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

[Hookbill the Goomba]

"Where's my Armadillo?" cried the obviously still half asleep Hookbill as he collapsed though the wall. Luckily as he was only a spirit, no damage was done. Scrambling to his feet, Hookbill was confused as to why the party was still going on. He had hoped to find his wallet that he'd left there the last night, but it was not to be.

"Have you brought a bottle?" asked the doorman, "It is a party, and you need to bring at least a Bottle."

"I was here last night," explained Hookbill, who was waking up slightly, "I brought a bottle of... erm... wine... I think. It was in this green bottle and had an orange label with a picture of a spider on it."

"YOU brought that awful stuff?" cried the doorman.

"Yes I did," said Hookbill wandering up to the buffet table.

[Hilde Bracegirdle]

Hilde woke up with a start at her accustomed hour. Looking around her, she saw that there were many bodies laying scattered about on the cold stone and some in comfy chairs. With a sudden sense of panic she checked her clothes and touched her hair. No, not a thin white gown and circlet, but she wore the same jeans and sweater as yesterday.

In her private fog, Hilde dug around in her bag for her Nexium. "We’ll be needing this," she whispered to Codijune who had raised her head from Ealasaide knee. Hilde’s stomach was on fire. Knowing that Ealasaide would be asleep, and wouldn’t be up for chatting just yet, she got up to look for a glass of water, or cup of tea or whatever to take her medicine with, and hopefully some sort of bland bread.

Finding her way to the tidied display of food, she saw some macaroons along side chips and glowing red salsa. Maybe just a little, she thought, debating with herself. How she loved good food!

With a plate heaped with cold salmon, chips and salsa as well as a goodly amount of macaroons, and a hot cup of tea. Hilde sat back down and carefully wrapped a macaroon in a napkin, slipping it in her bag for her daughter. Retrieving a CD player and shabby paperback copy of The Two Towers. She slipped a copy of Going for the One in the player and put her headphones on, throwing Codijune a chip before cracking open the book. Good food, good music, good book and good company. What more could she want. They'd have to peel her the ceiling soon!

[THE Ka]

Sometimes, when people themselves want to be an utter secret to the world, even if it is a barrow, it can be difficult for them to 'warm up' to other beings of their same accord. Ka felt a sudden rush of anxiety whenever another member (though there were few at that hour) mentioned or interacted with her, it would feel as if frame of her being, though quiet translucent, would crumble like stone on the floor.

Other members had begun to wake, and though not entirely ignoring the comments made by other members, ka continued to clean up what seemed too much of a mess. Soon, there wasn't really much else to clean or do, and the guises where now playing some game or another and had completely ignored most of the cleaning entirely. ka went back to her bag, and the corner and finnished reading The Picture of Dorian Grey in silence.

[Lalwendë]

The morning mists swirled gently about the stones and all was quiet after the night before. A shape appeared through the grey dawn, a small creature pushing a wheelbarrow. It was Lalwende, moving quickly over the dew soaked turf. She entered the barrow without stopping and a few minutes later reappeared.

In the wheelbarrow lay davem, sleepy but still clutching an empty bottle of Old Winyards in one hand, and his pipe in the other. He struggled to sit up but his head was sore and he decided it was far too much effort and lay back down again. "Just lay still now," scolded Lalwende. "We'll get to Mrs Butterbur's Pie Shop and have a nice fry up, that'll sort you out".

She pushed davem's arms back into the wheelbarrow and tutted before giving it a big push to get it going. "But I want a smoke!" wailed davem, trying to sit up again. He pushed down on the sides of the wheelbarrow with his hands, it gave a lurch and he was thrown from it. He rolled down the slope into the mist and Lalwende ran down after him, cursing.

"Will you do as you're told?" she snapped, hauling him back onto the wheelbarrow. And off they went, disappearing into the mist until only their voices could be heard, growing ever more faint until they too faded into the silence.

[Hookbill the Goomba]

The buffet table was still laden with many different foods. Although most of the best food had gone many hours ago. There were a few sandwiches, sausage rolls, and one or two cheesecakes. Hookbill took a plate and placed two sandwiches and a slice of cake and sat next to a small table. There were a good many wights sleeping on the floor near to him, one of them had a pouch of old Toby open and spilling onto the floor. Being careful, Hookbill took some and lit it in his long wooden pipe.

"Still no sign of B-Wight?" shouted Hookbill to a small group of Wights that were chatting and laughing in the corner, "Will he ever show?"

"Who can tell?" one said with a mouth full of food, "Barrow Wight comes and goes as he pleases. Perhaps he still sleeps."

