Greetings all, a new face among you...

[Bhurin]

It was a quiet night in the Cabaret, as the fire burned warmly in the hearth and only subtle breezes blew in from the outside whenever the door opened. Everyone was relaxing after the days long haul, eating and drinking to their heart's (and stomach’s) content, and the atmosphere was one of friendship and tranquility.

 

However, as voices began to ring out for another round of spirits, a sudden gust of wind sprang up from the front door. It whipped through the room like an unbridled animal in fear, heralding a rumble of thunder in the distance. As the occupants of the establishment raised their eyes to see what warranted such a foreboding sign, they were surprised when they, in fact, found something entering the room.

 

It filled the entirety of the door as it entered, crouching to fit through the dwarfed frame. The giant, once inside, suddenly unfolded a pair of immense white wings. They flexed with power as they extended their entire span.

 

The occupants of the bar, though by no means fearful (come on! They out numbered it eighty to one! Big bird or not, those aren’t good odds…) stood august at this impressive creature. (Though a few began to snicker in the back, recognizing the figure immediately for what it was).

 

Once inside, the creature was revealed to be an armored angel, its face concealed behind a mask of steel. As it walked across the floor boards, its feet echoed with a foreboding bass, and the armor it wore clicked and rang with small chimes of war-steel. Despite its size, however, and the sound it was making, the creature had a weightlessness to it.

 

Finally coming to rest directly affront all those in the room, the creature breathed in, becoming even larger; and exhaled with a low growl.

 

Finally, it spoke.

 

“Greetings members of the Pen is Mightier than the Sword. I am Bhurin, a friend of a friend, and former wanderer of beloved Terra, Gods rest her soul. I stand before you a lost and ravaged soul. I have returned to Archmage after an absence to find it dying beyond my redemption. Stricken, I now walk the world confused and alone. I’m now a diplomat without a cause, a man without comrades. When I finally have the means to become closure to those that played the game with me, the game now disappears. But I refuse to lose that world! Then, in my travels, I hear of an association built upon the ideals of the written word. Though I consider myself hardly an artist, I too have found joy in the forging of words. So I have made my way here to…What I am saying, patrons of this federation, I am seeking a way to hold onto former comrades, and perhaps share a gift of words that has stricken myself…”

 

Finally, the gentlemen in the background snickering could take it no longer. They broke out in sudden and vociferous laughter.

 

Among them, Foe Calibur stepped forward. His face was red from laughing, and he slowly placed a hand on Bhurin’s shoulder as he fought to overcome the convulsions of laughter in his throat and belly. “Alright guys, give him a break. It’s his first day and post, he’s allowed to be a little dramatic.”

 

As tears were wiped away from squiting eyes and smiles were allowed to calm, Wyvern stepped forward and nodded at Bhurin, “Hey big guy, we’ve been expecting you. In fact, you’re late…”

 

Bhurin, his face still concealed behind his mask of war, slouched slightly in his spot as the room shared a few more chuckles between themselves. “Well, I couldn’t find the place, then the passwords wouldn’t work, then…”

 

“Bhurin, that’s fine.” Wyvern said, turning to the others, “For those who don’t Bhurin, he’s the new guy, so he’ll be buying a few rounds for everyone.”

 

Bhurin slouched even more.

 

“Aww, Bhurin,” Foe said, leading him to a table, “Perk up. Maybe some people will want water…”

 

“Is it free?” Bhurin asked, his voice filled with hope.

 

“No, but somewhat cheaper,” Foe said as they reached the bar. Once there, Bhurin turned to everyone else in the room and said, “Well everyone, all joking aside, I’m the new guy. My passions are both stories and poetry, so maybe you’ll see me around. Apart from that, I just wanted to say that I’m really looking forward to meeting all of you and reading your work. Now anyone who wants a drink speak up…” Bhurin quickly turned to bartender and whispered, “*I hope you guys take credit*”

 

After a quick nod, Bhurin took a drink from the counter and toasted to the Pen is Mightier than the sword. “May we use the feeble medium that is language to express what we know is the truth in our hearts, and in the universe. And, perhaps, have a little fun while we’re at it.”

