2004 Barrow-Downs’ Birthday Celebration!

[Dininziliel]

The tarts & toffee bits scattered upon the ground were briefly revealed by moonlight as clouds passed across the silver face above. The first day of celebration had ended. All were resting peacefully, smiling & dead to the world about them as well might properly be expected. Having made a hasty departure from her barrow in Kansas, another middle place on earth in the 7th age, she had arrived too late to join the merry-making. "I can see there has been no lack of food nor drink here!" A weary yet knowing grin appeared on the face of the traveler as she leaned against the tallest tree and surveyed the tents, banners, & clothes of the party-goers. All their bright & riotous colors were rendered now as ghostly shades of black, grey & silver. What powers she possessed to bless the snoring, snuffling, & blissfully sonorous inhabitants & fellow travelers were focused in gratitude and thanksgiving. Many happy hours were fondly recalled as she gazed on the faces of those who had welcomed her & shared their store of treasured lore as well as wisdom and erudition. "Long may their missives pour forth on the waves of ether, and humor abide in this place, boundless in source & substance!"

The hem of her dress & cloak made the only sound in the clearing, brushing the silver-tipped blades of grass as she left the spectral shade of the tree. Making her way toward the entrance of the beckoning barrow, her exhaustion diminished with every step until she came to the place where she need step no further. Here was the chief and final destination of her journey. Determined to arrive with all speed, having stopped rarely and only briefly across plain, hill, and water, she stood now before her goal. "Perhaps the gift I bring will assuage any ire or peevishness that lingers having been caused by my incessant clamoring to be restored to my original resting place, as well as my overly long and nigh unpronounceable name." To the ancient ones who lurked in the shadowy bogs nearby her words sounded as a prayer or incantation.

Although it was small, the gift was mighty. She removed the plain, soft cloth that had protected it for many leagues, and laid it near the opening to the Wight's private barrow from whence the beloved forum issued. All clouds disappeared, scattered by a sudden wind from the West. The moon sent a beam like an arcing arrow loosed from a Lorien bow. It found its target--the runes fashioned from ithildin. They erupted with a blinding light revealing the name placed upon the object: Acme Portable Gondoran MetaServer. Many spells had been cast upon it so that it neither would nor could crash; it would not waiver in service to the Wight and all the good folk for whom he labored. To her dazed and wondering mind, it seemed as if the gleaming runes had made a sudden, loud noise. Dininziliel became alarmed that the Wight would be roused and discover her swaying like one stricken over the gift that now seemed a small and mean thing to offer. Turning abruptly, she did a quick courtesy in the direction of Mod’s Hill and retreated to the safety of the tree.

Nestling into a knothole at its base, she quieted down to think. “Ah, what a ninnyhammer I am! I forgot to sign the tag! It’s probably just as well since I’m more than likely above my station to think anything I could offer would be grand enough for the Wight. He must have already been given two or three today at least! I’ll just have to face the music in the morning. No doubt there will be plenty of that to dance to. All I can hope for now is not to embarrass myself in the company of all these fine folk!” Her right hand lifted itself listlessly to stifle a yawn. Its effort was in vain. She was asleep, her head resting upon a large and fragrant mushroom, before her hand fell down to join the other one upon her lap.

[Novnarwen]

Nova hurried out of the door, holding a huge plate with food in her hands. Fried potatoes (!!?!!), fried tomatoes and juicy mushrooms were the only things she had been able to make. She frowned, as she thought about what the others might have brought with them. She was a terrible cook, and she knew that. She had tried though, but still, she knew she had failed. The look of the potatoes, tomatoes and the mushrooms revealed quite a lot. Oh, how embarrassing, Nova thought, wondering if she should just leave the food at home and pretend that she had brought something. It seemed like a good idea, but she wasn't really sure. What if someone asked? What could she possibly say; that she had made something and placed it on a table? Maybe she could pretend someone else’s' dish was hers! Yes, that was a good idea . . . But what if that 'someone' told the same person, that had asked Nova about her food, that the food Nova had pointed out was his or hers?. She would be in a really tight squeeze if tha happened. That, indeed, would be embarrassing. Nova decided to bring her food, nevertheless, and stand the embarrassment. If it didn't taste very well, she would go and hide her plate, so that no one could 'mock' her for her terrible food.