[Witch_Queen]

She heard a familar voice. Hookbill is already here. Her black hair was pulled back into a pony-tail. The only hair still down was her white streaks in the front. The smoke from the pipes still lingered in the air. Slowly walking up behind the man Witchie decided to give Hookbill a little scare if she could.

She placed her soft white hands over his eyes. "Its good to see you Hookbill." Her journey to the party was one full of excitement but tiresome. "You know sometimes I actually do wish I lived in the trunk of my car. But then again I think it would be best if I had the car parked in Rivendell." She looked around to see who else she might recognize. "Do you mind if I hang out with you for a bit?"

[Hookbill the Goomba]

"Not at all," replied Hookbill offering Witch Queen a glass of wine, "the more the merrier." He took out his flute again and began to play a little tune. Some who were sleeping awoke, if only to throw things at Hookbill. Sitting back down in a huff Hookbill began to mumble something about people having no taste in music. He then picked up his pipe and began blowing smoke rings all about. Slowly he began yet another poem.

When spring unfolds the branchen leaf, and sap in the bough;
When Light is on the wild-wood stream, and wind is on the brow;
When stride is long and breath is deep, and keen the mountain air,
Come back to me! Come back to me, and say my land is fair!

It was the old ent's song. One which Hookbill had loved since the first time The Professor's work had been known to him. He was not a singer, and merely recited the poem while he sat in his chair.

[Estelyn Telcontar]

Esty/H decided that it was high time all these sleeping wraiths were roused; after all, the party isn't over until the fat lady sings, she chuckled to herself. She winked conspiratorially at those who were awake already - or still - and wafted over to the grand piano, opening the lid wide for more volume. Then she played a rousing march to the tune of "Happy Birthday".

"Welcome to the second day of the Barrow Birthday Party!" she shouted. The reactions were as mixed as the previous day's celebrating had been - some smiled, looking forward to more fun; others groaned, wishing that they had chosen their drinks more wisely last evening. Esty/H noted with a grin that some of the wights were missing - she had seen Lalwendë bring davem out and wisely refrained from commenting.

"I'm glad you came!" she greeted Witch_Queen, the first new guest of the day. "We have lots of fun planned for today's celebration - I hope you enjoy yourself!"

"Now," she addressed all, "how about a bite to eat, and then we'll warm up with some more music. All those who brought their instruments can join in - perhaps we can rouse The Barrow-Wight today!"

[Hookbill the Goomba]

"Now," Esty addressed all, "how about a bite to eat, and then we'll warm up with some more music. All those who brought their instruments can join in - perhaps we can rouse The Barrow-Wight today!"

"Here, Here!" Cried Hookbill waving his pipe in the air, "My his skin never fall off!" There was mixture of dim laughter and people saying 'I don't get it'. Hookbill encouraged the other flautists and musicians to begin to play in order to arouse the sleeping wights.

[Nurumaiel]

Nurumaiel was well-pleased with Esty's announcement, and she went to that dark, dusky corner to retrieve her fiddle. In the ever thickening crowds, she had begun to become rather overwhelmed, trying desperately to remember names and faces as passing hellos were said. And she wondered helplessly if she were too dressed up for the occasion. Well, it could not be helped. Besides, the dress was lovely.

She had tuned her fiddle just before she left, so she had no concerns about that. Her concern was that she wouldn't be able to play the music that the others were capable of. Perhaps she was not skilled enough; perhaps she hadn't any idea of how to play that kind of music at all. The Harvest Home was a rather familiar tune... but, then again, only with a certain type of musician.

"But, thank goodness," she murmured, "I think I'm capable of just playing about with the others... I hope!"

[Hilde Bracegirdle]

Putting away both book and CDs, Hilde got up and walked over to where a group with instruments was assembling. Ah the real thing! It was marvelous how so many knew how to weave this sort of magic. And as she plunked down close by to listen, she was greatful that the Barrow-wight had become so very tolerant of frequent guests.

Still the thought lingered in her mind that perhaps a disembodied arm might appear when least expected, and she was glad Ealasaide had Codijune to keep watch as she slept. Even the dead do not enjoy being disturbed, when sleeping. And Eala must have had a late night, indeed!

Taking out her barette, and shaking her head, Hilde perched on the arm of a small flowered sofa. Unfortunately, she looking more like Gloria Steinem than a proper hobbit, as she sorted with interest through the expensive and ancient baubles stewn on the side table.

[Maeggaladiel]

Maeggaladiel ran through the green trees, the wind rushing past her ears and the ground flying beneath her. Her eyes were wide as saucers and her hands were clenched into fists. The growling was louder now, and it was right behind her.

