The Bar-Bearian [A Pub]

The fair valley of Rivendell, upon whose house the stars of heaven most brightly shone.
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Balrog
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A bear there was, a bear, a bear!
All black and brown, and covered with hair.
The bear! The bear!

Oh come they said, oh come to the fair!
The fair? Said he, but I'm a bear!
All black and brown, and covered with hair!

And down the road from here to there.
From here! To there!
Three boys, a goat and a dancing bear!
They danced and spun, all the way to the fair!
The fair! The fair!

Oh, sweet she was, and pure and fair!
The maid with honey in her hair!
Her hair! Her hair!
The maid with honey in her hair!

The bear smelled the scent on the summer air.
The bear! The bear!
All black and brown and covered with hair!

He smelled the scent on the summer air!
He sniffed and roared and smelled it there!
Honey on the summer air!

Oh, I'm a maid, and I'm pure and fair!
I'll never dance with a hairy bear!
A bear! A bear!
I'll never dance with a hairy bear!

The bear, the bear!
Lifted her high into the air!
The bear! The bear!

I called for a knight, but you're a bear!
A bear, a bear!
All black and brown and covered with hair

She kicked and wailed, the maid so fair,
But he licked the honey from her hair.
Her hair! Her hair!
He licked the honey from her hair!

Then she sighed and squealed and kicked the air!
My bear! She sang. My bear so fair!
And off they went, from here to there,
The bear, the bear, and the maiden fair

--"The Bear and the Maiden Fair"

Nestled in a vibrant and verdant corner of Greenwood the Great, far from the troubling darkness of the southern reaches, sits a small, nameless brook with clear, bubbling waters. Fed from crystal clear springs, this nameless little stream wanders and meanders through a hundred different groves and clearings before it reaches a tiny oxbow lake amidst a great copse of trees. Pines, oak, beech, willow, ash, spruce, rowan, maple, and fir. The weather is perfect, clear for miles and miles. The sun is out, throwing golden light that flitters through the leaves to cast shadows of a hundred different hues and colors. This little corner of the forest is alive with the sounds of running water, songbirds, insects, and… are those bears?

Indeed! Any weary, paw sore traveler that comes upon this hidden grove has arrived at the Bar-Bearian, a majestic, open-air tavern constructed, under the auspices of Beorn, by and for bears of the Wilderlands, a special place for those of the ursine variety to kick back, relax, snag some salmon, and make a nuisance of themselves in a perfect safe environment.

Under the eaves of an ash tree so large it almost looks like a mountain sits the bar, a rudimentary thing made from old logs, stones, and moss. It wouldn’t win any fashion contests with the elves, but when one caters to bears, one has to build with sturdiness in mind. Behind the bar is Beorn himself! What is he doing here, of all places? Even the greatest skinchanger Middle-Earth has ever seen needs to place to put his paws up and take it easy once in a while. Not far from the bar are a dozen wide, sturdy hammocks, perfect for taking quick bear naps should the need arise.


Drinks
Old Dorwinion – Stolen from the Elvenking by none other than the caper master herelf, Osa
Black(bear)y Wine – Created by Alagon, an elf of immense brewing talents but less than desirable security (also pilfered by Osa)
Beorn’s Special Reserve – No bar created by Beorn would be complete without his world-famous honeyed wine
Grizzly Bear Stout – A thick, almost black beer that is guaranteed to give you the fearlessness of a grizzly
Trow Bridge Porter – Brewed with dark summer fruits for a delightful hint of sweetness
Radagast’s Rauchbier – Smoky with hints of rosemary and sage, a herbaceous gift from the Brown Wizard himself
Wild Hunt Reserve – A special Bière de Champagne brewed for special occasions by the Mirkwood elite (Osa managed to nick a few bottles)
Osa’s Ancient Grain Stout – Osa’s own, very special brew, smooth and creamy with hearty oat notes
Tea – Black, Mint, Ginger or Cinnamon
Water – Pure, refreshing, ice cold, and straight from the stream

Food
Salmon – Fresh caught fish, broiled over a campfire or raw, whatever your liking
Hare – Snared and stewed with roots and herbs
Venison – Big enough to feed a whole family of bears, raw or oven roasted
Oatcakes – Compliments of Beorn, his own special recipe
(Bear)y Medley – Raspbearies, strawbearies, bluebearies, blackbearies, mullbearies, goosebearies, and hucklebearies, with your choice of honey, coconut, or mint
Stuffed Mushrooms – Delicious, fresh foraged, stuffed with breadcrumbs, crayfish, or pork
Yams – A sweet root staple at any place frequented by Osa
Lembas – a special elven treat, stolen by Osa on her last trip through Lothlórien
Honeycomb – the best dessert a bear could ask for

Rules
1. Normal pub rules apply, no godmoding, be nice, etc or Beorn will toss you out, the TR maintains the right to GM any situation they deem to violate the proscribed rules
2. Refrain from using #556B2F as that will be your humble TR’s (Beorn) color
3. Any and all OOC comments should be directed to the Imladris OOC thread to keep the pub nice and clean
4. And most important: All patrons of the Bar-Bearian must be bears or beornings
Strange Fruit got holes in the flesh but it ain't gonn' spoil cause it never was fresh

Black Númenórean
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Arth was a big, big bear, a large and mighty, roly-poly specimen of a grizzly with strange dark fur that was almost black. His fangs were fierce and his claws were long and curving, leaving deep scores in the ground where he walked, and his huge dark eyes glinted with hunger. This was not because Arth was a particularly devoted hunter or anything, but rather because he was always hungry. A five time winner of the most-rotund ursine contest, his pendulous belly and perfectly rounded limbs demanded to be fed at all times. Even his ears were chubby, round and fuzzy on top of his head. Small creatures tended to flee before Arth wherever he went, when all he really wanted to do was make friends! Such was the price of his glorious roundness he supposed, but it could be awfully lonely. So when he heard that Beorn was hosting a pub in the Greenwood, he hastened south (as hastily as one so girthy could hasten) to join the party, eager for the company of other bears who hopefully wouldn't run away at the sight of him. When Arth finally made it to the clearing he was exhausted, and as tempting as the hammocks were, his stomach growled (sending a nearby squirrel running for cover). He lumbered over to the bar.

