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

[Meneltarmacil]

Meneltarmacil entered, not dressed in last year's finery nor in his green Ranger's cloak that he wore often as the character Thoronmir in RPGs, but in the green jacket he often wore in the real world. Somehow, he had managed to get all the way to Middle-Earth from Virginia, but had no clue exactly how he had found himself here. He brushed part of his long blond hair out of his face and surveyed the scene. Perhaps he could discuss the New Movie Script with Oddwen, or impress people with his knowledge of dinosaurs and other prehistoric creatures. If nothing else, he might be able to scare Nilpaurion Felagund out of his wits if the latter arrived...

He set down some tortilla chips along with a bowl of salsa. He did not mention the fact that the salsa was Extra-Extra-Extra-Extra Hot and could cause one's head to produce fire and smoke, however...

[Formendacil]

Formendacil had spent most of his day pigging out at the snack bar, which is not a good thing for a diabetic to do, but he taken his insulin (discretely slipping off to the little boys' room between limerics), and had generally just pulled up a seat at the snack table (which the Barrow-Wight frowned on, but he didn't seem to be looking), and generally ate from all the dishes present in a most hobbit-like manner.

Thoroughly sated, and benignly munching on a bowl of celery sticks, he was thus somewhat taken by surprise when Esty came over with a question intended to start a wise-sounding and intelligent discussion.

"Tom Bombadil, winged???" he said in food-induced daze, thinking that only a fool would ask such a question. "Of course not."

Then he realised that he was talking to a Moderator, and should perhaps elucidate. Besides, he had a reputation to uphold. No Burrahobbit, he!


"It should be fairly obvious," he said, "that Tom Bombadil is not winged. The renowned Master Bombadil was described as being like a Man, but closer in size to a Hobbit. Neither have wings, and surely, if Tom had had wings, then it would have been noted by the Hobbits. They might not have noticed such a thing in their haste to get Merry and Pippin out of the Old Willow, but they still had two and a bit chapters to mention the fact, not to mention that the panic-scene (and included description of Tom) was written afterwards, and surely so important detail would be noted? Afterall, it was mentioned that Legolas had brown hair and round ears, and that's not crucial to the story."

The end bit regarding Legolas hair and ears was intended as a joke, and Formendacil sat back, and gave Esty a broad wink, and waited for someone to have his words sink in, thus starting off a delicious round of frivolous Legolas-debates. Meanwhile, he grabbed another stalk of celery.

[Firefoot]

"I'm sure I do," grinned Firefoot. She put the meat back in her pocket. "That's all for now," she told the three dogs. "You never know when I might need it again." They all watched her for a moment more to make sure that no more food would be forthcoming. Finally convinced that it was not to be, they turned to other things. Marco, clearly tired, lay down at her feet. Maggie's tail began to wag once more as she pawed Codijune.

"Don't you think it's getting a little late to play?" Firefoot asked Maggie. It was getting late, where they came from, and those chairs were beginning to look extremely inviting.

"I think we'll be turning in for the night," she said. "I'm sure these guys will have a chance to play tomorrow."

Ealasaide nodded. "Good night, then."

Firefoot wandered over to the comfortable looking chairs and happily plopped down in one. The Shelties jumped up beside (or, rather, on top of) her. The three were soon happily fast asleep.

[Ealasaide]

Having said goodnight to Firefoot and the two Shelties, Ealasaide decided that turning in for the night sounded like a very good idea. Before doing that, though, she looked around for Hilde Bracegirdle, with whom she had exchanged salutes a short while earlier. She intended to have a quick word with Hilde before finding a quiet corner where she and Codijune could retire for the night, but, upon locating her friend, saw that Hilde had already dropped off to sleep. She sat with her back against the wall, snoring contentedly ...and loudly enough to rattle the windows in their frames, if there had been any windows in the barrow.

Catching sight of Hilde's nametag with the cryptic "GIN" dashed across it, Ealasaide grinned, wondering if gin might have had something to do with the volume of her friend's snores.

"Oh, well," she sighed. "Goodnight, then! And goodnight to all my other fellow wights!" With that, she found a secluded spot on the floor nearby and curled up on her side, pillowing her head on her arm. Codijune curled up, in turn, in the nook behind Ealasaide's knees and with a single deep sigh, dropped off to sleep. Ealasaide lay awake for a short time listening to the ongoing merriment of the party on the other end of the room, then she, too, was overtaken by slumber.

[Celuien]

Celuien glanced at her watch, astonished to find that the evening had already flown away. But time runs fast in good company. Although she regretted not having a chance to greet her esteemed host, she knew that she must leave, as her trip to class in the morning would be a long one. And so she raised her glass of wine and proposed a toast to the Barrow Wight. "Thank you for founding this site and the lovely party! May the Downs continue on for many more years." With that, she drained her glass and said her farewells. Gathering her belongings together, Celuien headed to the door and vanished into the dark mists that had gathered in the quiet hills.

[THE Ka]

Ka glanced at it's wristwatch, it was already 7:15 p.m. (Pacific time zone of course!). Not exactly too late for a party, but late enough for one that began earlier this day. The guise on the milkcrate was joined by a few others of Ka
's avatars who all took on different roles from the play of The Importance of Being Ernest, in a way that even Wilde himself would be in confusion.

