The Bar at the End of the Universe

A tall, not-handsome man steps in the door and blinks. As he raises his eyebrows, he glances around.

Clad in armor, a large sword strapped to his side, he moves with a slow stride to the Bar and settles in front of her and places a hand on her surface.

A large ale appears and he takes a large swig from it before glancing around, with a small smile.


Welcome back to Milliways Sir Sparhawk.

Sparhawk has been spending most of his time with his horse and alone, of late, but today he is out and in the Bar and eating breakfast. He is watching those around him carefully as he sits there, with the Bhelliom always on his mind.

Out in the stables, Sparhawk is leading Faran in to care for him and put him away for the morning after a good morning ride. He is dressed, as usual, in his chain mail and cloak, sword at his side and the small pouch of Bhelliom inside his shirt. It has been a good few weeks, but he is feeling very cabin fever-ish as he has been here much longer than he was ready to be.

Sparhawk rides Faran through the morning weather with little regard for snow, or cold, or any weather trait.

It is in this darkness, still becoming light, that he considers the things that have happened and what may yet occur. On his world, a God is dead and the others are mysteriously silent, quiet, and all seems out of place and odd. Here, tensions seem to have been very off for days. For now, for whatever it is worth, Sparhawk is wary and on edge.

As he finishes the ride and unsaddles and tends Faran, he wonders what will happen next.

He heads into the Bar, and orders a large breakfast, quiet and brooding as ever.

After finishing the task of looking after his horse, Sparhawk is inside, eating a late lunch and watching the Bar. He is still feeling a little overwhelmed at all that has happened in his world, with losing his friend and having to kill a God and coming into possession of a powerful artifact. However, several days of taking in the atmosphere here at Milliways have slowly eased his tension, and the weight upon his shoulders and he sits a little higher today than he has since he arrived this time.

Sir Sparhawk is at the Bar, drinking in his tunic, boots, and pants, his sword on his belt. He is reading something Bar provided for him, translated into his own language, a small storybook. He doesn't know about St. Valentine's Day and really wouldn't want to know. He has a lot on his mind right now.

Sparhawk is rather annoyed. Once again pulled into Milliways at a moment when he wasn't expecting it, and this time at a time when his heart is heavy, he is rather put out with it all, especially since he didn't remember Milliways at all while he was gone. The weight of Bhelliom and of killing Azash stood hard on his heart, as did the death of Kurik.

Having these memories of Milliways suddenly flooding into his mind on top of everything else was... irritating and almost more than he wanted or could deal with.

So he did what he did when he was most irritated, he went riding.

Thus, now, there is a Sparhawk, on a Faran, riding out in the back area, Bhelliom tucked into his shirt, as usual.

The Door opens and snow swirls beyond it for a moment before Sir Sparhawk, on Faran, rides through.

The horse stops almost immediately, and stares around at the Bar as if startled. Sparhawk, bent over to avoid the snow, looks up and then groans as he glances back at the vanished Door. memory floods into him and he sighs as he slips off the horse.

"Milliways."

It is spoken as one half oath, one half prayer and the look Sparhawk casts around is both gladness he is there and sadness and despair.

"We're back."

Faran makes a noise, and there is a definite sense of 'well, naturally', to his tone. Sparhawk grins at his horse then nods towards the back Door.

"Come on, we had better get you settled. No telling how long we will be here this time. Of all the times, now the Bar had to pick us out and snatch us in. I hope it is ready to deal with Bhelliom..."

And Sparhawk leads Faran out into the back.

Minutes later, he is back, brushing snow off of him before he comes in and he settles onto a barstool for a few moments, clad in solid black platemail and his cloak, armor that shines darkly.

"Bar, Ale please."

The drinks appears and Sparhawk takes it gladly.

Anakha is back in the Bar.