2004 Barrow-Downs’ Birthday Celebration!

[Orofaniel]

When Orofaniel finally had gotten to her feet and offered the others a drink, as she'd already done earlier, she started to examine her elven cloak once again. "Why did you have to attack me like that?" Orofaniel asked Nova, when she first looked up. "Um..Did I? I mean, attack you?" Nova asked innocently. "Yeah, you did," Orofaniel answered, now looking down on her cloak again. Luckily it was undamaged, but the thought of it made her shiver. What if there had been a hole in it? She didn't even dear think about it.

"Why couldn't I taste the mushroom?" Oro asked, even though she knew that Nova had already defended her actions, which seemed reasonable at some point. Nova denying Oro mushrooms, however, wasn't actually a nice thing to do. "I already told you," Nova said and grabbed a drink as they now had reached the table where they served all sorts of drinks. "Yeah, but, you tasted my cookies!" Orofaniel exclaimed, even though she knew that cookies were quite different from mushrooms.

It was if as Nova read her thoughts; "Cookies are way different, Oro, and you know that," She replied. Firondoiel that were still with them nodded. "Your cookies were good, Oro," She said and smiled. "When it comes to Nova's mushrooms...it's a whole another dimension," She said and looked at Nova.

"Alright, I get it.." Orofaniel said and smiled. "Yuo wanted to protect me from your mushrooms because you love me..and you want me alive," Orofaniel said teasingly. "Sure," Nova replied with the slight of sarcasm. Firi just giggled.

The elven cloak hadn't been damaged at least, which was a good thing. While they seated with their drinks, Oro thought about the whole scene. Nova had looked like Gollum there for a minute; running towards her, screaming that it was her mushroom. The similarities with "My Precious" were extreme, or so Orofaniel thought at the moment. She looked over at Nova, who was now paying attention to one of the stages; she looked awfully a lot like Gollum as well; she had those big eyes, and...um.., yes, little hair on her head, (Maybe that was a bit drastic). She was very skinny, just like Gollum. Orofaniel shuddered, but sipped her drink and enjoyed it to the fullest.

[Firondoiel]

Firi was greatly enjoying her conversation and the fireworks with Oro and Nova. The night sky was filled with the bright and beautiful colours of the spectacular extravaganza. Cheers filled the air after each one sailed up then suddenly exploded.

After rubbing her neck, Firi turned to her friends, who were still standing by the mushrooms, and said, “Alas, I must leave you now and return to my group. Please come by if you get a chance!” With that she gave them both a hug and hurried back towards the pavilion. She stopped on the way to put a small parcel for the Barrow-Wight on the table with all the others.

“There you are!” cried Ala when she caught sight of Firi. “We wondered where you had gotten yourself to.”

“I spent some time with two dear friends but have now returned to your excellent, dear, and lofty company.” Replied Firi with a grin.

“Very kind of you.” Said Elbie, smiling as well. Firi laughed and sat down next to Leo. “Where are Keld and Éowyn?” she asked.

“Keld left awhile ago to put her best wishes on the Party Tree and Éowyn wandered off somewhere.” Said Ala.

“I do hope they return soon.” Said Firi, looking down while everyone else was looking up at the fireworks. Perhaps she would watch them some more later after her neck stopped hurting.

[Imladris]

I snapped my fingers and looked hastily into my basket. Ah yes, the note was still there. I heaved a sigh of relief and began to wade through the people to the big Party Tree. Unfolding the note, I read it through once, just to make sure it didn't have any embarrassing typos -- I mean, misspelled words in it.

Dear Barrow-wight Sir!

I would like to thank you for this most excellent, most bodacious website. The mods are great, the discussions get deep... So three cheers for the most triumphant Tolkien website ever!

So I leave this party with these parting words,

Be excellent to each other and party on, **** [Censored for an unseemly show of modern slang.]

I glowered as the starred censored markings began to replace my original word, and then pointed surreptitiously to my signature.

[symestreem]

Symestreem listened as Arestevana explained about her instrument, seemingly called a dulcimer. Then the band played, and she applauded with the others. When she heard the cheering, a shadow crossed her face, but then she brightened, scribbled something on a note and threw it on stage. None of the band members saw it, but when it was found by the cleaning crew the next day they were mystified by a note simply reading: Yea!!!!!!!!.
She jumped as fireworks started exploding over the field, then relaxed as she recognized them. We had those back home once, she scrawled. The consensus among the group seemed to be to stay where they were, which was fine with her. We have a good view from here anyway, she mouthed slowly and carefully. Then she wrote it on a piece of paper to be safe.
They were right next to the buffet tables, and the temptation was too great. After perusing the comestibles, she snagged a pizza to share with the others, hoping they didn't mind garlic. The mute fiddler returned to her seat as a particularly vibrant firework exploded and Kitanna started to speak.

[Kransha]

A lot happened in the next few moments, one of those happenings being the shock and awe inspired by a misfired rocket, one of the many sparkling beauties that illuminated the sky just a few moments prior. Kransha had been conversing politely with Roa while his Balrog counterpart engaged in discourse with Bethberry, another renowned figure at the party. Kransha, already a bit unsettled by the rocket, discontinued his conversation as he eyed a gleaming shard of sterling silver that was his pocket watch. He lifted it by a delicate, precisely forged chain and eyed the ticking, rhythmically moving hands of the thing, which rotated around a tiny picture of the Eye of Sauron (standard issue pocket watch for Gorgoroth Community Serviceorcs). He bit his lip nervously and kept taking nervous glances at the far off gates of the Party Field,

“Is something troubling you, Kransha?” bellowed Fordim, not meaning to bellow but bellowing anyway.

“Fordim, something burdens me.” Replied Kransha, not looking at his quizzical friend and instead keeping his orc gaze fixed, “I have a bit of a secret which I’m not to wont to reveal, much to my shame. But, as that time draws near, I think I must do just that. By the Eye, Fordim, I really must tell someone. I need to find someone of authority. If you’ll excuse me.”

Before either Fordim or Roa could say anything, the well-postured orc headed off towards the most authoritative figure he could see, one of the people in charge, as far as he knew, Piosenniel. She was obviously busy, but he’d expected that. As much as his problem seemed trivial, he really felt it necessary to make it clear that there was not going to be a sudden incursion into the Shire by Sauron’s leftover hordes. Nervously and carefully, he gained the elf’s attention with a curt tug to the sleeve.

