[The Barrow-Wight]

Orogarn Two stood gaping at the lusciouly gowned Merisuwyniel, wicked thoughts flittering through his mind in a constellation of bright lights and dark intentions. Never had the sight of a woman so moved him, and he had to force himself to stand motionless, to fight the almost uncontrollable urge to either drop to one knee or to plunge forward with a reckless oath of lustful devotion. Her eyes met his and his senses reeled. He must have her!

He leaned forward in preparation for a sudden lunge, but an obligatory inanity from Celery broke the spell.

“Dearly beloved,” began the vapid elven lord, “we are gathered here today to join these …”

Realizing her husband was reading from the wrong cheat sheet again, Saladriel gave him a quick, sharp punch to the kidney and finished his sentence loudly enough to mask his groaning decent to the flet floor.

“… to join these wonderful travelers in a toast.”

Everyone raised their glasses, and Saladriel turned to Orogarn Two, smiling.

“Lead us in a toast, lord of Grundor,” she said. “It is fitting that a guest of such noble lineage, high bearing, and remarkable apparel should inaugurate our celebration. Surely one who has so long guarded the Porcelain Throne will have words of wisdom for a gathering such as this. Perhaps a tribute to your missing comrade?”

Finally free of the amatory enchantment of Merisuwyniel’s shapely pair of sandals, Orogarn Two turned to the angelic Careless Lady with a proud look in his eye. Many times had he stood in the Citibank of Minus Teeth and orated before just such a crowd. Lords and ladies from the districts of Ethyline, Listerine, and even Dol Amstel had sat amazed by his extemporaneous deliveries. Raising his right hand, he began to speak.

“Friends, Romaines, countryelves, lend me your pointy ears; I come to praise Pettygast, not to marry him,” he gave a quick look to the still-confused Celery. “The mathoms of Balfrogs live after them oft strewn among their victim’s bones. Such items sought Pettygast, at bargain prices. The noble Saldriel has told you that Pettygast was a trader in rags, that his hard-sought bargains were secondhand. Perhaps it was so, and perhaps Pettygast paid the ultimate price for his last rummaging. My heart is in the Subway there with Pettygast, and I must say no more of him till it come back to me.”

Lowering his right hand and elevating his left, he continued.

“Fourscore and another fewscore days ago my father set me forth on a journey across this continent, dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal, except for those of Grundor who are more equal than others. Also, elves are created equal, only more so, but in a different way. Dwarves are, obviously about half as equal, and half-halflings are a quarter equal under most circumstances.”

Unsure of what he had just said and embarrased at his own confusion, Orogarn Two raised both hands and shouted a traditional toast of Grundor.

“Here’s to a long life and a merry one
A quick death and an easy one
A pretty girl and an honest one
A cold beer and another one!

Here's to us all, Eru bless us every one!”