"Oh, Beorn!" Arth exclaimed, rising up on his hind legs and flopping his forepaws onto the surface of the bar, his head swiftly following to slump down on top of them, "I'm so hungry! I tried to tell all the bunnies I've gone vegetarian and won't eat them but did they listen? No, and they wouldn't show me their carrots either. Please, please can I have some yams to start? A BIG bowl? Ohhh and mint tea, oh Beorn pleeeeeeeeease," Arth's plaintive request was followed by the emergence of his tongue; from his position half-laying on the bar he could see an errant crumb of honey comb on its surface. He thrust his tongue out to capture it. Just a little further....
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Evil is a lifestyle | she/her

Balrog
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Beorn was around bears again. All was right in the world. Bears were the best. They were just as complex and complicated and sneaky (lookin’ at you Osa) as humans and elves, but they were just easier to be around. Bears were simply better. That’s why Beorn felt the need to be build them a special place to congregate and relax. The sun was shining bright, the air was at that perfect spot between cool and warm, the clouds hung around, but they were fluffy white kind and the only concern with such clouds was determining the exact shape they were mimicking. He wiped out a bowl absently. He’d been wiping that bowl for the last hour, nervously waiting to see how long it took the bears to find the place. There wasn’t exactly a network bears could use to spread word the way that men and elves had. He supposed ravens and thrushes might be amenable to helping with the task, but that was a problem for another day.

And speaking of today’s problem! He laughed as Arth ambled into view. Arth, the biggest, fattest Beorn had ever seen (aside from himself), claimed to be a vegetarian, but even Beorn had a hard time believe that the bear’s very impressive girth had not been augmented by a stream full of trout. “Arth! You old rascal! It’s good to see you.” He gave the bear a scritch behind the ears. “So cruel of those rabbits not to share their carrots,” he agreed with an extra helping drama. He even crossed his arms and scowled in the direction Arth had come. “Well, lucky for you, I have more yams than I know what to do with. Osa… she does love her yams, and stealing them.” He shook his head at the display Arth was making and laughed. Not only was Arth the biggest bear in the woods, he was the most dramatic. “Oh pish-posh Arth! Anymore drama out of you and I’ll send you to Imladris so you can start teaching them how to act.” He hung the cast iron kettle over a nice crackling fire and brought a big bowl (all the bowls were big here at the Bar-Bearian for obvious reasons) and began to peel the yams as the water heated. The kettle began to whistle and, caught up in the relaxing rhythm of peeling, Beorn began to whistle with it, until that is he realized what the sound was.

“Oh bother and confusticate!” The great bear of a man leapt up from his spot and dart over the kettle before the water hissing and bubbled its way into the fire. Grabbing a tea towel (one that looked like comically tiny in Beorn’s massive paws) he lifted the kettle and expertly poured a healthy portion of water into a nearby mug (all bear sized and durable). He let the water settle for a moment then scooped in the mint tea mixture and let it steep. “So Arth. Tell me, besides becoming vegetarian and putting all those elven poets to shame, what have you been up to?”


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A pub! A pub for bears! What could be more perfect? Nothing Osa could think of in that moment, that’s for sure! The golden moon bear shook her fur, finished the yam she’d been snacking on, and bounded into view of the great ash tree. She sniffed the air. There was so much here! When Beorn told her about this place, she hadn’t expected something so extravagant! This was utterly delightful. He’d asked her to procure some special drinks and she’d been only too happy to oblige (mostly because it gave her the chance to hone her sneaking abilities). The place smelled like what Osa imagined Imladris smelled like, only with more bears. This was the absolute height of bear excellence. One might even say it was “the beary best for bears” and Osa would naturally agree.

Her stomach rumbled. She hadn’t eaten in, she counted on her paws, at least a few minutes now and she was in the mood for something tasty, and maybe stolen. An elf once told her that stolen things taste even sweeter and she had decided then that that was how she was going to live her life.

Arth!” she shouted to the giant bear already lounging and laying on the bar top. “You look as glorious and fat as ever!” You always complimented grizzlies, it buttered them up and helped you sneak passed their defenses so you can nab whatever it was they were eating. In this case, Osa grinned and with a surreptitious paw, managed to snag one of the yams Beorn had left in the bowl for Arth. It tasted sweet and honeyed! She grinned and licked her chops innocently as soon as she scarfed down the delectable root. “I think I shall have a glass of black(bear)y wine. Wherever did you get that?” She did her best to look innocent.
Strange Fruit got holes in the flesh but it ain't gonn' spoil cause it never was fresh

Khazad Elder
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Paws Hunig (his real name was Deonor Hunig, but everyone called him Paws because of his large hands) walked beneath the large ash's eaves and looked about the surroundings. The Beorning had a long face that suited his tall, lean body. A shock of golden-yellow hair rose from his scalp, then curled down towards his face, past his furrowed brow, over his eye, and on to meet his thick beard. He wore high black boots, fitted trousers and a leather jerkin over a soft fleece shirt.

Paws didn't talk much if he didn't have to. He mostly grunted and growled. He spent most of his childhood in the company of bears who used the bear speech - his father and mother being skin-changers. He did learn to speak the Common Tongue but used it haltingly and rarely. And although he did have the ability to take the shape of a bear-like his sires, he never did. Not because he couldn't or didn't know how to or was afraid; he never changed because, as his name implied, his large bear paws would not serve him in what he liked to do the most and the best, while his large man hands did. And that was, playing with his spoons.

It seemed like he had had a spoon in his hand since he was young. At first, it was because he couldn't get enough of the honey that his father stored in the large earthen-ware pots that lined the walls of the honey shed. Then as he grew older, he became bolder and greedier (after all, he was a growing lad) and would have two spoons, one in each hand, ready to dip into the honey pot. But when his father forbade him, he sat waiting for a chance to sneak at the honey and passed the time hitting the spoons together. First, he did it with his two hands, still too young and uncoordinated to hold the utensils with one hand. Eventually, he soon got the hang of it with one hand and would pass hours striking them against his knee and the palm of his hand, making a jig-style type of sound quite catchy. As he grew older, word of his talent grew in the settlement where he lived. Soon he was playing at weddings and Yule-tide gatherings. It was his passion, and he never went anywhere without his musical spoons.

And so, true to form, he walked up to the bar with his spoons tucked into one of his jerkin's large but secure pockets. He recognized the great one (Beorn) who stood there. He had seen him before but had never spoken with him. Now was his chance. In his deep growly voice, he said.
"Fine pub you have here! I will have a Grizzly Bear Stout!" He then nodded his head and said no more.
Last edited by Drifa on Tue Sep 13, 2022 9:51 am, edited 1 time in total.

Balrog
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Beorn gave a side eye to the golden moon bear but said nothing as she nicked a yam from the bowl he’d set out for Arth. Sadly, the great grizzly was on his own when it came to Osa, who’d pilfer the blueberries out of your hand if she could find a way to do it without getting caught. He put a warning finger then began to attend the workings of his bar again. There never seemed to be an end to things to do; he had to prepare drinks, get food ready to cook, and clean, constantly clean. The downside of having a pub in the middle of the forest was, well there was a lot of the forest in the pub. Not that he minded most of it, aesthetically, he was quite certain there was no bar, pub, tavern, or inn that could stand against his own. He’d never been of course, that would necessitate being around far, far too many men, dwarves, and elves for his liking. He’d heard about them from travelers though. His bar was an approximation of what he assumed most of them to be, plus bears.

