Poor Leno, where you'll be I'll go~, Where you'll be I'll know~ [CLOSED]

[archmageness]

Vicente chuckled to himself, sliding down banister of the staircase, and coming to a near-crash landing on the bottom floor of the mansion. His master had given him rather vague instructions; he had some freetime before he had to go through with the orders. He made sure his greatsword was properly strapped to his back, before heading out the door of the large place, opening out to the world outside.

He was in the town of Bularia; it was a mixed-race, town. It was common to see both humans, elves, dwarves...and a wealth of other races and half-breeds walking the streets. Although Vicente looked largely elven, he wasn't, at all. He was a Rilith, or what was more commonly called a Shadow-walker. On the material plane of existence - the one that all the people here lived on - he appeared as an almost elven humanoid, albeit a little gray of skin, and his eye shape wasn't entirely normal. What he looked like on the shadow plane - the one he was born on - was entirely another story.

He didn't wear much clothes, either, other than the less than modest half-cloak covering his lower half, and a couple odd necklaces...and lastly, his two gauntlets, and rings. He was an odd sort, but for this town, he didn't stick out entirely too much. The only thing that caused people to give him odd looks was the few clothes he wore, and the large sword on his back. Many people here were bounty hunters, and adventurers as well, though; that was probably why he hadn't been stopped.

His 'master' had instructed him to go south to Mia, and assassinate the Head Priest of the church, there. It was a favorable enough task for the Rilith; it would get done. His 'master' had simply failed to give him a time limit. He planned to spend a few days in one of the taverns, or just...causing general mischief.

Vicente's master was a wellknown mage from this town; many knew him, and very few liked the elderly man. His attacks on the priesthood of Mia were well-known around both towns; do-gooders might even recognize Vicente for who he was - an assassin of Archmage Lawrant. But most people either didn't know that the archmage used Shadow-walkers as his puppets, or they pretended not to know, to save themselves from the man's wrath.

Vicente didn't mind it, either way, whether someone knew him or not. If they knew him, and tried to stop him, then it was fun; he loved a good fight, more than anything else. It was why Shadow-walkers were such good servants for such as the Archmage. And if no one noticed him for what he was...then it was just that much easier to get the job done.

He walked into the tavern nearby, planning to get a couple drinks, and then head out, on his way.

ooc: This was originally an RP on neo. -shot- So it's all PG'd. << But my other posts will probably have curse words, just a...forewarning? XD
Vicente is right there. ^-~

[Yue Yin]

(Might I join? 8D)

[archmageness]

( 8D Of course! )

[Yue Yin]

Inside the very tavern that Vicente had entered, though, there was a most peculiar sight:

A young male bard was standing on one of the largest tables in the middle of the room, a crowd of patrons surrounding it, all laughing, cheering, drinken and drunkenly singing (badly). Tankards and glasses of frothing beer, brandy, whatever liquor you could wish to name, were lifted high into the air again and again, clinked together in a toast before being chugged down.

There was definitely an air of fun in the atmosphere, most of all from the bard himself, who was wildly dancing on the table, spinning, kicking out his legs and swaying along to the music of his lute and the sound of his own singing. His fingers rapidly strummed the lute's strings, until they were almost a blur, and a joyous, wild, mad tune shot out of them, and despite the racket the other patrons were making, it was, oddly enough, the clearest sound in the room. And unlike the patrons, Carmine Varten, the infamous Red Bard, his most respected Rose Giver - for that's what Varten meant - was actually a good singer, and his voice mingled with the sound of the lute with ease.

Indeed, despite the chaos of the whole affair, the good mood was rather infectious, for everything Carmine, he did - most deliriously - without abandon, without a true care in the world, except for the music and the fun he was having.

Pausing in his song to laugh wildly, Carmine swept a hand out, grabbing one of the tankards right from the hands of a patron.

