Unforbidden

[Glirdan]

Glirdan woke up sharply with a pain in his head. "What's the time, I wonder?" He looked down at his hand and remembered he didn't have a watch. So he got up and started walking around asking the other Downer's what time it was. Unfourtunately, none of them had a watch either. Then he spotted a clock on the wall. "9:45!? I've been out for nearly a day!?!? Why didn't anyone wake me up!? Why does my head hurt?" And then he remembered yesterday. He remembered having one to many drinks. "Oh my! I'm so sorry my dear Fêberry! I won't be drinking again for awhile, that's for sure." Then he walked around again, having conversations with his fellow Downer's. Then he noticed something, something strange. "Ok, this party has been going on for awhile, and Gil and Eomer are still not here!! What's the deal with that!?"

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Fëa reappeared at this time accompanied by one too many diacritics. "Shoo," she warned, scolding it like a bad puppy. "You're a pain in the bum. You are not welcome here. You see this doorway? You shall not pass it." It hovered on the edges of the party, watching with a sad look upon it's very small and unbrowlike brow.

Fea moved through the crowd with remarkably more ease, meaning to track down TGWBS. She found him hovering near what was left of Fordim. She hesitated for a split second and remembered that her nose was stuffy due to that Mordor-assignèd bee that stung her on her way to class yesterday. Fea could not smell much, so she made her way over. She stopped short, realizing that smelling perfume is remarkably less offensive and powerful than getting a full facefull of rotting Fordim. Apparently not being able to smell doesn't affect things at the 'Downs.

She continued, hoping that Fordim did not notice her pause. She had no desire to offend the resident pollster. It would never do to wake up to discover a poll entitled Who Thinks Fea's Insane? a) I do, b) I don't, c) other _______.

"Tuh-GHiB-Short, I forgot to ask you... were there any crebain at the zoo the other day? Or oliphaunts? Fordim, it is wonderful to see you, although I must say... you look a little worse for the wear. Is there anything I can do to um... help?" She fervently hoped he said no... the rotting flesh was beginning to creep her out... but good manners dictated asking. After all, t'was not as if she could pretend he looked as buff, studly, and generally Harrison Ford-like as usual.

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

Fordim jumped at the sudden notice of Fea, her usual beauty marred somewhat by an odd swelling of her nose. She spoke and at first he had difficulty making out her words (due to the rot that had seized his eardrums) but eventually he was able to make out, "Is der anytig I can do to helb?"

He shuffled from foot to foot (causing a slight stir in the pool of his own oozings that had gathered beneath him -- the guy who be short moved off a bit to avoid being splashed) before answering. "Well," he said finally, "I believe that if I were to, um, that is to say I think that if a pretty maiden were to...well...I mean I'm not sure but I did some research into my condition, and as it was caused by neglect and distance, it should be reversible by the opposite so if you were to, er..."

Fea's face went white as she cried out, "You don't want me to kiss you do you?"

Fordim's face assumed a look of utter shock. "Of course not! What an idea! What possible use would a kiss be of to me in this state?" Fea's face assumed a look halfway between relief and embarassment. Apparently not noticing Fordim continued. "No no, what I need is a hug!"

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Fea's allergies had miraculously cleared up after being heavily dosed with the Anakronism that is Tylènòl állërgy rèlïëf. Fordim's scent was becoming more and more repugnant. The time had come to make a choice... either solve the problem, or run away swiftly to a safely scented distance. She decided with a barely noticable shiver. She stepped forward hesitantly, putting her arms around the decaying lump of Fordim. She held her breath, eyes closed, and stepped away.

Without opening her eyes, she spoke. "Did it... work?"

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

Sadly, it had not.

Fordim's putresence continued, and he shuffled about in anxiety. It was the ubiquitous Feyberry who noticed, however, that one of Fordim's fingers had begun to regrow, albeit slightly. "Perhaps," she ventured, "he nearly needs to be hugged by more people...?"