 

As the others toasted to his words, Bhurin removed the ominous steel mask that had adorned his face for years. Placing it down on the counter, he whispered to himself, “Guess I won’t need this anymore…”

 

Smiling, and partaking of his drink, Bhurin leaned back against the counter and prepared himself for what was sure to be a truly great experience of his life.

 

Signed in elation-

[Zadown]

The Dreamer rises his snow-white gaze from the Deck of Many Things he is playing solitaire with and appraises Bhurin as the angel speaks to fish for the memories of his old incarnations to find that face. Having found those memories, created by one or other of the Brothers Zadown, he slowly nods and flecks of silver swim in the white of his eyes.

 

Slowly, not hurrying at all, he puts the cards back to the deck (and watches with amusement as they try to force their magic on him, the little pictures in the cards squirming and protesting) while Bhurin continues. When the newcomer finishes, the planewalker rises, walks to the bar, turns to grin to Bhurin and speaks with a loud deep voice:

 

"Welcome to the Pen, m'lord."

 

He then turns back, his scarred face still locked into a frightening grin.

 

"One glass of God's Tears, bartender - the most expensive bottle you have, please."

[Guest Foe Calibur]

Wiping away the last of his joyfull tears, Foe followed Bhurin to the bar, "Just water please." Turning to Bhurin his expression changed from joyous to thoughfull as he stared sympathetically at the his large winged friend.

 

Times long past and those not so recently forgotten had taught Foe to respect his comrade, not only through for reasons whos purpose lay, now dormant, within Bhurin's shed battle mask, but through his word as Emissary. For through his works, the metal he bore was just that, a mask... a guise, the true passions he displayed WERE in the defeat of an enemy but not by blade, through literary conquer.

 

This is not to say that his war mask was not well worn, for although he had spent many a late night exchanging words on one topic or another, his battle borne victories were just as impressive.

 

"It's been far too long." Foe's gaze had drifted to the water now in front of him, his expression now quite sombre, reflective really.

 

"That it has... that it has... but we are here now, let us celebrate!" The smile on Bhurin's face was one he had seen many times before, just another mask he had worn so well. Foe could see the memories drifting slowly behind Bhurin's eyes... of the land, of the battles... and of the friends, with whom he would share no more drinks. "Is that all you're having?" Bhurin pointed to the water Foe was sipping.

 

Foe laughed, Bhurin knew full well that anything else would intoxicate an elf in no time, if not kill him. "I'm afraid so."

 

Foe put his arm around his immense friend and smiled, "Too long, or not long enough... it's hard to tell sometimes. At any rate, welcome, it's good to see you once again. I am not an Elder by far, but if you ever need a hand, I think I could lend it adequately enough."

 

After a little while, once the first round had been consumed, and the second well on it's way, Foe turned to the bartender, whispering, "I'd help pay the tab if I may."

 

Being one of the only patrons of the establishment not drunk, Foe begins helping the worst off to thier rooms.

[Peredhil]

Rushing as always of late, Peredhil enters through one door and immediately heads toward another. His Lists of Lists tops the stack of Lists and he's marking off items as he walks at a brisk pace.

 

Guido, at the bar talking with Guido the Bartender, motions to Nuncio and they converge on the bustling Half-Elf. Moments later, Elrond realizes his legs are moving, but he's not going anywhere.

 

Once they have his attention, the Guinea Pigs lower him until his feet touch the floor.

 

"Yo Boss," rasps Guido in an itchy whisper, "I tink youse fergettin' some lil' ting."

 

With a sigh, Elrond begins frantically flipping through his Lists. Nuncio leans in and whispers to his other ear.

 

"Bhurin just joined. You remember him?"

Gesturing vaguely in the direction of the enormous Battle Angel, Nuncio prompts Peredhil memory,

"Emissary? Order of the Quill from Legion? Exciting writer? Polished P-"

 

"Bhurin!"

Elrond's grey eyes lighten momentarily,

Of course!"

 

Turning to the Bartender, Peredhil announces loudly,

 

Drinks are free until the next immediately coming New Year! (Local Time!)

 

Ignoring Wyvern's shrieks of horror as visions of lost geld dance in his head, Peredhil continues out the door, meeting Elladan as he exits.