“Mistress Piosenniel, ma’am, forgive the disturbance, but there’s something I really need to get off my chest…or back…or what you will.”

“You should know, madam…Yes, you really should know…After I took in these festivities, it came to my attention that I was the only member of my demographic present at this little gala, so I took the liberty of extending a few invitations…invitations to members of that demographic…mine, that is…Point in fact, they should be coming along any time now, since they remarked to me that they’d be here roughly 13 hours and 26 minutes ago, have a record of being exactly 13 hours and 28 minutes late…as orcs always are. I really do hope the Wight doesn’t mind the presence of my cousins (you see, I’m not entirely sure they are my cousins, but you can never tell). It’s just a few orcs…20 or so, perhaps…I’ll keep them from getting in the way, I assure you. In fact, I’ve heard that the great Wight has lost one of the mathoms presented him…I’m sure my cousins would jump at the opportunity to help you with the finding of the responsible knave or knavette…They have very good noses for that sort of thing. If you wish, or the Wight wishes, I will send them on their merry way…I admit, I have not the courage to face him, the Barrow Wight, that is. Some very bad rumors about our friend populate the Cirith Ungol gossip column. I would have addressed him personally, but…well, you know.”

As if on cue, a sound could be heard in the distance. Though muffled by crowd noises, it was very distinct, and sounded like a mixture of metallic screeching, raucous laughter, and Kransha’s all-too-familiar belching. Flitting in shadowy form through the crowd, dark figures in a huddled mass could be seen scurrying mysteriously past some cowering and/or cringing Halflings. Kransha sighed and took a full breath, which echoed in his orc gizzard, as he saw the other uruks putter along toward him and Piosenniel.

“Oh yes, that’ll be them right now.”

[Hilde Bracegirdle]

Hilde tried to imagine her sweet children’s hair all the luminous colors of the fireworks she watched, brilliant reds, and greens, cool blues and crackling gold. They might look quite nice as long as it wasn’t permanent, she thought yawning. Good to know though, that there were folk about who could undo such things incase a hobbit’s hair proved a more stubborn type.

“I do apologize,” Hilde said. “It has been a long day and the fresh air and good food it seems has taken its toll. No reflection on your delightful company! You see my husband has nodded off already,” she said pointing to a stocky hobbit asleep propped up by an even stouter tree, and snoring rather loudly.

“Ah! What is happening over there?” Nerindel said turning to face up hill, as her keen eyes followed a misfired rocket. A small burst of flame was followed by overwhelming shadow and more fire, until Hilde saw the stalwart SVF (the heroes of Hobbiton) arrive with buckets of water to douse the blaze. “If I am not mistaken there is a Balrog on The Hill!” the elf observed. Both women shuttered.

“You never know who might show up at these parties with open invitations, now do you!” Hilde remarked. “Especially one where the guest of honor hold such a reputation.” she said with a wink.

[Kitanna]

"Nothing like garlic to chase the blues away." Kitanna joked taking the pizza fromSymestreem. She munched silently and watched the fireworks with Symestreem and Arestevana.

After finished her bit of pizza Kitanna turned to the other two smily broadly. "I always loved fireworks." She stated, looking up as another one was set off. "There's something about them that seems to magical."

Kitanna looked back at Symestreem and Arestevana. "So, Arestevana you are from Rohan? I was born and raised there myself, lovely country." Kitanna sighed and fell silent for a moment. "And you, Symestream, are you a musician?"

[Orual]

"I've been all right," Orual said, running her hands absently through her hair. They came away a splotchy red, and she groaned. Curse all cheap temporary hair colour! Nuranar leaned over to look at the newly crimson hands and laughed.

"Henna?" she asked.

"Henna," Orual replied miserably. She looked up at her friend and finally cracked a smile. "I was too cheap and too scared to go with the permanent stuff. I thought it might be nice to have red hair for the party. I even used the sealant...but it didn't take, I can only assume."

She looked around and surrepitously wiped her hands on the seat of her breeches, then pulled her tunic over it. When she looked up, quite pleased with herself, Nuranar was glancing at her with one eyebrow raised. Orual shrugged innocently. "What?"

[Ithaeliel]

"Excuse me... sir, may I try a half-pint of sweet ale, please? I've never tried it before."

The bartender looked up from what he was doing with a shocked expression. "Well, bless me buttons, Lady, whatever have you been doing your whole life? I mean, well... you're an elf! You've had quite a while to try ale before now, that you have!"

Ithaeliel sighed deeply. "Rather, I'm younger than you may seem to realize, sir. I am only sixty-three years of age; I've not yet the wisdom or the graces of most other elves you may know. I've only drank miruvor before, and there'll be none of that in the Shire, to be sure."

"Miruvor?" the bartender passed Ith her half-pint. "I've barely heard of it. It's elf-wine, isn't it? What's it made of?"

"I've no idea," Ithaeliel replied gloomily before taking a rather undainty swig of ale. She licked the foam off her lips thoughtfully. "This is good stuff, sir. I commend you and those who made it."

"Why, thank ye, m'lady. Do come back for another!" the bartender called as Ithaeliel finished off the glass and went to watch the fireworks spectular.

The entire crowd gasped with awe and glee as a blue cracker shot off into the sky, exploding into thousands of individual blue lights and creating the most starry sky that ever they had seen before bursting and whistling joyfully, showering the guests with blue sparks.

Ithaeliel was laughing amazedly at the fantastic display before she heard a familiar voice shouting nearby. She turned around to see none other than...

"Amanaduial!" Ith cried out as she ran to greet her old friend. "Aman!"

The innkeeper turned around, wringing one hand for some reason and looking irritated. She smiled a little when she saw Ithaeliel. "Oh, hello, Ith! Good to see you!"

Ithaeliel smiled back. "How are things faring for you, dear?"

Aman scowled. "Busy. I've just been looking after some hobbit children... causing quite a lot of mischief, they are. One even bit my hand a minute ago. Goodness, though, they ran off too quickly for me to do a thing!"

"Kids these days..." Ith shook her head in disdain. "Aren't the fireworks wonderful tonight? I never knew Mithrandir could put on such a display!"

[Arestevana]

“So, Arestevana you are from Rohan? I was born and raised there myself, lovely country.” Arestevana winced as Kitanna spoke. Luckily, she was spared answering a moment as a second question was directed towards Symestreem. Remembering Kitanna’s earlier observation, Areste took a bite of pizza, wincing as the strong garlic flavor overcame her. It did allay her melancholy, though, at least temporarily. She swallowed and turned her mind to a suitable reply.

