It was sometime later when James mustered the courage to approach a group of patrons. The nearest occupied table hosted three, deeply engrossed in a large meat platter placed between them.

Two were human men, a key factor in James's decision to approach. The third was a woman with soft features, rich brown skin tone, pointed ears, and alarmingly long, white canines. She had an air of mystery about her. And she was dead gorgeous.

Her hair, a dark shade of silver, belied her youthful appearance, which was similar in age to the two men, just a few years beyond puberty if James had to guess.

All three were clad in comfortable and casual clothing fit for travel. They carried pouches strapped to each person and were lightly armed with daggers or short swords, without any of the bulkier vests and armor other patrons had on them.

Here goes nothing. He thought with little confidence.

Bracing himself for what might come, James stood and walked towards them. Though the table was merely a few steps away, each step felt as if he were trudging through thick mud. His briefs flapped awkwardly left and right and his bare feet felt especially exposed.

James spoke, for once without stuttering. “Excuse me, may I ask you folks a few questions?” And on a softer note, he added, “Please?”

Their reactions were a mix of surprise and caution, momentarily pausing their feast to scrutinize him from the top to his toes. James waited anxiously for their reply trying his best not to seem nervous.

I must look like a bum. Who would take him seriously?

“What do you want?” The shorter man among them growled.

James, trying to ignore the man's hand inching towards a knife, responded, “May I sit down first, if you don’t mind, Sir?”

“Ha! Perncok, he called you Sir! Imagine that, our little dwarf being a Sir!” The man beside Perncok slapped him on the back laughing. “You must be one of those Travelers, right? Not many like you come to Avi’Gale. Not willingly, anyway.”

James pulled a chair from a nearby table and sat, the wood creaking under his weight. “Actually, that’s what I was hoping to discuss. My name’s James, by the way.”

“Don’t mind Perncok, big fellow. He’s just wary of your height,” the man smirked, drawing a chuckle from the woman as well. Perncok, now slightly embarrassed, muttered something under his breath, his barely-there mustache dancing over his lip.

“This is Nadia, and I'm Tor. A pleasure to meet you, Wayfarer James,” Tor introduced with a grin, while Nadia offered a simple nod.

“Huh, Wayfarer?” James barked a nervous laugh at the unusual term. “I’m not sure what you mean by that.” He confessed, scratching his chin in confusion.

“I've encountered a Wayfarer before. You’re a rare breed going around. Judging by your strange clothes, I’m guessing you’ve just landed in Avi’Gale?” Tor seemed genuinely curious.

“Yes, that's right, not too long ago. Maybe an hour...or three.” How long was I hiding behind that table anyway?

“What’s an hour?” Perncok interjected when his curiosity overcame his earlier embarrassment.

“Perncok, understanding half of what this guy says will be a feat for you,” Tor teased him.

“Cut it, Tor,” Perncok shot back, a hint of red coloring his cheeks as he grabbed a chunk of meat and bit off a piece.

“Please forgive them, Traveler. They act just like their age at times,” Nadia interjected, her expression softening into a grin. “If I understood you correctly, you’ve just arrived in the city. It must be overwhelming.”

“Yes, it is,” James admitted, suddenly feeling vulnerable under Nadia’s piercing gaze. She combed through her silver hair with a hand, letting her unusually pointy ears emerge from underneath. “But what exactly is a Wayfarer?” And what are you? He left that thought unsaid.

“You bear the Traveler's blessing, marking you as one of his own. It’s evident to my eyes,” Nadia replied, her eyes scanning him, lingering on parts of himself as if she were looking at something specific.

James waited for her to continue further, for a more complete explanation, wondering at the same time what exactly had she seen. It didn’t make much sense to him.

“It’s a rare gift,” Tor commented, his voice carrying a hint of envy.

“But how do you know I’m this Wayfarer?” James asked, looking directly at Nadia.

