---

The doorway's a little low, watch yer head.

You'll come in on a warm place, if not an especially clean one. There's a burning hearth in the middle -- sturdy as the foundation, all arched stone, blackened from the inside, where the kettles hang in the fire for boiling. You can warm yer ale on the ledge if you like. There are a couple half-empty mugs there already.

Careful, don't step on the cats. That one'll swing his tail under your boot then beg your scraps.

For sitting at, there are a few long tables and benches. They're a bit splintery, and that one's wobbly as a rocking chair, but it's a far ways better than eating off the floor. You don't mind sharing a bench with the regulars, I'm sure.

If ya need to pass out, for a fee you can sleep in the back room. How much depends on how drunk ya are.

The young woman stepped through the door, dressed in silks and leathers with the cloak draped over her shoulders as if to protect her from the cold though as one of the ancient races of elves of the Underdark she did not feel the cold as others did. Her lavender eyes trailed over those who were here, already drunk or drinking and some flirting with the woman who came here, others planning on taking the tavern wenches to the back room later that night. It was early evening, the sun falling from the sky and the dark making it easier for the elf to see as her eyes started to pick up heat signatures and the light hurt her eyes less until she walked inside and her eyes adjusted again. As she waked her hips swung faintly, the lack of a weapon on her making her seem harmless, if it wasn't for the grey tone of her skin that gave her away as being born of one of the most feared and ruthless of all elven descent. She made her way up to the bar where she hopped up on a stool and leaned forward to look at the bartender. His face was easy to remember, having met it a few years beforehand when she was passing through town though they hadn't gotten to know each other.

"Get me something strong."

Her voice was low but easily filled with authority and the ease of command from her years with the elves underground. She had been born n the great city of Menzobaranzan to the second house, the only child of her matron mothers Rockseer elf consort, destined to be a powerful cleric and priestess, though when Lolth called out to her and her mother she knew she was chosen for something else. She remembered the feeling of her mothers blood dripping off of her hand where she held her heart in her palm, hearing the laughter of her Goddess as she fulfilled the first part of her quest to become more than the average elf and stronger than almost any other race out there. The vampire had been easy after coming here, though she'd had to take a few others who walked the light to give her the ability to adjust her eyes to the sunlight. Coming back to the present she looked up at the bartender and smiled, though it wasn't sweet or kind, instead fake and holding back a malicious desire to reach across the counter and tear his heart from his chest.

Milo walked in, a large coat thrown over her body. Her one visible blue, green eye shining, despite the cold. Her cheeks flushed from the cold. Milo didn't do well with cold. So, the warmth of the place was very pleasing.
Can I have some food? And something to drink, please.
Milo wrote. Remembering to be polite at the last moment. This place was nice. And she didn't want to lose this place. And she was trying to better her personality. Though, if someone was rude she would totally try and claw out their eyes. Wasn't her fault she was short tempered.

Gharlyc was sitting in a dark corner, sipping his watered down ale and observing the people coming into the the Bawdy Dog. This shit hole of a tavern was a cherished place in his memories and almost made him feel safe. Almost.

Earlier, Gharlyc had walked in and ordered his drink, the hood of his cloak hiding his face so Busker didn't recognize him, and sat away from the other patrons to get a good look at the door to make sure no one had followed him. The drow looked dangerous with barely contained killing intent (better stay away from her...), but didn't seem to have any relation to the nasty business that Gharlyc was running away from.
As soon as things quiet down a bit and Busker wasn't attending to anyone, Gharlyc would approach him and see if old friendships were still worth anything anymore.

Swinging the axe with an almighty thunk, Fate speared the last block of wood, splitting it in half. Tucking the axe away, she gathered together an armful of freshly chopped wood and made her way inside, letting the back door swing shut behind her with a soft click. Weaving her way through the place, she unloaded her collection of logs onto the top of a slowly diminishing pile, snagging the last one and instead placing it on the fire. Feeling something brush up against her leg, Fate glanced down, grinning and bending down to scratch the ginger cat behind the ears.