"Go away!" she screamed. Suddenly her foot caught on a tree root and she fell to the ground. Her momentum kept her rolling head over heels for a few moments before she came to a stop, slamming against a fallen tree.

The creature chasing her came closer. It was large, looming and....

"Johnny Depp?" Maeg said, confused. It was indeed Johnny Depp.

"Yeah. You dropped your iPod," Johnny said. "And I love you."

"It's not my iPod," Maeg replied.

"Oh."

There was a moment of silence.

"Wanna do the chicken dance?"

"Ok!"

Johnny turned on the iPod and they started to dance to the music.

"I wanna be your lover, baby,
I wanna be your man..."

Maeg woke up from the dream as the radio alarm clock switched on.

"Woo, that was weird," she said, vowing never to eat cookie dough before bedtime again. She looked at the clock.

"^&(*@@!!" she cried. The Barrow Downs Birthday Party had started ages ago! Running like a madwoman, she threw on the blue party dress and did her hair and makeup.

A few minutes later she arrived, slightly out of breath, at the party. She looked around. No Barrow Wight?

"Did I miss the entire party?" she grumbled, putting her gift on the table.

[piosenniel]

A new day it seemed had pierced the green haze of The Wight’s barrow. Partygoers were starting to rejuvenate themselves, waking from dreams. There was Eala, still sleeping - her dog at her knee. ‘Sleeps like the dead,’ Pio chuckled at her own poor joke. Hilde was up, though . . . and what were those shiny things just catching the light that her fingers were drifting through. Pio shut ‘The Atlas of Middle-earth’ which she’d been coloring in and put her colored pencils back into her pack.

Unfolding herself from the chair, she tucked the now cold remains of the cigar behind her ear. Max raised a Puggish eye and stretched out on the chair cushion . . . as if to say, ‘I’ll save this for your return.’ He soon fell back to snoring as Pio made her way to Hilde.

‘Good morning!’ she said. By the One! Pio thought to herself as the light from one of the crusted Noldorin lamps fell on Hilde’s hair. Reminds me of one of my icons from ages past . . . and hasn’t she aged well! She glimpsed a familiar bottle sticking out of the woman’s bag. ‘Little purple pill . . . know it well . . .!’ she laughed.

Pio’s gaze drifted down to where Hilde’s fingers played with the baubles. ‘Do you play or sing? she asked in casual conversation, her eyes on the alert for a promising piece of jewelry.

[Formendacil]

It is unknown if the singers woke up the Barrow-Wight, but it is certain that they woke up Formendacil. Still sequestered away in his broom closet, he woke with a bit of a start as the music, acting as a surrogate alarm clock, broke into his consciousness, and woke him from a most pleasing dream that had to do with the random acquistition of Lego.

Getting up and heading to the washroom, he tested his blood, discovered that he had eaten WAY too much the night before, took a correspondingly large dose of insulin, and then hunted down his backpack. Once he found it, he changed into a fresh suit of clothes. Twas no suit this time, but a more medieval costume. Once he re-emerged from the closet, he was dressed in blue jeans, golf shirt, and looked a good deal more causal than the day before. Once again, he slung his sword onto his belt, and pinned a small elven pin to his collar, and hung a medal of St. Joseph over his shirt.

Then he pulled his breviary out of his backpack, guiltily noting that he had missed both his Morning and Evening Prayers the day before. Heading down the hall, he found a quiet corner in the kitchen, where he began mouthing the Psalter. It was the feast of St. Athanasius, quite appropriate he thought, considering that he was in a place where there was bound to be a few people willing or able to debate a little religion. Formendacil didn't LOOK for such debates, but tended to enjoy them considerably when they came. He was bad that way....

[Firefoot]

Firefoot awoke to the sound of music and found herself buried under her two dogs. "Time to get up," she told them. "Come on; move." The pair hopped down from the chair, stretching. Firefoot did likewise. I wonder how long I've been sleeping... Not too late, it would seem; others were still asleep.

Clicking her tongue for the shelties to follow her, she made her way to the entrance of the barrow. She whistled for Firefoot (the horse) to come. A few moments later she was greeted by the horse, who stood awaiting her signal. Firefoot leaned over toward her horse and whispered, "Watch out for these two. They need to get some excercise, and I would not have them wander into a barrow by mistake." Not that she thought they would; animals were smart like that. The horse nickered in what seemed to be agreement, and Firefoot knelt down to unclip the dogs leashes. "Be good," she told them, "and come back soon." With that, the dogs were off, chasing after each other. The horse went trotting after them, ears up with interest. Firefoot grinned, confident that her dogs would be fine.

