"Y-you w-went through all of of this-s, j-just to tell tell me y-your story?" Kavnar trembled.
"Well you weren't exactly being friendly, now, were you?" Benonai asked from a chair at a table that was on the bar floor that he'd gotten to somehow in a split second.
Kavnar jumped from fright, turning to face Ben who was gesturing to a chair that he'd somehow already prepared for the barkeep to sit at. All the chairs had already been flipped and were sitting upside down on the tables, so, considering this, for Ben to have done what he'd just done was unexplainable.
"How... How are you doing that?" Kavnar managed to ask as he stepped out from the bar, setting the pistol onto its wooden surface.
"Oh, you'll get accustomed to that soon enough. That's a part of my story." Ben gave that toothy grin once more.
Kavnar managed to make it to the aforementioned table and to take a seat before asking, "S-so why me?"
"You have great handwriting, and I want my story recorded well. You also have a calm demeanor usually. Very understanding, I must say so." Benonai said calmly as he relaxed in the chair.
"Your family has owned this bar for around eighty five years. You're the fourth generation to run the place. Your great grandfather was just like you." Ben continued to say.
"How do you know this or my great grandfather?" Kavnar managed to ask a little less frightened.
"Good questions indeed, but, if you don't mind, I'd like to start at the beginning." Ben said in a rather alluring tone. Everything about him invoked fear, primal fear, and yet he had a way of attraction that was not of this world it seemed.
"But I don't have any parchment or ink or a quill..." Kavnar began but stopped himself mid sentence, because he knew that this man would know he was lying.
Benonai eyed the barkeep with a judgemental mannerism, "You can take that from the shelf behind you that is in that false book."
"How... nevermind." Kavnar sighed as he stood up and went to the white oak shelf behind the bar. He pulled the third book from the third shelf and walked back over to the table.
He sat down and opened it. Inside was a think stack of parchment, a single quill, and a bottle of purple ink that was specially made by a Native American fellow that had come into his bar. He'd traded four points for the bottle. It was a beautiful royal purple when it was used in writing.
"Oh, you're going to use that special ink? How generous of you." Benonai smiled.
"Well, I'm assuming a story like your's is going to deserve a high quality." Kavnar managed to say politely, "So shall I name this Benonai since it is a biography of sorts?"
"Oh no. Name it... Wait how familiar are you with Latin? Your grandfather was a self taught student of it at one time." Benonai asked the barkeep.
"Oh ummm well I honestly didn't listen to him much. He tried to teach me. Why?" Kavnar asked.
"Title it, 'Volo Est Mortem'." Ben told him.
"Mortem? That means death..." Kavnar gulped.
"Very good, but I shall reveal to you the rest of it at the appropriate time." The strange man smiled again which made Kavnar shudder.
The barkeep dipped the quill into the inkwell perfectly. His hand was steady despite the situation as he moved it to an appropriate place on the parchment to write the title aforementioned, 'Volo Est Mortem'.
"You should have left and gone on to be the scribe that you'd once dreamed and wrote about becoming." Benonai said as he watched Kavnar with admiration.
"You... My father became ill. There was no one else to take over everything." Kavnar managed to say as he finished the last stroke of the 't' on 'Est'.
"You had three people offering to buy this place for twice or more than this was worth. Your father would have been taken care of with that much, and you would have afforded to go to the school. Was it that hard to let go of this place?" Benonai asked Kavnar.
"You know too much. This isn't about my life story, if I remember correctly." Kavnar managed to say, a bit aggravated actually.
"So right you are. My apologies, Kavnar. You would have been a wonderful scribe though. I would have found you regardless when I came to make this decision. Your penmanship is remarkable. Well, if you were still alive, I would have sought you out. You'll have to forgive me. Entire decades pass me by like a single year for you." Benonai mused.
"So immortality? Is that what this is about?" Kavnar asked in an almost disappointed tone.
"Feeble... hmmph... no it is so much more than that. Am I the one that is to tell my story? Or did I remember something incorrectly?" Ben asked with a mocking tone.
"Very well, no need to be a pompous ass." Kavnar grimaced as he finished the last stroke of the title. It was written rather large across the center of the page.
"Shall we begin?" He asked Benonai as he moved the title page to the side and prepared himself to begin writing the story.
"We will soon, but, sense you are a barkeeper, would you be willing to fetch us a pint a piece for us to enjoy as we do this?" Benonai grinned as he flipped a gold coin towards Kavnar that was three times the value of what he'd just asked for from the stock.
"Umm yeah, coming right up." He said as he stood and walked to the bar to retrieve the requested pints.
"I prefer the sweeter wines. Just saying, but do allow for yourself to make a good profit." Ben smiled from a chair at the bar, that he'd quickly appeared at.
"Ufff... Do you ever walk like a regular human being?" Kavnar asked as he presented the strange man with his pint.
Ben suddenly reappeared at the previous table with his beverage, not a drop spilled.
"Sometimes, but very seldomly." Ben replied.
"Okay, so let's begin." Kavnar said as he sat down once more and grabbed his quill. There actually seemed to be an eagerness now to his voice.
"Absolutely. Write what I say, word for word." Benonai stated seriously. Kavnar replied with a nod of understanding.
"This story begins modestly enough. It was the year of 45 BC..."