Waltzing to the bar, her twin war hammers swinging, one on each hip, Fate was just in time to see a patron order something strong from Busker, there was something about that person's voice and image that rang a bell with Fate, but before she could investigate further a young looking girl walked in. Can I have some food? And something to drink, please. she wrote when she reached the bar. Blinking just once in slight shock, Fate nodded, "How strong?" she queried, leaning on the bar and eying the girl, taking in her long white hair and single seeable blue-green eye. Oh the irony. Fate thought stopping herself from reaching up to her own single visible aqua eye.

Quite nippy this evening, Edward would say. He grabbed the lapels of his coat and pulled it tighter around his slender shoulders, though the thin, ornate coat was designed more for form than function. Blasted high society vestments. He shivered with a mixture of frustration and legitimate discomfort at the cold, then grabbed his upper arms and trudged onward. At least the hand cannon hanging behind his back provided a bit of insulation, though none that he could feel.

As he sauntered along the beaten path and ascended to the top of the hill, he could see lights twinkling in the darkening foreground. He picked up the pace a bit. Light meant Warmth. Food. A dram of scotch. Ladies - Hopefully.

Actually - speaking of ladies - just a week ago, Edward had the pleasure of conversing with a lovely bounty hunter by the name of Pallas in another run down tavern to the east. Enraptured by her confident gait and sharp eyes, Edward simply could not let the opportunity go. All the court women at his father's estate were unnervingly petty and quarrelsome, and being able to talk to Pallas - an actual rational human being - was quite a refreshing experience. Alas, talk was as far as their evening reached, and by the end of the night, Pallas headed west, in search of her bounty. Pity. Didn't bounty hunters need a place to sleep?

Wait a second. Edward paused and fiddled around with his fingers, pointing them this way and that. Which way was which.. Aha! East was the opposite of west. Perhaps Pallas would be headed in the same direction. The fates still smiled upon him, even on this rather disappointing journey.

By the time Edward reached the twinkling lights, it was completely dark, and the only light came from within the building save for a single torch illuminating a sign. The Bawdy Dog. What a dreadful name. Shrugging off his ambivalence, Edward strolled into the tavern.

Greeted by the fragrances of wood fire, ale, sweat, and other human stenches (Including what smelled like drastically bad breath), Edward looked around at the establishment. It was warm and cozy for sure, but this place was a messy, smelly dump by all accounts. It didn’t take the son of the the Hart-Ellington estate to deduce that. More than that, the tavern was filled with all sorts of seedy looking fellows. Pallas was no where to be found. But beggars can’t be choosers.

@BlackCat @SilverWolfAngel

Going up to the bar, Edward noticed a young silver haired girl with an eyepatch who looked entirely unfit to be alone at a tavern. How odd. He watched her tentatively approach the similarly eyepatched bartender (What are the odds?), extend her finger and… produce words out of thin air?

Without thinking for a second that it would be rude, let alone dangerous to approach her - she was just a young girl after all, what harm could she do? - Edward put his hand on her shoulder, interrupting her transaction with the bartender.

“My dear girl, how on earth did you do that?”

A tall, middle-aged man wandered the streets in a sour mood, only dimly aware of the goings on around him. A lute was slung across his back, marking his profession clearly to all passers by. The rapier at his side marked his status as an itinerant adventurer. His weather-stained cloak, which had once been brightly colored, was now faded and patched. That, along with his worn out boots and his increasingly ragged tunic and leggings, marked only his poor fortune.

But night was falling, and he would need to find a bed soon. The emptiness in his stomach informed him more sharply than he would like that he also needed something to eat. He paused briefly, moving out of the flow of foot traffic, and opened up the pouch at his belt.

One silver and ten coppers. Not bloody much.

Ealdwine sighed, considering the ill luck that had brought him to this point in his life. His trip to Vandar's Tower, the former abode of a vile wizard of great infamy, was a lengthy trip- not to mention an expensive one. But the rewards were great indeed, said all the tales. Many people must have heard the same tales. By the time Ealdwine found the place, high in the Mountains of Terror, it had been picked clean.