"Might I have this sirgooddaytoyousirthankyousir!" Carmine declared in a rush, and in one gulp, he knocked it all back, wiping the froth off his mouth with the back of his hand before shoving the tankard back. Winking, he tipped his hat - red as his self-proclaimed title - back at the man. It was a wide-brimmed hat, adorned with red roses and long red ribbons, and it wasn't the only red item of clothing. Indeed, everything Carmine wore was bright, brilliant red: his vest jacket, his bishop-sleeved shirt, his gloves, his trousers and his boots.

And of course, the ribbon and roses used to tie his long white hair back into a loose plait. Yes, white hair. For despite Carmine's youth, his hair was white as snow, his skin like light grey ash, and his ears as pointed as any elf's. Long, bright eyes as red as blood peered out of the handsome, energetic face, sparkling intensely with madness and energy, and a broad grin that looked ready to split that face in two was almost constantly plastered there.

No, Carmine wasn't an elf, though according to family rumours, he did have elf blood, along with some other things, apparently, according to that grey skin and those red eyes. Rumour had it his mother had had an affair with some hybrid~ Not that Carmine cared - he was perfectly happy with how he was, despite his odd appearance, despite his eccentricity.

He came from a family of Fae - not tiny fairies, Fae, their much larger cousins. Pointed ears, Fae magic, petite stature (and short height by human standards), and a love for music and revelry... All things most Fae possessed. Carmine certainly had all of them - except for the petite stature. He was as tall as any average-sized human, and had loved being the tallest of his family.

Of course, among these people, that was no longer a reason why he stuck out, as they were all about his height or taller, or only a little bit shorter, but with his flamboyant, outrageous, completely mad demeanour, Carmine would've stuck out anyway.

"One more time, folks!" Carmine nearly shrieked, much to the appreciation of the patrons, before his sharp ears caught the creak of the door. Whipping his head around, Carmine beamed upon seeing Vicente, and extending a hand, he instantly bowed, deeply and dramatically. "Welcome, stranger! Will you not join us? Will you not, will you not?!"

(Here's Carmine~)

[Kethry]

May I join, perhaps?

[archmageness]

8D Of course you may~

[Kethry]

Aya waited outside the tavern, swaying in time to the Bard's music. Her mousy brown hair was caught up in a bun behind her head, at the nape of her neck. Chocolate brown eyes stared at the people around her. White skin, with a few freckles dotting her face, Aya was what appeared to be a normal human villager. Minus her pointy ears and a nose that was far too pointed for it's own good. She tended to have that same nose in a book, when she had the time. For now, she intended to get out of her own home for a few hours and enjoy life. She had sought out this Red Bard, intending to enjoy his company for a few hours, but once he had begun playing, the tavern had become too loud and obnoxious to bother with his company.

Her low cut blouse and tight breeches had some of the older men and boys staring at her like a piece of meat. Aya had been known to hold her own a time or two before, and no one was about to bother her now. Aya watched as a man with grey skin and pointed ears walked into the tavern, seemingly on some sort of mission. She grinned and readjusted her sky-blue blouse and followed him on silent, leather booted feet, and chose a seat as far away from the crowd around the Bard as possible.

Watching the bard dance on the table with all the livliness a woman could dream of, she ordered a mug of cool ale for herself, and paid for a full tankard for the crowd and Bard. That should pretty well occupy them for a while.

Ample bosom and charm had kept Aya from wanting more than company for a while, as her company usually kept her well supplied. Not to say that she didn't choose her... friends, with care, but Aya liked to have a good time. Even better if it was on someone else's dime. But, you can't gain if you're not willing to spend.

She settled in for a few minutes and watched the grey man as he milled about the inn. He looked like he was ready for a good time, but what he had in mind, Aya couldn't fathom.

[Daemon]

(( *joins* ^.^ ))

Death lurked everywhere. It permeated all aspects of life; nay, it existed in harmony with life. It glided through the skies, leeched through the earth, drifted through the seas, and shadowed every living being, waiting for its chance to strike.

For most, death was a reason to grieve.

For Wolfgang Aquinas, it was the very thing which could always make his amber eyes light up and his heart flutter with excitement.

