Downers of the World Unite! You have nothing to lose but your PT.

[Bêthberry]

Bethberry wondered if that would be an outrageous enough name for this year's birthday party thread. It was, after all, an acknowledgement of all the new personal titles that had been awarded recently and that was certainly the most exciting news around here for some time. "The first of May," she thought. "How auspicious!" And twelve years old and who knows, given prognostications about the end of the world, if the forum will live to see its teen years. Might as well party like there's no next year.

She muttered to herself as she checked the stock of beer, 'shrooms, taters and tea. There was the biggest pile of sausages on the table she had ever seen, each helping being twelve links of wurst! "Yes, yes, enough there to start the party". She peeked into the ovens and saw the cakes rising nicely.

Then she turned to put up the Party Banners: large green banners, with the obligatory sword--"must remember to put out an umbrella stand for all weapons outside the door," she muttered again to herself--and the fancy lettering, "Twelve Years Dead and Loving It". She hoped Morham wouldn't mind the borrowing.

Then she ran off to write a PM to Estelyn, who, she hoped, would provide some music for the party, from an infamous wurst band that sprang up at a Downer moot last year.

Yes, this party had all the trappings to be the wurst of times.

[Legate of Amon Lanc]

Legate gently knocked the freshly painted Barrow-Door after he had first checked it for any queer signs and marks. When nobody answered, he knocked more heavily. When still nothing happened, he started thinking of borrowing one of the instruments the Alien had always used in Hookbill's tales in order to remove obstacles, yet it was not really to his taste to risk blowing up the whole barrow - and who knows what else.

"Maybe there's nobody there yet," something squealed at his feet. He looked down and saw a tiny squirrel dressed in steel hauberk.

"What in Arda - what is that?" Legate raised his eyebrows at the little critter.

"Or maybe they are in there, only they turned into Werewolves and are busy accusing and eating each other," the squirrel continued, oblivious to the Wight's question. "That can take Nights. I should go back and tell Lady Estelyn that it isn't worth it coming here." The small animal turned around and started hopping down the hill.

"Wait," Legate cried after it. The squirrel stopped.

"Yes?" it squealed.

"Esty sent you here?"

The squirrel glanced at him, laying one of its ears down. "May-be," it said. "Lady Estelyn, that is. She might or she might not come. That is all I am permitted to say."

Legate shook his head at the animal. "Shouldn't you be, like, rather policing some forums or...?"

The squirrel tapped its armored breast with its tiny paw. "I know the best what to do! My tiny sisters are doing that job. I was sent here."

"Fair enough," Legate said. But suddenly at that moment, he heard a voice from behind that sounded as if it was coming out of the ground.

"Legate! Here! I was waiting for you!"

He turned around and saw the door to the barrow open and Bêthberry putting out an umbrella stand.

"Excuse me," he wanted to tell the squirrel, but as he turned back again he realised that the animal disappeared. He simply shrugged and went to meet Bêthberry at the door.

"Nice to see you," he said. "They had not begun to arrive yet, I presume?" He scanned the empty hall. "These are really pretty banners," he noticed and his face lit up. "Ah, yes, exactly the right color! Let's hope that the others come, it would be a pity, so much preparation... hope they won't have any trouble on the road, either. I heard rumors about the Nine being abroad and whatnot... so much for The Witch-King... or Queen... or the Keeper of Dol Guldur coming, eh? But maybe we shall be surprised. Perhaps we can have a cup of tea before everyone comes... or even a wurst," he added, noticing what was on the table.

[Celuien]

The winding forest path stretched long and dark ahead. In many places, the footpath vanished into tangles of roots and brush, for it had been many days since anyone had passed this way. But today, a cloaked figure moved swiftly along the road, as easily as if it had been freshly cleared, for the path remained etched in memory. Though it had been countless hours since she last visited, the summons to the Barrow Downs was still heard, and Celuien would answer.