With that, she headed back into the barrow, intending to head first for the buffet, and then to find some other wight with whom she might talk...

[Hookbill the Goomba]

Hookbill's spirits were high. He was now wide awake and already enjoying playing his flute to the best of his ability, although many told him to shut up. He just smiled at them and asked if they had any requests.

"Get some flute lessons!" One said. Many laughed. Hookbill frowned and sat back down.

[wilwarin538]

Wilwa woke up this morning still very excited about all the festivities that had acoured the night before. She was still disapointed that she hadn't gotten the chance to see the Barrow Whight so she got dressed and headed back over to the barrow, wondering how many had stayed overnight.(she brought her light blue violin just in case)

Luckily when she arrived there was a large group of people playing music, and a song she new. She opened her case and ran over to join the group. As she played she noticed the BW still hadn't shown up. Maybe this would wake him.

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

After her mother forcibly encouraged Fea's laundry-doing, her father ousted her from his computer. She had waited all night and day to get back to the party.

She walked through the barrow-door the second day of the party wearing the same outfit she had worn to school... dark washed jeans, a black tank top, and a fitted white shirt with grey and black stripes. Little did her consort of the weekend know that it was chosen with him in mind... Or maybe he did know, as they had nearly traded shirts for the afternoon, Fea's white shirt for his Pink Floyd concert tee. Her jewelry was an eclectic mix of three necklaces, four bracelets, and a single earring. Her flipflops got kicked into a corner as soon as she passed through the barrow-door. Her mind was on the peanut M&Ms in front of her and the pile of papers to be edited before 5:00.

Waving cheerfully to a few somewhat hung-over members of the crowd, Fea made her way over to LMP. "Can I join you in making new words?" she asked politely. "And have you seen the phantom? I'm surprised he's not around causing mischief. My large and unobtrusive bag is sitting in the corner waiting for an appropriately mischivous companion to help me with."

[the phantom]

The Barrow-Wight is going to be furious thought the phantom as he took in his surroundings. The warm glow, the pink haze, the flowery scent- this isn't BW's style at all. I told him he should have had some of my castle crew take care of the decorations and such.

The Phantom waved his hand at one of the walls and immediately the flames of all the torches on that wall turned green.

That's a bit more like it.

A servant approached. "Here is a name tag for you, milord."

"Do you know who I am?" inquired The Phantom.

"Why yes, of course I do!" answered the servant in injured tones. "You are The Phantom. Everyone knows that."

"Then what purpose would a name tag serve?" returned The Phantom.

"Well...no purpose at all, I suppose...yes, I see your point," replied the servant.

"Good. Now, since you have wasted my time I believe you owe me some compensation," said The Phantom. "There is a small job I would like you to do for me."

"Of course," answered the servant, not daring to refuse.

"There are three trunks being guarded by my men out in the carriage. Bring them inside and set them next to that corner table, where Lady Fea's bag is. Then, I want you to guard them the rest of the evening."

"But sir!" protested the servant, "My service will be needed elsewhere during-"

"Yes, I'm sure you'll be needed to do many important things at this party, like the very important job you're doing now- handing out name tags," replied The Phantom. The servant's shoulders sank and his head drooped. The Phantom leaned in and spoke quietly, "Wouldn't you rather be doing something of greater value? Inside those three trunks are gifts for The Barrow-Wight. You will not only have the honor of guarding his gifts, but I will even let you hand one of the gifts to him when I present it."

The servant's head lifted and his eyes brightened. "I'll go fetch your trunks immediately!" he said, and walked quickly towards the door.

The Phantom walked over to the corner table and sat down. Fea left her bag here. I'm sure she'll be back soon.

[Hookbill the Goomba]

Hookbill leaped upon his table once again. Hoping to encourage people to sing and present new songs to lighten the sleepy mood. He played a little tune on his flute before reciting a new poem.

Come all ye minstrels, dance and sing
This is supposed to be a jolly old thing
So play you're voiles, and raise your voices
So that The Barrow Wight rejoices
Let our play ring out over the dell
That none can say that it is fell
Barrow Downs and Brandy wine
We all see the weather is fine
So SING! Of many different things
But mostly of The Lord of the Rings!

Some cheered, but others threw things at Hookbill, who had to quickly duck to avoid a tomato that was heading for his head.

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

"Ah, so there he is!" Fea cried, making her way over to the phantom. "The party had been getting so dull without you. Three trunks, m'boy? Whatever could be in them? And of course one is for me."

