2004 Barrow-Downs’ Birthday Celebration!

[Kitanna]

After posting her own birthday wishes Kitanna wandered around for a bit. She was drawn to the pavilion by a beautiful song. She watched as a woman with dark hair and equally dark eyes sang in Rohirrim, the Quenya, and finally in the common speech. The woman's voice captivated Kitanna and she joined in the applause when Arestevana finished her song.

As the woman stepped down from the pavilion Kitanna approached her to comment on the beauty of the song. "That was one of the most beautiful songs I have ever heard." Kitanna moved a long, black strand of hair from her eyes. "I wish everyone could do justice to the art of song."

[The Saucepan Man]

Bêthberry’s gum had worked wonders, and in no time the Saucepan Man had felt much better. He had busied himself all day talking to the party guests, helping himself to the food (Macaroni Cheese was a particular favourite of his), and drinking a pale orange cordial poured from another of the kettles strewn about him. Spying Lush sunning herself, he had sensibly decided that discretion was the better part of valour and headed in the opposite direction. Perhaps a re-match would be in order later, but for now he thought it best to keep a clear head.

Luckily his intermittent deafness, the result of too much clattering and clanking close to his ears, had shielded him from the Barrow-Wight’s song, although it also meant that he had missed the announcement of the theft of the Wight’s mathom gifts. So he had remained oblivious to the comings and goings of the brawny and beorny security guards and the gaggle of shifty-looking Hobbit children. The fact that one of them had bright green hair did not surprise him in the least, given the odd assortment of guests merry-making in the early summer sun.

By and bye, Saucepan came across Kransha, the Orc whose company he had enjoyed so much the previous night. The fearsome but civilised fellow introduced him to his companions. A young lady by the name of Roa. And a fellow even more fearsome than the Orc himself who was introduced as Fordim Hedgethistle. He was shrouded in darkness and surrounded by a shadow which seemed to reach out across the Party Field like two vast wings. Whether they were in fact wings and, if so, whether they were capable of supporting flight, Saucepan could not tell. But despite Fordim’s intimidating appearance, they fell into conversation and Saucepan noted how he bristled with fire whenever he became animated. Soon others had joined the discussion, and Saucepan began to find himself ensorcelled by it, so much so that he felt as though he might never escape.

But, as dusk began to fall, Saucepan judged that the time had come for his tribute and reluctantly he made his excuses and left. He made straight for a tent, the many coloured decorations of which might be described as sïcadhélic in the Elven tongue. On the side of the tent was painted a tableaux depicting Barrow-Downs luminaries, old and new. Entering, he approached four Hobbits dressed in colourful military uniforms of pink, blue, orange and green respectively, who were hard at work practising on their instruments.

“The time has come,” he said to them, and they nodded in acknowledgement.

In no time, the four Hobbits, Jonwise, Perripaul, Geordimac and Bingo by name, had set themselves up on one of the empty stages. Bingo sat behind a large drum-kit consisting entirely of kitchen implements, while the other three stood ready with their guitars at the front of the stage.

“One – two – three – four,” said Jonwise and, all of a sudden, the air was filled with the electric sound of their twanging guitars. Then Perripaul began to sing.

It was but a year ago today,
That Sergeant Saucy taught the band to play
They’ve been going in and out of posts
But they’re guaranteed to please the ghosts.
So may I introduce to you
The act you’ve not seen since last year,
Sergeant Saucy’s Barrow Downs Club Band.

We’re Sergeant Saucy’s Barrow Downs Club Band,
We hope that it’s a great party,
We’re Sergeant Saucy’s Barrow Downs Club Band,
For the Downs’ anniversary.
Sergeant Saucy’s Barrow, Sergeant Saucy’s Barrow,
Sergeant Saucy’s Barrow Downs Club Band.

It’s wonderful to be here,
It’s certainly a thrill.
It’s such a lovely website,
We like to type our posts all night,
We love to type our posts.

I don’t really want to stop the show,
But I thought you might like to know,
That the Saucepan’s going to sing a song,
And he wants you all to sing along.
So may I introduce to you
The shiny noisy Saucepan Man
And Sergeant Saucy’s Barrow Downs Club Band.

At this, the Saucepan Man jumped noisily up on to the stage, while the Hobbit combo intoned his name. As the tune changed, he started to sing.

What would you do if typed the wrong key,
Would you log off and shut down on me.
Lend me your screens and I’ll type you a post,
Of Tolkien’s Canonicity.

Oh, I get by with a little help from the Downs,
Mm, I know why with a little help from the Downs,
Mm, gonna try with a little help from the Downs.

Where can I talk about Peregrine Took,
(Does it worry you to be alone)
How do I feel about films of the book,
(Are you sad because you’re on your own)

No, I get by with a little help from the Downs,
Mm, I know why with a little help from the Downs,
Mm, gonna try with a little help from the Downs.

Do you need any website,
I need a site I can love.
Could it be any website,
I want a site I can love.

Would you believe that the Books can inspire,
Yes I see it every time I’m on-line.
What do you see when you look in the Shire,
I can tell you of stories so fine.

Oh, I get by with a little help from the Downs.
Mm, I know why with a little help from the Downs,
Oh, I’m gonna try with a little help from the Downs.

Do you need any website,
I need a site I can love.
Could it be any website,
I want a site I can love.

Oh, I get by with a little help from the Downs,
Mm, gonna try with a little help from the Downs,
Oh, I know why with a little help from the Downs,
Yes, I get by with a little help from the Downs.

With a little help from the Downs.

As the chords of the song died away, the Saucepan Man turned to the Wight’s barrow, raised his kettle, and shouted, “To the Downs! Happy fourth anniversary, and here’s to many more years yet to come!”

[Roa_Aoife]

Roa shook her head at Kransha, and smiled a welcoming smile at Fordim. Understandibly, she abstained from the handshake. She noticed the odd looks from passer-by's. "Wings? I'm not sure. I've never really thought about it. And who in Arda would be foolish enough to steal from the Barrow Wight?" The thought of that green hand was enough to scare anyone.

Motioning to her friends, she moved down the lawn, away from the ruckus. Whatever had happened, Pio could certainly handle it. As they walked, Roa piped up, "How have you both been? I have not ventured to Moria in a while."

[Saraphim]

Waking late was always a specialty of Saraphim's, especially when the previous night had been filled with more drinking than she cared, or could, remember.

A vague recollection crossed her mind of a vodka-drinking-contest, and hoped that she hadn't been involved.

She quickly left her tent, eager to begin revels once more. On the long walk back to the party area, she saw a clump of hobbits gathered around something on the ground. Approaching as quietly as she could, Saraph caught a glimpse of something that looked familiar.

A shadow fell over the young hobbits, and a voice came from it. As menacingly as she could manage, Saraph said:

"What's all this, my little hobbitlings?"

The three froze and looked up slowly. In a half-filled hole there rested some foriegn shiny thing and a dragon that did indeed look hauntingly familiar.

"N..nothing, miss," said one, a girl with green hair.

"Well, then," said Saraph, fully aware that her current mannerisms were the reasons she was never asked to babysit, "I suppose, if this is indeed nothing, you can come with me and explain it to the mods exactly why you seem to have made off with two gifts that were given expressly to the Barrow-Wight. Why, who knows? Perhaps the Wight himself will want a word."

Carefully emphasising 'word', Saraph bent down and picked up the misplaced mathoms carefully and put them into a pouch at her side.

"Come on, little ones," Saraph said wickedly, and led the trmbling hobbits towards the tree.

[Everdawn]

Everdawn was surprised to see Aredhel, she began to wonder how on earth she had escaped from the asylum of Minas Tirith. But right now, she supposed it did not matter.

“Lo! Aredhel! What brings you here?” asked the elf holding out a hand to the girl, who looked at it for a second before throwing her whole body weight upon the silver-haired elf knocking the both of them to the ground.

“What was that for?” Everdawn replied angrily before brushing herself of.

“That was for remembering you birthday.” She laughed, and kept laughing, so hard infact that there were tears rolling down the sides of her face.

“You silly git.” Said Everdawn. “Its not my birthday.”

“It isn’t?” Aredhel stopped laughing as a wave of horror swept across her face.

“No.” replied Everdawn going back to her seat.

“Then what am I going to do with your present.” Aredhel was beginning to get angry.

“I don’t know, keep it for later.” The elf shrugged.

“Its just as well then.. I didn’t get you anything… sorry mate.” Aredhel broke out once again in a fit of giggles.

