Belazor walked into the inn and looked around.  He was unimpressive, a few inches short of six feet and of medium build.  Few paid him any heed, but he was used to that.  He had been traveling for years now and every place was the same.

He stood at the threshold for a few moments longer, letting the last of the rain fall from his long leather coat.  He took off his wide brimmed hat revealing a matted mess of brown hair.  Carefully he shook the rain from his hat before placing it back upon his head.

Satisfied that he was not going to drip water all over the floor of the inn, he made his way to the bar.  The man behind the bar ignored him as he waited on other customers.  Belazor waited patiently.  He smiled at the man beside him, but got only a frown in return.  He turned back to the bar.  He knew the man did not wish him any ill will.  This too was the same everywhere.

Finally, having served all the other customers, the man asked Belazor what he wanted.  Placing a few coppers on the bar he asked for a beer.  The man looked at the coppers and scowled, but did bring him a weak beer.  Beer in hand he carefully made his way across the room to an empty chair.

The chair was by the fire.  It always was, whether he wanted a seat there or not.  He leaned his staff against the wall and took the seat.  The fire seemed to react to his presence, flickering as if a gust of wind had fed the flames.  At this, a few of the other patrons that sat nearby stood and moved away.  Belazor doubted that they knew why they did it.  It too was the same everywhere he went.

He sat there alone in silence and sipped his beer.  He kept his head down, but it took all his will to do so.  He could hear the flames calling.  Finally, with a sigh he raised his eyes and looked into the fire.  Like he always did.

He gazed upon the dancing flames and glowing embers with his deep brown eyes and he saw everything.  Like he always did.