An Unexpected Vir(tu)al Party

[Estelyn Telcontar]

Estelyn beamed at the newcomers, a greeting that could not lighten the Dark Elf's scowl. This obviously calls for something special, she thought, and I know just the thing.

"Morthoron, you are good in dark places - can you help me with something?" she asked. He shrugged, which she interpreted as his having nothing better to do, and followed her out of the ballroom. She led the way down a flight of stairs, even dustier than the room above had been, and attempted to open a heavy wooden door at the foot. With an exasperated sigh, the Elf pushed it open and said, "You should not have tried to pull it!"

She smiled ever so slightly in the darkness, knowing that the males of any species were prone to display their strength and superior knowledge when given a chance. "What do your Elven eyes see?" she queried. He peered into the darkness, which, unlike the Void, did not peer back at him, and said, "There are many bottles here."

"I am searching for a special Old Winyard brew, a wine that has taken on a bubbly character," Estelyn said. "The bottles are shaped differently than normal wine bottles."

He walked around the room and pulled two of the flasks from the shelves. "This looks like it could be the potation you seek. There are more, though I cannot recognise how many."

"We shall start with these, and see if more guests come later," she determined.

Back in the ballroom, Morthoron demonstrated his ability to open the bottles without permanent damage to the room or the guests, and Estelyn poured the sparkling wine into the glasses she had cleaned and prepared.

"Let's have a toast to those who brought us together here!" she exclaimed. "The Professor!" Glasses were raised and the guests appreciatively sipped the fine beverage. "The Barrow-Wight!" was the second toast, and by the time the glasses were emptied and refilled, the atmosphere had become joyously festive.

[Encaitare]

It had been a strange time in the houses of learning. Pupils were sent home, and keepers of wisdom were suddenly tasked with continuing their teaching from afar. Missing her young charges, Encaitare was grateful for even the limited contact afforded by her Palantir. After checking in on several pupils, she glanced at the surface of her messy desk.

Estelyn's invitation!

"Oh! Is that today?" she gasped. Time seemed to have less and less meaning these days, and yet somehow more. "Better put some actual pants on."

(And that's trousers to y'all overseas, thank you very much. )

Indeed, she had worn little but pajamas for almost two weeks, not counting the fuzzy sweater she threw over herself to appear a bit more professional in her Palantir communications. She put on a favorite outfit - a three piece black velvet suit with a diamond pattern in silver glitter. She had last worn it to ring in the New Year with her musical troupe. All that seemed so far away now.

"Perhaps I can provide some entertainment to lighten my fellows' hearts," Encai said. Her abode was full of options, everything from a piano to a kalimba. "No one wants to hear a euphonium right now," she mused. She suspected her neighbors felt similarly, though they were too polite to complain to her face. "I need something that's fun and easy to carry." After much consideration, she selected a ukulele and her trusty flute.

The ballroom was much as she remembered it, and after washing her hands at the door, she stood in the center, gazing up at the high ceiling. "Oh, the memories!" she said breathlessly. "How many happy hours were spent here? I think I feel a song coming on! Who's with me?"

[Lalaith]

Originally Posted by Encaitare

I I think I feel a song coming on! Who's with me?"

"I am, I am!"
Lalaith waved her glass wildly in the air, with the bubbles frothing over and unfortunately splashing poor Morthoron, not improving his mood.

[Encaitare]

"I am, I am!"
Lalaith waved her glass wildly in the air, with the bubbles frothing over and unfortunately splashing poor Morthoron, not improving his mood.

"Whoa, whoa, careful there!" Encai said. "Come, sing with me. But hold your glass steady around my instruments!"

She picked up her ukulele and strummed a jaunty, cheerful series of chords, and sang:

"It's been an age since we were here
Now friends have come from far and near
Friendship shall not fade nor break
When times are hard, make no mistake!
These halls shall always house your friends
We Downers all together again!"

[Mithadan]

*knock, knock.

Mithadan groaned and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. What was that sound? The sun was barely up, and he had not even had any coffee. Heed no nightly noises, he thought, and rolled over.

*knock, knock.

Mithadan sat up in his bed and shook his head. Groggily, he took account of his protesting joints. Low back pain, check. Creaking knees…. Then the springtime pollen did its magic and he sneezed. In response, a small dragon curled atop a bookshelf hissed quietly. Then, having ascertained that nothing justified her attention, the dragon hid her head under a wing.

“Good morning, Bird,” Mithadan muttered.

*knock, knock.

