**The Barrow-Downs Birthday Mailbag - May 2006**
 

The young postman looked over his shoulder nervously. He couldn't help feeling as if someone was pursuing him, yet no one could be seen on the meadow that stretched back to the edge of the forest. He no longer wanted to remember the forest; it had seemed to him that the trees were alive, mocking him and moving in too close for comfort. It had taken him more time than he had planned to go around it instead of through the middle, but he was glad he had made that choice.

Why, oh why had he been assigned this route? The colleague who normally delivered the mail in this section had never before been ill. Yet this morning, while sorting out the letters, he had suddenly turned pale, and someone else had to take over. Just as suddenly, all the others were very busy, and only he, the newest of them, was left to fill in. At first he had thought himself lucky - it was a beautiful, sunny day; he had a pony cart to drive; and the recipients were friendly and happy to see him.

But now the sun was sinking toward the horizon, and he had one huge, heavy bag of mail to deliver to the last stop on the route. He couldn't help wondering why someone of whom he hadn't heard before would get so much mail, but then, that was none of his business. He only had to get it there, and then he could hurry home as fast as the pony and cart would take him.

"Just straight on over the Downs toward the hills," his boss had told him, "you can't miss it. There's a tall stone near the entrance." It was hard to see details in the gloom of the long shadows cast by the mountains, and to top it off, a mist was spreading like a blanket. But he could recognize a pillar that towered high above all other landmarks and steered the cart in its direction.

He almost ran into the standing stone, so thick was the fog on the Barrow-Downs when he arrived there. He shivered in the cold and the darkness which surrounded him. "Is anyone here?" he called out nervously.

Suddenly a deep, cold voice spoke: "Here! I am waiting for you!"

Now even the normally placid pony was nervous and strained at the reins, attempting to turn and run away. Yet the postman's spirit was more valiant than he himself had known, and he held it back firmly with one hand while heaving the heavy mailbag out of the cart with the other.

"Here's your mail, Sir!" he announced.

A pale, ghastly green hand appeared from nowhere to pick up the bag. "Thank you!" the voice answered.

The mailman turned the cart and loosened the reins. The pony needed no further encouragement and trotted away as fast as its legs could take it. Yet its driver held his head high. Neither rain, nor fog, nor fear had hindered him - he had done his duty and delivered the mail.

Had he been able to look inside the Barrow behind him, he could have seen the Wight lighting a candle and opening the mailbag. It was full to the brim with cards, letters, and packages. He took out the first one and opened the envelope, and this is what he read:

A toast! To... erm... Toast!
 

"To our Lord Wight,

Six Years, eh? Well I never. Feels like six thousand, but then again, being dead, time is not really our strong point. One day runs into another and before you know it ten thousand centuries have passed by.

We've seen running jokes, driving Mountains, Werewolves, Bombadill and Balrogs. I'm sure old Professor Tolkien would give you a big pat on the back and a fill of his tobacco. Well done, Lord Wight of the Barrow Downs.

The ever un-inebriated,
Hookbill the Goomba. "

And now a pictorial concoction. :p

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v6...hdayBarrow.jpg

The next card, hand-drawn with a good deal of care, showed a simple greeting on its cover.

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v3...RTHDAY2006.gif

Inside, the card read -

" To the Great Lord Wight,

Many a warm return on your sixth birthday! Though I was not around for the moment of its 'death', I have been a lurker for many a day after. Just shy over four years I have roleplayed, quizzed and been quizzed, and sometimes even discussed things pertaining to this great Middle Earth.

I give you thanks for a wonderful haven. Though dead, I have enjoyed living every day here! I hope there are many more for you, and for the wonderful capers on The Downs.

Sincerely,

Taralphiel :) "

A mere letter contained the following in a flowing script most definately not belonging to the usually illegible Fea; it was obvious that she had dictated it's composition so that the illustrius Barrow-Wight would actually be able to read it:

In seeing how this lovely barrow has grown and flourished under your supervision, I suspect that you are either exceptionally proud, like a many-children'd father rather early in the day before he becomes exhausted by them, or a bit nervous, like a many-inmate'd prison warden rather late in the day, long after he's become resigned to them.

May this birthday of your creation amuse you, and may the day, with or without affectionate letters, be one full of adventure and good drink and good friends, as all good days are wont to include.

