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Old 05-02-2005, 05:00 PM   #161
Nimrodel_9
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"Ok!" Nimrodel said laughing. Quickly she opened her case and began to put her instrument together. "A guitar and a clarinet! This will be fun! Are there any suggestions to what we shall play?"
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Old 05-02-2005, 05:04 PM   #162
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Would it be alright if I join you with my violin?
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Old 05-02-2005, 05:08 PM   #163
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"If you can suggest a barrow-worthy tune, sure! The more the merrier!" effused Thenamir.
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Old 05-02-2005, 05:11 PM   #164
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Oh I don't know. How bout "I will walk one thousand miles(to get to the Downs)"?
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Old 05-02-2005, 05:11 PM   #165
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I have the oboe part of an arrangement of the soundtrack to Lotr:FotR, but sadly no guitar, clarinet, or violin. Perhaps it could be transposed... Anyone with the skill or knowledge?
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Old 05-02-2005, 05:14 PM   #166
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I believe all four instruments are in the same clef, or atleast the three I play are, not sure about the oboe.
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Old 05-02-2005, 05:15 PM   #167
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Hilde laughed until she started coughing as she thought again about the question Pio’s had poised. Me play or sing? “Gads yes, I do to be sure, but let’s just say I have never been encouraged to pursue it!” she had answered with a grin. A bit of an understatement, really. And after Hilde had offered her a handful of homemade chidwa (heavily laced with red pepper) and a purple pill to go with it, or rather before it. Pio had sauntered off, with Hilde staring at her ankle trying to figure out just how to pronounce ~*~P~*~ . She was never much good at foreign languages!

But now that she had finished sorting out the trinkets on the table, untangling chains and matching sets. She looked at them appreciatively; they did look pretty authentic to her eye, despite the comments on the Barrow-wight taste in fine jewelry these days. But just as she was trying to decide if the were genuine article or simply neo-Cardolan, perhaps Numenorian or rubbish, a cat closely followed by Codijune whoshed by. And as Ealasaide scurried past quickly gaining on the animals. Hilde/GIN called out, “Hey Ealasaide! What to you make of these?” But Ealasaide seemed to have her hands full and held up a finger as if to signal that she be there in a minute.

Getting an uncomfortable feeling that these things had not been meant to be left out, Hilde scooped up the baubles and dumped them in an empty spittoon that looked remarkably like a golf trophy, sitting under the table. Picking up the spittoon, lest anyone actually attempt to use the thing, she set it on a high shelf, next to the hardback copy of Tolkien’s letters and the autographed Alan Lee print. She squinted trying to read the inscription on the side of the brass cup. Well I'll be, she thought, Bandobras Took! The old-wight's been hitting the Shire flea-markets!

Last edited by Hilde Bracegirdle; 05-03-2005 at 03:35 AM. Reason: Sorry I'm a bit out of synch here, things are moving delightfully fast!
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Old 05-02-2005, 06:07 PM   #168
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Enca was feeling far more energetic and outgoing than she usually found herself, and so she drifted back towards the musicians in time to hear Lindolirian talk about transposition.

Music theory! Enca thought in geeky delight.

"No worries, Lindo," she informed him cheerfully. "Oboes play in the key of C, and so do violins. Most clarinets are in B flat, so you have to write the part a whole step (two chromatic pitches) higher if you want to play it on a clarinet. Guitars sound an octave lower than written, but you don't have to transpose at all."

"Oh... thanks," Lindo replied, now a little bit wiser.

"My, you are a tall hobbit, aren't you?" Enca then moved on to greet Thenamir, a spirit she'd heard about but rarely spoken with. "I can't tell you how great a pleasure it is to meet the spirit of our economic system," she said, shaking his hand.

Suddenly she got an idea. "I know a song we could play!" She sang the chorus of the song and grinned: "I wanna rock and roll all wight, and party e-ve-ry day!"

She then commenced headbanging, and wondered if anyone wanted to start a mosh pit.
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Old 05-02-2005, 06:44 PM   #169
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Boots

LMP popped an eye open. Then he popped the other open. Then he opened his mouth as big as he could to pop his ears. Pop! Pop! Darned ears, always clogging when I sleep. He had been dreaming that he had gotten out of bed, made breakfast, driven to work, spent almost ten hours there, then come home again and had supper. Then he'd gone to his computer to see how things were going at the Barrowdowns Birthday party, when lo and behold, he woke up! Actually, he had been only in a doze for the last few hours, so he had overheard a raucous debate on the topic of Tom Bombadil's wings. Various and sundry persons had held forth to the great satisfaction of all involved, but especially themselves. LMP screwed up his face. He felt that certain points had been missed, and it was his job to clear it all up. He got his feet under him and stood up in the soft oversized green chair, and promptly tipped over, barely catching himself before he conked his head on the floor. He scrambled to an upright position and cleared his throat.

