Bhurin

Now stepped forward the man who begun This fasade, inflating his lungs. With his mind nursed in drink, And straining to think, It was time to pull out the big guns! "I have n'er in my long life before, Seen a gather'in of bards so hard core! So many big words, And devices I've heard, T'are the greatest word weavers of lore! I can hardly keep up now I fear... (Hey bartender, could you please top my beer?) Now where was I? Oh yes, Forgive my mind, tis a mess, But I can't b'lieve the words that I hear. E'er since this contest began, I learn more and more stuff as it ran. I'd have never have thunk, Even though I am drunk That Perd' was a 'Dew drinking man. The muses' own I see 'fore my eyes, Some witty, some noble, some wise. Word smiths ye all be, (And prob'ly tired o' me) But contests like this n'er have ties. But over it ain't just quite yet, So those still to post needn't fret. I'll call an end to this craze, In just seven days, So all of ye please heed my threat! Now some questions that're bugging my mind, About limericks, and I don't mean to whine, But as far as I know, Cause I've never been told, They shouldn't exceed more then five lines. Now finally a question I dread To ask, but it needs to be said. Can anyone see, And say honestly: Do I have an elf on my head?

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...

This poem is more artsy than what I normally do. I like the atmosphere more than anything. (This poem is quite surprising to me actually, because it took me only ten minutes to write, while it's kin normally take me a few hours...) Enjoy Nocturne A cold breeze kisses your cheek, Almost sinful. Almost pure. You stand alone within this world, Stead fast, yet unsure. Dark as void. Bright as shade. Like a flowing ebony veil. Caressing all things with feather touch, With a silent, soul piercing gale. A scent is upon the breeze, You catch it, then its gone. With vague intimacy, it frightens you, For the sense feels somehow wrong. Your soul on fire, your blood runs cold, You feel this sense of dread. That feeling somehow spoke to you, With words that remain unsaid. You want to leave. Yet, you stay. Somehow, this place is home. The words you heard, spoke not of fear. But more like a love poem. Yet you hesitate this feeling, Your eyes deceive your heart. The feeling of this place as home, Is suddenly torn apart. The darkness consumes. It has you now. But you tear away, cry out for aegis. The fear is gone. You escape its grasp. Your soul becomes courageous. You shatter this sable gem, Your shouts ring out. Silence broken. The true words of the darkness poem, Are sadly left unspoken. Yet this holds no grief for you, You left that world behind. You push the feeling away from you. You rid it from your mind. Although you know not what to think. There's nothing left to say. The Darkness is a memory. You rub the kiss away. Signed-

Bhurin, a little woozy now from the required drinking, steps forward... Oh Peredhil and dear Minta Rose, The first of the last of my Foes? Who would want to compete, With the Pen's high elite? I think that I'll just stick to prose... Hiccup! (Bhurin reaches for a stein of Dwarven Rum) Wait, that rhymed!

"Greetings all!" Called forth Bhurin as he raised a glass into the air, "how is everyone this eve?" The room suddenly became unnaturally quiet, as Bhurin realized that few people actually hung around the old tavern, and those that were there did not seem to be in the answering mood. That would not due at all. "Come on everyone!" Bhurin urged, walking toward the few occupants in the bar, "don't be so quiet! The Gods gave you a voice, so use it!" "For what?" Came a voice from somewere within the crowd, "not a lot to do in here. Most the poetry and such goes in the other rooms." "Alright then..." Bhurin said, rubbing his chin thoughtfully, "how about a good old fashion Drunken Limerick Fasade? It's a little less formal than regular poetry, so I don't think anyone would mind if we held one in here. Come on! I'll even start!" Bhurin suddenly ran to the bar, and leapt upon the counter. "Now you're supposed to make them up on the spot (as I trust you all will) but I'll start with one I wrote just recently, since I'm not drunk yet. here goes!" T'was a sawer by the name of Sawcy, Who saw a seesaw on the sea, When some kids happend by, they looked out, and they cried, "Sawcy's sawing the seesaw he saw, see?" "Alright, that one wasn't too good. But like I said I'm not drunk yet." Bhurin suddenly dropped his wallet on the bar, and said, "We'll decide who's the winner later, and I'll even give them a prize! So whose up next?"

