"You look like someone who has walked a long way. Someone who has seen much strife, whichâŠconsidering your age seems a little odd" the man behind the bar looked over at me. I was sitting by the fire, staring into its depths. I glanced over at him, weighing him. He was an older gentleman but kind, iron grey hair cut back, a strong jaw, about 220 pounds. He was absentmindedly cleaning a glass while studying me.
"You could say that" I replied glancing around, realizing I was the only one left in the room. I stood preparing to leave, looking outside I saw that there was a blizzard.
"You don't have to leave if you don't want, I'd never force someone into weather like this." The bartender said, wiping down the bar. I turned back to him and looked at him again. But not just with my eyes this time, but with all my senses. My eyes told me what they had before, but as I focused, I found his scent. Like spring water running over rocks, as I went deeper, I found more. No longer a physical scent, but one of this spirit, it was old. Far older than it would be for a mortal. My ears listened for him, for his breath, his heartbeat, the blood rushing through his veins, and found nothing. I smiled softly, removing the illusion that covered my eyes. I saw the bright silver of them reflect off the polished bar, and the glasses on the wall.
"What would be the price for staying?" I asked, while sitting back down in front of the fire. He looked at me, walking around the bar to sit in the chair across from me. He then looked at me, considering.
"Your Story." He whispered.
"My Story." I breathed into the air. "It's not short, nor is it happy."
"The one's worth listening to offend aren't." He replied.
"Well then." I lean back and give a soft smile. "I can at least give you a little theater," clearing my throat I began again. "I will tell you my tale. A journey of light into darkness, of battle and loss, of life, death, and rebirth."
And I began.