"As to Tom Bombadil and his wings,
to which this and that theorist clings,
allow me to say that you're all missing
important facts. Now, no hissing!
You will notice in the book that never
are Tom, Gollum, and Balrog together!
Indeed, it is clear that these three
combined make up one entity,
whether dancing upon the green,
or getting under Sam's spleen,
or pulling a wizard down a fissure,
the three together make one Trickster!"

LMP finished with his arms raised, a big smile on his face.

Last edited by littlemanpoet; 05-03-2005 at 04:00 AM.
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Old 05-02-2005, 07:06 PM   #170
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After playing some more music and being completely wrong about music theory Wilwa was feeling extremely tiered. She decided that instead of going all the way home that night she would curl up in a corner and sleep.
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Old 05-02-2005, 07:46 PM   #171
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'Twas brillig. Lush, eyes bloodshot, streaked hair an utter mess, wearing a "Vote for Pedro" shirt and a pair jogging pants with the word "bum" stiched on the back, ran into the party a day late, pursued by disgruntled campus cops. She was accused of beating up a frat boy who wrote "Tolkien sux" on her Facebook message board; she was already hyped up on Red Bull, suffering from sever lack of sleep and shopping deprivation, and as far as she was concerned, the frat boy had asked for it. Lush shouted hellos and shook hands with friends and strangers alike as she ran through the party, occasionally turning around to throw a mug of beer at the cops, but that only encouraged them; considering the fact that they had spent most of the school year investigating such compelling cases as noise complaints and baby oil wrestling matches. Lush sped on through the entire party, and disappeared triumphantly into the East; towards the bedouin fires at night. The cops dared not follow her, because the State Department had issued another warning.

"Great party." Thought Lush. "Too bad I didn't get a taste of the buffet."
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Old 05-02-2005, 08:18 PM   #172
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"Ah, thought Alice stalking towards the foodbar. "That was a long walk," she thought subconciously. But nevermind, food was after all, food.

Quoth the odd one:
There's nothing quite like tasty food
Nary a one will call it not good
So don't think me a fool,
If I profusively drool,
Pray hand me a towel, fellow frood.


And as she munched the last piece of cheesecake and other food that was decidedly not-hamburgers, she listened to scraps of the conversation idly. There was a musical revue gathering in one corner, a young lady with an extreme Smeagol/Gollum complex was trying to sort out her personalities in another, and several intellectual-types were trying to sort out wether Aina had wings, if Gollum was blonde, and if Tom Bombadil had pointed ears.

"Did Tom Bombadil have wings?" she queried quizzically, quickly quaffing a quart of quince. "Of course not. He had drumsticks. Extra crispy, with a side of coleslaw."

Searching around for someone to annoy - er, talk to, she espied from afar a fellow conspirator in the mischievous NMS, and ambled over.

"Dang," was one last thought. "I wish there was someway to transport my drumset into the Wight-Wide-World of Sports, then I'd show them some drums in the deep."

Last edited by Oddwen; 05-02-2005 at 08:20 PM. Reason: nmV? What the...?
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Old 05-02-2005, 08:19 PM   #173
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The musicians were playing and struming up tunes of their own when Ka paused with her sitar to listen. It was quiet wonderful indeed. She wondered about joining, or more of course, singing a song appropriate not so much to the tolkien theme, but that of being a wright in the downs.

Ka rushed back to her home barrow retrieveing a cello and putting her sitar safely to rest for another time. The guises were all crashed about the house in a artfully situated manner that made ka laugh. Returning to the party, she carefully stepped out of the dark corner and walked over to the members musing about tunes to play. Besides the weight of the bulky cello, Ka found that it took forever to reach them. Seeing Encaitare there was more of a relief than expected, it would really make a party if Lenny was here too, but we can't always have what we wish for. Approaching quietly, she asked in a very low murmur (as usual) if she could join and that she had a song worked up for the party.
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Old 05-02-2005, 08:41 PM   #174
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Twas rather unfortunate, Formendacil thought, as he came in late to the Bombadil-debate. However, following his Morning Prayers, he had gone towards the food rather than the people, and had come in only as a fellow Canadian was debating whether Canadian wings were metaphorical or not.

Of course they are, he thought, at least on our planes. Whether or not the people have real wings is a whole other matter.

"If the debate concerning Tom Bombadil's winged-ness has more or less ended, then I have a crackpot question that is actually somewhat related," he announced. A few people looked over politely, but no one said anything.

"Okay, my question is this, how many Bombadils are there? After all, why have a last name if you are the only one? Either he should be Bombadil, without an adjective like "Tom", or else he should just be the enigmatic spirit named "Tom" by the Hobbits. Why the need for two names?

"My crackpot theory is that there are several Bombadils, all enigmas in their own way. And if it is true that the Witchking and Tom Bombadil are one, perhaps that could explain a few discrepancies in that matter. What do you think of my crackpot theory?"

