Upon the arrival to Thanermere, Lucien had two things on his mind; cold drinks and a warm bed.  His back was aching severely from just having spent the past week sleeping on bedrolls, one night of which he'd managed to wedge a particularly sharp rock between his shoulder blades and another in which no one got any sleep.  Once inside the keep, he quickly dismounted and left his horse, which he had taken to calling Chaplain, and left the beast in the nearest stable.

	Running inside the best he could, Jakorian quickly bumped into the mead hall, and he could've sworn he was in heaven.  Surrounded by well made drink and people weary from a day of hard work... then he spotted a discarded mandolin on one of the long tables.  It had been awhile, but he made his way over and picked the stringed instrument up, then set to tuning it.  A quick moment passed, then he strummed each individual string to check his work.  Slightly off, but it would likely take a trained ear to notice.  And so he started to play, his usually gruff voice becoming surprisingly melodic as he sang.

	[i][color=goldenrod]"Sar'Than's hordes, they did darken the sky,
	Their roar fury's fire, his blade cold as ice,
	Men ran and they cowered, and they fought and they died,
	They burned and they bled as they issued their cries.

	We need saviors to free us from Sar'Than's rage,
	Heroes on the field of this new war to wage,
	And if Sar'Than wins, man is gone from this world,
	Lost in the shadow of black magic unfurled!

	But then came the Templars that terrible day,
	Steadfast as winter, they entered the fray,
	And all heard the music of Sar'Than's doom,
	The sweet song of Miras, a sky-shattering tune!

	And so Templars freed us from Sar'Than's rage,
	Gave gifts of freedom, ushered in a new age,
	And if Sar'Than's eternal, then eternity's done,
	For his story is over, and the demons... are gone."[/color][/i]

	The Cleric sat in a nearby seat as a small crowd started clapping for him, satisfied that the victory song he wrote for the future was relevant before the deed was even done.  Then someone got bashed over the head with a mug, initiating the bar brawl.

	Lucien held a record he placed great value on; he'd never been knocked out in a bar fight, and he intended to keep that title.  So he fought, mostly dodging the sloppily thrown punches, and at one point dropping a lighter table on an elf that had actually landed a hit.

	[b][color=fff79a]"WHAT IN THE NAME OF THE GODS ARE YOU DOING"[/color][/b]  There was Evelyn, standing in the doorway with a fresh welt on her jaw, and there was Lucien, holding the terrified aforementioned elf by the collar and drawing back for a solid punch across the face and standing on a table.

	[i][color=goldenrod]'Could this week get any worse?  Honestly?'[/color][/i]

	[b][color=fff79a] "You all are going to clean this entire hall. You will not sleep until it is spotless and if come morning I see anything out of place there will be severe consequences"[/color][/b]

	[i][color=goldenrod]'Dammit...'[/color][/i]