Bhurin

A tall figure, clad in simple robes and graced with brilliant white wings, enters the room with seeking gaze and subtle stride. This place of fellowship is much changed since last his footfalls echoed in the timber lodge, though familiar banners and adornments docorate the walls. Out of place and yet comfortable, his face is as new, as strange, as those of many he now sees. Waving politely, the immense character, now before the bar, orders a decanter of ale and looks out to the general population of the tavern. Hello everyone. It has been quite some time since I have made my pressence known here, though often I have strode the halls of this place. Seasons have passed since my voice sounded, yet my eyes and mind have minded some of that which transpires here. Long since my words have found their way to light, though I have basked in the light of others. As a guest, I have looked upon these halls many times, though I could not find the gumption to sign the guest book and make myself known. Too little time with too much work and a lack-luster mind have leant me little inspiration to share. And yet, I have returned. Awakened by the words of the Polite Ancient, reminding me that I have always found inspiration and have shared good times in these halls. So here I am, long displaced but still possessing a great favor of this company and its art. Excuse the melodramatic entry, but it HAS been some time for me. For those who know me, I bear thee warm greeting (should you still remember me.) For those who don't, I look forward to becoming aquainted. The Pen has changed. The words it holds have not. And I have missed them. Signed with admiration and nostalgia- Bhurin Signature and titles withheld at present.

(Conversion Confusion, this is actually the original post for this thread) I was writing poems when this came to mind. I'm normally not a very good riddler, so I'm not sure if this is really easy or not. Enjoy. A riddle When you awake to shining dawn, I greet you with a mutual yawn And when the sun is up, the day ahead, The both of us jump out of bed, You go first, I follow suit, An unconditional traitional pursuit. When it’s time to leave you grab your things, I’m always there, behind the scenes. I go and wait for you outside, But we leave together, side by side. Then, on your left, the morning’s light, I’ll follow behind, just to your right. I’ve always preferred wake to the lead, But don’t let my preference mislead, For late at dusk, with sun at back, I go first into the black. And walk you home, till you’re secure, Then whisk about, as though demure. Then go with you back to your bed, But I don’t sleep, I skulk instead. And wait until the morn again, To show my face once more. Amen. What am I? Signed-