"It's a crackpot theory, all right," said somebody.
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Old 05-02-2005, 09:11 PM   #175
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Whilst sitting with the musical members, someone announced a 'theory' about tom bombadil's wings and such and or, if there was rather many of them who collectively worked much like Ka's guises. It was rather puzzling, but not that troubling, since it seemed to make sense, at least to her. What really was a troubling question was one that would plague ka for many a night. It is as follows: If Jack the Ripper and Sherlock Holmes were to get into a fight, who would win? Obviously, with the ability to collect DNA in this day and age, Jack would be canned. But, Sherlock had a cocaine addiction, and mostly likely would have gotten his supply from Jack, so, thanks to the 'War on Drugs', sherlock would be in the slammer too. Hmm... All was to depend on who survived. Or, would Sherlock be able to escape somehow, or know before hand that he could and bring Jack along after forming a friendship behind bars? Who really could tell...

Ka really wanted to share a song, but was waiting patiently for the other members to make up their minds. Some were amazingly clever rhymes, other well... you know...

It felt oddly nice to be among others, though Ka could never seem to strike up a conversation without safely building some social armor first. She really was becoming suched into the theories, and it wasn't a rare thought, since she loved them, even as crazy as they could be. As the musicians discussed ryhmes, maybe she could slip away and talk more theories... Especially that about Jack and Sherlock...
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Old 05-02-2005, 10:04 PM   #176
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In the middle of the waking up process another girl came in. She hung her head in shame for joining so late. Well, she said to herself I did have lots of tests and exams to write. But now she was ready to forget all that. She walked to the table with scattered name tags which were mixed with empty ale bottles and foodscraps. Quickly she wrote Lathriel on her name tag leaving her real name behindin the real world as well.
Upon entering she had her brown hair down but now she suddenly decided to put it up since it was just annoying (and her hair had decided to be frizzy today!)
Since she hadn't eaten breakfast she immediatly headed to the table with food.
She also noticed the music being played and was glad that she had brought her flute.
"I'll join them later",she thought to herself.
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Old 05-03-2005, 04:03 AM   #177
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More than One Tom Bombadil?! Hilde felt her brain curdle involuntarily. “No, no,” she shouted across the room. “There is only one Bombadil, but several Tom’s about. Tom is tacked on simply so they don’t have to refer to him as Mister Bombadil as well as to distinguish him from Tom the legendary Harfoot who also got sidetracked along the Withywindle .”

“But I’ve my own crackpot theory, along quite a different line. I think that either the Barrow-wight has been hitting yard sales or has rented these furnishings. For I for one have never heard of him sitting on a sofa, let alone this huge floral variety!”

Hilde looked over to the bookshelf. “And tell me why would he have a signed picture of Peter Jackson on his bookshelf? There is the real mystery of Middle-earth!”
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Old 05-03-2005, 06:41 AM   #178
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Silmaril Third Day of the Party

As the third morning of the Barrow Birthday Party dawned, 'H'/Estelyn made her preparations. This was planned to be the final day of celebration, although one could never be certain of events among persons with such a notorious lack of solidity. She opened the piano bench, where she had cleverly stashed away the present that had been prepared for The Barrow-Wight. Carefully cleaning crumbs and dust from one corner of the gift table, she placed a large book on it. Thereupon were engraved the words The Barrow-Downs Birthday Party Musical Guest Book.

She played a flourish on the piano to get everyone's attention, then announced: "This book is our present to The Barrow-Wight on this memorable occasion. With so many talented musicions here, already making songs to fit the occasion, it is ready for your contributions. Please sign it with an appropriate line or lyrics, as you please. I hope you all have fun today in whichever way you enjoy most! Oh, and we're running out of food - shall we raid the pantry and do some cooking and baking right here?"
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Old 05-03-2005, 06:49 AM   #179
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Fea walked back into the party sleepily, having disappeared without trace the night before. "So sorry to have left so unexpectedly, Aina, but I had a prior commitment that needed taking care of."

Shuffling across the cold and clammy stone floor in her beat up flip flops with yet another pair of beat up old jeans, paired with a pale blue t-shirt and nine bracelets today, with her customary tech pencil resting behind her right ear, Fea rejoined the theorists.

"Now," she said, "comes the clincher. Balrogs so obviously have wings, given that they are creatures of shadow. Saying that wings don't exist because they are "of shadow" is on par with saying balrogs don't exist because they are creatures of shadow. However, these wings could very well be vestigial, and, if working at all, work only for short distances. Much like chickens. And given that balrogs, besides being shadowy, are also creatures of flame, we know that they are hot. Which brings me to my conclusion: Balrogs are made of chicken and they make the world's hottest chicken wings, available at any back-woods pizzeria... except Frank's." She wrinkled her nose in her tell-tale sign of distaste at thinking of Frank's' wings. She could only hope that at tonight's final concert of her high-school career, she would hit no wrong notes. Her mother would be sure to notice her sophisticated sneer if, for instance, she misread that thrice-bedamned F flat. Who writes F flats any how? she thought moodily. Why not just write E natural and get it over with?

