The Party Tree: A Good Thing Gone Bad?

A role-playing storyline taken from an event run on the Windfola server for Lord of the Rings Online. For context on the event, please see the following two links:

The Party Announcement

Dermid, Spider-Sting Journal Entry: The Night Before

What follows below is an account of the event through the Eyes of Dermid of the Harfoots now living near Scary; Second cousin of Dermid, Spider-Sting. Throughout the account, he is openly shaken but has attempted, the best he can, to recall the events of the evening.

First things first, be reminded that I’m Dermid of the Harfoots and not Dermid, Spider-Sting. I’m a cousin of the hobbit and a good friend. I’m a farmer from near Scary and Spider-Sting is my 2nd cousin on my fathers side. You see, Spider-Sting recently decided to throw a party and invited several folks to meet at the party tree and it having been several good years since I traveled anywhere near that side of the Shire, I made the long trip.

The day seemed to began pleasantly enough. I showed up quite early and spent a good half-day cleaning tables and baking pies in the nearby ovens. I knew I’d have to help and didn’t expect Spider-Sting to arrive until near the start of the party so this wasn’t unexpected.

A good handful of visitors arrived during the early moments of the gathering. I really think that Spider-Sting would have been most pleased. People from the “Lone-Lands” to other short people, dwarves I believe they are called from the cold mountains, all within the Shire. It was a pleasant sight and one I wished I could of enjoyed. Some danced, a few enjoyed a good smoke, and I think most, if not all, partook in the pies.

As the time rolled past, it became increasingly obvious to this hobbit that something bad was afoot. Spider-Sting is not one to be early, but not one to be late; especially at his own event. I remember nervously waiting with the others, trying to keep up a decent mood. From standing upon tables for a better view, to trying to see if pipeweed might ease the nerves, little to nothing seemed to settle the knot quickly forming within my belly.

It was nearly a quarter past before I broke down. I’m quite saddened, now in looking back, that I didn’t give into my gut a bit earlier. It pains me to no end that I could have altered fate. *A tear comes into his eyes. After pausing for a moment to gather himself, he paints a rather timid smile on his face and continues to recount his memories of the event.*

The time had come for action so I took to the stage and made, for me at least, a bold step. I announced my fear that Spider-Sting was in trouble. It was the reason for my nervousness, for which I apologized, and I supplied his final journal entry as proof of my concern. I know that hobbits can be a little paranoid at times and even I myself only rarely leave Scary but something within me knew that all was not well.

Questions ensued and I attempted to remember all that I could from the conversations I had had with Spider-Sting. I remembered talk of bandits or thieves or something… as well as a waterfall and or a camp. Details slipped as I’ve never cared much for adventure and Spider-Sting can often ramble. After sharing my memories, several within the group apparently thought he went South into a camp of brigands in search of greater treasure. Sadly this made all too much sense. He is a pleaser and was clearly nervous about the event and wanted “grand prizes” for whatever simple contests might evolve during the festivities.

Thankfully I had brought the fireworks for the party. A member of the crowd had a wonderful idea to use them as flares; I hate to admit that I have forgotten who it was by name but much of the last is somewhat of a blur. I handed each of the leaders of the 3 groups a firework to use when they or if they found Dermid, Spider-Sting. You see, they’d rise high above the Shire and be a clear signal for all, much faster than the mail system in the Shire which always seems to be in a state of chaos.

There and then, I think I must have fainted at the base of the tree. I remember little else until I awoke within the The Ivy Bush Inn some several hours later with my cousin lying next to me.

Within the inn, I was told it was as I had feared. Dermid, Spider-Sting had gone into a camp of thieves alone in search of prizes for those who might attend. He carried a small pouch labeled “Prizes” that carried several hand-crafted pieces of jewelery that, at least to this hobbit, seemed quite enough and then some. But he’s always one to go a step beyond and so I guess it is not surprising.

*Moves over to Spider-Sting, still barely clinging to life, and places a hand on his chest.* I can only imagine what you have seen and what you might have been through. *Dermid of the Harfoots lies down next to his cousin and slips into a more peaceful rest now that this tale is told.*