If each stroke of Deja vu that he’d ever had could be collected as tangible droplets of water, a single goblet could hardly be filled.

Frandire didn’t get many of these moments. Instead, he’d been given what many would call a gift, whereas he only referred to its existence as a never-ending nuisance.

The warmth of the tavern was wholly welcoming in contrast to the intolerable frost outside. As the door swung open and Frandire pushed past a female half-orc, the merriment was instantaneous.

Across the room, a group of halflings cheered, running glasses of beer and ale along their table; the liquid quickly sloshing out along the brims.

Frandire pulled his hood down further. His unease strengthening with gaining too much attention. As soon as he found an empty seat by the back of the tavern, he slid himself into it, ordering cider and a quick meal.

He didn’t know too well about the town he was currently in, but he would have to guess that there had to be some cause for celebration. There were more people and creatures than he had ever seen in one room that didn’t involve an execution or marriage. Races of all size and shape were celebrating something, cheering to their long life and good health. Frandire smiled wistfully at this- the server offered him her own smile after seeing his, placing his cider and barley stew down beside him. The server girl rushed off almost immediately; a bard had begun playing his lute atop a table that creaked beneath him.

If he had to guess, she feared he’d damage the table that moved around far too much.

Frandire turned away from the chaos. He’d already begun consuming the warm stew and greedily ate every bit in the wooden bowl. He found himself enjoying the quiet atmosphere around him, though it was still rather loud in the tavern. He could handle it solely because he knew the commotion might keep the attention from him sitting oddly in the corner. Let them drink and be merry so long as everyone let him be.

As a second thought, he removed the wide-brimmed hat from his head; shaking out the cold water that had already started to seep into the fabric. The sunflowers along the brim were wilting; their petals curling subtly at the edges. Frandire looked away from them, placing the hat beside him on top of the table so that his damp hair could begin to dry in the warm tavern. He returned to his meal immediately afterwards.

But the serenity of his corner was quickly disrupted by heavy drunkards- shoving each other along the room and upsetting others as well. With a heaving sigh, he turned to the commotion and quickly fell prey to a dwarf whom had consequently fallen at his feet. His wide-brimmed hat hitting the floor as well where it ended up beneath a dwarven arm.

Frandire was silent for a moment. Only him, though the shouting and jeering for drinks continued around the room. The dwarf, however, had sobered up enough within that moment to realize what he’d just done. Pushing himself off the ground, he pulled the crumpled-up hat to his side, quickly puffing it back out to its original state.

The dwarf’s face fell almost immediately however when he noticed the sight of the sunflowers looking pitifully smashed.

“By the name of-“ The dwarf had begun a string of swears, but cut himself off when his eyes made contact with Frandire himself. He straightened, placed the hat back atop the table where it had previously been and bowed so suddenly that Frandire had to move back an inch in surprise. “Goren, at your service,” the dwarf grumbled.

“Frandire… at yours.” He said uncertainly. He took his hat back upon his head and lowered the brim slightly, covering his face from the glow of the fire in the tavern’s hearth. The nervousness he’d felt earlier just before entering the building had begun to resurface. He wasn’t intending to take part of a conversation, but just that had happened.

And to make matters worse, he made note that the dwarf, now known as Goren, pulled up a chair beside him. He was making an order for a round of beers already as well.

Frandire pulled the hat lower towards his tipped ears.

“So, Franedyre- “

Before he could stop, he found himself correcting the dwarf. “Frandire.”

“Of course.” The round of beer was brought, and he quickly took a swig from his tankard. A swig apparently meaning the whole thing as he placed it back down empty upon the table.

Frandire slid his own- which he hadn’t ordered- over to Goren whom merrily downed that one as well.

As soon as the second had been drunk, the dwarf wiped his beard clean and gleefully turned back to his companion, his hands clasped together and a well-placed smile lining his wrinkled face. “You’re an elf, aren’t you?” He pointed to the peering ears to which Frandire immediately hid them under his hat once more.

He looked away, making as little contact with the dwarf as possible. He said nothing to the question.

Goren simply chuckled but lowered his voice slightly as if there might be others listening into their conversation. “And judging by those flowers there atop your Wizard’s hat, you ought to be a wood elf.”

It wasn’t phrased as a question this time, simply a remark. Frandire was far less comfortable now with the dwarf’s presence. He wished he’d just walk away and leave him alone.

“Isn’t there a celebration you should be attending?” He gestured over to the bar where a collective merriment took place. “There seems to be far more drinks over there rather than here with me.”

But he didn’t respond; only continued to stare at the elf quizzically. He brought his finger to his bearded chin and tapped it in mock thought. A moment later, he was sitting straighter than he had been before, his silver eyes entranced by something Frandire couldn’t see. Yet, he wasn’t looking at anything in particular. Merely perusing his thoughts. Then, his vision returned, and he stared once more towards the elf.

“I’m traveling,” he said. “Headed to a mine down over to the South.”

Frandire blinked and he instantly regretted not leaving at that very moment. He knew he’d be getting into something he hadn’t wanted to, but at this point it was already too late.