He glanced about glumly, seeing a sign not far away. It read The Bawdy Dog. An inn. He figured he had enough for a room, a meal, and a few drinks to forget about his troubles. Maybe he could talk the proprietor into giving him all three in exchange for some music. It was worth a shot, certainly. He approached the door and entered.

Within he found a fairly dingy tavern. Not much to look at, but he could smell food and drink, and there certainly was an audience to play for. Just as well it reminded him of a place he recalled from his younger days, where he had dazzled a crowd with his songs and bedded a lovely, buxom barmaid. And then, the next day, her sister.

Simply remembering it was already putting him in a better mood.

He stepped lively toward the bar, carefully pulling his lute down from off his back. Arthelia was his most prized possession, and the greatest gift that his father, who had never really approved of his career, had ever given him. He had sold his books, he had sold his gear, he had even sold his horse- but he would sooner starve than sell Arthelia. He leaned against the bar near a dark elf maiden, a young girl (where were her parents?), and a suspiciously familiar high-born fop. Where did he know that fellow from? Was it from some Quest? He would have to ask later.

For the time being, he cleared his throat and addressed himself to the balding barman.

“Pardon me, good sir. I am Ealdwine Silverstrings, a bard of some renown,” he began, with a wholly-unnecessary half-bow,

“and I would like to offer my humble services as an entertainer. All I ask in exchange is a meal or two. And a place to lay my head, if one might be forthcoming..” he trailed off.

“And perhaps a few drinks.. If my performance proves satisfactory to yourself and likewise agreeable to your patrons.”

“My dear girl, how on earth did you do that?”
A hiss of air escaped Fate, almost but not quite a snarl. "I'm sorry, Sir" she practically snapped, stressing the sir, "This lovely young lady was ordering first, if you have something you want to do, you can wait your turn." She knew she wasn't supposed to be talking to patrons that way, but it was getting close to the full moon, and she hadn't had a good fight for a few days. And riling up a fancy dressed boy seemed like such a good idea. _{(Please note her sarcasm)}

Nothing very strong. Just something warm.
Milo wrote. The writing directed at Fate. She noticed her Aqua eye. It was beautiful.
Your eye is very pretty.
She told Fate.
When Milo felt a hand on her shoulder she snapped around, her hand sailing towards Edward's face. She stopped herself shortly before her nails made contact. She wasn't supposed to be killing and causing so much damage. She was supposed to bettering her personality.
My species is mute out of water. So it's a hereditary ability for communication.
Milo informed Edward.

Th Drow listened carefully to the conversation going on just beside her between the small girl, the young noble boy and the werewolf who she had joined herself with several years ago. She could smell them as well, the hints of sweat and blood touching them and the dwarf who had sat seemingly as far away from her as possible looked to be waiting for someone - the bartender probably, just like she was. Many of those around looked as if they were familiar with one another and it almost made her regret what she does to people - almost - though she was a Drow, it was in her nature to turn away from friendship in the face of Lolth or personal gain. When she finally went back home to the Underdark she would be the most powerful weapon her sister would have against any other house in the city, or the whole of Drow society. And then she would kill her sister to become Matron mother.

She brushed her snowy white hair back, exposing a scar on the side of her neck that looked very much like an animal bite, as she went to play with her necklace quietly, wondering how long she would have to wait to be attended to, considering she was the first to arrive here and the child was receiving ale before her. "I've changed my mind. I'd like a nice, sweet, pink wine; preferably raspberry and honey." She spoke, knowing she would be heard either by the man or the girl who stood with the child then and there. "If you don't mind Fate, or. . Busker?"

---

At the bar sits Fade, denizen of the Underdark, all power and silk. The hooded dwarf Gharlyc emerged from his solitary corner and stands near her, while at the opposite end of the bar, Ealdwine offers to play his lute for the patrons.

Standing small nearby, writing words in the empty air and brandishing sharp fingernails, is fragile one-eyed Milo. Speaking with her (and with a hiss between them) are Fate (a scruffy one-eyed waitress, dusty from chopping wood) and Edward (a well-dressed nobleman with a curious weapon at his back).