As she was about to walk down the sloping path, leading to the Party Field, a new idea popped into her head. She hadn't tried tasting it, so she didn’t really know if it was that bad. She grinned, but didn't really like the idea of tasting her own food either. She dropped the idea, she was better off not tasting. If somebody fell sick after trying the fried tomatoes, the mushrooms or the potatoes, she would indeed be grateful for not trying first. After all, she wanted to attend the party.

***

The Party had already started, as assumed, when Nova, dressed like a Hobbit, showed up. Nervous and anxious about leaving her food at one of the tables, she quickly trudged over and placed it in one of the ends. Hopefully, no one would get harmed. Out of the corner of her eyes, Nova soon discovered a plate, a plate with cookies with huge chocolate chips. "Those are familiar," she muttered. She looked around, before taking one to thereafter push it into her mouth. "Yummy," she bellowed. The Hobbit wannabe realised that some people had turned to look at her, and she grew red and wandered off.

She opened her mouth to take another bite of the delicious cookie, before she realised that it was Orofaniel's work. I knew it! she thought, eating the rest of it. Well knowing that someone she really knew had arrived, she went looking for Orofaniel.

With eyes, constantly on guard; like a hawk, she wandered around at the field. She saw a whole lot of people she knew from the Role-Playing section, but also others, who she had just seen on the "Who's Online?", (which indeed was a really awesome function at the Forum.) Nova went silently by herself, admiring the gigantic Party Tree. Slowly, she found her way towards it. Nova enjoyed reading all the Birthday Greetings, which were nailed to the tree-trunk. When she found Oro, she would ask her friend if they were going to nail their birthday greetings together. Yes, that would be fun. The Hobbit, by appearance, tried not to bump into too many, but people gathering around the tree made it impossible for her to read all the notes. She would have to continue later.

She settled herself by the stage, seeing Pio, the Moderator, sit nearby.

[Hilde Bracegirdle]

In search of a steaming cup of ginger tea, Hilde walked from tent to tent, eliciting strange looks from the bartenders until she happened upon one she knew and who took pity on her letting her see if she could fix something for herself. “I don’t have no ginger for ginger tea though, Miss Hilde.” he apologized.

“I’m sure there is something back here that will do”, Hilde replied eyeing the strange bottles with even stranger hued liquids within them. Just then a very tall man in a flowing black leather coat and an eye patch strode up, the bartender being busy with a large group this strange man asked Hilde for a pint of Dortmunder gold. “Dwarfmunder?” Hilde repeated rummaging around behind the table. “I’m sorry, we don’t have none o’ that. But we have plenty o’ Schaeffer…on tap no less!”

“No, Ach no!” the man protested muttering an extra comment or two about hobbits and Schaeffer that Hilde didn’t quite catch. “Rum then! You do have rum don’t you?” Quite flustered, Hilde ducked down and found a bottle of the stuff under the skirts of the table. With a nervous smile she handed the unopened bottle to the man, who gave her a mock bow with a flourish before stalking off. Hilde looked quickly to see if the barkeeper had seen this transaction, thankfully he was quite busy with his blender preparing some rather exotic concoctions.

Grabbing a cup of coffee and hastily splashing in some whiskey, for flavor, Hilde headed for the food. She saw her husband had planted himself at a table, and already had several empty glasses beside him as well as two plates. Having a lively conversation with a couple of dwarves, his loud laugh could be heard erupting with surprising frequency. Ah, he is enjoying himself, she thought.

Surveying the food spread out across several tables, Hilde picked up a few strips of lemon scented venison, setting them on her saucer, and spying a dish of toffee that was quickly disappearing, she picked one up and plopped it in her coffee before rejoining her husband. Walking back toward his table, the hobbit recognized Miss Pio by the stage. And catching the elf’s glance she raised her cup of coffee aloft for a toast, “TO THE SHIRE!” , she shouted at the top of her voice, where upon she felt an odd feeling of warmth trickle down her arm, as her coffee bubbled over and then quite unexpectedly exploded.