Entirely too late.

“The mines are far from here, month’s travel at most. No more, no less, at least from what I’ve been told.” Goren shifted in his seat. “Look, I need an elf-“

“No,” Frandire said hurriedly. “I’m not one for traveling.”

“Doesn’t seem like it from the way you’ve come here.”

He looked down at himself, in shock more than anything else. What the dwarf was telling him was a little too close to the truth for his liking, but he didn’t want to get involved with anyone else. Not again.

“I’m only passing by.”

“Relatives?”

“No.”

“Traveling merchant? Magical assistant perhaps?”

“Whatever I’m here for is none of your business.”

Growing unnerved, Frandire pushed his seat back and stood up as he brushed off invisible dirt from the quilt draped over his shoulders. He straightened his hat and glared with all the strength he had at the dwarf. “If you will excuse me,” he growled, “I will be retiring for the night.”

“Where’re you staying?” Goren asked.

“Where it doesn’t concern you.”

With a huff of frustration, he headed over towards the counter; dodging a lively woman as drunk as can be. He asked for a room, received a key for one upstairs, and headed for it without a second glance back at the table he once occupied. The door was opened quickly once he made it to his room and it was shut just as instantly. As soon as the key was turned, effectively locking it, he sat back on the cot against the far-off wall.

He wasn’t worried about the dwarf; not scared of him as a matter of fact. The conversation had gone on a lot longer than he would’ve wished and he knew he’d pay tonight. It was already so late, the moon high among the clouds- from what he could see of the little window in the room. He was tired however- more emotionally than physically. He didn’t need to sleep, but he leaned his back against the wall, sat cross-legged on the cot, hat in his lap and quilt wrapped tightly around his small frame. His hooded cloak lay open on the floor in an attempt to dry it.

An hour into his trance, a shuffling at the opposite side of the door broke the silence. Frandire cracked open his eyes and patiently waited where he was- already sliding a dagger from his boot.

But nothing happened. The door didn’t creak open or crash to the floor in an array of splinters. It stood with little to no disruptions at its hinges.

A piece of parchment slid from below the crack of the door and into the room. It sat there for a while. Folded in half, a crease unsteadily made, black ink seemingly marking the edges of it. Still, Frandire refused to get any closer; giving it some time at least before picking it up. He did just that. Waited several long moments before lifting his exhausted body from the cot and taking hold of the paper. It smelled faintly of cider.

Inside read:

I apologize for my hastiness this afternoon.

I haven’t seen a wood elf for some time.

My intentions were to ask you to join me. I realize you have no interest in my quest,

but I would greatly appreciate your assistance.

I am in search of my brother.

He has been missing for a number of months with no word of his whereabouts.

I may have an idea as to where he may be, but my travels call for passing through the

Woodland Elves realm.

I can offer you a plentiful amount of gold if you help.

I will be at the entrance to this town and will depart by Sunrise.

Please meet me there if you have decided otherwise.

If not, discard this message.

Goren

Frandire suddenly felt as though his body would cave. The dwarf was persistent but traveling with him would only bring horrible luck. Just talking to him was bringing enough already with a great deal more to come.

He took the note, crumpled it, and threw it towards the corner of the room.

“There. Discarded.” He told himself and climbed back into the cot in the same meditational position he’d formerly been in.

The sounds of merriment grew ever louder, seeping through the wooden building’s structured walls and collecting in a gentle buzz around Frandire’s head. Within moments, he was lulled into his trance once more.

Fire. It consumed the area in a greedy manner, driving out any who dared get near except for the one causing such mayhem. The glow radiated around the room, surrounding it in a stifling heat. Embers and ash fell to the ground and caught themselves on articles of clothing.

Frandire stood where he was, basking in the sight. He’d never seen something so horrific or ghastly and neither had the dwarf by his side.

The glow continued to encase the room. Until it grew too close. Until it licked at their feet and the only thing to be felt was unbearable pain.

The light grew brighter before falling to dimness. Returning to pitch black.

Again, he awoke for a second time that night. He flung himself from the cot, quilt wrapped tightly in between his shivering grasp, hat flown across the room and immediately forgotten.

“This one was different. Why was it different?”

He repeated this, over and over in a stumbling voice, his throat cracking and closing in on itself making it that much more impossible to breathe. But he knew how to deal with it. He fell to the floor with his head between his legs and took great, big gasping breaths.

He was calmer than he had been a moment ago and he took the opportunity to wipe the blood from his nose with the back of his hand.

The sun had yet to rise. If he were to guess, he’d only fallen back asleep for two hours. Not that he needed to sleep, but the exhaustion seemed to increase with each passing night that he didn’t.

He gathered his things, not bothering to fix his hair or wipe the blood from his hand, the hat placed on his head and pulled tightly over his ears.

The tavern was silent for once by the time he drew the door shut behind him and locked it. The guests must’ve left either of their own volition or were kicked out by the owner. Frandire would never know, but in reality, he couldn’t care less about anyone else.