---

To the old innkeeper, the temperature of the house itself seemed to drop the moment that slinky drow walked in the door. Before she even spoke, Busker stood frozen midway through wiping out a mug, his eyes wide and mouth dry. This was one of those patrons with heavy pockets and heavier consequences if she were displeased. His brain scrambled to prevent himself from shaking of stammering, to say something that would convince her she had every reason to display her coin and not her weapon.

Perhaps his desperate, subconscious mind craved familiar comfort in this time of careful balance, because somehow his eye was distracted by the appearance of a face he knew well. Gharlyc! a happy thought cleared his fears, and relieved recognition gleamed with uncharacteristic joviality in his beady eyes. For a dangerous and pivotal moment he forgot about the drow -- but when a voice across the bar had the audacity to call for free somethingorother in exchange for a song (or something of that ridiculous nature, Busker was in the middle of a very important conversation and would not be further distracted) Busker was startled away from Gharlyc's comforting presence and was forced to acknowledge that the murderous drow, growing impatient, had spoken again.

"Y-yes," he stammered without having clearly understood what he was agreeing to. It didn't matter: there was no possible, conceivable way he would deny this woman the moon if she asked for it, if only to keep his own head. Busker cleared his throat, put on his best smile, and ignored the bead of sweat that tickled down the side of his face. "Of course, anything you like, my lady. That particular wine is exquisite, and is hidden away from all but the most distinguished of guests. Allow me to have it brought up for you." With the same fixed smile, he tipped his head, kept his eyes on the drow, and stumbled his way down the bar to where he had spotted Wink standing like a fool.

He grabbed his daughter's wrist and yanked her to attention, tumbling coins into her hand. "Go to town and run back a bottle of raspberry-honey pink-wine, now!" he stammered, harsh and hurried, and he shoved her at the door before he returned to the drow, fixing his smile again. "It will be brought presently," he assured the drow, clenching the edge of the bar to keep his hands from trembling. "Might I interest you in some fine cheese and toast while we wait? On the house, of course."

In the corner of his eye he kept watch on Gharlyc, desperately wanting nothing more than to catch up with his old friend, but scared to death of removing his attentions from the drow.

---

Wink's greatest dreams came true the moment a sleek, shining nobleman stepped over the threshold. Before he had made two steps inside, Wink had disappeared into the back in order to adjust her corset, smooth her apron, fix her hair and apply what little makeup she owned. She checked the puffiness of her lips in a tarnished mirror, pulled at her eyelashes, pinched color into her cheeks, and sauntered out into the room again -- only to find that Fate had found him first.

Under normal circumstances, Wink might find Fate's aggression against the patrons amusing, but this time a pale horror checked her enthusiasm. The wolf-girl would drive him out! The chance of a lifetime would run out the door before Wink would have the chance to let him sweep her off her feet!

Desperation set in. If she confronted Fate, things could get so much worse. She scanned the room for an answer, and found it in a bard that her father had (of course) very pointedly ignored.

Wink rushed across the room and -- just as Busker was speaking with the drow -- laid a fervent hand on Ealdwine's arm. "A room and ale and supper for yer music," she told him enthusiastically, with a gleam of urgency. "Set yerself up over here, there's good acoustics, and play somethin' ... dignified for the nobleman."

Her intention was to use this bard's music to calm Fate and to retain the interest of the nobleman. She was putting a lot of trust in this man's abilities, but desperate times called for desperate measures.

She yelped when her father suddenly yanked her away and dropped coins into her hand, stammering something about wine before he was gone again. She stared along the bar at a dangerous-looking drow woman, and grinned a little at the way Busker was sweating. Served him right.

Wink glanced across at the nobleman again, biting her lip, but knew she would regret it if she didn't fetch the wine as required. She gestured to the bard again, urgently, and put all her hopes in him as she sprinted out the door and into the cool evening. She would run down the road to town, looking for a wine she wasn't sure existed at all, for the sake of preventing her father's cruel and agonizing death.

If the nobleman was gone when she returned, she would hate Busker to the ends of the earth.

