An Unexpected Vir(tu)al Party

[Mithadan]

Mithadan chatted with Lindo, musing upon their old journeys and the friends that they had known but had gone by the wayside as time passed. He smiled. "Those were good times," he thought. "Maybe dangerous and stressful, but still memories to be savored."

He shook his head. "Perhaps," he said. "Perhaps you might sing Maura's Lament before the night is out?"

Lindo's face clouded a bit. "That song if full of sorrow," Lindo replied.

"Do not confuse sorrow with evil," responded Mithadan. "We are better for having known him and Cami." Bird, her mouth stuffed with meat from a pasty, one of several on her plate, nodded agreement. Then she swallowed and raised her snout into the air, as if sampling a passing scent. Her eyes narrowed.

"Do you smell something?" she asked. "Like burning charcoal? Or brimstone? Maybe mixed with barbeque sauce? The spicy kind, not the sweet kind. Vinegary, not fruity. Maybe with a bit of five-spice. Or maybe..."

"I smell only food and good drink," he answered. "There is meat cooking upon a brazier over there..." He pointed, then paused, and his eyes narrowed as well. "Now there's a bit of trouble," he muttered.

"Where?" Bird took to the air and spun about. A stream of smoke issued from her nostrils as she readied for... another small dragon perched on the shoulder of a figure wearing a cloak. She had curly hair... she! Curly! "PIO!"

Flames spouted from Bird's mouth. Then, like a burning arrow, she shot off toward her friend and old partner in adventure.

[Estelyn Telcontar]

With the innate modesty only a truly Elven shieldmaiden possesses, a stunningly beautiful female entered the ballroom. The star-gem-studded deep blue gown she wore vied with her smile for brilliance, her golden hair rippled down beyond her trim waistline, and her violet eyes were obviously searching for someone. Yet her sensitive nature alerted her to the fact that a festivity was in progress, and she listened to others declaim their poetry with true interest. Here indeed were works worthy of performance, written by great poets who eclipsed the one she remembered from the Quest of the Entish Bow, Vogonwë, as the Sun eclipses all other heavenly bodies during the daytime.

She searched her long and perfect memory for something she could contribute, a work that would both honour the Great Maker of Middle-earth himself as well as the world in which she had spent many ages, Muddled-Mirth. And so when there was a lull in the conversations, she stepped into the spotlight and recited:

We RPG and libel it just so,
(for parody it is, the Entish Bow);
we write a post and read with smiling face
one of the many major wastes of space:
a sword’s a sword, some metal in a sheath
compelled to speak or to condemn to death.
Amid the serious, canon, lofty tales,
here, influence of moderators pales.

At bidding of a Plot, which we do bend
(and must), we only dimly apprehend;
the Itship marches on, as Game unrolls
from dark beginnings to uncertain goals;
and as on screen ‘tis written without clue,
with letters green on background black in hue,
an endless multitude of posts appear,
some grim, some frail, some wonderful, some queer.

The REB is not compound of lies,
but draws some humour from the only Wise,
and still recalls him. Though now long enstranged,
he turneth in his grave, and every change
the faithful Travestometer doth see;
we hold in honour creativity
and splinter from the true LotR
our many hues with no intent to mar
the memory of him who’s now decayed.
We write still by the model which he made.

Then Merisuwyniel stepped back and her eyes found the one on whom all her thoughts rested...

[Morthoron]

Estelyn gave Morthoron a subtle wink, for she well knew that parody and satire were hallmarks of Moriquendi culture (hence, "Dark" Elves). Morth took the cue and ran with it.

"Minor characters," he intoned so that his baritone growl echoed unto the furthest recesses of the hall, "are the very stuff of what you mortals call 'fan-fiction'. To build a plot around a personage who was mentioned in passing, who barely had a bit of scripted dialogue, and who had no part to play in the greater story line, is, suffice it to say, the sophomoric act of making Mordor out of a molehill."

The Dark Elf threw back his cloak for added effect and concluded, "Therefore, in honor of that time-tested tradition, I give you a song - a ballad as it were - of just such a character. One not so noble, not very heroic, and certainly not worthy of the time it took for me to come up with the rhyme scheme. In any case, drink up, for the drunker you are, the better I shall sound:

Bill Ferny was a brute of a man -- yes, he was!
Bill Ferny was a brute of a man -- yes, he was!
His character was minor,
And his grammar weren't much finer,
Yes, Bill Ferny was a brute of a man.

O, he was a man who lived in Bree,
Just like the whole damned Ferny family.
Bree-Men had names from botany
Like Goatleaf, Butterbur and Photosyntheses --
Photosyntheses?
Plural, if you please.

Don't ask Bill for a piece of his mind,
Or engage in pleasantries to pass the time.
Just be prepared to suffer a crime --
The greedy bugger would rob you blind!
Rob you blind?
Watch your behind!

Bill Ferny was a brute of a man -- yes, he was!
Bill Ferny was a brute of a man -- yes, he was!
He used the mild expletive 'garn'
That's synonymous with 'darn',
Yes, Bill Ferny was a brute of a man.

O, he had a house on the edge of town,
Crackerjack built and quite rundown,
With an overgrown hedge that ran around
To hide his lawn unmowed and brown.
Unmowed and brown?
A toxic dumping ground!

And in his house with the broken panes
That ne'er kept out the wind and rain,
Did naughty acts better left unnamed
With sheep and chickens and ibex from Spain!
Ibex from Spain?
It rhymes with rain!

Bill Ferny was a brute of a man -- yes, he was!
Bill Ferny was a brute of a man -- yes, he was!
He was a secret spy of Sharky
Whose retorts were always snarky,
Yes, Bill Ferny was a brute of a man.