The whisper that priests were commonly on someone’s hit-list around these parts, was sure to draw the necromancer to the possible location of bloodshed, as surely as it would attract a hungry bear to the scent of a camper’s lunch. He’d learnt that it was best to experiment on beings who would inevitably die, rather than mess about destroying innocents’ lives – and souls.

“Sorry, dear – if you value your life, you’ll move out of my way – oh, my apologies – move – out of my sight –”

There was nothing more formidable than a necromancer whose feet were tired from two days of walking. He wanted a seat, and he wanted it now! The closest inn caught his eye; over the bobbing heads of the anxious people he elbowed aside. He glared across at them from behind round, slightly tinted glasses, and as he was of average height he could glare ‘down’ at them. The young man, twenty exactly though his cynicism betrayed his youth, made his way into the inn, following the lady with the attractive physique, though he had no interest in such matters.

His face, still young, retained small vestiges of a child’s countenance, particularly when he grimaced and the freckles across his cheekbones and short nose scrunched closer together. This particular grimace, he directed towards the warbling man in all red. Providing himself with a diversion, Wolf sat at an empty bench for a few moments, but kept the bard in clear sight. Hm. A red bard. The Red Bard? Why not ‘scarlet’? Or ‘crimson’? Or ‘vermilion’? Or even ‘carmine’? Red sounded a bit too plain. And, contrary to his own appearance, Wolf scorned simplicity.

The necromancer’s wrinkled sneer leveled out as he found himself to be enjoying the bard’s tune. He especially admired the man’s skill with the lute. Wolf watched him, through curtains of chestnut hair, which fell straight around his shrewd, pale face and to his shoulders. The necromancer was dressed very much like any other traveler, nothing conspicuous like the man in red.

Wolf’s undershirt was grey, and so were his long trousers. A prominent white cravat puffed out under his throat. A dull blue cloak covered the rest of his spare frame, hiding little of consequence. His boots were knee-high, brown, with coppery buckles; their tips tapped out a rhythm on the floor.

Wolf carried his travelling supplies in a satchel which he slung crossways over his shoulder and torso. There wasn’t much in there except for a book or two, a couple of sticks of incense, flint, candles, food, and a waterskin. He was smart enough to stash his money elsewhere. He considered withdrawing it, not so as to pay for a drink, but to provide the bard with a tip.

Nevertheless, intrigued by the lively music which didn’t sound as if it was produced by one man alone, Wolfgang stood again, forgetting his blistered heels, and elbowed through the crowds with as little concern as before. As it turns out, he accidentally knocked into the woman who’d recently walked in, and he didn’t care to apologise, either. The necromancer approached the Bard right up to the table where he frolicked, danced and shrieked, staring intently.

The infectious mood still failed to affect Wolf, even if the music did. He gazed more closely at the bard’s blood-red eyes.

“’Hoy there!” he piped up, needing to project his voice in order to make himself heard over the tumult. “What race are you?” Or mix of races… one could never tell, with all the hybrids running around all over the place. Wolf didn’t mind elves. They and their children and their brethren were everywhere these days.

[Yue Yin]

Seeing more people enter seemed to send Carmine into wild raptures of excitement, and he danced from foot to foot, unable to keep still. It was as if he was so full of energy it was practically bursting out of the seams, threatening to explode all at once in everybody's faces.

Someone tapped his shoulder, and whirling around, he blinked when a barmaid shoved a tankard into his hands. Looking around, he saw that same barmaid go away, slipping through the crowd of cheering men to pass out more drinks. Ooh, was it on the house? Or did someone else pay for it all? Heck, who cared?! Carmine certainly didn't. Letting out a hearty cheer he chugged down his tankard so quickly it was a wonder he didn't gag, slopping some on his front. Gasping for air and feeling the alcohol and adrenaline rushing to his head in one dizzying combo, he let out an enthusiastic whoop, and flung his hands out. The now empty tankard went flying through the air, heading straight for Vicente's head.