It is, indeed, very beautiful. Mournful but beautiful. An interesting comment on (what we can only hope are) past realities. Indeed, regretful we cannot hear it sung...

Hey all, I'm rather excited. This is my first official posting as a member of this guild. Horrah! This poem was D&D inspired, which is why it doesn't reach a real conclusive end. I was rather fond of it however (as I'm a stikler for poems with interesting structures, and I tried to give the middle line of each verse a unique form). In any case, I hope you enjoy it. - Bhurin The End to Darkness Gather one and gather all, And lend your ears to hear the fall of the one once called the Vampire King, And the legend of his Hellish ring. He who once was not said forth, By those who felt their lives had worth and lived within his tyrannous shade, For down a many a life he’d laid. Upon the living this King had fed, And all who opposed his rule were dead and buried within unholy ground. A kingdom lost, and never found. And like a Shepard twisted cruel, He kept the living round his rule so that he could take all they had. And punish life, the evil cad. But, though he had the teeth and thirst, This Vampire truly was the worst for not oft did he drink blood red. He yearned to devour souls instead. Thus to Corruption’s Lord he paid, A worthy tribute. And, once made, Krel vowed his hand to do His toil, In exchange for power, forever loyal. Then bestowed upon the Vampire Lord, From the depths of morbid demon hoards a ring of gold, and nothing more. Its darker truth was soon in store. For soon Krel found the ring’s true wyrd, To inflict unimaginable pain and fear, till he found the dire ring’ true vice: Its use would mean a gruesome price. For to sap the soul of a living man, The ring, to do so, would demand its wearer’s blood to flow forth first. To satisfy the demon thirst. So Krel, blade drawn, would slit his throat, And with his blood he cruelly wrote the end of thousands of mortal men. To darkness lost, ne’er found again. For many a turn of painful day, Things continued forth this way until, they say, there came a man. Draped in shadow, Claw in hand. Who waved his arm and slew Krel’s kin, And came before the King of Sin, demanding ring and nothing more. But Krel cried forth a bloody roar. The Vampire King yelled forth his rage, Cursed words at this unknown mage, demanding vengeance for his misdeed. Blinded by unholy greed. The mage slowly held forth his hand, And, in softest words, then gave command that he shalt have the ring one way Or another, by the break of day. Krel roared and rose, his rage unleashed, And as though some greater force beseeched, became demonic in form and thought, His thirst for blood and death ran hot. He tore toward the silent mage, And struck at him with all his rage and fury with demonic speed. Intent to watch this mongrel bleed. But none his blows befell the man, And suddenly, with striking hand, the mage gripped Krel’s now scar’ed gorge, His strength the steel of Titan forged. The wizard held the King aloft, And said, his voice still whisper soft, that now doth end his darkness reign. With thrust of Claw, he stopped the pain. And just as soon as he appeared, The mage slew the Lord of vice and fear then vanished from the delivered land, The golden ring upon his hand. And none had chance to hear his name, Or what the fate of him became. Never heard nor ever seen, Nor what fate befell the ring. But never was the man forgot, The man with who the darkness fought and lost. Who broke Krel’s law. Who slew the beast with Howling Claw. And brought life back to tortured men, So that their souls were safe again. Thus the just and true had won. And here my tale’s course has run, No word the less or more. I’m done. Edited by: Bhurin at: 12/26/01 10:20:19 pm

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-

As Bhurin removes the razor sharp pin from his mighty pectoral muscle, he smiles casually at his greeters. "Thanks Peredhil, I... Appreciate that. My email is archlords@hotmail.com I'll be happy to send you a letter if necessary". Bhurin turns to Zadown, an old face amoung new ones. "Zadown, good to see you. Glad to see your still around (though I guess you've been more than I have). I'm really looking forward to reading yours and everyone else's material. This is a most convenient and interesting guild. Let me know if there are any 'initiations' I need to know about." - Bhurin Order of the Quill Initiate of the Pen Supporter of MIRACLE "Click the Banners!"