 

"I don't have time for that, just Counter with what you ha-"

 

The door snicks shut after the enervated Elder.

 

~~~

 

Elrond Peredhil, 31

Elder of Lists and Manners

Bard of Terra

(Thinks he might've won an Order of the Quill too, but would need to check the Legion site. )

[Gyrfalcon]

*Gyrfalcon steps forward from the crowd. Unlike many of the others, his face is impassive, and he has not laughed at the angel's words, sensing the sincerity in them.*

 

Greetings, Bhurin. I am Gyrfalcon, the owner of the bar that you are buying drinks from... When you're done with the rounds, come and talk with me and I'll see if I can't lower your bill somewhat... a gift to you, in recognation of your skill in joining this assembly."

 

Gyrfalcon takes a step away and pauses "I hope to read more of your excellent work soon, M'Lord."

 

he bows once and returns to his table, his glass of water, and his writing.

[Jakob]

Noticing in dismay that the free drinks will end soon, Jakob scrambles to reach the bar...

 

"Greetings Bhurin... um.. would ya mind givin me a leg up?"

 

I'm a simple man. All I want is enough sleep for two normal men, enough whiskey for three, and enough women for four...

Quill-Bearer of The Pen is Mightier Than the Sword

[Bhurin]

Jakob, it's good to see you friend!

 

Bhurin quickly grabs two flagons of ale on the counter. After sipping from one, he hands the other to Jakob

 

Good to see you still kicking. I truly have found a gold mine of talent in these walls...

[Peredhil]

Tzimfemme said that Isachar said that the Spoony Bard said that the Squirrel Duo said that I once received the Order of the Quill award!

 

Peredhil signals Guido and Nuncio who carry several chests over behind the bar.

 

There's the last of my Geld from Terra. $355,851. Drinks are on my tab as long as that lasts!

 

Peredhil drifts over to his usual table to wait his son's arrivals.

[Guest Belizean1]

*As Bhurin sips his ale he hears a voice in his head that says, "Greetings Bhurin, I am unfortunately not around at the moment to meet you in person but wanted to wish you a warm welcome. I am known by most as Bel or Beli, you may call me neither. For you(and you alone) I will allow the name KriNistakleperosYYnlO to be used. This is a grave honor and should not be taken lightly, therefore, use this name ALWAYS."

 

At this Bhurin frowns and says out loud. "Excuse me?"

 

Jakob looks over towards Bhurin and thinks to himself. "He's one of those guys who likes talking to himself......" He grunts in amusement and continues drinking his ale.

 

Suddenly Bhurin hears a chuckle and the voice speaks again. "I am only playing around with you. I am Belizean but you may call me Bel or Beli or Belizean. Whatever you like. Sorry about that, I enjoy a good laugh and that was fun! You should have seen the look on your face when I said that name! Classic! Please forgive my joke. I did not mean to offend but unfortunately I must be off now. I know you will enjoy your time here and until we meet, goodbye." Bhurin nods slowly, still a little perplexed and downs his entire cup of ale which makes him feel much better.*

[Bhurin]

After Bhurin finished the remains of his drink, he sighed casually, looking at the bottom of his cup, before placing it on the counter and turning toward the general direction of the new voice.

 

"Greetings Belizean, or KriNistakleperosYYnlO if you prefer. (Forgive me if I didn't pronounce that correctly). It is good to make your aquaintence."

 

Reaching for his wallet, Bhurin slowly pulls out a manuscript while continuing, "The reason for my expression of surprise was actually a look of pleasantry. When you mentioned your other title, I immediately thought you were a member of the BFLN association..."

 

Bhurin finally withdrew a card, labeled with the words 'Big Friggen Long Names Association, Official member.' Bhurin then tossed it into the air somewhat hesitantly, as though he wasn't sure the card would find the voice's eyes. "The actual pronounciation of my name is TopenulupandleDitholinacTricepotineBrigintine, but my friends call me Bhurin for short. Then again, they also call me 'Heyou' and 'Yo, wings boy!' so feel free to call me whatever you like."

 

Bhurin chuckles softly, returning his wallet to his pocket, "But in all seriousness, it is a pleasure, Belizean. Well met friend..."

[Ozymandias]