Ahead, the path lead to a black door inscribed with glowing green runes. “Password.” Celuien frowned. This password spell had slipped into the far recesses of her memory. To have traveled so far, only to be defeated by a simple bit of door-opening magic!

A frog hopped in front of the doorframe. Simultaneously, the spell hopped to the front of Celuien’s memory. An incomprehensible shout resembling “Daksdnskdjcbfawlerg!” echoed through the woods. The door opened. Celuien joyfully crossed the threshold to set foot upon the Downs once more.

Not far away, an open Barrow door revealed cheerful party banners within. Celuien hurried forward and stepped inside. “Hello! So good to see you again!”

[Galadriel55]

After a day full of hard work and bad moods fifty-five identical girls were finally making their way to the main Barrow, chattering ildly.

"They should call it the 'Barrow Ups', you know," said the 19th. "That's what it always does to my mood. Like now!"

"Well, now you look quite tired and grumpy," commented the 52nd.

"Because we haven't gotten there yet!" the 19th retorted indignantly, "I have had a hard day and a long, you know."

"I wonder who's going to be there," murmured the 28th.

"I, for one, an prepared for the wurst," said the 43rd.

"Like the phantom showing up and turning the party into a Were-Football game?" the 7th asked, full of sweet innocence.

"Yes, wurst, and the cakes, and fish and chips served by S. Gamgee," the 43rd continued without notice.

"Niccce fissshhhes..." echoed the 4th. The 52 poked her. "Ow! What- oh, eh eh, I mean..." the 4th corrected herself quickly.

"Ah'm seow excahted teow saee evreybohdey," the 36th said dreamily.

"Are you imitating Kath?" the 27th inquired.

"Eohw, Ah'm juest towkeing ein ah fahntahsey wohld ahcceint," the 36th explained.

"Oh of course you wouldn't act like any normal person," the 27th replied.

"Hey!" exclaimed the 56th.

"You're not cannonical! You don't exist!" everyone shouted. The 56th promptly disappeared.

"Do you think we'll really lose our PT?" asked the 45th.

"We might if we come in such numbers. I mean, they're only expecting one of us. Imagine we'd be the wolves - and they'll think there are only three of us!" the 3rd laughed.

"That's a good point, actually," declared the 50th. "We would probably take up all the space and eat all the food as well."

"I assign lack of food and space to Mordor," sighed the 31st.

"That doesn't change it, you know," said the 19th. "Plus, we'd probably offend Nilp with our (worse) case of multiple identities."

All the others nodded. For a second a large rock hid them from sight, and when they should have all passed it, only one emerged. Galadriel55 skipped to the Barrow-Door and flung it wide open without bothering to knock.

"I'm here!" she exclaimed, "I'm a bit late, but I'm here! I brought lembas cakes for all of you too! I made them all by myself," she added in a sly tone. She heard 54 angry ghost voices mutter their disagreement.

[Oddwen]

An odd looking woman walked towards the two standing stones slowly, weaving slightly and occasionally stopping as she attempted to perambulate and adjust the settings on her camera at the same time. She was failing at both verbs, and on at least one occasion she accidentally kicked a small fluffy animal.

Finally the camera battery died and she turned her attentions to her surroundings. The line of brush she had initially been making for was nowhere to be seen, and she didn't remember the dark silhouette of the stones standing before her at all. A mist misted mistily for a space around the hilly hill, reducing visibility and deadening all but the creepiest sounds.

"Spooooky!" she said in a silly voice. Nobody heard, except maybe a squirrel.

There was a not-very-spooky umbrella stand outside the door, containing several weapons and a banana. The green and gold banner above the door read:

The way is open. It was made by those who are dead, and the dead keep it. The way is open.

Into the Barrow of the Wights entered the odd one. Not a dry, bare, sandy barrow with nothing to sit on or eat, but a dirty nasty wet barrow, filled with the ends of worms and an oozy smell. It was home.