" Great, I leave them alone for a couple hours and they're turing a party into a sideways show."

Ka put down the sketch pad and just stared out of the darkness at the party as one by one, members began to leave. Contemplating on leaving would be a good thing to do, but cleaning up afterwards would help whoever was left with the job. Thinking ahead, Ka did not grab a nametag, or was not able too because there were already about fifteen other guises with something along the lines of " ___ Ka" with an aspect filled in. Waiting, ka sat until guest really began to head home to help clean up the remains of a wonderous party. Making sure of course to keep the guises there to help as well, this time without face paint.

[Assasin]

It's nice to meet you Wilwa, is this party much fun?

[Gurthang]

Suddenly, a shadow appeared at the door. It was a man! Men did not come often to the Barrow-Downs, and never at this hour. Yet another look showed that it was not a man, but a body. The lifeless form appeared grey and dreary. He carried a sword in front of him with both hands, and wore a dark cloak that hid most of his features. He was of a tall sort, but did not look to be stout. No one at the party recognized him, for he was not a member of the Downs. His reason for coming was different.

A voice arose then, though the man's lips did not stir. The few that remained started as they realized that the sound was coming from the sword!

"Greetings and Happy Birthday! I have come to partake in the festivites, such as I can. I have come with the aid of one who exists only to carry and serve me. I am Gurthang, the Black Sword, Brother of Anglachel, Destroyer of Glaurung, the Bane of Turin."

A pleased gasp spread through the barrow, as well as a few giggles at the slightly over-dramatized entrance. The party went back to normal. Gurthang faded into the background, adding a bit to each conversation over the course of the night, but never lingering at one for too long.

[Orominuialwen]

A rather short, plump tweenaged girl approached the Barrow. She looked very much like a Hobbit, and was often told so, but the lack of hair on her feet proclaimed that she was most definitely human. She had a large black case holding an instrument of some sort strapped to her back, and was holding a dish covered in a checkered dish towel. With her was a tweenaged boy, her little brother. He appeared to be much her junior (for she looked rather older than she was), but in fact they were only three years apart. He carried a large pot of something from which the unmistakable smell of mushrooms escaped, and the two talked excitedly as they walked. A black warg followed at some distance behind, looking as if it did not really want to be seen in public with the two youngsters. Upon closer examination, the warg appeared to have a pair of shadowy wings on its back, but it was difficult to tell in the dim light.

"I hope Saucepan Man will bring his band again this year," the girl said, "I heard they were great last year."

"It's too bad we couldn't come then," her brother replied. "I just hope this party will be as fun as everyone said last year's was."

"Just so long as you promise not to spend the whole time sitting in a corner reading a book, like you do at every other party we go to."

"Hey! I resent that!"

The two reached the sinister looking door to the Barrow and went inside. The warg waited a bit, and then followed them inside, so as to look like he had come separately. The two siblings stopped first at the name tag table. The girl grabbed a pen and a tag, then hesitated over what to write.

"What should I put?" she wondered to herself. Finally, she settled on a translation of a translation of her name, and printed "Alassë" in rather girlish handwriting. Underneath, in smaller letters, she wrote "Oromin" and "Lady Harriet", so as not to confuse those who knew her by other names.

"Do you want me to write yours, too?" she asked her brother, "At least that way people will be able to read it!"

"I resent that too!" he said as he scrawled "High King Fingolfin" in handwriting that somewhat resembled heiroglyphics. Underneath, he wrote in parentheses "Not HKF!"

"Come on, we'd better put down all this food before it gets cold," Alassë/Oromin told her brother, and the two headed towards the food table.

[Formendacil]

Unfortunately for Formendacil's predatory instincts, either nobody caught his loaded reference to Legolas' hair, or else no one wanted to bite.

As it appeared that his explanation of non-winged Bombadils (now there's a question, he thought. If Tom has a last name, does that mean there are other Bombadils? He filed that away for future reference).

It was getting late. Almost his bedtime. Not that a distinguished man such as he could not stay up all night, but the party was winding down a bit, and he was rather tired- and full!- and it seemed most sensible to find a quiet corner of the barrow and fall asleep.

Unfortunately, between snoring and what partying was still going on, it was a bit difficult to find a quiet corner. Eventually, he settled on a large, well-ventilated broom closet. After a bit of judicious de-brooming, and the removal of all shelves and cleaning ingredients, he moved in the for night, hanging his sword, suit-jacket, and vest on the hooks ordinarily occuped by brooms, and then took his nighttime insulin, before curling up in his neon-green cloak, and promptly fell asleep.

"Night all," he mumbled to the closet as he fell asleep. Best of all, there was no alarm to wait for in the morning.

Hmm, he hoped breakfast would be as good as lunch/dinner/supper/assorted snacks had been that day.