“I was born and raised in Rohan, yes,” she said. “Though, my parents dwelt for most of their lives in Rivendell, the haven of our people.” She stumbled in the confused silence elicited by this statement, and quickly filled her mouth with another bite of pizza. Was it truly that uncommon for an elf to be raised by mortals? “Please, tell us more about yourself, Symestreem,” said Arestevana hurriedly. “As Kitanna asked, are you a musician?”

[symestreem]

Symestreem had long ago learned one of the advantages of being mute: you didn't have to chew your food before you talked. She took another bite of pizza and wrote,
Yes, I carry the fiddle with me but I also play the pipe and the accordian. I once played something called a 'piano', but I've never seen another one. Have either of you ever heard of it?
While they read this, she went to go grab more pizza. A short young woman was standing by the tables, apparently having a pizza-eating contest with herself. On a hunch, symestreem tapped the woman on the shoulder.
Excuse me, she wrote, but are you Eowyn Skywalker? I've been looking for you. Someone told me you knew songs from another galaxy. Then she added, You can come sit with us if you want, but I'm not sure if we'd be more engaging company than the pizza. Which is quite good, by the way. Then she handed the note to Eowyn Skywalker with a smile and a wave and headed back to her nearby table (with more pizza, of course, and some drinks that she snagged along the way!)

[Nerindel]

The two women the elf and the hobbit shared a spirited laugh, which halted abruptly at the sight that presented itself before them. For several moment Nerindel just sat and stared her eyes wide and her mouth hung open in silent disbelief, As a rabble of orc's pushed their way through the crowded party field their mere presence terrifying local's and guests alike.

Suddenly Nerindel's ancient hatred set in and her eyes narrowed as she reached for her sword, which was of course, not there as this was a party and Léspheria and the other elves had informed her that there would be no need for 'orqudagnir', her elvish long sword on this occasion.

"Are you alright my dear?" Hilde's concerned voice broke her intent watch of the newcomer briefly. "No Mrs Bracegridle, I fear I'm not. Like you said, You never know who might show up at these parties with open invitations and these new guests stir a great unrest in my heart." her fey words ended as she again turned her almond eyes suspiciously on the orcish rabble, who fast approached the elven woman with the red hair.

"I'm sure what ever it is; his wrightness and the Elven host Pio will take care of it." Hilde whispered soothingly, trying to elate the elven woman’s growing unrest.

"Perhaps you are right my friend, but my people and theirs have much grievances and I shall not find solace until I know there will be no trouble, if you will excuse me I will return as soon as my fears are rested."

With that, she rose and made her way to where Pio stood, surrounded by a host of orcs.

"Amin dele ten'sen, ye nai na rashwe!" (I am worried about them there may be trouble!) she whispered as she silently came up beside the elven host, she may not be armed but it did not make her any less dangerous should trouble erupt.

[piosenniel]

The minute the word demographic had fallen from the ill-shaped lips of Kransha, a curious image appeared in Pio’s mind. And all the incongruities of the Orc’s speech and demeanor fell into place. Elessar had gone through with his plans to build a second set of governmental offices on the old site of Barad-dûr!

Dress this Orc and his Uruk compatriots in plain grey tunics, stick a quill in one misshapen hand and a ream of vellum in the other and you’ve solved the problem of what to do with the left-over spawn of Shadow. Once trained as crunchers of Men and Elves, now they worked under the flickering fluöréscent lamplight in the cavernous halls of the great grey granite building . . . continuing in what they had been trained so well to do, though in a different manner. They still ‘crunched’ . . . but now it was numbers . . . myriads of numbers . . . and this demographics she recalled had been one of the King’s buzzwords when he’d talked about his plans.

His kingdom was large, she had heard him say at one of the parties she’d attended in Minas Tirith. Large and expensive; his Ministry of Treasury was stretched thin already. A new Ministry was needed to keep the coffers filled, the government running smoothly . . .

Now what was that name . . . yes, there it was . . . strange words on the tip of her tongue . . . Ministry of Cênsusántaxâtion . . . a bit Orcish sounding to her ears . . .

Best not to offend any possible emissaries from the High King, she thought, sighing at the sound of approaching belches and flatus . . .

‘Well, now Kransha, this is a party. And all are most welcome. Just let me not see any of you doing any ‘work’ while you are here. Relax! Enjoy yourselves! Show your compatriots round to the food and drink tables.’ She leaned in close to him, pleasantly surprised by the fresh minty smell of his breath. ‘You might want to make sure they eat al fresco, if you would. Out in the open is preferable . . . where the ventilation is adequate to their needs . . .’

. . . and ours! she thought to herself.

[Arestevana]

A piano? Arestevana re-read the note, puzzling over it. She had heard both the pipe and the accordion played in the halls of Edoras, and was quite impressed by Symestreem’s musical history. But what in Arda was a piano? It did sound a bit familiar, a feeling reminiscent of Déjà vu, but she was quite certain she had never seen or heard of such a thing.

Symestreem had gone to find more pizza, and Kitanna was still puzzling over the note. When the former reappeared with drinks, Arestevana replied apologetically, “I’m sorry, but I’ve never heard of a piano before. What is it?” Waiting as the fiddler paused to write another note, Arestevana reached for a glass. She took a sip: wine. Regretfully, she set the glass down again. The pizza had made her thirsty, but she had a strange feeling that she shouldn’t drink the tempting concoction. It probably had something to do with the kind but firm bringing-up she’d received from her foster parents.

Sighing, Arestevana leaned over to read the note Symestreem was completing. She suddenly realized how tired she was. Even arriving late, she hadn’t slept in almost forty-eight hours, if her exhaustion was any measure. Shaking off the subtle nagging of her conscience, she took another gulp of wine. It would keep her awake, and she really didn’t wish to miss the last hours of the celebration.

[Kitanna]

Kitanna read Symestreem's note. A piano? Sounded familiar, but then again she couldn't be quite sure. She would have to remember it just incase she ever came across one on her travels.

Kitanna felt as though she had offended Arestevana by mentioning Rohan. So when Symestreem was up getting more pizza Kitanna took the moment to apoligize. "I am sorry if my speaking of Rohan offended you or upset you in any way." She paused a moment thinking of something to add. "But parents from Rivendell? I'd like to claim I have been there before, but that would be one huge lie."