[Arestevana]

As she left the stage, Arestevana noticed someone watching her. Trying to glance over with out being too obtrusive, she saw a woman carrying a fiddle. Curious, she walked over, nodding politely to an elf who filled the recently vacated stage. She smiled in a friendly manner as she approached, though her smile faltered a little in surprise as lively gospel music sprang up.

She waved to the other woman, signaling her wish to talk. Before she could walk over, though, she was intercepted by another woman, raven-haired. "That was one of the most beautiful songs I have ever heard. I wish everyone could do justice to the art of song." Said Kitanna.

“Thank you.” Arestevana replied. “I am glad you enjoyed my music. I was about to speak to another here who seems to much appreciate music as well, though perhaps not through song.” She gestured to Symestreem “Perhaps you would like to come as well?” she added, hoping it was true.

[Kitanna]

Kitanna smiled slightly. "I would love to join you, but are you sure? I would not wish to burden you." She looked over at Symestreem and then back to Arestevana.

She didn't want to seem like a third wheel or hinder Arestevana in her conversation with the other person. "Do not get me wrong, I do wish to join you, but only if you are sure I will not be a bother."

[Bombadil]

With all the merry singing and dancing going on, Iadarion was longing to go on stage and sing songs of his father, or the forest - But as he made his way towards the stage he noticed the Saucepan man and the Barrow-downs club band were on. After thouroughly enjoying their music, Iadarion was too embarrassed to try and follow such a great act. So he ran up to Sergeant Saucy and complimented him on his music. "It reminded me of a great band I saw in the Green Dragon once! They were all form Bree, and called themselves the Breetles. Delightful their music was, but i believe you've outmatched them chap!"

The Saucepan man smiled and the two had a long conversation. In it, Saucepan man gave word of Bethberry. Iadarion almost knocked Sergeant Saucy over after hearing the news. "My sister!?" He exclaimed. "I have heard so much about her from my parents! I must find her! Thank you friend! We shall meet again one day! I've heard you are quite an Iron Chef. I's be delighted to cook off against you one day, although i doubt I'd stand a chance! As the elves say - Namarie!"

And with that, the Saucepan Man smiled as he watched Iadarion run off to find his long lost sister Bethberry.

[symestreem]

Symestreem smiled at both of them. She took out her paper and wrote,
I'm not much in the way of conversation, as you can see. But I'd love to discuss music with both of you, as much as I am able. I am in agreement with Kitanna, that was one of the best songs I've ever heard. what is that instrument called? As an afterthought, she added,
I don't suppose either of you can read lips?
Then she handed the paper to both of them. As they were reading it, she noticed something. Waving to get their attention, she pointed at the band that had just started playing. Music! she mouthed, her meaning clear even if they couldn't understand her.

[Child of the 7th Age]

Rory laced his arm tightly about his sister's waist. Daisy looked as if she was about to cry, but was trying very hard to hold her tears back. She kept glancing sideways at the bulging bag that held the two presents and then up at Saraph's stern face. Perhaps, Rory reflected, Saraph was some kind of an Elf. In any case, she appeared enormously large and dour, and not at all likely to believe anything they said.

Nabbing mushrooms and apples was a normal part of any Hobbit childhood, as well as borrowing little items from friends and occasionally forgetting to return them. Rory had never heard of anyone who'd been sent to jail for such things. The most that would happen would be a stern lecture or two and perhaps being sentenced to a week of weeding and hoeing, or other comparable chores. But now, things looked very bad. If he and his sister got off with a stint in the Lockholes, they would consider themselves lucky. He could imagine far worse happening in the clutches of that Green Wight.

Still, Rory was not going to give up, and he vowed to try and protect his sister, especially since she was so much younger. No Green Wight was going to shake the stuffings out of her, or deactivate her account, at least if he had anything to say about it. Leaning over towards Pimpernel and Daisy, he whispered a hasty warning. "When I count three, everybody go for the Elf. That bag is the least of our worries. Daisy, just hightail it over to the tree where we were the other day. Maybe we can hide there."

On the count of three, the Hobbits attacked in unison. Rory slammed in from the front, Daisy from behind; Pimpernel lunged at the bag and hurled it to the ground, dumping its contents into a patch of tall grass. The trio plunged through the tall grass back towards the gate where a few lonely trees stood near the edge of the party field. There were no crates to help them reach the lower limbs, so they could not climb up into the same tree as before. This would have let them scramble over the fence and out into the freedom of the Shire. But they did manage to heave themselves up into the branches of another tree, this one a willow with limbs hanging close to the ground. Squatting back in the comparative safety of its leafy curtain, Rory looked around to make sure everyone was safe.

Pimpernel spoke first, leering at his two companions, "Look what I have: this Gondorian thingamabob. I scooped it up from the ground."

Daisy groaned and shook her head, "Why couldn't you leave that behind? It's only going to cause more trouble."

"Maybe,....maybe not," he countered with a shrug.

With that the three Hobbits settled back in their leafy perch, hoping that night would soon arrive.

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

OOC Comment: Please don't haul my trio in just yet! Other than that, you may do anything with them that you like. Thanks.... Cami

[Meneltarmacil]

Meneltarmacil heard an ear-splitting screech as a young hobbit picked up his little "gift", and could barely keep himself from laughing out loud. He helped himself to some of the food, including a rather generous helping of Toffee Shock. Suddenly, he felt something strange. He barely managed to spit the candy out before it exploded, knocking him backward. He didn't have a soft landing, as he smacked into a number of pots and pans.

"Just my luck." he said, then remembered hearing an "OUCH!" directly behind him. He got up, turned around, and (to his astonishment), realized that the pots and pans were in fact being worn by a very strange little man.

"I'm very sorry," he apologized. "I didn't realize that the candy was so dangerous."

[The Saucepan Man]

As the Saucepan Man watched Iadarion run off, he smiled and wondered why people always seemed to assume that his metallic attire automatically meant that he was a wizard in the kitchen. He was no such thing, if the truth be known, but he was happy to perpetrate the myth. Noticing the crowd growing impatient around the stage that the Barrow Downs Club had vacated, he decided that it was time for their second set.

In no time (and having disentangled himself from one of the "victims" of his Toffee Shock treats), Sergeant Saucy was back in front of Jonwise, Perripaul, Geordiwise and Bingo, regaling the audience with the song composed specially for this year’s party.

Let me take you down,
‘Cos I’m going to the Shire Party Field.
Where Hobbits are real
And gather there to celebrate.
Shire Party Field forever.

Frodo is sitting with eyes closed
Dreaming of lands beyond the sea.
It’s getting hard to comfort him
But it all works out.
His story means so much to me.

Let me take you down,
‘Cos I’m going to the Shire Party Field.
Where Hobbits are real
And gather there to celebrate.
Shire Party Field forever.

Lanterns shine from the Party Tree,
With fireworks bursting high and low.
Samwise tells the tale of Turin
Turambar.
That one I think is rather sad.

Let me take you down,
‘Cos I’m going to the Shire Party Field.
Where Hobbits are real
And gather there to celebrate.
Shire Party Field forever.

Of berries, and mushrooms, I take my fill,
And apple pie with triple cream.
When offered beer I say “Ah yes”
In a mug that’s long.
That’s how they serve it down in Bree.

Let me take you down,
‘Cos I’m going to the Shire Party Field.
Where Hobbits are real
And gather there to celebrate.
Shire Party Field forever.

Shire Party Field forever.
Shire Party Field forever.

Since the crowd seemed to be enjoying their performance, the band decided to finish off their set with an updated version of the previous year’s party song.

On Barrow Downs there is a Member reading highlights
Of every thread he's had the pleasure to have known.
And all the spirits that come and go
Stop and say hello.

In the Forum there’s a Newbie with a question,
Of Bombadil and Beorn and Tolkien’s words.
But the Newbie never does a search,
He talks of Balrog’s wings, of all the things!

The Barrow Downs is on my screen and in my head.
There beneath the black and orange threads
I type, and meanwhile back

In the Books there is a scholar with a theory
On Rings and Elven immortality.
He likes to talk of Eucatastrophe,
And Norse mythology.

*Gondorian regal trumpet solo*

The Barrow Downs is on my screen and in my head.
Just post your thoughts on what you’ve read
of Arda, meanwhile back

Upon the Downs among the Middle-Earth Mirthies
The Disco King is dancing every night and day
And tho' Boromir’s in his grave,
We all do the wave.

On the Downs the scholar quotes another Letter.
We see the Newbie now happily settled in.
Then a fangirl rushes in
From an Orli site, what a fright!

The Barrow Downs is on my screen and in my head.
There within the black and orange threads
I type, and meanwhile back

The Barrow Downs is on my screen and in my head.
There within the black and orange threads

Barrow Downs.

