It was a purple night with a crescent shaped moon low in the sky bouncing the light off the windows of the inn as Arion Everflame approached the entrance. With a deep breath, preparing himself for the anticipated assault on his senses, he flicked the metal latch and made his way inside.

The inn was quaint in its own way, boar’s and deer’s heads adorning the walls and an open plan feel. There were twelve benches by Arion’ count, scattered around the inn with a bar at the very back of the room. A picture hung over the bar, depicting the last great battle of Eldoria, between the Maiten and the Sornen. The canvas is ablaze with a clash of elemental forces. The sky is a turbulent canvas, painted with streaks of fire and lightning as the two opposing factions unleash their magical prowess. The Maiten, clad in gleaming armour infused with celestial hues, stand resolute with weapons aglow in radiant energy. Their formations ccreate a disciplined front, each warrior a beacon of light against the encroaching darkness. A divine aura surrounds them, hinting at the celestial blessings that empower their cause. On the opposing side, the Sornen weave shadowy spells that twist and coil through the air. Cloaked in darkened robes adorned with arcane symbols they are a formidable force emanating an aura of ominous power. The ground below bears the scars of the magical clashes, with craters and fissures echoing the magnitude of the conflict. Ancient trees stand witness, their twisted branches reaching towards the chaos as if attempting to grasp the elusive balance between light and shadow. Amist the chaos, the central figures of the Maiten and the Sornen leaders emerge as focal points, each commanding the battlefield with a presence that transcends the moral realm. The clash of opposing energies converges in a dazzling display, creating a visual symphony that captures the essence of Eldoria’s ultimate struggle for survival.

“They always paint that part but never what came next”, Arion mused as he approached the bar. The bar tender was a short stoutly fellow with a long beard and thinning green hair.

“What can I get you?” he started, without putting down the goblet he was currently drying with a washcloth.

“Two meads please, I’m going to need them,” Arion proclaimed.

“Oh?” The bartender raised his eyebrows in a questioning tone.

“Here’s for any damage also,” Arion apologied as he slid five gold pieces across the bar. The bar tender sighed as he knew their was no point in arguing with this magician, who was instantly recognisable by his blue robes, pointed blue hat and long bright red beard.

“If you must,” said the bartender defeatedly. “Can you try your best to clean up after if you have time though please? My knees aren’t what they once were.”

“As you asked so nicely, I’ll be more than happy to sort out those knees!” Arion chuckled as he raised his hands. The bartender could feel the aches and pains of years on his feet serving drinks and on his hands and knees scrubbing the many fluids of bar patrons off the cobble stone floor, whisping away on the wind.

“I feel like a teenager who could run a marathon! Thank you sir! I would be more than happy to tidy up after any mess for the gift you have just given me!.” The bartender exclaimed excitedly as he started to walk without issue for the first time in a decade.

“My pleasure,” the wizard jovially spoke. Arion turned to face the benches of the inn, took in the tables and the patrons whispering amongst themselves paying both him and the bartender no mind. There were currently four occupied tables, one with soldiers or mercenaries that looked like they had just come from a long journey around the gulf of Bastion as their armour was a shade of brown that he had not seen in a while.

“Caused by the high winds and the copper infused grounds I wouldn’t wonder.” He thought to himself. On the far right wall was a table of Dansk, pitcher between them playing what looked to be a dice game on the table top. After being displaced during the great war, he couldn’t help feeling a drop of guilt and pity for them.

“We mustn’t dwell on the bad as the things that were done were for the good of the many.” He recited in his thoughts, almost like a mantra. Averting his gaze so as to not remember the history of that awful time, his eyes hovered over the now empty table that was once occupied by three relatively rowdy patrons. His eyes searched the room until they found them on the far left wall, two men either side of a figure cloaked and sunken in their seat with the other man reaching across the bench from the other side, about to pull off the hood. Quick as a flash he was behind the man, a whisp of wind fluttering the man’s shoulder length auburn hair. Arion placed a hand on his shoulder to which the man retracted his hand from the hood and snapped his gaze to the wizard.

“Wot do you want?” The man demanded.

“Oh my ruggedly handsome fellow,” Arion said playfully. “I want a great many things but unless you want to see what the ceiling of this fine establishment looks like on a closer inspection, then I suggest you leave this person alone.”

“Do you really want to start something with us mystani?” The man said confidently. The word “mystani” Arion hadn’t heard in a long while as the animosity between magic and non magic folk had passed decades ago but apparently within realms of the unintelligent, this was still a continued ideal.

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“The three forbid that I should turn you in to a frog or a cockroach!” The wizard chuckled. “Don’t you worry, I wouldn’t waste an ounce of that kind of magic on you, however I will insist that you move along to what ever establishment would cause you more stimulating conversation than this one.” The man swung, more precisely than Arion was expecting but still slow enough for the wizard to lean backwards to anticipate where it would land.

“Tsk, tsk, manners!” Arion said loudly and flicked his wrist, causing the pitcher that was on the table in front of the cloaked stranger to levitate and pour over the man’s head as he was trying to get to his feet after loosing his footing.