“You’ve been blessed by the Wayfarer. He marked you a stranger among us. It’s clear, you weren’t born here,” she explained as if he was supposed to understand her words.

A thought zapped James like thunder. Were they being literal? A blessing? From whom?

The dwarf nodded his agreement. Tor on the other hand asked, “Where are you from, James?”

“Greece, is this not…? Where exactly are we?” James’s grip on the table tightened.

“We’re in Avi’Gale, on the border between Daria and the Lost Lands,” Tor informed him. “Not the friendliest of places for travelers.”

Panic started to seep into James’s thoughts. His body moved on its own accord, starting to rise from his seat. “How do I get back? There was a door, and then, then... What if I try to—?”

“Calm down, Wayfarer James! CALM DOWN!” Tor intervened in his efforts to stand, straining to get him back down into the chair.

Their little commotion caught the eye of several patrons, including a concerned bartender who together with a stern-looking man at the bar’s end, regarded them closely.

Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

“Easy now, don’t draw too much attention, it will do you ill” Tor advised, finally managing to get James to sit.

“He is right, listen to him. You are no Verithian. You would be treated as poorly made steel in this city.” Perncok added, sounding gravely serious.

The realization that he was truly in an alien place had finally dawned on James. He had thought himself a calm and calculated person. This time however reality had overwhelmed him. He looked back and forth between the three of them and the rest of the patrons. A few human eyes met his with pity, the rest, monstrous and alien, made him shudder.

Nadia leaned closer, whispering as she did, “Where’s the portal? I can check it out for you.”

Without much thought, he pointed toward the end of the room. “Over there, by the privy.” James made to rise with her but Tor’s reassuring hand kept him seated. Its presence helped him settle on his seat.

Nadia with graceful steps made her way to investigate, leaving the table in a tense silence that stretched awkwardly for a moment too long. James’s leg fidgeted under the table.

“Don’t worry, if there’s something there, Nadia will find it. She was the one who noticed you when you first arrived,” said Tor, in a friendly manner.

“I can’t thank you enough. I appreciate your help,” said James.

“Meeting a Wayfarer is certainly intriguing. Perhaps you have some interesting stories to tell? Or… items?” Tor speculated, eyeing James curiously.

Perncok leaned in, “Got anything valuable, lad? It could set you up nicely, here.” He held a silver coin in his palm.

Wait, what is this?

James took a moment to think. Was that what they were after? Both were intently waiting for his reply. He eyed the silver coin. It was crudely made, adorned with symbols, and illustrated a wild horse standing on its hind legs. He made a decision out of caution.

“I’m afraid I have nothing but the clothes you see.”

Disappointment clouded their faces, but it was Nadia’s return a moment later and her head shake that truly dashed their hopes.

“There’s nothing,” she reported her words like a cold splash of reality. James was certain then that her words were not meant for him.

“Nothing? What about the door?” James clung to his last dwindling hope like a fly on fresh dung.

“If that was your entry, you’ll need to find another way. The Traveler’s methods are beyond me, there is nothing I can do for you,” Nadia’s warmth had faded, replaced by a cold distance.

Silence followed her words, stretching awkwardly over the table. James understood it for what it was and pushed himself off the seat. This time unopposed.

“Thank you for the information. Nadia, Tor, Perncok. It was nice meeting you.”

His only reply was a stiff smile from Nadia, while the rest scarcely bothered to meet his gaze, quickly diverting their attention back to the platter.

He took a few uncertain steps away, the floor felt unsteady under him. His options were drowning in a bucket of water. Unwilling to retreat to his table for fear that he wouldn’t be able to stand back up again he made his way to the bar.

The bartender had been observing the interactions from a distance. He wiped his hands on a white cloth as James approached. The man was bald, broad-shouldered, with a thick beard peppered gray, and eyes that seemed to miss little.

"Can I help you, lad?" the bartender asked, his tone neutral but not entirely friendly. He gave him a look that might have been a warning. Either way, James would tread carefully around him. This was a dangerous man.