Pallas was tired from her long journey but it was not an unfruitful one. She had finally found this place, The Bawdy Dog, it was apparently called. An informer had told her that her bounty would be found here which surprised her a bit. What would a young siren be doing in a tavern like this? Still, it was a lead, and she was going to follow it. She entered the building, and was immediately hit with the pleasant ambiance of the place. "Well, I might as well enjoy myself while I am here," she thought to herself at least until she saw her. She fit the description, small, eyepatch, one blue,green eye plus she was communicating by writing in the air. Pallas was taken aback by how little she looked. She did not look like she was capable of doing anything evil. She was also surprised by her company... Was that Edward? Oh goodness, it was! She hurried her way through the crowd for two reasons: The siren and Edward, her dear friend.

The young siren looked tamed enough as it was, and Pallas was unsure if she should kill her at this point. Oh what would Seloria do in this situation? She decided that she would do something unorthodox and simply talk to the siren. Maybe she can clear up any misconception and it was better than killing an innocent being. Plus, she definitely could not kill anyone in a place like this, it would ruin the mood.

"Edward! It's good to see you again," she said, smiling at the nobleman. "I do hope you remember me. We met last week? Oh who is your friend by the way?"

@Strafe @BlackCat

1) He's not my friend.
2) My name's Milo. But, I don't supposed you could've just asked me.

Gah, I'm so sorry. _{Yeah, not really} Ugh. I'm trying to be nice. But it just isn't working.
Milo wrote. She looked at Pallas carefully. Then her stomach growled. She was hungry. And thirsty. But there were people to talk to. This was the reason they banished her. Aside from violent actions, harsh words, she also had no care for life. And she still didn't. But she was supposed to be bettering her personality.

Observing from the side, Gharlyc could see Busker's very evident discomfort at the drow (who seemed to noticed Gharlyc, giving him a small twinge of panic), and also Wink's interest in the busy-body noble pup. Gharlyc was thinking through a plan when Pallas walked in, causing him to visibly pale and nearly drop his mug.
After taking a few breaths to calm himself down, Gharlyc started to reason with himself. He knew of the rising bounty hunter, and she was a good one, but she was known to be a lass of virtue. She shouldn't really have any connection to the criminal underworld, and know of things he's done, could she? Seeing that Pallas started talking to the small siren and the noble brat, Gharlyc took this moment to leave the tavern and chase after Wink.

Being very fast and efficient with his movement, Gharlyc caught up to Wink in no time. One of the more noticeable things about Gharlyc was his voice. A smooth and rich deep voice (it sounded even better now after 7 years of training and practice), he sounded much more intelligent and cultured than he really had any right to be, especially considering the conditions and the place he grew up in.
"Ah~ Wink! My darling girl, you wouldn't happen to remember your uncle Gharlyc now would you?"
Without waiting for her to respond "Now, I think I understand the situation. You keep the money Busker gave you and head back to charm up that handsome noble to your heart's content hmm? If he asks, just tell Busker you gave the money to me and that I will get him the wine, honeyed raspberry was it?"

Patting her on the shoulder, Gharlyc runs off. There might be some connections he could call up to get the blasted drow her wine, or at least a close facsimile of what she wanted. Whatever he did, Gharlyc needed to do it quickly lest she run out of patience.

Ealdwine's mouth twitched into an irritated frown. The barman had clearly ignored him! Him, who had played for the pleasure of high lords and illiterate peasants alike, who had crossed desert and sea, mountain and plain, and who had charmed a maiden from her petticoat in nigh every hamlet from here to Hell. Alas, it seemed that he would have to dip into his meager savings after all.

As he reached with his free hand for the pouch at his belt, he felt a touch at his arm. A young barmaid stood beside him, promising to grant his requests. She made eyes at the nobleman- and who was he, anyway?- asking for a dignified song.

As the bard considered a fitting song, the maid was pulled away by the barman, who dropped some coins into her hand and urged her off to do something or other. She disappeared in a hurry, but not before gesturing with some urgency at Ealdwine. He imagined she wanted to impress the fellow by conjuring some music for him. For his part, the bard intended to play his part in this little drama well. Though, he was not sure what she found so interesting about him. He was handsome enough, he supposed, in an effete sort of way. Perhaps they were already acquainted.

