*Stands In The Doorway*

[Atillian]

*The tall, broad form darkens the entrance momentarily, before the being shifts in stance and walks directly towards the back. With a shrug of the shoulders, it's cloak is shed and swept under the darkest, unattended booth's seat. Settling in quietly, it clasps it's gauntleted hands, and lets the obsidian colored orbs to roam about this tavern, once familiar to a younger warrior. With a slow nod, the hood that had adorned the horned head is pulled back slightly, and those who inhabited these parts long ago, may pull the scarred, runed face of this being from their memories. Never more than a visitor, but stalwart as a friend, this trip has been too long.....*

[Milton]

Milton the healer was sitting at a table near the fireplace. A couple had moved from the table next to him in order to distance themselves from his eyes that kept looking up to them. When his eyes weren’t watching people, they were watching his hands. For under his hands was a stack of gold coins, a bag full of them nearby.

The coins hadn’t turned into carvings from wood like he thought they would. Usually when someone was rich the money wasn’t real, from his experiences. The last time he had traveled he offered to heal an injured man for a few coins, and others got mad at Milton. They thought healings were to be given ‘out of the kindness of ones’ heart’, and that it was wrong of Milton to try to earn a living with his main skill.

After all this two people had given him gold. It didn’t make since, what they did. But yet, Milton didn’t care that it didn’t, nor did he care that he was rich. What would he do with it? Nothing. There wasn’t anything to do with it.

It was as pointless as he was.

From his table he laughed emptily at the thought as someone walked in. Milton’s eyes smiled up to the horned and scared person as he looked him over. He didn’t size the man up, but Milton always liked to watch people.