Symestreem returned with more pizza. Kitanna couldn't say she really liked the stuff, but she was fond of the garlic on it. "You really shouldn't eat so much of that Symestreem."

[symestreem]

She tried to remember all the details of the piano as she sketched it and wrote a description.
It has hammers... and strings... she added the legs to her drawing. They have these things called keys, and you play one, or two, or three, and the hammer hits something. I'm not quite sure what; I've only played it once. The keyboard is kind of like one on an accordian... I liked it because I could accompany singers. Wherever I go, I'm on the lookout for another one.
She noticed Kitanna picking at the pizza. When she said "You really shouldn't eat so much of that, Symestreem," her suspicions were confirmed. I don't like the garlic, I just like cheese, she mouthed, shaking the spices off of her pizza.
Are you a musician, Kitanna? she added. You seem to know about musical instruments.
She noticed Arestevana sipping at the drink and grimacing. Go easy on the stuff if you've never had wine, she wrote.

[Kitanna]

Kitanna read Symestreem's note. Are you a musician? "Not really. My mother wanted me to learn to play the fiddle, but I failed miserably at that." She remembered the first time her mother put a fiddle in her hands. Kitanna was about six and the sound she produced was unlike anything in this world.

Her mother had grimaced and declared, with practice you'll be the best. Well three years and thousands of hours of practicing later Kitanna had failed to lose the ungodly sound she produced from the fiddle. Her mother could no longer stand it and hid the fiddle. So, Kitanna had turned her talents to other things. "I sing," Kitanna finally said after thinking about her first musical encounter. "I know a little about instruements, but I am a singer."

[The Saucepan Man]

The Saucepan Man lay contentedly below a great oak tree which grew on a raised part of the Party Field, sipping at the strange concoction that flowed unceasingly from his kettle and puffing away on his pipe. He was glad that the Barrow Downs Club Band seemed to have gone down so well, and had himself greatly enjoyed the tributes of the other party guests, whether recited, sung or simply written and added to the Party Tree. Following the performance, he had clattered and clanked his way through the party, chatting to the guests and enjoying the entertainment on offer. He had even taken it upon himself to dance a merry jig to a tune played by a young lady with a fiddle, although the resulting cacophony meant that those nearby were grateful that he had limited himself to just one dance.

As Saucepan watched the continuing merriment, he noticed a contingent of Orcs arrive and make their way towards Pio. He felt a momentary twinge of concern, but that was soon dispelled by the memory of his pleasant conversations with Kransha and Fordim Hedgethistle.

“It takes all sorts,” he thought to himself, a maxim which, it occurred to him, might equally apply to the party itself, and indeed the very Downs that he was pleased to call his home.

He had come to his present vantage point to enjoy the fireworks, which had been quite the most spectacular that he had ever witnessed. But now that they were over, he was content simply to lie there in the cool evening breeze, enjoying the happy atmosphere and reflecting upon what a success it had all been.

[symestreem]

Symestreem was envious of her new friends for being able to sing. She didn't miss speaking, but sometimes she wanted to sing.
The three of us should do a trio sometime, she wrote. If we have time before the party ends.
There was a loud noise from the other end of the fields. She turned to see what it was and gasped, one of the few sounds she could make. At least twenty orcs had entered the party! She pointed.
I sure hope they're friendly. I'm a musician, not a warrior. Although we have plenty of the latter here should the need arise... She hoped it wouldn't, the party was going so well.

[Durelin]

Durelin groaned. She felt sore all over, and it was awfully dark around. Then she realized she had yet to open her eyes. She didn't remember closing them, though. She opened them to a less dark darkness, with a light from somewhere nearby glowing faintly through some kind of veil. It was a white veil...she tried as hard as she could to think of where she might be. Well, of course she knew she was at a party. The party, actually, but where exactly she had gotten in the time of this party... The coming of night, along with a little excess ale, had been just enough to close her eyes, it seemed. And how? How? It had been such a little bit of ale...Too little, now that she thought about it.

Durelin was about get out from behind this white veil that separated her from the food and ale, when a loud bang made her jump. Which promptly caused her to hit her head on something hard just above her. A flash followed, lighting up the glowing white veil to a bright green. For a moment she sat and thought this through, and it took her only a moment to reach this conclusion: "Kalbang..."

Quickly scrambling out, she reached another conclusion: she had been under the table. She stood there a moment before quickly moving her head from side to side to see if anyone had seen her. She caught sight of the food behind her on the table, and promptly grabbed a taquito. While munching on it, another bang brought about another jump, and she bit her tongue. A strange noise escaped her mouth, coming from somewhere in her throat, and again she looked around to see if anyone was looking at her.

Durelin continued to eat her taquito, finally adjusted to the sound of the fireworks (for the most part...), and watched the show. She waited for her favorite type of firework, the ones that looked like willow trees, white with bursts that ran down to the ground, trailing long tails behind them. She applauded as this firework finally came, thinking of how the Downs never ceased to surprise her. They even had her favorite firework...and taquitos.

Letting out a great yawn, and feeling stronger the ache in her tongue, Durelin decided that it was time for her to go to bed before she found herself under another table. Knowing her luck, it would be the Barrow Wight's gift table.

"I'm just a gift to anyone..." she thought aloud, and followed it up with a laugh. She cracked herself up. Looking around once more to make sure no one had heard or seen, she gave a shrug of her shoulders and, taking a taquito on the road with her (she would later curse herself for not taking an ale), went to find her mule, singing as she went (and no longer caring if anyone heard or saw):

"Happy Birthday to you,
Happy birthday to you,
You live in a zoo,
You look like a monkey,
And you smell like one, too."

Happy birthday to the Barrow of monkeys!

[Kransha]

Giving a very grateful, if not slightly confused nod of thanks to Pio, Kransha spun nimbly on his heels to accept the barrage of blood relations as they gathered around him, Roa, and Fordim.

They were a rowdy bunch, mainly made of tooth and claw that erupted from their massive, single, uniform bulk. A sight it was to so the clamoring mess of orc-flesh trying vaguely to ‘sneak’ through the party participatory ranks and towards the only person they know. At Kransha’s swift beckoning gesture, they separated like a diverse swarm, each falling into line. They were all different, in everything from size and color to clothing and posture. Some looked more primitive and Neanderthal-reminiscent, while some looked most civil, though not as much as Kransha. Glowering in anticipation at their cousin, they seethed and mumbled to each other in the unused tongue of Mordor, which caused more Halflings to cower and/or cringe. Kransha smiled grimly and turned to his friends.

