For some odd reason, people harbored grudges against lone travelers with long grey beards, leaning on sticks, and spouting aphorisms at small children while muttering to themselves. So Hammen did the only sensible thing, and shaved his beard. They still looked at him warily, but at least innkeepers didnt lie about the available rooms now, and people were content to talk, if quietly, when he was around.
Unfortunately, beard or no, it seemed like no one would approach him on this road. Perhaps that had something to do with no one else being on the road, but it amused him to consider the remote possibility that they were all simply avoiding him. In any case, it was somewhat worryingwithout a decent mirror, or indeed, even a standing pool of water, he hadnt been able to shave in quite a while (shaving blindly with a straight razor being one of the various ways of suicide in the elder days), his beard was growing back. So when he did get to some civilized place...
He sighed, and paused on his travels. The road seemed longer than it had ever been before. That was the people, no doubt. The lack of people. As he sat on a roadside rock (perhaps this was what the Gorinese called an inn?), contemplating an innocent grasshopper, he wondered for the first time if there was some reason why the people had all gone, and if maybe it was a good idea to get off of the road himself...
Hammen got up again, and started to walk in the long direction northward. Even with his deafness, he heard the battle, but it didnt worry him much. The staff, after all, was a cleverly concealed sword, and he was well practiced in his swordsmanship. Of course, he had forgotten that he had lost the sword-staff some time ago, but that barely bothered him when he did realize it: no doubt the soldiers would be a bit busy, and the fact that he was moving so slowly would blind them to him. Or some such nonsense.
Then he remembered that he was a New Eldist, and couldnt fight them anyway. Recalling how he had become a master swordsman was too much work, so he shook his head and walked on.
When he did get among them, the sword sounds had stopped, and now only wounded and dying were there. Either the entire forces had been slain, or the victors had left their own wounded. With gear on. Most curious.
He stooped to minister to one, but that one saved his hands feebly, moaning about demons, so he moved onto the next one, who was a little more grateful.
So when he reached the Citadel, weeks later, he looked somewhat more ragged and irritable, and meanwhile had around twenty new disciples trailing along behind him. Not bad, for a random hermit walking through the southeast of Gorin.
OOC: Note that the above story is partly a lesson in why people who don't have a sense of humor shouldn't attempt it, and also an implied threat that I'll continue if Iggy doesn't post the update, which just became an explicit threat.