[Estelyn Telcontar]

"Thank you for the song, Hookbill!" 'H' called out, applauding. "And thanks to all you wonderful musicians who have made this party special with your contributions. Those of you who were here yesterday heard LMP and others creating comical limericks and reciting them to us. Newcomers who'd like to carry on are welcome to continue rhyming, but I have a new competition for those who prefer prose discussions to poetry. Here it is:"

Clearing her throat for additional drama and suspense, she climbed onto a chair and announced, "It's time for the Barrow-Downs Crackpot Theory Contest! Yes, you heard right - do you have a crazy idea about Middle-Earth that you can't quite prove? Tell us about it, and we'll debate the pros and cons of it. Here's mine to start things off - you know, The Barrow-Wight always tells us to give examples when we post an idea.

"I postulate that Tom Bombadil has wings. How could he have come to the rescue of the hobbits in the barrow so quickly if he hadn't?!"

She climbed off her soapbox -- I mean chair, of course! - and waited with interest to see if anyone would take the bait. Perhaps Michael/Formendacil? Or the phantom? This could be fun!

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

"Of course Tommy 'ol boy has wings!" Fea cried from her spot beside the phantom. "Tolkien ne'er explicitly stated that he didn't, and he was wreathed in shadow at one point, which shows for certain that his arms were actually wings and could be used, given certain air currents and situations, for flight. However, the ostrich blood located in his veins made it extremely difficult to actually fly, and so the motion was more like running with winged speed than anything else!"

[the phantom]

"One trunk for you, my dear? Well, yes, that was the original promise- that I'd bring a few gifts for you as well, but I am afraid that I have not brought your gifts with me."

Fea would've glared at him for breaking his promise if he were anyone else, but he wasn't. He was The Phantom, and she knew that he never broke his promises. He merely rearranged them, and always for the better. She waited for him to continue.

"I didn't bring them because several of them were too large to bring," The Phantom said with a wink. "The roads through this part of Middle Earth aren't at all suitable for large cargo. I am afraid you will have to make a visit to my castle to claim your presents. How does two weeks from today sound?"

"Well, I don't know," said Fea with a playful grin. "I'm awfully busy this time of year."

"I'll even throw a party in your honor," The Phantom offered.

"I'd really love to, but I'm getting ready for next Fall's big trip-"

"I'll give you a gift right now to tide you over," countered The Phantom.

"I simply can't refuse, can I?" laughed Fea.

[Child of the 7th Age]

Child opened her eyes and groggily gazed around. Despite what Littlemanpoet had implied, she'd had no trouble with gin. But she had consumed a number of pints of ale and finally laid her head down on the table for several hours to snooze off the effects.

Again awake and alert, she glanced about the room and was surprised to see two dogs who had come to the party. Much to her surprise, she saw that they were with Pioseniel and Ealasaide. Her face belied her true feelings concerning the interlopers. Noisy, slobbering creatures! They looked too lively to be dead. Over the years, Child had lived with an assortment of dogs, all shapes and sizes, and frequently was left to clean up their messes in the yard and on the footpath. Why couldn't a dog be tidy like a cat? This was one subject on which the Professor had definitely gotten things wrong. There was nothing as appealing as a large purring furball!

Child reached down to unlatch her bag, looking for the plate of lox and bagels that she had brought to the party. The bagels were still there, but the lox had totally disappeared. Digging into the bag a bit deeper, she was surprised to find her dear, sweet Cornelius, his tummy round and firm, catnapping at the very bottom of the sack. Corny wiggled out of the bag and arched his back in disapproval as he spied the two dogs perched near their owners. The offended cat flung a jaundiced look at Child, one that clearly said why did you let these canine partypoopers come to this lovely gathering? And then, before Child could even lift a finger, her cat had leapt down and gone tearing across the room towards the two dogs with loud and menacing hisses.

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Laughing happily at the promise of more presents, Fea's severe mood swing over the willfull destruction of school property (that she had needed to use) was lifted once more. Who destroys CDs? she asked herself. And even worse, she thought with a grimace, who puts the shattered pieces in the C-drive of MY computer???

[piosenniel]

Max buried his head beneath the small accent pillow in the armchair. Who knew The Wight was into decorating? he thought to himself. Further ruminations included his thought that if he couldn’t see the cat, the cat could not see him. Unfortunately, his plump Puggy backside offered a tempting target for The Beast . . .

Pio wandered over to where Child stood, and dipped her arm into her friend’s bag. ‘Bagels! Yumm!’ she fished around for the lox or at least a smear of cream cheese. Her attention was caught by the mention of wings.

‘Hot sauce!’ she cried out. ‘And blue cheese dressing . . . and a few celery sticks, if you don’t mind.’