However, Carmine didn't see it. He'd already forgotten the tankard, and Vicente, and was focused back on his audience, drunk on the applause and the beer. Carmine's ability to simply be interested in something and then completely forget about it later had never ceased to amaze - and infuriate - people.

Swaying a little, he declared loudly, hands raised in the air with one still clutching the neck of his lute, "Whatever beautiful soul that was, I give you a warm round of gratitude! Let us be merry! Let us be cheery! And I shall thank you with another song!"

And with that, Carmine was off again, splaying the lute, dancing and singing as wildly and boisterously as before. He was dancing so wildly he accidently kicked someone in the face, and sent the poor young man crumpling onto the floor with a groan and a bloody nose. Carmine didn't stop, though, continuing to dance and play.

"Oops, sorry!" he called out cheerfully. Practically singing, he went on, "Sorry, sorry, sorry~ Come now, get up already! It's only a bloody nose, nose, nose!"

None of the other men stopped to help the young man up, closing in the gap he'd left as he staggered away, though they themselves made care to take a step back from Carmine's table to avoid the same fate.

He let out a shriek of laughter, as if it was funny, until a voice called out to him. Still splaying, he spun around to find the source of the voice, and the end of his long plait ended up batting Wolf right in the face before he came to a stop.

Grinning broadly, Carmine sang back at Wolf,

"Over the hills and far away,
There the Carmen Woodland lay,
Listen for the pipes,
The flutes, the fifes!

"Carmen, O Carmen,
To whom do you belong? 'Tis Varten!

"Varten, noble! Varten, grand!
Varten's fun and owns the land!

"Varten, the Rose Givers,
Varten, of the strong livers!

"I am a Varten, and yet, I'm not,
Varten the Fae,
And yet, nay,
For let me say,

"My mother, O Mother,
She charmed and mastered,
The spellbound elf who belonged to another,
And then begot herself with Carmine the Bastard!"

Shrieking with laughter, Carmine bowed deeply and dramatically to Wolf, everyone.

[Spotty]

This is a waste of time. And, gods know, this place probably poisons its patrons. I hope you enjoy puking your guts out.

P-Poison?

"Quit scaring her," was murmured, a shaking, yellowed in its paleness, hand moving to the female's face.

It's so loud, I don't want to be here. Make them be quiet. Let's LEAVE!

"Stop," the female murmured once more, pressing her hand closer to her temple in a throwaway attempt to quiet the loud conversation. Though the voices couldn't hope to compete with the deafening and raucous activity of the tavern she found herself within.

It was a most unfortunate series of circumstances that found the haunting figure there, but the cold outside the tavern, imagined or real, had nearly driven her mad -- more so than she seemed to be -- and forced her to seek the warmth of the in doors. She had stuck to the furthest and abandoned corner of the tavern, though she was still unable to escape the crowd of patrons, all paying the utmost attention to the thundering bard.

The command uttered only a handful of seconds before seemed to be effective... at least temporarily... and she hesitantly lowered her hand from her face. The same appendage was used to adjust the large, purple flower within her hair. Including, but not limited to the flower, she was definitely odd in appearance. A thin, cheaply made purple gown clung to her sickly thin form; she wore no shoes, instead her legs were covered with thin black stockings, complete with various holes. Her skin, naturally pale and fair in complexion, was yellowed from...illness? Malnutrition? If the girl was starving, she didn't appear to be as such, for her gaze never hovered over the plates of food before many of the patrons within the establishment.

Instead, her gaze continued to linger over the various...necks of those present; namely, the individuals with bare necks. Her eyes were a deep blue, a hue close to that of sapphires, an uncommon color to be sure... but instead of being appealing, her eyes stared out from her person as if they were sunken, giving her an appearance reminiscent of a disregarded and neglected doll. And while the girl found apparent interest with the necks of the beings and creatures present, and despite the paleness of her skin, she... wasn't a vampire. She had none of other characteristic physical traits of one of the damned. In fact, aside from her bizarre costume and sickly appearance and posture, she resembled a human. Hell, she likely was human, there was no other glaring signs that would suggest otherwise.