Feeling the pull of reality, Fea looked left and right. 'Twas time to help save lives, she realized.

"So sorry to leave so soon, but I must give blood and comfort others doing the same! A responsibility I would love to NOT have, if you'll forgive my split infinitive, but it does seem necessary to my own sense of accomplishment. You'll all miss me, of course! Give my regards to our esteemed, but missing, leader." And with that, she turned on her heel and walked away.

------

"Oh yes!" she cried, her head and arm reappearing for a brief moment. "Take that!"

And with her final words, Fea left the party, not seeing where the large amount of lime green jello landed.

Last edited by Feanor of the Peredhil; 05-03-2005 at 06:54 AM.
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Old 05-03-2005, 09:20 AM   #180
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1420! BW awakes

A blurry-eyed apparition stumbled through the dark maw of the inner chamber door and cast a baleful look at the various guests mingling in his home. The snooze on his hobbit clock was supposed to have lasted only ten minutes, but from the deep debris on the floor and the stack of empty kegs, BW could tell that he must have been sleeping for days. He wondered if he had been drugged and immediately went to the cabinet and counted the silverware. All there. Perhaps he was just getting old.

Though he had missed most of it, it was obvious that this year’s party, like those of the past, had been an active event. Pages and pages of conversation had appeared since he last closed his eyes, and like always, it was too much to read, especially when his schedule was so busy. Still, it was unlike him to snooze through such festivities, and he hoped everyone would understand. This year was different than the others. This would be the last in this barrow.

For centuries, the Barrow-Wight had occupied the same dingy tomb, only occasionally venturing out in search of a lost hobbit or two to add to the decor. It had served as his home, his castle, and his citadel against the ages, a place to rest his weary bones, or at least to rest in the weary bones that he had stolen so long ago. But the place just wasn’t the same since the Bombadil incident, and it was finally time to move on.

Property values in the part of the boneyard had gone up considerably since he purchased the place, and it was time for him to move into a nicer, newer, larger grave, but somewhere more rural, where he could get more square feet for his silver pennies. He knew the perfect place, and intended to float up the Deadman’s Dike to scout out a suitable new house. Word was that a local bigwig had erected a gaudy monument to himself and then promptly died, as if eager to occupy his eternal residence. The Barrow-wight was eager to try on some new skin.

But before he could inspect his new barrow, he knew that it was proper that he attend to his guests. Each and every one of them was an important member of the community, and it wouldn’t be right if he did meet with all of them. With one last look at the silverware, the Barrow-wight moved to the front of the room and began talking with the first person who looked him in the eye.



*** To allay any fears: This is not a notice of barrow closure or anything like that. It's just my way of saying I'm in the process of selling a house, buying a house, and moving (in the real world), and I am likely to be unattentive.
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Old 05-03-2005, 09:30 AM   #181
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Hookbill leaped upon his chair as he saw The Barrow Wight. He was about to once again recite a poem, but he was thrown off his chair by a brick that hit him in the stomach.

"No more o that nonsense!" cried the Wight who had thrown it, "You'll put us all in graves!"

"But we already are," said Hookbill, slightly winded, "Aren’t we?"

"Shut up!" Came the reply, "Just sit there and be quiet."
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Old 05-03-2005, 10:34 AM   #182
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To the Wight in White Satin

(to the tune of: Nights In White Satin by the MOODY BLUES,
Beautiful Lyrics slightly butchered by one Hilde Bracegirdle)

Roaming the Barrow-downs,
Never reaching the end,
Posts I've written,
Never meaning to send.

Passages I’d always missed
With these eyes before,
Just how canonical the Silm. is
I can't say anymore.

But I love it,
Yes, I love it,
And it is HoME here.

Gazing at wights,
Some hand in hand,
Some post I’ve read,
I just can’t understand.

Some try to tell me
Thoughts they cannot defend,
Just what you want it to be
It will be in the end.

