Completed [Flashback]A strange blessing.

[Miles]

47th of Winter 507 AV

The night was young. It was always young, full of life, and mysterious. Miles often imagined that he courted the night- it was a fickle mistress, full of intoxicating danger and hypnotic pleasures. She begged to be mastered, and he fancied himself a squire in training.
He sauntered through alleyways and backstreets with a swagger that invited and warned. He wore earth toned plainclothes- the very picture of commonality. He stood at six feet tall, and the majority of his face was covered by the hood of his travelling cloak. A few carefully misplaced steps named him drunk- he carried the scent of alcohol, he might as well have bathed in it. He sung snatches of forgotten songs, pretending he was a tavern singer one moment and a serious poet the next. It was all wonderfully performed, he thought. He was begging the night for trouble.
The night answered in spades.
Waiting in the shadows an Inn, a short lean man took note of Miles staggering about. His shoulders were hunched in defiance to the cold winter night. He wore a heavy wool cloak, and his clothes were dirt stained and moth-eaten. He instinctively wrapped his fingers around the hilt of a dagger at his waist, and began imagine the coin the man held. He would sleep in an inn tonight, with some to spare. His sneer was wrapped with malice and desperation. His cold, dead eyes locked on to Miles and he began to quietly move toward him, hoping the night's shadows would keep him hidden.
Miles pretended not to notice. He began to whistle the Ferryman's wife softly and off-key and stumbled toward the curb. He forced a burp and smacked his lips a few times, mentally preparing for the encounter with the thief. The thief was an amateur at best, a street tough who let hunger get the best of him. Miles didn't know the man, but knew his kind- it wasn't hard to bruise a man like that- and best of all it didn't offend his noble moral code. Beating up on lowlifes was just a perk of the trade.
Just a bit closer.
Before the action could begin, the Inn door slammed open and an old man came out laughing. "I'll beat you again Sammil, the next time you have a crown in your pocket!" There was rancorous laughter from the inn as a reply, but no one came to see the man home. The man wasn't drunk at all. He had a stoop to his walk, but moved around easily enough, Miles eyed him cautiously, letting his body stiffen up and dropping the drunken act. The man was much better prey than the street tough- and it provided Miles with the only thing more fun than fighting.
Competition.
The thug noted the old man and turned, distracted by the sight of easy prey. Miles was a distant memory as he leapt toward the old man, snarling fiercely. "Your money. All of it! I know you want to make it home alive, old man." His voice was low pitched and serious, he did not draw the dagger, but the shadows that played around him as he stood suggested danger nonetheless.
The old man stood stunned, too scared to scream. He fumbled in his pockets in haste, unable to produce the pouch of coins he had won fast enough. "D.. don't...please.. a wife... h..have childrenn.."
Miles didn't have much time to react. He sprinted toward the two men, positioning himself between the thug and his victim. He raised a shout just to disorient both men, and bumped the old man just hard enough to get him moving. One hand grasped his right arm firmly, pulling him along, the other, followed his coinpurse(pickpocket) and tugged it from him in the confusion. "This way man! Hurry!"
The old man had no choice. He was pulled along as the thug gave chase, openly baring the dagger now and yelling for them to stop. Before them lay a maze of alleyways each turn tighter and more abrupt than the last. He let himself be led, pumping his legs as fast as he could and praying he had the stamina to see saftey. Twice he tried to choke out a thank you, or a question, but fear seized his throat.
Miles led the man for what seemed to be an eternity, pulling the man down alley after alley. He was slightly impressed by the man's stamina, perhaps fear drove him beyond his limits. He headed for a square, one sure to have a night watchmen present. The street tough wouldn't be in any position to follow from there.
The two burst out of an alley and nearly trampled a watchman on patrol. "What's this now?" The watchman sputtered, grabbing the hilt of a long blade. "Who goes there?"
"Citizens," Miles breathed. "We flee a man who was set to rob us. He holds a dagger and is on our trail." Miles pointed back the way they came, where the sounds of pursuit were echoing around the alleyways. The old man tried to speak, but was interrupted by the sound of the thug coming out of the alley after them.
The watchman spared not a second. "Hold there! Drop that dagger, and come along quietly, or there'll be blood to clean off these streets. A night in the locks'll do you well." Miles smiled triumphantly as the thug now had larger problems to deal with. He idly realized that he was still clutching the man's arm. "Lets get you home" he said to the old man, letting him go as the watchman whistled loudly and closed in on the thug.
The two did not stay to watch the outcome- that fight did not interest either of them. The old man managed to get out an address between heaving breaths, and Miles found a shortcut to deliver the man home. Along the way, they exchanged name between panting breaths.
The old man's name was Abraham.
"I'd say 'nice to meet you' but to be honest it wasn't nice at all." The old man wheezed out, he cracked a smile then, and clapped Miles on the back. "You came right along when needed. A strange blessing, you are."
Miles showed that smile again and said "he'd gotten me if you hadn't come along. He forgot all about me once he saw your face. We're both lucky I guess."
"Well, for that I guess I ought to reward ye." Miles' breath caught as Abraham began to reach in his cloak for his coin purse. After a second of searching, the old man had to accept it was not there. He fumbled a few times and cursed. "I swore it was here when I left the inn, I owe you a debt, and now I can not pay."
Miles struggled to keep a straight face. "You ran as hard as I did- you earned a right to live another day, I don't need anything."
"No, no, Abraham Wielal won't left a favour unpaid in kind. Where do you reside, Miles? I'll bring by a reward in the morning."
Miles grew quiet and looked away. He hadn't had a home since he was twelve. He lived where the pockets took him- and strangely enough, they had taken him here. He spoke up. "I don't really live anywhere in particular. I'm a traveller."
The old man looked him over. "A traveller, at your age? You need a proper place to lay your head! Well then that does it- you'll stay here from now on. It's the least I can do for you saving my life."
Miles was flabbergasted but not shaken. He lifted his chin in defiance. "I don't need anything- really I am fine on my own."
"The winter is cold, Miles. So is an old house with nothing but an old man in it. You've got no choice now, I won't let you get away from me." The old man gripped Miles' hand tightly. "Come on, I'll show you in."
Miles shook his head. What was he getting into? Was this really what the fates would have him do? He took a deep breath and took the plunge. "As long as it doesn't upset your wife or children."
"Wife and children!" The old man laughed. "I was just trying to be resourceful, thought it'd take a special kind of man to rid the world of a family man, you know?" The old man unlocked the door and they stepped in the house.
What a strange old man. Miles shook his head and walked after him, careful not to let the gold pieces in his pocket jingle

[Arcane]

Rewards and Treasure! Experience Points +2 Running +1 Larceny +2 Observation +1 Stealth +2 Subterfuge Lores Abraham Wielal the Old Man Saving and Stealing Miscellaneous Ledger: +3gm Comments A short but interesting story. A pointer though, do double-enter your new paragraphs. It's rather hard to read it in this current format.