At your table, the cherubic, silvery-eyed teen says in sirihish, leaning forward some:

"Are you gonna write a song 'bout the war, then? D'you do that for 'sid?"

The lissome, kohl-eyelined man's eyes have a roguish sparkle to them as he glances sidelong to the cherubic, silvery-eyed teen.

The cherubic, silvery-eyed teen sips from her miniature barrel.

At your table, you say in sirihish:

"Mmmh. Sure, everyone likes 'sid... but 's about time I come up with another song, anyway."

You think:

"Wanna play the clues game with me, mmmh? Smart lass."

The lissome, kohl-eyelined man splays the slender fingers of his right hand briefly.

At your table, you say in sirihish:

"These were gettin' a bit bored..."

At your table, the cherubic, silvery-eyed teen says in sirihish, glancing at your hand:

"Well.. the drum's borin'."

At your table, the cherubic, silvery-eyed teen says in sirihish, shrugging:

"Without a mandolin, anyway."

The cherubic, silvery-eyed teen grins.

At your table, the cherubic, silvery-eyed teen says in sirihish, looking into her miniature barrel:

"I do it for 'sid. Doesn't pay good."

At your table, you say in sirihish:

"Ah, aye, I know... I used tha have a flute, and a mandolin... but 's the women, they always take what I have."

At your table, the cherubic, silvery-eyed teen says in sirihish, frowning:

"Women took your mandolin and flute? You should'a pounded them o'er the head"

At your table, you say in sirihish, with a sheepish glance to the cherubic, silvery-eyed teen:

"And play clues games with me."

The cherubic, silvery-eyed teen chuckles.

At your table, the cherubic, silvery-eyed teen says in sirihish, glancing sidelong at you:

"Sounds like an interestin' story..."

The cherubic, silvery-eyed teen stops using a miniature barrel.

Passing it to the tall, amber-eyed woman, the cherubic, silvery-eyed teen discards her miniature barrel.

At your table, you say in sirihish:

"Well, there was this lass... Lia? Leya? I don't remember..."

The cherubic, silvery-eyed teen nods briskly, watching you.

At your table, you say in sirihish:

"And we spent a nice long night... talkin'..."

The cherubic, silvery-eyed teen nods a couple times.

At your table, you say in sirihish:

"And, well, as I wake up, all my things are gone."

The lissome, kohl-eyelined man chuckles.

You think:

"And none of this is true."

At your table, the cherubic, silvery-eyed teen says in sirihish, shaking her fist:

"I would'a found her and..."

At your table, the cherubic, silvery-eyed teen says in sirihish, sternly:

"Nobody takes me mandolin"

The cherubic, silvery-eyed teen sighs at you.

At your table, you say in sirihish:

"Mmmh, what to say, I'm a nice guy."

At your table, the cherubic, silvery-eyed teen says in sirihish, thoughtfully:

"Too nice."

At your table, the cherubic, silvery-eyed teen says in sirihish, to you, grinning:

"Maybe you'll let me steal your songs."

At your table, the cherubic, silvery-eyed teen says in sirihish, sweetly:

"I'll make them better."

A look of exagerrated helplessness flushes across the lissome, kohl-eyelined man's face as he stares at his hands, sighing.

The cherubic, silvery-eyed teen grins broadly.

At your table, you say in sirihish:

"Mmmh, maybe you steal 'em no matter what I say, neh?"

At your table, the cherubic, silvery-eyed teen says in sirihish, with a smirk:

"Well, it ain't like stealin' your things, but I'll keep me ears good and open."

At your table, you say in sirihish, sweetly:

"I'm just a party singer. Surely I could neh match your skill at the competition."

At your table, the cherubic, silvery-eyed teen says in sirihish, shrugging:

"Well - you know... I -am- the best song maker in 'Nak."

The cherubic, silvery-eyed teen stiffles a chuckle, then nods gravely.

The lissome, kohl-eyelined man dips his head closer to the cherubic, silvery-eyed teen, the three piercings within his left ear shimmering darkly as a handful of tresses fall over his shoulder.

The cherubic, silvery-eyed teen inches back a little, nervously.

At your table, you say in sirihish, giving the cherubic, silvery-eyed teen an apoplogetic, dark-lashed gaze:

"Got any master's advice, mayhaps?"

At your table, you say in sirihish:

"To level the playin' field a little? I'd hate ta see a nice lass like you bored..."

At your table, the cherubic, silvery-eyed teen says in sirihish, relaxing:

"Uh... well.. I ain't heard your stuff enough to comment."

At your table, you say in sirihish, shifting back into his former position:

"Mmmh."

At your table, you say in sirihish:

"Maybe we can fix that, neh?"

