**Birthday Party in the Barrow** (May, 2005)

[Encaitare]

Another spirit drifted along, muttering under her breath. "Stupid Long Island traffic... takes you hours to get to the next county, much less the Wight's Barrow...." However, she was in good spirits (if you'll forgive the unintentional pun) as the door opened and she could see the cheery light coming from inside.

She entered the barrow, noticing with satisfaction that many people were already present. The "she" in question wore a long skirt and boots, and many pieces of jewelry which she would describe as "funky," including a costume jewelry brooch, courtesy of a now-dead great-grandmother, which most people would describe as "tacky" (the brooch, not the great-grandmother). She was, of course, wearing other pieces of clothing as well, but they do not merit further description. Additionally, she had braided her blonde hair the night before, so now it fell about a freckled face (hers) in long waves.

Scanning the growing throng of Downers, she realized that she had forgotten to pin on her name tag. She whipped out a fancy quill pen and turquiose ink from her special quill-and-ink holster and wrote "Enca(i)" on the tag before attaching it to her shirt, taking care not to stab herself with the pin.

Enca was happy to see that several of her esteemed associates appeared to be of musical inclination; she had indeed brought her flute, her pride and joy and, with any luck, her ticket into college. A spirit dressed in red and black was holding a flute as well. As she approached, she read his name tag: Hookbill.

Before she reached him, though, she bumped into Estelyn, aka "H".

"Evening," Enca said. Esty returned the greeting. "You know, a funny thing happened on the way to Ithaca when I was visiting the college there. I actually saw an Esty Street. I would have stolen the sign for you, but, you know, it's illegal. That's why it's called stealing."

"Did you take a picture for the signs gallery?" Esty asked.

Enca sighed dramatically. "Alas, I had no camera. Not even a nifty camera phone. My phone is old-school, I guess. That's okay, though. It calls people. I don't need to be able to run a space station from it or anything."

She then came to Hookbill. "Hello, fellow flautist!" she said to the peanut-munching spirit. "Or do you say flutist? I prefer flautist, quite frankly -- it sounds fancier. Speaking of fancy, would you fancy a duet sometime tonight? Looks like we've got a miniature orchestra assembling," she said, nodding towards the piano and two spirits with a violin and viola.

Enca hoped they were in tune.

[wilwarin538]

As Wilwa finished her song she heard a few applause coming from various places in the room, she smiled and walked over to the food table. She smiled again as she noticed already half of her cake was eaten, half of another cake was also eaten.

They must like cake, she thought as she walked over to greet the two flautists . After she said a quick hello she went to tune her violin.

[Estelyn Telcontar]

The mysterious Ms. H disappeared briefly to the back of the barrow, where the cooler regions were, to retrieve and open the bottle of champagne she had brought. She wanted to take advantage of the occasion to show the guests that Germany had fine sparkling wines. (As a European resident, she normally used the word "champagne" only for the product of that region of France, but there were high quality bottles from other areas as well.)

Since the bubbles foamed and frothed, and the wraiths did not consume much, she was able to pour a glass for each guest that wanted one. She walked around the room, greeting each person and hoping that she would have time to come back for more conversation as the party progressed. For now, she was satisfied that so many were conversing, making beautiful music together, and enjoying the good food.

[Hookbill the Goomba]

"Hello, fellow flautist!" said Enca to the peanut-munching spirit. "Or do you say flutist? I prefer flautist, quite frankly -- it sounds fancier. Speaking of fancy, would you fancy a duet sometime tonight? Looks like we've got a miniature orchestra assembling," she said, nodding towards the piano and two spirits with a violin and viola.

Enca hoped they were in tune.

"Flautist, flutist, its all the same to me!" Replied Hookbill holding the flute to his mouth and playing a little melody to go along with the other musicians. They were just about in tune. Hookbill tended to go off on tangents during their play, improvising and making amusing noises. Enca was quite taken back by his unusual style as Hookbill did a little dance as he played. After their song, many applauded Enca's performance, but scowled at Hookbill and his unusual Flute playing.

Listening to Wilwa's song, Hookbill began to wish he could sing. It was an unreachable goal unfortunately, as his tong was transparent and his lips were see-though. He made his way over to Wilwa to congratulate her.

"Greetings," he said holding up his bottle, "Would you like some... erm..." he studied the label and thought for a moment, "Would you like some... wine? I know it looks like its been stored in a leaky cellar for fifty years and has had dead things floating in it. But I assure you it is of the finest quality."