With Arth chomping at the bit to get at his yams, and Osa doing her darnedest to get those yams, Beorn had his hands full already. So full that for a moment he didn’t realize the pub already had it’s third patron! When he looked up from the bear shenanigans (or bearnanigans as some might call it) he saw a hug honey haired man with big meaty paws amble up the bar. It took Beorn a moment to recognize the man. They’d never talked face to face, but Beorn was a man who liked to know all the folk that were about in his part of the world. He knew Paws only by reputation, but that reputation was a good one. The great skinchanger wouldn’t have allowed anyone with a bad reputation in his bar (aside from Osa). The man was a great spoon player by all accounts. Beorn wasn’t exactly sure how one played spoons, but whenever the topic came up, several folks (including a few bears) were quick to praise Paws for his playing ability, so much so that Beorn’s question of “what the heck is playing spoons?” never got around to being answered. That was fine with Beorn though, he preferred to listen to most folks rather than do much talking, one got into trouble if one talked too much, he’d found that out a long time ago.

“Well, I’ll be damn! Paws Hunig! It’s good to see you here lad!” the skinchanger’s smile was genuine and broad. He poured a massive stein (all the steins were massive on account of the necessity of their handling by bears who were, by definition, very large) full of the Grizzly Bear Stout. He slid the foaming beverage across the bar and nodded. “Tell me lad, what have you been keepin’ yourself busy with?” He noted the spoons in the man’s pocket and decided he’d ask how those things were “played” at a certain point.

He took his eyes off the golden moon bear and grizzly for half a moment whilst pouring Paws beverage, but out of the corner of his eyes, he saw Osa, who’d presumably stolen enough yams from Arth to satisfy her hunger, sneak up and start sniffing. “I’d watch that one if I were you, she’ll rob you blind of all your food and give you the sweetest smile after you caught her.”
Strange Fruit got holes in the flesh but it ain't gonn' spoil cause it never was fresh

Black Númenórean
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The journey to Greenwood the Great from the far reaches of the north was long and arduous. As Ursula went, the snows receded farther up the mountains, till meager snow caps were all that she could see in these southern lands. Every now and then, the great polar bear lifted her nose to the sky; today, she caught only the faintest sharp scent of cold. The rest was greenery and warm woods, mosses and the animals who lived amongst them. She padded onward.

It was unusual for a bear of her kind to travel so far to the south, but Ursula was nothing if not unusual. She was curious about warmer climes and hungered for more than the fatty seals that could be hunted from the ice floes near her home. What, for example, would a creature with legs taste like? She had found out well enough as she traveled, and she found that she liked it. Rabbits, small as they were, were tasty, but deer were best.

Though she did not know it, this was to be the last year of her childless youth: cubs would enter and become the center of her existence not far in the future. For now, though, she meandered along without a care in the world, save for a persistent thirst.

It was just her luck that she came upon a lovely sparkling stream. She drank deeply, and then caught a delicious scent on the air. Curiosity piqued, she followed her nose into a grove populated by - was her nose deceiving her? - bears of all different kinds! She did not truly believe it until she saw it, and when she saw it, she was floored. Why had she never met any bears on her travels until now? And how was it that there were so many different kinds of bears? She rushed forward, then balked. Was she being too forward? Was she courting some unknown set of dangers? Shs hesitated. A large, dark bear (Arth) proclaimed his hunger loudly to a being (Beorn) who seemed both bear and not-bear all at once. Ursula squinted at him, but could not focus for long because not long after, she caught sight of a beautiful, golden bear (Osa). And then there was another of those beings (Paws) - both bear and not-bear. Ursula grunted her delight and confusion. She gathered her courage and decided to plunge into the midst of the scene - if it all went wrong, at least she would have size on her side.

“My, my!” she said, to no one in particular. “What sights there are to see in the south!” She ambled up to the bar and found a place not far from Paws. “Excuse me, sir,” she said to the man behind the bar. “What is this place? And what are” - her nose twitched - “all those wonderful smells??”
she/her | Esta tierra no es mía, soy de la nocheósfera.

Balrog
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Having finished pilfering most of Arth’s yams (okay all of them because he was too busy watching his tea to notice), Osa noticed the newcomer. She was surprised by the sight of the giant white bear. So surprised that at first she simply stared at the creature. Osa herself was a bear out of place, her home being much further east, but to see a polar bear here, why it was inconceivable! Osa had, of course, never met a polar bear before, having only heard rumors about giant white shadows that hunted in the great north, bears that could appear and disappear as if they were magic. They were real! The golden moon bear couldnʼt believe it! She glanced at Beorn who looked very busy with another large human, presumably a skinchanger. Excellent, he was distracted. Osa crept closer to the polar bear, still half entranced by this creature of pure white. She had no idea bears could even come in that color! It made sense though, the more she thought about it. Bears, unlike humans and elves, could come in dozens of colors and patterns. Sheʼd met blue bears, red bears, black and white bears, white and black bears, brown bears, black bears, even a green bears (though as it turned out it was only a brown bear covered in grass)!

It was Osa’s natural urge to steal and pilfer and borrow. She planned on sidling up to this polar bear and seeing what they had to steal. Then, some inner voice of reason that Osa was forced to listen to from time to time spoke to her. This was a bear that had come a very, very long way. Osa was not exactly sure where “the north” was except it was, well, north and very far away. It would be very mean of her to try and steal from a bear that had travelled such a long way. She looked back at Arth, still staring at his tea as it cooled. It was okay to steal from him, he was a very fat bear who sheʼd known for quite some time. It was expected of her to steal from him. But this new bear, this new bear could be a very great asset in her many planned capers.

Before she had a chance to plop down next to the mighty polar bear, Beorn finally noticed her and made his way over. Drat that man sometimes! Osa growled, crestfallen, and languidly draped herself over the edge of the bar.

“Why this is the Bar-Bearian,” Beorn’s deep, rumbly voice sounded like he was everywhere at once, even as Osa was trying to pretend to ignore him. “A place for all bears to come and relax and let off a little steam. We have whatever kind of food or drink a bear could dream of, even one so far afield as you, my icy friend. You can call me Beorn. Tell me what brings a polar bear this far south? Nothing troubling I hope?”

Osa’s tummy rumbled. She was hungry, starving even. Those yams were delicious, but that had been nearly five minutes ago now! She grumbled and tried to reach for the tray of freshly baked stuffed mushrooms but they were just out of her reach, darn her short paws! Settling, she reached for a bottle of black(bear)y wine, clenched the cork stopper in her teeth and delicately but firmly ripped it out. She brought over a bowl, knocked the bottle over, and watched it fill with the sweet, dark, and stolen liquid. She licked her chops.

“And thatʼs Osa,” Beorn said.

What!?

