the guises could even boil water...

Ka contemplates sending them back to it's barrow, if they cause any problems...

[wilwarin538]

Mill?

[littlemanpoet]

"Do I hear 'mill'?" LMP looked around. "Going once, going twice...."