‘It’s a “discussion”!’ hissed a nearby serving-wraith. ‘Not the menu!’

‘Ratz! Well now you know why I’m never in the Books Forum . . .’

‘Indeed,’ sniffed the wraith, removing the stale cigar from its perch behind Pio’s ear.

[the phantom]

"Esty- you 'postulate that Tom Bombadil has wings'? You say that as if the matter is undecided. He does have wings! The speed with which he arrived at the barrow is good evidence indeed, but why must you focus on such circumstantial evidence when there is proof within the pages of Frodo's book, The Lord of the Rings?"

The other guests perked up their ears. The Phantom's awesome powers of logic and textual interpretation were the stuff of legend.

"If you will recall, Tom once sang-
'By that pool long ago I found the River-daughter,
fair young Goldberry sitting in the rushes.'
Depending on the species, rush can be anywhere from one foot to over three feet in height. If you visit the Withywindle valley, you will see that the predominant rush growing there is the juncas polyanthemus, which usually ranges from two to three feet in height. But, as you know, the plants of the Old Forest are extraordinary. The rush along the Withywindle are between four and five feet tall! Now, how could Tom have seen Goldberry 'sitting' in the rushes unless he was in the air at the time?"

No one knew.

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

"Ah, but what we are all forgetting, but what just came to my mind, is that Tom Bombadil cannot possibly have wings, because this mystery of his identity has been long since solved. How foolish of me to forget, but now, that is how it goes after a long day following little sleep and the dreading of needles and my final concert tomorrow..."

Taking a deep breath, Fea found that she was unable to continue. The phantom passed her a tall glass of lemonade (as there is, of course, nothing better for quenching thrist) and looked at her expectantly to continue. She obliged, standing before the gathered audience.

"You see... Tom Bombadil is the Witch King. Why else would he have felt so close to the 'Downs? Why else would he look sadly upon the ruins of old? Because it was his own fault! And don't you dare disagree, because you can't deny the most irrefutable proof of all: there is no place in the entire trilogy, nor any other tale, where Tom Bombadil and the Witch King appear at the same time! If they were separate entities, surely they could be witnessed together. And don't forget that Goldberry herself told the hobbits not to fear... why would there be need to fear the wraiths? Tom was their leader! His minions would no more come to his own home than an orc would walk up to the gates of Barad-dur!"

[Thenamir]

Thenamir, the spirit of capitalism, was broke again. Being a capitalist doesn't always mean one will be a successful capitalist, and his latest idea for making a million farthings, Selling foot warmers to hobbits, had failed as miserably as the last 50 or so ideas he had. Fortunately, being dead means that your expenses (like food, shelter, and clothing) are very low indeed.

He was roused from his musings by a banging on his barrow-entrance. He prepared himself to scare whoever should so intrude on his privacy, and was disappointed to find that it was only the postal-wight bringing his ghostly and insubstantial mail. "You know," he snapped at the departing mail-carrier, "you could just float through the door instead of making such a contemptable racket." The post-wight stopped for a moment, then turned around with a smirking grin on it's face and a multi-bolt crossbow in its hands, spraying Thenamir and his door with crudely-fletched arrows. One of them actually passed thru Thenamir, leaving no mark or wound in his ectoplasmic form. He closed the door, muttering about how many wights were going postal these days. "Some people should just go back to their bodies and live in the real world again for awhile," he thought in an insulting fashion.

He was about to toss the mail in the trash (he never got anything except junk mail and sale-circulars, and he'd been to enough wight-sales to last, well, an eternity) when he spotted the gold-engraving on what appeared to be an invitation. Having no social life to speak of he tore open the envelope and out drifted a vellum card from none other than the Divine Miss Estelyn asking for his presence at the Annual Barrow-Ball and Birthday Bash. "Just in time," Thenamir thought, "I'm down to my last hobbit foot in the fridge, and I could use some free grub." He arranged what was left of his insubstantial hair, assumed the appearance of a wealthy businesswight, and flew down the road at such speed that he actually raised a bit of dust of with his see-thru form.

Arriving at the party he floated thru the entranceway just in time to hear H positing her theory on Bombadil's wings. "My dear Miss H," he said in haughty tones as he swiped a pitcher of ale and a handful of finger sandwiches from a passing servant, "still spouting that old nonsense about Bombadil, are you? Everyone knows that Bombadil's wings were just metaphorical in nature. To be sure, I don't think Bombadil really exists. He's just a story that our fearless-leader-BW made up to explain why some tasty hobbits robbed his barrow blind and got away with it. And we here all know about BW's sleeping habits. The hobbits probably wandered in while he was on the slab and too lazy to get up and take care of the problem. And who can blame them for wanting to lift a few pretty baubles? BW has quite a collection...or used to, anyway."