It had not occurred to the golden moon bear to act stealthily, she was sure that Beorn was distracted with the new bear. She looked up from the bowl and licked her chops again. “Hi!” was all she could think to say, caught as she was with her paw in the cookie jar (mmmmmmmmm, Osa made a mental note to find some cookies later).
Strange Fruit got holes in the flesh but it ain't gonn' spoil cause it never was fresh

Black Númenórean
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“The Bar-Bearian!” Ursula echoed. Although she had never met a skinchanger before, she could tell that the man-but-also-possibly-bear behind the bar was straightforward and down to earth, and she appreciated that. Ursula knew that some men, believing themselves above nature and the creatures with whom they shared the world, hunted bears for sport or killed them out of fear. She had smelled their bitter hatred on the air whenever she’d witnessed the act or come across the aftermath. If she ever met men like that, she would show them no mercy. But the being before her, Beorn, obviously cared for all the bears in the clearing - why else would he stand behind this large table and feed them? All these thoughts made her stomach rumble trustingly, and Ursula decided that she could eat and drink the fare here without fear of coming to any harm.

“Nothing troubling, no,” she said. Her voice was low and resonant, the hallmark of her kind. But being young and female, it also possessed a sweetness which smoothed away any rough edges. “But I looked at the icy landscape of my home one day and wondered if everything everywhere was white and cold. What would happen if I ventured straight east, or west, or north, or south? We polar bears tell no tales beyond the frigid bounds of the northern tundra, and I wondered why that was. Was that all there is to the world? Maybe, and maybe not. So I set off to find out. For my first adventure, I chose to go south, and now here I am. As for food, I have grown rather fond of deer in my travels south. Do you have any of that, by chance?”

She sat before the bar and tried to disentangle and identify the many aromas floating on the air. A pungent scent suddenly wafted toward her, and she sniffed in its direction. Oh! There was the beautiful golden bear, filling a bowl with the strange-smelling liquid. Beorn introduced the thirsty bear as Osa.

“Hello!” Ursula replied in kind. The other bear seemed a bit tongue-tied. Or perhaps she was just shy. Ursula knew a bit about being shy. Polar bears kept mostly to themselves, and sometimes it was difficult to find oneself among others unexpectedly. Of course, her curiosity had overcome her habitual desire for solitude today. And so she peered inquisitively at Osa and the bowl and the heady liquid spilling into it. “That smells strange,” she said. “What is it?”
she/her | Esta tierra no es mía, soy de la nocheósfera.

Balrog
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“Uh,” Osa had to think fast. She was very good at thinking fast during a heist, but when there was no honey or wine or yams to steal thinking on her feet was not one of her specialties. “Itʼs nice to meet you!” she finally said, not being subtle as she licked up some of the blackberry wine that had spilled on the barʼs counter. “Youʼre from up north huh? I suppose they donʼt have many yams up there.”

Osa, be nice,” Beorn’s warning growl cut through whatever it was she was about to say (she didnʼt actually know, she hadnʼt thought that far ahead). “I have some venison ready indeed. Itʼs one of the meat I keep well in stock here. This one,” Beorn shot the golden moon bear a meaningful glance, “is also not prone to stealing it. From the looks of you, Iʼm assuming youʼd like it raw, a leg perhaps?” Osa watched with eager fascination at both the skinchanger and the white bear. She was a mesmerizing shade of white, the sort that shimmered and almost glowed. Beorn prepared the meat right on the counter, blood was getting everywhere, but Osa didnʼt move. Normally the sight of blood would send her packing to the other end of the room. She wasnʼt skittish or grossed out by blood, she kept away from the red substance for a far more practical purpose. Blood did not go very well on her golden coat. She was determined now to put her best paw forward to give the best first impression to the polar bear and not being a squeamish weenie was part of that impression. Her mind was working a hundred miles a minute, imagining all the capers and heists she could pull with such a strong companion. She took another, somewhat, messy draught of blackberry wine from the bowl. Stolen food tasted sweeter, everyone knew it, twice stolen blackberry wine was the sweetest of all.

She could tell this bear was a serious bear, the way she and Beorn talked about dour matters told her they would be fast friends. Beorn was serious, a serious stick in the mud. He did not approve of her capers. The only reason he accepted the blackberry wine she brought him was because “it would be a sad waste to send it back now”. He told her that she would have to write a note (well he would write it, but she would have to be the one saying the words) and apologize to Alagon for stealing his delicious, mostly unsecured beverage. She agreed, mostly because her tummy was rumbling, and she was distracted by the smell of honey and fruit. Surely he wouldnʼt actually make her do it. Right? No, no he definitely would. Look, it wasnʼt her fault the elf had left the storeroom unlocked. Well, bear proof.

Back to the present though. What could Osa do to draw the attention of Ursula from Beorn? The more they talked and conversed about the state of the world, the less likely she would be to want to join Osa on a caper. That would leave her with Arth as a companion for thievery. Arth was not bad, not by a long shot, but he demanded a greater share of the profits. And that bear would eat everything.

“Hey Beorn,” she said, a plan coming into her mind. “Is it alright if I sing a little karaoke?”

The skinchanger looked up from his work, just cutting the last bit of fat from the massive hunk of venison, and before he could protest (because he would, serious as a waspʼs nest) she began to sing.

Bu-bu-bears, bears, bears bears bu-bears
Bears, bears, bearsbears, bearsbears
Oh bears! Bears, bu-bu-bears, bears bears!
Oh bears, bears bu-bu-bears, bears bears!
Bears! Bears! Bears! Bears!
Bears! Bears! Bears! Bears!
Bears! Bears! Bears! Bears!
Bears! Bears! Bears! Bears!
Beaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa-aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaarrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrsssssssss-sssssssssssssssssssssssssss

Admittedly it was not her greatest work, if she were on a heist, Osa would have likely come up with a better song about bears and capers and honey, but these were desperate times and desperate times call for… saying the word bears over and over again in a funny rhythm.
Strange Fruit got holes in the flesh but it ain't gonn' spoil cause it never was fresh

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“Yams, hmm,” Ursula pondered. “Not sure I know what those are, so I would guess we don’t have them. At least not by that name.” She thought wonderingly of the many creatures which populated the northern tundra she called home. Not a single one had a name like yam. “What is a yam, anyway?” she inquired.

Before she could inquire further into the details of this mysterious yam creature, Beorn replied in the affirmative about the presence of venison. “Oh, good,” Ursula sighed. It would be a treat to gnaw on a hearty meal again. “A raw leg, yes. Thank you,” she said. Her nose twitched minutely as the man-but-also-bear sliced the meat for her. Something - an instinctive, aggressive something - began to tingle in the back of her brain at the scent of all that blood, and it took all her willpower to remain calm. It would not do to upset the counter or spill Osa’s bowl of pungent liquid, not when she had only just arrived. First impressions mattered to polar bears, and Ursula was no exception.