This is the intro-poem I read to my players to illustrate some local histroy and the events that have lead to the present day problems in their campaign. If you want to get the full effect, listen to the song "Fade to Black" by Apocolyptica. They're an excellant classical band that provided the inspiration for this poem and the campaign itself. (Imagine my surprise when I should stumble upon this song with a similat title as my campaign). As well, the poem, if read aloud, is timed to the song (part of the effect I was going for). If you start the song right after the line, "Our story begins in former days, when still the lands were held in praise…" you should finish the poem JUST as the song is finishing. Let me know what you think. Enjoy. The Black Inquisition Prolog It is a time of great woe and unrest. Whilst the rest of the world lives in prosperity, These lands have become plunged in war. A century’s old conflict, with new protest, Against king and country. Peace, a rarity, Lost within the blood and gore. The land torn by kin and creed. Here our tale now begins, As those who have lain in wait proceed, And the world wavers on edge. A land torn by dread and sins, Falling into darkness. A growing need, For the brave to delve a sharpened wedge, At last, between the just and those of vile greed. Our story begins in former days, when still the lands were held in praise… Once, long ago, there lived a man who was King. He was just and true, a man of honor and nobility. Who yearned to unite his lands under one banner, and bring About a golden age, ending generations of hostility. He ruled his domain for many years, trying to end the vices Of invading threats. Of enemies from within. He tried all manners to accomplish this, all devices To end his country’s woe and chagrin. But, after years of gracious reign, civil unrest grew. Thousands saw him as no ruler, and rebelled. All of them swayed and led by silver tongued shrew, Who denounced the king, and would not be quelled. And so a civil war erupted. Kingdom against the King. The country delved into conflict, divided in twain. A costly war, between one people, of all things; The blood of innocence shed; a dynasty of pain. After countless battles and murders, the tide began to ebb, And victory seemed to favor those loyal to the throne. But, before he was victorious, the King was struck dead, By assassin in the night, whose identity was never known. The Royal Guard raised up in arms, enraged, By act most foul. They demanded retribution! And they wrought a bloody campaign, a rampage Against those against the king, to crush the revolution. Led now by the King’s first son, a mourning warlord, Barely two decades old, they cut a path of blood Through the lands. The king’s brooding ward, Took to murder well, and released a flood. “Kill the traitors!” came their cry, and soon, The rebellion was crushed by plunder and rape. Those who received swift resolution were receiving boon, As most died with pain. And none could escape. The silver tongued was brought before the Prince, Accused of treason, and the death of the Prince’s father. And before he or any could speak, without waver or wince, The king’s son dealt a bloody end to the “impertinent bother”. Then, still washed in the blood of his foe, the ward Declared himself the new lord of lands, and took the throne. And, knowing his courage, the people saw fit to reward The Prince, and make the crown his own. But, few knew truly of the prince’s blackened ways, How in past days, he perfected the arts of torment On pets and servants. Ill in mind, with thoughts ablaze. Who caused his mother sickness from lament. Few, that is, save the former King, who took sorrowful sight, Of his son’s masochism since his birth, and arranged With the trusted Priest to read, when time was right, The Final Declaration. And prevent a king deranged. The Kingdom watched as elder priest, with scrolls of yore Bearing crest of former king, stood before the bleeding Prince, And showed to him the King’s decree, and what it bore. And none had seen the Prince more enraged, before or since. The King, by full command, named not his first son heir, But rather his second born son, a child of soft spoken insight, Whom the King loved dearly. And so it was declared. The new King stepped forward, his eyes timid and contrite. The first born Prince watched with disdain as younger kin, Stepped forward to claim what tradition demanded was his own. Watching his birth rite stolen, a great madness welled within His breast, and burned within his blood and bone. Finally, in burning rage, the maddened Prince denounced His brother; denounced his name and right to bear the crown, Knowing the ancient laws that no new king can be pronounced, As long as kin of blood and name challenged his renown. The people and the royal court were appalled, disbelieving What they had heard, and still more as they watched the slighted Prince rise from the throne and proclaim as he was leaving, That he shall rise and take the throne, whether given or benighted. And the rightful king watched his older kin leave the court, And wept at his departure. A country wounded, a family torn, A Prince made Steward, and not King, for without support, Of living kin, a new dynasty could not be born. This is how it was, and this is how it continues to be. A family dishonored for greed and spite. A fallen crest. And no hope for future peace, as long as brothers disagree. And rightful heir to Vieon’s throne is in contest. And behind it all, behind the shadows and the fog, Whispers of blackened mentors seep across the court, Does amongst those most trusted walk traitorous dogs? And seek, for once and all, the royal family to thwart? This is how the story has unfolded, where we find ourselves, The die cast, the page has turned, all is in position. Step forward hero, step forward beast, step forward men and elves. Our story has begun. Welcome to The Black Inquisition. Signed-

Quick history lesson: It's been some time since I wrote poetry. Longer still since I've contributed to this board. However, I just recently finished a very long and thorough D&D campaign, and henceforth began work on a new one. My new campaign is entitled "The Black Inquisition", and will undoubtedly feature scores of poetry and prose. In any case, my explanation is becoming longer than my poem. What I'm getting to is that I will begin to post work with similar titles and themes, as most of it will be spawned from the sessions I have or prepare for. This first poem has no real title. It's a quote from a main character. When you read it, read it slowly, and try not to fit the rhyme scheme or beats. It's spoken by a not-good person, and shouldn't sound like a poem to the listeners. It's short, but enjoy. The Black Inquisition Eventually, all things will succumb to death. The flesh rots and falls from the bone. All things, in the end, fade to dust. When blood is spilled on virgin land, And the soul is allowed to fade alone, It is tragic, lamentable, but not unjust. For even Lords of men shall draw final breath, Whether reaped by time or mortal hand. For none are spared this iniquity. Signed-

Bhurin Rhymes with urine Draw your own conclusion.