No matter!

And with that thought, he strode casually toward the spot indicated. He took the lute in both hands and cleared his throat, plucking gently as he manipulated the tuning pegs.

“Harken, gentle born and common folk alike!” he called, with the easy authority of the practiced entertainer. His voice was something short of a yell- loud enough to be heard clear, but soft enough to be generally ignored by the disinterested.

“I will sing, if I might, a tale of truth and honor, of pain and woe- but most of all, a tale of love triumphant. If you know it, and I imagine many of you do, I invite you to sing along.”

And without a further word he began to play. The music was fairly simple, rhythmic and low, here and there embellished with high notes and chords, and flourishing plucking. The style was imitative of the epic poetry upon which the song was based, which would originally have been chanted from memory.

The song was, of course, Galeas and Griselda. A story of a noble knight and a virtuous maiden on opposite sides of a siege. As the instrumental introduction came to an end, Ealdwine's voice joined the sound of the lute. His pitch was perfect from long practice, and his intonation unwavering in its repetition of the lyrics.

“Beneath the tower the foemen shined
in mail and plate bearing noble device.
From parapet, the maid fair,
did see below her gallant loved one there...”

“My dear girl, how on earth did you do that?”

As soon as the words left his mouth, a sharp hiss pierced through the tentative murmur of the tavern, and the young girl’s sharply nailed hand came slashing at his face, stopping just before she could gouge out his eyeballs. There wasn’t even time for him to flinch. For several seconds, Edward found himself staring at the girl’s arched fingers, swearing that her palm lines where arranged in the shape of a fearsome beast.

"I'm sorry, Sir" the bartender snapped. "This lovely young lady was ordering first, if you have something you want to do, you can wait your turn."

@BlackCat @SilverWolfAngel

Frozen where he stood, Edward trembled as his eyes peered over at the bartender. He blinked, gulped, then stepped back a bit too hastily, laughing with an artificial heartiness, adjusting his coat lapels, and fixing his hat. “Haha, oh dearest me, where are my manners,” Edward sheepishly squeaked. “I must apologize for overstepping my boundaries. Surely, I mean not to intrude. I was merely enraptured by this lovely young lady’s display. I’ve not seen anything like it before in my li--”

He noticed that the young bartender’s stony expression had not budged a millimeter since he began his speech. In fact, she looked ready to pounce upon him - and not in the way he would prefer.

“Well, I mean--,” Edward continued to stammer, and forced out a weak chuckle, though he slowly moved his right hand to his back, toward the handle of his hand cannon. Before he could reach it though, The girl took her own lethal hand back, allowing Edward room to breathe. Just as she had done before, she wrote her words upon the air.

My species is mute out of water. So it's a hereditary ability for communication.

He straightened up again and took it all in, though the bartender still seethed. How marvelous that he should be able to encounter such an exotic creature, Edward thought. And an amphibious one at that. His fascination with the girl began to grow.

All of this is not to say that Edward was totally unaware of what was happening around him though. Growing up in a court of nobles required him to read through pretenses, ensure that everyone felt important, and uphold the code of pompous futility during all proceedings. Years of this had trained Edward’s eye to catch all sorts of social cues, and quite easily, he noticed that he had caught the attention of one of the other barmaids. He smirked to himself. If all else failed this evening, at least there would be something to do. He would let her come to him though.

Of course he also paid attention to the odd gray skinned girl nearby, talking to the portly man who appeared to be the owner. The girl honestly sent an odd sensation down his spine.

Also, in the corner of his eye, likely talking to the aforementioned barmaid, stood a familiar looking figure with a lute. He investigated no further though, as to fully turn towards him would be rude to the ladies he was already entertaining.

@karamonnom

As he fixed his eyes on his charming eyepatched companions, a lovely voice lilted through the damp air.

"Edward! It's good to see you again! I do hope you remember me. We met last week?”

