The Warrior

[Jezerai]

The battle-hardened warrior stepped into the well-known tavern once more.  He ran his hand along a smooth groove in the counter as he passed, inflicted on the wood by himself when he had been younger and more foolish.  As he passed through the room, he grinned at the people there he recognized, most of whom he had personally fought with in hundreds of battles before.  The well-worn wood of the floors and counters were stained with the sweat and ale of generations of others who had worked so hard to defend Qeynos from all who would seek to do her harm.  While it was sad to see tables where familiar friends and allies had sat not so very long ago, he was comforted by the lingering hint of their presence held in the atmosphere of this place.  As he always did, he sent a brief prayer to whichever god may be listening to bless each of these heroes in the adventures and paths they may presently be on.  It was his hope that one day their disparate paths may again converge and he would step into the tavern and assume his familiar place at the counter with their beloved faces surrounding him again.  As always, though, it was a pleasure to immerse himself in the camaraderie of those who he had come to love and trust, as he loved and trusted these dear friends. 

Over the years that he had come to this place, he had seen many come and go.  Some came and their paths intertwined with others who habituated this place for many years and many adventures before distant voices called them away.  Others came and stayed only a short while before they left again.  The memory of their voices was soft and he had to strain to recall them.  Occasionally new adventurers would stop by this place and their presence immediately filled and warmed spots vacated by other friends who had passed through and away years before.  Each of these friends was valued, but the core that remained had been there for many years and were particularly treasured.

The door opened and a stranger entered, trailed by swirling pockets of cold air and dancing leaves which quickly settled.  Others entered as well, faces of people he did not know but who were warmly greeted by his friends.  Old friends of his friends, come back from the unknown lands beyond Norrath, and seeking to journey together once more.  He could feel his pulse race at the energy of these people, newcomers to him, yet older than he.  They told tales of adventures long before his time and he laughed, enjoying the surge of warmth these tales brought with them.  He eagerly sought to share the tales of journeys he had experienced in the years since these others had been to the tavern, but his voice was drowned out by theirs and so he subsided, willing to wait his turn to become acquainted with these marvelous beings from a different age.

Then one, who proclaimed himself leader, looked around the tavern and sneered.  "How did this place come to such ruin?"  He bellowed.  'This furniture is only fit for burning!"  He shoved the chairs and tables, where Noehy and Ravens had sat, holding hands and exchanging chuckles at the jests and tales of others, toppling the furniture and breaking the leg of Noehy's chair.  "What's this old thing?  It smells as though it rotted away decades ago!"  The leader grabbed a trophy off of the wall, the head of a dragon, slain by adventurers who visited this tavern often in years gone by.  Erendrel, Janthos, and Jodas who had fought so hard to slay it.  The warrior shuddered at this attack on those he had held dear and whose company had meant so much to him for so long.  "It's too small!"  The old-timer shouted.  "The tavern should be larger and it's so dark!  Let in the light!" 
"Wait!  Wait!"  The warrior cried.  "There is much here that should be kept!"  The stranger turned and stared at the presumption of the warrior. 

"Who the hell are you?"  He sneered, his lip curling and his nose wrinkling as though he smelled something foul.  "In all the years that I came to this tavern, you were never here.  And now I return and find the place a mess.  With a bunch of old garbage cluttering it up."

"Excuse me, sir, but I am a warrior who has journeyed far.  I have come to this place for many years."  The warrior attempted to right the table and chairs laying scattered on the floor, propping up Noehy's chair on the hearth where the leg had broken off.  "We should go about this carefully and save those things of value that we have built while you were away."

"HAH!"  The stranger laughed, throwing back his head and roaring in amusement.  "There is nothing here of value!  This place is dead.  You are standing in the way of progress!  It's because of you that all of this has rotted away." 

The warrior looked on as the stranger, who he had been ready to embrace as a friend, began to tear down all that he knew and loved.  The voices of those that he had known and who had filled this space trailed away and were silenced.  The stranger jeered and chortled at each cherished piece he flung away so contemptuously.  Finally nothing remained of the tavern.

"There!"  The stranger exclaimed, dusting off his hands and grinning at the warrior.  "Isn't that better?"

[Jezerai]

The warrior and the stranger stared at each other across the destruction that had once been the tavern.  As their eyes bored into one another's souls, the stranger realized that perhaps there were bits that had been done well during the time he had been gone.  The warrior stared at the stranger, his hand clenching an unclenching above his sword.  He remembered the upwelling of his spirit at the entrance of the stranger with some bitterness, but was forced to acknowledge that the destruction of some of the walls did let in more light and air.  He picked up a piece of the counter, with a long groove carved into the face.  "Okay."  He growled.  "But this stays."

The stranger started to protest but stopped.  "That can stay, but this should go."  He pointed to a section of cluttered floor, a jumbled mish mash of items that were hard to differentiate.

The warrior started to protest, but stopped and nodded abruptly.  The pile in that corner had been collecting dust for years and he had intended long ago to clear it out.

The stranger held out a hand to the warrior and, after a moment's hesitation, the warrior grasped the proffered hand in his own calloused one.  "I am sorry," the stranger said, "why was this rotting trophy significant to you?"

The warrior hesitated then, at first haltingly but with growing enthusiasum recounted the tale of how he and others who had spent time here had bested the beast whose head had hung from the inn's wall for so many years.  He spoke of heroes the stranger had never known, but who had graced the tavern's halls in the years the stranger had been away.  The stranger listened and recognized that there was much of worth even though he had not seen the tavern in many years.

The two, coming from widely different perspectives and experiences, slowly began to sort through the rubble.  They decided together what pieces should be discarded and which should be incorporated.  They disagreed often.  But they took care during disagreements to understand the other's viewpoint and perspective.  They worked to reach a common ground on which they could each find some measure of agreement.  In this way they worked to bridge the gap in their understandings and build a new structure.