“Fordim, Roa, I would like you to meet my cousins; Stinky (the one with the body odor), Slinky (the one hiding behind your left leg, Fordim), Finky (the one thieving Shock Toffees), Crinky (I’ve got nothing on this one), Clinkly (the one wearing custom made Nurn-Inc. Plate Armor), Shrinky (the small one), Kinky (the one with the cat-o-nine-tails and the ominous grin), Chinky (the one with the heavy bags on his belt and the prosperous attire), Winky (the one winking at you eerily, Roa), Pinky (the pink one, obviously), Blinky (the one with two eye patches), Hinky (the one sneezing, Plinky (the one who just stole my orc draught and is guzzling it), and Flatulent Bob. Yes, I think that covers all of them.”

They shot him more looks of question, and Kransha knew why. Growling under his ragged breath, he threw up his hands in dismay, “Alright, I admit it; those aren’t their names, but those things they call surnames are impossible to pronounce in Westron, so I took the liberty of giving them names that others could make out the syllables of. I doubt anyone here, save maybe Fordim, could even attempt the pronunciation of their titles, disregarding maiden names, honorific titles, pseudonyms, family names, and all other attachments.”

Slowly but surely, he turned back to his orcish relatives and gathered up his refined tone for a grandiose oration, “Ok, boys, there’s not much time left in this party, so I suggest you indulge yourselves. Just be careful where you…where you empty your surplus of rear carbonaceous fluids, yes?” there was a chorus of nods, “Other than that, do no ‘work’ (whatever on Gorgoroth Mistress Pio meant by that) and go wild, have fun, and party all night long!”

If ever a mistake was made in the history of mistakes, this was one mistake that was quite a mistaken mistake to make (Kransha couldn’t even think that five times fast).

They scattered like hounds after fresh meat. They surged over the crowd. Within instants, each orc was engaged in doing something illicit to someone, much to Kransha’s displeasure. “At least they left there ladles at the door. Thank Melkor for that.” Mumbled the poor orc as his cousins overflowed like a tidal wave onto the party. He watched them, his own beady eyes focused on them as if they were each superimposed above the field of greenery. He knew they wouldn’t hurt anyone, but he feared he would scare the Feanorian bejeezus out of most.

Looking over the crowd, or at least those being berated in a non-violent manner, he yelled out in as calming a voice as he could muster “DON’T WORRY, FOLKS, THEY’RE HARMLESS!”

After a moment, he added “AT LEAST MOST OF THEM ARE HARMLESS!” at the top of his lungs, and began to set his calculating brain in motion. He categorized them, one by one, into the felonious and heinous acts they were committing. He had little knowledge of the people being assaulted by his brethren, but he made a mental record all the same…

…Blinky was stumbling about blindly, looking for food, and had bumped into Miss Symestreem, knocking a slice of garlic-ridden pizza from her hand which was promptly sneezed on by Hinky and then, immediately, stolen by Finky.
…Kinky looked about ready to give Arestevana a random thrashing while Winky, totally enthused, kept winking at her in that ominous fashion and Slinky seemed to want to find his way between her legs and under the ample buffet tables for no apparent reason.
…Blinky, after the pizza incident, was using Shrinky to take some batting, sporting swings at Kitanna, but thankfully the totally blind uruk was missing by leagues.
…Flatulent Bob, with assistance from the ever-alert Stinky and his profuse smell, was aiming abothe ‘discharge’ at Eowyn Skywalker, figuring with their orc logic that her cross-dimensional screename would save her miraculously from the none-too-savory blast.
….Chinky was attempting to commandeer the Saucepan Man’s pots and pans to forge new armor for himself, though he too was failing miserably, since the aimless Crinky kept getting in his way.

The only one not doing something that could be considered evil was Clinky.

“Clinky, you’re supposed to be enjoying yourself. Shouldn’t you be engaging in foul activity like your brothers?” he queried, confused, enraged, muddled, puddle, befuddled, and quite possibly scuttled.

“Nonsense, cos. I’ve got a job to do. Orders from his majesty, you know. Finances must be seen to, Kransha old chum, and that’s my duty to the crown, dontcha know.”

Kransha didn’t reply, far too stupefied to speak. So much for family values…

Luckily, the party was beginning to resolve and Kransha knew that if his cousins got too out of hand, he had another card up his sleeve…or, rather, a large, possibly-winged, balrog companion with a thick volume that could easily contain every orc on Arda.

[Saraphim]

The last slice of the deliciously un-canonical garlic pizza disapeared right under Saraphim's hand. The orc, one of Kransha's crew, walked away happily chewing.

"Argh," said Saraphim. It wasn't a word she usually used, but during the course of the party she had become increasingly adicted to the offending pizza, and desparate times call for desparate measures.

"It's just as well," she said to herself, "My breath alone could knock that Balrog over there unconscious. Why doesn't it know if itself has wings or not?"

The memory of the hobbits earlier reminded her.

"Ah, yes. I don't even know what race I am." she said as she reached into her pouch for a breathmint, "I suppose I could be an elf, if I really want to make an effort."

Saraph's thoughts were interrupted by the feel of the dragon statuette in her pouch. She sighed and began the walk to the mound and the mathom-table to return it.

She skirted around party-goers who were trying to cram in the last few hours of the party, orcs that were doing awfully odd things, and a group of people having a fierce discussion on paper.

Setting the dragon down onto the table, Saraph peered down into the Barrow and said to herself:

"That Barrow-Wight. A genius, he is."

Turning around, Saraph looked around at her fellows. It occured to her that she'd never felt more at home.