I, personally, am more than happy with the system/organization around this place. Initially, I thought it merely a writing club for interested (and talented) writers. I get the feed back I expect (sometimes people just don't feel like commenting) and as for rank, I don't need a title to tell me I'm good (I let my publisher do that ). I joined this organization because a friend suggested I do so, and was received very warmly. Since then I've met some incredible people, all of whom share my interest in writing, and greatly appreciate the atmosphere of this place. (In fact, only my recent inhibitions have kept me from being hard core around here. I'll fill you all in when my life slows once more. ) Rounding out my thoughts on why I joined, I should also mention that I very much wanted to rub elbows with some of the more legendary Archmage personas I had only heard of and never met. (Bhurin throws Peredhil, Orlan and Gryfalcon a glance) Some of these people have been 'known' to me for years, but only here was I given opportunity to meet, greet, discuss and share work with them. If you want to know what I think needs improving, my answer is nothing. I love this place, and, should an innovative suggestion or serious complaint arise, I shall remain happy and contented. My only 'observation' would be that currently our format has us one half 'guild' and one half 'free gathering', and we should figure out if that's how we like it. Does rank currently entitle one to privilages? Not from what I've seen... Yet, just a visual confirmation of senority and recognition for talent. My suggestion for a solution: create a nomination system, or a more thorough review system, or something to reinforce the current system. In any case, in closing, I love you guys, and I wrote this post without having read thoroughly the previous posts, so if I've repeated anyone: Tough! Love ya guys.

Curiouser and curiouser... The first two passages are wispy and liquid-like at the same time. The description has great diction, and has been poised very... Thoughtfully... You disrupted my thoughts with the mouse, but a laugh it got none the less... I'm actually very much left wondering what happened... The keep was obviously interrupted from its usual happenstances whilst they happened... Things are left out in the open, even intact... The description is so mournful of the keep... Like a skeleton of a loved one... You did a little bit of Dickens there... You observed, then went into detail, and then further into detail still... You invented ideas we were expected to comprehend several times (names of people, their stations, etc.) and it was presented in a fashion that allowed one to flow through and past it as they considered it... You dipped into both humorous and serious memories... That helped to craft the versatility one is supposed to come to understand of the keep... Your descriptions realy varied... I didn't spot any redundant statements to interrupt the flow of things... You threw in the raven... A living symbol of death... An interesting metaphor.. Almost a paradox... You fragmented your sentences several times... This is exactly how my thoughts are often articulated, and it made for a dramatic read (drama is important) You refered to the keep as: A keep, a castle, a house, and a tower... Contrasting and complamenting... And you finished with a single bit of dialogue, which helped to close, as the idea was different in form and atmosphere than the rest of the work... All in all, I'm left feeling very sorry for this house, wishing I had a chance of learning about its former occupants, and the fate that eventually fell upon them. A good read, and mournful... Nothing like a little musically themed/inspired work to call to the surface the most foreboding of our thoughts or observations. Good story. (Word of advice: Suggest next time your readers to put on Moonlight, and make sure they don't have Louie Armstrong's "Wonderful World" rigfht after... It kinda.. Disrupted my thoughts... ) Thanks. It was a good read. Edited by: Bhurin at: 5/8/02 5:09:44 pm

Mina tori wa watashi no toriniku desu. (All birds are MY chickens) Watashi wa ookii na toriniku-sakana desu! (I am the big Chicken fish) Minasen! Tsukemono o tabetakunakatta o kudasai! Everyone! Please! Let us not haven eaten the pickles! Wakarimasen ka? Anata wa wakarimasu... Don't understand? You will... (Bhurin pays a small, Japanese dwarf, then continues eating his teriyaki...)

... The title does not prepare the reader... I allowed myself a deep-throated growl whilst I read. Black imagery my friend. In a world full of greyish tones, you hit a black note.