But I love it,
Yes, I love it,
And it is HoME here.
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Old 05-03-2005, 10:51 AM   #183
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Estelyn Telcontar has reached the Cracks of Doom and destroyed the Ring!Estelyn Telcontar has reached the Cracks of Doom and destroyed the Ring!Estelyn Telcontar has reached the Cracks of Doom and destroyed the Ring!Estelyn Telcontar has reached the Cracks of Doom and destroyed the Ring!Estelyn Telcontar has reached the Cracks of Doom and destroyed the Ring!Estelyn Telcontar has reached the Cracks of Doom and destroyed the Ring!Estelyn Telcontar has reached the Cracks of Doom and destroyed the Ring!Estelyn Telcontar has reached the Cracks of Doom and destroyed the Ring!Estelyn Telcontar has reached the Cracks of Doom and destroyed the Ring!Estelyn Telcontar has reached the Cracks of Doom and destroyed the Ring!
'H'/Esty handed Hilde the Musical Guest Book. "Here," she said, "you can write it down so that it will remain preserved for posterity. I hope there will be more such wonderful musical greetings forthcoming!"
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Old 05-03-2005, 10:56 AM   #184
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Fea ran, yet again unexpectedly, through the door, pausing only to pass out from the exertion. Upon waking, she reflected that it probably hadn't been a good idea to start running so soon after giving blood, especially given that she has low blood pressure, is small, and is outright petrified of needles.

"It's alive!!!" she cried of the Barrow-Wight in a rather Dr. Frankenstein-esque voice. "Well... sort of." she ammended, remembering her companions' state of existance.

"Glad you could make it, Wighty m'boy! Glad to see you. However, yet again, I must run, and I hope you'll forgive me for not staying, but my alter-ego is late to Physics, and she really must dash. Apologies, apologies..."
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Old 05-03-2005, 11:44 AM   #185
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Formendacil woke up on Day 3 of the party with nary a clue as to how he had got there. The last thing he remembered was someone (Hilde? Hilda? Hildebrand? No... It WAS Hilde somebody-or-other) putting down his Bombadil theory.

He also seemed to remember something about the Barrow-wight, but he was Morgoth if he knew what it was...

Then he remembered that he hadn't taken his nighttime insulin the night before, and discovered to his disappointment (but hardly surprise) that he was rather hyperglycemic.

So he headed off to the washroom to inject a few cubic centimetres of Humalog into his system.

While he was there, he took a good long look in the mirror, noting that he was definitely in need of a shave- and a night's sleep in his own bed. However, his shaver was back in Fornost, and his sword was too unwieldy.

Whatever, he thought. Surely I can manage a dashingly-rugged Aragorn look. Or, rather, a slightly-rumpled Denethor look.

That thought was not altogether encouraging, so he returned to the party in search of food and distracting thoughts!

"Give us a song, Hookbill!" he called out, wanting to stir things up. Somebody through the chip-bowl at him.

Hey, it's food! he thought, digging in.
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Old 05-03-2005, 11:55 AM   #186
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Eye

"Ah- here you are at last!" exclaimed The Phantom as BW entered. "I know it is customary to be 'fashionably late', but I believe you missed your window."

"The Barrow-Wight is never late!" BW shot back, "Nor is he early-"

"Yes, yes," chuckled Fea, "You arrive precisely when you mean to, right?"

"Exactly!" he answered. BW's eyes fell upon the three large trunks beside the table. "And what are those?"

"They're trunks, duh!" giggled Aina. BW and The Phantom glared at her.

"They are gifts," said The Phantom. "Open the largest one," he ordered the servant guarding the gifts.

The onlookers gasped. It was a giant hand.

"I've had my people working on this for quite some time. This is cutting edge technology, Mr. BW. You won't be able to tell the difference between this hand and your old one- the one that the annoying little hobbit lopped off. My surgeons can attach it in a quick one hour operation. I brought them along in case you wanted it done right away. If you don't have time today, just call me and set up an appointment."

The Barrow-Wight smiled and gave a quick head nod to show his approval. All the guests applauded and cheered. The Phantom had certainly upheld his reputation as a master gift giver. "I heard he taught Celeborn and Annatar how to do this sort of thing," shouted Aina to the guest on her right.

"Open the medium trunk!" commanded The Phantom over the noise of the crowd. "Then, give the contents to The Barrow-Wight."

The medium trunk was long and narrow. The servant opened the lid and reached inside and then, one by one, he pulled out five beautiful Numenorean swords and placed them on the table in front of The Barrow-Wight.

"I heard about the theft," said The Phantom. "But after today, it will no longer be a loss. Each of these swords is extremely valuable. Why, this one right here was Elendil's first sword. Call up Master Elrond if you want the claim verified."

The crowd applauded and cheered again.

I wonder what he has in that little trunk? wondered Fea.

"You'll find out later," whispered The Phantom.

I hate mind readers thought Fea.

The Phantom smiled.

"I hope you don't mind, Barrow-Wight, but I would like to wait a bit before presenting my final gift."

"Fine with me. I've got plenty of things to do."

"Good. Then I will see you later." The Phantom vanished in a puff of smoke.
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Old 05-03-2005, 12:00 PM   #187
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"Huzzah!" cried Maeg. "Our ghostly host has arrived!"

It didn't matter that she herself was a day and a half late to the party-- The BW didn't know that!!

