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The Stranger at the Tavern (Solo RP)


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Andar Traveller sat at his table in the tavern, drinking.


He drank a lot these days. All these bloody Aiel all over the place. He spotted them everywhere, doing the Dragon's orders. Aiel brought back painful memories. Drinking pushed those memories away.


Today, however, he made sure not to lose himself in his drink. That might be dangerous. This particular tavern was ... less than safe. The clientele was rough around the edges, to say the least. A drunk man was unlikely to be able to defend himself from a cutpurse or worse. So Andar made certain he didn't become drunk.


As he mused over these thoughts, a stranger opened the door to the tavern. The wind and rain blew in, drawing angry grunts and curses from many of the patrons. The stranger closed the door.


Andar wondered what brought the stranger here. Not many visited this establishment. Andar was only here because he was hoping for a fight. A fight would be entertaining. It would establish his reputation in town, perhaps attract a customer. He squinted at the stranger, who had turned away to hang up their cloak. Andar could not quite tell whether the newcomer was male or female.


He shrugged, and went back to his drinking, daring someone to try to snatch a coin he had laid tantalizingly on the table.

Edited by KingRodel
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The stranger (a man, Andar found) obviously didn't know what he was doing. As he moved from table to table, he always asked if the open seats were taken. Even if they weren't, the other table occupants said they were, so the meek stranger was shunted from table to table.


Andar signaled him to come over. The stranger gratefully lowered himself into a seat across from Andar.


"Thank you, sir. My name is Yoran Yorfardsson."


Andar grunted.


"May I ask yours?"




"Oh. How ... interesting."


"Bloody right. There's a story to rival the best of them behind it. At least that's what I think. It certainly felt like it living the bloody thing."


Yoran Yorfardsson raised his eyebrows inquiringly. When Andar did not continue, he gestured for him to go on. When Andar still did not continue, he spoke. 


"The story is?"


Andar grimaced. "Buy yourself a drink. And get comfortable. This will take a while. Let me think ... where should I start?"


"The beginning is always worth a try," suggested Yoran.


"I suppose it bloody is at that. Very well then. The beginning..."

Edited by KingRodel
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  • 2 weeks later...

"...and so I deserted the Children of the Light. They tried to track me down for a little while, but I gave them the slip in Caemlyn and then turned around to Altara. Stayed in Ebou Dar for a while. Bloody insane down there."


Yoran flinched. Andar had noticed that he flinched whenever Andar swore. It was quite amusing.


Andar had been talking for almost an hour now. Yoran had been listening attentively all the while, though he often interrupted to ask questions. It was getting on Andar's nerves a little.


"Anyway, after I offended a man whose wife had, in my defense, not told me she was married (how was I supposed to know that was what the knives meant?), I decided to high-tail it out of there. And so I travelled aimlessly for a while, eventually earning my name of Traveller-"


Yoran broke in. "Who first called you by that name?"


"I'm getting to that, so stop bloody interrupting you flaming son of a goat!" Snarled Andar. Yoran, horrified, stood up from his chair, seemingly ready to flee the room.


Andar glared at him for a moment longer, then burst out in a chuckle. "I'm jesting, I'm jesting. Don't worry. I apologize."


Yoran, relieved, sat back down.


Andar continued. "People have trouble taking a joke these days. Never lose your sense of humor. It's a valuable asset. It can be used to distract an enemy, used when bargaining to break the ice, used to cheer yourself up. I'd be dead without it, I can say honestly."


Yoran nodded. "Wise words."


"From a wise man," replied Andar. "Now, to your question. Actually I myself first used the name. It was in Amadicia..."

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"...and here I am," concluded Andar, with a slight bow of the head.


Yoran gave a low whistle. "That was a most interesting story, Traveller."


"I agree. Tell, what is your story?"


Yoran waved the question away. "Me? Oh, I'm just an honest blacksmith down on his luck."


In that moment, Andar realized the man was likely a thief. He certainly wasn't honest, else he wouldn't be in this particular establishment. And he certainly wasn't a blacksmith. He didn't have the build for it. Andar looked down to see if his gold coin was still on the table. Indeed, it was gone.


Yoran was standing up to leave. "Thank you for the story, Traveller. I enjoyed it. I wish you good fortune in your ventures." He started to walk quickly but confidently towards the door.


Andar removed his weapon of choice from a pouch on his belt. It was a circular metal disk with razor sharp edges, and a large hole in the middle to use as a grip. He had picked up the use of this rare weapon in Arad Doman. It was used primarily for throwing, but Andar had adapted it to use successfully hand to hand as well. He always carried a stock of about ten.


He aimed quickly and threw. The disk flew across the room and bit into Yoran's hip, just shy of hitting the bone. Not a fatal or even particularly damaging attack in the long term, but extremely painful. Yoran sank to the floor with a cry of agony. Andar calmly walked across the room, removed the disk, and then rifled through Yoran's pockets. He found his coin, and deposited it into his own pocket.


"Poor luck," he remarked apologetically to Yoran. "I figured you out. No hard feelings. In fact, you'd be welcome to join my band if you like. Assuming you can find us - I've stayed in this city for too long. I need to move. To ... travel, in fact." With a short bark of laughter, he exited the tavern, leaving behind him a groaning Yoran and a stunned room of patrons.


Within a few hours, Andar Traveller and his (rather optimistically named) Hordes were on the move.

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