Some of the gathered guests gasped that he should say such insulting things about their chief, but others snickered quietly, knowing he was probably right. For her part, Estelyn/H smiled at the latecomer and offered her pale luminescent hand.

[Ealasaide]

Ealasaide slept much later than she had intended and awoke to the sounds of music and shouted poetry from across the room. Yes, she discovered rather quickly, the party was still in full swing. She sat up slowly and blinked around the dimly lit room which had changed at some point from being illuminated by the warm glow of yellow-orange fire-light to the cool glow of green firelight, which lent the place a far more ghostly atmosphere than before.

"Fitting..." she muttered to herself and looked around for the dog. When she had fallen asleep the night before, Codijune had been nestled snugly into the nook behind Ealasaide's knees. Upon Ealasaide's waking, she was nowhere to be seen. "Probably over by the food table, begging for handouts... which sounds like the right place to be to me."

Ealasaide smoothed her sleep-tousled hair into a slightly less messy mess and walked over to the still heavily-laden food table, where she piled a plate with tasty morsels. She poured herself a mug of strong black coffee and looked around again for the dog. Still not finding her, Ealasaide went back to the spot where she had been sleeping and sat down on the floor to eat. Seconds later, she felt the gentle touch of a paw on her knee as Codi crawled out from under an armchair nearby and joined her for breakfast. The chair was set rather high on old-fashioned wooden clawfeet and had long skirts that had hitherto concealed the dog from view. Ealasaide handed Codijune a bite of cheese off of her plate and, having solved the mystery of what had become of the dog, began to look around for Hilde. She had seen her the night before, but, by the time Ealasaide had made her way over to speak to Hilde, Hilde was already asleep. Ever on different schedules, Hilde had apparently awakened early and taken off again to another part of the room.

"Ah, well," sighed Ealasaide. "I imagine we'll catch up to one another eventually."

She was just raising the last bite of a sandwich to her mouth when a bloodcurdling yowl tore through the air. Codijune, who had been sitting placidly at Ealasaide's side, instantly leaped up and with a mighty "WOWF! charged away across the room, trailing her six-foot leather lead behind her. Startled, Ealasaide made a lunge for the end of the leash, sending her plate and her mug of coffee flying. She missed her grip on the leash and the dog disappeared into the crowd of partying wights.

"CODI!" shouted Ealasaide. "Codi!" Not noticing that her green blouse was now stained with cold salmon and coffee, she pushed herself to her feet and tore after the dog.

[Ainaserkewen]

Aina came up behind where that startlingly huge group of party-goers were discussing Tom Bombadil. Aina had to remember her manners or be caught eye-rolling. Instead she approached quietly, much like a ghost, and laid small hands on both Fea's and the phantom's shoulders squarely.

"Didn't you guys bring any presents for me?" She pouted a bit.

They both turned from their conversation and looked blankly at Aina. She smiled again and inched her way into the circle.

"I think Fea's right," She spoke to the group, "When do we see Bombadil and the Witch King together? It makes perfect sense. And by the way, Hi everybody, sorry I'm late. I just flew in from Canada and my arms are exhausted!" She giggled at her own joke.

[Thenamir]

"I can't see the Bombadil/WitchKing connection," Thenamir offered, slapping a name tag on his lapel that read Hello, My Name Is TVS, "because old Angy bought the farm in the battle of the Pellenor. If the rumors are true (I personally don't give them any weight whatsoever) then the grey geezer Gandalf went to talk to him after the war was over. That is, until he sailed off to the end of the world, and good riddance too."

"If anyone were to ask me, and no one has so I'll say it anyway, I think the old King of Angmar, may he rest in peace, was actually Elrond. Here Elrond is, supposedly one of the wisest heads in Middle Earth, and he picks a hobbit, the scrawniest and most vulnerable critter available, and gives to him the one thing the enemy needed for complete totalitarian victory. Then he sends him off into the home court of the enemy with this veritable homing beacon hanging on his neck! It sounds to me like Elrond was in league with Sauron and was trying to make it as easy as possible for the Dark One to pick off the ring without blowing his own cover. You notice that Elrond and his bunch are nowhere near the final battles."

Thenamir/TVS sauntered off in the direction of the musical instruments, picked up a guitar and began tuning it.

[Encaitare]

"I just flew in from Canada and my arms are exhausted," Aina laughed, and Enca could not resist joining the conversation.