Shambling across the room, he entered the foyer and cracked open the door. On his doorstep stood a short (height-challenged, he corrected in an automatic and well-ingrained spasm of political correctness), bearded figure, dressed in a brown tunic and breeches, with a blue cape and matching hood.

“Begging your pardon, sir,” the Dwarf said. “Special delivery for you, sir.” Mithadan accepted the packet and passed a coin to the messenger. With a bow, the Dwarf trudged off. Mithadan noted that his pouch was bulging with similar packages. He squinted at the parcel in his hands, but it revealed no secrets. He took up a knife, opened the envelope, and began to read.

“Estelyn?” he mused. “I’ve not spoken to her in years.” Then he frowned as he read the balance of the message. “A party?” he exclaimed. “She knows that I vowed never to do such a thing again after the Downie Awards. When was that?”

He walked over to a wall covered with pictures and framed papers. Among them was a picture of several figures standing upon a red carpet, waving to a crowd. There he stood, with Piosenniel, Cami and Bethberry. Underneath was a small bronze label which read “Downie Awards, May, 2003.”

“2003?” he exclaimed? “That long ago?” His gaze returned to the picture and he smiled. Next to it was a picture of Kuruharan and Gravlox the Uruk discussing something of great importance with Barrow-Wight, Squatter, and Saucepan Man. In the background were Diamond, Lush, Amanaduial, Maikadilwen and Mark12_30. His smile grew broader as other names came to his mind unbidden. Then his gaze was drawn to a set of newspaper clippings and his smile vanished.

“The Hobbiton Garden Club to Protest Marileangorifurnimaluim's 'Hobbit Sex Ed' Article” read one. “Half-Elves to Sue for Equal Rights,” read another. He read on among the succession of headlines. “Shield Maidens Rise Up; RPG Management Unfair!; Admins Discriminate Against Legofans!; Too Strict; Not Strict Enough; Gay Sub-text, Yes or No?”

Mithadan shut his eyes as a flood of less-pleasant memories arrived. The cliques, the rivalries, the protests, the lawsuits, the spam, the bot attacks all replayed in his mind. The old weariness settled in again. His shoulders slumped and the corners of his mouth tilted downward.

“Nope!” he cried. “Not me. Not again. Good morning! No parties needed here, thank you.” He let the invitation drop to the floor and turned away, planning to stalk off to the kitchen and put up a pot of coffee, only to jump in surprise. There, hovering before his face, was the tiny dragon, Bird, with eyes ablaze and trails of smoke trickling from her nostrils.

“Coward,” she hissed. “A little adversity and you slink away with your tail between your legs.”

“I have no tail,” he replied, stepping past the wyrm.

“No spine either!”

“I got tired!” he exclaimed. “I had other things to do; other concerns. I didn’t have time for it anymore! And I still don’t!”

“This isn’t 2003,” she replied. “The movies are over. The fair-weather fans are gone. Those that remain are those who care.”

Mithadan scowled. “Have you seen how few there are? There’s nothing new under the sun. Everything has been discussed.”

The dragon perched upon his shoulder. “Hmpph,” Bird grunted. “I seem to recall you issuing a challenge a while back. ‘Open the books to any page! Within a few paragraphs, you’ll find something to discuss! Open a new topic!’”

“That was years ago,” he responded. “Before the social media explosion. Before everyone had better things to do.”

“What about you?” she hissed. “Do you have anything better to do? Yes, I know you have other things to do, but anything better?” She took the collar of his tunic in her teeth and dragged him back to the wall. “Look! Look here!”

In a frame was a piece of fine parchment covered with elegant writing. It read:

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO THE BARROW-DOWNS!

On May 1, 2002, the forums at the Barrow-Downs reached the ripe (and I do mean ripe!) old age of TWO! While the site itself is a bit older, the second anniversary of the opening of the forums is a cause to CELEBRATE!!!!! Therefore, we will have a PARTY in celebration of the second birthday (uh, deathday?) of the Barrow-Downs forums and all members are invited!!!!!

PLACE: The Fields of Cormallen (the Freestyle RPG Room in a thread to be opened there).

TIME: Monday, May 20, 2002 beginning at 9:00am until ????

DRESS: Formal Middle Earth Wear.

There will be an open bar, and meals will be served buffet style.

COME CELEBRATE THE ACHIEVEMENTS OF THE BARROW-WIGHT AND THE BARROW-DOWNS!

RSVP


“Twenty years?” he whispered. “TWENTY YEARS!”

He rushed back into his bedroom, opened a chest and removed a carefully wrapped parcel. Placing it on his bench, he unwrapped it. Mithadan smiled as a grey velvet jerkin, a white ruffled shirt and a royal blue pair of breeches were revealed. “Good thing I had them laundered,” he said with a grin.