She placed her forepaws politely on the counter, so Beorn could see what she was up to at all times. Sometimes men were so suspicious of bears and their intents that it was better to be up front. As the meat was readied, she glanced at Osa. The golden bear dribbled some dark liquid into her mouth, and Ursula rumbled with quiet laughter. Looking back at Beorn, she asked, “Might I try some of that? Whatever it is that Osa’s got in her bowl.”

All thoughts of food and drink were forgotten the moment that Osa began to croon a highly repetitive yet pleasant little song. “Bears!” Ursula cheered enthusiastically when Osa concluded her song with a long, drawn out cry. “I like this tune. Did you write it yourself? Have you any other songs to sing?”
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The Three Brothers

It had taken them far longer to discover the Bar-Bearian pub than any other pub that they had attempted to get into. Perhaps because there was far less garbage and far fewer patrons of it that were incapable of eating them whatever the reason was once they did discover the pub they had made a break for it as fast as their wee legs with their opposable thumbs could carry them.

Of course upon arriving the discovered the sign that said 'Bears ONLY' BUT being raccoons and not Beorns or bears they were fantastically illiterate and didn't really care what the sign actually said. Besides everyone called them trash pandas, and pandas were bears right? Right. They were fearless, or stupid, or both. Most likely both as they heard a bear singing. Sounded like Osa which might mean trouble but honestly if they got her some mead she'd probably be happy they still had a bunch of gold from the dwarven halls that they'd stolen, well stealing would be a stretch in their mind, they relocated it to a safer place than it was left.

With that the three of them waddled in as if they were suppose to be there and went straight to the bar to put in an order for mead and see if there were any peanuts on the counter.

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Sheʼd done it! Sheʼd impressed the great polar bear! Osa could not be more proud of herself. As it turns out, her singing skills were enough to win over the snowy ursine. She beamed and took a bow. The truth was, she had been incredibly, incredibly nervous about the song. It was a weird little song that had no meaning other than to be silly. Osa liked, no Osa loved being silly, almost as much as she liked stealing, but Ursula was the first polar bear sheʼd ever met and wasnʼt sure if polar bears were serious bears. Kermodes were serious bears, they did not like to sing and dance at all which made them Beorn’s favorite; grizzlies depended on the bear, some were silly and some were angry; spectacled bear were silly, but they lived a far distance from Osa so she didnʼt get to go on silly quests with them as often as sheʼd like.

“Oh thank you! Thank you! I...” she wanted to say that sheʼd just come up with the song, but that would not be true. “I heard the song once from an adventuring duo, a boy named Finn-Adan and his dog friend, Jake. Not bad for a human and a dog, huh? Iʼm not sure what itʼs supposed to mean other than, well bears, but it has a catchy tune.”

Seating herself, or more accurately laying across the bar wit her paws placed innocently under her chin, she began to lick at the bowl filled with delicious black(bear)y wine. “Yams,” she said between slurps, “are simply the greatest, sweetest potatoes that the elves decided to grow. Iʼm not sure where they came from (the yams not the elves) but they are wonderful to munch upon on cold days. The elves like to boil them up and mash them and bake them with marshmallows. Theyʼre less good that way, harder to steal, but they very sweet. If you want,” she leaned over and gave Ursula a conspiratorial wink, “I can tell you were the best yams are grown. The Lady of the Golden Wood has a special area devoted just to them and they are the bestest of the best.”

She finished slurping up her bowl then looked up, aghast. “Beorn!! Oh Beorn! You must, simply must give us more black(bear)y wine! Give Ursula the biggest bowl you can find! Sheʼs a polar bear and sheʼs thirsty!”


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He could tell she was nervous, being the new bear in town, so to speak. He appreciated when she put her paws on the counter, letting him know what her intentions were. This Ursula seemed to be a good egg, though Osa was surely going to do her best to draw the lovely snow-white bear into a life of crime and mischief. “Osa...” he growled, the bear inside him starting to come out. “donʼt you go trying your usual tactics. I remember what you did with Arth! You nearly got him caught by a troupe of angry dwarves after you two stole a wagon full of peanuts.” He eyed the golden moon bear but the more he looked at her the more his features softened. She had a face that was hard to stay mad at. “Be careful!” he said as a final admonishment. He finished trimming the fat from the venison and placed it tenderly on the barʼs counter in front of Ursula. “Enjoy and,” he grabbed the bottle of black(bear)y wine before Osa’s wandering paws found it and knocked it over and poured out a bowl for Ursula, refilled Osa’s and decided to pour himself a mugful, “enjoy some special vintage all the way from Rivendell.”

Then he sniffed the air. There was something distinctly unbearlike in the air. He scrunched his nose up, trying to place the exact scent. His muscles tensed, ready to spring at the first sign of trouble. Ugh! It was a raccoon. It was, he sniffed again, three of them. He barely suppressed a growl of annoyance, he could feel the bear in his blood wanting to jump out. Count to ten, youʼll be feel better. He did just that, closing his eyes and gripping the edge of the bar with increasingly bear like hands. “Nope, nay, never, no more.” With speed that belied his great size, Beorn bounded over the barʼs counter and charged in the direction the little weaselly things. They were just emerging when he grabbed one and punted it football style out back into the forest. “BEARS ONLY!” He grabbed the other two troublemakers before they could get around him, barely managing to grab one before it grabbed a handful of peanut shells and tossed them in the direction of the booted raccoon. Calmly as you like, he returned to his place behind the counter. “If you see one of those little trash pandas, feel free to kick them out.” He looked at all this patrons assembled at the bar with crossed arms. “Iʼve dealt with them enough to know theyʼre nothing but trouble. Worse than Osa.”
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“A boy and a dog? Singing with a bear? How strange.” Ursula eyed the fluffy moon bear. Osa must be quite trusting to go cavorting about and singing songs with a human. But then, she thought, perhaps there were some worthy exceptions to her personal rule of avoiding humans at all costs. Case in point: the polar bear looked at Beorn. The man-shaped sometimes-bear (or so she still assumed) had kindly given her food and drink, and he seemed to be watching out for Ursula and helping her adjust to the strange ways of the south. Maybe if men were only partly-men, they would be okay to deal with. Beorn placed a lovely hunk of venison before her paws on the counter, and she inhaled the smell of bloody meat. Saliva pooled in her mouth, and her eyes flashed with hunger and excitement. It seemed she was hungrier than she had expected.

While she ate, she listened raptly to the description of yams. She had no idea what marshmallows were, and she certainly had no idea who the Lady of the Golden Wood might be. Another man? She was skeptical. Yes, this Osa liked her humans, all right. Beorn was similarly skeptical and offered a warning along with a bowl of “special vintage.” Ursula sniffed deeply at the little bowl and felt her nostrils sting with the strong, almost vinegary scent. There was a sweetness there, too, though. She poked out her tongue and dipped it into the deep purple liquid. It bit her taste buds and burned slightly on the way down. Her eyes widened.