"I see that you too have metaphorical wings, then," she observed. "Or I don't see, rather. Say, phantom, what have you got in those cool trunks?" She peered at them curiously, but he only responded with enigmatic cheekiness, "Pictures of Bombadil and Aina flying." Her refused to say any more about it for the time, so Enca turned her attentions back to the crackpot theories.

"I'm not so sure about Elrond being in league with Sauron. Clearly Frodo had some sort of inside deal with Sauron, or why else would he volunteer to bring the Ring at great personal peril? And what about Grima and Treebeard? Forget that whole 'rousing of the Ents' business; it's obvious that Grima was mad at Saruman and gave Treebeard a few hints. You know, like 'Hey, the third massive stone block from the left is a little loose and if you yank it out then the dam will break, no problem.'"

Talking about her favorite slimy character made Enca wonder if Elianna would be joining them at the party -- not, of course, because she thought Eli was slimy in any way, but because then they could be fangirlish together.

[Estelyn Telcontar]

Ms. 'H' sat in a comfortable settee, fading into the background and listening to the others carry on what she had begun. That was a tactic she frequently employed, and she always enjoyed the results. She grinned at TVS, appreciating his theory and looking forward to hearing more from the other guests. Though she would likely soon leave unobtrusively for the beauty sleep she so desperately needed, she was sure the party would carry on merrily without her. And she had another day to look forward to...

[Ainaserkewen]

Aina peered at Enca, "Metaphorical wings? Doesn't every Canadian fly? I mean, from the lack of planes in our military to the few modes of transportation in extremely snowy weather, you'd think we all should be able to do it by now.

Someone passed Aina a nametag, some random servant of the BW apparently. He shoved it into her hand all the while muttering about people "arriving late" and "giving him more work" or some such nonsense.

"Hold on a sec! This says Shannon...I'm not supposed to give out my name..." Oh well, cat's out of the bag. She pinned it to her crisp white button down shirt. "I'll be whatever you want me to be I suppose."

[Nimrodel_9]

Nearly tripping over her long blue dress, Nimrodel stumbled in through a door. "Why did I even wear a blasted dress?" she asked herself. "Jeans and a t-shirt are my style!" She quickly forgot what she was wearing as she saw her friends. She smiled and waved to a few. She had been afraid everyone would be gone. With her job it was sometimes hard to make it to the Downs. She flipped her long, curly, brown hair over her shoulder and straightened her name tag that read Chels. She laid her worn copy of Return of the King on the table with her clarinet case and strode over to a group of ghostly beings.

[Lindolirian]

After sitting quietly in his traditional corner, Lindolirian begins to feel guilty about not properly introducing himself.
"Greetings good wights, old and new. It's wonderful to see you all here at our Fifth Birthday Party! You all seem to be enjoying yourselves with the festivities here, but I remind you that no party is complete without fun and games. As usual, I'll be in the Quiz Room ready to take you on in celebration of five years of good discussion. See you there!"
And with that, the World's Tallest Hobbit retired back to his familiar old trivia, but still kept an open ear (or eye) to the main party.

[THE Ka]

Everyone was up, and Ka felt thirty. Now, she wasn't thirty for just anything, Absinthe seemed good, but just alittle since it was rather potent. Falling threw the floor again, Ka returned with a little of the liquid and her sitar of course. Her avatars were situated around and about the party, really doing nothing but just standing around, looking absolutely drained. Feeling rather sorry, Ka called them back and sent them home. All of them, which formed a rather long line into the abyss of the corner. First mixing the sugar and water she continued to sip the bitter contents of the very small glass, a thimble almost in size, Ka watched the party continue.

Where was the BarrowWright? Why would he miss this party? Even asking these questions, Ka did not alot of room to talk, since she had missed a couple of her own. Though it was true that one of her friends had a birthday fetish, it was still rather unusual for someone to miss their own party. The party had been running for two days now, and it was most like that BW would come at the last minute. Done with the small glass, she situated herself to play her sitar. Struming a few practice notes and some scales later, she randomly made up a song. In truth, she couldn't play a single song written for sitar and had gotten by with making them up for practice.

More and more people arrived, and even though the food bar was a little pathetic, the party was reaching it's prime.

[Thenamir]

She laid her worn copy of Return of the King on the table with her clarinet case

"Hey, Nimrodel_9! Bring your clarinet over and we can jam!" said Thenamir from where he was experimentally strumming the guitar.

"What shall we play? "I Left My Heart In Minas Tirith"? "My (Telltale) Heart Will Go On?" Or maybe "My Ghoul"? Perhaps some other song titles suggested by the audience (hint hint)?