[symestreem]

Orcs! They were everywhere! Symestreem watched in horror as they scattered all over the party grounds, causing instant mayhem. Some were headed this way. She shot to her feet, along with everyone else in the vicinity, but the orcs were impossibly fast. She was broadsided by an orc who was stumbling drunkenly around, and dropped her pizza. As she went to pick it up (hey, the ground's clean, right?) her hand and the pizza were covered in orc snot. She was too busy trying to get it off to notice the subsequent disappearance of the pizza.
The orcs were accosting her friends, too. One was swinging another by the feet at Kitanna, but it was the drunk- no, he was blind- one, and she easily dodged him. An orc with a whip was circling Arestevana and another one, who seemed to have dust in his eye, was watching her.
We'll just see about that, she thought. Orcs were all well and good at the party as long as they behaved like everyone else...
She carefully placed her beloved fiddle out of harm's way, then grabbed a whole pizza from the table. Coming up alongside of the whip-orc, she tapped him on the shoulder. His eyes lit up at the sight of the pizza, but she took a step back. He followed her. She took another step back. Again, he followed her. Then her remembered Arestevana and looked back at her. Which should he do?
He tried both, and started waving the whip as he went after the pizza. Unfortunately, this led to him being entangled in the instrument and falling to the ground like a sack of rocks. Symestreem thoughtfully placed the pizza on top of him and went to bribe some more orcs. Eowyn Skywalker's pizza appeared to have several excellent uses.
She looked over at the cook in question. Oh, dear...

[Kitanna]

The orc assualting, or at least trying to assualt Kitanna just swung at her missing her each time by a matter of feet. At first she thought he must be incredibly drunk, but she soon came to realize he was infact blind.

He tried once more to hit Kitanna, but she stood where she was letting him punch air. The whole scene made her laugh. It was all too funny for words. She looked over and Symestreem who was trying desperately to get orc snot off her hand. Arestevana was being circled by an orc with a whip while another one tried to crawl between her legs.

Kitanna had stopped paying attention to the orc in front of her. That proved to be a very stupid move the blind orc finally succeded in hitting her and hitting her hard. Kitanna was taken by surprise by the force and hit the ground with a thud. She sat there for a second confused about what had just happened. She looked up to see the orc still frantically punching air.

She wasted no time in getting to her feet and relocating to a safer spot near Arestevana and Symestreem.

[Eowyn Skywalker]

Eowyn Skywalker turned pale as she realized what was going on. "Why, oh WHY does that cursed garlic pizza always bring trouble?" she asked herself, as she turned strictly non-canon to protect herself by using the Force (hey, multi-universe user names come in handy sometimes...).

"This is a party," she said strictly. "You do not want to act like little monsters *coughthoughyouorcsareinmyopinioncough* and play with garlic," she said, waving her hand subtily, and hoping that the Barrow-wight wouldn't mind the non-canon use of the Force.

Seemingly though, the fact that the Force was non-canon protected the orcs, and others in the area from falling for her mind trick. She glared at the two, and screamed. "JUST BECAUSE I HAVE A CROSS DIMENTIONAL SCREEN NAME DOESN'T MEAN THAT IT WILL SAVE ME! IT'S A CONSPRIACY!!!!!"

She waved around her lightsaber that she had... umm... borrowed from Luke Skywalker, but, as it was non-canon, and there was to be no fighting, the blade disappeared, and the effect of the glowing green blade was lost on the orcs, who were being rather... orcish.

"And I thought that garlic smelt bad," she muttered, as fireworks clashed overhead, and exploded in brilliant flashes of color. She grabbed one of the many pizzas, and threw it at the orcs. "Ha!" She waved her hand. "You will take me to Jabba now..." And then she stopped. "Umm... that wasn't the right line. Curse cross-dimentions forever! It's a conspiracy!"

Then she seen someone she knew. "Hi, symestreem!" she said. Eowyn S. continued to look around, still angered at the orcs, and that, as it was non-canon, she couldn't use the Force on them. "Mae govannan, Maeggaladiel!!" Eowyn waved at the girl, she recognized her from Middle-earth mirth. "Hiiii!"

[Meneltarmacil]

Meneltarmacil didn't really talk much, just sat back and watched the fireworks.

This has to be the best party I've ever been to. This site deserves it. Where else can one send several Tolkien characters on a road trip and watch their van get in the worst accidents imaginable and laugh his or her head off, or discuss how much of Tolkien's "magic" had really gotten into the movies, or brave life and limb to rescue Eodwine of Rohan from the Mouth of Sauron in the Hills of Evendim, or guess fifty billion times and never figure out that the "Odd Place Out" was actually Orthanc, or insert random words into a Mad Lib and laugh at the resulting "half-starved crazy rabid weasel kills a Tyrannosaurus Rex", or explore the deeper meaning of LOTR and what Tolkien really wanted to say to the world? Yes, this site deserves suich a magnificent party. And much more besides. he thought to himself.

He heard voices behind him, and went to look.

"Done!"

"You were supposed to stick it in the ground!"

"It is in the ground!"

"Outside!"

"This was your idea!"

Suddenly, the fireworks tent flew up in the air...

[Luthien_ Tinuviel]

The party was almost over, and Luthien still hadn't paid her respects to the Barrow-wight! She had spent most of her time by the food tables, talking to people she knew and some she didn't. But what with great volumes of good food and socialization, she had certainly honored her hobbit tendencies. Now, if she could only make it over to the Party Tree....

Pushing her way through the crowds and deciding to ignore the fact that there seemed to be quite a lot of orcs about, Luthien arrived at the tree, and looked at the ominous hole in the ground, made even more ominous by the half-light. Not wishing to place a spike in the tree, even though she knew it wouldn't really do any harm, Luthien got some tape out of her satchel, and drew forth her poem. She surveyed her work proudly.

Dear Wight, it said, Although this may seem strange,
The Downs is not wholly lost nor wholly changed.
Much growth it has seen, but is not de-throned,
And keeps the status of greatness that it owns.
Wraiths, all the members, their refracted Light
through whom is splintered from a single White
to many posts, and endlessly combined
in living shapes that move from mind to mind.
Though all the crannies of the Web we filled
with Elves and Goblins, though we dared to build
Winged Balrogs and their chasms out of dark and light,
and sowed the seed of dragons - 'twas our right
(used or misused). That right has not decayed:
we post still by the law in which we're made.

And now for the gift! Once more dodging orcs, and the mayhem they had caused, Luthien strolled over to the tables covered with mathoms and gifts of all kinds. It really wasn't very far to go at all, but the darkness made it more so. Upon an empty spot on one of the many tables Luthien gently and lovingly placed a dagger. It was one of her favorites, and the Barrow-downs forum was one of her favorite sites. It was only fitting. Luthien fervently hoped that the Wight would find some good use for it, maybe place it in the cold hands of one of his victims. Having given up her knife in offering to the creator of much joy, she quickly turned about and began to search for her friends. Surely they were somewhere in this throng, and she must spend at least some time with them before the party came to a close. She was the one who had made them come in the first place. She lifted her eyes to the sky to gaze upon the glorious fireworks. Their bursts of light would surely help her find her way - wouldn't they?

