The Old Ways (Open)

The Rathskeller was slow that chilly evening, so there were no difficulties in finding a place to sit at the bar. Tristan did just that, rubbing his sore hands together as he meandered through the tavern towards the first bar stool he found. The woman behind the counter was a familiar face, and the blacksmith gave her a nod. What was her name…? Ed-something… Edrei? Gods, but he was terrible with names. ”A pint of whatever you have, please,” he requested politely, settling deep into his seat and leaning forward with his elbows on the bar top. Soon enough the woman had set down a pint in front of him, to which he offered her a tired smile and a word of thanks. Reaching out with blistered hands, the brunette pulled the pint closer, content to just sit and breathe for a few relaxing moments. In short? He was exhausted. It had been a good number of years since he had put his body to work in such a way. Tristan knew that rebuilding a smithy would take a lot of work and effort, but everything seemed to ache in such a bone-deep kind of way that made him want to sleep for a month. In his younger years, such rigorous work was commonplace on the farmstead, but since taking up the lonely life of an adventurer traveling along the empty roads, he had forgotten. Well, more accurately his body had forgotten. Despite the deep aches in his back, arms, and hands, there was no doubt that he was proud. The smithy was coming along nicely, and hopefully soon they would have a means in which to make and repair weapons, or create other items with the right resourcing. None of it would really be possible without Remi and Deimos’ assistance, of course, and he made yet another mental note of finding some way to repay them for their kindness. After sitting hunched over his drink for a few minutes, simply content to breathe, Tristan grasped the pint in his blistered hand and took a tentative sip. The liquid was cool on his tongue, but strong, and the blacksmith-to-be coughed a little before clearing his throat and taking another sip. It was good. Strong, but good, and tiredly he closed his eyes and rested his forehead in the palm of his open hand. Hopefully he wouldn’t fall asleep at the bar… How embarrassing that would be. tristan I’ll come to thee by the moonlight, though hell should bar the way