"Rather unfortunate to forget one's own birthday party, hmm?" she asked tauntingly, wrinkling up her nose.
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Old 05-03-2005, 12:42 PM   #188
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Hookbill the Goomba is lost in the dark paths of Moria.Hookbill the Goomba is lost in the dark paths of Moria.Hookbill the Goomba is lost in the dark paths of Moria.Hookbill the Goomba is lost in the dark paths of Moria.
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"Give us a song, Hookbill!" Formendacil called out, wanting to stir things up.

"A song?" said Hookbill, slightly recovered from the blow to the stomach, "I'm not much of a singer, but I'll present some poetry!" There were groans, but nothing was thrown yet.
Hookbill cleared his throat.

Once there was a mighty fog was on the Barrow hills
It was also by Brandy-Wine River and all of the mills
After all, our very own Lord Wight was sat upon gold
Despite his friends who told him he would grow mould
No Hobbit, Elf, man or Dwarf would move the Wight
With a sword in hand, he'd take anyone in a Fight

But our own Lords was taken back, by the sheer size
Of an elephant named Simon who was always telling lies
He swears and curses, but Simon will not leave this place
Without his fear share in gold and, of course, a happy face
But Mr Wight refuses to give up his gold to anyone!
No matter where on Middle Earth they came from!

It was a strange Poem, with crazy lyrics, but Hookbill enjoyed it. Some clapped, but others grumbled and told him to find other poetry that all would enjoy.
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Old 05-03-2005, 01:05 PM   #189
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Lauren got up from where she had been quietly sitting in the corner. "I've got a poem, though it's not as serious as Hookbill's. She cleared her throat and began,
The Horse and Rider
In the grey dawn, a man on a horse galloped across the plain, and looked up. A light, a flame, was in the east. The sun was rising and they sped away, away to the sun and the red morn.
Away to the sun and the red morn!
The light of battle was in the horse’s eyes, and the man was girded with sword and shield. Their call was to battle, to battle in the east.
Away to the sun and the red morn!
The combat was getting close, and the sensing the conflict across the plain the horse sped onward, it’s mane streaming in the breeze.
Away to the sun and the red morn!
The manbecame one with the horse their actions as one, their movements as one. They rode together as the sun filled the sky, to the battle in which both must protect their honor.
Away to the sun and the red morn!
At last the field of combat, the sun was now high in the sky. The man gave a shout and the horse nieghed in unison, as they rode together to glory, to death.
Away to the sun and war!


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Old 05-03-2005, 01:33 PM   #190
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This morning when Wilwa woke up she had sneaked out to go home and freshen up. She returned now pleased to see the Barrow Wight had finally arrived. She walked towards him to say hello and give him his gift smiling at the giant hand and Numenorean swords.

"Hello Mr. Wight" she said, handing him the silver spoons, which were in a clear case with a green tint, it was wrapped in a light green wrapping paper. The spoons themselves where silve with (you guessed it) green gems on the end." Happy Birthday to the downs, may there be many more years to come.
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Old 05-03-2005, 04:14 PM   #191
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Thenamir has reached the Cracks of Doom and destroyed the Ring!Thenamir has reached the Cracks of Doom and destroyed the Ring!Thenamir has reached the Cracks of Doom and destroyed the Ring!Thenamir has reached the Cracks of Doom and destroyed the Ring!Thenamir has reached the Cracks of Doom and destroyed the Ring!Thenamir has reached the Cracks of Doom and destroyed the Ring!Thenamir has reached the Cracks of Doom and destroyed the Ring!Thenamir has reached the Cracks of Doom and destroyed the Ring!Thenamir has reached the Cracks of Doom and destroyed the Ring!Thenamir has reached the Cracks of Doom and destroyed the Ring!Thenamir has reached the Cracks of Doom and destroyed the Ring!
Thenamir/TVS winced at Hookbill's attempt at poetry. He turned to Estelyn/H and inquired "Is it possible that our dear friend Hookbill has another alias? I am reminded of a certain elf of our acquaintance named Vogonwe..."

He then returned to his guitar and began strumming, softly at first, then with greater volume and purpose as a song began coming to his mind.

(To the tune of Don McLean's "American Pie")

A long long time ago, In a darkened barrow-way,
A wight was sleeping, nightmare-like
Dreaming of his former chance to squish those men like little ants
Away up in the North near Deadman's Dike

The men of Westernesse did quiver
And many foes did he de-liver
But then he made a misstep
And fell without one more step

The wight awoke and then he cried,
Not sad, but lo, for joy inside,
He loves it in the afterlife,
The day B W died.

My, my this here Barrow-wight guy
He can party really hearty once he opens his eyes,
He slept too long, but this party still flies
Singin' "Hey man, all your ale kegs are dry!"
"Hey man, all your ale kegs are dry!"