By the heavens, what luck! Edward put on his gaudiest smile and instantly turned towards the source of the voice, gasping with contrived wonderment. “Aha! If it isn’t the beautiful Ms. Pallas! How I’ve dreamed that I’d once again be so fortunate as to gaze upon your resplendent visage and hear your voice as sweet as a songbird’s. How could I forget that wonderful evening we spent?” He kneeled down to kiss her hand, pretending not to mind that it was blackened by the dirt of a long journey.

”Oh who is your friend by the way?" Pallas asked.

Before he could pick himself up off the ground, the girl swiftly moved her hands to write on the air.

1) He's not my friend.
2) My name's Milo. But, I don't supposed you could've just asked me.

Gah, I'm so sorry. _{Yeah, not really} Ugh. I'm trying to be nice. But it just isn't working.

Edward quickly sprang up, brushed off the dirt from his knee and chuckled nervously. “Come now, dear girl. While it’d be remiss to call us lifelong companions, surely you and I have gotten along swimmingly!” He flashed her a prepackaged smile, with a gleam in his eye that pleaded with her to play along, So her name’s Milo, he thought.

@Illogical Jim

Just then, the man in the corner with a lute introduced himself and struck the first notes on his instrument. At the first sequence, Edward’s ears perked up. He knew this introduction very well! It was Galeas and Griselda, a song quite beloved by his one time former music instructor. that fussy prick.

The plucking continued, linking the familiar melody at times with a masterfully subtle upper organum. A tasteful display of polyphony on the lute, though arranged in a sequence he had surely heard before. Eh. Surely a product of mere coincidence.

The man’s voice rang out like a bell, pure and true:

“Beneath the tower the foemen shined…”

Dear heavens, it’s him! What is that sorry b-ast-ard doing here? Edward’s face visibly soured as he turned to face Ealdwine, who seemed not to recognize him. He remembered the countless hours in his teenage years, forced to sit in the music chamber with the man, working through scales and plucking techniques. In an instant though, he caught himself and reapplied a charming grin as he turned back to his companions.

The woman had watched the man nearly turn into a bumbling mess of sweat and nervousness as he stood across from her, his heart beating a pace she was used to hearing from mortal men - from fear or lust she was never certain. The bead of sweat that trailed down his face was amusing as well, as he stumbled for something to say to her as she stared at him with unsettling eyes. With the lack of firelight where she sat her lavender eyes took on a deep red hue as her vision flickered from heat-seeking to as close to human as her spells would allow her to get. Unfortunately, sometimes there were complications and things that slowed her down of affected her from the other side of the blood rituals that she preformed; right now, her vampire was thirsting at an increased desperation and it was causing her to crave blood, hence her asking for the pink wine instead of the usual mead she could have gotten here or anywhere else. She reached into her cloak as the man rushed over to a girl and sent her running to go find some in town because they didn't have it here in store as he had said though she had known from the moment she'd said anything that they wouldn't actually have it. It was too expensive and rarely bought by commoners, thus he wouldn't usually have a need for it though the Drow was not actually a commoner. She was Drow.

"Of course."

Fade responded to his offer as she saw the dwarf get up and hurry out after the human girl who had been watching the noble boy as if he was a prize to be won, or rather, as if he was going to be her dashing prince though she could tell already by the way he stood that he wasn't going to take much interest in a peasant girl for much other than to bed her and leave. It seemed that he was just as eager to get away from her as the bartender seemed to be, naturally though she wouldn't give the man the satisfaction; at least, not quite yet, she liked watching him squirm. With a teasing smile she looked at him across the bar her gaze flickering down to where his fingers were clenching the edge of the bar hard enough that his knuckles were turning white and raised an eyebrow at him in question. "Are you afraid?" She asked him, using one free hand to brush a loose lock of hair behind her ear, the point sharp and high, and her ear long as were the elven nobles of the world. She breathed in a single, deep breath, her eyes half closing before she let it out, her breath dancing in the air while it turned to frost because of the magic she had flowed into it. "Meat would be very nice with the cheese and bread." She said to him, smiling in a dark glee for how much distress she was causing him but her mood quickly turned sour.

“Beneath the tower the foremen shined
in mail and plate bearing noble device.
From parapet, the maid fair,
did see below her gallant loved one there...”

