OoC: Not at all, not at all! Thanks already. I meant to include Lachy's name, I guess I just...didn't.
Anyways, BiC:

Lachyn stood on top of the town's wall for perhaps a bit too long. He barely reached the inn before the storm broke overhead, and slammed the door on a torrential downpour that rattled so loudly on the roof it nearly drowned the loud chatter.

"Good day to you, Master Lachyn, oh most famed of wanderers," called Tabby, one of the regulars at the tavern.

"And to the lovely lady Tabitha," he replied, and she barked a laugh. Tabby might have once been lovely, but she certainly was no longer, with her scarred face and her tangles of thick brown hair, and one eye unfocused, completely blind, while her mouth was twisted into a permanent grimace.

"Play us a song, master minstrel," shouted Gergon, another usual customer.

Lachyn climbed onto a chair, sat on the table, and unstrung his lute from his back. Even with one hand bandaged, it was easy, natural, to hold it, the tune it up and begin to play, an old tune that everyone knew. Even so, though they'd all heard the song since they were children in their mothers' arms, everyone listened with rapt attention as Lachyn began to sing.

When he played the final chord, everyone gave a hearty round of applause, and Tabby snatched a tankard of ale for him from the barmaid. He began to play again, his fingers finding the right notes by instinct even though he was improvising. He looked about the crowded tavern for something to sing about, and his gaze fell on a spider. Grinning, he began to compose as he sang, some nonsense verses about the spider in the corner in the tavern in the inn.

It felt natural to be playing the songs, natural to sing pointless little ditties about spiders, natural to sit here, in the bright, warm room, drawing the crowd in with even the most ridiculous words. It felt right, as long as he kept his mind on the words and in the room, not in other inns, before other crowds, with another voice twining in and out of his.

No, Lachyn. Don't think about that. Someday maybe it'll all be like that again, but for now, this is what you have, so make do.

No sooner had he let the last note fade that the door flew open, letting in the cold gale and the roar of the rain. The fire danced and spluttered as a man, tall and cloaked, strode in and shut the door behind him. He shook his head like a dog, rain spraying in all directions from his mane of red hair. The talking dies down to a murmur as he stalked across the floor to stand at the table.

"Lachyn the Wanderer?" he asked. "Minstrel, bard, and renowned warrior?"

"Aye," said Lachyn, warily. "That'd be myself. What might I do for you, sir?"

The man turned to glare down at Tabby in the chair at Lachyn's feet. She glared back at him for a moment with a ferocious scowl, then ducked her head and rose to let him sit.

"Play me a song, minstrel," commanded the man.

Lachyn frowned, thought, and began to play, a low, sad tune, the sort that went with tragic ballads and tales of lost battles and lost love. He sang of two warrior poets, two brave storytellers, and the tragedy of battle that split them apart.

His story.

As he sang, something kept distracting him, so his words were uncharacteristically halting and uncertain. There was something strange about this man, but he couldn't place it, and it frustrated him to no end.

Finally the song was over, and he set down his lute, frowning.

"You're not as good as they say," said the man coolly. "I expected more."

"Well, you can't expect much when you're intimmanating the boy," Tabby retorted in Lachyn's defense.

"Where did you get that medallion?"

The man stopped before he could reply to Tabby and turned back to Lachyn. "I'm sorry?"

"That medallion you're wearing. Where did you get it?"

"It's a charm. Been in my family for generations--much longer that you've been a live, I daresay."

"I don't think it has," Lachyn said, and he stood up. "I think that medallion is my sister's."

"What?" The man was incredulous. "Don't be ridiculous!"

Lachyn drew his sword. "Or perhaps you'd like to witness my fighting prowess as well?"

The man, too, drew a long double-handed sword. "If you wish to challenge me, so be it."

Their blades met with a clang, and Lachyn hoped he wasn't wrong about this.

OoC: Hope this one was better. Thanks again for your concrit.