Regards,
Feanor of the Peredhil

A parcel lay among the many cards and notes. It was wrapped carefully in the yellowed remnants of a bird watcher’s field guide, who, along with its owner, had gone astray some many years ago. And now the eye of a finch stared fixedly through the shifting contents of the mail bag.

Inside the box, in a plastic sack, was what appeared to be a slice of cake, its sweet green icing caking the bag quite thoroughly. And beside this tribute lay a Polaroid photo as well a note written in a lacy script. The photo was dim, but if one squinted as they held it under a strong light, the cake intact could be seen, lit by a solitary candle. A smiling and matronly hobbit was seated primly behind it, (dressed in the appropriate white and with golden circlet about her head). Behind the hobbit the very faintest pallor of a wight could be seen in the gloom, solemnly holding aloft a gleaming blade over the green delicacy.

The enclosed note read thusly:

“Cake for the great and august Barrow-Wight, in celebration and honor of this, the anniversary of six glorious years on-line!

And with deeply felt gratitude for the construction of this Virtual Hall, in which all the wights, young and old, that are scattered to the four corners of Arda, may meet and ponder former days.

Best wishes for many years to come!

Yours humbly,
Hilde Bracegirdle and company”

To my esteemed Mr. Barrow Wight
 

Just a few months ago I stumbled, tired and road-weary into your domains. The sun was a high sphere held in mid-air and the stone of your barrow was fresh, cool to the touch. As most people tend to do in such situations, I fell asleep, only to wake up inside the barrow. You know, the usual proceedure, then I figured I'd sing a little tune and some old man with crazy coloured clothing would come to the rescue. Yet the barrow was dark, warm and snug and the first thing I realized was that this place seemed to be a gathering ground for those with similar interests as me. Well... to be honest, the first thing I realized (and was rather disapointed by) was that I was not dressed in fancy clothing nor I had an elven dagger. But after that, I pulled up a chair to where other barrow-residents were talking and jumped into the conversation.

Since then, I have argued literature, some rather philosophical points as well as middle-earth science (why don't elves sink in snow? is it possible for a man running fast to run on snow making very little imprint of his steps?). Then I found myself in a village infested by werewolves, or was it heroes the first time around? Not to mention giving birth to two rather lovely fellows who have plenty of stories to tell. All of that would not have been possible without the 'downs and for that I thank thee.

Finally, I would like to congratulate you on not only producing a top-notch forum and for being able to lure in and keep the best group of posters I have seen. Here's for the Barrow Downs, the Barrow Wight, the group of Mods and last but not least, the posters without whom this site would only be an empty shell.

For six times six more years!!!

A new card slipped out of the Barrow-Downs letter pile:

The front cover was a simple photo and caption:


The card opened to reveal a greeting to the mighty Barrow-Wight in celebration of his site.

Greetings, Barrow-Wight! Congratulations on six wonderful years on the Downs. I have been here for only one year (one year today, as a matter of fact!), but what a wonderful year it has been.

Thank you for running a truly wonderful site. Thanks as well to the excellent mods who help keep the boards organized and troll-free.

As the Road goes on, may the years go on as well, filled with more fellowship and discussion. And may it never end!

With all best wishes,
Celuien

Another letter slid out of the pile. Once it had been carefully sealed, but time had taken it's toll, and the wax holding it had all but come off, causing the paper to unfold as it moved.

"To our esteemed Lord Wight,

Greetings and salutations on this, the sixth birthday of the Barrowdowns. Your contribution to the world we all live in has gone unnoticed by nobody here, and we are all exceedingly grateful for the place you have built for us to dwell in at peace, or at least relative quiet when certain ghouls aren't at each others throats.

May many more years of this wonderful haven be forthcoming!

Fondest regards,
Kath"

A letter written rather hastily was next to arrive in the on-going chain of letters being sent to the Barrow-Downs. Unfortunately, there was no beautiful hand-drawn photo or another picture of some sorts. Just a plain, badly written letter.

Dear Mr. Barrow-Wight,

Congratualations on this 6th year anniversary. I myself have only been here for one of those years, yet it has been an enjoyable one filled with pleasent and not so pleasent memories. A year filled with laughter and tears. A year filled with joy and pain. Yet in the end, all of these emotions lead back to a great year and it's all thanks to you.

