Douglas thought they had seen everything over their 20 years running the Weary Traveler. But, as many of their fellow cynics would happily attest, that’s precisely when life - in its infinite bitchiness - develops a sense of humor and proves just how wrong you are. And today was that day.
Most patrons fell into one of three categories. The regulars, who could go anywhere else in town but trusted him enough to give them good booze. The travelers consisted primarily of adventurers and merchants. And the oddballs usually only appear once every few months or so. Today’s oddball was the second this week - noteworthy but not yet quite a chart-topper.
The Traveler came in on a rainy night - what was it with weirdos coming in late on rainy nights? He came in, bought a room, and sat down in a dark corner of the tavern.
Another thing that had always bothered Douglas over the years: Why do those weirdos always sit in the one dark corner of the tavern? And why was there always one such corner? Even when installing mirrors on every surface - it was a lost drunken bet made with another memorable patron. Very enlightening, no pun intended, and very expensive - there was a dark corner at the back of the tavern! Anyways, this one came in and sat in the weirdo corner with his ale, and Douglas waited for the inevitable. Right on cue, Tweedle-Dum and Tweedle-Dee sauntered to “interview” the newcomer.
“So, stranger. What’s your story?”
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“We’s noticed yous aint exactly be from around these parts.”
The assailants ignored the slow head turn, but the response sent chills through Douglas’ thick hide.
“I have nothing to tell you. Nothing that you couldn’t hear without you dying, along with anyone else who listens. Now scamper, leach off some local drunkard, and leave me alone.”
The response alone was standard. But the voice… It was haunting. Somehow, it felt like three individuals were speaking all at once. The first was a velvety male voice, the sort you instantly felt safe near. The second was angelic; soothing. The final layer was gruff, guttural, and disturbing. Douglas’ eyes met the traveler’s, and they finally understood what the adventurers meant when they spoke about experiencing paralyzing bloodlust.
As the cowl finally dropped, all breath ceased. Between the craven yellow eyes and the unnatural two-toned hair - were those the beginnings of fangs showing behind the upper lip? - Something was just… off. The clothes were those of high nobility, but the shoulders carried the weight of multiple worlds, and the face… war-torn and permanently frowning.
The stranger somberly strolled to the bar, paid his tab, and went upstairs to retire for the night. He departed sometime in the premorning, but nobody knew exactly when.
As far as the oddballs go, this one was nothing to discuss regarding actions taken. No liches or demonic possessions tonight, thank the gods. But there was something incorporeal setting off alarm bells. Something that would hopefully remain unanswered for a long, long time.
The other thing that cynics will tell you is that if something should remain unknown, life absolutely has other plans for it.