As the echoes of the uproar faded and died into the walls of the room, and the cheers finally rested in the throats of the audience, the world seemed to slow for a moment. Seconds began to pass almost agonizingly so, as the elders of the Pen observed the reaction of Bhurin. Bhurin, winged writer of Terra, stood bewildered affront them all, his head tilted down and gazing blankly at the acceptance form. “I… I don’t know what to say…” the angel-like like creature said, his voice straining not to crack. “Um… I… Yeah…” The crowd smiled at Bhurin’s obvious awkwardness. Indeed it was rare to catch him speechless, and here, having known him only a short time, had accomplished the infrequent task. “Come on Bhurin,” Wyvern said, “Don’t tell us you’ve tapped that hefty reservoir of words you boasted of”. Bhurin smiled knowingly, nodding his head at Wyvern’s remark. “Aye, friend, an everlasting supply I claim to have. But sometimes -and I cannot believe I’m saying this to fellow writers- words can taint a situation.” Bhurin strode over to them, eager to meet his new associates, and hopefully future friends. “It is good to meet you all. May we come to know one another better through verse or through contact. I think this is the beginning of a glorious relationship…” Signed- Bhurin Order of the Quill (What shall I sign here now? What title? What position? What rank?) J Supporter of MIRACLE "Click the Banners!"

