Unforbidden

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

A dark and terrible tremble from deep in the earth arose, and from the horizons there sprang dark clouds. Fell voices were heard upon the winds that bore down from the mountains, and it became as night. Crack! went the world and a deep chasm opened beneath Bethberry's feet. A howling of horror filled her ears and from the chasm there emerged a single, pale emaciated hand. Clawing at the earth, the hand gained purchase and then there appeared an arm, rotted and flayed, with the ends of worms crawling through the dissolving flesh. A head then came out of the chasm, its eyes blank and white with rot, quickly followed by the putrid mass of a (cloaked) body. Bethberry gasped in horror and fell back, holding one hand before her nose to block the smell.

Fordim spoke, but his voice was thick and slurred with the pulpy mass that his tongue had become for its time in the ground. "Greetings my lady! It is good to be back, but as you can see," he moved his hand before him to indicate the advanced state of decay, "I am somewhat the worse for the wait."

[The Saucepan Man]

A sudden calamitous (corpus) cacophony split the air as a shiny figure tumbled from a portal high in the sky above Rohan and hit the ground with a resounding crash.

Dazed, the Saucepan Man picked himself up and brushed himself down. His fingers were aching and his pots and pans dented from having clicked and clattered at the aforementioned portal every 15 minutes or so for the past 22 hours to no avail. Until just a few moments before, his access had been denied by the most forbidding of locks (lock #403, apparently).

"Well, we're back!" He said, predictably.

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

It had been a harrowing experience. A brief reprieve from the horror that is work had been required by the lass that is called Feanor of the Peredhil. She made her way silently and stealthily to the address bar... she began to type. F... O... R... U... A name mysteriously appeared below her command. She checked behind her, making sure was not followed. She pressed onward. Carefully Feanor returned to her work, pretending convincingly that she was accomplishing something. She spared a moment to look about... to see if she had yet reached The Barrowdowns. Her jaw dropped in horror.

Have I been blocked? she thought, panicking. I know I used words that are not particularly family friendly, but they were via private message... and they were used in discussing dialect, speech patterns, and all number of okay things. She tried again, fruitlessly. She made her way to the void that some call the Chât Rüm. A reassuring message met her.... the words of Bêthberry met her eyes, telling her not to panic. The letters could not have been more welcome than if it had been emblazoned on a small grey box. In any case, they were emblazoned within a large one.

Fea gave up all hope and returned to what has been labelled the Rëal World... a place full of terrible things, all of which should be sent to Mordor. Nearly completing the work that she so longed to put off, she eventually went to bed. The next morning she awoke.

A party? How droll. But at least we are back. Fea made her way to Bethberry. "Do you need a hand? Mine are theoretically detachable, should the need arise." She winked at the hospitable woman. "What in the world caused this stir, do you know?"

[the guy who be short]

The Guy Who Be Short awoke with a start. How could he have dozed off during his vigil? But the start was a pleasant one, for once more the landscape around him was a pleasing gold, black and green.

Just as things should be, he muttered.

Initially he had panicked to find himself in a bare, blank world devoid of intelligent life. Who could have Forbidden him from his own home? How? Perhaps somebody has simply painted his corneas white?

What were his fellow Rohirrim doing without him?

Fortunately, he had been able to gather his wits with surprising speed for one so small. Engaging in a strange form of osanwe-kenta with 538 passing butterflies and a two headed demon, he established that all the inhabitants of Rohan were blinded by the Whiteness. He quickly deduced that something must have got into the water, and that there was nothing to fear. A few hours later, if he trusted to the Great Wight in the sky, all would revert to normal...

Unfortunately, he had to spend quite a few hours in what some of the Rohirrim call the Rëal World, that is, an odd little place in the back of his mind with no resemblance to reality whatsoever.

[Hilde Bracegirdle]

The yellowing papers stirred ever so slightly as the relic beneath them wondered how long she had been sleeping under that litter of half finished specifications, buried as she was by a landslide of documentation. She was late she thought, the alarm had gone off and she had missed it. Picking up her work weary head, the papers drifted to the floor like leaves as she peered hopefully at her computer, the same computer that had this morning informed her that she did not have the privileges necessary to roam the Downs, (but not the one that seemingly had abstained from presenting the internet portal to ME altogether, like some electronic hermit).

Clicking quietly in the deathly dry gloom of her barrow, she tried again. “Ah there now….” She breathed as the door opened. And peering out, a refreshing haze of green letters could be seen drifting through the blackness. "That is better now!"

