The writing below occurred after a nice bit of Journaling, which happened right after my last post. It was preceded by a few hundred words to cap off the previous chapter.

I put it here to show something just below 1400 words total, in a short period of time. Not to highlight the writing, but, I was talking about 2K words being a very reasonable AVERAGE goal.

In order to keep that average, I have to have my 3K, and my 4K, and, very occasionally, my 4.5K days.

I want to “reward” myself, with a bit of video game playing, but, before I do that, I feel “Raven“, my character, needs to be on the move. I want to leave him somewhere in transition. Not at a stopping place.

So, here are about 1100 words forming the chapter I wrote between these posts. And now, I leave you to allow Raven, and Beast, and Rider, to pursue, the “One”, and see where it all may go.

I will be as surprised as you.

– Timberbee

• By The Way; No one reads these, right Now, but I write them for the future, when, You will. When. You. Will.

Someday.

^_^

The Cross Worlds Tavern

I stood before the worn sign. A light, swinging, banging, upon the ancient looking boards of the place.

Large shuttered windows, on either side of a flimsy, weathered, wooden, door. Ancient, worn, iron hardware. Which fit the hand well.

I was surprised, to see myself gripping the large, black, wrought iron handle, my thumb already depressing the large, smooth, tongue, my arm pulling back, a door, far, far heavier, stouter than it looked.

All without conscious thought.

I paused at the threshold.

Rain now, coming down in sheets, pouring now, like a river, amidst trees which, hadn’t been there, a moment before, and I stood, there, almost over the threshold, yet, in a bubble, protected from the deluge. Unable to think. Unable to move, until, a gesture, distant, of a man behind the bar.

A grand, welcoming gesture, and,

I moved, life flowing into limbs which had been, momentarily, frozen, where, just before, they moved of their own volition.

It was the act of crossing the threshold. I saw, as Rider replayed it for us.

We were all here. At this place I have been to before. More times than I have recalled, I see now. I knew, without understanding how, for I had no memories beyond the few recent occurrences, yet I knew, deeply, deeply knew, that I had been here, countless times, and there had been many, many barmen and, many, many,

“Angel.”

I said, awoken out of my revery, by a welcoming hand upon my arm, and, I realized, I had yet been in a state, and was, just now, fully free of it. Fully… invited, into this place.

I stared back at the door.

We were standing at the table. The singular, round, standing height table, two drinks before us, no,

Not two.

Three.

“Rider doesn’t drink, I think, correct?”
He said,

And,

I stared, speechlessly at the door, just now, closing, of its own, settling, again, into its frame, blotting out the raging storm, which I now saw, through the single, large, smoked, window, to my right of the door.

There was no second large window, simply a small one, high and to the left. Very small, up, behind the bar, which ran to my left, behind which was the figure who had, earlier,

Earlier?

Beckoned me.

I saw wet footprints, leading from the door to the many booths, in the deeper section of the Tavern, to my right. Wet, fresh, prints, atop two older sets, all leading the same way, none leading here.

Angel laughed, low and deep, not unpleasant.

He raised a mug and, this time, I saw him drink, deeply, white foam staining his upper lip, and I realized, though I was staring at his face,

I could not describe it. Knew he had eyes. Believed there were two, but could not say color, could not say shape.

Sharp teeth?

Even as I thought it, I saw an image within my mind, saw teeth like an Orc’s (How did I know what an Orc looked like), emerge, then fade, to things sleek, and bone white, ancient, veined white, sharp and oh so long, oh so, delicate, so, deadly.

Horns or hair?

Scaly skin or smooth?

It was as though I could see, and, could not, that, anything I could imagine was possible, and, yet, was not, the, truth.

He smiled, nodded at my own beer, and I saw the one for Beast, in a silver entwined tankard, glass, heavy, clear, glass, wrapped round with both dull and bright, silver.

“Pick it up.”
He said,

Without hesitation, I did so.

The brew was strong of scent, and black, as pitch and night, yet with a heavy froth.

The lid was back and I was in the process of raising it to my lips when he caught my wrist, gently, and wagged a finger at me,
But,

I drew in the scent, remembering days long gone, some memory I knew to be good, of some far, far off day, I knew to be a childhood, and I would drink of this. Would consume this memory, of that day, where children played, made noise of joy, and a parents face threatened to swim into view.

I would have this, I would…

“So rebellious.”
He said,

And my own drink was upon the table. My hand curled about it. A plain tankard, of heavy, clear glass, and a pale ale, within. No scents of yesterday, no promises of a normal life,

Nothing but, fermented grains.

“So rebellious.”
He repeated.

“That is why you are here. You know that, right? You thought to be reunited. Well,”
He said, slowly, leaning his great bulk slowly forward, and it was then I noticed, I was, a boy. A lad. Though the table still came to below my chest, still, his presence was massive, before me.

Looming over me.

Staring down into my eyes. My eyes. Which did not flinch, did not shy away, did not fear, did not anger. Simply, stared back, and all the today’s all the tomorrows, were the same, and,

Yesterday?

It did not exist.

There was no yesterday.

There was no Tomorrow.

Not even, a,

Now.

And, yet there was. There was a here, but, I could not reach it. It was like his face. I was in a place, not here, and, not there.

And, I decided, here was as good a place as anywhere.

Beast gripped his drink in a massive, fur covered, claw tipped, hand, and, stared down into the black whirlpool I mistook for froth, for foam. It was a thing to draw one in, to drown one, in the,

Promise,

Of something else.

Just, the promise. No more. No less. Just, a wish, to be wished, to be tasted, to be held within, forever, and I saw that, not here, but elsewhere, there were rows upon rows of those who were lost in wishes. Dreams. Sighs.

Beast stared and,

Smiled. Then, stared back into Angel’s eyes, and, for the briefest of moments, I saw Angel,

Flinch.

And, then, it was me.

Mammoth hide cloak, throwers and shafts, leather skirt and knives and belt and bags, and, through the thundering, roaring, gale force winds, Angel shouted at me,

“Are you reunited?”

“What!”
I shouted back,

The room fading, the night growing black with rain and wind and debris, and the roaring, crashing, thundering waves almost,
Almost,

Drowned out his retreating,

Laughter.