“Oh!” she yelped. “If that’s not the strangest thing I’ve ever tasted.” She dipped her tongue into the black(bear)y wine once more and, knowing what to expect this time, enjoyed it a bit more than the first taste. Slowly, she lapped up a few small mouthfuls. Ursula was a large bear and so she felt very little of the alcohol’s effects, but she did notice how her belly seemed warm and content once the stuff settled there. It was a perfect complement to the raw meat.

“This is delicious. Thank you,” she said to Beorn. She wasn’t sure if he’d heard her, though - he had stalked off to kick out a trio of raccoons.

Ursula had a few queries in mind for Osa, though. “Yams sound most marvelous. But what are elves? Who is the Lady of the Golden Wood? And why do you steal from her?”
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The Three Brothers

All they got was a measley few peanuts. They were not impressed with their haul and honestly all they'd wanted was a drink maybe some more peanuts. It took them several minutes but they finally decided on a method of trying to once again get into the Bear pub.

It would take some creativity, some thievery and probably several tears from several children. Indeed they returned a few days later having stolen and riped apart several childrens stuffed bears and were wearing them as costumes. Reginald was complaining about how his tail was squished by the strange shape of his teddy bear which happened to be a very dirty brown colour. Bob and Hob hoped that their disguises would work.

Maybe Beorn or the others would think that they were lost bear cubs. That was in fact the hope. With that they headed for the door and slipped in and started once more towards the bar. Hob had to bight Reginald who was threatening to start singing some strange song about being on their way.
Reginald was going to give away the whole thing if he didn't keep his mouth shut like these bears wouldn't hear raccoon and know what was up.

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Osa lapped at her giant bowl, delighting in the sweetest of flavors. The elf that had made this wine had done a good job making it, it was too bad he did not do a similarly good job making sure it was secure (or maybe that was a good thing too, depends on your perspective). However, before long, the golden moon bear soon found that her bowl was almost empty. Empty! A bowl that had no more wine in it, particularly no more black(bear)y wine was a tragedy. A tragedy! “A boy and a talking dog are the least strange thing you’ll see if you stick around, Ursula,” she said, focusing on her conversation rather than her empty bowl. “Why, in comparison to elves, they were downright normal!” she slurped the last bit of sweet wine from her bowl and licked her chops, there was just enough wine there to make a final swallow. “Did you know…” she began, grinning and swaying a little. “That it was the bears that taught the elves how to do all the… stuff they do?” she waved her paw as if Ursula was supposed to know what that meant (even though she herself had no clue). “We taught them about fruit and digging and honey how to make homes in caves and such. Not that they’d be likely to admit it. Especially the Lady of the Golden Wood.”

It was time for more wine. Beorn was… where was Beorn? Osa hadn’t even realized he was gone. She smirked. While the big bear is away, the sneaky bear will steal all the wine! She hopped up on the counter and continued her lecture about bears and elves. “It was way back in the day, before there was a sun and moon, that bears came to the elves and gave them all sorts of fruits and veggies. The elves were so shocked by this they stopped singing!”

She carefully balanced herself and leaned over the counter to… fall over on the other side. But she was up in a flash and looking at all the interesting things on this side of the bar. It was, well it was not quite as cool as Osa had been led to believe. “You see, elves did almost nothing but sing in the old days. Singing, singing, singing. That’s all they did. Supposedly it was very lovely singing, but when you do nothing but sing, it gets a little old. Singing about breakfast, then singing about the stars, singing about your friends or the trees or the time you fell on your bum trying to grab a bottle of… there we go!” she grabbed one of the familiar looking bottles (she couldn’t read so she had to go by smell and bottle shape), tucked it under her right arm began to climb in the most awkward fashion back up to the top of the bar.

“Sometimes,” she said whilst climbing, “I think it’s important to steal from them to make sure they don’t get too big for their honeycombs. Oh! Elves love their honey but they like to forget that bears showed them how to talk to bees to get the honey in the first place.”

It was difficult to say whether or not any of this was actually true, but Osa said everything with such conviction it was easy to see that she believed it at least. “I could take you to the elves in Lothlorien sometime,” she said as she more or less rolled over the bar top, holding onto her prize wine bottle like it was the last tree in the forest. “More wine?”


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Well, Beorn had to give them points for ingenuity. He almost, almost, decided to let them get away with their scheme. Almost. What stopped him for allowing the three doofs into his pub was the fact that he knew exactly where those costumes had come and the children that had previously owned them. He did not like the idea that he was now going to have to tell them that their precious dolls had been mauled and morphed into raccoon wear. He sighed heavily and growled. He was going to be the one that had had to stuff and sew new ones for them so they would have something play with that was not him. Did these raccoons know how much they’d inconvenienced him? He folded meaty arms over a broad chest and looked down at them.

“Really? Right, I can see you three aren’t going to take no, or a swing kick in the ass as an answer, so I’ll have to make a compromise.”

Deftly, he swooped out an arm and gathered up all three little monsters (why did the third smell like he’d rolled around in tuna before coming?) and carried them to the back of the tavern. This was where he hung out his jerky to dry before smoking it in a pit. He had three free hooks. Good. He took each raccoon by the scruff of their costumes and hung each one of them separate from the others.

“This is what you get for stealing children’s toys. Think on that and I’ll be back later.”
Strange Fruit got holes in the flesh but it ain't gonn' spoil cause it never was fresh

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Three Brothers

They had made it back and had almost managed to get to where they could order venison but alas it appeared the Beorn was onto them. He scooped the three of them up in a single sweep which really was not fair with the size difference. Reginald for his part attempted through the bear costume quite poorly to chew on his arm before they were all put up on meat hooks.

Bob and Hob were a bit calmer for their part waiting on him turning his back seeing this as the perfect place to be, there were for more than three hooks in here. If they wiggled and struggled the three of them likely could get themselves a lovely bit of drying meat. After several good minutes of swinging and struggling while Reginald the Third shouted a string of expletives that would make a dwarf blush Bob and Hob for their part hit the ground with soft little thuds as they ripped their way out of the costumes that they'd created ruining them entirely.

Reginald was mad enough he didn't even realize that his brothers were out of their costumes and trying to get what looked like to them, an entire side of a deer which would be fantastically tasty.

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Ursula lapped happily at her black(bear)y wine. She was beginning to really like this stuff! She drank now with such happy abandon that the snow-white hair on her muzzle had been stained a deep purpley blue. Her belly was warm and full of meat and alcohol, and she finally began to feel she could relax. It was no small thing for her to join this little gathering of bears, but between Beorn’s hospitality and Osa’s friendly chatter, she was feeling almost at home.