The first verse of the human song sounded before she moved, annoyance rolling off of her before her right hand reached out in a blinding swipe that lifted one of the knives from behind the bar up and in her thin fingers were she flicked her wrist and sent it sailing through the air toward the bard. Her gaze traveled over to him where she settled for a dark glare the pinned him as the blade struck the wood beside his head, stuck up to the hilt in it before she settled her hand back on the counter. "Continue at your own peril, bard."

@Illogical Jim@Mokley

Two dirty hands clapped together eagerly as a wide-grinned jesper sized up his next hunting ground; old travens often gathered all breeds and fools. His bony headdress scraped against the stones of the entrance, which to his pleasant surprise, opened into an ancient room reeking of potential mischief. A quick scan of the people made his stomach dance with delight as he slithered deeper in, his mind already hatching and organizing plans of entrapment.

Like any well-rehearsed actor, Jargo knew where to stand and knew his cues, having performed this act many, many times before in other forgotten dives. This landed him at the middle of the bar where his attention could reach in a 360 degree radius into all the dark corners. A large plume of dust erupted from his oversized shaggy shawl as he plopped down hard into his seat and slapped his open palms atop the bar counter where they rested with his dirty nails picking at the old wood. How exciting. With an unnaturally white grin lined with an abnormal amount of teeth, the demon made no noise as he waited, not for service, but for the room to brew--his dark eyes hidden under a skeleton’s shadow.

Ealdwine stopped playing abruptly. How could he not, with knives flying about? He had played hostile crowds before, certainly. But the fairgoers at Oxcross had thrown nothing more dangerous than rocks. This was simply too much. That knife had landed too close to his head- and far too close to Arthelia. But whence did it come?

He did not wonder long.

“Continue at your own peril, bard.”

The drow maiden at the bar. She must have lobbed the weapon, though he did not see her do so. Well! This could not stand! Though his stomach still ached with emptiness, he knew this was more important. She had not only insulted him- Ealdwine Silverstrings, musician to kings- she had insulted all bards everywhere.

He quickly adopted the manner of a sycophant, covering over what he imagined must have been a look of grim distaste. He smiled indulgently toward the drow and pulled the knife from the wall, examining it admiringly, and turning it about in the dim light of the tavern.

“I believe you dropped this, fair lady of the Underdark,” he called conversationally, as though it were a piece of jewelry or some such thing.

“Or was that a dark elf greeting that I, a well-traveled and learned man, am not aware of? In such case I would gleefully return it, but I fear my aim is not so keen as thine.

“I might hit you, instead of the intended near-miss. And, pray, we would not want that, would we?”

The bard tossed the knife carelessly to the floor, and after pausing for a space to lay his right hand on the pommel of his sword returned to his song with a smile as though nothing had happened.

He did not however intend to take his eyes off the drow again.

Pallas let him kiss her hand, surely it was just a common way for the nobles to greet each other. She gave him a warm smile as a thank you for his kind words. "He always says the sweetest things," she thought. She turned to the siren and saw that she had written a message in the sky for her.

1) He's not my friend.
2) My name's Milo. But, I don't supposed you could've just asked me.

Gah, I'm so sorry. _{Yeah, not really} Ugh. I'm trying to be nice. But it just isn't working.

Pallas frowned at her own rudeness. "My apologies, Milo, I didn't mean to offend you. I am Pallas." She offered her a hand as an attempt to reconcile. Learning of her name, Pallas was one-hundred percent certain that this was supposed to be her bounty yet it did not feel right. Did the siren just say she was trying to be nice? No horrible monster would be doing that unless they were pretending to be nice to ensnare their victims. But she seemed so genuine and frustrated about becoming 'nicer', that Pallas had to believe it. Well, there was no monster here for her to kill now, what was she going to do?

She noticed Edward's face has paled, and asked in a concerned voice, "Edward, is everything okay?" Suddenly, the room has grown dangerously silent. Apparently someone had thrown a knife at the bard. But it only last a moment before the bard continued to carry on as if nothing has happened. Still, it was strange. Perhaps that was what bothered Edward. Everything was fine now though....right?

@BlackCat@Strafe