You are carrying:

a spiral-glazed goblet drum

Grinning slightly, the cherubic, silvery-eyed teen flicks a finger toward the stage.

The lissome, kohl-eyelined man lifts your spiral-glazed goblet drum from his lap and gently brushes some dust from it with his fingertips.

The Main Room of the Bard's Barrel [NSW]

A myriad of grinning skulls, each painted with bright colors laid

over the pallid bone, stare down from the broad wooden shelf that lines this

spacious room at eye level. Splashes of blue, green and red cover the clay

brick walls in an enthusiastic but inexpert abstract mural, some spatters of

the same paint dotted across the red tiled floor. The room is filled with

clamor: the clink and clatter of dishes and drinks, instruments being tuned,

scraps of song, and a general constant roar of conversation. A small wooden

stage sits along the northern wall, two ragged velvet curtains framing it,

looped back with blue-dyed ropes. A wide archway leads out onto the dusty

street, while a smaller one to the west provides a glimpse of a smaller,

quieter chamber.

A wall here is designated as a message board.

The cherubic, silvery-eyed teen is sitting at a boxy wooden bar.

A lean, grey-eyed bard leans against the stage.

A lean, spike-haired elf drums softly in the corner.

A tall, amber-eyed woman polishes glasses behind the boxy wooden bar.

The husky, weatherworn dwarf is here, seated at a large table, drinking ale.

The huge, sun-bronzed man surveys the room casually from a table here.

The bald, muscular woman slouches at a large table, drinking ale.

The small, dark-haired man sits at a table in the back, staring into his drink.

The solemn, club-footed man limps slowly along here.

At your table, you say in sirihish, following the cherubic, silvery-eyed teen's motion with his eyes:

"Ah, neh... that's tha' host's place."

The cherubic, silvery-eyed teen glances at the stage once more, then nods.

At your table, you say in sirihish:

"Would be bold ta claim it..."

The lissome, kohl-eyelined man winks to a grey-eyed bard from the shade of his hat.

At your table, the cherubic, silvery-eyed teen says in sirihish, dipping her chin:

"Awight"

The lissome, kohl-eyelined man tucks your spiral-glazed goblet drum beneath his left arm, his dark lashes sinking downwards slowly.

The lissome, kohl-eyelined man begins to play a crude rhythm, his dancing palm and fingers producing a pattern of a few simple beats.

The cherubic, silvery-eyed teen's head very subtly bobs with the beat, eyes shifting between you and your drum.

A rough, coarse and not very melodic tone to his voice, you sing, in sirihish:

"I'm a lousy bard..."

His gaze shifting towards a nearby table of gamblers, you sing, in sirihish:

"Can not even play a card..."

Amusement flashes across the cherubic, silvery-eyed teen's face.

You sing, in sirihish:

"I can't play any song..."

You are a little hungry.

His voice accompanied by a dissonant rhythm from your spiral-glazed goblet drum, you sing, in sirihish:

"Been a beginner too long..."

You sing, in sirihish:

"I never heard of tha war..."

Flashing the cherubic, silvery-eyed teen a warm smile, you sing, in sirihish:

"But the lass at mah side is a star..."

The cherubic, silvery-eyed teen rolls her eyes with a smile.

The lissome, kohl-eyelined man winces and quickly withdraws his hand from your spiral-glazed goblet drum, causing the simple melody to die down.

At your table, you say in sirihish, pursing his lips poutfully:

"Think I broke mah finger."

At your table, the cherubic, silvery-eyed teen says in sirihish, smiling at you:

"Ah, get off it. Ya did not. That weren't bad at all."

At your table, the cherubic, silvery-eyed teen says in sirihish, sighing with mock arrogance:

"You're certainly no 'Teafae', but... Good enough."

The lissome, kohl-eyelined man chuckles and tosses your spiral-glazed goblet drum a short distance into the air before catching it with his other hand.

At your table, you say in sirihish:

"Ah, but I can juggle, neh?"

Light filters in through the doorway as the crimson sun rises.

At your table, the cherubic, silvery-eyed teen says in sirihish, with a grin:

"Aye? I've got a torch. Maybe you got another. We could light'm and you could show."

At your table, you say in sirihish:

"Thank ya for tha kind words, miss."

At your table, the cherubic, silvery-eyed teen says in sirihish, looking north for a moment:

"Okay."

At your table, you say in sirihish:

"Mayhaps... another time."

You are carrying:

a spiral-glazed goblet drum

The lissome, kohl-eyelined man turns on his stool to perform a deep bow towards the room, supporting the move with a wide sweep of one arm.

You say, in sirihish:

"Show is over."