“That dog and that boy and those elves all sound very silly,” Ursula rumbled with mild disapproval. She had not had much experience with silliness yet, but her disapproval was tempered by the fact that Osa had proved both silly (she was on the counter, after all) and friendly. She gnawed at the remaining venison on the counter, completely ignoring the bloody mess on its surface.

She finished off the last of the wine in her bowl. It seemed predestined that she would try - and love - this drink and that Osa would know exactly where to get some more. Or perhaps it was merely a coincidence orchestrated by a thieving, fluffy mastermind. The latter thought did not cross Ursula’s mind, though, content as she was with the Bar-Bearian’s provisions.

“Elves sound stranger than I had realized, though. I hope they smell better than humans.” The humans of the far north thought their odors were concealed by the frosty layers of skins they wore and blown away on frigid blasts of icy air, but the bears got wind of all their smells. They all had a strange, ripe scent. Ursula, like generations of bears before her, had learned to avoid that odor on instinct.

At the mention of ancient sharing between elves and bears, Ursula blinked. All that remained of her venison now was bones, and she gnawed happily on one while Osa explained why thieving from elves was warranted, given all that the bears had shared with the elves and all that the elves took for granted. “I would love to see some elves. Maybe even hear them singing. I have never heard their songs, you see, so maybe they won’t sound so tiresome to my ears.” She found she was teeming with questions about Osa’s plans. Did this mean she was excited to have a friend? Or was she merely hungry and thirsty? “How far away is Lothlórien? Does the Lady of the Golden Wood live there, too? Will we have to present ourselves at her door to ask for food?

“And yes,” said continued, nodding eagerly, “I’ll have some more of that wine.”
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She thought for a moment about Ursula’s questions. Did elves smell better than humans? They certainly smelled different, that was for sure. Osa, for her part, had noticed a trend among human, ironically the wealthier humans, to not bathe or clean themselves on a regular or semi-regular basis. It was the weirdest thing, and sort of gross. Bears could often smell like fish and berries, but at least they spent lots of time in the water. Heck, even raccoons smelled better than humans. Did elves smell better though? That was a good question. “Well,” she said, fidgeting with the cork top of the wine bottle, “they smell like ginger and lavender and roses. I’m not sure of that’s a good smell or not. Sure, it smells ‘nice’ but it also smells like something a bear might eat or roll around in. I wonder sometimes if they are trying to be bears. If they are, they are going about in the weirdest of ways.” The cork popped loudly; the golden moon bear had finally managed to dislodge it with her teeth. She spat it out (cork didn’t taste good at all) and began haphazardly pouring the sweet intoxicating liquid in their bowls.

“Lothlórien isn’t too far from here, maybe a few days of walking?” Osa had never had to gauge the distance from Greenwood to Lórien before, she assumed it wasn’t far because all forests were close together, that’s just how the world worked. “She lives there but I’m not sure we’d just present ourselves to her and ask. I’ve found that sometimes elves like to say things like ‘oh no it’s a bear! Who let a bear in the house! Someone get the guards! It’s a bear!’ and other things like that. You wouldn’t know it, but they are remarkably skittish folk. I was pretending to be a log in the river one day when they all went by in their boats and when I tried to sneak onto one and snag their fancy-schmancy bread they screamed like a horde of monkeys! I may have accidently tipped the boat over after that. No, if we are going to get things, we are going to have to sneak.” She looked over the great polar bear, could polar bears sneak? She put her paw to her chin in thought. “Hmmm, how good are you at sneaking Ursula?”


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He was almost free. He could hear Osa and Ursula talking around the corner. He could hear Arth snoring into his tea. He could… hear something rip behind him. Beorn sighed and rolled his eyes skyward, looking toward the location of Callisto, the great bear constellation. It was daylight so he couldn’t see her, but he knew she could see him. “Never underestimate the tenacity of raccoons,’ he said aloud, though there was no one near enough to him to hear that bit of wisdom. For a moment, he considered letting the creatures do what they would. Dealing with them was worse than dealing with dwarves. He growled. He really didn’t like dealing with dwarves. Maybe calling raccoons worse than dwarves was a little harsh. But they were still obnoxious and infuriating.

This trio of reprobates would eat his entire winter store in the space of a day. They were bottomless pits, greedy, ravenous, gluttonous little sneaks. He sighed and stuffed a hand into his pocket. There were a few peanuts there. He grinned. One last attempt before turning into a bear and swallowing them whole, he decided.

“Alright you three,” he said, rounding the corner, “I have two magic peanuts given to me by Radagast himself. They can make whoever eats them taller, smarter, and able to find the source of rainbows. You can have them, but they only work if you eat them whole, no sharing.” He tossed them on the floor amidst the heap of torn stuffed bear. “So which of you is gonna be smarter?”
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Ursula watched, both bemused and amused, while Osa attempted to uncork the bottle of wine she’d pilfered from behind the bar. It was a miracle the beautiful, fluffy moon bear could talk about all the elvish smells with the cork between her teeth, but talk she did. Ursula had to admit that she was becoming more and more curious about these elves with every passing minute.

“Why thank you!” Ursula exclaimed once her bowl had been refilled (and much excess liquid spilled, too). She lapped at the deep dark liquid happily, staining her snout even more. Osa told of the elves’ shouting and carrying on whenever they spotted a bear. She had no idea that elves were so panicky!

“Hmmm, how good are you at sneaking Ursula?” asked her new friend.

Ursula always had been a well-behaved cub, and she had followed all the rules of the polar bears until she decided not too long ago to venture south. Sneaking seemed a small crime in comparison to traveling beyond the southern borders of the polar bears’ territory. In fact, one might even say that she had snuck away from the north just to get here! There was risk, sure, but there had also been rewards: wine, new friends, and that huge chunk of venison Beorn had so kindly cut for her. Surely, even if they were caught in the act of stealing, the elves would remember their great debt to the bears and let them off the hook? Ursula drained her bowl as she thought these thoughts.

“I think I am a pretty good sneak, when I want to be. But I usually only want to sneak when there’s a good reason to do so. Is this Lady really so special? Oh! Do you think I could fit inside the Lady’s fancy house? I’ve never seen a fancy house before,” she said thoughtfully.
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She could tell the great polar bear was starting to get interested. She grinned mischievously and took a big slurp of sweet black(bear)y wine. She once talked an elf lord (he said he was an elf lord but Osa had her doubts he looked more like a leprechaun vampire than an elf lord) out of his fancy clothes. Naturally, she didn’t know what to do with said clothes once she got them (bears can’t wear elven clothes for obvious reasons) but she had still accomplished the feat! Convincing a polar bear to aid her on a caper would prove to be an even greater accomplishment!

The fluffy little moon bear could see it now! She could see herself as the leader of an entire gang of pilferers and sneaks and rogues. Moon bears, pine martens, polar bears, owls, and ostriches! She would be the most feared and respected bear in all the world, aside from Beorn (where was he anyway?).