[THE Ka]

Ka looked out, no one seemed to have any interest in cleaning up the party, even though it was falling into a state of sleepyness. Everyone had eaten their fill, and it began to take effect. The crowd that had hidden the ka was now rather tired and had ended their play with little clapping from members. They slowly but surely returned to the ka as it played a melancholy melody upon chimes that gave it a musicbox effect on the room. They floated and followed all in a state of stoic attention to the music's origins, whilst others would believe a musicbox lived in the dark corner.

Should it go home?, thought the ka. Helping to clean would be best, even if no one joined. Then, Ka noticed more guest had arrived and one of the members retired to the cleaning closet. Giving a moan of disatisfaction in these events, ka became restless. To help, or leave home? Below these concerns lived a different, more personal fear. Reveal one's self? Members were still at the party, even if they were comatose from sleep and food they would wonder were the crowd had gone.

Suddenly, though, out of no apparent concern to once thought pervious fears, ka instructed it's crowd of avatars to gather cleaning supplies, no deviations. When supplies had been rather forcefully attained from the cleaning closet ( and a member grumply disturbed from sleep) the crowd was instructed to clean up anything left out of place, and to leave the food table and guests unaranged. They calmly and quietly followed instructions, floating about sleepy members with complete ignorance of them, yet making sure not to alarm them.

Then, from the dark corner, Ka appeared in it's true form. 'It' was a tall young miss, dark hair highlighted with red hairs of parental origin enclosing a long pale face, dark blue eyes and a slavic nose above a thin little mouth always held too tightly, as commented by her relatives. The face in complete study, as would be told by friends of this creature, upon first impression would seem to the viewer 'mystifyingly angered' or 'darkly pessimistic', and that the old proverb, "don't judge a book by its cover" applied to this event. The body, was clothed in a dark length of fabric, of highly victorian importance, and attension given to detail so that it look like she had stepped out of a 'Pride and Prejudice' of her own making. looking around, Ka viewed to see if it was okay to continue. Nothing really happened, and with a smile she tied her hair up with a ribbon and said:

" Well, time to catch up." and with a garbage can in hand, made the rounds about the abode.

[piosenniel]

Max padded on silent paws behind Pio as she made her way down one of the winding, dark tunnels that led off the main chamber. Keeping an ear open for ghoulish chanting and eerie green lights, she poked into the trunks and old chests stashed about in the nooks and crannies. Old mouldering clothes, a few games and puzzles with pieces missing, a dog-eared thesaurus and some half finished poems.

One small trove of treasure was a crate of tawny port, bearing the insignia of The Bird and Baby. In a locked wooden box hidden behind the crate were a small number of very fine looking cigars. Loading the box atop the crate, Pio aborted her search of that tunnel and returned to the main room.

Hilde and Eala were curled up against a wall. One of them snoring. And there, curled up against her owner’s knees was Codijune. Max gave a puggish whine, hoping the dog would wake up. But both she and Eala simply sighed a bit and snuggled down more deeply into dreams. Nor was there any hope for Max that Firefoot’s three dogs would be waking soon. They were all deep in slumber tucked comfortably into a big chair.

Littlemanpoet looked comfortable, sitting in another big chair . . . alternating sips of stout with what looked like phrases savoured even as they fell from his lips. There was a pleasant look on his face as he did both activities.

Pio found a chair to perch in and gave a wave to lmp as she sat down. She held up a bottle of port and held up a cigar. ‘Let me know if you want one or the other or both,’ she mouthed to him.

Now where was Cami? Pio gazed about the room looking for the curly mop of graying curls. Little warps in Middl-earth time like this were the only way they could catch up on the progress of their various children . . . especially those of the fictional sort.

A young woman dressed in regency costume swept by with a garbage pail in hand. Pio raised her brows at the efficient, red-haired tidier as she picked up an empty wine bottle and a stray paper plate streaked with green jello. ‘Don’t clean too much, if you please,’ Pio asked THE Ka. ‘I feel quite at home amid the clutter.’ A thin spire of smoke from her newly lit cigar trailed up into the dark reaches of the barrow ceiling . . .

[Estelyn Telcontar]

H/Esty floated back into the barrow gracefully, the only person there who looked wide awake. Most were sleeping now, some, like LMP and Pio, resting with their favourite drinks and smokes, and THE energetic Ka had already picked up most of the mess invariably produced by any party worth its salted chips. "Thanks!" H called out to her, "You've saved me a lot of work!"

She was accustomed to the lack of activity at this time of day and indeed enjoyed a leisurely look around to start her daily routine. The conversations of the past night hung in the air, as wraith's words will, and she smiled over Formendacil's poke at Legolas, though she wished he could have been awake to hear the brilliant retort she had thought of - too late to be put to good use, as was so often the case. "But if Tom Bombadil has no wings, how does he get to the hobbits so quickly to rescue them?" was what she had wanted to say.

Interesting how the party had turned into a dogs' gathering as well, she thought; perhaps she should bring Ronya along - her Münsterländer was very sociable, loved a crowd, and got along well with other dogs, at least most of them.

When she was satisfied that everything was ready for the next onslaught of party guests, she settled down in a comfortable chair, put her feet up on someone's neglected backpack, and sipped a cup of green tea. She needed to gather strength, for the party carried on at least two more days!