[wilwarin538]

Wilwa awoke that morning and sat at her computer screen, wondering what funny captions Mr. Goomba had thought of today. Forbidden? It can't be, there had been times where the page had not loaded but to be forbidden?

She received a message from her best friend Glirdan, he was also Forbidden. Wilwa soon realised it was happening to everyone. The only thing connecting her to the green, yellow and black forum was the conversations she had with a short prince and someone who appeared to have two heads.

Then suddenly, it was back. She had worried for nothing. But how bored she had been for that day, making her own country and playing card games just to keep her busy.

There would be much celebration.

(forgive me for my lack of talent at RPGing )

[dancing spawn of ungoliant]

Dancing spawn was prancing her way to the infamous barrows. She visited there so often that she would have known the way there even blindfolded. On the spur of the moment she closed her eyes just to prove it to herself. A second later she tripped and fell flat on her face.

Spawn gathered her legs and other body parts from the ground, stood up and disbelief filled her. She shivered while gazing a gargantuan white barrier that had appeared on her way. After getting over the initial shock, Spawn tried to climb over the barrier. She tried to dig a tunnel under it. She walked a few miles to see if one could go around it. She even taunted it wishing it would disappear but finally Spawn had to admit that there was some strange white force blocking her way that was greater than her little means.

A night passed and a new day came but the White Annoyance remained the same. But lo! What was happening? Dark mist drifted through the barrier and thunder and the sound of clanging pans filled the air. Spawn stepped forward and there she saw all the friendly faces (or their reminders) of her friends. The horrible white threat had been defeated.

Of course this was worth celebrating! Spawn greeted the host and her friends. "Barrow, sweet Barrow", she sighed with a blissful smile on her lips.

[Kath]

Kath threw herself through the doors, nearly knocking over poor Bethberry on her way inside. The reason for this haste was her fear that if she didn't get in fast enough it might be locked to her again, and possibly this time for longer. The sheer horror she had felt the night before when she opened up her e-mail and tried to get onto the beloved site, only to find Error Messages and Secret Internet Languages that she could make head nor tail of, yet knew they were telling her she could not get in.

In grief she left and went to bed hoping that it was simply her computer being it's usual temperamental self, but when she awoke the next day to find that no one could get on all hope left her. The short one tried to comfort her with confusing words about Apache but it was of no avail. She continually tried to get on, beating her mouse against the mat until it squeaked in distress, but nothing would work.

Then, suddenly, the familiar black background appeared. She stared in shock, hardly believing her eyes. She quickly clicked on everything in sight to make sure she wasn't dreaming and the screen stayed open and no nasty blue words appeared. Cheering she returned to her friends and screamed the news at them before running back to the site.

Slowing down as her reminiscing caused her to realise that all was now well again, she stopped just short of the buffet table that had been generously heaped, and helped herself, glad to be back where she belonged.

[Bêthberry]

Her ears ringing by the sudden tumult of cacaphony which the arrival of the SaucepanMan produced--such noise sounding all the louder given the relative quiet of the enforced withdrawal from the Downs--Bethberry--now in her party costume as Feyberry--could barely hear the voices of the revellers.

She nodded a warm welcome to Hilde Bracegirdle, and invited her over, along with a dazed and confused looking TGWBdozing. Meanwhile, holding her nose, she strained to catch what Fëá was saying to her, and looked not without some consternation at the train of deliquacious drippings that Fordim was leaving all over the simbelyne of the barrowfield.

In fact, Feyberry quickly plucked up a large trug full of the lovely scented flowers and proceeded to stuff them, decorously and of course to his great delight--he never having been so bouquetted before by her--in the holes left in Fordim by his decayed and rotting flesh.

Feyberry thought she had heard Fëá say something about hands, but she feared to say anything as she noticed Fordim had dropped one of his.

[alatar]

alatar stood leaning upon his staff, silent, peering at the closed door of the barrow. One might think that he were a blue statue, except for the bright light of his eyes. His multiple attempts to access the 'Downs door were all for not, and Wizards did not suffer such denials well. Was this the doings of the Enemy? What new plot was this? Did the wights inside finally tire of his *wit* and nonsense and bar the door? Was the Server of the Secret Webhost currently underwater? The clamoring voices inside his head shouted of their many questions. He quieted them down with a suggestion that he'd return to the 'We Love PJ' site if the noise didn't abate.

In the ensuing silence, alatar considered the problem once more.

The letters "Forbidden 430" were easily read, yet meant nothing to him. He knew many ways of opening a door - spells, Words of Command, passwords - even those reserved words in the secret tongue of Programmers that they do not teach.