He took out his flute and plaid a friendly tune (something along the lines of Boureé by J.S. Bach) before turning around to see people looking displeased with his performance, but all the same, they took his 'wine' and drank it merrily.

[Tigerlily Gamgee]

Tig looked around and smiled at everyone, but she then slipped away unnoticed. She had a job to go to and had to put off partying until later. She really hoped that things would still being going strong upon her return. She would hate to miss The Barrow Wight himself. She also wondered if The Phantom would show his face (in a manner of speaking), or Bethberry, for she had known them for quite some time amoung the dead. Nevertheless, duty called and she had to float away for a while. She assumed that no one saw her, and floated away.

[piosenniel]

‘Whoa up, Thistle!’ The rough dirt track from the edge of The Downs to The Wight’s barrow was rutted and strewn with sharp-edged, flinty stones. Pio wound the reins round the cart’s brake and hopped down for a look-see. It was dark and the stars, in honour of The Wight’s birthday had hidden themselves behind fat, threatening clouds.

She was an aging spectre, at best; her once Elven sight now dimmed from the bright lights of one or two or three or so light shows. A youth spent, or misspent as some had told her, under the evil influence of traveling bards . . . musicians of one sort or another . . . magicians, she called them. Dylan from the North Countree, playing and singing in the ruins round Evendim. Jimi, come back from across the East Sea. And Ginger, the cream of drummers.

‘Well those days have flown now, haven’t they?’ she said, kicking at one of the lesser stones stuck in the dirt. A woof from beneath the warm blanket on the cart seat came as an assent from her traveling companion. Max, the aging Pug. He raised his grizzled head and cocked a doggish eyebrow at her. ‘Yes, my sole duty in life now is to see to your comfort, your majesty,’ she said with a grin. She kicked once more at the offending stones.

‘I’ll bet The Wight planted these here himself to keep unwelcome visitors out,’ she snorted. ‘Fat lot of good that will do. Esty’s opened the door and I for one, intend to get a nice ankle bracelet to match the one for my arm I nicked a couple of years ago.’ She twirled the slender silver band on her left wrist, smiling as it glittered in the pale moonlight. She’d lived a long time in the Shire, and the idea of mathoms was firmly entrenched in her mind. To her way of thinking, the whole of The Wight’s treasure horde was a gigantic mathom pile.

Of course she’d brought something to leave in place of what she took. A couple of credit vouchers for Himself to spend at Funagain Games and Board Game Geeks. That should appease him, keep him occupied for a bit, while she perused his never worn stock of old jewelry.

‘We shall have to walk in from here, my dear,’ she said, stuffing the rotund Pug in her old leather knapsack. ‘By the One, you’ve put on a few pounds!’ Into the side pockets went some fireworks left over from last year’s party. She shouldered the pack, and fished out from under the cart’s seat the cake she’d made. ‘Great thing, this 7th Age invention . . . Tupperware,’ she thought to herself, thumping the sturdy plastic with her finger.

Pio smoothed down the wrinkles in her ghastly green T-shirt, the one with the lovely and lethal looking sword emblazoned on the back. She leaned over, causing her canine passenger to utter a yelp of displeasure, and dusted off her short, tattered denim breeches. As she righted herself, one hand served to ruffle the short dark hair shot with silver that stood out from her head.

Down the road, they went, Pug and Mistress . . . following the sounds of spectral music and song, until the entry way was reached . . .

[Firefoot]

"I'm going to be late..." muttered the ghostly figure to herself. Firefoot urged on her likewise ghostly horse (whose name, oddly enough, was also Firefoot) a little faster as the Barrow-downs finally came into sight. She breathed a sigh of relief when she realized that others were still arriving as well. I must not be too late, then.

There was little that could be called friendly about the place, with jagged stones lining the walk and a chill wind blowing over the numerous barrows, yet Firefoot found herself looking forward to this party very much indeed, all the more so after having unfortunately missed the previous year's party.

Upon reaching His Wightness's barrow, she dismounted, bidding the horse to wander about as he wished. She entered the barrow, drawing back a dark green cloak, borrowed specifically for the occasion, to reveal a nice pair of jeans and a lighter green T-shirt (but no foot covering). She walked over to the table and set down her gift, an odd thing whose purpose she did not know. It was black and green in color, though, and interesting enough to look at in its own mysterious way. It seemed appropriate.

She then pinned on her nametag, which had scrawled on it simply "Firefoot."