A few seats over, the mean-looking patron shifted in his seat, turning their way. James's eyes lingered on him for a moment. A long scar divided the man’s cheek and his gaze…

Oh god, his eyes are totally black. They made his hair stand on edge.

James took a deep breath, steadying himself. "Yes, I... I'm in a bit of a situation. I'm not from around here, and I seem to have lost my way." He told the bartender. He decided on a whim to avoid mentioning the door or the 'wayfarer' business, since he hadn’t quite understood it. He was beginning to be wary of attracting excess attention. Not everyone had his best interest at heart.

The bartender nodded as if the confession was something he'd heard before. "You're not the first to find yourself lost in this city. Avi’Gale attracts all sorts—travelers, adventurers, those looking to hide, and those looking to be found.”

"Have you heard of Athens?" James inquired, with anticipation. If only…

"I can't say that I have. Is that your homeland?"

"Yes, it seems I've traveled quite a distance then," James replied, pausing as the patron beside him edged closer. "I may need to find accommodation."

The bartender took his sweet time evaluating him, which made him realize he was holding his breath waiting for the answer.

"Ten coppers a night, and two per meal." He told him finally.

"The problem is–hum, I'm without any money. My arrival here was... unexpected, you could say."

"Are you in search of employment, then?" asked the patron with the scar.

James turned to him. The scar on his cheek was grotesque and relatively recent, the wound almost sealed yet devoid of inflammation or redness, presenting a deathly white hue. Light purple veins sprawled across his skin, contributing to his haggard appearance.

"I think so," said James, after a moment’s consideration.

"Can you fight?" the man continued with interest.

"Fight?" James asked surprised. Fighting was something he was familiar with. He had military training experience and, even if it had been brief, he had competed in professional combat sports, in mixed martial arts. Indeed, he was more than capable of handling himself in a fight. But what for? He wondered a little concerned.

"I do. I can fight," James admitted reluctantly. "Unarmed, however," he clarified, mindful of the weapon-wielding patrons around him. He wished to avoid any misinterpretation of his capabilities.

"Merek, interested in giving the new guy a shot? He's got size, at least. That's something in our line of work," the scarred man suggested to the bartender.

Merek thought for a moment. "How soon do you need to leave?" he asked, his voice surprisingly tender.

"First light. The lands beckon. I'd have been on my way already, if not for the night," the scarred man explained.

James listened intently to the exchange. Securing a place to stay and gathering information was invaluable at this point. His previous encounters hadn't been exactly fruitful. Nonetheless, he took in every detail he could. There was something odd about the scarred man that rubbed him wrong. He tried to find what that was.

"I'll regret your departure," said the bartender.

"So will I. But it's beyond our control," the man replied.

Just then, Martha pounced into view, her tray packed with empty dishes that she balanced gracefully on her shoulder. She delivered an order to the bartender for a few drinks and promptly hopped away. The tavern was in full swing, yet the two men gave the buzzing atmosphere little notice.

From the conversation, James vaguely understood that he was supposed to take over the work of the scarred man.

"What kind of help are you looking for?" James asked.

"Merek here needs someone to fill in my shoes after my… untimely passing. I'll soon be leaving for Shadrahn lands," the man explained, gesturing towards the bartender.

"Excuse me?" James asked, taken aback. Am I misunderstanding something here?

"What is it?" the scarred man responded.

James didn’t want to come off as clueless, but the conversation had once again surprised him. He attempted to brush aside his confusion, redirecting his question. There would be time later to consider it.

"What exactly is your profession?" He asked, trying to hide his unease.

"I'm a bouncer, or at least I was, for the Twin Claw’s Tavern," the man said with a tinge of sadness.

"What happened?" James pressed.

After a brief pause by the man and his obvious reluctance to speak, the bartender encouraged him, "Go on, Ditr. If the truth deters him, then he's not the right fit for the job."