An Unexpected Vir(tu)al Party

[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.

[piosenniel]

Ah! The sconce was now lit in a dim and cob-webbed cellar room of Pio’s mind. “That realm!” she nodded.

She reached into the back pocket of her leather leggings and pulled out a thin, black, rectangular object. Just a little larger than the palm of her left hand. Its face was smooth and rather mirror-like. And with a light tap of her forefinger, the mirrored surface lit up and seemed to come to life with tiny little, and rather odd-looking, pictures. Or symbols, really. With a practiced rhythm, Pio tapped here and there, revealing other scenes seemingly captured behind the mirror.

‘Here we go,” Pio said, glancing up from the device with a smile to the lady. “I have to say I haven’t traveled in those lands for ages now. And the memories are quite dim. Although…” Her face lit up with a smile as the picture of a flag from a ship she’d once sailed on appeared - The Lonely Star.

Shaking loose from those pleasant, but now passed, scenes, the Elf brought up a picture of golden letters on a black background. Interspersed with the golden letters was a smaller ghastly sort of green writing. “Just have to log in here as Moderator,” she explained, tapping a few more places on the screen. She glanced up at the befuddled look on the lady’s face as well as on that of her other companions. “Uh… yeah… ‘log in’ is a sort of secret word for ‘keys’. And ‘moderator’ is my title in that realm – kind of like ‘Queen’ or ‘Princess’ but without a bevy of handmaidens and servants or a steady flow of monies or treasures flowing in for the use of my time and energy.”

“There you go, m’Lady,” Pio exclaimed, glad to have remembered the URL, her password, and the general layout of the Âr-Pé-In realm.

“Just click your heels together three times and you’ll find yourself there – with as many as you’d like to bring along for company.” She made a final tap on her device and the mirror blackened as she slid it back into her pocket.

“Oh, and by the way, I’ve left you a message in the Âr-Pé-In Game Planning & Discussion barrow of my, ummm, realm. Very easy to find," she said in an assuring tone.

"Have fun!!!”

[Arry]

Arry watched as Envinyatar crossed the room and slipped out the door. “I sure hope our paths cross again,” he murmured to himself. Seems like an interesting man – lot deeper than he lets on.

Glancing around the room he noted that the demolition of a section of wall by the two dragons had not seemed to perturb most of the party-goers. He had not been to a previous party and wondered what outrageous incidents might have occurred that the partiers were immune to such events.

Pio, he saw, was still in conversation with a very beautiful lady. Serious conversation, it appeared. Arry rubbed his chin thoughtfully, wondering what that was all about. Was the woman planning on hiring Miz Pio? Behind them, still looking a bit bedraggled, was Angara and another woman. He narrowed his eyes trying to picture her more closely. “I wonder if that’s the Elf’s old friend she talks about so fondly.” His brow furrowed as he dug deep for a name. “Bird”, he said aloud, nodding his head in confirmation. “That must be her! Looks just like the way Miz Pio described her.”

Remembering the strange device Enivinyatar had given him, Arry reached into his vest pocket where he’d placed it. “I wonder what this does?” He sat down at the table and placed the slender box-like object on the table’s top, turning it around slowly to see all sides. His eyes were drawn toward bright crystal jewel in the top of the box. “Vin said he’d found it in a cave by the western sea. And it’s from the Old Fellow’s time.” Arry picked it up for a closer look. “How cool is all that!!!”

He put it down once again in front of him. Trusting nothing too outrageous would happen if he gave it a try, Arry pushed the crystal button as Envinyatar had instructed. There was a quiet click followed by a soft hum. Then a rich voice sang out as if the singer were right here next to him.

“It really is him, the Old Fellow, Mister Tolkien, himself!!!”

Troll sat alone on his seat of stone,
And munched and mumbled a bare old bone;
For many a year he had gnawed it near,
For meat was hard to come by.
Done by! Gum by!
In a cave in the hills he dwelt alone,
And meat was hard to come by.

Up came Tom with his big boots on.
Said he to Troll: ‘Pray, what is yon?
For it looks like the shin o’ my nuncle Tim,
As should be a-lyin’ in graveyard.
Caveyard! Paveyard!
This many a year has Tim been gone,
And I thought he were lyin’ in graveyard.’

‘My lad,’ said Troll, ‘this bone I stole.
But what be bones that lie in a hole?
Thy nuncle was dead as a lump o’lead,
Afore I found his shinbone.
Tinbone! Thinbone!
He can spare a share for a poor old troll,
For he don’t need his shinbone.’

Said Tom: ‘I don’t see why the likes o’ thee
Without axin’ leave should go makin’ free
With the shank or the shin o’ my father’s kin;
So hand the old bone over!
Rover! Trover!
Though dead he be, it belongs to he;
So hand the old bone over!’

