An Unexpected Vir(tu)al Party

[Envinyatar]

Envinyatar poured half his mug into a bowl and offered it to the dragon. In turn, Angara dipped her snout gracefully into the dark, foamy liquid and sipped up a generous measure of the ale. Her tongue flicked out as she finished and swiped the faint line of foam delicately from round her lips. He watched her, fascinated by the agility of her long tongue. And catching a glimpse of her sharp teeth, wondered if she ever cut the soft-looking skin on the under side of that tongue as it withdrew back into her mouth.

“Ahh, the things one does not know about dragons,” he thought. “And best not ask about, either.” Angara, he had noted, could be quite sharp in her reaction and quick to be vexed. Envinyatar chuckled softly to himself. “But then she doesn’t know me, either.”

As if she had caught the drift of his meandering thoughts, Angara turned her head toward him and narrowed her gaze. Before she could say a word, Envinyatar turned his full attention on her and gave her his own toothy grin.

“You know,” he began, wagging his finger at her. “I think I have a song, poem really, you just might like. I heard it from a fellow some time ago who’d just passed through the Withered Heath.” He shook his head, as the dragon cocked her head at him. “Yes, that very valley where old Smaug once dwelt.”

Envinyatar nodded at the recollection of the rough, old fellow who’d shared his camp fire one cold, dark, windy night. “Now he sang it fine, but no, I’m really not the singing sort. For the life of me, I cannot carry a tune.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “But, I’ve a good memory and do love the flow of the rhythm of well placed words.” “It’s like a stream running over and ‘round and even under things,” he went on, “carrying those different water sounds, blending them in a such a way as to be pleasant to the ear and spirit.”

Pulling his chair closer to where Angara perched on the table’s top, Envinyatar began reciting in a low, cadenced rhythm.

The wind was on the withered heath,
but in the forest stirred no leaf:
there shadows lay by night and day,
and dark things silent crept beneath.

The wind came down from mountains cold,
and like a tide it roared and rolled;
the branches groaned, the forest moaned,
and leaves were laid upon the mould.

The wind went on from West to East;
all movement in the forest ceased,
but shrill and harsh across the marsh
its whistling voices were released.

The grasses hissed, their tassels bent,
the reeds were rattling—on it went
o'er shaken pool under heavens cool
where racing clouds were torn and rent.

It passed the lonely Mountain bare
and swept above the dragon's lair:
there black and dark lay boulders stark
and flying smoke was in the air.

It left the world and took its flight
over the wide seas of the night.
The moon set sail upon the gale,
and stars were fanned to leaping light.



“Hmmm,” Envinyatar murmured as the last words faded from hearing, the desolate image dissolving, too. “Still brings a shiver to my spine,” he said quietly.

He shook off the chill as he raised his mug up high, above his head.

“And here’s to The Barrow-Wight – the author of this night’s celebration. May his life be long, his glass never empty, and his patience deep for us passing strangers in his realm!”

[mark12_30]

Lindo, who had climbed back into the rocking chair with the quilt, remained quiet for a while longer, except for the occasional sniffle. But ere long, he clambered down out of the rocker and went softly to Galadriel. It took her a moment to notice him. “Hello?” She said.

He bowed. “Lady, I am a minstrel myself. And I was born under the walls of Gondolin.”

Her eyebrows raised. “A halfling?”

“Indeed,” he replied, his eyes sad and quiet. “The blacksmith you sing of was a bold and fierce fighter, and he fell, so it is said among us, by the fountain defending the king. But the blades passed from our knowledge. Indeed we knew little but hunger in Ladros, until Ancalimon came. But no matter,” he said. “I only wanted to thank you for your song. I felt that I was standing by the King’s fountain in happier days.”

She stared at the slender grey-haired hobbit and the tear that yet to fall. “You, a halfling, were born in Gondolin...?” she whispered, her eyes narrowing.

He bowed again, deeper this time. “An honor that perhaps I did not deserve. But if you would like to hear the tale,” he nodded at the black and white dragon and the grey Haired Dunadan watching Gravloc, “He knows the whole tale, of which I played small part. Ask him.”

Lindo bowed yet a third time, and then returned to the quiet corner, the rocker, and the quilt.

[Arry]

“So be it!” cried Arry, foam spilling down the side of his mug as he clinked it against Envinyatar’s raised cup. “May the Old Wight walk unseen among us for as long as he pleases!” But under his breath he murmured a low entreaty to whatever bright spirits might be gathered round about. “And may he never lay eyes on the likes of me.” His left hand crept to the small leather pouch that hung round his neck by a thin braided string and grasped it tightly.

His old Gran had made the pouch and added to it a few charms to keep him safe when far from home – a tiny twig from the Hawthorne tree outside her cottage; a sage leaf, a bit of rosemary from her garden; and a wee pinch of dirt from the very path as went to and from her door. Small comforts to quiet a case of the shudders and goose-bumps.

‘Thanks, Gran,” he whispered to himself.

Arry tucked his leather pouch inside his shirt and took a long pull at his ale. “Say, Pio,” he said, setting his drink on the table. “I just remembered an old song I learned to play in the Shire.” He picked up his guitar and strummed a few chords. “I think you know it, too. There’s a tipsy cat. And a dog, and a cow, too! And those dishes – they ran away with the spoon!!” He laughed, his fingers nimbly picking out the tune as he smiled at her.

“Reminds me of the time we worked together at the Green Dragon.” His foot tapped out the beat. “Come on, join in!”

There is an inn, a merry old inn
Beneath an old grey hill,
And there they brew a beer so brown
That the Man in the Moon himself came down
One night to drink his fill.

[Estelyn Telcontar]

Far away, in a remote area of Elvenhome in Muddled-Mirth, the strains of a mournful song echoed:

Wake up, MeriSusie, wake up,
Wake up, MeriSusie, wake up,
Our story's sound asleep, wake up, MeriSusie, and weep,
The RPG's over, it's twenty-twenty, and we're in caverns deep.
Wake up, MeriSusie
Wake up, MeriSusie, well...

Whatta we gonna tell Estelyn,
Whatta we gonna tell Mith'dan,
Whatta we gonna tell our readers when they say "Where and when"?
Wake up, MeriSusie.

I told your creator that you'd write Quest Three,
Well Susie baby, too ambitious were we,
Wake up, MeriSusie
Wake up, MeriSusie, we gotta go on.

Wake up, MeriSusie, wake up,
Wake up, MeriSusie, wake up,
The RPG wasn't so hot, it didn't have much of a plot,
We fell asleep, our loose ends lost, our reputation's shot.
Wake up, MeriSusie,
Wake up, MeriSusie, we gotta go on.


And lo, the lay was heard, and two perfect, shell-like ears twitched, then a shapely head was raised, long golden tresses trailed behind with only as much tousledness as to be extremely attractive, and a shapely body rose from its long forgotten resting place. "The voice of my beloved has called me!" Merisuwyniel (for indeed it was she, being immortal) exclaimed. "But where is he?" In the back of her memory she realised that she had not finished the last quest upon which she had embarked, but this new quest was irresistable. She chose her most becoming raiment (to be described later) and embarked upon the search for Gravlox.

[piosenniel]

Pio pulled her chair about so that she faced the table. Crossing her arms on the table’s top she scrunched down and rested her chin on them. The fingers of her left hand drew lazy little spirals in the rings of ale condensed there from their many mugs.

Angara stretched out her neck and came snout to nose with the Elf.

“I had some doubts about this party,’ the dragon remarked, her head nodding slightly. Her tail swished lightly across the wooden surface, coming to rest as it curled beneath her chin. “But I must say the food offerings are quite tasty. And I applaud the resident barrel-master on the excellent wine, not to mention that ambrosial brew – the dark ale, especially.” As if to punctuate her approval, Angara gave a toothy grin.

“Glad it’s come up to your standards, Old One!” Pio returned. Noticing a half full plate of beef ribs nestled alongside a small mound of crisped tater slices, she reached out and pulled it nearer her companion. “Might as well polish these off, my dear – other wise they’ll be relegated to the slops bucket and it’s the pigs that will be enjoying them.”

“Hmmph!” Angara snorted. “I hope you are not comparing me to a pig!” She eyed the proffered plate and took in the scent of meat and taters. “For one thing, pigs cannot fly. And for another, they are my tasty morsels – I am not theirs.” The last few words of her declaration were muffled and she munched of the beef, her strong jaws crunching through the bone as if it were nothing. “Say,” she went on having swallowed the first mouthful. “Don’t we know that fellow over there?” She raised her head up high and nodded toward a table across the way.

Pio raised up in her chair, surveying the area of the room her companion indicated.

He was turned away from her, so she just caught a small portion of his face. His black hair was unremarkable, and if she narrowed her gaze she caught a few glints of silvered grey tucked in among the ebon. He wore a grey velvety sort of jerkin, white shirt, and the loudest pair of royal blue breeches she had seen in a very long time. He looked well nourished, at least from the back – his jerkin showed some tight creases in the back as he moved in his chair. “Hmmmm… seems familiar,” she murmured. His companion, she noted, was a well attired Uruk.

But wait. Who’s that?” Her eyes had caught a small black and silvered dragon resting near the man.

Angara snorted, giving a sly grin followed closely by a rumbly chuckle. “Mastered that form, hasn’t she?”

“You didn’t think to tell me Bird was here?” Pio asked, her eyes narrowing at her companion.

“We dragons don’t intrude on each other. And besides – where’s that keen elvish eyesight that misses nothing? If you hadn’t been throwing back those mugs of ale and showing off your singing, you’d no doubt have noticed. And furthermore…” The remainder of Angara’s comment was cut off as Pio began laughing.

“And so that fellow you first pointed out - the one in the bright blue pants. That’s Mith, isn’t it?” She stood up, hands on hips, and gave him an appraising once over.

“By the One, I wondered what he’d got in to. “

[Envinyatar]

The din of the party had ebbed. Envinyatar surveyed the hall, noting the guests had sorted themselves into smaller groups. Bodies leaned in more closely to each other. Talk grew quieter, punctuated by laughter at some shared joke or some funny remembrance. Even the lights seemed softer.

And how fortunate a boon is that! he noted to himself. The softer, lower lights smoothed out age’s natural ravages of long-gone youth. Ghosties moving through a pretty dream.

A slight shake of his head and the room came back into a more present view. Guests took on their ordinary guises. The voices crept up in volume. The view from where he leaned against a back wall grew sharper.

‘Hey, Arry,” he said, moving more toward the corner where his friend sat, chairback propped against the wall. Arry looked up from his guitar, his fingers still picking out the notes to some tune.

“Pio seems a little busy back at the table. Looks like she’s spotted another friend.” He lifted his chin a little indicating where Pio pointed at a group farther across the room. “And to be honest, I’ve had my fun seeing her again and you, too.” He smiled and gave a quick wink to Arry. “But I have plans to travel south. I need to get going.”

Envinyatar clasped hands with Arry and added. “Say good-bye to the Elf for me. I was never good at doing that. And Angara, too, if you will.” He reached into an inner pocket of his leather vest. “Give this to Pio – I found it in a rocky cave along the western shores. It’s a relic from the Old Fellow’s time.” He pointed to a bright crystal jewel in the middle of the slender box-like object. “Just press here and she’ll hear his voice.” He handed the device to Arry. “Quite amazing, really.” He started walking toward the door. “I think she’ll like it. I did.”

With a quick wave to his friend Envinyatar made his way to the Great Hall’s door. Opening it quietly, he stepped out into the falling dark.

[Mithadan]

Mithadan chatted with Lindo, musing upon their old journeys and the friends that they had known but had gone by the wayside as time passed. He smiled. "Those were good times," he thought. "Maybe dangerous and stressful, but still memories to be savored."

He shook his head. "Perhaps," he said. "Perhaps you might sing Maura's Lament before the night is out?"

Lindo's face clouded a bit. "That song if full of sorrow," Lindo replied.

"Do not confuse sorrow with evil," responded Mithadan. "We are better for having known him and Cami." Bird, her mouth stuffed with meat from a pasty, one of several on her plate, nodded agreement. Then she swallowed and raised her snout into the air, as if sampling a passing scent. Her eyes narrowed.

"Do you smell something?" she asked. "Like burning charcoal? Or brimstone? Maybe mixed with barbeque sauce? The spicy kind, not the sweet kind. Vinegary, not fruity. Maybe with a bit of five-spice. Or maybe..."

"I smell only food and good drink," he answered. "There is meat cooking upon a brazier over there..." He pointed, then paused, and his eyes narrowed as well. "Now there's a bit of trouble," he muttered.

"Where?" Bird took to the air and spun about. A stream of smoke issued from her nostrils as she readied for... another small dragon perched on the shoulder of a figure wearing a cloak. She had curly hair... she! Curly! "PIO!"

Flames spouted from Bird's mouth. Then, like a burning arrow, she shot off toward her friend and old partner in adventure.

[Estelyn Telcontar]

With the innate modesty only a truly Elven shieldmaiden possesses, a stunningly beautiful female entered the ballroom. The star-gem-studded deep blue gown she wore vied with her smile for brilliance, her golden hair rippled down beyond her trim waistline, and her violet eyes were obviously searching for someone. Yet her sensitive nature alerted her to the fact that a festivity was in progress, and she listened to others declaim their poetry with true interest. Here indeed were works worthy of performance, written by great poets who eclipsed the one she remembered from the Quest of the Entish Bow, Vogonwë, as the Sun eclipses all other heavenly bodies during the daytime.

She searched her long and perfect memory for something she could contribute, a work that would both honour the Great Maker of Middle-earth himself as well as the world in which she had spent many ages, Muddled-Mirth. And so when there was a lull in the conversations, she stepped into the spotlight and recited:

We RPG and libel it just so,
(for parody it is, the Entish Bow);
we write a post and read with smiling face
one of the many major wastes of space:
a sword’s a sword, some metal in a sheath
compelled to speak or to condemn to death.
Amid the serious, canon, lofty tales,
here, influence of moderators pales.

At bidding of a Plot, which we do bend
(and must), we only dimly apprehend;
the Itship marches on, as Game unrolls
from dark beginnings to uncertain goals;
and as on screen ‘tis written without clue,
with letters green on background black in hue,
an endless multitude of posts appear,
some grim, some frail, some wonderful, some queer.

The REB is not compound of lies,
but draws some humour from the only Wise,
and still recalls him. Though now long enstranged,
he turneth in his grave, and every change
the faithful Travestometer doth see;
we hold in honour creativity
and splinter from the true LotR
our many hues with no intent to mar
the memory of him who’s now decayed.
We write still by the model which he made.

Then Merisuwyniel stepped back and her eyes found the one on whom all her thoughts rested...