Without a name, without an identity, without a place to call home. He traveled. He traveled everywhere he was needed. He dealt with a problem and left. Taking nothing in exchange but a next train ticket. Without acknowledgement, without fame. Some called him The Solver, some were too scared to even call him any name. But most called him what he really was: The Traveler.
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First time writing, mostly while drunk, so some things might be off, some not readable. If so, please tell me.
The human world in the story is steampunk-styled, with magic, steam-powered machines, victorian society and all that stuff.
Tags and rating may change during writing. Just sayin'.