The weathered man seemed to ignore the Innkeeper's question regarding his name, nodding shortly when she asked if he had met Pio. He had half turned to leave when she called him back, offering a room in exchange for future services. He followed her lead over to the bar where she took out a log book and set it in front of him.
He saw her pause in front of a key, then turn back to where he stood.
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""Come now, make up your mind. I have to see to the stables tonight, it seems, and the night grows ever later."
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Shrugging slightly he picked up the pen. He stopped for a moment in front of the blank space, fingering his ring as he did so. Finally he signed a name, and closed the book. The word was a crude one in origin, 'Awyrgan,' from the tounges of the wild men of the Far North meaning condemned or strangled, but the letters were that of a refined writer of the Elvish scripts. Closing the book he passed it back to her.
She gestured towards the stairwell. "Upstairs and to your right." She picked up the key and headed towards the back of the Inn in the direction of the stables leaving Awyrgan standing alone. He watched her retreating figure for a brief moment and then turned and walked up the stairs where he found an open room, small, but more than suitable for his Spartan needs.
The door had no lock, but the man improvised and the room was soon secure enough for his taste. Setting himself down in a chair he pushed the window open, allowing the chill breeze to rush over him. Looking up, he found the North Star. Tracing an imaginary path that only he knew, he located the small, bright light in the sky that seemed to sing out to him and break through the stone surrounding his heart.
He sat smoking silently, deep in thought, with age-old lines running in deep channels across his relatively young face. After a time he rose silently and cast himself upon the bed and fell into a light sleep, for he had already slept longer than usual earlier in the evening.