A Warrior's Pride is In His Stories [Job| Mr. Solo Dolo~]

Reliving Glory Days:

It was late. Too late for anything to really go on for the Halfling, but enough for him to want to explore the nightlife. While he had spent his days in Reim open during the day, he wondered what myserties would go on during the night. Tahl stepped through the streets, whistling timidly to himself as he did so.

His eyes caught the rare sights of certain "special" shops; women parading around in skimp clothing and men of all ages drenched in alcohol at the bars. The sounds coming from one particular bar caught his ears; the loud sounds of a peculiar story. He stepped over to the window and leaned against it as an old man guffawed loudly. The pitcher in his hand splashed all around on the floor as he continued with his story, much to the distaste of the other men that were sitting around him.
"And so using my..sword!,"He spoke, throwing his pitcher up and splashing the man behind the bar,"I slashed down on that bastard into tiny pieces. And that's how I gained the name of 'Strong Arm Baltia!'" The men around him groaned and grumbled; another shouting for the man to go home.

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Tahl found himself so enamored with his story that he stepped inside of the bar and sat down near the old man. Just as he opened his mouth to speak, the barkeep tapped him roughly on his shoulder.
"Oi,"the barkeep whispered into his pointed ear,"Do us all a favor and take the old man home. If you want to hear another one of his stories, do us a favor and take him there before he starts up again." Tahl's bronze eyes looked up to the older man and down at the retired warrior, who was now fast asleep against the bar. He chuckled and nodded to the barkeep, putting an arm of the soldier under his and dragging him out.

As he walked, he could hear the old man mumble about another story and hiccup. His breath reeked with alcohol, but Tahl withstood it nonetheless. He looked all around and asked the few people that were left for directions to the man's house, finally managing to find himself inside. It was an old and shabby hut, but looked steady enough to stand through any form of weather.

The Halfling dragged the old man into the house and tossed him onto the old bed, letting out a sigh as he did so. He looked down at the man, still feeling intruiged but didn't want to intrude on the man's sleeping. He stayed for a few more minutes before turning away. As he did so, he suddenly felt the man clutch onto the hem of his cloak.
"..Where do you think you're going? Don't you want a story?,"He croaked. Tahl turned his head and looked down at the old warrior. His eyes held the old sense of passion and fire from his youth.
"S-sure, Baltia..,"He whispered. He sat himself down and scooted close to the bed. He watched him sit up and pull a flask from the inside of his coat. He uncorked the bottle and took a large drink before speaking.
"Well let me start my story from my first day in battle..,"He began.

The old soldier and the Halfling spent hours in the night, trading stories between training camp and battle; days and nights in the caravan. They traded many laughs and smiles before the sun finally rose in the hut. Tahl watched as the man was now sound asleep. He chuckled and stood up, exiting the room and feeling satisfied, walking back to the hotel to rest.

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