Troupe of the Painted Soul IC!

[apocalypstick]

Maybe one of us will find some answers that will shine light upon the mystery that is Jasper. Though we must be careful, it seems that none of us knows this town very well, and we will not want any trouble."

Christian leans forward and whispers to Dembrilion; "I'd ware of open speech here, friend."

Though we must be careful, it seems that none of us knows this town very well, and we will not want any trouble."

Then, louder, the bard says; "Ah, but who would want to trouble a band of entertainers such as us? Well... who other than the critics," he jokingly amends.

 

[dave_o]

OOC: Christian - Jasper is entirely mystery to you. Even more so, you realize you know absolutely nothing about the man. It's like a gap in your knowledge.

 

[Sollir Furryfoot]

Carrie sighs, and slaps her head lightly at Dembrillion's comment, but smiles at Christian's statement, "Nice save, there." She whispers.

"Anyways, what about a performance for the crowd, Christian? I'm sure it would benefit them as much as us if they knew a new acting troupe was in town, and you do owe me a recitation of that poem..." Carrie says, as charmingly as possible as she lays back in her chair, feeling her belly for a moment before taking a peek under the table at her basket.

She then calls for the waitress, "Miss, please arrange a room for me for later, preferably one on the ground floor and with a window." Carrie says, tossing a gold piece into the bowl, "and would you also have some one leave a large saucer of milk inside for when I arrive?"


(OOC/Edit-Took out 3 gold from Carrie's equipment)

 

[dave_o]

The serving girl smiles, gently, and peeks down into the cup. "Certainly, miss, but not for a mere gold. Our rooms run two gold an evening, and I will deliver the saucer for free." She makes a small bow, and quickly makes her way elsewhere.

 

[Sollir Furryfoot]

"Thank you, but pardon me for confusing you, I meant the gold piece as a tip-while I will pay for the room ontop of that." Carrie smiles, as she hands out another two gold.

Turning back to the rest of her companions, she mentions, "It's a good thing we're starting work soon, as my purse seems to be getting much lighter by the day." She sighs, awaiting Christian's reply.

 

[apocalypstick]

"Mmm... well, let's see here..." says Christian as he reaches beneath the table for his leather harp-case; "it''s been a long day, my throat is sore from the ocean's spray, and my harp is probably out of tune."

He pulls free his lap-harp - a delicate, baroque instrument of cherrywood chased with silver - and begins testing its strings. "But I will perform a piece of it for you, as promised."

Tuning the harp to his satisfaction, he places his long, spidery fingers upon the strings and plucks out a single, low note.

"But," the bard grins, before beginning, "remind me, in the future, to better guard my answers to your requests."

Scooting his seat back a bit from the table and clearing his throat, Christian begins to recite the first few stanzas of Lady Elena’s Triumph, sparingly accompanied by an occasional long, low, sonorous note on his lap-harp, laced with bitter sorrow matched only by the bard’s voice.

“I found her on a night of fire and noise
Wild bells rang in a wild sky
I knew from that moment on
I’d love her ‘til the day that I died

And I kissed away a thousand tears
My lady of the various sorrows
Some begged
Some borrowed
Some stolen
Some kept safe for tomorrow

She was given to me to put things right
And I stacked all my accomplishments beside her
Still I seemed so small and obsolete
I found the Gods and all His Devils inside her

Now the storm has passed over me
I’m left to drift on a dead calm sea
And watch her forever through the cracks in the beams
Nailed across the doorways of the bedrooms of my dreams.”

{Perform +13}

 

[squirrel]

Dembrilion realizes what he said right after the words came out of his mouth, ashamed that he made such a rookie mistake. I need to regroup my thoughts, its no good worrying about things I can't control. Its lucky that poet was quick enough to cover.

After Christian finishes his poem, Dembrilion says in a disheartened voice, "I'm going to take my leave now, I'm feeling a little under the weather right now. I should be better in the morning."

Dembrilion will flag down the serving girl to pay for his meal and to get his room.

{edit: ooc removed 3gp's from my total}

 

[Neowolf]

Kail sits, listening to the bard recite his piece. After a few moments of trying to pretend he's not touched, Kail stands, dropping a gold for his meal into the cup.

"If you'll excuse me, I'll be retiring for the evening."

With that, Kail slips soundlessly away, looking for a serving girl to pay for a room.

(OOC: Bluff +0 to pretend he isn't touched, Move Silently +25 to leave without making a noise, and -3 gold from his inventory.)

 

[hellbender]

Zinovii turns to Christian, " Well done, my new friend, excellent poetry."

The elf raises a glass to toast the bard silently, and sits back to savor his meal, listening idly (Listen +4) to nearby conversations at other tables and petting Anthusa, the sorceror's tabby familiar, sharing the odd piece of meat with the cat.

 

[dave_o]

During Christian's performance, the conversations near by quiet a bit. While the establishment is too vast for the entire place to be held in thrall, the patrons sitting nearby, mostly merchants, smile and look upon Christian in slight awe. It has, perhaps, been a time since a performer of his caliber has sang in Jewel. As his poem finds an end, soft applause eddies through the nearby tables, and several silvers bounce upon the tabletop (around enough to make a gold).

Steeled nerves or no, it seems that everyone at the table is touched - even the dark figure that is Kail.

A few moments later, all that remain at the table are Christian, Carrie, and Zinovii. The Starline seems to remain in full-boom, though most of the mercenary-types have seemed to retire upstairs. Working through the crowd, you see your serving girl, and she leans over to Christian's ear, whispering, "The man of the house says your room is free, excellent singing, sire." She, of course, bows slightly before quickly scampering away.

OOC: Zinovii strains those pointed ears of his to read conversations around him, but most of what he picks up are whispers pertaining to himself. "I thought all the Elves were gone?" "He doesn't look like a sailor." "I hope he's no trouble."