Thenamir/TVS looked over at the Barrow-wight and grinned, and BW reluctantly pulled out more ale kegs from his vast pantry. In his real-life guise, Thenamir drank nothing stronger than Coca-Cola, but this is, after all, a death-day party, and what's a party without ale?
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Old 05-03-2005, 04:39 PM   #192
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Formendacil is lost in the dark paths of Moria.Formendacil is lost in the dark paths of Moria.Formendacil is lost in the dark paths of Moria.Formendacil is lost in the dark paths of Moria.
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His sneaky mischief done, and with only minor throwing of food, Formendacil retired with a guilty smile to the kitchen.

He was more or less out of things to do, people to see. He decided to round up his things, and move them all to the hall, so as to facilitate departure when the time came. After all, the Barrow was one of the last places where one would want to be leaving things one might need, and was certainly not a place to overstay one's welcome.

Unfortunately, the corridor towards the broom closet where his suit and cloak remained hidden was blocked off, so he had to descend down a different passage in hopes of finding a cross-passage back to the first.

This was, he noted guiltily, rather fun, sneaking around the Barrow...
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Old 05-03-2005, 05:02 PM   #193
THE Ka
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Ka was caught in a rush between theories yelled across the room, and songs sung between peoples in opposite places in the barrow. it was rather confusing, and Ka felt that a chair would bring some stability. Stitting down, she noticed that the BarrowWright had finally come.

" Finally, I was curious if they would arrive." Noted ka to herself.

It was the third day, and things were beginning to wind down abit. The food table was rather scant, but the kegs were flowing making the atmosphere rather bubbly. Ka walked over to the gift table and placed a present on the table for the Barrow Wright. She hadn't known what they really prefered, but a top hat would have to do. Especially since it was in such a smashing box too. Everyone deserved a top hat, it completments anyone's head, that at least was one reason.

As usual, Ka felt like a loner. Walking about seemed to relieve her mind of it and it's plagues. Though, it became rather boring after about the ninth trip around the whole room. Seeing nothing better to do, ka sped home for awhile and gathered a canvas, paints, palette and some stuff for the starving food table, which in this case was a nice spinach goulash that she had never gotten around to eating ( Don't worry! It has only been living in my fridge for two days! ). Returning, she found the same activities taking place and after making a stop at the food table, found a nice corner and painted everyone as they were, including the wonderful interior design of the barrow.
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Old 05-03-2005, 06:48 PM   #194
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Ring

Seeing that not a soul was impressed with his Trickster theory, and frankly glad of it, LMP shrugged and got off his chair. He reached into his pants pocket and pulled out a pair of three foot deep congas and started setting up a back beat in 4/4 time. His personae, Eodwine, Garreth and Harreld, from the White Horse, wafted away from his person and pulled out brass instruments and started up a three part brass riff. Falco Boffin, normally not known for musical talent, not even singing, nevertheless reached into his back pocket and pulled out a bass guitar complete with amplifier and electrical hook ups and started thrumming for all he was worth. Then LMP started doing a somewhat bad job of mimicking Peter Gabriel.

you could have a grond ram
if you'd just lay down your orcs
you could have a nazgul flying
if you bring your doom sky back

all you do is call me
I'll be any Ring you need

you could have a big mumak
going up and down, all around Pelenno
you could have a hundred wargs, howling,
this abuse just never ends

all you do is call me
I'll be any Ring you need

I want to use a dwarven hammer
why don't you call for Dain
oh let me use a dwarven hammer
this could be the best, if only

show me round your hobbit hole
'cos I will be your honey and tea
open up your hobbit hole
where the tea is precisely at three

I want to be your dwarven hammer
why don't you call for Dain
you'd better use a dwarven hammer
put your axe at rest
I'm going to use a dwarven hammer
this could be the best, if only
I've got a dwarven hammer
let there be no doubt about it

dwarf! dwarf! dwarven hammer

I've seen a dragon
shed its skin
then came the new stuff
it went prancing in, it went prancing in
oh won't you show your Ring
and I will show you mine
show me your Ring and I will show you mine
yea yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah I do mean Rings
only Rings
they've been coming through
going to build that power
build, build up that power, hey
I've been feeding the dragon
I've been feeding the dragon
going to feel that power build in him

yeah yeah yeah
all day and night

et cetera

A few souls could be seen here and there grooving and moving to the tune. LMP had fun watching it all, and thanked the Valar for the chorus that suddenly backed him, made up of Fea, Eswen, and other various and sundry persons from various rpgs.
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Old 05-03-2005, 07:11 PM   #195
Hilde Bracegirdle
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The familiar feeling that she would soon become a pumpkin crept over Hilde. She was not used to late nights, and stretched, bending her head this way and that before wiping dry her bowl and rejoining the party just long enough to wish them well. Carrying the transparent bowl in the crook of her equally transparent arm, she grabbed her bag with the other swinging it over her shoulder clumsily and crossed over to the table that held the gifts as the crowd listened attentively, grooving to LMP's show. Rummaging at the bottom of the bag, she drew out a bit of inheritance that she had never properly appreciated; a gaudy brooch she thought might find a better home with someone fond of such things.

