Symian's

In Symian's absence, Clive Ramsey lead the festivities with his performances of old standards. With his adoptive mother being the Sheriff and the mayor a wizard, the young man found little use for most of his talents, leading Clive to settle into his role as town musician. Currently, he was playing a bouncy tarantella he had learned from a gnomish friend before she was strung up by a rival gang.

Clive himself had little use for the gods, and just a few years ago would have happily robbed any cleric in the right alley alongside his mates. As a magician himself, it seemed foolish to spit on his patroness. To him, the goddess of magic was like any crime boss. A bookie did not go to the effort of reminding people about the time the local kingpin was made a fool of. It was bad for business, and bad for health.

But he liked the coins people occasionally dropped in his hat, and he liked it when pretty girls flashed the bard a pretty smile. So he had that going for him.

Clive was caught by surprise, but leaned into the kiss after losing his spot in the song. Then he moved to another song, grinning from ear to ear the whole time.

Clive played one more tune, then gave a bow and set his guitar down. Dawnsday would see him playing a lot more when the other locals arrived. He quickly pocketed the gold coin, before approaching Mael with an easy smile. "You know, if you want to join me on stage as a performer, you can always just ask. Not that I disapprove of the other approach."

"In the city, we usually start the Last Night wearing masks and spend it with who we please, reenacting the chaos and darkness we once labored underneath. Secret duels are fought and many bastards are concieved. Then when the dawn comes, we cast off our disguises and return to our pious living... For a relative sense of the term." He set his left hand comfortably on her hip. "But as for the music, I can certainly attempt to correct that throughout the day. Or if you are not interested in singing to my particular brand of music, you could show off your skill on the pipe. The instrument, of course."

He unashamedly pressed his hips into hers. "Perhaps we are just more impetuous in the city. But I am always keen to temper my wild youth with new learning experiences. So I should greatly appreciate a demonstration of your prowess, Mael Beese."

He pressed himself even more firmly into her, before reluctantly backing away. "Well... I'll watch the sun in anticipation like it was your own ass." He didn't take his eyes off her until he was beside his guitar again, and only then to retune it.

After another song, some halfling ditty about great dragons slipping into tiny caverns, Clive set his guitar strap about his shoulders and left to serenade the rest of the village.

Lysander Kane looked over at Vanda. He raised the Dragonwater whiskey to his thrust and said in a slurred voice. "Aye I am troubled. And no fucking blessing is going to ease my burdens."