Unless, of course, murmuring to oneself was considered anything other but mad.

Is there any reason you insist on slouching? On top of making yourself extremely vulnerable by being in this horribly overcrowded cesspool of filth, you're going to give us severe back problems.

Straightening, by reflex, the girl's eyes clenched shut at the continued gripes from the first voice. The second, by her guess, was too enrapt with the masses of individuals to chime in with protests of her own.

"Stop, I said!" She declared out of frustration, causing the individuals seated at the table nearest her own to look up at her in shock. Muttering rude comments, the group left, hoping to secure a table far from the odd girl. She was chilling enough to observe, let alone... listen to her rantings and loud cries.

Continuing to grow irritated, the girl sank back down into her chair, knotting her hand in her long brown hair, she pressed her hand to her cheek, resting her elbow on the surface of the table. Her murmuring had ended, as had the first voice, though Her smugness was nearly as overwhelming as the voiced complaints.

She found her gaze wandering over the persons present within the tavern once more. Her best effort was reserved for ignoring the loud bard, but as the musician's booming voice and noisy instrument filled the tavern, the patrons were forced to become louder. Just as she felt she must flee or be sick from the noise, her eyes found the figure of someone... familiar. She tilted her head out of confusion and... curiosity.

Liselot! Liselot, it's the birdy!

ooc;;
It's Liselot!

[LadyCrazy]

"FUCK YOU DOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM!!"

Said sentiment was being screeched as tornado like winds blasted the winged male across the countryside. The man hardly noticed, nor cared about the various stares he received from the few travelers he encountered. Ignoring the predicament he was in, it was rare for people to see a bat-winged individual. His black and gold wings, along with his pointed ears and aura would give him away for what he was; a demon.
But not just any sort of demon, nay, he happened to be an incubus.
So what was an incubus doing on the mortal plane, trapped within a tornado that was carrying him across the land?
Uhm. That was a long story. The easiest thing to explain would be how he was trapped in a tornado, oddly enough.

Dom was a bastard.

There, the situation was explained.

To be more specific, Dom was a deck of cards known as the Deck Of Mysticism. The deck held great magical power, but it was also infamous for the curse it placed upon whoever possessed it. The one who held the deck would never be able to get rid of it, save for death oooor getting lucky and having one card in particular drawn. Unfortunately, he had only seen the card once...annnnnd he wasn't going to think about that time. Nope. Nuh-uh. No emo!corner time for him! Aside from having to put up with the rat bastard Dom on a daily basis, he was A-OK.

Ohyeah! What was bad about Dom was that the asshole always did spiteful things. If he was ever asked about the deck or the subject of the deck was brought up, he had to do everything the other person said in relation to Dom. If he was told to draw a card...well, fuck. Then he had to draw one. That's how he ended up in this situation. Some little brat thought that Dom was a game and had asked him to draw a card to show her how to play the game.

The card he had drawn, The Harpy, had resulted in the tornado doom he was currently experiencing. Though the stupid little girl's face upon seeing him be carried off by the tornado was fucking hilarious. At the very least, he was being taken far away from the brat, so he wouldn't have to deal with squealed commands for him to do that funny tornado thing again.
Damn kids. They were all secretly sadists!

The winds of the tornado abruptly halted, and the male scrambled to unfurl his wings. He managed to stroke his wings downwards once before he slammed into the ground. The incubus pushed himself into a sitting position with a groan, his hand moving the his jacket's pocket where the smug sonuvabitch Dom rested. He pulled the cards from the pocket, scowling down at the silent bunch of over glorified paper.
"Yeah, think that's real funny, Dom? We'll see who's laughing when I throw your damn ass into a bonfire."

That threat grows more terrifying every time you recycle it. To be perfectly frank, you're more likely to burst into flames than I am.