May this wonderful place continue to grow and prosper with many more memories that are filled with laughter, joy and all those other memories.

With many wishes,
Glirdan

Another card without, alas, a picture on the front, dropped into the box. Folwren had once again realized another birthday was upon her far too late to draw a proper picture. She hoped desperately the letter within would make up for it.

Dear sir,

I can hardly believe this place has only been here for six years. I discovered its marvelous world and discussions not yet a year ago, and it seemed so great and established then. I hope that there are yet many years to come, for though I imagine that soon I won't be able to haunt this place quite so often as I have this past year, ever and anon I should like to return and visit the old places again.

Thanks very much for keeping such good care of the place. It's been excellent, and I hope that it will continue to be much the same.

Yours most respectfully,

~ Folwren

A bulky package fell onto the Barrow Wright's table-top. He looked at it curiously before tearing eagerly into the brown paper wrappings. Inside was a pouch of the finest Old Toby that could be found, along with a brief note.

Dear Mr. Wright,

Congradulations on your sixth deathday! Although I have resided here only a few short months, I am already appreciative of these dwelling you have so generously provided. There there is to be found good cheer, good friends, and good discussion the year round. Indeed, thank you very much!

Yours truly,
Eonwe

Next from the mail package came a simple card. It showed the picture of another cake made especially for the occasion in its epitimal elegance drawn in the lonely barrow that is the chatroom.

http://img487.imageshack.us/img487/7...hdaybd71mx.jpg

Happy birthday, lovely Wight. :)

And this one read,

Dear 'Downs,

This is just a test. I repeat, this is just a test. Your actual birthday card should be there soon.

Regards,
Sleepy Ranger
PS: Shine On You Crazy 'Downs

Happy Barrow Making Day!!
 

I wonder if this has all turned out the way it was expected to...what with all the werewolves, mobile landmarks, and whatnot all knocking about. :eek:

Many Happy Returns.

(this was, of course, carved on a golden tablet...much to the dismay of the post office...as obviously, mere paper would never do...)

Late mail
 

From a letter sent by post by way of Barliman Butterbur, dated sometime at the beginning of this century...

Sir,

I have reviewed your proposal regarding a web-based 'author' forum and found the idea...well, absurd, to put it mildly. You state that you would like to create an internet forum where persons discuss the works of this Tolkien guy, who, to my knowledge, wrote only about a handful of books and none of those recently. I know that there are movies, both past and in the future, but, sir, sit down and really think about it: just how long do you think you can keep this forum going? I assume that the content will be or will become 'adult,' that you will plaster the place with advertisements and eventually you, generating no interest in the site, will drop this silly requirement that the posters use good grammar, stay on-topic and actually learn a bit while they are there. Crazy!?! to be sure. The next thing you'll be dreaming about is 'international members.' Ha! As a character says in one of those books, "Come back and treat with me when you are sober!"

I give it two weeks at the most.

Regards,
Spokesperson for Those Who Don't Believe, Dream and Never Try


P.S. by alatar - Happy 6th Birthday! Downs, and many thanks to our ghost host.

Birthday Greetings to The Barrow-Downs!
 

Many happy returns ...

'Mongst the golden ingots, fancy calligraphi and hand-pressed-mulberry-pulp papers was found a hand-scribbled note in a nearly illegible scrawl:

"Dear Barrow-Wight -

Thank you so much for the effort you put into this site and the effort you put into trying to make us behave. I am eternally grateful to you and your staff for all your hard work.

Here's to the next six years and beyond - may they be just as sweet.

Happy Birthday to the Barrow-Downs!!

≈Oddwen"

Amid the pile of cards and gifts sat a tiny scroll of expensive, cream-colored paper, rolled tightly and tied with a deep red ribbon. Unrolled, the scroll read, in a rolling, hilly sort of handwriting:

Dear Wight,

Even in the time I've been here, I've been lynched by an angry mob, murdered by a werebear, killed innocent villagers in the dead of night, raced mountains across Middle-earth, became a man-at-arms at a mead hall, and captained a Gondorian ship against the corsairs (the RPGers should know about those last two). I hope to see this site still going as strong six years from now!

Here's to six more wonderful years of the Barrow-downs!