“Well, I might have a good reason for you to sneak,” she said nonchalantly, looking at her bowl as if inspecting it thoroughly. “You see, the Lady of the Golden Wood and her husband, a man I can never remember, Tele something, like to go hunting every now and then. They like to chase to great White Stag, a mythical creature that, if caught, will lead someone to a land of milk and honey. They’ve never caught it, of course.”

She sat up and made a point to look at Ursula. “I’ve never seen it, but I bet if you wore some antlers you could look like a White Stag.” She nodded sagely and stroked her chin. “Yes, I bet you’d make an excellent White Stag. While they’re off trying to chase you through the forest, I could sneak into their storehouses and steal some yams. They just had a harvest so they have so many yams. So. Many. Yams! I bet I could find something for you too! I would need to contact my friend Seriling, he’s a beauteous pine marten with the most wonderful coat. I bet you’d get along, thick as thieves!” She beamed at her cleverness.
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The Three Brothers

Hob and Bob looked at Beorn with suspicion and distrust as he came back ready to scamper off their paws already on a side of venison that had been hanging. They'd been about to scramble up it and see if the could chew through the part that was holding it on the hook when the beast of a man had arrived back.

Bears were bad. Shape shifting human bears... those were the worst they had decided. All the teeth and claws and dullness of a bear, mixed with the meanness of a human and those strange looking ears and noses. Highly questionable and suspicious though they did tend to brew decent (not great by any means the raccoons of course gave that distinction to hobbits which were also quite funny but smaller and less mean). The two of them let out a hiss, letting Beorn know what they thought of his offering, they didn't believe it for a wink not a one of a....

Reginald the Third went scrambling as fast as he could to the two peanuts and ate them whole in a heart beat. Hob and Bob looked at each other and shook their head, no they were content with their side of venison, and went so far as to lick it claiming it as theirs while looking Beorn dead in the eye. Both of them absolutely certain that the only think Reginald would get is constipated while he tried to digest the peanut shells he'd swallowed whole.

"You're an idiot Reginald, there's no such thing as magic peanuts, and if there were he wouldn't give them to us. You know how Osa is, and he's part human he's even worse." Hob said in raccoon speak not knowing if Beorn could understand him, as Bob scrambled tooth and claw up the side if deer to start on their plan to free the piece of meat from the hook.

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Ursula grumbled at Osa’s plan. Yams sounded tasty, and she was sorely tempted to try them and all the other southern delicacies that Osa could show her. She was also interested in meeting this friend of hers, Seriling. What was a pine marten?

Intrigued as she was, Ursula balked at the idea of dressing up and letting some bloodthirsty elves chase her about. She had more dignity than that! And she shuddered to think what might happen on the off chance (a small one, but still a chance) that the elves got in a good shot, or caught her in a trap, or skinned her for her fur to make a nice warm coat the way she knew some people did . . . Were yams worth such a risk?

She licked her empty bowl to give herself a bit more time to think. She had never met any elves before. Who was to say that they were more dangerous than any other creature she’d ever come across? Surely, she was bigger and stronger than they were. She was much bigger and stronger than Osa, even! And Osa didn’t seem intimidated in the slightest by the prospect of these elves. Why was she so worried when the golden moon bear clearly was not? Then again, all Osa had to do was sneak about and procure some yams. She wasn’t exactly volunteering to be hunted by elves.

“Hmmm.” Ursula gave the bowl one last lick. Alas for the lack of wine! Soon, they’d have to steal another bottle or get Beorn to pour them some more. Perhaps what she needed was more of this strong, heady beverage to feel comfortable with Osa’s plot. Absent the wine, she thought she’d make her reservations known.

“I would like to meet this friend of yours. He sounds charming.” She licked a spot of wine off the counter, a remnant of Osa’s clumsy pouring. “But I am not so sure about letting the elves hunt me. I would like to go back north eventually, you see, and I won’t be able to do that if my skin is a rug on the Lady of the Golden Wood’s floor. Besides,” she continued, having realized something as she spoke, “drawing all sorts of attention to myself and running around the forest doesn’t sound much like sneaking to me.”
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The Following Morning

Well, at least that was all over. The first day of the Bar-Bearian could be called a success. Well, maybe a mixed success. Mix with a lot of, well Beorn wasn’t quite sure what he’d call an invasion of raccoons. It was not a dull day. There was never a dull day in these parts.

Osa was off pulling that poor polar bear into Callisto knew what scheme. As he wiped down the bar, he noted that he should have stopped the golden moon bear from causing too much mischief. None of Osa’s pilfering schemes ever amount to much in the way of damages to either person or property, but she could be a very bad influence when she wanted to be. Beorn prayed that Ursula would have the good sense not to get too embroiled in a plot. They sounded yesterday as though they planned on stealing yams from the Golden Lady of the Wood. Perhaps sober minds would prevail, and they’d merely chase a few squirrels in Lothlórien instead. He laughed at himself. Good sense? Osa? It was far more likely that he was going to receive a royal summons to appear before the Court and make an account of Osa. She was not nearly as sneaky as she believed herself to be. It was rather difficult to sneak as a bear; Beorn knew that from a wild youth.

The forest around him seemed strangely quiet, expectant.

The skinchanger had no expectations for today. Yesterday had been such a flurry of patrons, well a flurry might have been the wrong word; and as the river, patronages were wont to ebb and flow. What was he going to do all day then? He had the entire establishment to himself. He had room to roam and run about. There were trees to scratch and smells to explore. It was getting closer to winter now too; the salmon would be swimming upstream to spawn. Not many made this far inland, but there was still enough for him to call it a Fat Bear Week.

An owl hooted somewhere. Beorn raised an eyebrow. It was morning, the nocturnal predator ought to be sleeping now, dreaming of mice or whatever it is owls dreamed about. It occurred to Beorn that he didn’t know very much about the animals in this part of Mirkwood. Bears he knew but birds? Birds were as mysterious as regular humans or dwarves and who could account for their tastes?

Speaking tastes, Beorn thought and poured himself a large stein of mead. The smell verily exploded into the air; a warm, soft sweetness clung to him as he drank the beverage down. He sighed and wiped the residue from his ample beard. Still good. Still very good.

He sat down and made himself some toast and honey, gobbling it down as only a bear could. He repeated to processes of mead then toast and honey a few times, each time feeling more and more like a bear ought: with a warm, contented belly.

He began to feel drowsy, a sort of happy wooziness that comes from having large quantities of mead. Perhaps, perhaps it was time to shape into a bear and doze for a bit. It wasn’t as if anyone was here, right? He could just doze… doze for— sleep for a spell… dream of fish and blueberries and fish…

Soon, the forest was quiet, save for the occasional sounds of a snoring bear.
Strange Fruit got holes in the flesh but it ain't gonn' spoil cause it never was fresh

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