“Think they’ll still fit?” smirked Bird. “You’ve been a bit over-fond of your ale and porter recently…”

[Pitchwife]

Pitchwife was sitting on a sunlit stone bench in Rath Celerdain, at his feet a somewhat diminutive sheepdog, its coat black, white and amber; a large grey cat was curled around the palantír on his lap, and a somewhat smaller reddish one rubbing its head against his elbow. The Minas Tirith University Library (formerly Steward‘s Library) was closed for the duration, due to a plague that had spread across the land on the wings of a foul wind from Far Rhûn, but fortunately the palantír allowed him to work from home, or indeed anywhere. He was grateful for the skill of those ingenious jewel-smiths of the Seventh Age who had rediscovered the secret of making Seeing Stones a few decades back; less powerful these new Stones were than those wrought by the Noldor in days of old, but also far lighter and less vulnerable to Sauronic infiltration.


In early spring the air was still rather cool, even in the sun, and Pitch was just considering whether to retire to his study, a warm fireplace and a hot cup of tea when a faint green light in the palantír caught his attention. He gently nudged the protesting cat aside and, grabbing the Stone in both hands, brought the image into focus.


„Why, I‘d never - !“ he exclaimed. „A party on the Downs? Gosh, it‘s been ages! We‘ve all turned rather treeish in our middle age, haven‘t we? Well, most of us. I wonder who will be coming?“


„Wiff,“ said the dog (a bitch) in a tone that was half question, half appeal (and just the tiniest bit insolent).


„I know,“ Pitch agreed. „Only one way to find out.“ He jumped up suddenly, threw the palantír up into the air and caught it in his hands before tucking it away in a spacious coat pocket. „Come on then, Esty, it‘s high time anyway you met your godmother! You too, Simon and Garfuncil,“ he added, addressing the bewildered cats. „We‘re going to a party!“


Followed by his animal companions, he betook himself to Pelennor Central Station, and less than an hour later they were all sitting in a comfortable compartment of the Great North-Western Express bound for Fornost Erain and stopping at Isengart, New Tharbad and Bree.

[Lalaith]

"Bubbles? Did anyone mention bubbles?"

Lalaith had been delighted enough to receive the invitation, but was even more delighted that her entrance was marked by the sound of popping corks - to her ears, the merriest sound in Middle Earth.

Those of her friends who knew her best were not remotely surprised to see that she had gone overboard on the outfit - a full-length gown of teal and midnight blue, with silver workings on both the bodice and in her hair, which she wore loose and long. But she did so love a party - and there had been so few of late.
"This is a merry meeting," she cried, clapping her hands. "May we, at least here in the Downs, embrace our old friends in greeting? Oh, there is Lommy, and Legate, and Esty, and Inzil, and...."
Glass in hand, she ran about excitedly from person to person, trying not to spill her wine as she greeted them affectionately. She had wearied quickly of her dwelling in the guarded city of Londonlin, desiring ever to roam and wander free as had once been her wont. This grace to depart the safety of her walls, even for a virtual escape, was most welcome.

"So how is everyone? What news from the West, from the South, from the North...and from the East?"

[Thenamir]

(EDIT: It looks like Thenamir needs to read more posts before he posts himself. This is seriously out of order.)

Thenamir decided that he might as well remain and enjoy everyone's company, there were worse places to kill an afternoon. "Ho, Inziladun! Well met, old friend! It looks like Esty needs our help restocking the beverage table -- and if we help, we'll be first in line to refill our mugs!"

He grabbed Inziladun by the arm and dragged him to the door of the wine cellar where Esty and Morthoron were emerging with a couple of wooden crates loaded with interesting-looking bottles. Thenamir took one of the crates from a grateful-looking Morthoron and set it down on the table next to the goblets, mugs, flutes, and tumblers provided. "Well, well," He said, extracting one of the bottles and admiring its label, "Inziladun, you asked what was on tap, well lookee here! Old Winyards! Where have you been hiding this stuff, Esty? I thought the last bottles of O.W. went down the gullet of old Bilbo himself." Suiting the action to the word he smoothly extracted the cork and set himself up as an impromptu bartender for all those nearby.

"Is it too early for a toast?" he asked, not really caring whether anyone answered. "To Estelyn Telcontar, mistress of the feast!" All those in attendance shouted a hearty "Hear! Hear!" before draining their vessels dry. Which of course meant that they quickly came back for more.

