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Old 11-20-2002, 08:25 AM   #9
Rimbaud
The Perilous Poet
 
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Join Date: Apr 2002
Location: Heart of the matter
Posts: 1,096
Rimbaud has just left Hobbiton.
Pipe

Upon his return from the stores with the Princess Telcontar, Rimbaud noted that the Company at the Inn had swelled. He smiled to see some familiar faces.

He greeted Melichus and sat him at a table and motioned for wine to be brought. "All are welcome here, Sir," he murmured. He nodded approval at the Tale of Dorathain, and bid the man softly to introduce himself to the Star.

Then, he straightened from his work and scanned the great hall.

"Welcome all! It is fine to see so many talented writers gracing The Seventh Star."

The Innkeeper smiled a smile to himself at the tale and appearance of the tall Mithadan. The Man had not suffered as greatly at the hands of the she-Elf as he would have others believe, thought the barkeep, but kept his counsel silent.

To the others, Rimbaud beckoned service and bade them good welcome. As they made good their repast, he spoke of the strict code of story telling existent in Gondor.

"Ah, but it is an ambitious mortal that steps through these gates. When our Founders of Tales embark on the telling of some new legend, there will be opportunity to examine these fresh faces and keen young minds." Rimbaud paused, as he poured himself a glass of a deep red wine. He paced back and forth before the great fireplace, as if deep in thought.

Finally, he looked up and gazed around the room. All eyes, as he had expected, immediately turned away, as if they had not been watching, anticipating.

"All are welcome at the Star," he began, quietly. "Yet those whose faces are new to the Star may have to wait for suitable opportunity and an invitation." He sighed and looked troubled. "Neighbouring Rohan will soon have tales to be told, and opportunities there will be manifold, especially for such experienced writers as I see in this room. For the Tales of Gondor are few, as yet, and their membership complete - if not replete."

At this gentle rhyme, his demeanour altered and he stopped his pacing, and stood by one of the great, gilded golden lamps at the fireplace. "However!" he cried in a deep and sonorous voice. "Pray continue to regale us at the Star, that we may come to know thee better." His voice dropped again, yet carried clearly. "For all are welcome here, for a time at least."

The room fell deathly quiet upon these last words. Quiet apart from Mithadan who was chuckling into a drink of some indeterminate liquid. If Rimbaud had been the sort of gentleman prone to rolling his eyes - no gentleman at all, some would warrant - he most likely would have indulged himself at this juncture. Instead he clicked his fingers. The fire in the great hearth sprang afresh, and the lights brightened.

Musicians bounded from doors not yet noted, and struck up a strangely melancholic verse. Rimbaud returned to the great black desk at the head of the room, dipped the quill that was ever within his blue waist sash in the inkwell, and busied himself with writings unknown.

Talk returned slowly to the the Seventh Star. The melodies drifted and swayed beneath the graceful ceiling beams, and smoke from the fire wreathed its way into the chimney.

[ November 20, 2002: Message edited by: Rimbaud ]
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