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

[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.

[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.

[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.

[wilwarin538]

Mill?

[littlemanpoet]

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

[wilwarin538]

I said mill!

[Hookbill the Goomba]

Not one to be left out, Hookbill felt he should add some poetry from his homeland into the air. He spent some time devising something suitable, in an upbeat mood, after all, this was a Birthday Party. He stood upon his table and cleared his thought.

Now, once, although his time is long due
There was old man, dressed in blue
he never wandered far from his home
There were many, who would pick a bone,
With him while he still had time
So he'd sit and wait till the weather was fine.

He'd dance about while some made a toast,
to the business of the one who'd boast,
No one would catch the old man in his land
But there are no battlements that are manned

While the old dogs howl with sadness
We know that the willow grows in madness
No one has ever caught him, he's the master
Do you know him? No one is faster.
He'll never be seen down by a mill,
His name is Tom Bomba-

At that moment, Hookbill slipped off the table and landed in a water bucket. There were cheers and laughter as Hookbill staggered to his feet.

"His name is Tom Bamba-" He began, but then collapsed in his seat.

[Ealasaide]

Ealasaide slid quietly in the door and looked around to see if she could see any familiar faces. Not seeing anyone right away, she cast a glance down at the dog at her side and smiled. The dog, a gold-colored coyote mix, panted up at her with a friendly expression and wagged her plumy tail. Ealasaide shifted the hot plate of broiled salmon to her other hand and scratched the dog behind the ears. Idly, she looked around for the long table where the food was to be left for the party. Finding it, she walked over and added her contribution to the row of dishes and blushed slightly. Mostly salads and desserts...

"Oh, dear... out of step with the world as usual..." she murmured to the dog at her side, then made her way over to the table where the nametags had been laid out. She picked one out and embossed it with a large "E", taking special care to jazz it up with a bit of interlace. Before setting the pen down, she took a long look at it and, not finding the nametag quite artistic enough, pushed her silver bracelets back on her arms and added a few flowering vines around the edges and took another look. Since it still did not look quite complete, she reached into her pocket and pulled out a bit of wire, a wire-working jig, and small set of pliers. A few moments later, she sighed happily and pinned the nametag into place on the shoulder of her green cotton blouse. A small length of silver chainmail hung down from the underside of the tag, its ends ornamented with freshwater seed pearls and tiny silver bells. At last, it was right. Should she make one for the dog, too?

She was just thinking this over when she looked over her shoulder and realized for the first time that she had created a small logjam at the nametag table already. Blushing more deeply, she stepped out of the way quickly and apologized to the folks behind her. "Ooh, sorry," she stammered. "I'm afraid I got a little carried away." She stepped a little farther into the room, where a number of fellow wights had already made themselves comfortable, playing music and reading poetry, and again looked around for familiar faces. She saw a few that she thought she recognized, and smiled pleasantly in their general direction, but, being neither a musician nor a poet herself, she happily ceded the floor to them.

Ealasaide pushed her striped hair - blond and ash brown - back from her face and with a quick word to her dog, retreated into a shadowy corner with a glass of strong red wine in one hand and a chunk of cheese from the buffet table in the other. She put the wine glass down on a nearby end table and took a small pocket knife out of the pocket to which she had recently returned her wire-working gear and proceeded to split the chunk of cheese between herself and the dog. She had never been quite comfortable at parties, instead preferring wide open spaces and the company of only a few companions, but this was one party she had not wanted to miss.

[Firefoot]

Though enjoying herself immensely while watching and listening, Firefoot soon found that she desired to do more than watch the proceedings. She was no poet, least of all on the spur of the moment like this, so she looked around for some other company.

Ever a dog person at heart, the newest arrival, or her dog, rather, caught Firefoot's eye. At a closer look, Firefoot realized it to be Ealasaide. Smiling, Firefoot wandered over and greeted, "Welcome to the party! Nice dog."

[Meneltarmacil]

Meneltarmacil entered, not dressed in last year's finery nor in his green Ranger's cloak that he wore often as the character Thoronmir in RPGs, but in the green jacket he often wore in the real world. Somehow, he had managed to get all the way to Middle-Earth from Virginia, but had no clue exactly how he had found himself here. He brushed part of his long blond hair out of his face and surveyed the scene. Perhaps he could discuss the New Movie Script with Oddwen, or impress people with his knowledge of dinosaurs and other prehistoric creatures. If nothing else, he might be able to scare Nilpaurion Felagund out of his wits if the latter arrived...