‘For a couple o’ pins,’ says Troll, and grins,
‘I’ll eat thee too, and gnaw thy shins.
A bit o’ fresh meat will go down sweet!
I’ll try my teeth on thee now.
Hee now! See now!
I’m tired o’ gnawing old bones and skins;
I’ve a mind to dine on thee now.’

But just as he thought his dinner was caught,
He found his hands had hold of naught.
Before he could mind, Tom slipped behind
And gave him the boot to larn him.
Warn him! Darn him!
A bump o’ the boot on the seat, Tom thought,
Would be the way to larn him.

But harder than stone is the flesh and bone
Of a troll that sits in the hills alone.
As well set your boot to the mountain’s root,
For the seat of a troll don’t feel it.
Peel it! Heal it!
Old troll laughed, when he heard Tom groan.
And he knew his toes could feel it.

Tom’s leg is game, since home he came,
And his bootless foot is lasting lame;
But Troll don’t care, and he’s still there
With the bone he boned from its owner.
Doner! Boner!
Troll’s old seat is still the same,
And the bone he boned from its owner!


Sam’s Rhyme of the Troll
--- J. R. R. Tolkien

[piosenniel]

But harder than stone is the flesh and bone
Of a troll that sits in the hills alone.
As well set your boot to the mountain’s root,
For the seat of a troll don’t feel it.
Peel it! Heal it! . . .

The voice of the Old Fellow came to her ears just as she finished her conversation with the lovely Lady. Try as she might, the Elf could not recall having met her, and no name sprang to her mind even as if might have been mentioned in some passing conversation. The Lady did seem as if she might be an interesting person to get to know. She was from out of town, Pio guessed, trying to place her pattern of speech. And the seemingly archaic references she had used made the Elf curious as to just exactly where and when she had come from.

“Better keep an eye on her,” Pio murmured to herself. “Didn’t see any obvious weaponry about her – but it always pays to be on the cautious side.” She turned to see Bird and Angara giving the Lady’s departing form a curious appraisal. “Don’t ask,” she said, shrugging her shoulders. “I don’t know either!!”

Bird, with a now small Angara perched on her should, pointed at a table inside the Great Hall. ‘Don’t sees how we can fix this at the moment,” she said, gesturing at the dusty rubble where the wall had collapsed. “But let’s go sit over there and catch up. Haven’t seen you in ages!” Bird laughed at her words. “Ages! Get it – Ages!” She punched Pio in the shoulder to emphasize her point.

Angara, for her part, rolled her eyes and snorted.

Once they’d sat down, with the dragon settling comfortably on the table top. Bird waved over a server and ordered drinks all around, including a bowl for Anagara. “Now,” she began having taken a satisfying swig of ale. “What’s going on with you? “I noticed you came alone?” Angara cleared her throat at this question. “Oh,” said Bird, “alone with Angara then, right?”

Pio narrowed her eyes at her friend. “Yes, we came together . . .” She looked at the Wyrm. “And yes, it has been ages. All our kids are now grown and their children’s children, too.” Brushing her fingers lightly on the table to give herself a little time to consider how much to say, she nodded her head slowly, “We’re just tramping around a bit. Seeing some of this part of the wilds.” And, of course, seeing a few old friends,” she went on. “Before we head south . . .”

[Arry]

When the song finished, the crystal button on the device went dim. Arry picked the little song box up and placed it carefully in his vest pocket. He looked over to where Pio and her two companions were seated close together at a table, deep in conversation. Gathering up his guitar and rucksack he made his way over to where the Elf sat.

“Hey, can a fellow buy you all another round of ale?” He flashed his best smile at the three.

[piosenniel]

“Before we head south…”

Just that half sentence had captured Bird’s attention. She leaned in closer to Pio, her eyes narrowing. “South,” she echoed. “Now isn’t that interesting. You know, I…” Her stream of thought was cut off by a politely voiced, “Hey, can a fellow buy you all another round of ale?”

Angara sidled up to Arry, answering his smile with a toothy grin of her own. “Why, yes, my dear Arry. That would be just the thing” She managed a dry cough as if to emphasize her point. “I don’t know what these two want, but would you mind getting this old Wyrm one of those delicious looking bright green drinks with the frothy topping?” her long thin tongue flicked out and licked at her upper lip. “I heard someone say it’s made with juniper berries gathered at the summer solstice. And most delicately infused with wild flowers and a dash of refreshing herbs.” Angara closed her eyes and seemed to actually be purring at the thought. "Sounds quite delectable, doesn’t it,” she said, nudging Pio with a talon.