Aye, and may with age come wisdom, or at least the resources to fake it. -

The group remained obediently silent, each of them awaiting their turn in contemplation as Balladore’s eyes scanned his party. He paused momentarily, knowing that the decision was not a frivolous one, allowing his comrades to contemplate their decisions. His eyes wandered momentarily across the small, ill-ventilated room Millas had provided to them for their discussion. It was some sort of living quarters, though immediately one could tell it hadn’t been so always. The smell of mead and stale floor hung in the air, and the only draft that penetrated the room came from a chimney flume where an ancient stove sat. Balladore’s mind strayed as he superficially scanned the room, his mind lingering on his family. The more he allowed himself to think about it, the more he felt the desperation well up inside of himself. It choked his breath and sickened his stomach, but he remained vigilant in not allowing his demeanor to slip. Not only was it the Druid’s way of things, but he knew that, with an uncertain path ahead, an assured stride held moral as surely as any word or blade. Finally, as though the silence were shattered with due intention, Balladore turned his head and gathered his thoughts. His voice rang out his first decision: that decision being the first person he saw. “Bhurin, my friend, what say you?” Balladore’s eyes became fixed beyond the others, as the winged adventurer stood behind the rest of the group slanted against the wall. “And please, speak honestly, for I would you answer no other way…” The others jolted slightly from the sudden loss of silence; including Bhurin who perked at the mentioning of his name. He looked up slowly, his arms folded against his chest, till his grey eyes locked with Balladore’s. Bhurin’s eyes were contemplative, even distant, and when he spoke his voice was monotonous but firm. “The path ahead is one most uncertain, as others who would traverse the distance from our point of destination to here would go by the main Road that ropes around the mountains to the south… I have considered our progress since we set out, and have often wondered whether it would have been better to have added the weeks onto our journey and travel safely… But time is of the essence… And I regret not our decision. The only path to travel now is the one ahead of us, and I feel we should journey as quickly and efficiently as possible. So, if this Millas thinks he can delay us with some bravado show of arrogance, then he is sadly mistaken. I say we stand and fight, and demand they allow us to do so immediately… I fear no man with a blade…” The others all looked at Bhurin in both surprise and subtle shock. His normally diplomatic words and disposition were suddenly burning with a fire. His voice rumbled through their minds, and the look in his eyes became vivacious and passionate. Suddenly, the previous years of Bhurin’s past as an Archmage and Warlord flew through his being. Bhurin was roused to a cause. Balladore merely smiled subtly and nodded. Bhurin’s answer, or its delivery, had come as no shock to him. He knew his friend well, and also that Bhurin would neither abandon his cause or rest soundly until Balladore’s wife and children were safe. “A brother in arms,” Balladore, as he nodded with satisfaction. Then after a quick pause, Balladore turned his attention to his next companion…

Lol! Well articulated, Falcon! Though I possess a fondness for the classics, your point of view is both well understood and appreciated. Quote: ____________________________________________ "Meet, kiss, @#%$, and then die." ____________________________________________ That's almost poetry in itself. In any case, Andrea, may I ask why you selected this particular passage to share with us? Signed-

Bhurin starts to sing "If the sky, we look upon, Should tumble and fall. Or if the moutains, Should they tumble to the sea... I won't be afraid. I won't shed a tear. But just as long as you stand... Stand by me. Darling! Darling! Stand by me! Baby won't you stand, by me? Oh please... Stand by me." The bass line continues, But slowly begins to fade... Please tip your waiter...

Take it easy guys, Why can't we just get along? Nice Haiku Celes!

Carnies? Oh, I'm rather fond of these desserts too that they serve in Boston Pizza (a fav. restaurant of mine). They're called "Chocolate Explosions", and are a heavenly mixture of cheese cake, chocolate mousse, your choice of a berry flavor syrup, smothered in wiping cream, chocolate chuncks and hail, cookie crumbs, sugar and whipping icing, a thin vanilla exterior, coupled with a milk choclate exterior and crowned with cherries. It comes with a disclaimer that anyone who eats it probably will suffer several heart attacks and a stroke. (It's got like five billion calories), but it's worth it. Actually, I'm rather fond of Imps myself. Sadistic and immortal... And funny. Damn funny...