He set down some tortilla chips along with a bowl of salsa. He did not mention the fact that the salsa was Extra-Extra-Extra-Extra Hot and could cause one's head to produce fire and smoke, however...

[Formendacil]

Formendacil had spent most of his day pigging out at the snack bar, which is not a good thing for a diabetic to do, but he taken his insulin (discretely slipping off to the little boys' room between limerics), and had generally just pulled up a seat at the snack table (which the Barrow-Wight frowned on, but he didn't seem to be looking), and generally ate from all the dishes present in a most hobbit-like manner.

Thoroughly sated, and benignly munching on a bowl of celery sticks, he was thus somewhat taken by surprise when Esty came over with a question intended to start a wise-sounding and intelligent discussion.

"Tom Bombadil, winged???" he said in food-induced daze, thinking that only a fool would ask such a question. "Of course not."

Then he realised that he was talking to a Moderator, and should perhaps elucidate. Besides, he had a reputation to uphold. No Burrahobbit, he!


"It should be fairly obvious," he said, "that Tom Bombadil is not winged. The renowned Master Bombadil was described as being like a Man, but closer in size to a Hobbit. Neither have wings, and surely, if Tom had had wings, then it would have been noted by the Hobbits. They might not have noticed such a thing in their haste to get Merry and Pippin out of the Old Willow, but they still had two and a bit chapters to mention the fact, not to mention that the panic-scene (and included description of Tom) was written afterwards, and surely so important detail would be noted? Afterall, it was mentioned that Legolas had brown hair and round ears, and that's not crucial to the story."

The end bit regarding Legolas hair and ears was intended as a joke, and Formendacil sat back, and gave Esty a broad wink, and waited for someone to have his words sink in, thus starting off a delicious round of frivolous Legolas-debates. Meanwhile, he grabbed another stalk of celery.

[Firefoot]

"I'm sure I do," grinned Firefoot. She put the meat back in her pocket. "That's all for now," she told the three dogs. "You never know when I might need it again." They all watched her for a moment more to make sure that no more food would be forthcoming. Finally convinced that it was not to be, they turned to other things. Marco, clearly tired, lay down at her feet. Maggie's tail began to wag once more as she pawed Codijune.

"Don't you think it's getting a little late to play?" Firefoot asked Maggie. It was getting late, where they came from, and those chairs were beginning to look extremely inviting.

"I think we'll be turning in for the night," she said. "I'm sure these guys will have a chance to play tomorrow."

Ealasaide nodded. "Good night, then."

Firefoot wandered over to the comfortable looking chairs and happily plopped down in one. The Shelties jumped up beside (or, rather, on top of) her. The three were soon happily fast asleep.

[Celuien]

Celuien glanced at her watch, astonished to find that the evening had already flown away. But time runs fast in good company. Although she regretted not having a chance to greet her esteemed host, she knew that she must leave, as her trip to class in the morning would be a long one. And so she raised her glass of wine and proposed a toast to the Barrow Wight. "Thank you for founding this site and the lovely party! May the Downs continue on for many more years." With that, she drained her glass and said her farewells. Gathering her belongings together, Celuien headed to the door and vanished into the dark mists that had gathered in the quiet hills.

[Gurthang]

Suddenly, a shadow appeared at the door. It was a man! Men did not come often to the Barrow-Downs, and never at this hour. Yet another look showed that it was not a man, but a body. The lifeless form appeared grey and dreary. He carried a sword in front of him with both hands, and wore a dark cloak that hid most of his features. He was of a tall sort, but did not look to be stout. No one at the party recognized him, for he was not a member of the Downs. His reason for coming was different.

A voice arose then, though the man's lips did not stir. The few that remained started as they realized that the sound was coming from the sword!

"Greetings and Happy Birthday! I have come to partake in the festivites, such as I can. I have come with the aid of one who exists only to carry and serve me. I am Gurthang, the Black Sword, Brother of Anglachel, Destroyer of Glaurung, the Bane of Turin."

A pleased gasp spread through the barrow, as well as a few giggles at the slightly over-dramatized entrance. The party went back to normal. Gurthang faded into the background, adding a bit to each conversation over the course of the night, but never lingering at one for too long.

[piosenniel]

Max the Pug was whining at the barrow door. Too much singing and reciting for his taste and not enough quiet for sleeping. Not to mention the horrid beast of a cat that someone had unleashed upon the canine population. Even now his left haunch stung with the furrows left from the monster’s sharp claws. And being barrel-chested and a mite rotund, he could not bend far enough around to get his wrinkled and mashed-looking muzzle near the site of injury. His low whines proceeded to louder yelps until Pio came round and picked him up in her arms. ‘Yes we’re going. I’m sure old Thistle is ready to haul us back to the Shire, too.’

Others were in the process of saying their farewells to The Wight, so Pio took her time gathering up her pack, stuffing the dog securely in it; reclaiming her cake carrier, which served well to stash a nice bottle of port and the rest of the cigars. She was just heading toward the door, when she saw Hilde with a lovely brooch in her hand. The woman, she noted, hesitated at placing her gift on the table and instead made her way to one of the bookcases. Wonder of wonders! She threw the brooch into a spittoon on the top of the case.

Hilde left. And the rather nice spittoon seemed to wink at Pio as the light from one of the candle lanterns caught it. She made her way to the bookcase and fingered a few of the dusty and mouldering tomes. When no one was looking she snatched down the spittoon and stirred through its contents. Lovely baubles. Shiny and inviting. Most of them too gaudy for her taste. But there at the bottom lay a thin silvery chain with a small green stone dangle – a hand giving the ‘thumbs-up’ sign. She picked it out and setting the spittoon back on one of the bookshelves, she secured it about her ankle. Perfect, she thought, turning her foot this way and that to see how it looked.

Pio glanced quickly about, hoping no one had seen her. The way through the main cavern was filled with partygoers, as well as the hostess and birthday boy. ‘Shut your eyes, dear,’ she called to Max as she pressed herself against the back wall of the cavern and squeezed her way through the layers of stone and turf. She had never been all that adept at turning all misty and wraith like. There was too much of the Shire solidness about her.

Still she made the effort and was rewarded as her bejeweled ankle at last popped through the barrow wall and she found herself under a clouded sky. Thistle nickered and whinnied softly to her as she made her way round to where she’d left the pony.

With Max safely stowed on a blanket beneath the seat, and her treasures parked securely in the cart itself, Pio flicked the reins lightly and let the pony have her head. Back to the East-West Road they clip-clopped in a leisurely manner.

Under the starless skies the little cart and its passengers were hardly visible, save for the small orange glow of a lit cigar. And after a while, even it seemed only to be some small will o’ the wisp or firefly in the lengthening distance . . .

[Meneltarmacil]

Menel awoke from his unnatural sleep rather suddenly.

"I'm sorry, everyone, but my alter-ego in what some would call 'the real world' has been neglecting to post here."

"As far as Tom Bombadil's true nature goes... Do you suppose that he's really a Balrog in disguise? I'll admit it's a little strange, but think about it: Balrogs have unspecified magical powers, which could include the ability to transform, and here's the kicker: We're all sitting here discussing whether or not he has wings! What else could possibly fit that description.

Menel reachedfor a tortilla chip, dipped it in some salsa, and ate it. However, he had forgotten that he had actually put the salsa out there in the first place and was quite surprised when...

"WAAAAAAUUUUUUUUUUGGGGHHHH!!!!!!"

Smoke started coming out of Menel's ears.

"SOMEBODY GET ME SOME WATER!!!!!"

Menel started breathing fire.

[Firefoot]

"Farewell, everyone! Cheers, Barrow-wight!" called Firefoot. With the wrap-up of the party, it was time for her to be getting back. She was not precisely sure just where 'back' would be for the time being; it may be Rohan, or the Shire, or somewhere else. There would be time to decide later.

She made her way outside and looked around. Neither horse nor dogs were in sight, so she whistled. Shortly she heard the sound of hoofbeats and Maggie's trademark woof. They came into sight, but Maggie and Marco quickly departed again after greeting her briefly. The two disappeared into the barrow. "Gone to say good-bye to Codijune, I suppose," Firefoot mumbled. She mounted her horse to wait for them; as soon as they came back, they would leave.

They reappeared from the barrow, looking at her expectantly. "Ready to go?" she asked. "Then come on." She nudged Firefoot into a pace just slow enough for the Shelties to keep up. "Till next year, everyone," she murmured. And then they were gone.

[Estelyn Telcontar]

Esty 'H' had retired to a well-lit corner of the barrow to read a highly exciting chapter of her favourite book. When she was finished and had written down a few thoughts in hopes of getting an interesting discussion started, she came back to the partying crowd. Still under the impression of what she had read, she shivered slightly and looked around the barrow surreptitiously to make sure there were no spiders around.

[piosenniel]

Except for tupperware, L'il!' Pio threw out as she entered the barrow. 'Just throw out the 'a' and use a diminutive.'

She grinned at the aspiring poet. She placed the container on one of the tables set up for food and prised out her creation.





'Happy Birthday, Wight!' she called out to the dark corner at the back of the room. Placing her card with its game vouchers on the gift table, she accepted a glass of sparkling wine from H.

Delicious!

Someone handed her a nametag and a marker. She hated those sticky paper things. Always forgot them. They'd go through the wash and dryer and bond with a determined will to some of her best shirts.

In a bold hand, she printed ~*~ P ~*~, and affixed it to her bare calf, just above her new tattoo. 'No need to spill all the beans at once,' she said. 'Keeps 'em guessing.'

[Lalwendë]

Lalwende hovered near the bowl of custard, remembering how her claims about its magical properties had been discounted. She laughed to herself, thinking how a demonstration might not go amiss, and that urge to create some mischief hadn't gone away. But then she looked at the crowd. There they were, the erudite, the witty and the talented. What good could her display do? She slunk away from the table and helped herself to a large mug of ale.

She was no drinker, her mad thoughts were usually enough to keep her entertained, so the ale soon had an effect and she found herself chuckling at the antics of the wights gathered around the chamber. The flute music made her feel even more merry and she whistled along tunelessly. She loved music, but had no ear for singing, and whistling was as close to singing as she ever dared to get. When Hookbill put the flute away she was disappointed. Maybe she could get him to play some more later.

But then she heard a familiar name and started to chuckle again. A limerick about davem? How he would laugh! She had to tell him.

Edging into a corner, she focused her mind and thought of the words. Soon she was laughing again as davem said what he thought of it. He didn't forget to joke about her obsession with osanwe, as ever. Lalwende was a bit red faced now, not just because of the ale, but because she had been reminded of one of her pet subjects. Could she ever go at least a week without mentioning it? She didn;t think so.

She soon shook off her thoughts about herself though, she had drunk enough ale now to make her feel more relaxed, and slowly she appeared. Instead of odd glimpses of a smile or a shadowed arm or leg, she looked more like one of the forkyped wights. Feeling encouraged, she shook out her long hair, and went across to where most of the fun seemed to be. Her skirts jingled as she went, barefoot, to listen to the limerick contest.

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Fea quickly joined in with the limericks, eschewing the inappropriate ones that she had learned in the company of so many young men.

There once was a dark stormy night

Where I travelled with naught for a light.

But I got here unbruised

And maybe amused

Some guests of our good Barrow-Wight!

[wilwarin538]

Since the party was livening up so much all feelings of embaresment or shyness was completely wipped away frowm Wil she pranced over to the piano again(dancing more then walking), doing afew twirls as she went, her white dress circling around her and sat down at the stool again. Instead of playing a slow song like she did before she played faster, happier music to match the limericks being read out.

[Hookbill the Goomba]

"Dill!" Hookbill called out triumphantly, "Tom Bombadill! And you shouldn't jest Mss Esty. He's an important man. No one knows quite who he is, save The Professor!"

Hookbill leaped out of his seat and was about to embark on a long debate over the identity of Bombadill, when he suddenly spotted the Cake Pio had presented. He smiled and apologised to Esty for his harsh words.

"Do forgive me," he pleaded, "I can get rather uppity on subjects like on to this." He then drew his flute and played the tune he'd devised to go along with his poem. A few wights sung his song as Hookbill Danced a top of his table once again, obviously not learning from the last time and he fell off once again.

[Estelyn Telcontar]

Esty/H applauded LMP's and Fea's newest efforts amusedly, then walked around the room, looking at the various clothing donned by the wights - what a variety! There was Nuru's lovely dress, 'Michael'/Formendacil's green tie - both snazzy and appropriate - various jeans in various stages of wear and tear, interesting jewelry - in short, all a fashion-interested eye could appreciate. She tasted the many interesting foods and drinks - cakes, especially chocolate, were always irresistable; and homemade specialties beat any restaurant food. She nipped at the elderflower wine and chuckled over Enca's account of the Esty Street sign - now that would have been an interesting sight!

The gift table was filling nicely; she hoped The Barrow-Wight would show up soon to see how highly he was regarded by his guests. With a wave at Cami and Pio and a promise to have time for a chat later, she approached Formendacil and Hookbill; "Do tell me," she said, "if the Balrog is an enigma, then do you think that Tom Bombadil has wings?"

[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...

[Child of the 7th Age]

I shouldn't have come. I knew I shouldn't have come. This just proves it!

Child sat demurely in the corner throwing darts of mental venom back at Imp . Even so, she had to admit that Esty/H and Wilwarin's responses had shown considerable class, certainly more than her own.

Her personal talents did not extend to rhyming poetry. With a push and a shove, she could manage some blank verse where nothing had to match or rhyme, but her best hope for achieving any real recognition lay in her voluminous scholarly treatises that touched upon various obscure minutia in the context of Middle-earth. She had tucked one bulky volume under her right arm and brought it to the party as a present for the Wight. Child wasn't sure if the Wight had any interest in reading 1,373 pages on "The Wingless Balrog, or Why Fordim Hedgethistle is Definitely in the Wrong". However, the book could easily double as a heavyduty paperweight. Perhaps B-W could find another use for the thing, if Balrog reading wasn't his fancy.

Child sat in the corner and vegetated, chastising herself for her inactivity. She should be out circulating and mingling with the other guests, or at least serving the drinks as she had promised Esty/H. Instead, she was having a serious angst attack. Child squirmed in discomfort. Coming in your real personna had definite drawbacks. No character in Tolkien that Child had ever read about had serious attacks of angst. Frodo, it was true, sometimes had little ones, but at least his case had extenuating circumstances. All the other 'good' book characters were generally quite sure of themselves. So where did that leave her? Her RPGs read like Middle-earth soap operas, with half the battles taking place deep inside her character.

For one minute, Child had a horrifying thought: What if she didn't belong in Tolkien's Middle-earth at all? What if she really belonged in Peter Jackson's move? Come to think of it, her RPGs and fanfiction read a lot more like the cinema version than anything Tolkien had set down on paper. Child shuddered uncomfortably and made a mental note to hide her stories from Davem and Lalwende lest they brand her with the tag "movie fan", a fate almost worse than death within the confines of the book forum.

Unwilling to face this grim prospect, Child wrenched her thoughts back to the barrow and went off in search of Esty/H to see if she could help pass out drinks.

[Estelyn Telcontar]

"Tom Bomba-parsley? Sage? Rosemary? Thyme?" Esty/H asked, barely able to speak, since she was doubled over, helplessly laughing over the nonsensical poetry. She loved playing with words herself, and always enjoyed it when others did so.

"Dill!" Hookbill called out triumphantly.

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Fea sauntered happily through the door. She looked at her uncandied arms, for the first time in days not seeing some of many good looking guys attached to them. She spun in happy and, really, immature circles, dancing her way into the middle of the room and enjoying all the attention. Remembering the all important name-tag, she ran over to the table, depositing a large and unobtrusive looking bag on the table. Once the phantom gets here, she thought, then the fun will start.

Grabbing up a black gel pen, Fea took a piece of paper that obligingly already said "Hello, my name is:". She paused for a few moments, wondering which of her many nicks she cared to use today. She decided to start with a flowy and somewhat pretty looking "Fea". Following that, one could read a crossed out "Grace", a scribbled out "Professor", a hastily erased "Swans"... I may just tell that story later. she thought with a laugh.

Finally deciding on "Fea", she tossed the scribbled out name tag in the recycling bin and started over, carefully writing in small print at the base of the tag: "It rhymes with play-a, not pea.", pinning the piece of paper onto the left pocket of her beat up dark-washed jeans, miraculously hole-less, as was her custom. Making her way to the snack table, she snatched up some brownies while gracefully depositing some home-made chocochip cookies... The best I've ever had, as so many people informed her.

She ran bouncily, after so many hours sleep, over to LMP. "I'm back!" she cried. "Boston was awesome, if I do say so myself. I swear by Eru that that is the cute guy conglomeration of the world!"

Calming down slightly, she smiled at Esty. "Thanks for the invite. I hope you don't mind my being late... I was out of town all weekend and spent most of today sleeping off my fun. No," Fea looked at some of the others, "not THAT kind of fun. I don't drink. But according to rumors I..." she trailed off, staring angrily at a blank Barrow-wall. Somebody poked her from behind. "What?" she asked confused. Her attention span was notoriously short. "Oh yeah... Well, I'm just going to forget about those idiots and have fun here. At least now I don't have people giving me "five second, ten tops" to glance at paintings by Titian. Those people just have no sense of amazement over..." Fea trailed off, seeing looks of boredom on some faces, confusion on others, and random interest on a few. "Sorry..." she apologized. "I just got home last night. Fabulous trip... hope you don't mind my rambling on too much. Now that I'm here, the party can officially start!" she added with a big wink.