The Stranger

They arrived late at night from the southern road out of the village, a young man with a black dire wolf, a most unusual pairing.

He wore a black hood and leather armor, which did little to hide the black markings that lined his throat and spread to just under his chin. His eyes, a shade of metallic silver, glowed from beneath his hood and revealed what those who saw his markings already knew.

He was one of them.

No one spoke as he strode past tables of terrified patrons until he reached the bar and took a seat, his faithful companion plopping down on the floor beside him, tongue lolling. The bartender, having run this tavern faithfully for as long as any of the other villagers could remember, maintained his composure as best as anyone ever could, and continued to clean beer glasses with a rag as the stranger sat down.

“What’ll you have?” he asked.

The young stranger studied him carefully before replying, “An ale, please.”

The bartender grunted and finished wiping off a glass. Satisfied by the glass’s new shine, he poured the young man an ale and slid it towards him.

The stranger nodded his thanks and took a swig. For a moment, just a moment, he almost seemed normal. Human.

“Good drink, thanks,” he said simply, reaching down to scratch his dire wolf companion behind the ear. If he noticed the growing tension in the room, he did nothing to show it.

“Well, you’d better order enough to make up for all the customers you’re scaring off.”

There was a moment, a lingering second of complete silence as the other patrons processed the sheer gall of the old bartender.

A little bold, and probably dangerous, but the bartender had spent too many years handling customers from all walks of life to allow himself to be cowed now. Even if this was a most unusual visit.

Fortunately, the stranger appeared more amused than anything. He smiled faintly and took another swig of his drink, “My apologies,” he said, lifting his empty mug in a toast to the bartender before sliding it back, “I was only passing through.”

The bartender grunted and resumed wiping down glasses that he’d already cleaned a dozen times before the stranger had even arrived.

Slowly, hesitantly, the other patrons went about their usual business as well. But they kept watching the stranger from the corner of their eyes, waiting for him to reveal himself.

It was only a matter of time.

“You’re a strange one if you travel like that,” the bartender continued after a spell. “Not sure if you’re a fool or simply mad.”

One of the patrons nearby, a mercenary by trade and a braggart by choice, nearly hacked up his dinner. One of his companions, a beast of a man, dropped his mug of lager, spilling the drink all over his very drunk and confused companion.

The newcomer didn’t even flinch. His wolf companion’s ear flicked at the commotion, but it otherwise seemed equally unperturbed.

“I suppose you’re not wrong,” the marked stranger admitted with a thoughtful hum. “I figured this form would be less…disquieting.” His eyes flicked briefly to a nearby table of soldiers, all of whom quickly resumed shoving their food into their mouths and pretending they weren’t hanging on to every word. “It seems I was wrong.”

He worded it like a question more than a statement. Could he truly not understand the fear his presence evoked in every human he encountered?

“It’s the eyes,” the bartender explained. “They ain’t human, not a bit.” He paused briefly, then added, “No offense.”

The stranger chuckled. “None taken.”

“So what brings you to Bolivari, kid? If you’re just passing through and looking to fill your belly, my tavern’s the best spot in town. But if you’re in search of food of the human variety, might as well just get it over with now, eh?”

At this, the stranger raised an eyebrow. His wolf companion raised its head, ears flicking back. No one else left in the tavern dared move.

Finally, the stranger sighed and downed the rest of his drink. He slid the mug back to the bartender and placed a hand on the wolf's flank until, reassured, the wolf resumed its leisurely rest.

“Just passing through,” he repeated. “Needed a place to stay the night. That’s all.”

The bartender nodded. Neither one of them said another word.

***

The stranger paid for a room for several nights and made a generous deposit for the trouble. He kept to himself that first night, his lupine companion remaining loyally by his side all the while.

It wasn’t uncommon for a traveler to keep an animal familiar by their side—mages could almost certainly be counted on to have one. But considering the stranger’s true nature, given away by the silver eyes and the unusual markings that swirled along his neck, it seemed most unusual.

But he was a perfectly fine customer, retreating to his room without a fuss and emerging only for food and drink. He told the bartender nothing more about himself, and expected nothing in return.

Which, frankly, was just how the bartender liked it. The stranger scared off the rowdiest patrons, the blusterers, the ones with more pride than common sense, and ate and drank more than enough to make up for the lost revenue.

He knew very well why the stranger never seemed to get full, but he also had too much sense to inquire any further. Whatever the stranger was doing in a tiny human village many miles from the Capital was not his business or concern…hopefully.

Still, they made amiable if somewhat uncomfortable conversation; bartender smalltalk that the bartender knew well. The stranger didn’t seem one for much conversation—at least not until he inquired about the bakery across the way.