The retort to his words fell on deaf ears...which was a shame. "Dom" always had opinions and retorts ready, but no one to appreciate them. Hm, at this point, those retorts and observations were in an effort to retain his sanity at being stuck with such an insane, incompetent, idiotic imbecile. Oh for fucks sake, he was resorting to alliteration now? Obviously his attempts at preserving his sanity had failed in the most miserable of senses and he was soon to be damned to the depths of madness for an eternity. He hoped a particular goddess was thrilled with what she had caused. He would be sure to return the "favor" she had paid him once he was...well.
Not a damn deck of cards.

When the incubus stopped pouting down at Dom, he looked up to realize that...
The douchebag tornado had dropped him right in the middle of a city...and the various townsfolk were staring at him as though he was an escaped circus freak.

Don't flatter yourself. It'd be an insult to freaks everywhere to name you as one of their number.

After a short bout of flailing, the incubus returned the deck of cards to his pocket, scrambled to his feet and hid in the nearest building to him. Which, as it turns out, was a tavern. Despite the noisy atmosphere of the place, he couldn't be more relieved. Finally, some place civilized to sleep...er...provided that demons weren't allowed to rent rooms in this city.
...
Where was he, again?

As he puzzled over his location, he felt himself involuntarily shiver. Oh, jeez...of course! As soon as he got a stroke of good luck, he got one of those creepy, ">D I'm watchin yaaaaa!" feelings. He rubbed the back of his neck and cautiously glanced about the crowded tavern. If it was that little girl again, he'd scream.

By the gods, your observation skills are more lacking than your intelligence level. Our old friend, or rather friends, have returned. Hello there, Liselots. It's been a while. I trust you've been as depressed, hopelessly confused, childish and homicidal as ever?

Hm, now that he thought about it, it was possible that he had missed a few personality traits. Hmph, no matter. He couldn't be expected to keep up with the tendencies of all her personalities, now could he? He hadn't become THAT bored just yet.




ooc:

Here be Bacchus! 8D

[archmageness]

When Vicente entered the rowdy tavern only to hear the yells and bellows of the crowd, and one very loud bard. The corner of his mouth turned upwards into a smile, but really, the singing didn't do much for him. His attentions went from the bard to the necromancer - which he didn't actually recognize as such - and in a bit of amusement, listened to the bard's explanation of his race.

Shaking his head at the strange - but not unamusing sight - of the Bard and the necromancer, he made a point to grab one of those mugs of ale that were being passed around, on the house. SOmeone was being nice, today~ Taking a satisfying sip, he found himself a relatively empty table - it had one occupant in it, which just so happened to be the freckled, brown-eyed Aya.

"Good evening~" He offered in a cheery enough tone, resting the mug on the table, and glancing around. "Crowded, tonight.. Makes for all the more fun, eh?" He grinned at the woman, whether she was paying any attention to him or not, and clinked his glass against her own, and took another large gulp.

As for the rest of the odd-balls entering the inn, he did notice Liselot, but only minimally. She just looked like a sickly human girl, to him; boring. And as for the newest arrival, only the wings truly gave him interest for the thing, his eyes flashing over Bucchus with mild amusement as he staggered his way in.

But oh, what was this? He saw the look Bacchus offered the creeper woman behind him, and glanced first at Liselot, then back at Bacchus, his curiosity peaked. A little. It was something to keep in mind; did they know each other? Fun, fun..

"It's a beautiful day for a homicide, don't you think?" He said to himself, though loud enough for Aya to hear. He sat back in the chair, grinning widely, and listening to the music coming from the bard.

[Daemon]

Nobody paid much attention to Wolf at the current moment, other than the Bard. Well, he had asked Carmine a question, after all.

Oh hoh, and what an answer he got in return. Another song, dance and jig. The necromancer glared up at the frenetically capering mixed-breed. Hm. Part-elf, part-Fae? Wolf wouldn’t mind experimenting with such a peculiar soul. As strange as it seemed, souls not only varied between person to person, they varied even more widely between different species. But, he wasn’t going to find out unless he killed someone.