Until this point she had paid little attention to the others who had gathered, but now she finally did. There were plenty whom she could talk to, but for the moment contented herself to take a seat on one of the plump chairs and enjoy the limerick contest. Sure enough, she soon found herself grinning at the entertainment.

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Fea waved as Firefoot came in, beckoning her over. Firefoot declined with a nod, so Fea continued.

"Were you aware that we should all wear crowns?

For we've proved ourselves not to be clowns

When we signed up on here.

We all made it clear

That it's brilliant folks who inhabit the 'Downs!"

[littlemanpoet]

Woot! Woot! Feanor! Way to rhyme it! Way to shine it!

[wilwarin538]

I wish I could think of limericks like the, Wilwa thought as she continued to play happily. She was glad to see Firefoot come in. Well there are still people coming, but were is Mister Wight?

[Hookbill the Goomba]

"Wings?" Said Hookbill, still lying on the floor, and a little dazed (so he did not notice the sarcasm in Esty's voice) "I can't see what importance that bears at all, Mss Esty."

Hookbill then leaped to his feet and peered about the room. He straightened his waistcoat and placed his flute back in his pocket (it came apart so it could fit there). Sipping on a glass of wine he was already regretting, Hookbill Staggered back to him chair only to find that someone had already taken it.

"Ah well," he sighed, "it's only solitaire."

"I beg you're pardon?" said the Wight in the chair, "What has Solitaire got to do with it?"

"It's an old expression," explained Hookbill, "Oh, never mind."

[THE Ka]

The crowd around the Ka soon ran out of coffeecake. After walking around for awhile, Ka felt thirsty. Though Ka was not found of ale that much, it would suffice. A small glass full was selected and passed to the center of the group. While drinking, a thought ran by Ka that since it was May Day, maybe it should pass out flowers, though it wouldn't be much of a surprise to the reciever. Leaving through the floor, Ka left its crowd at the party and collected the needed supplies.

Soon returning, ka found that its crowd was rather lost boubing around hither and tither. Collecting the group together, ka instructed the party to pass out the flowers politely of course, and say 'Merry MayDay!'. After settling down in a very dark corner at a single table, Ka's crowd spred out in the party with gifts in hand. At the table, Ka pulled out a sketch pad and began to draw.

[Firefoot]

Firefoot grinned, commenting, "But of course. The bigger the dog, the smaller they think they are, but the smaller the dog, the larger they think they are."

Before either could reply, Firefoot heard, Supper! "I'll be back," she promised, ducking out of the conversation. "And I'll bring Marco."

[Child of the 7th Age]

Child stood at the entrance to the barrow, peering leerily through a crack in the stones as she pondered whether to go inside. She had promised the party organizer that she would help serve drinks and food, a job with which she was throughly familiar. But now that the day was actually here, Child was having serious misgivings. It was one thing to go to a party cloaked in one of her barrowdowns personna. It was quite another to drop her mask and show a hint of the woman who lay hidden within.

Child could hear familiar voices and merriment emenating from the shadowed recesses inside the barrow. It sounded as if the others were having fun. Well. she fumed, it was easier for them. At least when they came to the Downs, they had no more than two or three alternate identities. As one of the wights stationed in the Shire, she was in an altogether different situation. Over the years, she'd gone by dozens of names and identities. Only Piosenniel could claim more notches in her belt. Child was even having trouble remembering the original name that she had been born with.

Before coming to the party, she had sat down to write out a name tag. There were now a dozen names scrawled untidily onto the tag, most of them carefully lined out with a red pen. At the very bottom of the tag, two names were still readable: Camilia Goodchild, and Sharon, the 7th Age Hobbit. Child vaguely recalled that at least one of these had something to do with the name she went by in 'real life' but, for all the tea in China, she could not remember which was which. With a sigh, she pulled a red pen from her pocket and scratched through the final two names. Then, she wrote in even smaller script: Camelia, the 7th Age Hobbit followed by two very large question marks.

With a sigh of resignation, Child pinned the nametag back on her T-shirt, rubbed a few dirt spots off her well worn blue jeans, and floated in through the stonework......

[wilwarin538]

When Hookbill offered her some 'wine' she sadly declined, being only 14 she couldnt drink. She listened intently to his flute playing though some people didn't look like they were injoying it, she was. Wilwa went over and told him so.