Dear writers of the Pen. Greetings, skillful artisans of lordly caliber, you see before you today a man seeking fellowship. I was prompted to this place after much ado from a friend of mine, Foe Calibur, of whom I hear of endless praise of this establishment and the talents that reside therein. Curiousity, finally, defeated me, and hence I am here. And, from initial impressions, I am greatly humbled and amazed by what I have seen and read within these pages. So I come before thee in hope of acceptance to stand amoung these talents and receive their work and their opinions of my own. However, no application would be complete without an interview of sorts. Where shall I begin??? I am a Canadian (for those interested in geology), while other personal information is normally reserved for friends known for a spell (which I truly hope will be the case.) I've been writing for most of my life, most interested in poetry and prose of the lengthy sort (I normally write long stories that I hope will turn into novels). I've been playing archmage for about a year and a half, and have spent most of that presiding as the Diplomat of Foe's guild on server. I have done various things and accomplished various accomplishments thus far in my life (which I shall not bore you with ), and generally wish to write for a living. It is my passion and my pleasure. I am a member of the Order of the Quill of the Legion of the White Rose on Ager. Other than that, I'm just breaking into posting my stuff on line. So, if you like long winded stories of the usual, borish type that go on and on about epic battles and struggles, all the while daring to reach into the minds of its characters and make them question the very fabric of their being, I'm your man. I also write Haikus. (In Japanese no less!) Enclosed is a copy of one of my favorite poems. (It's a little long, though my initial statement was merely an idle threat). It is entitled Fearsome Streets. Fearsome Streets As I stare into the dark, Like a powerful monarch, My eyes piercing, like a shark, Scanning the endless evening gloom. I pause for just a moment, Not seeking an opponent, Or to rustle what is dormant, Deep within the haunting doom. So then I look no deeper, For I might just glance the Reaper, And I don’t need some street sweeper, To make off with my watch or cane. So then I swallow, and I cough, And with my footsteps extra soft, I begin to quickly take off, Back down the route I came. But then I hear a sound, And I quickly whirl around, As my heart begins to pound, And my breath is held in fright. My eyes dart to walls and doors, And with results same as before, I see darkness, nothing more, At this ungodly hour of the night. So then I shake my head and laugh, For I’ve dealt with worse riff-raff, And now, ignoring the cold draft, I continue on my way. As I walk down the dark road, Convinced I heard a cat or toad, (All these thoughts a burdening load) “This place must look better during the day.” But then I hear the screech of Death, I jump, then gasp, and hold my breath, For it’s loud enough to wake Macbeth, Like a tribe of screaming Apache. Something flutters past my head, And, when I realize that I’m not dead, I look up, to see eyes of red, “’Tis a mere bat, not a banshee.” “Only a creature of the night, Out on an evening lunar flight, With a bark worse than is bite.” I nod to myself, and smile. But then it drops down from the sky, Lands, and gives me an evil-eye, As if it thought it were smarter than I, And the thought makes my skin rile. So I glance up, quick and brief, It’s as still as a dead leaf, And its gaze fills me with grief, As if I were its prey. “If so much interest to you I bring, May I comment on just one thing? Well, your voice was never meant to sing. That’s all I wanted to say.” But no retort do I receive. No snake tongued words, meant to deceive, But as I turn, about to leave, I look up, and the bat is gone. As fear begins to clutch my throat, I quickly clasp and close my coat. And plainly, as if said or wrote, I knew something was terribly wrong. I became exasperated, At what seemed was planned and fated, As if somehow it plainly stated, That, “You are going to die.” I began to hurry down the street, As if something possessed my feet, Starting to sweat from the cold heat, “I only imagined it,” I lied. My steps rapping against the stone, And with the thought that I’m here, alone, Chills me right down to the bone, And shiver as I sweat. Then I stop to calm my breathing, My head is spinning, like I’m dreaming, My heart pounds as I am seething, “How much worse can all this get?” My thoughts are swarming, like a riot. I stop to listen, but it’s quiet. All this silence, I don’t buy it, My eyes narrow, and I frown. I clutch my cane now, very tight, Prepared to defend my self or fight, For I’ll fear nothing more tonight! Within this darkness I’ll not drown. But suddenly I hear a howl, That’s so wretched, and so foul, That my face losses its scowl, And I drop my cane, than flee. As I run, I bite my lip, My legs burn, as if they’ll rip. But then I stumble, and I trip, And I scrape my hands and knees. As I slowly rise back to my feet, My hands bleed as my heart beats, But I will not accept defeat. I brush myself off, and press on. But my battered legs are sore, And I cannot run a sole step more, Because my skin has ripped and tore, And the cuts run deep and long. I rub the blood off, on my shirt, But this presses in the dirt, Causing my hands to throb and hurt. The sight makes my head light. Now I reach the long block’s end, My scattered thoughts begin to mend; For I find a trusted friend. Lines of lamp lights, shining bright. Now my heart begins to calm, As I slowly walk, and clutch my palm. “I must treat this with healing balm,” My words are confident and strong. But as I pass each dark, closed door, (With none of them I’ve seen before) I begin to wonder more and more, If I could possibly be wrong. I begin to scour for a sign, That one of these winding streets are mine, A simple street post would be fine, I only long to get back home. But then I hear a distant tapping, That wakes my troubled mind from napping, As if scampering feet were scampering, Against the cold cobblestone. Once again I gasp in fear, As the sound draws close and near. But without a single sob or tear, I ignore it, and press on. As fog rolls in, so thick and dense, I swear I’d pay any pound or pence, If only I could find my fence, And gate, and house, and lawn. Then, adding to my frightful toil, I bump into something, and recoil. But I find then it’s a stone gargoyle, And that, in fact, its mine! I suddenly begin to cheer, So all the whole city could hear, Because I lost my frights and fears, And that suited me just fine. And so I quickly rush inside, Laughing for thinking I might have died. I burst the front door open wide, And standing there, is my wife. “Where have you been? What did you do? It’s almost a quarter and a half past two! I was worried about what happened to you!” Shrieked my greatest love in life. “I got lost!” I almost cried, “I feared for my life, I almost died! I thought of you.” I quickly lied, “And got blood on my good silk.” “Oh my gosh honey! Oh no! I should never have let you go. But… there’s just one thing I’d like to know… Where exactly, is the milk?” - Cody Vigue Well, I congratulate you if you made it through. I was particularly proud of the rhyme scheme (aaab cccb). Well, that's that. I await your answer. Until then, however, I think I will take that open invitation, and peruse some of your boards. Yours in request- Bhurin Order of the Quill (LotWR)