Welcome Back Birthday Party!

[Rumil]

Hail and well met old friends!!

It has been many a year since I visited the Barrow and thought it may have met the fate of Numenor, but am very happy to see it's revived.

[Blind Guardian]

Awakened by a bark
But, oh, it was dark
Fortunate for a candle then
Unfortunate... it's wax was spent

This place I remember
Before torn asunder
The army that attacked
That we gallantly fought back
We claimed victory
So they live in misery

...

Meh I've got nothing else. Hi guys!

[Snowdog]

"Alright! Party! Hey Larry, back that wagon up here!"

Larry Largebarrel backs the wagon up and stops by the door.

"Now, we brothers of Largebarrel Brewing of Oatbarton have brought two kegs of our fine ale, and a firken of honey mead to celebrate this great occasion of re-opening of the Barrow Downs. For the malt-heads we have a keg of Shagrat & Gorbag's Black Imperial Stout (brewed under license), and for the hop-heads we have Freddy's UPA (Umbar Pale Ale). Taps are set from the back of the wagon so no unloading necessary!"

Freddy and Larry Largebarrel each tapped a flagon from each of the kegs as Hanasian the Dunedain Ranger rode up. Dismounting, he took his wood flagon from his belt and tapped himself some honey mead. Lifting it high he said,

"Long Live the Dead!"

[HerenIstarion]

We the five living inside this single head are delighted to see the gate open again

May us spend more time inside now that we value the place the more for its absence

[Pitchwife]

He hadn't haunted the Barrow Downs for a long time, the wight called Pitchwife. Years ago he had discovered a portal into another world, ventured through and been seen no more on the green hills of Tyrn Gorthad. Far had he travelled through spheres beyond the realm of Arda, become engrossed in alien (not Alien) lore, worn other names and faces and met other kindred spirits.


But in all his adventures he had never quite forgotten the cosy necropolis where he had been born into the digital afterlife. "One of these days," he used to tell himself, "I'll pay a visit to the good ole Downs, check what's happening and who's still around." Somehow, though, that day had never come - it had always been another day and yet another, and there had always been something else claiming his attention, and so days had agglomerated into years.


By and by, however, he found himself getting homesick, for what is a wight without a barrow but a wisp of ectoplasm adrift on the winds of the ethernet? So one day he said to himself, "Tomorrow never comes. It's now or never."


Even after all his years, he still would have found the narrow path blindfolded that branched off the King's Data Highway (formerly the East Road) and led southwards up into the mist-shrouded hills, but to his dismay it was overgrown with brambles and nettles, and when the fog cleared it revealed a view to rival the Desolation of Smaug. Where once luscious grass had covered the hills there was now only scorched earth, all the mounds and barrows had been bulldozed, and the whole site was cordoned off with black and yellow tape.


Serves you right, said a snarky little voice inside his head. One does not simply walk away from the Downs, come back years later and expect to find everything as if time had stood still.


There were places in space and time, it seemed, you could never go back to. But even if that was so he still felt he had at least to find out what kind of catastrophe had come over the Downs. So he made a trip to the nearest hardware store and came back a few days later armed with a shovel, resolved to dig up the virtual soil until he knew what had happened.


But lo and behold! The path had been cleared, and the tape cut up and woven into pretty garlands with cobwebs and mistveils to adorn the standing stones; and young grass was growing on the hillsides, and the earth had opened and released its dead, and a good many merry ghouls, wights and liches of yore (and a couple of new ones) were dancing on the fresh verdure, gaily lit by corpse-candles and will-o'-the wisps, and drinking mountain dew from skull cups and singing.


Then the shovel fell from his hand, and joy pierced his undead heart like a blade of the Dúnedain, and tears welled up in his empty eye-sockets.


Whatever you say, said the snarky little voice in his head, don't use that Sam Gamgee quote. You know which one. It's so hackneyed.


"Oh do shut up," Pitchwife told the little voice. He gazed at the Downs, and slowly he lifted his arms and opened them wide.


