Ratta-tat-tat

[Cassair the Blind]

It was not hard to detect the tavern, inn, whatever, from far away. The blind mage could practically feel the warmth of the people packed inside oozing, drifting, towards him. He could smell the stench of a myriad of species packed together in a small area, sweat mixed with food and alcohol. He could hear the rowdiness of the patrons, laughing, yelling, etc. He knew where the place was. All he needed to do was find the door.

As the presences got stronger, Cassair stuck out his free hand, while his other hand gripped his staff, beating a constant rhythm on the ground. When his free hand met a wall, his staff swung upwards, tapping the wall in search of the familiar thump of a door.

Tap. Taptap. A pause. Taptaptap. Tap. "Found it." He smiled to himself. His hand scrambled for the door handle, pushing it open to allow himself in. The bard tapped his staff against the ground again, cocking his ear as a high-pitched sound (at a frequency beyond most races' hearing capacities) as a mental picture appeared of the inn. He tapped once more to assure himself of the landscape around him, and wandered towards an empty corner in the inn.

Sitting down, the blind mage, bard, whatever, got himself comfortable. He leaned his staff on the wall, slung his bag over a chair - not before taking out a bone flute - sat down, and played softly. If people took the time to listen, good for him, he got tips. If not, it would just be another melody in this inn's song.

[Styrax]

Jolok resolutely sat hunched over his ale, letting the tavern's atmosphere bounce of his lonesome back to bother someone else.

"Sway come again and take this heat with you when you leave..."

Of course, it could have been his attire that made him so hot. Dressing for Salvar's countryside is an entirely different affair, and he had learned the lesson one sweat stain at a time since reaching little Scara Brae.

"Need to get some new clothes, maybe one of those coats the ship masters favor..."

The grizzled man scratched at his chin, noting that the rasp of scruff had turned into the scratch of beard back...sometime ago. Who knew how long it'd been since he groomed last.

"A shave, too. Not to mention -"

He pauses in his audible musings as the quiet music of a flute drifts through the din of the public room and gently draws his head around to seek the source.

There, near the back. Strange, to play so far from the fireplace. Surley the light was poor in the shadowy corner.

Jolok turned back to his drink, only to find it gone. He jerked his head around.

"What in the-...."

He sighed as he saw two beastly creatures with hyena heads chattering and tittering as they sauntered toward the entrance, one lapping ale from a glass that looked suspiciously familiar.

"...Wouldn't want it now anyways. Oh well."

With a final sigh he pushed himself up from the bar and navigated across the crowded room, dodging immobile tables and swaying carousers with equal skill, before coming up on the flutist's spot.

"Well met, minstrel, I see not everyone...."

He trailed off in surprise as he got his first good look of the man. Boy, really. It was hard to tell, all in all. What with his eyes being blindfolded.

Jolok cleared his throat as he stood over the bard. "Uhm...I heard you fluting. Spend a deal of time here?"