[Galadriel55]

There was a knock on the door. "I'll get it!" said Estelyn, hurrying across the ballroom. She opened the door wide, but no one was there. "That is strange," she muttered under her breath. Only then did she notice a strange looking package placed neatly on the doorstep.

***

Galadriel55 was feeling very unqueenly. Due to the plague, all Elves were confined to their telain, and only the brave border guards would venture out on solid ground. This plague of course would not kill Elves, but it would sap much of their healing powers to clear. It was believed that the evil air stayed near the ground and could be avoided by living high up in the mallorn treetops. All of this meant that Galadriel55 was currently stuck with six other Elves on a not too large talan. And three just happened to be very young Elves, not even a hundred years old as Men would measure the passage of time.

Galadriel55's Mirror was sending flashes of green glowing light onto the mallorn branches. The Downs was calling, things were happening. But every time she turned towards it to send an answering thought, "We ran out of lembas!". Or, "He stole my length of rope! Tell him to give it back!". Or, "Tell her that if she continues calling me a slimy yrch I will stop lending her my cloak". Or, "Help me climb the mallorn branch! I absolutely need to!" Or simply "Aaaaaaaaaaa!".

For a few seconds things seemed settled. Galadriel55 felt a flutter of hope. Maybe now she will be able to take her thought to the faraway land? Maybe?... "I'm back from mallorn climbing! But I don't wanna wash my hands!". Galadriel55 sighed. Too bad.

But she would not be a complete bystander when so many faces were flashing in the mirror. Faces that were nearly forgotten, that were surely forgotten in the human kingdoms as all mortals who knew these faces were already gone. How many times has Galadriel55 exchanged jokes and quizzes with these people? Played WW, RPGs? The stern Books faces. The laughing Mirth faces. The sly wolf faces, and the pensive N&N crowd. Even faces that she has seen in life, not just in the waters of her mirror. She would send them all a token that they are not forgotten in the forest of Lothlorien.

***

Estelyn finished wiping off the package and tossed the cleaning rag back into the bucket. She untied the silver string that bound the lid of the box shut, and the string fell down onto the table like a trickle of water. She opened the lid.

"Come here for a taste of lembas, everyone!"

[Estelyn Telcontar]

Guests had arrived at the party! It was New Year's Day in Middle-earth, and that meant lots of stories and poetry to share. Readers gathered in a special room and listeners flocked to hear them there:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KdXtDHE6rKI

At the moment, a genuine Wight was reading - the renowned Brian Sibley!

[Pitchwife]

Brushing aside cobwebs and hanging moss, Pitchwife strolled into the ballroom, his furry friends trailing behind him. His coat, having outlived its narrative function of providing a pocket for the palantír, had somehow got lost on the way, and he was attired, as was usual for him, in jeans and a chequered flannel shirt; his hair, just beginning to grey at the temples, had grown long since his last visit to the Downs, and a pony tail stuck out under the rim of his leather hat. He had tied a scarf over his mouth and nose and was brandishing a Quenya pocket dictionary.

„Arriba los manos, eso es un robo!“ he declaimed to the company at large. „No wait, that‘s wrong. I meant Elen síla lumenn‘ ovomaltínë! I‘m afraid my Elvish has got a bit rusty lately. But what I really mean is you‘re all a sight for sore eyes!“

[Bêthberry]

Thwump. Thud. Ommphph. All the air was knocked out of Bêthberry. She hadn’t expected such an ignominious landing.

Then again, she hadn’t expected the invitation to a party on the Barrow Downs. How many years had it been? “Goodness, so many of the youngsters must now be almost adults, counting in hobbit years,” she thought, once she had caught her breath. And all those romances and partnerships and tieing up of knots. She thought for a bit. “Will many Downers be bringing new little Downers? Did folks not learn things from Marileangorifurnimaluim’s ‘Hobbit Sex Ed' article? Or maybe they did, ” she giggled.

Slowly stretching her legs to ensure nothing was broken, Bêthberry looked around and wondered if Wyrd would find her and join her at the party. Oh that she had been able to hitch a ride with him and not that execrable eagle who provided the drop landing. It was a trial and tribulation that Estelyn’s invitation had arrived just as the borders were closed back in her far, green country and she had had to search for Thorondor when Air Green Country was grounded. “Maybe it will be warm enough to take a coracle for the way home, although sails would be helpful given the size of the pond,” she thought. And her less than enthusiastic rowing ability these days.