Respectfully yours,
Alcarillo

A May Day Remembrance
 

The Wight, his green glow exuding an ever greater phosporescent tinge as he read each missive, picked up a rolled scroll. He half unrolled it and threw away the ribbon which had held it.

Dear Barrow Downers, he read. What! he roared. A misdelivered missive! What need have I of letters for the minions! He sniffed cavalierly and threw the scroll off to the side, where it unrolled and unrolled and came to a stop hedged up against the barrow wall. The Wight turned back to the large bag of parcels and soon forgot the scroll.

Yet other denizens of the barrow did not. Some scurrying spiders traced a thin silver line over the paper and then a daddylonglegs followed them. Three or four millipedes stretched out over the paper and were then chased off by a larger centipede. Finally, a host of ants appeared at each edge of the paper and carried it off towards the dull green glow of the treasure hoard. Finally, three small mice tittered forward, spectacles raised upon their noses, licking some small traces of cheese off their paws. They whispered amongst themselves as if trying to decide who should attempt the first deciphering of the script. The first mouse, a gangly type who trailed a few pots along his tail, cleared his throat and commenced a sound drubbing of the second mouse, whose whiskers whose words were coloured with tones of ancient Georgian script. The third mouse tsk-tsked the fellows and climbed gingerly onto the paper.

This is written in formal script, she said. Could it be an eviction notice?

Pshaw, intoned the potted mouse. This is hardly good legal writ. It looks more like the kind of writing which Mistress Mouse Manners would advise. He yawned. The second mouse nibbled the edge of the paper. Hmm. Oak with a surfeit of pine for binding. Not to my taste. Truth be told, he sported a blue bandana around his head and pencil thin moustache which made all the girl mice and even Roggie titter after him. He kept twisting a shiny new ring on his left hand.

The third mouse, who wore an off-kiltered crown on her head and red hair and whose skin was greener than that of the Barrow Wight himself, gently shushed the men aside. This civil writing is a matter for women folk, not for loyers nor bankers, she said. I am the one skilled in translation. Let me proceed. And they did.

She began:

Here Mouse the third stopped. I can't read who sent this. The name has been nibbled away. She glared at the bandanad mouse who was balancing five wizard hats upon his head. Or was that more? They were spinning so fast she couldn't count them.

The other two mice commenced preening themselves. Now this recognition was more to their liking! In fact, the mouse whose tail clanged and clanked with pots and pans secretly murmered to himself, Now this is a right fitting remembrance of the underdogs. He whispered it rather quietly however, so as not to incur the attention of the Wight, who was busy elsewhere.

Cheers!
 

This letter isn't clever and it doesn't rhyme and there is no picture attached, in fact it's so short it can hardly be called a letter. More like a note. ;)

Happy birthday to the site, many thanks to its founder, and several pats of the back to all my fellow members. I am honored to haunt the 'Downs with the likes of you. This is one of the nicest rest stops on the web, with truly dedicated Moderators and Admins, and some of the most clever, agreeable, and infuriating :D memebrs around.

The Wight smiled contently. He had received many cards, letters and parcels, and held each dear. Munching happily upon a piece of slushy mail-cake, he took hold of the next envelope, a delightful maroon in colour, and opened it as best he could with sticky fingers. He pulled out the letter therein, smearing it with not a little green icing, and read:

The next card his Wightiness received looked like this...

http://i2.photobucket.com/albums/y2/...0Stuff/bw2.jpg

Now We Are Six
 

...May I propose a toast to the Wight....


http://www.brownpalace.com/images/ch...pyramid-lg.jpg

There was one who watched over the Barrow in thought from afar. She had inherited that ability from her great-grandmother, and she had used it well throughout the past years. She saw the Wight reading his cards and letters and was sure that she detected a smile upon his ghastly lips over some of them. Then, a green-glowing tear ran down his emaciated cheek and he sniffed after reading another missive. Obviously, he was touched, though it wouldn't have done to show that to any outsiders. After all, he had a reputation to live down to!

She raised her glass in a silent toast - he would find her card later, for she had placed it at the very bottom of the mailbag. For now, she was happy to see that so many had paid him respect. "Cheers, Wight!" she murmured, sipping at the invigorating liquid.

The vision faded...