Not some crazy bard… the young man whispered to himself, head leaning down and glasses slipping to the end of his nose. He’s not the target… I can’t just destroy beings because I want to see the effect…

Mentally berating himself about the rules of his magic which he’d all but failed to ignore as a child, Wolf clamped his hands over his ears – the crowd shouted wildly as Carmine finished his song – and yelled, “Thanks for telling me!!”

And the necromancer was all for depriving the inn of the insane cheer, for at least a while. Then he asked another question. “Will you ever finish entertaining? Need a break?” He considered the amount of money he had with him, then said, “If you want, I’ll buy you all the drinks you need. No need to permanently borrow the drinks of patrons.” He looked around. Not all of the patrons were alive with fervour and excitement. There was the one sadly lacking in ale, and the one clutching a bloody nose.

All he honestly wanted was for the crazy singing and dancing to have a pause. Then, at least, he might be able to better gauge was going on in the inn. The darker dealings, the rumours and gossip.

[Yue Yin]

Carmine didn't seem to notice Wolf's glaring, but if he did, he completely disregarded and carried on grinning and bowing, soaking up the raucous applause and laughter from the other patrons delightedly.

Not many of them had seen Fae before, and as Fae often varied widely in appearance, they probably wouldn't have known one if they'd come across it. For truthfully, Wolf probably would've found Carmine even more interesting if he'd known that none of the Fae in Carmine's family - or for that matter, any he'd met or heard of - had light grey skin and crimson eyes like he did. None of his family had those particular traits. And Carmine had never met his father, so though his mother had said he was an elf, really, Carmine had nothing to go on but her word and his own appearance, which did seem elven.

There were other things, too... but hell, who cared? Carmine certainly didn't. He was too carefree; all he cared about was having fun, doing what he loved best. Music. His race had never bothered him, nor the fact he was a bastard child. That song proved that more than enough.

Winking at Wolf and flashing him a thumbs-up, Carmine cackled and replied, "Not a problem!"

But as Wolf continued asking more questions, Carmine, instead of carrying on with his performance, found his curiosity being drawn to the necromancer. Hmm... What an odd man. Most odd. Asking all these funny questions~ And drinks, drinks! Lots and lots of drinks, all for free! That hooked him.

Bowing one last time to the audience, Carmine declared, "Well, it's been a most marvellous song and dance, but that's the end of that! A weary bard needs to rest his limbs and voice! Thank you, and good night!"

Jumping down from the table sprightly, still grinning like a Cheshire cat beside Wolf, the last thing Carmine looked was 'weary'.

Once the disappointed crowds had shuffled away - dropping coins into Carmine's hat beribboned and rose-bearing hat along the way - Carmine plopped himself into a chair beside Wolf, counting out the money happily, humming to himself.

"No!" Carmine said to Wolf, sounding slightly off-put in answer to his first question. "I love doing this, no way! I'm gonna dance and sing and play my lute until I drop dead! I never, ever, ever want a break! I'm going to do this forever and ever and-!"

But as Bacchus entered the tavern, though, Carmine's attention was suddenly diverted, his head snapping around to goggle unashamedly at the incubus's black bat wings. "Ooh, check that guy out! I wish I had wings~ Wouldn't it be amazing to fly? And, hmm... he smells like one of them," he added thoughtfully, apparently not realising the strangeness of this remark. "That smell... Speaking of which," he said, turning to Wolf, grinning as brightly as before, as if he'd only just remembered him, "you smell like death. What's your name? I'm Carmine, Carmine Varten!"

[Kethry]

Aya watched the man that sat across the table from her. An interesting creature. Nothing special about him that she could tell besides the fact that he looked like he'd just climbed out of a gutter, and hate it up in the real world. Grey skin and bad hair. Ew. She ignored his attempts at conversation for the most part, only smiling widely as if she actually cared about what he was saying.

Carmine had quit singing, which was a real let down for her, and had actually joined the other man at his table. Too tongue-tied to do more than sip her drink, Aya finished her's and signaled the barkeep for another round, on her. She was more than ready to do anything to have some fun tonight, especially if that meant she was just as intoxicated (or more so) as her company.

((Kicks sleeping muse. x.x))