An Unexpected Vir(tu)al Party

[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.

[Huinesoron]

Technically speaking, it would be entirely accurate to say that Huinesoron was dressed as befitted a Noldo of high degree in the glory days of Beleriand, but to make such a claim would be to miss out a few key points. Such as that he was at least a foot and a half shorter than his outfit had originally been tailored for. Such as that his hair was less 'elegantly braided' and more 'quarantine-trimmed semi-haystack'. Such as the way his colour-blindness meant his muted earth-tone palette contained more than a little bright red and emerald green (not to mention mismatched blue and purple socks).

But that was okay. He wasn't much of a one for parties anyway, and didn't want to get in the way of old friends enjoying a long-overdue reunion. He was perfectly happy to slip in through the door behind Ka, scrub down his hands (humming twenty seconds of a tune he fondly imagined would have gone down well in Nargothrond), and find himself a perch by the wall to nibble on a pilfered cookie. It was enough, for him, just to be there.

hS

[Mithadan]

“Losssst! Lossst! Lossst we are and we shall never find it. My preciousssss!”

Mithadan glared at the tiny dragon hovering over his shoulder. “Enough!” he cried. “We are not lost.”

“You could have asked for directions,” Bird hissed. “Maybe at that White City that we passed.” The wyrm flapped its wings and rose up towards the sky. “It’s not too far back. I can still see it.”

A cloud seemed to pass over Mithadan’s face and he, once again, appeared weary. “Empty; long since abandoned,” he mused. “Long embattled by bots and spam and neglected until its gates closed.” He closed his eyes for a moment and, opening them, appeared to see a vision of things long past. “Tall were its walls and bright were its banners. Many were its folk, and among them minstrels, storytellers and seekers of wisdom. Now gone. All gone.”

“And we’ll be gone as well!” snapped Bird. “Wasted away. I was hungry before we left. Your pantry was nearly bare. And now we’re lost! Keep in mind that I’m a dragon. Not above snacking upon a Man.”

Mithadan snorted in amusement. “I’d like to see you try,” he retorted, with a pat on the hilts of his sword. “Anyway, we’re not lost. There’s the Uniform Resource Locator now.”

To their right was a path leading into a dark forest. Its trees were shaggy, overgrown with moss and lichen, and cast a dark shadow on a track leading through their broad and craggy boles. A wooden sign stood next to the entry into the wood. “Da Downs” it read in green letters, and an arrow pointed the way. Without hesitation, Mithadan strode forward and entered the gloomy way. Bird hovered briefly before the entrance.

“This does not look right,” she grumbled. Then she darted forward, agile as a sparrow and quick as a hawk, and followed the Man into the trees. Catching up to Mithadan, she burrowed into his hood and folded her wings. The two trudged along for a while until the path broadened into a clearing that lay before a grey hill. The track ended at a black wall of rock in which stood a closed gate, flanked by two standing stones. Cobwebs hung from the lintel and a noisome mist crawled from beneath the gate. Over the door were glowing runes that read “The Barrow-Downs.” Under the letters, a graven image of a sword appeared to underline the words. Atop one of the stones, a crow cawed, then wavered and fell to the ground in a heap.

“Home, sweet home,” said Mithadan with a sardonic grin. Then he entered his password and stepped through the gate as it opened with a creak. Before them was a broad, gloomy entryway of dark green marble, covered by a pale, yellowish ceiling. Corridors led off to the sides, each labelled by a sign. “The Books, Name Generators, Fun and Games, Reader’s Section, Themes…” he read. The entryway was empty, and his steps echoed as he traversed its length.

“You’d think there would be more folks heading to the party,” muttered Bird.

“That’s something I noticed early on,” replied Mithadan. “Even when something has people’s interest, members live all over, in different time zones, and posts come in at all hours. Waiting for a response isn’t wise; the person you’re exchanging thoughts with may be asleep, thousands of miles away. Ah! There it is…” At the end of the hall was a doorway bearing the label “Ultimate Bulletin Board.” Grinning broadly, Mithadan entered, expecting to see a room filled with appropriately socially separated friends.

Bird’s eyes narrowed and a trail of smoke issued from her jaws. “Some party,” she commented as she spread her wings in caution.

The hall beyond was empty. Cobwebs hung from the ceiling. There were no candles in the sconces. The only light was the ambient glow from the sickly-colored floor. A deep, sepulchral tune came from an unseen source. “That old black magic has me in its spell, that old black magic that you weave so well, those icy fingers up and down my spine, the same old witchcraft when your eyes meet mine… pzzzzt.” Acrid smoke wafted through the hall and sparks flew from behind a large dust bunny. Then, with a crash, a speaker fell over. A stream of rats issued from the walls, seized the fried piece of electronics, and carried it off, squeaking in glee.