[Celuien]

Celuien blinked and rubbed her eyes at the entrance of the fashion-conscious wolf. She had never seen such a marvel before. The only lycanthropes she had previously encountered were terrifying, villager-devouring werebeasts. She was quite glad to see that the creature was friendly.

Celuien's dust allergy was still bothering her. She had not brought any Tylènòl, Sòodhafèd, or other useful Anakronisms with her to the party. Fortunately, her diminished olfaction kept her from being disturbed by Fordim's malodorous condition. Her ear caught by Fêyberry's comment, she took a closer look at Fordim's hand. Indeed, the finger had grown back. And one of the holes in his body seemed smaller. Perhaps more hugs would help. Celuien was willing to test the theory. Bravely stepping into the puddle of ooze that surrounded what remained of Fordim's feet, she moved forward and gave him a hug. She then retreated, trying her best not to splash the puddles too much, and awaited the results...

[Glirdan]

After being horribly lynched by the villagers, Glirdan moved on and heard that Fordim was asking for hugs so he could turn back into his old form. He decided "Hey, if it's to help out a fellow BD'er who was blocked form the evil "error #403", I might as well give it a shot!" He stepped around the puddles of ooze that came from Fordim. "I think I'll go clean this up. A favor for Fêyberry for having this party," he thought to himself. He then stepped up to Fordim and gave him a hug. He stepped back beside Celuien and awaited the results....

[Bêthberry]

Feyberry could not decide if she should attend to the rotting Fordim with a mop and bucket or with a spade.

"After all," she said to herself, "compost does happen and Bethberry's garden does do so well with the organic stuff." She looked again at Fordim after observing the various hugging positions which various BDers invented to circumvent any nasal distance that was more close than necessary. She particularly noted the retching condition whick Glirdan was heroically attempting to hold down and decided that perhaps a cup of stiff Stärbûcks or Tîm Hòrténs mojo might be called for. She sighed in remembrance of Barrow Wight's Coffee and wondered what she could do to help Celuien with her allergies. "Surely Bethberry must have a herbal remedy?" Feyberry decided to confer with the forum moderator about the propriety of such in the game before offering it, however.

Yet after all this rumination and hugging, Feyberry thought she observed more aspects of Fordim's resurrection. She was sure she saw his nose growing.

[Celuien]

Memories stirred uncomfortably in Celuien's mind at the sight of Fordim's lengthening nose. She seemed to remember a tale of another whose nose had grown. Could Fordim hold the secret to his own regeneration, and his request for hugs be a mere ploy? She quickly banished the thought. No one who had been to high Taniquetil would do such a thing. Then again, what had he done to merit being stalked by petty dwarves? For now, Celuien decided to operate under the assumption that hugs were indeed the cure for Fordim's condition. After all, the results of the hugs he had received had been seen and his improvement was indisputable.

But what to do next? The efforts put forward by Fea and Celuien had done little to help. Not even Glirdan's Bear-Hug had been enough for a cure. Fordim's case was desperate, and it called for desperate measures.

Celuien stood up and called to the assembled guests. "Fea, Glirdan and I have attempted to aid Fordim to the best of our abilities, but our efforts have not been sufficient. I fear that we must take drastic action and use the ultimate weapon of hugging. We must use the Group Hug of Doom. Who will join me?"

Fordim's jaw dropped to the floor, literally. He quickly retrieved his mandible from its landing place under a table and set it back in place. "Now, don't be hasty," he said. "Shouldn't we think this over some more?"

But it was too late. The Downers formed a Ring around him. At least two-dozen arms encircled Fordim's corpse.

Several Downers were overcome by the odor Fordim emitted and fell to the ground. The others, including Celuien, whose nose was still too congested to fully appreciate his condition, continued to hug away. When they felt that they had done their best, they scattered. Only time, and Fordim, could tell if they had cured him at last.

Humming a little tune, Celuien set off in search of Bêthberry and her herbal remedies. The dust allergy had served her well for the Fordim project, but she was starting to grow tired of sneezing and her other unpleasant symptoms.

[Glirdan]

Glirdan woke up suddenly with a sharp pain in his side. "What happened? Where am I? Why am I on the floor?" He saw Celuien walk by and called her(?) over to him. "What happened my friend? Why am I on the ground?"

