Strangers

The unusually-clad stranger glanced around idly at the mess that was the inn, taking in the damage with a steeled gaze until he was interrupted by the entry of yet another. Glancing up sharply, he studied the newcomer.
After a long moment, he stood up, and drew back his hood. The stranger nodded politely.
"Well met, good man. I am just a poor traveler passing by and stopping for a rest."
The man who wore the odd colors of white and blue was not the tallest of men, but he carried an air about him of being considerably...stronger, taller, and more potent than he seemed at first. Not a young man, his soft brown hair and light beard was tinged a little with silver, testifying to some slight age. Despite the silver hair that glinted in the firelight, however, he still appeared to be a very able and strong man. A mix of young and old, with a very particular set of eyes...strong, steely gray eyes that never wavered and seemed to had a touch of youth in them. His ragged cloak, tunic, and dusty boots alone kept him from looking like a strange kind of elf.
He bowed lightly, nodding to the man, and bowing a little lower to the girl they called Mairead, the one that was so like his sister. A little bit of his forelock of gentle tan hair fell over his forehead.
"I hope I am not intruding?" He glanced about at the mess, "And that I may stay the night with your kind permission?"
He glanced around further, looking back up to the man who had entered. "Is there trouble, good man?" The fire crackled red upon the hearth.