As the applause died down, the Saucepan Man thanked the crowd. The performance over, the four colourful Hobbits made straight for one of the bar tents, while Saucepan poured himself a drink from his kettle and wandered off to enjoy whatever the evening still might hold in store for him.

[Saraphim]

Saraphim sat stunned on the ground, but her silence did not last long as the ridiculousness of the situation caused her to break into peals of laughter. She continued to sit on the grass and laugh until it began to get cold.

Getting up and brushing herself off, Saraph continued to giggle intermittently as she headed to the nearest bar and sat down.

"A pint of your finest, good sir," she said to the barkeeper, who hurried off to oblige.

A moment later, Saraph burst into laughter again as she remembered that the hobbits had called her an elf before she had been knocked down.

"An elf!" she exclaimed to the surprised barkeeper, who had returned.

"Erm, yes'm, there are rather alot of them about, aren't there?" he said, confused.

Saraphim continued to laugh wholeheartedly through sips of her ale, remebering the scene and finding it more than amusing.

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

Fordim Hedgethistle was so happy to see Roa that he flapped his wings…or spread out his vast shadowy form in the shape of wings…or loomed about as a great shape…in joy. His encounter earlier with the…person…who had mistaken him for a lowly Orc had left him in a particularly foul mood, and it was only with the greatest of diplomacy that Kransha had been able to prevent him from blasting the insolent being from the face of Middle-earth. (As a matter of fact, Kransha had not really done much at all to prevent his friend from going into a full Thangbadorian fury. On the contrary, the fellow’s Orcish nature had seemed to relish the prospect of a bit of a toss-up, but the darned rules that Pio had put in place prevented them from having any real fun.)

The three friends moved off to find a quiet place for a chat, pausing only long enough to listen to Saucepan Man’s song, but as good a tune as it was, it only served to deepen Fordim’s abiding existential crisis, for throughout the duration of the performance all he could think was, “Do Balrog’s even like music?”

For a while he was able to make some small talk with his friends, but as Roa asked him more and more questions about his life to which he did not know the answers he finally broke down and began to cry. Huge tears rolled down the smoke and shadow where his face should be, turning to things of slime by the time they hit the grass where they smoked and emitted a foul odour. Covering her nose delicately, Roa cried out “Why, Fordim, whatever is wrong?” Kransha merely busied himself inspecting the slime (and did Fordim actually see him taste a bit of it?!)

Through his great blubbering tears Fordim gabbled out his woes. “Oh Roa! Oh Kransha –stop eating my slime! – I can’t tell you how miserable I am. I have so many questions about my life! About my self!! Whether these are even wings or not” and he shrugged the vast shadows “is the least of my concerns. I spend most of my days with Orcs, and I don’t even know if they are descended of Elves, or Men or some other race entirely! And my fate – what of my fate!? Sometimes, you see, I think it might be nice to go back to Valinor. You know, apologise to the Big Chiefs and settle down in a nice little house near Aule – he was always so much fun to go out hunting with! But can I even go back? Do I have the option to repent? Sometimes, I try to figure these sorts of things out and I’m lead to remember the very earliest days…but even then I get confused. Were the heavens made when Eru hung lamps from the dome of the sky, or did they alight when He sang? And is Eru in charge of my decisions, or is there something else going on?? And, and, and…” here his words came in huge rasping gurgles of agony, “what does it all mean anyway? And does it mean anything to me, or only to the people in the stories I remember? Or is it all meaningless? Or, or, or…” He broke down and wept like a pitiable babe.

At that moment a helpful hobbit ran up to them bearing in his hands a large volume with “The Red Book of Westmarch” written in gold leaf on the cover. “Here,” he said, “read this, it has all the answers!” But then another hobbit ran up with another book that said “The Lord of the Rings” on the cover. “No no” this hobbit said, “read this book!” Then another person arrived with something called “The Silmarillion,” claiming that it had the truth, but soon there were three others who claimed that this book had been badly edited and they were compiling a truly definitive edition of the book, which they were also calling “The Silmarillion”. The next to arrive, with a clank and a bang, was that nice Saucepan Man but rather than resolving the issue he flung a book called “The Letters” atop the increasingly disorderly pile and said that it had some interesting nuggets.

From here, things got steadily worse. Some people suggested that he did not need to bother reading any of the books, but some of those suggested they did not really matter, while others said he could write his own book with his own answers. Then there was a small but determined group who argued that he shouldn’t really be bothering with asking the questions at all. “Just sit back,” they said soothingly. “Relax, enjoy the stories for what they are.” But then someone said, “But how can we know what they are intended to be?” and this set off a new round of questions and answers.

Fordim turned to his friends once more. He was well beyond tears now, having settled into a profound resignation to his fate. “You know,” he said in his loudest voice possible – and all those about him fell silent. “I think I just want to have some fun for the moment. This place is really quite wonderful. THANK YOU MR WIGHT!” he bellowed. He looked down at the people about him, and the stared up at him in shocked silence.

But then they all began to talk once more, and Fordim smiled, and listened, and learned.

[Luthien_ Tinuviel]

Well, it looked like everyone from Luthien's group who was going to arrive had already done so. She was safe to leave the pavilion in their care and take her baked goods to the refreshment table. First she handed the basket around to her friends and let them each choose something good to munch on. It didn't do to go on an empty stomach all the way to the food tables.

"I'll be right back, hopefully," she announced, and sauntered off to the area containing all the food, and thus most of the people. Once she had relieved herself of her burden, she would have to reward herself for her great toil, she thought. Meanwhile, a scone or two would do nicely. Her trip took longer than she had expected. Two sonces became three, and a cookie as well. By the time she actually got to the table to lay out her food, her basket contained a grand total of one cookie. Oh, well, she reflected. At least they went to good use. And I still have my present for the Barrow-wight, so I suppose that may redeem me. Could I convince everyone to do a skit, I wonder? Her thoughts trailed off as she sighted a big pot full of taters. Right beside it lay a stack of plates, and oh glory! Mushrooms! Honoring hobbits as she was on that day, she thought no more of skits.

[piosenniel]

Pio had the sudden urge to chew on a sheet of blotter paper. As it was, she resisted, hauling out instead her old pair of blue tinged, wire rimmed granny glasses and fixing them firmly on her face. The world turned a lovely shade of aqua as she made her way to the tent from which issued the enchanting Faerie tune. The images it engendered danced on the edges of her consciousness making her think of times gone by.

A partygoer, wandering by in all innocence, was beset upon by the smiling Elf who attempted to impart some old pearl of dead wisdom in passing. ‘Own all their albums . . . vinyl . . .’ she whispered to the befuddled woman in blue. ‘one of the tracks, if you play it backwards says Perripaul is dead, you know . . . and then of course there’s the walrus . . .’

The woman in blue had backed away by this time, muttering something about needing to see to her sick aunt . . . ‘Vinyl?’ she could be heard babbling . . . ‘album . . .walrus . . .?’

The set was finished by the time Pio arrived at the swirly paisley tent. ‘Just as well,’ she sighed, perching the glasses on the top of her hair. From the corner of her eye she saw a bright swatch of green hair running pell mell toward one of the willow trees on the other side of the field – soon followed by two other small figures. Thoughts of the Wight and her promise came to the fore and she put away dreams of earlier days. Keeping her eye firmly fixed on the willow, she made her way stealthily toward the three little miscreants.

[Oddwen]

Oddwen jumped as a very regal looking silver-haired elf commented on her song.

"Oh, thanks very much. Though I can't even think to compare with Sgt. Saucy, of course."

They parted company companionably, and Oddwen continued to the tables. She managed to snare a few of the fast disappearing chocolate-chip cookies before too many hobbits visited them.

An elf pulled out what appeared to be some sort of dulcimer and played a lovely tune.

Then a sight met her eyes that made time stand still.

Garlic. Pizza. Lots of it. A sight to make any other person (especially a garlic lover) tear up.

Choosing three of the 152763 pizzas, she then looked around for a place to sit. All of the tables nearest the Barrow seemed to be strangely empty, so she took advantage of the table space to spread her food.

The table had a nice view of the stage, if you liked staring at the backs of the performers. At least she could view the style of the drummer without the strange facial expressions that seem to come with the job.

A sudden yank on her cloak brought her about quickly.

"Oh, I'm sorry!" she cried. "I thought...you looked...your cloak makes you look as if you were a Jawa!"

"Nope," said Oddwen dryly. "I am enjoying your pizzas, though. You do have a way with garlic."