[Bêthberry]

While the orcs were orchestrating their oracular exercises, Bethberry, dripping wet from the fortunate and need we also say fortuitous foredunking of the Volunteer Fire Brigade, but in no way resembling anything quite so undignified as a wet tee shirt, began to hum that mythic song of elder days, "Orc on the Water, Fire in the Sky" by that infamous band, Pink Flordim. Or was it Pio Sentinel, the elf of great renown at standing guard over our gaming? It didn't matter much. Because then Bethberry called out in ringingly heroic, indeed, may we say, enchanting voice,

"Water fight!",

Well, this was too much for the many young hobbits to resist. Tittering gleefully, they grabbed every pot and pan available, claiming the right of societal norm, and, sad to say, that included Mr. SaucepanMan himself, despite his remonstrations that there was no objectively right way to demand his participation in this affair. Cami ducked out of the way as tweens, young ones and those pretending to be young took to the game with aim and strong arms, Aman doubled over yet again with laughter, and Kransha raised a considerable eyebrow in the sauvest manner he could muster, which for his orcish nature was saying a great deal.

Bethberry contemplated submitting a request for a discussion thread for the party gamers to consider the renaming of the Party, "REB III: The Revenge of the Water Can/on" but just then the fireworks tent took flight.

[Firondoiel]

“Keld!” called Firi when she saw her friend dodging the orcs. She raced to help her through the crowd when there was an explosion in the tent next her. The force of it knocked her to the ground as the stolen firework headed towards the stars and busted into it’s rain of colour. Some of the crowd clapped, others were too drunk to noticed, and others were hurrying to the flaming tent.

Firi shook her head in an attempt to clear the fogginess from it. “Firi?” asked Keld’s voice.

“Hmmm?” replied Firi groggily.

“Are you alright?” asked Elbie from the other side of her.

“Just fine. Should I be otherwise?” asked Firi with a lopsided grin.

“Oh, no. Not at all.” Replied Leo.

Her friends helped her up and they walked back to their tent. The night was wearing into morning and the party would end soon. The group packed up all their things and gave one last look at the party. It had been wonderful to be back with the Downers again and now back to home.

[Child of the 7th Age]

Cami ducked out of the way as tweens, young ones and those pretending to be young took to the game with aim and strong arms....

Oh, never, never, never quoth Cami. Respectable or not, a stout Hobbit can never pass up a water fight. Just witness the scene at Crickhollow. Good aim and a strong arm may lie far beyond an individual Hobbit's skills, but a water fight is truly irresistable......

With a whoop and a holler, Mistress Cami retreated to the side and discreetly "borrowed" one of Saucepan Man's larger containers, filling it up to the brim and making sure that a bit more spilled over the top. For as a former employee of the Shire Post, Cami had a serious bone to pick, and the water fight seemed like a good way to do it.

Turning about, her eyes gleeming bright, she spied exactly the folk she wanted: Fordim, Bethberry, Saucepan Man, and H-I ......those most responsible for filling up her mailbox with 1,346 messages from the canonicity thread to which she had so unwisely subscribed! There were other residents of Arda who also bore some responsibility for this explosion of knowledge, but they did not seem to be anywhere in sight, so this representative group would have to do.

Lifting the pan high above her head, she bellowed out a challenge, "For Middle-earth and the Shire! This is for all the poor Hobbit postmasters who had to deliver those tomes to folk's mailboxes for the past three weeks! It's not enough we have to deal with Farmer Maggot's dogs and the young lads who offer us exploding toffee, now we have mailbags that weight between five and six hundred pounds because of all this ponderous learning! And, I have it on good authority that, even as I party here, the mound of letters in my postbox continues to grow taller."

With that, Cami lowered her arms and sent the water spraying everywhere. If the fireworks tent had managed to stay in one place, she would have repeated this act more than once, just as she had been required to clean out her postal box any number of times to make sure that other important messages could get through to her. But the sight of the tent flying up in the sky was novel enough to give her pause, so she stopped to take a second look.

[Lyta_Underhill]

Lyta stirred out of her profound stupor once an uncharacteristically large percentage of ambient sound filtered into her subconscious, registering a high number of orcs in the area. Sure enough, when she managed to pry one eye open, she beheld a scene that reminded her more of a rainy night party on a Misty Mountain pass than a dignified hobbit-run affair. Not that she minded. She was three sheets to the West Wind and not prone to hangovers.

In the distance, she noticed Cami, who had actually been the one to send the invite (at much trouble to the wilds beyond the Withywindle, I might add, and much appreciated!). She was throwing water at several respectable Barrowdowners, strangely enough, not really affecting their respectability in any way at all, except to render them respectably wet. As Lyta had a need to wash her once-white dress after the long detour, she decided perhaps this was not such a bad thing to join in...summoning the strongest (and least drunk) Took lads around her, she managed to shoulder a good load of honeysuckle wine and venture forward (on a zig-zag path).

Lyta reached the oddly out of place mound and directed the honeysuckle wine to be deposited there. Once she had unburdened herself, she caught a face full of water from she knew not where. It ran down her whitish dress, not really washing it at all. She realized what a mistake had been made, but she also realized she had to find some water quickly. Spying a strange man surrounded by myriad saucepans, she crawled in his general direction, managing to lay hands on one small egg-poaching cup before falling on her face again. Luckily, a missed aim filled her tiny cup with a full dose and she let it fly at what appeared to be an orc wearing a polka-dotted bow tie. Lyta wondered if Treebeard had spiked her wine with something truly unheard of, as she rubbed her eyes and continued to see the same loud tie attached incongruously to a definite orc.

Lyta rose unsteadily and filled her egg-poaching cup full of a draught of wine and raised a toast to the Barrow-wight. May your barrow never flood in the rain and always be well-air conditioned in the summer! Cheers!

Lyta

[piosenniel]

From the edges of a half-dream, Pio could hear an irritating buzz in her left ear.

‘Pio . . . Pio . . .’

All Elvishness aside, the press of the party and its demands had finally caught up with her. It was late night. The children had gone back to the Inn with their nanny. And now sitting at the bar in the Green Dragon pavilion, head resting comfortably in the crook of her arm, she’d hoped to catch a few winks before it was time to see the guests off. Her red wig sat in a tangle by her elbow, and she’d given up on the green eyes – her contacts lying discarded in a dish of ale she’d set out as an enticement for an old friend of hers.