[THE Ka]

Late as usual, another wraith enters the crowded room. At first it just looks like one wraith, then at a slight turn it revealed that Ka has brought all of its guises and avatars... Which forms a large crowd around the actual ghost in question. Some are in cabaret, some look like they have just crawled out of The Graceland or The Vogue in Seattle, some have paint all over them and paintbrushes in hand with their thumbs in hitchhiker position, others are protesting littering and animal abuse, and still others are reading or discussing what fun they have that the downs. One or two are being gloomy or stubborn of course... None still at this party, gets to see the true Ka.

From within the beehive of guises, a small harmonium chimes a simple little song of mysterious origins...

Ka's guises then begin to greet everyone in their own manners and share coffeecake.

[wilwarin538]

As Wilwa was slowly sneaking away from the group infront of LMP, because of her embarassement, a large group came in and drew everyone'es attention towards them. Since there attention wasn't on the last line of the poem and her ridiculous answer she calmed slightly and headed towards the newly arrived guests. But suddenly Child ran in through the wall and then the focus was again changed to something else.

[Hookbill the Goomba]

The antics of Child and Littlemanpoet had amused Hookbill. He stayed quiet and sipped on some Wine in the corner. Wilwa had been embarrassed by something, but Hookbill had hardly noticed, being preoccupied with the complaints he was receiving. He decided to put his flute away for now, until every one was a little more relaxed... or drunk.

[littlemanpoet]

"Well, Child," said LMP with a grin, "that wasn't strictly to the limerick form, but I'll let it go." He turned and looked at the newest entry. "What ho! There's Pio! Now, I need a limerick for her!"

Pio and Max came down the hill,
mathoms from Barrowwight for to shill,
but woudn't you know it,
she'd no place to stow it
except for a tupperware..... uh.... em .......

"darn, that last rhymed word always stumps me....."

He quaffed from a cup of punch Nuru had snuck into his hands, hopeful for an idea from the others present.

[THE Ka]

The crowd of the Ka clapped at Child's wonderful poem and humility - even though it was a wonderful crafting of words. The crowd continued to pass out the homemade coffeecake that had been prepared by the real ka, since none of the guises could even boil water...

Ka contemplates sending them back to it's barrow, if they cause any problems...

[Child of the 7th Age]

I shouldn't have come. I knew I shouldn't have come. This just proves it!

Child sat demurely in the corner throwing darts of mental venom back at Imp . Even so, she had to admit that Esty/H and Wilwarin's responses had shown considerable class, certainly more than her own.

Her personal talents did not extend to rhyming poetry. With a push and a shove, she could manage some blank verse where nothing had to match or rhyme, but her best hope for achieving any real recognition lay in her voluminous scholarly treatises that touched upon various obscure minutia in the context of Middle-earth. She had tucked one bulky volume under her right arm and brought it to the party as a present for the Wight. Child wasn't sure if the Wight had any interest in reading 1,373 pages on "The Wingless Balrog, or Why Fordim Hedgethistle is Definitely in the Wrong". However, the book could easily double as a heavyduty paperweight. Perhaps B-W could find another use for the thing, if Balrog reading wasn't his fancy.

Child sat in the corner and vegetated, chastising herself for her inactivity. She should be out circulating and mingling with the other guests, or at least serving the drinks as she had promised Esty/H. Instead, she was having a serious angst attack. Child squirmed in discomfort. Coming in your real personna had definite drawbacks. No character in Tolkien that Child had ever read about had serious attacks of angst. Frodo, it was true, sometimes had little ones, but at least his case had extenuating circumstances. All the other 'good' book characters were generally quite sure of themselves. So where did that leave her? Her RPGs read like Middle-earth soap operas, with half the battles taking place deep inside her character.

For one minute, Child had a horrifying thought: What if she didn't belong in Tolkien's Middle-earth at all? What if she really belonged in Peter Jackson's move? Come to think of it, her RPGs and fanfiction read a lot more like the cinema version than anything Tolkien had set down on paper. Child shuddered uncomfortably and made a mental note to hide her stories from Davem and Lalwende lest they brand her with the tag "movie fan", a fate almost worse than death within the confines of the book forum.

Unwilling to face this grim prospect, Child wrenched her thoughts back to the barrow and went off in search of Esty/H to see if she could help pass out drinks.

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Fea sauntered happily through the door. She looked at her uncandied arms, for the first time in days not seeing some of many good looking guys attached to them. She spun in happy and, really, immature circles, dancing her way into the middle of the room and enjoying all the attention. Remembering the all important name-tag, she ran over to the table, depositing a large and unobtrusive looking bag on the table. Once the phantom gets here, she thought, then the fun will start.