"We gave Fordim the Hug of Doom and you passed out over the smell. Here, let me help you up." she said. "Thank you Celuien. Did our attempt work?" Glirdan asked. "We don't know, only time, and of course Fordim himself, will tell. Now please excuse me. I have to go find Bêthberry to see if she has any herbal remedies for my sneezing." and she walked off, sneezing every five seconds. "Well, I guess there is nothing to do but wait to see if the hug worked. I'll go get that mop and bucket and clean up the ooze that Fordim left behind. Oh Fêyberry! Where's the mop and bucket located?"

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Fea returned from some boring errands and decided to see if her question about a Godless fate had yet been answered. Turning on music, she began to thoroughly enjoy Blind Guardian as she gave the customary directions to the being that asked "Address?" and contemplated who she could talk with as she waited. Checking away messages, she noted Encaitare's... and swore. The 'Downs? Down? Again? No...

And then it happen. A "400 nàvïgàtïon ærror." Her breath caught in her throat... But.. she thought... at least it doesn't say forbidden. Swiftly she sent a message by the fastest means to Encaitare. "'Tis not just you, m'dear... it just won't work!" she wrote. Fea hustled to her back-up source of information... Iütürnà. It worked! Bethberry was there... And told her that the 'Downs was indeed not working quite right, and that the time could be put to use drawing more cartoons. Fea grinned appreciatively and decided that the time could be put to better use taking a nap. She sprawled happily and slept, waking up in time to be late to a class. Upon her return... she met a full barrow.

What in the world is happening? Are they weaning us from our habit? Forcing us to go without so that a sudden disappearance will not kill us? What sort of sick prank is this? Do they not realize that some of us have nothing better to do? Surely more important things, but certainly less interesting...

[Anguirel]

Anguirel prepared to seamlessly sachay, as ever, back into the Barrowdowns, and continue to practice worthy activities such as lynching, er, evicting, Hobbits, mourning Maeglin, and marshalling nasty Coavalta. He had always regarded the entrance to the Downs as something to be taken for granted, a mere formality, for such a distinguished Talking Sword as he. He scoffed at mere Wights, picnicking Dunedain, White Wargs, frolicking hobbits. No such obstacles would impede him! Sa-ha! Crunch.

One of the hills had elongated and heightened. It was now a massive fossa and defensive wall, and the complacent blade had just sliced into it. He cursed in a horrible, sharp, harsh voice, but the Connection Wraiths merely cackled in reply. He flailed the length of his body, cutting swathes around him, but the wall seemed endless. At last, realising that he was-shock horror!-in danger of becoming blunt, he backed out, admitting defeat, his proud spirit broken.

It was a humbled, suppliant sword that returned the next morning; Anguirel was ready even to be silent for a week, if he could only be let in! Thank Eru this time there was no resistance. Hearing of revelry where his sorrows could be drowned, he slid over in search of a nice comfortable anvil...

[Kath]

Kath had wandered out of the hall for a few minutes to get some fresh air, as the smell of Fordim's rotting flesh had steadily drifted across the room andhad her feeling quite sick. After breathing deeply for a while she squared her shoulders and went to go back inside, prepared for the whiff that would hit her as she did. But horror of horrors! She was locked out again! But this was not the lock out of the white screen and the Error message, it was but a Search problem, and this was not a rare occurence on her stupid lump of a computer. Needing to rest for a while anyway, she sent TGWBS to investigate and went off to bed without giving it a second thought.

She came back the next day, pushed at the doors and found that they opened with ease. Happily assuming that it had just been her computer after all she entered, and was shocked to find so many people discussing the funny events of the night before. It had not just been her! She was glad now that she had not stayed, or she would have had no sleep that night, worrying whether the Down's would be reopened.

Shaking her head she moved to the table, hoping a nice plate of food would calm her nagging fears. This had happened twice now, was something going wrong?

[Bêthberry]

~ ~ ~ To Elvenhome ~ ~ ~