‘No rest for the wicked, you sorry excuse for an Eldar . . .’

Pio raised her head and stared blearily across the bar. ‘That you?’ she croaked, the hours of second-hand pipe-weed making her voice hoarse. The Elf knuckled her eyes and stared toward the dish of ale.

Neek . . . breek . . . came the familiar rasp. And more familiar were the raggedy black antennae waving wildly at her.

Bird!

The neeker-breeker bore a pained look as she buried her head in the remaining ale. ‘None of that Elvish mind-talk,’ she said spluttering and raising her head to fix Pio with a ghastly rictus of a smile. ‘You oscar-mayer me one more time and I swear I’ll flame you from here to the Tower Hills!’

‘The correct term is osanwë, you old dung beetle.’ Pio put her face down close to her chitinous friend. ‘Where have you been?’

‘No time for that,’ returned the neeker-breeker as she leapt to her friend’s shoulder. ‘Things have gotten wild while you were napping. The field’s all muddy from a giant water fight that broke out; those Uruk’s have run amok; and the tent where the fireworks were stored has sprouted wings and flown off.’

~*~

The scene outside the pavilion was as bad as Bird had laid it out to her. Folk were slipping and sliding in the mire as buckets and pots and pans of water flew through the air. ‘Still, they are having fun, are they not?’ chuckled Pio as Cami was thoroughly doused in a concerted effort from Saucy, H-I, and the upstart Balrog. ‘By the One! Is that not Tom’s daughter in the thick of it?’ The neeker-breeker raised her little voice in a rousing cheer for the Hobbit, who’d just scored a bucket on the River-woman’s offspring.

At the far end of the field, she could see the last of the fireworks flare up and sputter out about the area; they too had not entirely avoided the deluge of the water fight. The escaping tent had caught fire it seemed as it shot skyward and ignited the few Rohan candles and shooting stars left from the show. A few of the more inebriated of the guests stood in an unsteady ring about the spluttering display, raising their flagons at the light show as they shouted out their slurry words of acclamation.

A number of the wiser party-goers had gathered up their belongings, empty plates and baking pans, rounded up family and friends, and were heading for the gate. Oro, spying the Elf, waved wildly as she and her friends, Nova and Firi drove their cart toward the exit. Imladris, basket in hand, was following behind them on foot. And there, in a small wagon, were the three musicians who had performed so well . . . Symestreem was playing a traveling song on her fiddler, ‘Over the hills and Far Away’, accompanied by Arestevana on the dulcimer. Weaving in and out of their melody was the sweet, haunting voice of Kitanna. Pio waved at them as they passed, and they nodded to her, not missing a beat.

Kransha, she noted was trying to round up his cousins. ‘Herding cats!’ snickered Bird as she watched the poor Orc’s hapless efforts. Saraphim had joined the effort, having borrowed the whip of flame from the otherwise preoccupied Balrog. Memories of old bubbled up in the Uruk’s small minds as they fled before the hated instrument.

Other partygoers followed, keeping their distance from the whip; their hoods were pulled up and Pio could not make out their faces. Their voices sounded tired, but the tone of their conversation was merry and she smiled, hoping they had indeed had a good time. She thought she heard the voice of Meneltarmacil at one point and the voices of those most interesting denizens of Middle-mirth. And there was Luthien . . . she had found her friends and was now walking home with them.

Aman came out from the pavilion, having gathered up a small group of those she was ferrying back to the Green Dragon. They would spend the night there, then make for their own homes on the morrow. Nerindel held the reins of the Inn’s ponies as the group piled into the haywagon. Nuru and Orual, her hair a strange, streaky shade of red, settled themselves in the loose scattered hay to continue their catching-up. Cami, the children in tow, had her arm wrapped about a rather inebriated Lyta, and with the help of Ithaeliel and Roa was rolling the woman’s nearly inert form onto the wagon bed. Bethberry, Saucy, and H-I, all of them thoroughly wet, had left the field of ‘battle’ and accepted the offer from the Dragon’s Innkeeper of dry clothes and a warm bed for the night. Iadarion, striding along with Evisse, hailed them as they passed, and both climbed on the wagon as it slowed.

Hilde and her Mister walked arm in arm through the gate, their heads close together, laughing at some small shared joke. In like manner came Everdawn with her friend Aredhel, her pink bonnet tied firmly on her head. Dininziliel, too, had roused from her nap, and blinking her eyes in the starlight was picking her way carefully along the muddy path. And there in the shadows walked Witch_Queen and Maeggaladiel, tired by the looks of them, followed by three Hobbits attempting to share one large coat.

Last to pass was Guinevere, deep in conversation with Merisu. Lush, sandwiched between the two, dropped an appropriate comment here and there, punctuated by the occasional nip from her silver flask. The obedient Falafel trotted up at the sight of her mistress and bore the three away into the night.

~*~

Under the bright moon, the empty field took on a ghostly hue. The streamers hung limply from the trees and the candle-lanterns had all guttered out. The barrow that had earlier figured so prominently beneath the Party Tree was now gone; the Wight and his treasures fled back to his Downs until called out again next year. The tree’s trunk was bare; he had taken his accolades and well-wishes with him. All the staff that had made the party run so smoothly had gone home, too . . . tomorrow would be time enough for the final clean-up.

A shadowy form in the northwest corner of the field stepped out between two trees and into a patch of moonlight. The last guest. It drew itself up to a great height, its wings spread out from tree to tree. Swiftly it rose, and with winged speed, passed over the field as a tempest of fire.

Bird, having traded her neeker-breeker form for one human, poked her friend in the ribs at the spectacle. ‘What an exit! The guy knows how to catch your attention, eh?’ Pio nodded and looped her arm through her old friend’s. ‘If we hurry,’ she said, ‘we can catch Cami before she goes to bed. The children will all be sleeping. There’s a bottle of Old Winyards I hid in the cellar. We can sit under the stars and drink to the continued good health of the Wight and his Downs.’

Motioning for Pio to exit the gate ahead of her, Bird made a grand mock bow and tipped an imaginary hat at the Elf, saying, ‘You first, my dear Piosenniel . . .’ ‘No, after you, my dear Birdland . . .’ came the requisite reply from the Elf as she blew out the last candle-lantern.

Then laughing, they left the darkened field, arm in arm . . .

[piosenniel]

~*~ FINIS ~*~


(See you all next May!)