This place was not Earth, rather a similarly sized planet which danced around another solar system. Many beings of different forms lived and died each day here. Night was like soot, and coated the planet in thick gloom. Feathered creatures with gaping eyes scanned the forest floor for any small morsel unfortunate enough to have been scurrying around this late. Gradually a racket rose from the forest, a cacophony of footsteps as they trudged through the layers of ancient fallen leaves. Careful eyes gazed from the darkness as they attempted to discern the source of the night's disturbance. Shrouded and bundled the form of a man appeared, headed to the town not far off. These creatures were not unfamiliar with this shape. They crept deep into the shadows to seek refuge from this intruder.

Drawn by the lights in the window like a moth to flame, he continued on his path heading toward a bleak dilapidated building whose weathered sign read "TAVERN." After hesitation he groped for the door in the darkness. When he found the handle and slid the thick wooden door open he stepped inside, his face was now revealed by the stifled orange glow of the oil lamps. This wanderer had a chiseled face with cornflower blue skin unwrinkled and youthful, yet deep navy eyes resonated his true age. Cobalt bangs sagged down over his eyes in loose pointed curls; The entirety of his strong figure was encased in his black wool cloak which enveloped him like the night.

While his eyes adjusted to the dim light he finished stepping inside, and glanced around the crumbling structure. His eyes and mind would have continued to collect the details of the scene; however as he was greeted by the tavern maid he became obligated to face her.

“Good evening Sir, how can we please you?” her voice echoed the dull lackluster sound of routine as she continued “We have drinks and a few other things no one asks for. Let me know when you're ready to order.” She watched him shuffle around before he seated himself, playing with her smock nervously the whole while. The woman remained behind the bar momentarily for his order. She seemed to be around thirty years of age, round faced and slightly pale. Yet hers was a subtle beauty few would notice, and with a few more years of work would most likely disappear.

He sat at a small table next to one of the windows, not yet choosing to speak. Again, his eyes traveled the room. A few other patrons at their table beside the dusty and untouched piano caught his eye; they were broken men with hunched shoulders and unshaven whiskery faces. Sorrow seemed the theme of this place. Each exposed rafter and lumbering support beam of age darkened wood enhanced this desperation. When she saw he was ready she trekked over to his table walking out from behind the overused bar and its wooden companions with their broken upholstery. Voyaging past other vacant tables and chairs she paused to receive his order.

“One glass of water please Miss,” he requested turning his head up to the ceiling and stretching his body. In the end his body seemed more or less propped against the rigid wooden furnishing. With release of a reposed exhale he concluded his adamantine pose and slunk again into the chair's intended curves “That will be all for tonight.” he added.

“Water?" she asked bewildered “Why water? We have better things I'm sure.” Most of the men at the back table were perturbed at this strange man's order. He could tell by their distorted faces whenever they reached his vicinity. The otherwise empty air carried their ridicule across the wooden room to the wanderer's ears.

“What kind of lightweight orders water at a tavern?” he heard one exclaim with furious eyebrows.

“I don't know but this one looks ill see how he's sitting, looks Like he'll keel over any minute,” stated one who rubbed an irregular bulge protruding from his shoulder. It seemed the wanderer was viewed as sport by the “regulars” but he cared not and his visage displayed his ennui.

“Water will be perfectly fine,” he confirmed genuinely.

Assured by his sincerity she trailed away returning anon from the ice chest with a tall muddled glass of ice and water, cool yet cloudy obviously drawn from a questionable source. She placed it on the table, the glass tapping against the wood softly. Her face still retained signs of that first bewilderment which accompanied his initial order.

“Thank you,” stated the wanderer. She didn't respond, walking away to tend the more important customer's needs. This place seemed coated with despair; it filled everyone inside it permeating even the laughter as one of them made a joke. He observed them while he lingered, his glass slowly sipped to death. Before he stood to walk out he made some slighted gestures. His wooden chair screeched behind him grinding against the floor as if it protested his departure.

She glanced up at him from behind the bar as he walked out. She had returned herself while he had been drinking. Her eyes seemed full of spite that he wasted her time with water.

“Thank you for the Water Miss.” Said he pushing aside the door and stepping into the inky oblivion beyond. An obligatory response was only what was given.

When the woman reached the table to clear it later that night, she found three thick gold coins on the table. In the glass a single clear crystalline rose of ice blossomed from the base.