The tear slowly finding it's way down the green cheek dripped down on a wrinkled piece of paper. There were no fancy adornments, no beautiful poem or drawn pictures. It was a short message written down in crude letters and it looked like it was scribbled down in a hurry. But still the simplicity and apparent honestly of the note moved the mighty wight. The text read:

After a faint smile, the ghastly shape of the wight let the piece of paper fall into the growing pile already read letters and extended his bony hand towards the next one...

No pictures or clever sayings here, just a heartfelt Happy Birthday to the Downs! I haven't been around much lately but hope to be around a little bit more again in the future. HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!!!!

Cami sat down at the desk, took out a fresh packet of paper, and her very finest ink pen. For the next twenty minutes, she stared blankly at the topmost sheet, pulling out a word here and there, while hoping for inspiration to strike. When no lightning bolt was forthcoming, she resigned herself to the fact that she would have to come up with something to say, if only for the sake of politeness. She had not the slightest shred of inspiration to assist her in the task.

So be it! There had been many a day that she had managed to scratch out an RPG post even after all cleverness had fled, despite the fact that the bare words stared mockingly back at her. Wadding up one sheet already smeared with illegible chicken scrawl, she selected the next clean leaf and began to write very quickly, scarcely thinking about what she was saying.

Her missive read as follows:

About mid-day they came to a hill whose top was wide and flattened, like a shallow saucer with a green mounded rim. Inside there was no air stirring, and the sky seemed near their heads... 'Splendid!' said Frodo. 'If we make as good going this afternoon as we have done this morning, we shall have left the Downs before the Sun sets and be jogging on in search of a camping place.' But even as he spoke he turned his glance eastwards, and he saw that on that side the hills were higher and looked down upon them; and all those hills were crowned with green mounds, and on some were standing stones, pointing upwards like jagged teeth out of green gums.

That view was somehow disquieting; so they turned from the sight and went down into the hollow circle. In the midst of it there stood a single stone, standing tall under the sun above, and at this hour casting no shadow. It was shapeless and yet significant: like a landmark, or a guarding finger, or more like a warning . . .

Raising a pint to you, dear Wight! This place you've made for us has been, and continues to be, a lovely site to wander about in.

Happy Birthday to the B-D . . . & many more happy returns of the day . . .

~*~ Pio http://forum.barrowdowns.com/ubb/icons/icon13.gif

Belated, but nevertheless heartfelt birthday greetings in Tengwar
 

from a downer who is neither inspired nor eloquent, but very grateful to be a member of this wonderful site for nearly 4 years now.


(To decipher the Tengwar, this site is useful)

http://i42.photobucket.com/albums/e3...u/BDflower.jpg

Dear Mr. Wight,

It's not a simbelmyne, but you are the stem that keeps this place blooming and makes us flourish, too.
Thank you. For everything.

With best regards,
dancing spawn of ungoliant


edit: For those who wish to see the flower in actual size...

Next there was a small note taped to a jar. The jar contained a beautiful green butterfly.

The next letter Mr. Wight found was scribbled down hastily and blotted with tears, in such a fashion that the message was almost illegible. Which might have been just as well.

After reading Cailín's letter, Mister Wight found a light blue envelope. He opened it, and found a letter. It read:

Happy birthday to you, honourable Mr. Wight and to your sweet barrow that has brought so much joy to so many people.

Greetings from the ice bay of Forochel. I'm here to meet my cousins and they send you their congratulations as well.

Best wishes,
Thinlómien

P.S. I'm the one in the middle.

Intrigued by the post script, the Barrow-Wight looked into the envelope one more time. He found this:

I see dead people
 

Here you go lads, lasses and wights! This be your card from my dear Ka who has run off to the hills for a bit!

http://i36.photobucket.com/albums/e41/SRanger123/bc.jpg

Happy (belated) birthday!
 

Ithaeliel, alack, had been roaming the cruel, treacherous 'real world' apart from the beatific Barrow Downs for too long a time... upon her return, she felt it necessary and proper to give her regards to the esteemed and oft-worshipped owner and originator of the splendid site which used to happily occupy so much of her time. She wished she had more to offer, but had written her birthday greeting in an impromptu manner. The wight pulled out the simple scrap of paper and read the green-inked words:

Dear Mr. Splendidly Sinister B-W,

I send my fondest wishes to you and to the wonder that is the barrow downs on its birthday. I commend you for keeping this site a welcoming, friendly community of people who show utmost respect for one another and are always willing to lend their minds and hands to those in need of them. I have never found a more enjoyable or kind community of people (and mods!) in all my years exploring both the internet and the real world. It is only because of your care in keeping this site a wonderful place to be that it is so wonderful. Thank you.