Grabbing up a black gel pen, Fea took a piece of paper that obligingly already said "Hello, my name is:". She paused for a few moments, wondering which of her many nicks she cared to use today. She decided to start with a flowy and somewhat pretty looking "Fea". Following that, one could read a crossed out "Grace", a scribbled out "Professor", a hastily erased "Swans"... I may just tell that story later. she thought with a laugh.

Finally deciding on "Fea", she tossed the scribbled out name tag in the recycling bin and started over, carefully writing in small print at the base of the tag: "It rhymes with play-a, not pea.", pinning the piece of paper onto the left pocket of her beat up dark-washed jeans, miraculously hole-less, as was her custom. Making her way to the snack table, she snatched up some brownies while gracefully depositing some home-made chocochip cookies... The best I've ever had, as so many people informed her.

She ran bouncily, after so many hours sleep, over to LMP. "I'm back!" she cried. "Boston was awesome, if I do say so myself. I swear by Eru that that is the cute guy conglomeration of the world!"

Calming down slightly, she smiled at Esty. "Thanks for the invite. I hope you don't mind my being late... I was out of town all weekend and spent most of today sleeping off my fun. No," Fea looked at some of the others, "not THAT kind of fun. I don't drink. But according to rumors I..." she trailed off, staring angrily at a blank Barrow-wall. Somebody poked her from behind. "What?" she asked confused. Her attention span was notoriously short. "Oh yeah... Well, I'm just going to forget about those idiots and have fun here. At least now I don't have people giving me "five second, ten tops" to glance at paintings by Titian. Those people just have no sense of amazement over..." Fea trailed off, seeing looks of boredom on some faces, confusion on others, and random interest on a few. "Sorry..." she apologized. "I just got home last night. Fabulous trip... hope you don't mind my rambling on too much. Now that I'm here, the party can officially start!" she added with a big wink.

[littlemanpoet]

LMP told Nurumaiel not to give it another thought so long as Liornung said something in the next little while.

Seeing that there was a lull, he found a place where he could gather everyone's attention, and then spoke in a loud voice.

"I've brought a little bit of poetry and I thought I'd read it off to celebrate this happy fifth birthday! Well, here goes!

These limericked eulogies ain't fictive,
nor laced with off color invective;
they're strictly fact
with more or less tact,
and all from a deceased perspective.

People were looking at LMP as if he had lost his marbles. Undeterred, he plowed ahead.

davem was a knowledgable fellow;
at the top of his lungs he would bellow,
'My peculiar gnosis
is not myosis,
so stop saying my brain's turned to jello!'

"Ooh," said someone, "wait till I tell davem what LMP said about him!" LMP's knees shook in his trousers. But he took up courage and tried another one.

Derufin was not fastidious;
his housekeeping skills were perfidious;
in every nook
he'd leave a book
and declare that Bunce's cleaning was hideous.

There was a lone snicker from one of the corners.

Aiwendil, master of zen,
enlightened nine tries out of ten;
to show his technique
he'd let out a shreak
and strut round the room like a hen.

Dead silence.

"Um, this next one's a little rough. Maybe someone can help me out with the last line."

Sharon liked her Tolkien with gin;
saying with raised glass and a grin,
"Like Frodo's two faces
my thinking embraces...

"So, does anybody - um - wish to try his or her hand at a final line that rhymes with grin?" LMP looked around the party guests for someone to relieve him from his embarrassment.

[wilwarin538]

" a fish with a fin????" Wilwa said with a giggle, her cheeks turning bright pink.

[Estelyn Telcontar]

"all the nicks that I wrote on my pin!" Esty/H called out spontaneously, having noted with amusement the difficulty that the said member had with choosing a name.

[Child of the 7th Age]

"Honestly, Littlemanpoet! When will you learn to behave yourself?" Child came crashing through the wall with little of the finesse of the younger parrtygoers. She had one hand perched on her plump hip while the other was wagging in the air in Imp's direction. "Even if I am polite enough not to take your head off, surely Aiwendil or Davem or what's his name Derufin will surely oblige. And if you're going to accuse me of something, you might as well make it something interesting, other than simple overindulgence."

Child cleared her voice and harmoniously recited:

Sharon liked her Tolkien with gin;
saying with raised glass and a grin,
"Like Frodo's two faces
my thinking embraces
all the multitudes of sin
that makes Mordor spin....

"Alright, alright," she growled in response. "I could have done better. Only my barrow is a mess, and I couldn't find my rhyming dictionary in all the piles of stuff left sitting around."