• New York City was a dazzling sight. It had been some years since the traveler had settled in such a busy, bright place. Cars whipped by, and the traveler looked on with some interest, grinning at all the people running about. It was such a strange and amazing time, he thought to himself. Previously he had been in Eastern Europe, and he found it to be a charming, but rather poor area.

    The lights of Time Square flashed different products that he had little interest in buying. Cameras weren't his thing, and Coke was just another soda. He mused that Doctor Pepper or Mountain Dew were in order, sodas he had missed sorely for some time, and flying back over to the states he never thought to purchase one. "Advertising worked after all," he continued walking down the busy street, careful to avoid the rushing business men trying to make it home on time after a late dinner. Pickpockets eyed him and moved on.

    He looked middle aged, but his clothing was still tattered and torn. He looked poor, wearing cargo pants with rips. His face was pock marked and scarred, his stubble was nearing beard status, and his hair was reduced to being only slightly longer than his beard.

    Granted, he truly did have very little in the form of mundane wealth on him. Money was nearly useless to him, except for his few stints in society. For such times, he had set up a bank account some time ago that always seemed to grow on such a scale that he rarely did need to work. With the introduction of plastic some years ago, he didn't even need to find the local branch bank. The conveniences of the world never ceased to amaze him.

    The traveler walked for some time. Dusk had turned to night, and the moon had risen and set. Morning was coming close to the horizon. If the man could have seen the black sky, he could have seen the first coloration encroaching upon the sky. But the lights were thick, as New York City had been since the traveler was alive. "I wonder what life was like before electricity?"

    He entered a small tavern on Manhattan. It was a strange tavern, one that was hard to stop without the correct knowledge. The man had the correct knowledge, and had, in fact, been to the tavern many times in his life times, for he had lived many in one body, and the tavern had always been the first stop on his list of things to do in New York City.

    The traveler moved past a bouncer, a large Scandinavian looking man, with long blond hair, blue eyes, a chiseled body in a black tank top, cargo pants, and black boots. He was in the likeness of Thor, a Norse god long dead. The traveler didn't stop, though, for this had always been the traveler's home, and he had no need for formalities.

    The room was small, crowded with only about ten people. None of them recognized the traveler, and he recognized none of them. He was sure that some of his friends would be upstairs, playing some silly game or another they had invented decades earlier. "Barkeep! I'd like an ale, please. Just a pint." He smiled at the bartender, who looked at him with strange eyes. Upon looking around, the traveler realized that everyone was looking at him. The men looked on with suspicion. The women welcomed the new meat, perhaps a future date, but when they saw his appearance, they quickly moved on with their conversations of fancy. The traveler took a moment to realize this was no longer home. This was like any other tavern he had visited while abroad, a foreign place with foreign faces. He kept his head down, as he knew was the custom for someone new. He would be in and out without any issues. "Barkeep, may I have that drink please?"

    A large hand reached for his shoulder, "Excuse me," there was a thick accent. He was a first or second generation American. It comforted the traveler to know the old ways hadn't died yet. When he turned, there was the large Norse god of a man behind him. "You are not approved in here. Guest only."

    "Ah, yes, I suppose I did go by you in a bit of a hurry, but I assure you I belong." The bouncer's hand became firm on the traveler's shoulder, and the traveler winced. "Hold, now. Let me get it." The traveler fumbled with his wallet and took out a small piece of yellow paper. The edges were tattered, but mostly it was in tact. The bouncer took the card, which read:

    The anonymous holder of this card
    has performed great services for
    this establishment. He is always
    welcome.
    -James McGormick, Founder#2
    Given out October 18, 1921

    The bouncer backed up a little, handed back the card, and stuttered a little. The bartender looked concerned. "Tim, serve this man up right away. Are you...." The oaf looked confused, and the traveler found it cute.

    "Not likely. Many myths circulate, few actually include me. It might be a deed I helped someone else do, but I rarely take credit for anything. Are any of the founders around?" The room became a little more silent, except for a jukebox playing old Irish tunes. "All right, don't have to get all nasty and serious now."

    "No," the bartender said, handing down a pint, "They died about ten years ago. How long have you been away from here?"

    The traveler thought for a moment, realizing some of the patrons were starting to crowd around him. He enjoyed telling a good story, but he also realized most of the people here wanted short and quick answers, not entire epic poems. "The old days," he mused out loud. A few people looked at him quizzically, and he shook his head, "Never mind. It's been about twenty, thirty years? Been busy. First time in the states since about the mid nineties."

    "You have to be him, then," the bouncer went back into the conversation. He wasn't a very wise looking man at this point, more like a child trying to comprehend the hero idolized as a youth. Now that hero was in the flesh. "You're the traveling sage."

    "The would imply a specific individual of certain origin. I'm a sage, yes. I teach individuals as they need it, or as I see fit. I also go from point to point in quite the fashion, so I fancy myself a traveler. In that sense, I am a traveling sage, not the traveling sage." He drank down the pint. "A Jack and Coke now?" His mind reeled at the word Coke. "Scratch that, Dr. Pepper and Jack." The bartender did as he asked.

    The bouncer stared at the traveler's right arm. The traveler finished his drink, then looked at the large man, "May I help you? You're a bit bizarre, you know? Like special bizarre. I haven't felt this awkward since I realized Terry was a man." The large man hadn't stopped staring.

    "They say the traveling sage has a twitch in his right arm while under pressure." The right arm flexed for a moment, "Hah! Like that! No one else...." The traveler started to uncontrollably spasm his right arm, then it started wiggling funny. Everyone in the tavern burst out in laughs at the eccentric Scandinavian man. "You're not a nice man," he was nearly pouting.

    "So I've heard. They say it's the mark of a good teacher. Makes you learn or else. Another, barkeep?" Another drink was in front of him shortly after he asked.

    The bartender spoke up, "Why don't you make your way upstairs? Some of the beards up there might know you, or you might know them. I think they're throwing some runes. A couple of them pulled out chess and backgammon. Could be fun, old timer."

    The traveler grumbled, "Never been referred to as an old timer before. You even look older than me, barkeep. Watch your tongue a little, yes?"

    "Oh come on. I might look forty, but you're past that a few times, beard." It was a term for the old ones. The traveler wasn't quite at that status, but he would be if he lived a little longer. It'd be an honor then, but it was a nuisance now.

    "They likely have never heard of me. I don't really stick around places long enough to be real known." He tossed back the next drink. "Do you have any rooms here? I could use one for the night." The man pulled out his wallet and pulled out his plastic card.

    "Money's not good here. If you hold that ticket in here, you get yours free tonight, sage. You need anything, just ask."

    The traveler made his way upstairs, exhausted from his journey. The next day was planned out as one of relaxation after his long flight. His body was tired, and he had missed a great deal of the city while he was gone.