Waywalker

         Buried deep inside the fabric of the universe sits The End of the Road, a tavern of particular renown. It wasn't famous for its food, nor for its spirits, the Tavern is placed at the center of the multiverse; every single universe to ever exist has, at one point, been bordered by the Tavern.

         This unassuming building floats in the void outside existence, known to few and accessible to fewer. Shining threads spiral away from this place, and those that know how can use them to jump between worlds. Walking the Ways can be dangerous, and Waywalkers are, as a rule, lucky, strong, or both.

         To the patrons of the Tavern, the new arrival that had burst through the doors only seconds before was clearly the former.

         "Jesus," he gasped, placing his hands on his knees. He was wearing a plain blue t-shirt that was plastered to his body by sweat, and his jeans tucked into his boots. "This place was farther than I thought." After a moment to catch his breath, he straightened himself. A hand brushed his messy hair out of his face, and he surveyed the room around him.

         Most of the patrons had lost interest in him long before he collected himself, and the few that were still looking his way did it with an air of boredom. Men, women, and creatures of genders entirely unknown to any tongue of man sat around a myriad of simple wood tables. It was a kaleidoscopic mish-mash of shapes and colors. A blue-skinned man sat at a table with a horned woman, a vaguely-humanoid shaped mass of translucent sludge burbled to a four-winged bird and a twelve-legged horse, and there was even a man with wings talking to a man who looked normal until he opened the mouth on his forehead, revealing dozens of moving teeth. All this happened beneath the glow of humming white crystals and under the watchful eye of a decrepit old man sitting behind the counter, wiping a dirty glass with a handkerchief.

         The newcomer took a moment to compose himself before strolling up to the bar. "What's up?" he asked the barkeep.

         The barkeep ignored him, continuing to clean the glass.

         "I know you can hear me," the man said.

         Once more, the barkeep seemed to not notice his existence.

         The man frowned, reaching out at the barkeep. "Hey, I'm talking to—"

         A hand grabbed his shoulder and pulled him back from the bar. Before he could orient himself, he was planted—quite firmly—to a seat. Only one other patron was there at the table with him: a slightly pudgy man of about thirty. He was wrapped in a red robe, and his shaven head sported tattoos across its whole surface, and scars cris-crossed his entire body. "I wouldn't do that, if I were you."

         "Do what?" the man said. "Look, I've been adventuring long enough to know how this works. When you come upon a tavern or an inn, the barkeep gives you the local rumors, whatever kind they may be. It happens everywhere."

         "Not here," the red-clad man said. "You're in the End of the World. The rules work slightly differently now. Name's Tsan, and since it's only slightly obvious you are here more by luck than skill, I'm being nice and giving you the rundown of how things work around here."

         "I'm giving you a pass, since you clearly don't know me, but I am Flynn, and I'm known as Flynn the Fearless. I have never met a man or monster stronger than me in combat."

         Tsan pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing loudly. "Flynn, you seem like a nice kid, you really do, and I'm trying my hardest to remain patient with you, but you are—by far—the weakest being in this building." He paused for a moment to let that sink in, half-expecting the boy to interrupt. "Things get different once you start Waywalking. It gets harder. Much harder. I've seen dozens of local heroes like you on the outside, and damn near all of them are dead. I can count those living now on one hand, and I'm missing fingers. You're not a big shot anymore, you're an apprentice playing at being the master. Sit down and shut up so I can teach you the basics so hopefully you won't join the thousands of poor, unprepared bastards that came before you."

         When it became apparent that Flynn had no intention of interrupting, Tsan continued. "The barkeep here isn't just there to serve drinks, he's a protector of everyone and everything inside the Tavern. I've heard he's stood up to beings so unfathomably strong a mortal like me would never stand a chance at scratching them, and they were the ones to back down. He's the closest thing to a legit god you'll find around these parts, and he don't like to be bothered. We keep things civil and quiet while we're in his fine establishment, capiche?"

         “Uh, yeah,” Flynn said. “What else do I need to know?”

         “Don’t judge based on appearance. Everyone that travels the outside is a powerful mage in their own right, and most if not all of the ones you meet around here are going to be so far above your head you can’t see above their belt buckle. Be polite and have a plan to run the second things get hairy.” He paused, looking around, then leaned in, continuing in a hushed voice, “If you see anyone in plain robes and a featureless mask of matching color, don’t think, don’t hesitate, just run. Run far and run fast, not matter what. It doesn’t matter if your running will cause the end of an entire world, just do it.”

         “What?” Flynn exclaimed. “Why?”

         “There are fates worse than death, young Waywalker,” Tsan said. “Then there’s fates worse than those. That’s where you’ll be if you cross paths with one of them.”

         “I’ll keep that in mind,” the young man said. “Are you around here often, in case I need more advice or whatever?”

         “I live in a world not far from here, so I come nearly daily,” Tsan said. “If you need anything, ask. I’ve watched too many die.”

         Flynn grinned, standing. “Thanks, pops.” He turned and strode towards the bar.

         Tsan jumped up, grabbing his shoulder. “What did I just say?”

         “I’ll be respectful, and the door’s right there.”

         “We leave him alone, and he lets us stay here.”

         The boy dug in his pocket for a moment, pulling out a simple key made of white metal. “I’m supposed to give this to the barkeep.”

         The older man took a step back in surprise. “You? You, of all people, have a key to a room here?”

         Flynn blinked. “I thought that wasn’t too out of the ordinary. I mean, there are rooms here, people have to stay in them.”

         “Kid, sell that, and you’ll live like a king for your entire life. No, not even that, you’ll own your own world.” Tsan shook his head. “How did you get that?”

         “Well, I ain’t selling it,” Flynn said. “My master gave it to me after teaching me how to walk the Ways and told me to come back only when I knew how the strength of thousands could become the strength of one. Do you know anything about that?”

         “The strength of thousands could become—” Tsan started. He cut himself off by shaking his head. “That could mean any of a dozen things. Out of curiosity, since there’s a relatively few number of Waywalkers, what is your master’s name.”

         “I always knew him by Wuotan, but he also taught me that Waywalkers don’t give out their real names, so he could be anyone.” Flynn froze for a second. “Waywalkers don’t give out their real names,” he repeated. A sigh escaped his lips as his hand hit his forehead. “And what did I do?”

         “I did say it gets harder from here on,” Tsan said. “This is a pivotal moment in your Waywalking career. What is your name going to be on the outside?”

         Flynn sat for a moment, key in hand. “You know what? I’m not changing my name,” he announced.

         Tsan frowned. “You’re a Waywalker. It’s dangerous for you to go around giving out your real name.”

         “Why?”

         “Because…” Tsan began. “Because…”

         “You don’t know why. It’s just a thing y’all do because you’ve always done it,” Flynn said. “Therefore, I’m going to be Flynn the Freak.”

         “You can’t make up your own nickname, Flynn,” Tsan said. “Plus, I’m not sure you want your nickname to be ‘the Freak’, anyway.”

         “Hey, it was a thing I pulled out of my ass, give me a break.” He turned around, presenting the key to the barkeep. “Hey, I’ll need a room.”