#darlingbardling

|| @darlingbardling ||

ᒥ🕷ᒧ—      He stumbles into the tavern, his cloak drawn over his face to hide onyx skin and silver hair in the dim torch light. Rinnill looked like any weary man if no one gave him a closer inspection and he didn't intend to allow anyone that chance.

He hobbled on his crutch to a seat at an open table, and once he found it, he resisted the urge to fling his head back and simply melt into the wood with exhaustion. The drow man kept himself hunched over, hiding every inch of skin he could to remain unbothered by surface dwellers. A coin was placed on the table; his hope the barmaid would scoop it up without question and supply him with their strongest ale.

It's then the noise of chatter quiets down across the room, it brings him unease. Was he made so soon? However, the attention wasn't on him. Scarlet eyes dart to the corner of the room where a small stage was placed. It was no more than a step off the ground, barely a stage and more of a platform. Upon stands a tiefling woman, he's just about to write her off as unassuming until she reveals a violin from its case. A magnificent instrument, not meant for the likes of ruffians and drunken men to hear in the drow's opinion.

A few drawn breaths and she begins to play. His body goes rigid by the illustrious melody played with such ease. It could challenge the likes of any musician in Menzoberranzan. Rinnill stares, no longer concerned with hiding his drow heritage, all his attention was on her and solely her.

There was an amusing bit of chaos happening in the far corner of the Goose today; a priest of her own kin, who had come to gallantly introduce himself as Suilila upon arrival, was engaged most deeply with a halfling. Alaara watched, attention rapt, as Suilila patted himself all over with hands and scaly tail alike, dug through every pocket he had twice over, and then started to interrogate the halfling sharing his table as if the world were about to end.

She didn't quite see the outcome of his search, however. Someone new had caught her attention. A tiefling had walked in, slight in stature to her only because she herself was so tall. She wore an interesting array of bright clothing and yet- for someone with so loud a physical presence, she had the stance of someone that would rather fade away into the shadows. Alaara floated to the tiefling, taking care to sing and smile at the other patrons as she passed by.

"Welcome to North Ward," she greeted, "and to The Jolly Goose. Formerly known as Trollskull Manor."

Behind her, a half-elf and a human had raised their voices. Alaara's tail whipped between them, staying their hands with surprise and the mild sting of a smack to their hands.

"Try not to mind my rowdy regulars," she said, lowering her voice. She turned briefly to the half-elf and human and gave them a stern eye, to which they promptly wilted and made up with one another.

"What brings you this far, thurirl*? More importantly: do you need anything? Food? Drink? An ear lent for listening? A song?"

The last thing Dirt was expecting through hazes of red, was for Bree to kneel in front of him. His attempt at shrugging off the fervor of his Dark Urge had not been received as he had hoped. Bree's expression was gentle and kind, voice soft and steady as if comforting a wounded animal.

That is exactly what I am, came Dirt's self deprecating thoughts. A wounded creature backed into a corner and so...very.... hungry...

They're vaguely aware of Bree's hand, and her hesitancy to touch him. Cliche as it is, her hesitancy and utter kindness is what clears his vision and grounds his thoughts.

"Eyes on me. I’ve got you. For as long as you need, I have you"

Their pained smile fades into a concentrated expression and he follows her lead. He inhales and exhales, his tremors subsiding. Her presence is a welcome distraction. Had she approached them many moons ago in such a state, he feared she wouldn't have left alive.

"Thank you," he breathes. The colour has slowly returned to his cheeks and his hair is damp upon his head. He wipes his brow with the back of his arm and purposefully moves so that he can feel her hand upon his shoulder. "You must forgive me, I was not myself a moment ago." As he readjusts himself and slowly rises, the sunlight catches the glint of gold around his neck. It's thin enough to look like a necklace but if one were to examine it closer they'd see it was a collar

Gale blinked in surprise, letting the image of Mystra he held in his palm disappear into that night. It suddenly felt colder, lonelier without her magic.

Still, he chuckled at Bree's question. "I'm not sure a ballad would lift my spirits. Unless you mean to commiserate with me in my misery?"

“Are you an artificer? I don’t think I’ve ever seen gadgets quite like yours.”

Brandishing his portal gun just as he was about to vanish from this tavern, dressed in nothing but standard adventurer clothes for the sake of NOT drawing excess attention to himself for this very reason, of course someone would have the audacity to speak to him as he was about to leave.

Of course.

What he doesn't expect, however, is when he glances up, that he's greeted with the sight of a tiefling. Rare breed among the realms, from what he knows. Far and few in between, but they're out there, tainted with the lineage of devils in their veins.

His eyes widen for a fraction of a second before going half mast, going from looking at the portal gun in his hand with such an aberrant design, to the woman before him.

"Yeah... Uh... Something like that. Afraid I don't do commissions though, if that's what you're thinking." He keeps the tone polite, biting the inside of his cheek as he observes her, eyes skeptical, curious about the intention for approach behind his gaze.

“Thank you, Bree,” the tiefling peeked at the bard through the mirror hanging in her tent. “It was my late older sister that taught me how to braid my hair. She was quite patient with me, given how long and messy my hair always was and how impatient I sat while she worked on her magic.”  

Taking the brush and plenty of thin leather straps, Melihël sat on a tree trunk, inviting the bard to do the same. “Come, sit, let’s see what I can do for you.”