“Grrr, you’ll pay for that!” said the man angrily.

“Oh I hope so!” Arion sing-songed as he started to bounce on the balls of each foot mocking a fighting stance. The man rose to his feet, poised to throw another punch at the wizard. However, his attempt was thwarted as the pitcher, now airborne, intercepted his motion, catapulting itself towards him and colliding with his fist. Upon breaking the force of the man’s punch, the pitcher shattered into a million pieces on the floor. The man clutched his hand in agony, screaming as shards of clay protruded from his skin.

“Whoops!” apologised the wizard sarcastically. “You’re definitely not winning any boxing matches with that kind of form.” The other two men stood up, looping their legs around the seat and made their way towards the wizard. Arion took a step back, putting up his hands.

“Gentlemen, please, I meant no harm.” He said meekly.

“Well we do!” Snarled one of the men, while the other nodded. “We’ll rip you apart for what you’ve done!” Arion took one more step backward, positioning himself until the approaching men stood directly beneath one of the beams of the wooden inn. With a flick of his wrist, he dropped two presumably old buckets that had been perched on the beams for a while. The buckets landed expertly onto the heads of the men with a satisfying thunk.

One of the men tripped over his long cloak, landing on the stone floor and the other, with his arms in front of him, started shouting, “Who turned out the lights? Come on now this was meant to be a fair fight!” Shaking his head, with his fore finger and thumb on his temple, he scoffed,

“Take the bucket off your head and it might be a fair fight!” The man, stumbling around, moved both of his hands towards his head to pat on the bucket, promptly lifting it up and discarding it. Observing that his comrade had knocked himself out when he fell, he pulled out a dagger from his belt, pointed it towards the wizard, and growled,

“I’m gonna cut you mystani, and you’re gonna bleed.” As he spat out the final word, the wizard flicked his hand, transforming the threat into a terrified scream. The man was sent tumbling through the air, the dagger landing hilt-up on a nearby bench. Crashing onto an empty seat, he obliterated the wooden furniture, collapsing into a heap of splinters with blood streaming from his head, a testament to the harsh impact of the fall onto the unforgiving stone floor. The men were out cold and the hooded figure got up to leave. Arion's voice carried a soothing assurance as he spoke,

"Feel free to stay if you'd like." The hooded figure slowly sat back down visibly shaking as Arion took a couple of steps towards them. As he did so, with a couple of flicks of the wrist, the men started to float and moved, as if carried, out of the inn door with Arion using the first man’s head to open the latch. He then set to work with fixing the inn, firstly putting the bench back together as the inn patrons looked on in awe as the splinters attached to each other until the bench looked good as new. The pitcher did the same, almost a reverse motion of the breaking as the wizard bought up his hand to perform the spell. Lastly, as he moved past the bench with the dagger, he pulled it out and tucked it into his cloak.

With a protracted sigh, he settled into the seat across from the cloaked figure. "Hello, well met" he greeted warmly, extending his hand slowly. The stranger, visibly shaken, hesitated in the greeting, but a slender hand emerged from within the cloak and slipped into the wizard's grasp.

"Hello," the cloaked figure timidly whispered. "I'm Foria."

"Nice to meet you, Foria!" The wizard excitedly pumped Foria's hand up and down. "And how would you like to be addressed, Foria?"

"What do you mean?" Foria pulled away their hand from the wizard's.

"I mean, your preference, my dear?" the wizard inquired. "Are you male, female, or non-personified?"

"I don't know." Foria turned to survey the inn, feeling the weight of curious eyes upon them. "I've never really thought about it," they mused. "Female, I suppose." No one had asked this question of the hooded stranger before, and the exchange was becoming uncomfortably intimate.

"Not to worry, I'll use your name as much as possible," Arion grinned, attempting to diffuse the tension. The stranger shifted in her seat, sitting up a bit taller,

“Why did you come to… converse with me?” She tried to be as delicate as possible as she didn’t want to draw any more attention to the fact that the wizard had just saved her from being accosted by knocking out three armed men with ease.

“I’m very interested in you my dear,” the wizard mused, stroking his long red beard. “You didn’t speak, you didn’t scream, you didn’t call for help, you just sat there waiting for the inevitable. That’s an interesting way of dealing with trouble.” The more the wizard pried, the more Foria wanted to be out of the uncomfortable situation.

“I don’t want any attention, to which you have provided enough sir.” She retorted. “I wish to retire, but I thank you for your assistance.” She curtly ended the conversation as she stood up.

“We were having such a wonderful conversation though!” the wizard sulked. “If you must leave, please assure me that you have a room in this inn, as I wouldn’t want you to be in the same situation that I found you in.” The wizard spoke with genuine concern.

“I have a room here but it is securely locked.” Foria said with a slight tremble to her voice.

“Good,” the wizard said relieved. “Please travel by light if you can and good luck with your travels.”

“Good night and thank you again.” Foria got up from the bench and made her way toward the spiral staircase located beside the bar.

“Good night.” The wizard responded with a bow. “I hope your night is full of dreams of light and celestial slumber.” Foria nodded and made up the stairs, thinking that this wizard was an odd one indeed.