2004 Barrow-Downs’ Birthday Celebration!

[Guinevere]

Guinevere's face brightened when she saw Saucepanman advancing. She smiled broadly as she went forward to greet him "Soo nice to meet you! " She shook his hand enthusiastically, so his pans clanged. "What's the matter?" she exclaimed as she noticed his pained expression "have you got a headache?" When he nodded, she looked around. "Isn't there a healer for emergencies in one of those tents? They ought to have some medicine..."
She wanted to go on to the tables with the food and gifts to deposit what she had brought. But on the way there she came across Bethberry whose wheel was still stuck. "Can I help you ?" she asked. "Perhaps we ought to unload some of the things, so the barrow becomes lighter to pull out?" she suggested.

[Estelyn Telcontar]

Merisu daintily downed the last mushroom of her shish-kebab and smiled at Durelin. "No need for apologies," she said, "your name is not unfamiliar to me, and I should thank you for the wonderful food!"

She saw another familiar face approaching and called out, "All´s well..."

"...as ends better!" Guinevere answered, grinning.

"How nice to see you here - perhaps you will find this location enticing for future journeys," Merisu exclaimed.

A blinding, shiny object drew nearer, clattering loudly, horribly so for her delicate Elven ears, but she was of course much too polite to say so. She greeted The Saucepan Man briefly before wandering on to speak with Bethberry and Lush. Unfortunately, she found that time flew with the speed of coins in a machine, so that she could not talk at length, but she eagerly looked forward to the next opportunity.

[piosenniel]

She was having a very pleasant conversation with Old Tom’s son, Iardarion, when slim green band on her wrist glowed ominously, chilling her arm to the bone with its cold light. Pio excused herself and walking away a bit, held her wrist to her ear causing a few odd stares. A tinny voice squeaked out its frantic message, a garble of word salad dressed with barely suppressed fear. And there in the background she could hear a low, out of tune hum just revving up.

‘Muddy Bells!’ she swore to herself as she dashed toward the mound by the Party Tree. As she raced closer she could see the partiers nearest the Wight’s barrow beginning to get a rather glazed look in their eyes. Worse yet, some were beginning to shuffle toward the dark doorway of the mound as the humming turned into coldly spoken words. A line of Beorning guards had ringed the mound and were trying to turn them back.

Pio waved frantically at the chief guard and shouted some instructions to them. He wrinkled his brow at her and shrugged his shoulders. ‘Take your ear plugs out, you overgrown lap rug,’ she yelled yanking the wads of rubbery material from his ears. ‘Get the crate of these we had sent from Khand and start passing them round.’ He nodded dumbly at her, his own eyes beginning to glaze over as the Wight’s dark ditty reached out for him. She stuffed the plugs back in his ears and sent him on his way.

~*~

‘By the One!’ The rank odor of rotted things and old sweat socks assailed her nose as she stepped beneath the mouldy lintel. ‘I set him up with a cleaning lady. Now where has she got off to?’ Pio stood in the half-light for a moment her eyes adjusting to the dimness. There to her right, on a small stone slab lay Mistress Chubb and her two daughters, hands folded across their chests, a long, stained sword resting across the three of them. Pale as ghosts, she noted, but still breathing.

‘Hostages . . .’ she heard the familiar rumbling voice hiss from the darkest corner. ‘Someone’s taken one of my treasures, Elf . . . and I’m about to start canceling accounts, so to speak, if I don’t get it back . . .’

If only we could have the party without Himself being here! she thought to herself. Things would go much easier if he would just stay in the background. Always wanting something . . . This line of thought being pointless and dangerous should he get wind of it, she snapped out of her wanderings and offered him a compromise.

‘I shall find your treasure for you, my dear Wight. Keep the Hobbits if you wish but don’t harm them. And please no more singing and swirling your naturally green eyes at the rest of the guests. Rest up. There are fireworks tonight. I can have another ream of paper delivered to you with some fresh quills and ink. Work on your book – you have a quota to meet, do you not? And Aman will send round a barrel of the Dragon’s best ale to get the creative juices flowing.’

She took the ensuing silence as a tenuous agreement and sprinted out the door, into the bright sun. Blinking her eyes like an owl, she bellowed to the nearest security person.

‘Make the announcement that a gift has been stolen from the Wight’s table. I want the offender found and brought to me as quickly as possible.’

‘Oh,’ she said turning toward the crowd who stood pressed against the security line. ‘You can all take out your earplugs, but keep them near.’ They shrugged of course as she mouthed her announcement, and she in turn sighed as she mimed what she wanted them to do . . .

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OOC (Out Of Character) - The Wight is in a tizzy. Someone has 'borrowed' one of his treasures from the table. A young Hobbit lad, accompanied by a Hobbit lass sporting bright green hair. Let's have some spottings of the offenders, but don't catch them yet. Yell for security if you wish to give chase to the slippery young'uns.

~*~ Pio