“I wonder if Estelyn invited Vinegrettiel, Galadriel’s evil twin sister?” “And will there be talk of reviving The Entish Bow?” “Will anyone bemoan the Canonicity thread?” “Or want to replace it with an Intertextuality thread?” She wondered if Fordim Hedgethistle would get her note about the party or Squatter. She was fairly certain that Mithadan, Hele--um, Mark--and others, would show up, but she wondered if she could remember everyone’s Middle-earth names after having met so many Downers at primary world moots.

Bêthberry was getting quite good at talking with herself, so good that she was quite startled when she heard another voice answer her. She looked up and tried to follow the direction of the voice. A grey-feathered Wyrd peered down at her from the nearest tree. “Well, look what the eagles blew in,” he astutely said. “The party’s already started but I can show you the way. Don’t ever trust those eagles again. They are still quite miffed about not being asked to take the Ring to Mount Doom. You wouldn't believe the theories of narrative they have come up with to explain it.”

[THE Ka]

It had already been a week into quarantine when a letter appeared through the door slot. A pitch black grim flashed from a couch to sniff at it, considering it was the first 'thing' to happen in several days. Ka shooed them away, read the contents, but frowned and looked out the window.
An entire week of rain... and another week of being stuck indoors. More confirmed infections in our community and more going out without a care in the world.

She moved Estelyn's kind and encouraging words to a table and continued to clean and putter about, for there was little else to do besides annoy her dog further. Occasionally, her eyes glanced at the invitation and she ruminated whether it was worth going. Besides being potentially infectious, she hadn't visited with the other Wights in years let alone the Downs. It'd seem presumptive... what could she contribute on such short notice?

A few more days went by much the same, hesitation and deprecation fogged the air of her simple dwelling along with piles of books and loose sketches. Another invitation came forward through the door, this time from Mithadan proclaiming in bold and strong hand a reminder that the 1st of May was none other than the 20th anniversary of their beloved Downs. A twinge of intrigue went through her seeing so many familiar names had signed on the invitation as well. Things had began to calm for the most part in her rainy and grey cast spot of the world, yet unnecessary travel had been strictly prohibited by local authorities. Ka harrumphed and paced, setting her mischievous hound to circle excitedly.

Later that day another invitation and another began to slowly pile up at the door, a glaring reminder that for many others who were in much the same situation had decided eschew self-imposed isolation and the fever of boredom it came with to attend such a timely gathering. Her hound snorted in protest and she threw up her hands. Obviously the decision was clear. It was time to pay a visit to their old home away from home. Otherwise, the invitations would eventually jam the doorway anyways.

Going into an industrious flurry, she began to at least bake something to bring. The contents were a hodgepodge of whatever meat and veggies could be found at hand, but often was the nature of last minute 'meat pies'. This time it was the last of her remaining caribou. Discerning palates to Udun, it would have to do.

Dressing for the occasion would have to be swift, she didn't much care what was on display over the last few weeks since the only critic had been her dog and to him it was naught but a wash of greys. She held up two but old reliable tunics, one of red and one of a dark green for the hound to pick. He sniffed at both until she growled for a decision. Finally he settled with a snort at the green.

Ka glanced at some of the shaky sketches she'd done over the last few days. There had been less and less over the years and it had always been a sore spot remembering how prolific she and the rest of the Wights had been playing Paper Telephone. Instead she settled on just a few pencils and a sketch pad. Perhaps others would like to play again at the gathering.

She snuck from her quiet abode, down old forgotten and overgrown paths that slowly familiarized themselves to her with each step. It wasn't so bad, until an old moss and fog shrouded archway demanded her passphrase in a curt rattling voice. She gave an apologetic and clumsy smile as she mumbled through it. There was a frustrated groan before the fog was hurriedly waved away to reveal the path ahead and the voice chided her to be more clear next time or else. She had been a bit of an imp in the past, perhaps it was warranted.
Ka instead smirked, turned, and stuck her green sharp tongue out before hurrying down to the gathering with her invitation and gifts.

The gathering tomb was already lit inside and had the familiar eerie glow of home from so many of her fellow wights passing through. At the great doors lay instructions to make use of the water, basin, and soap. Ka complied without further word, there was no sense in causing her friends worry over where she had just come from. Further in at the entrance of the main hall were sideboards already ladden with food. Not wanting to disrupt the others chatting and sampling away, she slid her dish in at the end and looked about. Many had come and it gave her a warmth of home to see so many she recognized, but she had never really grown comfortable in boldly announcing herself at gatherings.

Instead she spotted a familiar face at the end of one of the long tables full of food. Silently she approached at Oddwen's side with a barely contained smile and poked her shoulder with a hello.