The Seventh Star Inn

[mark12_30]

Oak, Beech, and Willow finished their drinks, stood up from their table, and wandered toward the door. As they went, Beech glanced up at the wall, and paused.

Oak stopped and waited, and Willow swayed impatiently. Beech ran his hands through his hair, and shook his head. "...admitted to the Tower of Ecthelion as an adventurer admitted to practice her trade.... " he muttered.

"What?" said Willow.

Beech said it again, louder. "Has been named on the roles posted in the Tower of Ecthelion as an adventurer admitted to practice his trade in the Realm of Gondor."

Oak and Willow exchanged confused glances.

"We have neard little news, " Beech said. "Perhaps the messengers have been waylaid or news has not come this far. But I am sure there have been adventurers in Rohan whose names would be expected here. But none have been announced for quite a while. Do you not think so?"

"I think you're daft, " replied Oak.

"You think everyone is daft," replied Willow.

"Nevertheless, I think it is odd that we have seen no new adventurers from Rohan in over a year, " said Beech.

"Oh, you fret too much, " said Oak.

"You don't think enough, " said Willow.

Still bickering, the Three Trees walked out of the dark Inn into the bright afternoon.

[Thenamir]

A long silence had fallen over the Star (unlike stars which usually fall in silence) and somehow in the quiet a newcomer had slipped into their midst, though no one had seen him enter. He smiled not at all, gazing long and steadily at all in the room in turn, though never was he the first to drop his eyes.

He was of average height, but unnaturally thin and pale, as though he had spent long hours seated in cold and cramped places illumined by lights most unnatural. His visage was young, but drawn and pale. He wore an odd thin black mask which appeared to hold a pair of smoothly flat pieces of glass before his eyes. His breeches and tunic were of a supple but very strong material of a light blue nearing white, and upon his breast there was a pocket containing three or four small thin rods of varying hues. In one hand he bore a staff of white, in the other a new-looking parchment.

He strode through the silent throng to the Wall of Notices. Oddments of parchments now crumbling with age, old advertisements for questors and adventurers, still hung there, mute testament to the loremasters and warriors of olden times. He shook his head sadly as he glanced through the bits and pieces of lore gone by. But in a moment his staff was up, and with a quick motion he swept the detritus from the wall. In the resulting open space he slapped the parchment to the wall, pinning it quickly with four smart taps of his staff to the corners of the document.

Any activity of this kind was now so rare in the Seventh Star as to be nearly equivalent to legend and myth, and many were those in the Star who started at the newcomer's actions, and many who desired to read the portents which the new posting contained. But none would approach yet, as the stranger slowly turned to face them.

"I am come on the request of Merisuwyniel," he said in the voice of a squeaky countertenor of the very worst boy-bands, "she of the Quest of the Entish Bow, Whose Golden Tresses Are Always Perfectly Coiffed, and Who the merest dust mote would never deem to touch. Many were the misadventures of that quest. Many were the vile puns and insults of low humor that she endured and yet came forth victorious -- the Ent is now reunited! Yet many foolhardy and faux-hearty souls were lost along the way. And now, at the denouement of her adventures, a new quest has been laid upon her by the Yawanna, the Green Goddess herself (may her dressings never sour) to restore the lost King, the questionable Halfemption Gormlessar, to the throne of Grundor in Minus Teeth, the high city (referring mostly to the special pipeweed there). There are yet more posts to riposte, more gaffes to gather, and more continuity to contort! Join us as we seek parity in parody! Let the Barrow-Writers come forth and join us in REB III: The Return of the Entish Beings!"

With that, the nearly-white-clad stranger spoke softly into the head of his staff the words of great power: "Beeme meup Skotii!" Moments later the stranger disappeared in a sparkly display of mixed-metaphorical anachronisms...