Over there was the feathered hat of Tom Bombadil where you could enter your name for the obligatory Werewolf game. Or maybe the Tri-Wizard tournament. Canon was a bit mixed up. Just to the leftish was a nook for serious book discussion. A bit more left and a notch or two East was the food, dominated by a giant sculpture of a wurst made entirely out of more wurst. To the North of this was a group of identical ladies handing out lembas.

The hatrack didn't yet contain one of the best detatchable party hoods rumored to be circulating, but Oddwen claimed one of the pegs for her homemade cloak. She did keep the decorative pin which said "Do the Wave for Boromir the Disco King" on it, because after all, it was a party.

And where there's a party, there's music. Unless it's a quiet party. This didn't appear to be a quiet party. It was quiet at the time, but it didn't need to stay that way.

After rummaging around for a bit, she found the audio system and began to play a well-played cassette. The tinny sounds of Sergeant Saucy's Barrow Downs Club Band reached into the hall...

[Glirdan]

Glirdan hurried down the forest trail, scattering the leaves left over from the melted snow in his wake, a rather large parcel under his arm. He had just received his notice about the big party at the Barrow and did not want to be late for this very important date. "Now that I think about it, I'd rather not fall down a rabbit hole like Alice," he said aloud. "Or maybe I would? Although I don't think those dresses would fit well...."

He failed to look ahead, to intent on talking to himself, that he nearly tripped on a squirrel wearing a steel hauberk.

"Would you please watch where it is you are running to in such a manner!! I have a very urgent message to deliver to Lady Estelyn!" The squirrel peeped indignantly.

"Then you best be on your way little fella, don't want you to loose your head!" He chuckled to himself at what he thought was a very clever pun. The squirrel, not understanding the pun (having not heard the conversation Glirdan was having with himself) bit his toe and ran down the forest trail, and (from what Glirdan could gather as he scampered away) muttering words like "nitwit" and "day dreamer". However, Glirdan ignored the squirrel's musings in order to tend to his toe, which was now bleeding. "Little bugger got me good that time....Oh well, it's just a little cut. Must be off!!"

He took off down the trail at a gallop (quite literally galloping....his days of rehearsals were really starting to get to him). As he turned the bend in the trail, he noticed the wisp of a very familiar cloak walking through the door and caught the tail end of what seemed to be many conversations from one individual. "Must be Galadriel" he said with a smile.

He halted on the spot, attempting to catch his breath and brush himself off. If this was the last party he may be having with some of his favorite people (the end of the world being predicted by some crazy people for the end of the year), he must look presentable.

He removed the parcel from underneath his arm and opened the box, revealing a pie which was already cut into twelve different slices. "Twelve years, twelve slices. I just hope the other eleven pies underneath are in eating condition!" (Perhaps a rather large box was not a very fitting description...). He closed the lid of the box, walked over to the door, knocked and waited for someone to let him in.

[Estelyn Telcontar]

A faint rustling could have been heard from the dark shadows deep in the Barrow - could have been, had the party not already turned noisy. And had the dark not been so pervasive, the slight glint of silver and the shimmer of a black silk gown might have been noticed. Yet the figure standing there remained unseen, though seeing all that happened.

Suddenly the gleaming eyes turned downward, listening for the patter of tiny feet. Through the opening of an almost invisible tunnel popped up a head, and its mouth opened to speak. "Shhh!" said the Dark Princess. "I will read your memory and send my instructions directly to your thoughts. None must realize that we are here."

She held still, as if listening attentively, then nodded. Go back to your black-armoured siblings, she instructed the silvery-white mailed skwerl. They must not know that you are reporting to me. I shall remain here to see what transpires, while you and the others keep watch over the rest of the Downs. Strive to discover all the dark secrets of members, that I may know those things that they wish most to keep hidden. Be on the watch especially for purveyors of tinned meats - aside from that there is little real danger, for trolls have not come here lately. Do not worry - no one in the Barrow dares touch you; all are afraid of you and curse when they see you.

As noiselessly as it had come, the skwerl disappeared. All was still, save for the tapping of one dainty black-shod foot. The music was unexpectedly catchy, and she had not completely forgotten how to dance...