Sincerely,
Miss (soon to be Mrs.) Ithaeliel

The next card was indeed not even a card, but a small parcel cleverly disguised as a card, the strings that tied the tiny package together blending in perfectly with the paper wrappings. The Barrow-Wight did not hesitate in opening it, of course completely unaware of certain scares about mysterious parcels, and especially indifferent due to the face that he was already dead. Mortality is no long a concern once you're a Wight. And yet a man in yellow boots can still be bothersome. Alas, the life of a Wight is a difficult one, and so each and every card this particular Wight receives on his glorious day of death, when he thought he was only entering into retirement, is more than well deserved.

Untying the strings after his ghostly fingers had found them (I imagine he learned that from Partick Swayze), he deftly unwrapped the package, careful to save the paper.

*KALBANG* came the explosion, as thousands of...something flew at him with extreme force and velocity (which is really redundant, seeing as F=ma).

"Alack!" cried the Barrow-Wight.

But it was only Balrog Wingfetti.

A good week late ...
 

something arrived from one of the Downs' noisier tenants. Having skill with neither pencil or mouse she sent a postcard from somewhere near where she dwellt in life and where her fellow residents might feel at home :

I've got mail!
 

My Dearest Wights,

It has been with the greatest of pleasure that I have sorted through my mail over the last couple of weeks and found among the various bills, subpoenas, credit card applications, and Netflix DVDs a variety of wondrous birthday cards, every one an artistic treasure and a touching memento that I will treasure forever. Even now they lie in the barrow, stashed among my other valuables, where they will remain until the next band of filthy hobbits drops by and wrecks the place.

To show my gratitude for the well wishes, I thought I might comment on each visual card that I received.

Hookbill, most favored Goomba, your collage is both beautiful and disturbing. The good professor looking stoically on at “Happy Barrow, Birthday Downs”, shadowy wingy things, and rolling mountains is as inspiring as it is weird. Great card!

Taralphiel, I nearly cried when I saw your wonderful card. Someday you can join me here in the barrow and light a little candle of your own.

Celuien, I’ve seen that sign before and recommend everyone follow it. Though it looks like it points off into the hills, it really leads to everlasting fun and frolicking. Yes, lots of it! Thanks for showing everyone the way.

WestWood, I love green cake. Who doesn’t?

TheSaucepanMan, a green ribbon! For me? Awesome! I take Worst Place!

Valesse, thank you for the card, but Skwerlz is spelled with a Z. What were you and Mr. Seacrest thinking!?

Encaitare, it’s very creepy that you know exactly what I’m wearing right now (and always when I’m in the barrow). I’m getting a restraining order.

Lalaith, I hope that’s miruvor!

poisenniel, every time I see that picture I fantasize that the precariously leaning megalith suddenly topples and squishes those troublesome hobbits. Is that wrong of me?

Guinevere, I need a Tengwar tutor.

dancing spawn of ungoliant, Aaaaachoooooo! Thanks a lot. It’s allergy season.

wilwarin538, butterflies are cool…

Thinlómien, …. but penguins are cooler. Get it!? Cooler! As in Antarctica cooler. Ha! Oh, man, I’ve had too much birthday cake.

Sleepy Ranger, that is appalling. It’s like a karaoke performance in a bar. At this level of the competition you have got to be special, and it wasn’t. I think you just got a plane ticket home. (just kidding, cool card!)

Mithalwen, what is that, some kind of fantasy island. There’s no such place!

If I missed anyone, I’ll get you next year, so don’t miss it.

Thank you everyone for being such great forum members. I greatly appreciate your cards and well wishes!

Sincerely,

With those thoughts, the Barrow-Wight turned the empty mailbag upside down and shook out the dust that had settled on it during the days he had needed to read all of his birthday greetings. And lo! one last envelope fell out. He opened it curiously and this is what he saw: