Dirion sat hunched over a small table that was nestled next to the warm hearth. He was currently in an ale induced slumber, snoring to himself softly while he drooled slightly on the table. Well he had been anyway. He couldn't make it a minute now without someone slamming the front door open, stomping and traipsing across the wooden floor, kicking up splinters and dirt everywhere, before shouting about this and that. No, Dirion would love nothing more that to sleep rather than think. But it appears it 'twas not to be. He now was quite lucid, lucid and drunk.... Now that he thought about it that may be a contradiction. But who cares.

With quite the audible groan Dirion sat up straight in his chair. A few times along the way he slid halfway down it. But now he sat like a- like a- Oh blast it he was too drunk for this. He was sitting up. Looking around he noticed that the rathole he currently called home was far more packed than it usually was. In fact while he was looking the place over he saw colorful letters appear in air next to one girl. Blimey, maybe he was drunker than he thought. He checked his mug of ale to see how much was left. Sitting at the bottom was one measly sip left of the spirit. Dirion slammed it down in one greedy gulp and shoved back his chair. Stranding up to get another round. He could worry about the consequences tomorrow.

As Dirion quite literally stumbled his way towards the bar he tripped over a loose floorboard. On his way down he saw a knife, he wasn't sure what kind, go flying right for his head. Or more accurately right over his head since he was fortunate enough to have fallen at that exact moment. He shuddered to think what would have happened if he hadn't fallen then. At the very least he wouldn't have his tab to worry about anymore. And even more the knife may have cut off some of his evil dyed grey hairs. That was the last time he ever bought dye from a man in an alley. 

While on the ground Dirion look up to see a particularly feminine voice speak, "Continue at your own peril, bard." What?! Dirion had hardly touched an instrument in his life! Well, except for that.. one time. But that's beside the point! How could someone mistake him for a bard? And even more why would they begin to throw cutlery at him? Dirion had never met what he could only assume to be a drow as his assailant. But if this is how they all acted he could happily say one was enough.

With his head spinning Dirion got up from the floor. He already felt sick at the thought of all the grime and filth he must have just bathed himself in. He swore since he had been here he hadn't seen Busker clean the floors once. Dirion wouldn't be surprised if he caught a terminal illness just from his short time on the cesspool of a floor.

As he started once again walking he heard some more commotion behind him, more talking, but all it did was confuse him and give him more of a headache than he already had. However the music that kicked up a second did serve to lighten his mood ever so slightly so. See that, that! That person behind him who was strumming a storm is what you could qualify as a bard!

Dirion finally made his stop at the bar. Instantly leaning and putting most of his weight onto the ale covered counter-top. He clumsily slammed his mug in front of Busker and merely slurred out, [color=teal]"More."[/color] He scanned over his fellow bar mates to see what new faces there were. The most he saw at the moment was a young lad in what Dirion could tell from his time in court was noble attire, a young girl in blue armor with one hell of a sword, to be honest he felt like he should recognize her but right now everything was a bit of an ale colored blur, and then next to both of them was a girl who Dirion dearly prayed Busker hadn't given any ale to. She had on an eyepatch and- Well now that Dirion thought about she looked a lot like that staff-hand behind the bar, except smaler. Uhm, what's her face. The girl that growls at him whenever he spills his ale. Uh.. Fate, Fate! It's Fate. Fate. Dirion let out a small grin when he managed to remember her name.

And finally he looked over at the Drow that he was pretty sure had just thrown a knife at him for thinking he was a bard, when there was an actual bard over in the corner strumming away! The minute his eyes landed back on her Dirion gave a dark scowl and a drunken grunt and said to her, [color=teal]"M'not a bleedin bard."[/color]

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