"How did her story go?" I Hera the question and for a moment don't beleive it. Someone... Someone cares about me. I smile through the tears as best I can and the two girls walk me to a spot next to the fire. 

I begin. "One day there was a girl. She lived in a beautiful castle until someone, a rebeller against the kingdom, set it on fire. The castle burned down along with the girl's riches, and her family." I stop and a tear rolls down my eye as I stare into the fire, remembering. The other girls, their names seem to be Leah and Ophilia, nudge their heads, interested and I start my story again. "The girl was taken by someone, by a protecter, her faithful maidservant, out of the castle on a bright red horse. Out of the castle." I repeat. "Out of the light. Out of the happiness and memories to a slum. The girl, only 11, knew what had happened to her friends and family even though her protecter tried to assure her that they were out there looking for her. Every time the girl heard this she shook it off, she knew the truth, or so she thought. Anyways, she lived in a slum for almost her whole life. She was a rebel, she found flowers and plants,- or should I say stole the plants - to dye her hair bright purple, as to shake off any memories of her past life. She made herself a new outfit and got weapons to look powerful. She changed her life. She thought. No matter how hard she tried, her past life would always come back to her. She cried herself to sleep every night. But one day, she decided to wander into a town, this town. She decided to walk into a tavern, and there..." She hesitated, and the two girls finished it with her. "She met her kindred spirits." I look back into the fire, and tears roll down my cheek. I then look up at my new friends and smile.

We finish the story together, “she met her kindred spirits.”  The woman smiles through her tears. Our life storys are similar, and that makes us all the closer.

I realize I have made friends for the first time.  When I was a child I was too shy to make friends and when I grew older I was too sad.  Now I have made friends I do not want to leave them.

I open my mouth to ask something but another question comes out.  “What would you like us to call you?” I ask the warrior woman.

I will ask the question that didn’t come out later I decide. 

“What would you like us to call you?” The question comes softly. “Ryaa. Call me Ryaa.”

out of charrie- LYRIA SAID HER FIRST WORD! SHE SAID, and I quote, “hapey.” HAPPY? WHAT ARE YOU HAPPY ABOUT? TELL MEEEEE 

"Why do you keep your knife so near?" I saunter up to the bar and raise my eyebrows at the ragged knight, who turns, a dismayed expression on their face. Probably expecting not to be noticed. "In this little town, you have nothing to fear. Except the gale and the storm, that is," I add with a chuckle. The knight continues to stare at me. "Awful night, isn't it? At least, out there--" I gesture toward the door -- "not in here! You don't seem awful at all." I smile triumphantly at my pun, but the object of the joke does not seem amused. I abruptly decide to switch course.

Tapping the countertop, I begin a new line of questioning. "You're a stranger around these parts, are you?" A single nod. "Been traveling a long time, have you?" Another nod, this one looking slightly irritable. "Well then, let us cut to the chase. We'll start with a little game. First, tell me your name." The knight seems put off by my rhymes, but opens their mouth to speak.

I don't know where I am.

Where am I?

I look around.

Warm light, the chatter of maidens, the clink of coins, the scrape of daggers.

I know where I am.

A tavern. 

Why am I here?

I forgot.

I stumble back, nearly falling into the fire. The wonderful fire. The warm fire, the specks of golden light swimming in the wavering heat. The burning of wood.

The burning of incense.

What incense? I forgot. I never knew any incense.

I right myself, looking down at the worn, cracked stones. 

Worn, cracked marble.

No, stones.

Surely tis only my imagination.

My white shirt is so dirty it is no longer white.

White like the sails the day we left.

What sails? 

I walk over to a counter, balancing unsteadily upon my sandals.

Sandals embroidered with gold.

Sandals not embroidered at all.

Sandals, not embroidered, but as slippery as a fish, sliding through a pile of spilled ale and flinging me through a set of stools and knocking down a hooded man. Not a man, a boy.

I catch a glimpse of purple.

Purple like the royals wore at the temple.

What temple? I forgot. I never knew a temple.

"I'm sorry," I say, the words feeling unfamiliar in my mouth.

My hands are shaking.

"I'm sorry," I repeat. 

---

If it is of concern, I am an old man, worn with age and fragility.

--- 

Newbie here :) 

After I had received my bit of bread from the bartender, I slowly chewed it and continued to twirl my dagger. 

Many other interesting people had already entered the old tavern after I had, most likely to get out of the storm. I watched the exchange of story telling between the three girls, one a young child, another a warrior, and another woman. Each guest here had a story to tell, along with many mysteries. Could one of these guests be the one I was looking for? Only time could tell. For the moment, I was content to listen to the stories of the others, and not be noticed. Not yet. However, fate had other plans. 

"Why do you keep your knife so near?"