[Eowyn Skywalker]

Eowyn Skywalker got rather bored of wandering around the fields rather fast, as she never had liked wandering randomly that greatly. So, as the wind rustled around her, and shadows seemed to grow longer, the shortish, slightly elven human walked back to the main scene of the party, though there was really nothing there for her either.

She carried a droll face as she walked back to the food tables, and nearly fainted, as her garlic pizzas were rather strong sented, as it were. The yong woman took a slice of the pizza, and munched on it, as she oversaw the party from her place at the food tables, not that it did much for her, as she was rather short. "I suppose that 152763 pizzas was a little much," Eowyn Skywalker reflected on her third slice of pizza. She snrked. So what if no one liked garlic pizzas? It reflacted her personality, if nothing else.

After munching down 456 slices of pizza, Eowyn Skywalker decided that it was pointless to resist. She stood up, and screamed, "WE ALL KNOW THAT THERE ARE ORCS, BUT WHERE DO THE LITTLE ORCS COME FROM?! ARE THERE FEMALE ORCS OUT THERE?!" She coughed. "Akk... must.. not... shout... so... loud. Think of the voice box..."

Everyone turned to stare at her. "It was inevitable," she muttered, and screamed again, "HAPPY BIRTHDAY, BARROW-DOWNS!!!"

[Saraphim]

Saraphim had downed her third ale, and had started in on a fourth and a slice of garlic-infested pizza. She listened appreciativly to the Saucepan Man's music, and to Fordim Hedgethistle's speech about the great Downs.

Suddenly, however, Saraph remembered something. It seemed as good a time as any, as she noticed a hobbit playing a fiddle near the stage.

Downig her pizza and drink, Saraph stood up and walked over to the musical hobbit. Bending down, she whispered to him. He smiled and struck up a spirited tune on the fiddle.

Saraph jumped onto the stage and sang the old Barrow-Song with slight differences:

Cold be keyboard and monitor and mouse,
Cold be your skin when you reside in your house,
But nevermore will you rise from stony bed,
Without logging on and checking the Dead.

Everyone had heard that verse before, of course, but there was more Saraph had prepared for this very event:

On the black screen some threads may die,
But still discussing the reasons why,
Until the Dark Mod lifts a hand,
Over thier books held together by a rubber band.

Grabbing a mug of ale from a passing tray, Saraph cried: "To the Barrow-Downs! May our books never fall apart beyond recognition!"

She drank deeply to the health of the Barrow-Wight, the Mods, and all her fellow members.

[HerenIstarion]

Third day of feasting was well on when grey-clad figure approached the party field. Taking a closer look, if an onlooker not busy with merrymaking may have been found, it may have been noticed that garments the figure has been wearing were rather blue, but dust-covered to the extent it was hard to place a bet on it. H-I was late for the party and knew it. He was away on pressing business of his own to the Havens, and, however eager he was to join the celebration, could not help coming up belatedly. "I'll find them all snoring when I get there, whatever may be said about wizards being never late" he reflected as he was approaching the party field. But whatever his thoughts on the subject, decent amount of din were radiating in every direction. "After all, some snack maybe left for weary traveler too" he laughed heartily and turned to the gate.

But prior to taking the step in, H-I took care to beat some of the dust off, adjusted his hat and scarf and dropped his knapsack by the post. "The wizard must appear in a proper fashion, otherwise who'd be awed?" He raised his staff, which exploded into the night with the golden fountain of a firework. H-I seemed quite pleased with the effect. 'I have written HerenIstarion is here in signs that all can read from Rivendell to the mouths of Anduin.' he murmured into his beard as he moved forward. 'I may be less good than Olorin was, but now that he's back to Aman, I'm the best this side of the sea"

But, to his displeasure, not many took heed of the mounting flames at the entrance. "They are all drunk, as I should have expected." he grunted. "Should I blow up some piece of after-the-feast garbage that is to be found in plenty around here to draw their attention?" By now he turned his gaze to the party tree, "Hum, what a waste of parchment, all stuck up the trunk and the very branches of it. But let us take a closer look and learn what it is all about" For a while, he was reading birthday wishes, smiling now and again as pieces of good poetry caught his sight, and eventually noticed quite a large scroll titled Rules for the Partygoers, almost entirely covered under all sorts of leaflets and posters. "Kind of spelling contest, is it? Let us see, let us see… I once knew every spell in all the tongues of Elves or Men or Orcs that was ever used for such a purpose. But now I must dash off on the spot, seemingly. But I can do better than nailing it to the tree" he chuckled, "Am I not the Deadnight Chanter?"

The wizard turned to the field, raised both his arms and started to rock gently, than faster and faster, spinning, revolving, now squatting, now kneeling, making complex moves with his arms and hands, fingers held tightly together. He was engaged in a dance unnoticed, until he began to chant, softly at first, but as the dance quickened, the chant too gained strength and sound:

Be ye cheerful, be ye mirthful
Ale be flowing, sing ye gleeful
Rare be anger, beef be roasting
Real be made yer table boasting
Oft be singing, rare be weeping
Wood be burning, bones be heaping
Dark be fearless, stars be shining
Oft together ye'll be dining
Wights be feasting, minstrels derry
Night be dancing, morn be merry
Sing ye joyful, sing together!

One by one, as the chant filled the field, guest and host alike, the faces were turning to the tree, lips were moving almost unwittingly, as here and there people were starting to sing, and hundred of voices uttered concurrent sigh: 'HerenIstarion is here!'

[piosenniel]

She had not quite reached the willow tree, when the green band on her wrist began to glow again. In the background, near the Party Tree she could hear a great chant had gone up. Looking back back she saw another wizard had entered the party. And what an entrance! Her brows raised at the flames licking round the front gate, then relaxed as she saw the SVF (Shireling Volunteer Firefighters) already organising a bucket brigade.

The green wrist band glowed brighter.

‘Yes, your Wightliness,’ she said in a hurried tone, her eyes trying to penetrate the leafy branches of the willow no too far away now. ‘I’ve finished my writing for the day,’ came the familiar deep voice in a peevish tone. ‘Is it time for the fireworks yet?’ Pio glanced at the position of the sun – ‘Going on evening just now, Wight. Give it a couple of hours, two at the most and I shall have the old fellow start lighting his rockets and star-bursts.’ A few mumbled words followed, something about a silvered dragon having returned and what about . . .

‘You are breaking up, Sir,’ replied Pio crumpling a piece of notepaper she’d fished out of her pocket near the bracelet. ‘Take a nap . . .you sound tired . . . .’ She crackled the paper a few more times and clicked the off button on the band.

She had just reached her intended target when a gentle voice called out to her. ‘Piosenniel! I’ve finished my preparations along with the aid of my three good helpers here!’ The old man stood at the edge of the path, a bouquet of rockets held in his hand. From behind him, hidden by his voluminous robes, came the sound of laughter and quick shushings. ‘Ancalimon,’ she said, crouching down as she tried to peek around him. ‘Who is that hiding behind your robes, I wonder?’ A chorus of giggles followed, and three smiling faces peeked out from behind the old man. ‘Ammë!’ cried the three as they hurtled toward Pio, nearly knocking her over. ‘We’ve sorted the fireworks out for Uncle,’ said Isilmir. ‘By color,’ said Gilwen, her comment following closely on her twin’s. ‘And I’ve sorted the straws out he’s going to use to light them,’ added little Cami, a serious expression on her face. Her three little ones grabbed Ancalimon’s robes and drew him near their mother. ‘Go on, tell her,’ prompted Isilmir, his grey eyes on the old man’s face. ‘Yes, tell her,’ chorused the girls. Ancalimon, his blue eyes twinkling, laughed at the eager trio. ‘I’ve promised them they might each light one of the smaller fireworks when the show opens.’

‘Ooh!’ came a piping voice from the branches above the little group. ‘It’s Rory!’ cried little Cami, peering up through the leaves. ‘What’re you doing up there?’ asked Gilwen, coming to stand beside her sister. ‘And Daisy . . . where did you get that green hair.’ ‘Ooh! I like it,’ joined in little Cami, her eyes shining.

The two Hobbit children climbed down to the ground, and were soon taken up in asking questions about the fireworks and when were they to see them. Pio could hear the leaves rustling above her. ‘You had best come down, too,’ she called up through the leaves. ‘And bring down that last present that needs to go back on the table, if you please.’ Pimpernel shinnied down the trunk and walked sheepishly over to where Pio stood, the Metaserver in his hand.

Ancalimon took the six children in hand, saying he could use them all as his assistants. Pio mouthed her thanks to him, and taking the wayward gift went to replace it on the table . . .