But she found she was not prepared to leave the brooch on the table with the other gifts. Pulling off her nametag, she chuckled to herself. Scratching out what she had written there and over all scrawled ‘HILDE ->’ sticking it on the brooch. Quickly going to the bookcase with a clank she threw the thing in the spittoon, and turned to go.

Seeing that the Barrow-wight was in their midst, she started over to him with half a mind to ask about the photograph gracing his shelf, but thought better of it. Some mysteries are better off as mysteries. It was probably just a bit of mathom. “Wish I knew Master Bombadil, wings or no,” she muttered to herself. “Now there’s the one who would be like to get a straight answer about such things from the Wight himself, make no mistake!”

And so bowing low, first to the Barrow-wight and then to Esty/H, she thanked them both, and walked out her form, rapidly dissolving into the mist.

Last edited by Hilde Bracegirdle; 05-04-2005 at 03:41 AM.
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Old 05-03-2005, 07:18 PM   #196
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"Do not fear!" Gil-Galad boomed as he entered

"The mighty Gil-Galad has arrived, deafeter of the Normans, conquer of the dreaeded orcs of Bristol, cook of the giant chicken of Yorkshi- oooh breadsticks"
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Old 05-03-2005, 07:46 PM   #197
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After waving her hand in Menel's silly grinning face for some hours, Alice finally walked off.
She had had her fill at the food table, so she was heading in the opposite direction when the BW awoke.
Immediately, the room grew colder and there was a darkness wherever he stood or walked. Hurriedly, she searched in her pockets for her gift - hankerchief, drum key, keys, other keys, spare change, lint...ah! A small box finally found, favorably fondled for a few moments 'fore being forked over to the intended recipient.

Inside was a small beaded pin. It would have taken her months to make in Real Life, however online time is relative and it had taken her a few sec...okay, she put a lot of thought into it. It depicted a rather dark looking gravemound, which was almost certain to contain all sorts of mold, moisture, stalactites, and treasure left with the body of some dead monarch to satisfy their souls in the afterlife. The B-W sniffed sentimentally, and placed it in a nearby tresurebox.

"Very nice," he said before being called off.

Alice snuck upon the newcomer Gil-Galad. "Hey Mr. Galad," she said. "I've got to know...do you type with boxing gloves on?" Before he could pop her glasses off with his One Cool Power, she sprinted off laughing.
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Old 05-03-2005, 08:33 PM   #198
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LMP bid the Barrow Wight a happy deathday and many happy returns, then bid farewell to one and all, a most entertaining party it had been. He collected his various rpg personae, congas, bass guitars, brass, air fiddles and pipe dreams, and put them all in his front pockets. Out the front door he floated, humming odd bits of tunes.
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Old 05-03-2005, 10:48 PM   #199
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It was late on the third day, and Ka had taken to making a portrait of the event. At first, most were sitting or being comatose, but as the party grew on, people moved about doing this or that, or decided to start new activties. This, as for anyone trying to take a picture through paintbrushes and oils, is rather annoying, but people are people and she could not challenge that. More visitors came in, and with them an addition to the scene steadily forming on the blank insperation. While, others left the scene which proved to be more of a challenge than the previous action on the member's behalf. To solve this, their last moments within the room were documented upon the space designated for them. For awhile, the food table too, changed. Like a rubber band, it expanded and shrank with people's hunger or mere cravings. By far the Barrow Wright was the easiest to document, for they did not bounce around as others had taken to and was the most interesting for the glow that emitted from this figure of both glady given freedom and sharp authorative reason upon other more suspicious acts within the membership.

The picture near completetion seemed to tell more than what it dictated. Showing not telling was it's policy, even though its subjects would have included a song or two to aid it's utter most importance. The scene seemed to change within the room, as Ka became more and more absorbed into her work. Painting a picture with an actual deadline within the creator's brain is like a crazied but still patient distance runner, you know what your up against, just not how many things will come your way.

Finally, some time later it was finished or for the painting part at least, it still had to dry, varnished, ect... Ka leaned back in her chair with a gruff of satisfaction. It looked wonderful. Removing the smock and cleaning the brushes in the kitchen sink of the barrow, she relfected upon it's appearance somewhere, maybe no where except in a closet until it was needed. She returned to find it still intact, and ready to dry. Taking care, ka lifted it up and returned home to the studio room within her residence and placed it in a protective corner to complete it's maturity.

After cleaning up a bit more, Ka returned to the party and sat in a lone chair against a wall. Again, back to observing the sight of celebration.
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Old 05-04-2005, 03:19 AM   #200
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1420!

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 . . .
__________________
Eldest, that’s what I am . . . I knew the dark under the stars when it was fearless - before the Dark Lord came from Outside.

Last edited by piosenniel; 05-04-2005 at 11:57 AM.
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