I turned to see whom the voice had come from, only to find that it was the fool. "In this little town, you have nothing to fear. Except the gale and the storm, that is," he continued chuckling. I only started at him. "Awful night, isn't it? At least, out there--" I gesture toward the door -- "not in here! You don't seem awful at all." He smiled, probably hoping for a laugh from me as payment. Once he realized that he would not be getting a laugh from me tonight, he began a new line of questioning. "You're a stranger around these parts, are you?" I nodded, wishing not to speak. "Been traveling a long time, have you?" I nodded again.

"Well then, let us cut to the chase. We'll start with a little game. First, tell me your name."

I was not in the mood for games, but this fool, he intrigued me. He reminded me of a friend at home. I sheathed my dagger and held out my hand to shake. 

"Galahad. Call me Galahad. It's not very original I know, but my parents wished me to be chivalrous and brave like the knights of Camelot."

The Fool smiled as he shook my hand. "Galahad. Pleased to meet you."

"I am now at a disadvantage, you know my name but I do not know yours. What's your name?" I asked him. 

I listened closely as the Fool told me his name, yet my thoughts were in two places at the same time.

Could he be the one I was searching for? Fate had left me this far, I could not ignore it this time.   

A brown lock of hair fell in front of my eyes and I hurriedly pushed it away, waiting for a response. I had given this fool my name,  however I was not ready to give up all of my secrets quite yet.

---------

(So if you can't tell, this Knight's 'secret' is that she is a girl posing as a boy, as of course girls being knights were uncalled for. But she doesn't want people knowing that yet)

(@The Fool sorry if your character is a girl and not a guy! Also thanks for including me in this. :)  

Top top top!!!! 

Top top top!! 

top topntop top!!! 

(Whoops I haven't been on this thread in a little while. I guess I'll put my charrie into a new scene)

~ ~ ~ 

As the night deepens, so does the storm. Though I was originally intending to sleep in the back behind the tavern without anyone knowing, the storm's wrath makes that seem unwise. I'll either have to exchange the last of my money for a room, or work for my stay and hope that no one recognizes me for who I once was.

I wander around the tavern, looking for easy targets to pickpocket, but each person that I try doesn't seem to have anything on them. I frown, and then realize: I'm not the only thief in this tavern.

Sighing, I hesitantly approach the bar. I'll be more vulnerable to conversation and recognition, but I need to inquire about a room to see if I can afford it. Luckily, I've warmed up since entering the building, and I'm now better able to hide my limp and my accent, though they do still tend to come out every once in a while. I'll have to work on that later, I think to myself. 

Behind me, a few druken men that had been hanging out in the corner are starting to get rowdy, picking fights with each other. As I wait for the tavern keeper, I have no choice but to sit in between two pairs of people conversing, the fool talking to a knight who is starting to look uncomfortable, and the woman with purple hair who I had talked to earlier, in discussion with a man in a hood who I can't quite see the face of, and is drinking coffee.

It's surprising how normal this is to me, the hiding and secrecy and false names. Years ago, back when I was a prince and not an outlaw, the life I was now leading would have been unthinkable.

The drunken men in the background get louder, and I straighten suddenly as someone begins talking to me. 

@The Knight, it's no problem! Your character seems very interesting. And yes, I'm a guy.

--

"Galahad. Pleased to meet you." And I am. Fighting folk are always interesting; their names sometimes even more so.

"I am now at a disadvantage. You know my name but I do not know yours. What's your name?" This knight appeared gruff at first glance, but now he seems intrigued by me. I havn't a clue why.

"They call me Archer," I answer with a light laugh. "A bit of a waste, isn't it? I carry neither bow nor arrow, and would not know how to use them if I did." I wave my hand, causing my red sleeve to flutter. "But enough of this melancholy moping! I have been waiting and hoping that you might tell me your business here. You seem like an interesting sort. But if not--" With an artful set of movements, I whip a deck of cards from my pocket and span them before me in a perfect fan. "--we can always play cards. Or I can show you a few tricks."

I take the card off the top, a nine of diamonds, and use a simple sleight of hand to make it disappear. Then, with a more elaborate series of moves, I sweep the card out from thin air, along with a second card I drew while my companion was distracted.

Card tricks are always an excellent way to judge an audience. To tell whether they are frivolous or full of themselves, dark or deadly boring. This time, the knight seems faintly amazed, but with a layer of suspicion behind his eyes. A skeptic, then, and a reserved one at that. He would be hard to win over.

Subtly replacing the card in the middle of the deck, I continue. "What say you? Cards are fine, excellent, even. But a conversation would bring a dash of excitement to this boring evening."

The knight seems to study me curiously. Then he hastily pushes back a lock of hair and begins to respond.