[Evisse the Blue]

The Deadnight's Chanter's rousing song was still echoing round the field when Evisse the Blue managed to finally join the party, descending ungracefully from a tired eagle, her blue gown rumpled and her hat askew. 'Well, if wizards are never late, half-breed witches most certainly are, and fashionably so, too', she replied to anyone who questioned her about her late arrival, refraining from giving any reasons. And wisely so, since it was entirely her fault for confusing the meeting place at the Party Tree in the Shire, with the White Tree in Minas Tirith. Anyway, here she was now, saved by the eagle whom she intended to repay with hobbit-food and ale. Staightening her garments, she smiled broadly, imagining the feast and merriment that was to come. After all, she was in the Shire. What could possibly go wrong?

[piosenniel]

Night – the Firework show begins

The party swirled on as the sun dipped below the horizon. Near the western edge of the field, guests settled in on blankets they’d spread on the ground or sat on benches they’d dragged over from the pavilions. The entry way to the burrow faced west, and from within could be seen a ghastly glow as the Wight settled himself in the doorway to watch the fireworks.

Amidst the oohs! And aahs! of the crowd, a series of small rockets burst against the dark sky, lit by the children. Heren Istarion or so she had gathered the wizard was called, had assisted in part, turning some of the bursts into lovely patterns that delighted and thrilled those watching . . .

[HerenIstarion]

H-I was no longer grumpy, as his hunger and weariness were cured with the rich food of the Shire. Having helped Ancalimon with the fireworks, he was sitting quitely by the tree, smoking his pipe and feasting his eyes on their common handiwork. "Why, this Ancalimon proved himself to be skilled craftsman' he murmured' Even I can learn a thing or two from him. Once the party is over, I am going to have a long talk with him: such a talk as I have not had in all my time. We shall have much to say to one another'. He puffed out yet another smoke-ring and fell silent again.

[Evisse the Blue]

Pausing from her feast, Evisse stood up to watch the fireworks which lighted up the night, and applauded heartily along with the rest Pio and Heren Istarion 's magical efforts. She watched them for a few minutes, almost expecting a fiendishly realistic dragon to pop out, but nothing of that sort happened, and the delight of the onlookers was long-lasting. When they at last turned to their momentarily deserted meals and drinks, it was with a happy gleam in their eyes and a smile on their faces.
Evisse started from her own firework-induced euphoria and realized she hasn't payed her respects to the venerable Wight, the one who weaved the spell around them all, the Keeper of the Mystery. Making her way towards the willow, she stopped in front of it and whispered uncertainly into the darkness: "Happy birthday to Barrow Downs, Your Wightiness!" After a moment of silence, a few questioning mumbles were heard, which she took to mean that 'Barrow downs is a place, and I am a person, well, was a person.'
"Well, yes' Evisse stammered, but you are, well, you know, the , you know.."
"yes, I am the Barrow Wight, the one and only, I know", said a self-satisfied though strangely benevolent voice. 'Now go and enjoy the party!"
"yes, you Wightiness!", Evisse replied brightly, and headed off, refraining from teasing him with allusions of him being at the Gaffer's home made brew, and thus, outstaying her welcome. The eerie voice had sounded a little slurred.

The fireworks were still dancing in the sky when she reached her own mug of delicious beer. Looking around she spotted Heren Istarion blowing rings of smoke and waved happily. She knew he wasn't going to scold her for being late, because he was in fact, himself late. And besides, nobody was much in the mood for scolding these days...Hobbits, Elves, Wizards and Orcs alike were humming 'I'll get by with a little help from the Downs', and Evisse joined in, learning the words as they came.

As she hummed and sipped her ale, she remembered she had not made a formal birthday wish, or left a mathom. And knowing that 'late is better than never', she carefully extracted from the folds of her dress a bright red coffee cup, slightly dented on a side. She gazed at it lovingly, before depositing it along with the rest.

Then she cleared her throat, climbed on a nearby tree stump for effect, and began:

We read Tolkien all night and we log on Barrows all day,
Live uns ask us 'don't you have bills to pay?'
But we got something they can't take away --
Our Barrow: obsession's here to stay,
So keep on posting, lock the real world outside,
You don't need nothing when the Barrow's online
Our dreams, our pride,
My keyboard clicks like crazy -- all night,
And there's a chance yours is too, and it's alright,
And I'll never let go, cause there's something I know deep inside....

She paused, and those who listened held their breath expectantly...To everybody's suprise but lasting delight, she took up Saucy's tune:

I'll get by with a little help from the Downs...
Everybody joined in, enthusiastically, while Evisse sighed in relief that nobody mocked her crazy birthday wish...

[Estelyn Telcontar]

Merisuwyniel listened appreciatively to the various songs and poems, especially enjoying those of The Saucepan Man. She did dearly love the gentle art of parody, especially when she recognized the original source. She wondered if she should try to write a poem or song, since the member of her company who was usually responsible for poetic efforts had not come to the party. However, she needed some inspiration, and the only thing that had inspired her to poetic effort so far was - a beautiful dress!

The very thing!, she thought, and hurried away to find Falafel with her baggage. Her gorgeous Elven gown from the hallowed boutiques of Topfloorien was in perfect condition, as always, and as she changed into the star-strewn creation in shades of blue, she had time to ponder poetically...

~*~

Merisu carried her high-heeled Manwëolos as she walked gracefully to the center of activity; an uneven field, trodden by myriads of feet, was better navigated Hobbit-style. When she reached the platform near the Barrow entrance, she slipped into the Elven sandals (Her bare feet had stayed immaculate, of course; Elven skin is dirt-repellant!), rising to an impressive height that commanded the attention of all guests nearby. Though there was none of what mortals call ´magic´in her sparkling raiment, some power dwelt in them that inspired her to raise her clear voice. The light of generations of Elven aristocracy shone in her eyes as she spoke:

Bee-Dubbya is a forum king,
and of the Downs its members sing:
A Tolkien realm that’s fair, flame-free,
With book discussions and RPG.

Some threads are long, debate is keen,
With shining reputations seen;
And countless quotes in lengthy posts
Do testify of well-read hosts.

Some threads are funny, more or less;
On others, answers must be guessed
To questions easy or riddles tough.
The posters there can’t get enough!

Some threads do deal with movie lore,
And whether the characters should have been more
Like they were in the book - more noble, less weak.
Could PJ have done better? These answers they seek.

Some threads are stories, told anew
In Shire and Rohan, Gondor too.
Many Middle-earth gamers gather there
To write the adventures their characters share.

Four years ago the forum began:
The Barrow, idea of one Tolkien fan,
Became a virtual meeting place
For many - some, even, face to face!

Long ago we surfed this way
and now we dwell here; dead, so to say,
For into darkness we fell, deep and far,
In the Barrow-Downs where the Ghost Princes are.

Lift your glasses now all, in a toast to him
Whose vision, though green, is never dim.
Happy Birthday, dear Downs, and enjoy being dead,
All you Skeletons, Wights, and especially our Head!

[Orofaniel]

The fireworks were beautiful, and all the guests looked at them with great satisfaction. The party had gone so fast, yes, even for Orofaniel and her friend Nova. They had met Firi, and together they had eaten and drank, while listening to Sausy's songs.

"It's really pretty, ain't it?" Orofaniel asked Nova and Firi. They both nodded but didn't say anything at once. They both seemed to busy and too enchanted by it; they just watched. "Mhm.." Nova said finally while smiling. "I love fireworks..." Firi added. "I've always loved it," she continued and looked down from the sky.

"Erm...I'm a bit afraid of 'em actually..." Orofaniel said seeming insecure. Firi burst into laughter and looked at Orofaniel wondering if she really was afraid of it. "What?" Oro asked her with great eyes. "You...you're scared of 'em?" Firi asked and giggled. "Well...um...only when they come too "close", if you know what I mean..." Orofaniel said and straightened her back. "You're such a wimp," Nova said suddenly, teasing her. Oro knew that Nova loved to tease her and ignored the last comment. "Pff..." She said and looked up again. “They are not going to eat you, you know…” Nova said and made a grimace.

Nova then started to laugh and Firi soon joined her. "Um..Nova, you're afraid too..." Orofaniel said mocking her. "Really?" Nova seemed surprised over her statement. "Um..sure.." Oro said and laughed.

"Anyone care for something more to drink?" Orofaniel asked the two others after a moment with silence.