[Orofaniel]

Orofaniel had now, eventually, started to get in the party mood. She just had to find a drink, and her friends. The drink however, would be easiest to find and therefore it was also her first priority. There were also loads of delicious food that the BarrowDowners had brought with them, but Orofaniel figured that she shouldn't eat just yet. She passed the tables, but he had to admit that those lovely toffees tempted her.

After she had grabbed a drink and was sipping it cautiously, she went looking again. She walked towards the stage where she could see Piosenniel. Next to sat...Nova! "Nova!" Orofaniel cried while she hurried towards the stage. Novnarwen didn't take any notice of her at the moment, probably because she hadn't heard Orofaniel's voice among all those other voices from the other guests. I'll sneak up on her then, Orofaniel thought and smiled evilly. Hopefully I'll manage to surprise her, she continued. It wasn't hard to sneak up on her either, because it seemed like Nova paid all her attention to the stage. Besides, the crowd around her made it impossible for Nova to see anyone sneaking up on her.

"Boo!" Orofaniel cried as she was standing right behind Nova. Nova jumped in her seat and turned. "You scared me like....Oro!" She said when she saw that the face was familiar. Then Nova slapped her teasingly on the shoulder. "You're so mean!" She said and grinned. Orofaniel laughed and said;” Well, you know me..."

"Ooo, I see you've dressed like a Hobbit," Orofaniel said and looked at Nova's outfit. It was very pretty and it had earthy colours. "Yes, it is a Hobbit dress," Nova said proudly. "I see that you have dressed in your best eleven cloak…Nova continued now smiling widely. "Yes, dear," Oro nodded; “Only the best for such a merry occasion….”

"Um..is that the cookies I made?" Orofaniel asked suddenly when she noticed that Nova was holding something, that probably had been a cookie a while a go, in her left hand. "Yes, it is indeed. You baked them right?" Nova asked and took the last final bite of it. She chewed it carefully and swallowed. "Yes, I did bake them," Orofaniel confirmed. "They tasted really good," Nova assured her, but Orofaniel wasn't convinced. "And they are popular too," Nova said while she looked over at the tables. There were many people gathered around the tables, and Orofaniel could only get a short glimpse of her own plate; it was almost empty.

"I expect we have to nail something up on that Party Tree," Nova said and looked at it. There were many people gathered around it, and all of them wanted to give their birthday wishes. It was only natural that they, Orofaniel and Nova, would do the same. "Absolutely!" Orofaniel said enthusiastically. "I just have to finish my drink here," She continued and drank until the mug was empty.

Before they left the stage to nail some kind of Birthday wish on the party tree they talked to Pio for a moment. "It such a wonderful party," Orofaniel said and smiled. "Oh, thanks...Yes, it is wonderful that so many people have made it," Pio started. "And, I can't believe that they brought so much good food with them!" She continued now laughing.

"Oh well, we better get going; the birthday wishes are waiting," Nova said finally. "Yes, of course," Pio said and smiled. "As a matter of fact, I should take a little walk around here myself," Pio continued and waved.

"Have a good time then, you two!" She said as she went into the crowd and disappeared.

[Bêthberry]

A creaky, battered old wheel barrow clattered and rocked over the mossy green of the Party Field. Like all parts of Middle-earth, the Party Field had been seeded, howed and rowed by hand, in ages so long ago that its true origins were known only in myth and legends. Some said it was the work of one Gardener; others insisted that the work of all other gardeners labouring over the field should also be remembered and acknowledged. Indeed, it was difficult at times to tell what the original plan of the Party Field had been, so overworked was it with winding old paths from previous parties, stumps of trees that had decayed and fallen now used as seats and legs for table planks, large patches of grass worn down by dancing feet and then reseeded by later hands. Still and all, whether this was an archetypal Party Field or some enchanted grass land, there was no denying that mobs of party goers were having a great deal of fun experiencing the Party rather than attaching any particular meaning to it.

