The stranger at the tavern
The great hall of the Olkland tavern is a theater of constant bustle. Although less immense than Staoslam City, Olkland remains a vital hub of Takkanor trade. Here, the excitement is more direct, more raw: the clinking of coins on the counter and the shouts of merchants closing their deals mingle with the laughter of travelers. The air is saturated with the smell of stew, beer, and smoke.
- Chapitre : 2
- Auteur : BigDenBoo
- Date d'écriture : juillet 2026
Sitting at an old solid wood table, Tyler feels small in the face of this activity. He contemplates his meal with obvious distraction, his mind turned toward the journey that awaits him tomorrow. The city is a crucial stop, a crossroads where paths diverge, and the thought that he must soon face the solitude of the road to Flatwaters already weighs on him.
An unexpected presence breaks his isolation. A middle-aged man has sat down opposite him with natural ease. He possesses a robust stature and a solid build, exuding a quiet authority that seems to command respect without him even needing to speak. His thick gray beard, as well as his clear and attentive gaze, give him the appearance of a sage or a patriarch. He addresses Tyler in a steady voice that pierces the tavern's hubbub:
The man: You look like someone carrying a burden much heavier than your travel bag, young man.
Tyler looks up, surprised by such a direct introduction. He smiles timidly at the stranger.
Tyler: I'm just traveling.
The man flashes an knowing smile, his eyes scanning the young man's face with benevolent curiosity.
The man: Traveling... It is an art that requires as much courage as patience, he says, bringing his beer to his lips. One crosses cities like this one to realize what they left behind, or to imagine what awaits them. It is said that the roads leading up to the Moonlit Peaks are particularly conducive to great reflection. Is that your destination?
The mention of the mountains causes Tyler to flinch. The image of Scott and the wild hope of finding him at Lienwood burns in his chest.
Tyler: I'm... looking for someone.
His voice betrays an emotion he is struggling to contain. The man nods, his gaze drifting for a moment toward the flames of the fireplace before returning to Tyler.
The man: We are all looking for someone. Or something. Sometimes a brother, sometimes a truth, and sometimes simply the path that leads us home. But never forget that stories never truly end, young man. They simply change hands, passing from the lips of one traveler to another, traveling much faster than any caravan.
He pauses, letting his words resonate in Tyler's mind, while the tumult of the tavern continues to rage around them.
Tyler remains silent for a moment. The man's words echo in his mind. His presence is strangely soothing.
Tyler: And what if the story is already written? A path already laid out that we are merely walking?
The man lets out a laugh, a deep and warm sound that seems to dissipate part of the young man's tension.
The man: Destiny is a subject that divides the wise. Some think that we are the authors of our own stories, others believe we are merely actors in a play already written by forces beyond our control. But what I know is that no matter how the story is written, it is the way you play your role that counts. A man can be the hero of a tragedy or a simple passerby in a comedy. It is his courage at every moment that defines his worth.
He gestures toward the bustle of the tavern.
The man: Look at them. That merchant fighting for a sack of grain, that waitress laughing with the innkeeper, that young guard who has eyes only for the waitress, that older woman placing her hand on the young guard's arm... Each of them is in the middle of their own epic. And you, young man, your chapter seems to be one of renewal. Stepping out of the shadows to face the light of the peaks...
Tyler lowers his eyes, intrigued by this surreal conversation and once again overwhelmed by doubt.
Tyler: I'm afraid my chapter won't end as I hope. That the tale will stop abruptly, before I have been able to find what is essential to me.
The man leans slightly toward him, his gaze becoming more intense.
The man: Fear is the sign that you are aware of the importance of your quest. A journey without risk is merely a stroll. Listen to me well: even if the shadows seem to want to swallow you, there is always a page being turned. Sometimes it's a miracle, sometimes it's an ordeal, but the book never closes on one who keeps walking.
The stranger falls silent, then his expression softens, becoming that of a jovial old man again.
The man: But enough philosophy for one evening! The night is long and rest is necessary before the great roads. Tell me instead, where are you really from? Your accent is certainly not that of the people of the plains.
Tyler manages a smile, more sincere this time. He feels strangely well, as if this stranger, through his mere presence, had lightened the burden he carries.
Tyler: I come from the south of the Moonlit Peaks. And I am looking to return there.
The young man feels increasingly at ease facing this mysterious stranger. He recounts Mantra island, the dangers of the jungle, and the solitude of the road. His voice gains life as he describes crossing the sea of Nãkama, the bustle of Staoslam city, and the landscapes of Takkanor until his arrival at Olkland.
The man listens in silence, his gaze lost in the amber reflections of his beer. He does not interrupt him, nor asks any questions. He simply nods.
As Tyler's story ends, the man whispers after a long silence:
The man: The ocean... It has a very particular way of keeping secrets, doesn't it? One enters with certainties and emerges with questions. Just like the Moonlit Peaks...
He pauses and continues in a low voice.
The man: You have crossed lands that only want to devour you, and yet, here you are, sitting before me, with the strength of those who refused to fade away. That is something few characters manage to do in the stories told here.
He flashes an enigmatic, almost complicit smile.
The man: You know, young man, people often think that a journey is a straight line between point A and point B. But the reality is that a journey is a spiral. We often pass through the same places, but we never see them in the same way. You left the Moonlit Peaks to seek an answer, and you are returning to them having become someone else.
Tyler looks at him, fascinated. He has the impression that this man is not just listening to his story, but reading it within him.
Tyler: And after? What happens when we finally reach the end of the spiral?
The old man raises his beer mug toward the ceiling, as if to salute an invisible deity. He speaks again with a mischievous glint in his eyes.
The man: The spiral never stops; it transforms. It becomes a new loop, larger and more complex. The true challenge is not reaching your destination, but remaining yourself while the world tries to rewrite you.
He finishes his beer and stands up.
The man: Go to sleep, young traveler of the peaks. Tomorrow, the road to Flatwaters awaits you, and it will not have the patience of an old man who loves stories.
He walks away through the middle of the hall, leaving Tyler alone with his thoughts and the lingering memory of that voice which seemed to carry the echo of a thousand other lives.