[Amanaduial the archer]

Aman stared, horrified as she watched, as if in slow motion, the three hobbit children - two of Cami's children and that pesky Pimpernel - rugby-tackled the woman leading them to the ground. Hurrying over to Saraph, she put a hand forward to help the woman up. "I do apologise, they are rather-"

To her astonishment, the woman burst out into peals of laughter. The Innkeeper withdrew her hand slowly into her apron and looked around nervously, wondering perhaps if there was something wrong with the woman. Just as she was about to risk enquiring whether the woman was alright again (a chance to be sure - the last time had, it seemed, caused such hilarity...), when Saraph stood up, wiping tears of merriment from her eyes.

"A pint of your finest, good miss," she asked merrily. Aman decided not to question it, simply smiling politely and wondering again why she had decided to let loose the odds from all over the forum into her Inn. As she was drawing a pint though, Saraphim burst into more laughter. Aman was beginning to get rather paranoid now - what, what, what was she doing to cause such hilarity?!

"An elf! They thought I was an elf!"

Aman looked the woman up and down, taking in the flowing hair and, yes, those ears were very slightly pointed... "Well, they are quite common around here...?" she chanced.

Saraph simply gave another chortle, shaking her head and taking a sip of the pint. Aman smiled weakly and moved on as hastily as courtesy would allow, hoping to get away from this bizarre elf-that-wasn't.

~*~*~*~

Later on, Aman sat on one of the hammered-in posts outside the marquee, not far from the Present Tree, wiping her hands and watching the fireworks. Nearby, two wizards (the pair who Aman thought had devised the display) sat puffing on their pipes and commenting critically on the fireworks. She smiled across at them and Heren-Istarion tipped his hat to her politely. She grinned. So much for gruffness then...

The guards had gone in for a drink and were taking their time, gossiping near the entrance of the Inn and apparently trying to chat up Bethberry and Lush (although Aman couldn't say much for their chances - Lush looked truly stunning and the Innkeeper rather doubted there was a male in the place who hadn't noticed her. Even the orcs seemed to be taking a vague, confused interest). Behind her, in a bush, Aman heard something rustling and paused, not quite looking around, just waiting. The next firework went off, a particularly spectacular specimen, and in the applause that followed Aman heard frantic voices whispering.

"Go!"
"No, you go!"
"Pimpernel, now is not the time to get cold feet about this!"
"Whose getting cold feet? If you're so desperate, you go and put it there, Daisy Zaragamba!"
"Put it there yourself, dragon's breath!"
"Dragon's breath yerself!"

Aman whipped around, plunging a hand into the bush and grasping a collar. The bush emitted a high-pitched squeal and the collar squirmed under her grasp but the Innkeeper held on. Then she felt little teeth sink into her hand and let go with a yelp, withdrawing her hand sharply and jumping back, more in surprise than pain. Looking back at the bush just in time, Aman saw three small, dark figures emerge with the speed of a greased adder and high-tail it away. One yelled over it's shoulder as they sped away only to be silenced by another.

"Sorry, Miz! Didn't mean to-"
"Didn't mean to? You just bit the flamin' Innkeeper, Daisy! Oh, Mama is going to kill us...we're really for it now..."

[Witch_Queen]

With today being the birthday for Barrowdowns, I want to wish everyone a good day. May the next year be a good one for you and your loved ones.
Witch_Queen (Witchie)
After writing and posting her birthday greeting Witchie decided that the party was the best she had ever seen even though it seemed to her that the Party tree was full of wishes and greetings.Yeah its a birthday party and for a change I was invited. Yippey! She always wanted to have a party in a bucket but decided that this one will do just fine. Looking around she saw all her many friends. People she had come to know and love through-out her travels. Some people she hadn't even seen before but was glad to see new faces. At the sight of Bethberry Witchie had to go see her old friend. "Bethberry!" she cried at the top of her lungs. She was glad to find someone that she recognized right off the bat.

Witch_Queen proceeded to where Bethberry was at. Making sure not to interrupt someone elses conversation she kept her voice down a bit. "Hello old friend." Bethberry isn't that old. Oh just forget about it. This isn't a time to reconsider your words this is a time to celebrate. Witch_Queen was so happy to hear some one call her Witchie instead of being formal and saying Witch_Queen. She knew her arrival was late but she thought at least she could enjoy the last little bit of the party before going back to her little hole in the hill.!!!!Party!!!!

[Hama Of The Riddermark]

Hama rode up to the gates in his full general's livery, the flowing cloak blowing out behind him and an ornately hilted sword at his waist. He dismounted, drew his bow and fired an arrow at the board. It hit home, and a note unwound from it, wishing the Barrow Downs a happy Birthday.

He looked up into the sky just in time to see a firework go off, and he smiled broadly. These shireflok were indeed a great people, never in Rohan would such a show have been put on...

[Maeggaladiel]

Lady Maeggaladiel of the Four Eyes cursed softly to herself. She was positioned on the floor in a rather unladylike pose, groping under her bed with one hand for something that could not be found. Batting aside dust bunnies the size of small Wargs, she stretched her arm as far as it would reach. Cold floor and dirty socks greeted her searching fingertips.

Suddenly she felt something cold and hard. Grinning, she grasped it and pulled it out from under the bed. Her grin melted away. This was not what she was looking for.

“How did a chainsaw get under here?” she wondered to herself. Perhaps the dust bunnies were out to get her… She made a mental note to vacuum as soon as possible. She dove back under.

Suddenly her fingers brushed what felt like a wooden box. Maeggaladiel’s head lifted quickly—BANG—and hit the frame of her bed.

“D’oh!” she yelped. Rubbing the sore spot (it had better not leave a lump), Maeg drew the wooden box from its hiding place. It was coated in dust. Maeg blew a puff of air across its lid. A white cloud of dust rose from it and settled three feet away on her party dress, lying on a chair.

“I’ll deal with you later, Dust of Evil,” she told it. She hoped that the dust bunnies heard this and were shaking in their fuzzy slippers. Pull a chainsaw on her, would they?

The box was of a dark wood, with a brass lock. Maeg closed her eyes and placed her hand on the lid. Within this box lay her greatest treasure, hidden from all other eyes and protected by an ancient spell.

“Edro, edro.” She spoke the elvish word for “Open” in her most dramatic Arwen voice. The box remained locked.

“Edro!” she commanded, less Arwen and more angry this time. “Open, stupid box!” The box was motionless. Making sure no one was watching, Maeg got a hammer and pried open the lid.

Inside, nestled among red velvet and scraps of newspaper, lay the jewel of Maeg’s collection; a pair of rose-tinted glasses. Smiling, Maeg removed her old glasses and put on the extraordinary eyewear. Everything looked pinkish. She looked in the mirror.

“Maeggaladiel of the Four Eyes, Founder of the Nearsighted Elves Foundation, is ready to PAR-TEEEEE!!” She made a disco pose.
**
Maeg edged up to the Barrow Wight’s table of presents. It was uncomfortably close to a suspicious-looking mound of earth. She couldn’t help imagining a giant green hand reaching from the barrow as she slipped her gift (a “Saruman’s Magical Manicure Set for Men, Istari, and Other Things, Living or Dead”) on the table. Then she moved towards the banquet table as quickly as she could without tripping over the hem of her rose-colored party dress. There she placed a plate of her favorite pastries, Beorn Claws, and a pitcher of Miruvor-flavored Kool-Aid among the other foods.

“HAPPY BIRTHDAY!” she sang. Fireworks exploded above her, and a variety of creatures, from an orc to a balrog to a man wearing saucepans singing songs, meandered about, talking. She looked around for someone she knew.

[Nerindel]

Nerindel remained long in the pleasant company of Mrs Bracegirdle, unable to drag herself away from the woman’s delightful anecdotes, her eyes had widened in astonishment as two hobbit children ran past, one of which unmistakably had brilliant bright green hair. An elven magic she recognised but knew was much frowned upon, as it served no relative purpose. Nevertheless, she did remark to Mrs Bracegirdle that the child’s mother would now not have a hard time spotting her daughter in the crowd.

“Unless of course she finds herself a good bush to hide in, of which in the Shire there are many.” Hilde had replied with a laugh of her own. “I only hope that it is not permanent, I do not know if the good hobbits of the Shire could get used to such an outlandish change, next thing you know they‘ll all be wanting it, can you just imagine it a rainbow of tiny bobbin heads running thought the streets!”

Nerindel laughed at the sudden image of multicolour curly heads bouncing along the four farthings shocking the quiet peaceful folks of the shire, “oh the upset!” she laughed. “But do not fear my friend like all magic it fades with the passage of time, a day perhaps two and the child hair will be as it once was.”

“Well I only hope that none of my own children get the same idea!”

“Well at least I am here to fix such a catastrophe should it could about .” she laughed, then the two sat back and stared in awe a wonderful display of fireworks that light up the evening sky.

[Lyta_Underhill]

Lyta Underhill had great need of escape, although she lived in what she considered the most beautiful place in all of Middle Earth, a rather vast expanse past the Withywindle, where the Barrow-wight was much known and much-avoided. However, the rumors had reached Lyta's ears through the mouths of frogs and one Tom Bombadil that time, old restraints and old rules were to be broken for a celebration feast, the likes of which has not previously been seen in all of Eriador. She decided to join in honoring the Barrow-wight, for in all her years living in a rather dangerous place, he had never caused her any distress, and in fact, did her great service by keeping out random wanderers by reputation alone!

She was ready long before, having prepared a large batch of honeysuckle wine for gift and consciousness enhancement purposes. A long ago trip to Fangorn Forest had provided her with the crucial ingredient. Months it sat at the ready; days it hung on in large skins to her trusty wagon, the Internet. Somehow, she managed to skew her path slightly east on her way to this long awaited party and ended up torn and ragged from the pathless paths of the Forest next to the Green Hills. Therefore, thanks to the kindness and keen eyes of many Tooks down in Tookland, Lyta was saved from her own bad sense of direction. (She was also relieved of a good bit of her burden by the oh-so helpful Tooks). Thus, it came to be that Lyta arrived very late, with a battered wagon drawn by a scratched up (but well-tended!) pony and a rag-tag, loudly singing group of Tooks, none of whom could remember their own or anyone else's names, and all of whom seemed a bit overtall for hobbits. Lyta sang as well, but quietly, as she was very tired. A fair store of Fangorn-honeysuckle wine remained, but she had not the strength to remove it from the wagon. (Many of the Took lads had no problem with this, however!). She sat down on the edge of the party field at last, sprawled at the feet of her black and white spotted pony, herself a vision of mudstained splendor in a once-white dress shot with gold. Her crown of honeysuckle still clung to her tangled brown hair and scented the air, only partially covering the signs of her long and wavering journey through thick forested lands. "I'm finally here..." she croaked and passed out at the feet of her pony, a cup in her hand. A random drunken Took relieved her of the cup almost instantaneously.

Cheers!
Lyta

[Bêthberry]

Bêthberry, her arm draped over her long lost twin brother Iadarion's shoulder--or was it she who was long lost? who knew what that right interpretation was?-- had caught Aman's eye and noted the merriment in it at the orc's slavering over Lush. He really did not realise that here was, absolutely without question, a True Anti-Archetype, if only they could have interpreted her right. But there you have it. Orcs always doomed to be wrong.

And Bethberry had been so very pleased to see Witchie appear even at the eleventh hour of the party, so to speak. She moved to make room for Witchie so everyone could see the wonderful fireworks. Later she would offer her song of praise and thanks to the Barrow Wight but for now she was happy to enjoy the memory of the experience if not the analysis of SaucepanMan's wonderful ditties. And, yes, Bethberry did recognise the originals there, but she was a tad confused as to whether she remembered them at the time of Saucy's rendition or in restrospect. She gave up as she did not wish to break the spell of the moment. or the encorsellant.

It was difficult to appreciate the fireworks, however, much she wanted to recognise Others here, for she found herself rather too close to the firey balrog Mr. Hedgethistle, whose light and fire quite flared at times and out shone the fireworks themselves, expertly prepared by Piosenniel, Ancalimon and HerenIstarion. She coughed to clear her throat and raised her hands to cover her eyes as she turned to towards the flashing space of nothingness with the booming voice. She wondered what he might have to say to her, a denisen of Middle earth almost as old as he.

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

Fordim was delighted to find himself standing next to the ancient and reverend figure of Bêthberry. It had been many an Age since they had spoken face to face – in fact, now that he thought about it, he wasn’t sure that they had ever really met face to face (if he even had a face…).

Shrugging his wings(?) against the doubt and uncertainty that was now a part of his existence, Fordim bowed deeply to the reverend woman, and asked if she were enjoying the fireworks. She returned his bow with an elegant curtsy, but when she arose her face was one of deep meditation. “To be honest,” she said slowly, “I’m not sure how I feel about the fireworks. I mean, they are pretty, but the implications of my pleasure – or, rather, my implication into a network of desire, should I validate them through an interpretative act, well, it’s rather a tricky moment don’t you agree?”

Fordim’s own brow furrowed (if he even had a brow) and his wings(?) rustled slightly. “Yes yes,” he replied slowly, “I do understand what you are saying. I myself have been attempting to determine whether the fireworks are ‘merely’ pleasurable or if they are connected to me by some more necessary means. I mean, they are from the West, after all, so are they more real than the fireworks I’ve seen in this Midde-earth, or do they share the same reality as this realm?”

Bêthberry shook her wise head and began to quote from some learned men and women of old with whom Fordim had but a passing acquaintance. He looked polite and nodded in what he hoped were the right places. Bethberry saw that she was losing him and gave him a grandmotherly smile, patting his hand (very) lightly. “Oh well,” she said, “I suppose, in the end, it doesn’t really matter…does it?”

“I certainly hope not,” Fordim replied, noncommittally. Bethberry saw the book in Fordim’s vast shadowy ‘hand’ – The Lord of the Rings.

“Oh,” she said with delight, “Do you like that book?”

Fordim grinned and a renewed flame ran up his back with pleasure. “Oh yes, very much indeed. It’s positively enchanting.”

“Well, that’s good,” she replied, and they both turned to watch the fireworks.

[Child of the 7th Age]

Cami had been enjoying herself immensely at the party. Merimac and the older boys had sent their last minute regrets, while the younger trio had managed to run off searching for fun on their own. For the rest of the afternoon and evening, she had been free to wander, waving her hand in greeting to a number of friends, some of whom she'd known for years and others she'd recently met.

Bethberry had been there and also Witchie . The latter, she conjectured, must have earned some time off from Marcho on the arduous march they were making towards Michel Delving. Cami was especially pleased to see Lyta Underhill pulling up with a whole passel of Tooks in tow. For some time, she had been coaxing Lyta to step into the Green Dragon and have a flagon of ale. Lyta had indeed made it to the Shire, but had apparently done a bit of tippling on the road even prior to her arrival at the party field! Even the less reputable in the crowd such as the Orc and Balrog, both of whom looked vaguely familiar from one tale or another, had been on their best behavior.

Cami beamed happily as her three children came bounding up; Daisy and Rory were talking so quickly that she could barely understand a word they were saying, "Oh, Ima, it was all so scary! We were just looking at it. We really were! And the great men guarding the table wouldn't let us put it back. We were afraid the Green Man would eat us, and then a giant Elf nearly put us in jail, but Ancalimon came and rescued us from a tree!"

Cami could not understand a word of this. Like most good mothers, Cami assumed her children were taking everyday happenings and embroidering them a bit to make an interesting presentation for her personal benefit. She patted Rory's curly tresses and confided, "That's nice dears. I'm glad you had fun. Now you did behave, didn't you? Just like I said?"

Daisy turned innocent eyes up towards her mother and smiled. "For sure, Ima, just like you said." Rory eagerly nodded his head.

At the exact moment of that exchange, Aman happened to stroll by. Cami ran over to extend her greetings, but by the time she got there she found the Innkeeper keeling over in laughter, totally unable to respond.

Was it something I did or said? Cami wondered, as she watched Aman go off in the distance, holding her sides to keep from splitting. Cami noticed that one of the Innkeeper's hands was apparently banadaged; she wondered what misfortune had befallen her on this festive night.

[piosenniel]

It was at this point that a small stray rocket, launched from an unfortunately overturned wine bottle, found its way hissing and zinging toward the ancient pair as they perused the leaves of a mildly scorched book.

To the dark, smoky Flame-of-Udun boy it was naught but a small fiery midge to be flicked away with a flaming thump of finger and thumb. But as misfortune would have it, a stray ember or two found purchase on the cloth of Bethberry's gown. And she swatted at then to put them out.

The Hobbiton brigade of the Volunteer Fire Department ran lickety-split to throw a bucket of water on the burning lady - her own efforts inneffective in the face of Fordim's attempt to help her with swats from his own flaming hands.

'Stand back, if you please Master Balrog!' cried Hamfast Greenburrow. 'You're turning our efforts all to steam!' The embers were put out at last - the damage minimal.

Hamfast, as he had been directed, followed the scorched landing path of the rocket and brought it back to Pio.

'It's one of those Acme Absolute Rockets,' said the Elf, peering closely at the charred cylinder. 'On of those that reflect well against the dark night sky.'

'Shouldn't a' really burned her then, should it?' commented Hamfast, who was well known at the Green Dragon for his deep thinking, deep pockets, and the ability to hold his ale.

'Shouldn't have burned her?' echoed Pio, waving the still smoking missile under the Hobbit's nose.

'All smoke and mirrors it is,' said Hamfast, taking hold of the errant rocket. 'It's like this, Mistress Piosenniel . . .'

But before he could enlighten her, the cry of 'Buckets Here!' rang out and he scrambled off to a a nearby forsythia into which one of the candle lanterns from an overhanging tree had dropped . . . leaving Pio to wonder what he had meant by his metaphor . . .

[Ainaserkewen]

Knowing full well the lateness of this partygoer to be…he thought it would be wasteful to show up discreetly. So when the sun finally set on the seemingly endless day, and the fireworks exploded in the mess of blue and black sky, was the time when our latecomer decided it was finally time to try out…er, arrive at this event.

Never before had such a sound been heard in the quiet hills of the west. All the guests who had previously arrived could identify something familiar in the far off music that could be heard. But there was something strangely¾ well, strange.

“Is that a cat?” Someone’s voice rose above the mess of sounds that competed with the light display.

However, he was only 1 in 30 right. Unimaginable, crazy, absurd; some said. Rolling up, over the hill came a carriage. Nothing unusual about the carriage itself, though it looked quite expensive. But what was drawing the carriage. Not a horse, or pony, but dozens of cats! Black cats, orange tabbies, white ones, and brown ones. The lot were all different.

“Is there no end!?” Another voice called.

The whole vehicle, along with the cats’ steps vibrated with the unmistakable sound of “A shortcut to Mushrooms” from the Fellowship of the Ring soundtrack playing at full volume, bass pounding. A few guests nodded in agreement with the music selection and wondered who in Middle-Earth had a cat-drawn carriage.

Who indeed, was this stranger who stepped from the now still coach? Tall he stood, and stocky in an unusually coloured floor-length trench coat. Hardly Middle-Earth fashion. But something didn’t seem right. This man (for he so obviously was) seemed too tall, especially when he crossed the gate and the others saw his cheery face. He looked like a Hobbit! His face was round, brown and creased, but he was at least seven feet tall! Who in the wide-world-known was this!?

He smiled at all who looked but gave no name except “Mr. Big”. His walk was odd as he made his way through the crowds towards the food table, pausing briefly to catch his balance. People noticed his feet were bare and hairy, like a Hobbit’s should be. Also, he seemed to bend in odd places when he swayed, and shuffled a lot. He could barely walk. Some murmured that he must have gotten into his own supply of ale before he arrived.

“Walk straight!” Came a loud whisper. The stranger looked up in alarm to see if anyone had heard.

“If we had practiced this…” he muttered under his breath, and his odd hat.

“Excuse me?” The hobbit closest to him asked, figuring that this tall, foreboding character was addressing him.

The man looked surprised. “No, sorry, just talking to myself.” Then came a sound of impact and a grown from the man’s middle region.

“What was that?” The Hobbit asked.

“Nothing….just my uh…stomach growling. I need some food.”

And with that, he stumbled off into the grass, tripped and fell. All were surprised in what they saw. The trench coat had unbuttoned and come apart and instead of just one falling, three fell out of the coat when they toppled. Three Hobbits, all looking very red and embarrassed.

“Uh…hello all.” They said nervously in chorus.

[Arestevana]

“Of course you won’t be a bother!” Arestevana told Kitanna. “It will be delightful to talk.” At that moment Symestreem handed them a piece of paper. Scanning the paper quickly over Kitanna’s shoulder, Arestevana chose to answer the last question first. “I’m not sure if I can read lips,” she said. “But I am willing to give it a try.” She added, smiling.

Symestreem smiled back, then, noticing the band that had just begun to play, she pointed, mouthing: music! The trio hurried over to be closer to the band. As they walked, they discussed various things, and Arestevana responded to the other question Symestreem had posed: the one about the nature of her instrument. “It is called a dulcimer; it was made in Rohan by a minstrel of King Eomer.” She said. They had reached the edge of a crowd gathered around the band, and they listened in delight as the buoyant music made the air around them tremble.

When the music performance drew to a close, the crowd began to move to another part of the field, where a fireworks display had begun. Arestevana remained where she was, wondering what her new acquaintances would choose to do. It had been wonderful talking to them, and she was reluctant to part company just yet. Also, it seemed as if one of the others was about to speak. She turned to see who it was, listening attentively.

[Novnarwen]

Nova's eyes lit up as she saw the beautiful fireworks. Firi was just as caught up in the whole event as herself, and they kept their eyes at the dark sky. Oro, who claimed to be afraid, asked them if she should get them some drinks. They waved her off, Nova suggesting non-alcohol, since she was underage. Oro laughed. "Seriously, no alcohol, no fun!" she said, giggling. Nova heard the irony and waved her off once more, before turning her attention to the fireworks again.

As her neck was starting to get stiff by the whole 'look-up-into-the-sky-thing', Nova turned to Firi.

"It's fantastic, isn't it?" Nova exclaimed. Firi nodded. "My neck is stiff, though," Nova added with a grimace. Firi laughed. "Mine too."

"Where is Oro?"

Nova suddenly remembered that Oro had gone for a drink, but she hadn't returned. Maybe she was too afraid to come back, Nova thought, soon realising how sick that really was. She shook her head, thinking.

"Maybe she ran into someone," Firi suggested, after a while.

"That's possible . . . " Nova muttered. "But who?"

"I dunno. Someone she knows?!" Firi said.

"Oh, right. Someone she knows."

They settled down on a bench, not far away. Nova tried to get a glimpse of Oro, but she couldn't see her anywhere. It was quite dark though, so Nova stopped putting her effort in trying to find her friend. Nova glanced over at the Party Tree. When she thought about it, it had been quite brutal to nail Birthday Greetings into the tree. What kind of Greeting was that:' Happy Birthday, here is a note, which I am going to nail to your trunk?' Poor tree, it wasn't his or hers birthday; it was the Barrow downs' Birthday, but still the Tree was the one getting nailed. Nova realised that this too was a sick thought. What was wrong with her?

"So, did you nail a Birthday Greeting at the Tree?" Nova asked, coughing when she said the word 'nail'.

Nova didn't hear Firi's answer, as something else grabbed her attention. There, just a few paces away, was Orofaniel with drinks and . . . . . HER MUSHROOMS! Nova gasped, taking her hand to her mouth. "NOOO!!" she shrieked, pulling herself up from the bench. In slow-motion she ran, with huge steps, towards her best friend. Orofaniel, who was taken by surprise to see her friend coming straight at her, stood with her mouth open; drinks in both hands and about to push the mushroom into her mouth, helping herself with one of her hands of which she also held a drink.

"Doooooooooooon't!" Nova shouted.

Nova cast herself in front of Orofaniel, grabbing the mushroom (of which she only got the half, since Orofaniel already had it halfway down her throat). Orofaniel lost her balance and fell to the ground and landed just beside Nova.

"What do you think you are doing?" Orofaniel exclaimed, examining her Elven Cloak. Luckily, she hadn't spilled the liquid on her Cloak. Nova breathed heavily.

"The MUSHROOM!" Nova said, being hushed at by Firi, who had arrived. Nova lowered her voice.

"Spit it out!" she ordered.

"No!" Oro said stubbornly, rising.

"I'm warning you! It's for your own good!"

"HA! You're just jealous I didn't get you a mushroom!"

Firi grew red.

"Just do as I say!" Nova ordered, not being able to control her temperament.

"I won't . . I'm not a child. I eat what I want to eat, and I shouldn’t ask you to approve of it first," Oro said, offensively.

"Okay, listen to me! It's MY MUSHROOM!"

"HA! Just what I thought. It's mine. I brought it, and I eat it," she said, still having the mushroom in her mouth, not certain whether to swallow or not.

"No, I mean it! It's MY mushroom! I made 'em," Nova said, giving Orofaniel an evil stare.

"Oh, is it?"

Nova nodded.

"Oh MY! Why didn't you say so?" Oro made a grimace, showing how displeased she was by the fact that Nova had ‘prepared’ mushrooms and brought it to the party. She looked innocently at Nova before turning away, spitting it out.

"That was close," Nova said, sighing.

"You should have put a warning up. And, you can't bring those things to parties. People aren't supposed to get HURT!"

Nova turned reddish, trying to avoid Orofaniel's piercing look.

"I had to bring something."

" . . . . .But MUSHROOMS Nova! Everyone eats them. You could have damaged these people for live, maybe even taken their lives!"


Firi giggled.

" . . . Mushrooms . . . " Orofaniel muttered, as they decided to get some new drinks.