The doppleganger that appeared to Cherish Goodsoil like Tolman Greenholm - the celebrated and renowned hero who had only recently recovered the lost writings of Gammon Brandyford the Brave - graciously accepted the ale and brought the mug to his lips. Tolman the Doppleganger agreed with her. "Yes! It is indeed a magical day for you! I have plenty of stories to tell, and some of them are half-entertaining."
Cherish blushed and waved her guest away. "Oh, Mr. Greenholm, you're so modest. Re-reading the Journals with my son has been truly bonding. I've never seen a boy so proud and full of wanderlust. Your efforts to recover Gammon's lost work will inspire a whole new generation, sir!"
Tolman the Doppleganger was busy smearing a pasty smelly cheese across a slice of onion bread and then stuffing it into his mouth when Cherish finished whatever she was saying, and he nodded complacently in agreement before rapidly swigging down the last of the ale. He put the cup back on the table, wiped his damp mouth with his sleeve, and pointed at the mug as to insist Cherish refresh it immediately and - predictably - she hopped right to it.
That's the thing with people, the doppleganger noted. So accommodating. So accepting of what they see; they're so swift to believe it, as if the belief satisfies something they deeply want.
After eventually swallowing, the Doppleganger said, "My work has taken me from the frozen plains of Floreth and their Pax Arcana, through the pass of the Dhark Keep, through the Wildes and finally, here, in the Parishes. It's been a long journey. Yet having arrived just yesterday, I must tell you: I never expected such a warm reception from strangers like you, Ms. Goodsoil. Usually when I meet people for the first time, they just run away and scream their little heads off."
Cherish giggled delightfully and poured her guest more sweet ale.
Tolman the Doppleganger quickly consumed another slice of bread with a side of the sharpest cheddar he (or his previous host) had ever experienced, yet - curiously - that still didn't satiate him. It was curious. Here was a bounty of good food that he had quickly pushed into his gullet yet he didn't feel at all satisfied; a hunger of a sorts that made his bones ache, and the saliva pool under his lip. Tolman the Doppleganger had felt that hunger before when meeting random strangers along the road and - having spent a pleasant evening in conversation with them, and, in consuming the sustenance of their generous nature to share food - he awoke the next day deeply satiated and further along the road south than he remembered. Only twice before had he experienced these odd black-outs. He had dismissed them as a blissful, hard, satiated sleep. And he felt that hunger gnawing at him, swelling in his gut.
He smiled at Cherish. "You've been so kind. I'd like to repay you. A son, you said? Where's your boy now?"
"Oh," she smiled, "he's at the farmhouse. Chores and the like. He'll be here before sundown."
Tolman the Doppleganger nodded and cocked an eyebrow. "Before sundown. That's great. Well, when he gets here, I'd suggest we have a hot mug of hot chocolate ready for him, we retire to your sitting room aside that lovely fireplace, and I will tell you both the story of lost Dwarven mine I explored, far away from here, on the isle of Rhackdalia. Would you like that?"
Cherish put her hands together and sighed. Her red rose cheeks practically radiated a burning heat of their own that Tolman the Doppleganger was - strangely - acutely aware of. "Yes, Yes, Mr. Greenholm. That would be wonderful. Here, I'll just tidy up."
"Of course," the Doppleganger smiled as he took another slice of onion bread from the table and dipped it in jam. "Please. Call me Tolman."