A leatherfaced old mage dressed in midnight blue walks serenely over to Bhurin's side, his robes flowing oddly, almost as if they were sand. He stops to gaze at Bhurin with a faraway look for a moment, then his eyes refocus on the newcomer as he breaks into a warm smile. "Welcome, friend", he rumbles with the tiniest trace of an unknown accent. "I must say, I did not expect to see a being of your sort enter the place of The Pen- not as colleague, at any rate.", says he with a chuckle. "Be that as it may, again, welcome, and good fortune to you. I am Ozymandias, one of our most ancient elders. At your service."

[Bhurin]

As Bhurin begins to sip his drink, he quickly stops and catches himself, nearly spilling the contents of his cup. Coughing once, he raises his eyebrows in surprise before turning his gaze toward the old mage.

 

"Hello, friend and Elder, well met..." Bhurin said, extending his hand to shake. After casually gripping and shaking the mage's hand, Bhurin smiled meekly and said, "It is a pleasure, dear sir, but forgive me if I know not - and ask you what- you refer to when you say 'my kind'. I have been refered to as a gentleman, scoundrel, servant, lacky, master, cohort, lord, Dungeon Master, chicken, angel, loud mouth, friend, amigo, toriniku san, ignorant wretch, anti-social backwater hillbilly, Bhurin Schmurin, the mighty winged wonder, Urine (rhymes with Bhurin), and an opinionated such and such.

 

When you say that you expected not my kind to enter here as a colleague, I must beg you to be more specific in your observation."

 

Bhurin, taking a quick sip from his drink, turned back to the old mage and smiled. "But, despite my confusion, it is good to meet you, Elder of the Pen, and thank you for your kind words."

[Ozymandias]

"I am glad that my words were well taken , if not clearly. My apologies. I simply meant the fact that you are the first angel I have met with a turn for prose. All others have been rather exclusively...martial. BUT, as I said, it is good to see you and every new face that enters our doors. I hope you like the housewarming gift I left you. You should find it in your rooms, once you've moved in properly." With that, Ozymandias spares a quick glance to his right, at which point the tiniest of Imps emerges from that ear and sets off in mad flight. An hour later, after much grunting and straining, two imp teams have moved three crates of the former king's finest whiskey into Bhurin's unadorned quarters. "Now, if you'll excuse me, it's high time this old man was in bed. Merry part, Sir." With a short bow, he starts to turn, then pauses, leaning forward conspiratorially. "If you ever want to spar, give me a call. Gyrfalcon's always game enough, but he can cut through my defense like hay. That, and I want to see what you're made of. " He winks rougishly. "Until next we meet." Finally, Ozymandias pays up his bar tab, says the rest of his goodnights, and leaves.

[Bhurin]

Watching the Imps move the crates across the room, turning into a hallway, and disappearing; Bhurin watched with keen interest. He noted, most specifically, the XXX on the side of the crates, indicating the strength of the alcohol being crated toward his room.

 

Bhurin turned bright eyed toward Ozymandias, a smile worn prominently on his face. "Thank you, dear sir, from the bottom of my mighty heart. Thank you very very much. It is not ofen I am graced with such a gift..."

 

As visions of whiskey bottles danced in his head, Bhurin smaked his lips and remained silent for a while. Then, realizing he had left three periods on the end of his last sentence, figured out he implied that he had more to say.

 

Shaking the thoughts from his head, Bhurin bowed slightly to the Elder and said, "As for your invitation, I must relunctantly accept. Though I have been accussed of being talented, I shall show you of said 'stuff' I'm made at your leisure. I cannot guarantee a formidable opponent, but I can promise an eager and passionate one."

 

With that, Bhurin bowed again -more deeply this time- before rising to his feet and saying, "Well, if those Imps are going to deliver that to a room, I guess I must have one ready and built for them when they get there. If you'll all excuse me..."

 

Tossing a bag of gold onto the bar, Bhurin straightened his clothes, and made for the assembly room to "create" what were to be his quarters in the Pen's mighty Keep. And, possibly, sample some of the former King's whiskey while he was at it...