Pio arched her brows at the description of the drink. “Delectable? Maybe…. But do you think you should have that on top of the ale you’ve already downed?” Angara gave her a dismissive lift of her snout. "Thank you for the offer, Arry,” Pio went on. “And yes, we’d like to take you up on your offer!”

Bird added her thanks too, looking the young man up and down. “Friend of Pio’s?” she asked. “I’m Bird,” she said introducing herself as she extended her hand.

[Arry]

“Very happy to meet you, Miz Bird!” Arry shook her offered hand firmly, a smile lighting up his face. “I’ve heard lots of grand stories from Miz Pio about her adventures with you. Glad to put a face to her travel companion.” As he finished, he realized he still held Bird’s hand and was still shaking it. A red tinge crept down his cheeks. Letting go her hand, he nodded to the three ladies and said he would be straight back with the agreed upon drinks.

The line was short, and it was just a bit later that he returned with a pitcher of ale, three fresh mugs, and one of those tall and rather dreadful looking bright green drinks – this one with any extra layer of frothy topping and some gold colored sprinkles. “Here we are, m’ladies,” he said setting the drinks on the table. He dared a wink at Angara as he positioned her glass within her easy reach. Picking up the pitcher, then, he poured a mug each for the Elf and Bird and himself.

He settled in a chair, his guitar close at hand and his rucksack tucked neatly on the floor beneath his seat. He was about to take a drink when he recalled the device Envinyatar had left for him to give to Miz Pio. “Oh, say, Miz Pio, I’ve something here that Envinyatar wanted me to give you.” Arry dipped his fingers into his vest pocket and pulled out the device, placing it flat on the table. The light from a nearby sconce seemed to infuse the crystal button on the top of the little rectangular box with a rainbow of lights. The crystal flared up and blazed for a moment.

“Envinyatar said he had to leave. And he wanted me to make his good-byes to you.” Arry shrugged his shoulders slightly. “Said he was no good at doing such. And he gave this to me, saying it was for you.” He pushed the small device toward the Elf. “He said he found it in a rocky cave along the western shores. It’s a relic from the Old Fellow’s time.” Arry pointed to the bright crystal jewel in the middle of the slender box-like object. “Just press there and you’ll hear a most amazingly wonderful thing.”

Arry smiled as Pio pressed down on the crystal. There was a small whirring noise and then a familiar voice began to tell a story.

Pio’s face lit with delight at the sound of the storyteller’s words:

The leaves were long, the grass was green,
The hemlock-umbels tall and fair,
And in the glade a light was seen
Of stars in shadow shimmering.
Tinúviel was dancing there
To music of a pipe unseen,
And light of stars was in her hair,
And in her raiment glimmering.

There Beren came from mountains cold,
And lost he wandered under leaves,
And where the Elven-river rolled
He walked alone and sorrowing.
He peered between the hemlock-leaves
And saw in wonder flowers of gold
Upon her mantle and her sleeves,
And her hair like shadow following.

Enchantment healed his weary feet
That over hills were doomed to roam;
And forth he hastened, strong and fleet,
And grasped at moonbeams glistening.
Through woven woods in Elvenhome
She lightly fled on dancing feet,
And left him lonely still to roam
In the silent forest listening.

He heard there oft the flying sound
Of feet as light as linden-leaves,
Or music welling underground,
In hidden hollows quavering.
Now withered lay the hemlock-sheaves,
And one by one with sighing sound
Whispering fell the beechen leaves
In the wintry woodland wavering.

He sought her ever, wandering far
Where leaves of years were thickly strewn,
By light of moon and ray of star
In frosty heavens shivering.
Her mantle glinted in the moon,
As on a hilltop high and far
She danced, and at her feet was strewn
A mist of silver quivering.

When winter passed, she came again,
And her song released the sudden spring,
Like rising lark, and falling rain,
And melting water bubbling.
He saw the elven-flowers spring
About her feet, and healed again
He longed by her to dance and sing
Upon the grass untroubling.

Again she fled, but swift he came.
Tinúviel! Tinúviel!
He called her by her elvish name,
And there she halted listening.
One moment stood she, and a spell
His voice laid on her: Beren came,
And doom fell on Tinúviel
That in his arms lay glistening.

As Beren looked into her eyes
Within the shadows of her hair,
The trembling starlight of the skies
He saw there mirrored shimmering.
Tinúviel the elven-fair,
Immortal maiden elven-wise,
About him cast her shadowy hair
And arms like silver glimmering.

Long was the way that fate them bore,
O'er stony mountains cold and grey,
Through halls of iron and darkling door,
And woods of nightshade morrowless.
The Sundering Seas between them lay,
And yet at last they met once more,
And long ago they passed away
In the forest singing sorrowless.

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--- J.R.R Tolkien reading The Song of Beren and Lúthien