[Carrûn]

Awrygan quietly pushed the door open, but despite his best efforts it still creaked; it was a familiar and heartwarming sound and he slid through the opening like a wraith, his black clothes enveloping him. He looked around the Inn, seeing several familiar faces, but mostly new ones. He had heard of several changes at the Inn from various strangers he had met on his most recent travels. He considered finding whoever was in charge and asking about a room, but decided instead to wait by the fire and think for a time. He was planning a bit of a longer stay this time around.

He brushed past several patrons and found what he somewhat childishly considered "his" seat, a small stool by the corner of the fireplace. Sitting down he wrapped his cloak around his dark features and pulled out his pipe. Reaching into his pocket he discovered that he was nearly out of tobacco. List item #1 he groused to himself. To further complicate matters he was low on funds.

He watched the small flames and embers of the early evening fire dance together. Soon, he guessed, someone would begin throwing the larger logs on in preparation for the outside darkness. He sat absently with the pipe in one corner of his mouth, running the scarred lines in one of his hands with the fingers of the other. A wanderer's hands are like the paths he has taken, the words of his father echoed quietly in his head.

He traced the bizarre scar he had given himself on the left side of his face. His joints cracked and he remembered how nice a bath and a bed would feel. A breeze blew in through the nearby window and ran across his face. He thought of the family he had once had, and was soon asleep.