Yet nothing would open the door.

"Must be missing something." He raised his staff yet again, but the door did not budge. Changed staves, changed spells, changed hats, tested various combinations - nothing worked! He even considered asking the assistance of other Istari, but in this his pride held him back - the waves of despair had not yet reach his toes.

"What haven't I tried?" alatar looked around, seeing if any hobbits were nearby, as purportedly some hobbits' heads were were thick enough to crack open doors (if properly applied). Alas, none were within reach. Finally, as he sat, tired and edging towards defeat, his staff laying nearby where he'd thrown it, there was a CRACK! The door was opening!

Quickly alatar stood, regained his composure and his staff, and waited to see what joy or horror would greet him.

It was the honorable Bêthberry who stood in the open doorway. "Come in," she said, "Sorry that the doors were stuck." He noted that she was oddly dressed, as if for a party, and alatar saw that all of his conjectures were for not.

Confused yet delighted he said, "Uhh...at your service and your family's," as he knew not what else to say on such occasions. He entered the barrow and set about looking around to see what may have changed. alatar gazed back at the door, at the barrow, and began to let down his guard. "All seems well enough," he thought, yet he still wasn't so sure, and would keep an eye on the shadows this night and those that followed.

[Lalwendë]

Was it fog or something altogether more sinister? It was formless at first but then took on some kind of shape and silently drew closer. The nearer it moved, the denser it became. If anyone had been lingering there, and this would have only been a wraith or ghoul but even these had been strangely absent for some time, then they would have been enveloped in this grey miasma.

A wrenching barking sound broke the silence and a tiny figure ran from this ponderous mist, coughing.

It was Lalwende. The creature was trying to get away from the heavy gasses that davem had been emitting (from his pipe (his smoking pipe)) these long, empty hours. She coughed again, and then looked up. A tall standing stone loomed above her and she knew she had found the right path at last.

"It's good to be back," she said, as she scurried off in search of some wordy sustenance.

[The Saucepan Man]

The raucus clatter occasioned by the arrival of the Saucepan Man was as nothing compared to the rising din as the Downs once more got into full swing.

Crowds gathered around the Jackson Shy stand to eagerly throw brickbats at a little round bearded nut on a pole.

At first a few light notes signified that the Crazy Captions Merry-go-Round was back in business. And before long it was again revolving with habitual speed, its jangling musical tones blaring out as those enjoying the ride LOLed and ROFLed with joy.

With a low, ominous roar, the Balrog Wing and Canonicity Pollercoasters cranked themselves up and long queues began to form as respected Downs elders and Newbies alike lined up in gleeful anticipation of their circular thrills and spills.

And a nervous but excited wave of paranoia spread through the building crowd as a bloodcurdling howl in the murky distance marked the re-opening of the Tol-in-Gaurhoth Ride of Terror.

The Barrow-Downs Fair was back in business.

[Meneltarmacil]

At that point, someone burst into the room and screamed at the top of his lungs:

"YESSSS! IT'S BACK! I'M FREE AT LAST!"

Everybody was suddenly silent. Meneltarmacil's face turned a bright shade of red.

"Sorry," he apologized. "I got too carried away. I'm so glad to find I haven't been exiled."

For he had been shocked and confused to find the gates of the Barrow-Downs locked against him. He had knocked repeatedly and tried everything he could think of, but still the great gates had remained shut against him. Meneltarmacil had wandered far and wide over the paths of the Internet looking for answers, but he could find none. He was about to give up hope when he ran across mormegil, who had suffered the same fate. Menel also learned that both davem and Lalwendë (may their reputations grow ever larger) were also being denied access. Unless The Barrow-Wight had gone completely nuts and started banning everyone in sight, then Menel hadn't been forcibly exiled from the forum at all. He once again marched up to the gates of the Downs... only to find them just as mysteriously open as they had been closed before.

Which explained why Menel had just burst in on them. He sat down at one of the tables, set down his gear, and got a refreshing drink of water.

[the phantom]

"Hello again, Bêthberry" said the phantom, as he materialized directly in front of her. "Thank you very much for setting my mind at ease yesterday- I was quite worried."

"Ha ha- yes, you were afraid The Barrow-Wight had banned you out of sheer annoyance!" laughed Bêthberry. "I must apologize, but I found your distress rather amusing."

"No, I understand," said the phantom. "Everyone enjoys seeing a regal chap like me behaving like some sort of overreacting teenager."

the phantom stared at the familiar green and black background. Ah, yes- this is the way it's supposed to be.