O, Bill sold Sam a broken nag
For 12 silver pennies in a burlap bag,
And in delight he hid his swag
Beneath a pile of dirty old f*gs!
Dirty old f*gs?
Did I stutter? Did I lag?

And when at last they rode from Bree,
Frodo and Strider and the whole company,
Bill did sneer, but was forced to flee,
When Sam, apple-tossing, hit his nose with glee!
That line sucked!
Who gives a......

*Ahem*

Bill Ferny was a brute of a man -- yes, he was!
Bill Ferny was a brute of a man -- yes, he was!
There ain't much more to say,
But I'll say it anyway --
Yes, Bill Ferny was a brute of a man.
No, there ain't no more to speak
Cos' I've got to to take a leak,
But Bill Ferny was a brute of a man....

Cha-cha-cha!

[piosenniel]

Angara’s eyes went wide in disbelief, a half-chewed rib-bone dropping from her mouth. A flaming missile had launched itself in her direction. Had that pretender-wyrm gone suddenly mad!

I thought you said she had mastered the form! Pio’s words beat a loud tattoo in Angara’s mind.

With barely a heartbeat between the sighting of flames and the hammering of words in her head, Angara grew larger in size and knocked the Elf down, sweeping her beneath a table, far to the left of the fiery winged arrow headed their way. The flames would barely register against her own scaled hide and she intended her larger mass to be a cushion for the smaller dragon to bump into – and hopefully just fall to the floor.

In the rushed action she had not taken into account a fundamental old M-E axiom – Best laid plans etc. etc. . . .

Bird’s swift, flaming-snouted, densely compact body hit the larger Wyrm’s belly with considerable force. All equations, and vector diagrams, and complicated physics-maths aside – the two muscled and strong-boned, steely tendoned creatures went crashing against the back wall of the ballroom.

And through it . . .

Pio crawled out from beneath the table and clambered over the wreckage of wood and plaster and rent tapestry hangings. Kicking a once elegantly wrought sconce out of the way, she approached the final landing area of the dragons.

‘Well, isn’t this just a fine kettle of wyrms!’ she snorted, shaking her head. But where she had expected to see two dragons, there was now only one smallish gold one. ‘Lord & Lady! Angara – tell me you didn’t swallow her whole!” Angara puffed out her cheeks and spit out a sodden and bedraggled looking largish cricket. “Nope, I didn’t swallow her, now did I?”

neek-breek breek-neek neek-breek . . . came the irritated outcry from the pile of rubble where the Neekerbreeker now perched. In less than the time it takes to draw a breath, a slender woman clothed in leather breeches and a cotton tunic now stood face to face with Pio. Bird laughed, wiping a gob of dragon spittle from her cheek, and winked at her old friend.

“So, how’d you like that entrance?”

[Estelyn Telcontar]

Truth be told, Merisuwyniel found herself somewhat in awe as she gazed about the room. Though she herself was ruler of a realm, here were those Great Makers who had created her entire world of Muddled-Mirth and brought to life the beings who populated it. She saw Thenamir and recalled his unusual technical abilities. There was Mithadan, whose creation had a special place in her heart and whose loyerly advice had helped in many situations. There also was The Saucepan Man, knowledgeable in arcane mythical legends and speaker of the strange language of Legalese. She observed The Squatter of Amon Rûdh, whom she knew in various incarnations, then peered about in hopes of seeing The Barrow-Wight himself, but she could not espy him. She was happy to see that Bêthberry had come, for she was a congenial companion in many guises.

Then she approached piosennial, of whom she had heard from afar, but never yet met. She waited hesitantly until the lady was no longer in conversation with others, and spoke: "Lady Piosennial, may I have a word with you?"

Pio smiled, "As many as you like, my dear! What is on your mind?"

"It has been many years since my story was told," she said. "The circumstances of my life have changed since then, and what is the use of having a realm of my own if I cannot brag - I mean, if I cannot share the experience with others? Will you grant me a small part of your realm to continue my tale?"

[piosenniel]

"Lady Piosennial, may I have a word with you?"

At the sound of that honeyed, and exquisitely modulated, question the three companions turned about. Their three pairs of eyes fixed on the vision that now stood mere inches from them, her dainty feet in the dusty rubble of the now destroyed section of the ballroom’s wall. Amazingly so, not one speck of dirt or mote of dust clung to her slippers. And it seemed the hem of her raiment, as if by some olden magics, seemed to inch up as needed so as not to encounter the dusty, dirty floor.

Bird leaned in close to Pio’s ear, asking sotto voce, “Do I have a concussion from that tumble?” She gave the apparition a slow once over. “’Cuz I swear I’m seeing someone from ages ago in one of our Dragons and Dungeons games!! – Laydeee Piosenniel” From behind the both of them, Angara gave a snort indicating both her agreement and her amusement.

Pio tapped Bird lightly on the shin with her boot, while ignoring completely the commentary from the Wyrm. She swiped her dusty hands quickly on her vest and stepped forward to greet the newcomer. Instructions, heard long ago from one who had thought to train her in court-like etiquette, rose up in her mind. She smiled and nodded toward the woman and remembered to speak politely.

“What is on your mind m’Lady?” she offered.

Pio nodded as the woman began her story. Her minded drifted, the effects of too many mugs and not enough food during the evening. She did manage to bring her attention back around just as the lady said, “…Will you grant me a small part of your realm to continue my tale?"

“My ‘realm’?” Pio asked, her brow furrowed. Bird and Angara were now convulsed in none too silent laughter. “Might I ask what ‘realm’ that might be?”

[Estelyn Telcontar]

"If my memory of the golden Âr-Pé-In days of yore still holds true, you are the one who holds the keys and can grant me the right to tell my story there. And who knows, mayhap I can encourage others to share theirs as well. Are you willing and able to do this for me?" Merisuwyniel asked.