Was he a spy? Some people thought so. A lot of information can be gathers, bought , and sold inside a tavern such as this.
Yet he never made a dishonest coin by selling other peoples gossip.
Was he a womanizer? The way he could charm any woman you'd think magic was at play. The hopeless, the drunk, and the married man would shoot daggers from their eyes at his direction for every time he could bring a blushed smiled to a maidens face.
Yet he never took any of these maidens home.
Was he like everyone else in Stormreach, hiding from his past? He never talked much about himself. Only when very late in the evening, or during deep conversation, or when a patron asked for a song, would his fisherman's accent take the place of his city boys speech.
He never could hide it well anyway, yet when people asked from whence he came he always would say, "The Principalities, and you?"
The way he walked, however, never matched that of a fisher people of Lhazaar, and he kept a strong aversion of going anywhere near the sea.
But he was indeed a Lhazaarite, and never was he a spy, crook or thief. He took honest work from the Phoenix tavern, whenever Cog had work for him, be it waiting taverns, preparing food, or washing plates. He made good pay and even better tips. Gave left over scraps and excess food to the poor and hungry. Donated clothing and coin to Silver Flame and Sovereign Host alike. Good to his neighbors and paid his landlord on time.
All around a nice guy who was always there to offer a smile, an ear, a hand. An honest man, but little more was known of him, but for the sadness that sometimes touched his eyes.
Nearly two decades ago the last war took his love away. Perhaps a long time for humans, but it is was only yesterday to an elf, specially a young elf who married early. Very early. To elven eyes, he was still but a boy, 114 years old, marring a half-elven girl less then a quarter his age.
He still remembered the smell of her hair. The grey-green of her eyes.
She was daughter of a well to do sailor, and one day she would go to war at sea and vanish in the gales of Barrakas. He was but a tavern server who never learned how to swim. He was only one half without her.
So why Stormreach? Why step aboard a ship, spending seven weeks at sea, to venture over some of the worst known oceans? Why do all this when you fear that which lurks within the deep blue? To honour a memory. Her memory. And to honour their daughters memory. A baby girl who died of pneumonia while mommy, miles away from home, was lost to the sea.
Yet here he was. He survived that voyage, to live a dream his wife once dreamed.
Today, nearly two decades later, was the final day of mourning, has is his peoples custom. What few belongings he still carried of hers he placed inside a small silver box and stored in his attic. He spent the day starring out to sea, sat hight upon a cliff near the harbor. Tomorrow he would find himself a woman, a regular at his work that had shown a deep interest in him. Tomorrow he would collect his tin whistle, for magic was indeed always at play when he would bring a smile to maidens faces, and he would grab his lock picks and tools, for though he wasn't a spy, thief or crook, he was the son of a locksmith and in Xen'drik his skills would be of value.
Tomorrow Cabbie, known as the taverns man-wench, living someone else's dream, would become an adventurer.