“Looks about the same,” commented Mithadan. “But something’s wrong. Where is everyone?”

To the left was a heavy door, ornately carved, with a knocker made in the image of a ravening wolf’s jaws. A stream of spittle dripped from the fangs, and a low growl could be heard. Above the door was a sign that read “Middle-Earth Discussions: The Books.” He ignored the knocker, which was now audibly whining, and reached for the knob. The door opened with a creak. Here, at last, there were people, but this was not what Mithadan expected.

Figures walked to and fro, intent on their own tasks and lost in their own thoughts. But this was no party. The figures lacked substance. They were pale, translucent and their features were unclear. But their voices could still be heard. “Wings!” one cried. Another was expounding upon the naming of rivers in eastern Beleriand. A young woman spoke of the influences in Tolkien’s writing. Yet another argued that the Bridge at Khazad Dum could not be the only way in from the east side of Moria. To the side, two men raised their voices. “What part of enigma do you not understand?” one cried. “He’s clearly an earth spirit,” responded the other.

“Nerd party?” whispered Bird.

“No,” replied Mithadan. “Downers do know how to party, even in these times of stress and uncertainty. This is odd.”

He approached two of the figures and squinted at their indistinct features. “Galpsi?” He said. “Dogtrot?” Other figures approached. “Gwaihir? Joy? One White Tree? Saulotus? I have not seen any of you in ages! Have you returned?”

Another figure approached. Mithadan recognized him immediately. “Sharku!”

Sharku smiled sadly. “No,” he sighed. “We have not returned. We are no longer wights, but rather are shades or echoes of what was. Our words and thoughts remain, but we are trapped in the past and do not appear in the here and now. We exist only in the Ultimate Bulletin Board.”

“The UBB,” Mithadan “That’s our old platform. We moved years ago. This must be an archive.”

“Release us!” Rimbaud cried. “We have forgotten our passwords!”

“You need only sign on to the forums and post,” cried Mithadan. “Your passwords can be recovered. You need only ask.”

A man walked forward with a rattle and clamour. Mithadan recognized him as Saucepan Man. “But we are tired,” he said. “We have become treeish and have other things to do.”

“Follow if you will,” said Mithadan. “But know this, I need not release you. Your words remain on the boards and your thoughts speak to others who seek knowledge even today. The forums remain and are viewed by members, visitors and friends every day. Come if you may, but I cannot make you log in.”

Mithadan turned and stalked from the caves of the archive. He paused at the gate for a moment, looking inside wistfully. “Hither shall the flowers of simbelmyne come never until the world’s end. I wish that they would return, but I can do no more. For that is not my errand!”

Bird took wing and floated above Mithadan’s head as they made their way from the archive. It took some time, but they soon found the correct Uniform Resource Locator. Before them was the celebration.

“Let’s party!” they cried.

[Estelyn Telcontar]

Estelyn left the reading room after several blissful hours of tales and poetry and was surprised to hear considerable volume coming from the ballroom. It was positively crowded when she walked into the room, and she smiled widely to see so many who had responded to the invitation.

Encaitare was still playing a jaunty tune, and soon the hand-shaking and embraces of fond greetings turned into a lively dance. Esty twirled from Lalaith to Pitchwife, interrupting her progress to cuddle her namesake puppy, dragged the protesting Lindo out of the corner to join the fun, did a credible imitation of a carousel with Inzil, thanked Thena for the toast, greeted Oddwen and THE Ka, and tried some of Galadriel55's lembas. Everyone must have had a piece, for the energy spread throughout the room and soon all were dancing, some with more enthusiasm than skill.

She stopped to catch her breath at just the right moment, for Bêthberry entered the room. "How wonderful!" she exclaimed. "I'm glad you were able to join us!" She saw an unfamiliar face and walked over to introduce herself.

"Hello! I'm Estelyn, the hostess of this party. I don't think we have met, have we?" Huinesoron stretched out his hand rather shyly and said his name. "Don't worry," she smiled. "We may be dead Wights, but we're a friendly group - the more, the merrier!"

"This is a pleasure indeed!" Esty laughed as she saw Mithadan enter the room. "One of the illustrious Old Ones has come to celebrate with us! Who knows - maybe even the Barrow-Wight himself will look in? After all, this is turning into a birthday party, and he's the one responsible."