"It's a gift," he said.

[Thenamir]

Thenamir trudged on in the direction of the old barrow, carrying his toolbox and prepared for long labor and bitter disappointment. Though he now seldom frequented the musty dwelling wherein he had enjoyed much goodfellowship in days past, he still dropped in from time to time to sweep up a bit, replace damaged support joists, and try keep the place in good repair for those who continued on in his absence.

Then came that day when he found the gates were barred and immovable, the bolts secured with many intricate and impenetrable spells and wards of closing. Thenamir was no magician (though previous fixes had some of the barrow denizens muttering about "wizardry"), and no chisel, axe, or mace in his toolbox could penetrate the dreaded Forrowfor that denied him entrance.

Since that day he had returned as often as his other responsibilities allowed, toolbox in hand, to try again. And again. And yet again. All for naught. "It would be easier," he ruminated as he walked, "to break the locks on the Barad-dur itself than to wrest this barrow-gate open."

As he neared the last bend in the road before reaching the entrance, Thenamir thought he heard...something, a very strange noise for that desolate and gloomy place...it sounded like...a boom-boxin' get-yer-groove-on hoedown! He raced aound the turn and found the doors open, a sparkling disco ball visible from the entrance, and a live (well, as live as one gets in a grave) band thumping out dance tunes!

His toolbox and his jaw hit the ground simultaneously...but picking them both up he joined the general merriment and rejoicing...

[Aganzir]

Through the fog and the rain and the shade of mossy trees, Aganzir drifted in, savouring the walk through the overgrown grass. You know when you have been away a long time and see the shapes and colours with new eyes, with a feeling of déjà vu almost? You recognise the names and faces but from another distant place, and then suddenly it clicks and they are who they have always been, indeed who they are - to you - meant to be. And you know that you've come home.

OH MY GOD PITCHWIFE I MISSED YOU SO FREAKING MUCH WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN HOW ARE YOU!????

ahem

Aganzir bent to pick up something that was glistening and sparkling on the grass. It was a silver ring that she recognised from a New Year's Moot a year and a half ago (one that she had used to propose to a fellow Downer, who rejected it because apparently it looked too much like a ring pull). She smoothed it with her thumb and carried it gently back to the Great Barrow.

"It's the Barrow treasures," she said, almost shy to hear her own voice again after all this time. "You see, all scattered. We need to bring it all back to renew the spell of the mound. No more toys for Tom and for his lady Lucy. No more cracks in the walls, no more infiltrators and spies (she cast a dark look at HDwwdbpc who was trying to sneak in). Only the Wights and the dead."

And then her face lit up and she laughed.

She rushed to grab the Lady Estelyn in a tight hug, and to dance a few steps with Nogrod along to Encai's tune, and peck Lady Great affectionately, and grope Lommy ("HeEI!! AGANzir!"), and express great delight and surprise at seeing Pitchwife again. And she complimented Kuru's mighty dwarven beard and asked for permission to touch it, and then she turned around rather abruptly and wandered off whistling (Livin' on a Prayer, rather poorly). She could later be heard speaking about the complimentary drink she had got from Kuru ("For warming his miserly old heart by being so fond of dwarves").

And she greeted people left and right - people she had barely talked to before and people she had known for years alike. And when the laughing and dancing and eating began to tire her, she sat down at Lady Estelyn's feet, content to watch and listen.

Olen ollut pitkään poissa kotoa.

[Morthoron]

The Dark Elf, realizing he had been more hostile than hospitable, sought for atonement. Therefore, he got up from his shadowy corner and said (in a very loud voice):

"YOU ALL LOOK VERY GOOD...FOR DEAD PEOPLE!"

His limited grasp on cordiality having been strained beyond its bounds, the Dark Elf offered a sheepish half-bow and sat back down.

[Kuruharan]

*Kuru collects himself after having his beard touched by Aganzir and quietly passes Morthoron a drink*