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

[Bêthberry]

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:

Originally Posted by mysterious scroll

Dear Barrow Downers,

It is of course common to spend a day such as today in offering accolades to the founder of the site. It is often recalled that he created the domain, designed the famous black and green colour scheme, set the rules, picked the mods and negotiated amongst them. And indeed he should be commended for this. Here! Here!

Yet the site is more than this clever accomplishment. This site is an amalgamation of posts, a wiki of wit, created and sub-created by all the members. It is the members themselves who have made the Downs what it is, a memorable--if not memberable--site of linguistic pride, clever repartee, high rolling gaming, and mirth free of the dross. Most of the time.

It is the collective membership of the Downs who deserves praise and good wishes today, for their obsessive and insightful posts, their chat-free habits, their unassuming non-idolatry of The Professor, their insistence upon seeing all fantasy through the Tolkien lens.

Today I salute the Barrow Downers themselves for performance above and beyond most internet duty. Let them party deservedly in great style for tomorrow there are yet more posts to write. Let them have bread and cake too!

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.