However, the result of all this seeding and reseeding was a bumpy field even though the finest Gardener had attempted consciously so in the reweeding to clear a straight and narrow path through it. So it was that a wheel became stuck, and no matter which way the woman pushed or pulled, the wheel remained rutted in place, the heavy contents of the wheel barrow making it too difficult to lift up and out. It was full, piled high with mathoms, perennial plants that the woman had divided and dug up from her garden.

"Whew and humpft," said the woman. With that stupendously critical comment, Bêthberry paused to look around and put the barrow down.

[Nerindel]

Nerindel exited the actors tent a bright smile on her elven features and in more comfortable attire, the dark breeches and soft green tunic made her feel more like herself, but still smartly dressed that her friend Lespheria would have no cause to be disappointed. Her cheery mood had also been increased by the pleasant company of the singers and actors she had met in her hunt for the clothes she now wore. In fact she had spent the whole night in their company exchanging tales and songs spanning all four ages of this world and the southron dancing women had even help her to tame her unruly mop of golden hair, but still old habits would not die and she pulled it back, tying it in place with a leather band.

As she crossed the grassy field to find some breakfast, she spotted the red headed woman who had directed her towards the pleasant company and the less constricting attire. With an appreciative smile she nodded her thanks, gapping as the red locks slip forwards to reveal the woman’s delicate elven ears, once over the initial shock and once the elf had lifted the wig enough for her to see that it wasn’t real she laughed shaking her head. It seemed she was not the only out of character elf at the party! What would Lady Lespheria of Rivendell think! She wondered with a knowing smile.

Finally finding her way to the buffet table, she loaded a plate, to the approving looks of all the hobbits present, 'It's good to see at least one elf that knows how to eat' one hobbit woman smiled.

'How can I not with so much wonderful delicacies on offer?" she smiled in reply.
The hobbit woman laughed in agreement then put out her hand, "Mrs Bracegirdle, Hilde to my friends." She smiled warmly.

'Nerindel,' she smiled wiping her free hand down her breeches before taking the hobbit woman's out stretched hand and shaking it firmly. "And well met,” she added remembering her manners, at the last instance.

"Are you enjoying the party?" the woman asked striking up a conversation, "I am now she smiled taking a seat next to the woman and telling her that she was looking forward to the fireworks display. Telling Hilde that someone had told the bar man who had told the actor who had told the dancer who told her that the fire works where to be of the calibre and like of those said to have been made by Gandalf himself."

An excited glint came to the woman’s eyes and she leaned in and whispered, "Well I heard, from a cousin of a friend of a cousin, that the old wizard himself had been seen coming down the greenway!" She finished nodding at Nerindels anticipated surprise reaction.

"Then it is sure to be a party of most excellence!" she laughed, "But what of you Mrs Bracegirdle, how are you finding the celebrations?" she asked stuffing a mouthful of deliciously seasoned mushrooms into her mouth.

[Child of the 7th Age]

Cami looked at her younger daughter aghast and wagged an accusing finger at her. “Daisy, how could you do this? Shock toffee is one thing, but emerald green hair? . Miz Aman was the one who noticed it and let me know. Even your Aunt Pio didn’t go that far!”

Daisy showed no signs of backing down in front of her mother. She put a hand to her unruly green mop and defiantly pushed it through her curls in an effort to show off to everyone around her.

“Ima, stop worrying! The Elf at the booth said it would wash out, or at least he thought so. It’s some sort of minor Elvish spell, the kind we’re not supposed to use in the Shire.”

“He’d better be right!” Cami retorted. “Or you’ll be the only Hobbit in Middle-earth with permanent green hair! And what were you doing with that awful Pimpernel Brandybuck? He’s always getting in trouble. Miz Aman and I saw the two of you over near the mathoms and the gift table sorting through some things.” At this point, Cami abruptly closed her mouth as she saw Pimpernel approaching.

Daisy stood on tiptoe, whispering into her mother's ear. “Ima, he’s nice, really nice. You just don’t know him.”

“Well, maybe so.” Cami sighed in resignation and bent down to give her daughter a kiss, being very careful not to touch those awful green curls. “Alright then, I give up. Go have some fun together. But you’d best mind your manners. I don’t want to hear you’ve gotten into trouble!”

With that the two Hobbits scampered off. Once they were safely out of Cami’s earshot, Pimpernel stopped and tugged two items out of his pocket. One was the Acme Portable Gondorian Metaserver and the other a statuette of a green dragon. Both had been sitting on the gift table. Neither had a tag on it, but everyone had seen that the Gondorian Metaserver was presented by Dininziliel. Daisy’s eyes widened in surprise, “You told me you were going to put those things back. We could get in a lot of trouble. There’s one of those dark creatures making a list of all the things that folk gave the Wight and, if any are missing, they’ll track us down and have our hides.”

Pimpernel looked furtively at Daisy, “I tried, I really tried. But they’ve got guards stationed at the table now so that it’s impossible for me to slip it back.”

“So what are we going to do? You told me you were just ‘borrowing’ them for a minute. What happens when the guards realize they're gone. That green hand thing will kill us…..”

Pimpernel shook his head, "I have no idea! Anyways, do you know what this thing is?" Daisy examined the Metaserver closely, shrugged her shoulders, and shook her head, while still turning the strange item over in her hand.

*************************

OOC Moderator's comment: Anyone is welcome to pick up on Pimpernel and the guards and the missing dragon statue. You can carry along Cami’s daughter. Just don’t get her killed, please! But please don't use the Wight in your posts, at least not yet.... Signed: Cami Goodchild

[Guinevere]

Slowly a slender woman in a light grey cloak approached, hesitating at the entrance to the partyfield. Pushing back her hood she revealed shoulder long brown hair and a rather worried face. Shyly she peeped round the gate and nearly turned back. Such a crowd and bustle! So many witty and eloquent people!
Guinevere hesitated. She couldn't make up her mind whether to enter or to turn back. She had never been to the Shire before and had no experience in RPG's whatsoever, and felt wholly inadequate. Should she dare join the merry crowd all the same? It would be wonderful to meet some of the people she had come to know and to like and admire from afar. And of course she really, really wanted to congratulate the Barrowwight and express her heartfelt thanks for the wonderful place which she had frequented for almost 2 years now.
At last, she took a deep breath and entered, glancing around with wide eyes.

[Durelin]

The lane was too quiet and much too empty. She was late. The sound of joyful laughter and loud chatter, along with a few screams, came from the field just around the bend. It had not been that long since Durelin had last been here, and it was near impossible to forget where the Party Field was. It was just around the bend. It did feel good to be back, as she had been too lazy to venture from her home in Bree. At least, she hadn't since her return from Rohan, and that was a good while ago.

Rake, the mount beneath her, had slowed down considerably since the beginning of the trip. Durelin only gave it an encouraging pat, knowing that attempting to stir it to a livelier pace would only worsen the situation. Such was the temperament of such a mule. But it was certainly better than no mount at all. Imagining how much her feet would be hurting her at the moment, and how damaged her Shish kabobs would have been. Perhaps it was not so smart to bring your favorite food to a pot luck, but she was feeling very nice today, and very generous. Only secretly did she hope that no one else shared her belief that anything was good grilled.

Finding herself at the gate, she tethered the mule to a nearby tree, which seemed to be serving as a parking lot. Noticing a horse wandering on a nearby hill, with a shining coat, either white or gold in color, without harness or saddle, Durelin stared in amazement. Was it the same horse that had bore the most beautiful, most astonishing, most intelligent woman-quester who had graced Bree with her presence only a short time ago? Durelin had heard only few of her great tales of adventure, and had not the chance to meet the Lady before she discovered that this woman of greatest esteem was also attending the party. In her excitement, Durelin rushed in her tying Rake to the parking tree, and almost forgot her Shish kabobs and Barrow gift.

Rushing in through the gate, her eyes scanned the area for the woman, and she immediately spotted her. The gorgeous Lady was even more beautiful than she had heard. And all the stories of elves were true! This woman did glow, shine with a soft light that filled the air around her with wonder and warmth! She shined all the more brightly among such rough company that crowded curiously around her, with hobbits and men, farmers and blacksmiths, as lowly as Durelin was in comparison to her. Durelin was drawn to her, but a pushy looking ghostly-spectre seemed to be awaiting her gift. Somewhere, this ghostly-spectre was looking upon her and all the partygoers. Quickly then she found the mathom table and pulled out a long, thin noodle. Inscribed upon the noodle were runes, letters of the Old Tongue. In the Common Tongue it read: "Scourge of the Wight Upon the Poster Who Has Posted A Previously Discussed Topic". Perhaps it would be a useless gift after the completion of the Forum Index, but Durelin highly doubted that.

Now that her respects had been paid -- respects that would be lasting and that would put an end to any of her urges to post a new topic, hopefully -- Durelin rushed over to her. When she reached her, she immediately curtseyed, a little awkwardly, as she was embarrassed to face this woman in her plain village-maiden dress (complete with an apron). "Dear Lady, your beauty and strength only adds to your majesty as one of Elvish kind, and though I be but a lowly village-girl of Bree, I have heard the stories, I know of your greatness. And now I beg of you that I may be you humble servant. I beseech you, tell me that I may aid you."

The beautiful Lady smiled down at her in great kindness, her face glowing brighter. Durelin lowered her eyes, unable to hold the woman's powerful gaze. "Rise, my child," she then said, and Durelin immediately obeyed. The beautiful Lady then looked at the large dish that Durelin held again in her hands (she had had to put it down to curtsy, of course). "Are those Shish-kabobs?" she asked. Durelin nodded vigorously. The beautiful Lady then dutifully pulled off the plastic wrap with her long, slender, nimble fingers, and picked out the kabob with the most mushrooms.

(OOC: Forgive me, Estelyn. I thought your Mary Sue was a terrible thing to waste!)

[The Saucepan Man]

The Saucepan Man awoke to find himself nestled amongst a pile of cushions in one of the tents placed at the outskirts of the Party Field, for use by those who might wish to catch forty winks. Saucepan suspected that he had probably caught more like four hundred. Looking around, he saw others sleeping in the tent, similarly recuperating after the delights of the previous night. One of the Hobbit attendants sat nearby, watching him closely.

“Beggin’ your pardon, Mr Pan Man sir,” said the Hobbit. “But you fell asleep slap bang in the middle of the field last night. And I happened across a young lady trying to make away with your pots and pans, like. So I took it upon myself to have you brought here and thought that I’d best stay here to watch over you and the others here while you slept.”

“You are most kind, Master Hobbit,” replied Saucepan, checking his kitchenwear and finding to his relief that all was present and correct. “Although I am sure that she meant no harm.”

“Mayhaps you’re right, sir. I believe that them Beorn security guards reached the same conclusion.”

Saucepan gratefully drank down a large glass of water that the Hobbit handed to him, as he mulled over the events of the previous night. After passing a happy half hour showing some young Hobbit children how to get maximum noise and effect from banging on his pans with sticks, his attention had been drawn by the alarming table manners of the Orc sitting at the bar next to him. Ignoring the loud and windy manner in which the Orc had signalled the end of his feast, Saucepan had engaged him in conversation. The pleasant discussion which ensued had caused Saucepan to revise his opinion of Orcs considerably.

He had then drifted through the party, mingling with the other guests, every so often replenishing his glass (and those of others) from his kettle, which seemed to hold a never-ending supply of the clear fragrant liquid. He had enjoyed discussing with Merisuwyniel the antics of the Entish Bow Questors, with which he seemed to be strangely familiar. Later, he had ended up in a vodka speed-drinking contest with Lush, the likely cause of his impromptu collapse in the middle of the field. Somehow, he suspected that Lush had been the victor.

Shielding his eyes from the sunshine as he left the tent, Saucepan surveyed the Party Field. Crowds of people were still present, enjoying the entertainers, stalls and side-shows. He waved cheerfully at Bêthberry as she arrived with a well-stocked wheelbarrow. Then he noticed someone else who he recognised standing nervously by the entrance.

“Guinevere!” he shouted (although his pounding head immediately regretted it), and clattered over to welcome her to the party.

[Lush]

"Amateurs," Lush thought as she saw Saucy stagger to greet a few lovelies, the naughty Bêthberry and a dish named Guinevere among them. He clearly had the hangover of a lifetime. Lush beamed proudly. Might as well show off her drinking skills, if nothing else. Well, perhaps her legs too. And academic skills...

Nah, the legs and the drinkage will do.

Pio's advise about the beer did come in handy last night.

Lush stretched like a cat in the sun. A light, golden tan was appearing on her skin. She was beginning to look more and more like a sorority girl. All she needed was a slightly more expensive handbag, uglier shoes, and a lout in tow.

In the absence of any louts nearby, Lush made her way over to bawdy Bêthberry to invite her to smoke a hookah she had recently discovered in one of the tents (Lush's tastes, as of late, had been decidedly Middlea Eastern in nature; must have been the Easterlings looking so Arab in that Peter Jackson movie), or say hello, at least.

[symestreem]

After fleeing from the security guards when they let her go, symestreem hid among the beer barrels while she regained her courage. It was too early for dancing, but there were other strolling minstrels like herself. She joined two pipers and played a couple of trios with them, then excused herself with signs and went for some juice.
On her way back, she overheard two women talking about the cookies.
"Yes, I did bake them," one said. The elusive master cook!
Symestreem grabbed her paper and pen that she was never without, and wrote a note of appreciation for the cookies. She caught up with the pair at the Party Tree, and deftly pinned the note to the woman's cloak. She'd find it when she next used that item of clothing. Then symestreem looked for the pipers, but they were gone.
She strolled around the field. What were all the bales of hay over here for? They made a pit at least twenty feet square. And why was there a target in the middle?
"Incoming!" an elf yelled. She ducked as a dwarf flew over her head to land in the hay by the target. "That was closer than any of yours!" the elf said to his companions. Meanwhile, the dwarf was picking himself up out of the hay.
"I told you not to do that!" the short creature fairly bristled with indignation. Actually, his beard really was bristling. "Now you'll have to answer to my axe!" He started chasing the elf, seemingly not realizing that his axe was still in the hay.
Symestreem raised her glass in a toast to the competitors and walked on.
Two hobbit-children were deep in conversation ahead of her. She did a double-take. Did the lass have green hair?! Or had there been something in that juice? No, the child's hair was definitely a verdant shade of green.
The hobbit-lad was holding a small dragon statuette in his palm. Symestreem could have sworn that had been on the mathom table earlier. When she walked forward for a closer look, the hobbit saw her and hid his hand behind his back. He smiled innocently at her, but his eyes brimmed with mischief. She smiled back just as innocently and walked on by.

[symestreem]

Gliding around sleeping partygoers, symestreem noticed someone at her plate of chocolate chip cookies! Several someones- hobbits. She shook her head. It was all over now. Ah well, there would be other cookies. She must try and find the maker of these and express her gratitude. Or, she could...
Leaving a note under the plate, she resumed strolling, looking for someone to serenade. Everyone was asleep, though. Even the noises emanating from the barrow had stopped. Did wights sleep?
Stepping around a drunk dwarf, she saw a huge pile of shiny stuff on the ground. Who dumped all these pots out here? Everything from kettles to a saucepan to an exotic dwarven stewpot was in a heap. The cooks are asleep. I might as well put these away for them.
The items were surprisingly hard to pick up, and the kitchen tent was far away. She had just come back with a cart when she gasped. Under all the kitchenware was... was... a person! The cooks must have dumped their tools on top of him. He could be hurt!
"'Ere now, what are you doin' with our Mr. Pan Man?" An indignant hobbit stood behind her. "And where's all his other pots?"
She tried to get across with gestures that she thought the man needed medical attention. When that didn't work, she took out her special stick and wrote in the dirt.
The hobbit scratched his head. "Well, now, I can't read that." He saw the pots and pans in the cart and gasped. "You... you were takin' 'is pots!"
She frantically tried to assure him that this was not so, that she had had no idea there was someone making his abode under kitchenware, but he grasped her by the arm (a reach for him.) "I think you'd better come with me," he said, leading her away to a tent whose sign read 'Beorn Security'.