[center][img]http://txt-dynamic.cdn.1001fonts.net/txt/dHRmLjgwLmYzZTFhMC5WSEpwYzNSaGJpQkVaV2x0YjNNLC4wAAAA/trinigan-fg.regular.png[/img]
[color=lemonchiffon]♫[/color] Hargeon | [color=lemonchiffon]Interacting with[/color]: [@Milkman] ♫
[hider=Appearance][img]https://i.imgur.com/XTpQgiY.jpg[/img][/hider][/center]
[right][b]Current Song[/b]: [color=lemonchiffon]None[/color]
[u]Repertoire[/u]: [color=lemonchiffon][b]Unavailable[/b][/color][/right][hr][hr]
Tristan breathed in the fresh sea breeze, the cool, salty scent of the ocean clearing his head. The sound of waves breaking on the shore was one the young bard found most comforting. Even amidst the busy strip of Hargeon Port, bustling with the banter of fishmongers peddling their latest catch and tourists chatting over a bite at one of the many establishments, Tristan could only hear the ocean. Along with the call of the seagulls, the rhythmic movements of the ocean began to echo in his mind and through his fingertips. Perched on a stack of crates just outside the docking bay of the local markets, Tristan began to gently pluck at his harp. At first, he began with a simple melody. The repetitive hum of a single note went unnoticed by many wandering the streets. As he grew more accustomed to the rhythm, the tempo increased into a restful adagio; soothing like a gentle ocean's breeze.

Tristan's piece had begun to attract a small crowd. A young boy with a pet dog, an elderly couple with a piece of trout wrapped in paper and a young lady and her friends. Naturally, the dames caught Tristan's eye. Leaping from the crates, fingers still flowing back and forth the strings in a similar likeness to the waves he was trying to capture in his aria. His eyes locked with one of the girls, her own transfixed on his. Offering a coy wink, Tristan's song rose into a crescendo as sudden as a storm at sea. While the melody persisted, it was now harsh and strong. Tristan delighted in the audience's widened eyes and awestruck stares. The beat began to pick up in it's intensity, beads of sweat rolling down the side of the performers face. It continued to rise, gripping everyone at the edge of their seats with anticipation of the next movement. And then, with one final, fierce strum, the composition ended.

In the silence that followed, all that could be heard were the gentle rocking of the waves and the distant, idle chatter of the market. Then there was a staggered applause. Some of the audience cheered Tristan on with much more gusto than others. Taking the opportunity, he tipped his hat from his head and began to make the rounds. A few jewels here and there, some select words of praise, and then that was that. The loading bay that was only just filled with a captivated audience, was now just the same old space it had always been. Tristan turned to face the lass he had caught the gaze of during his performance, slicking his hair back and straightening his collar. Yet she was gone too. In the distance, he saw the back of her head as she and her friends continued their venture down the cafe strip.

Left alone with naught but his harp and hat light with little coin, Tristan sighed.
[i][color=lemonchiffon]I hate it when the performance has to end.[/color][/i] He placed the harp on his back, making sure to latch it to the leather harness that kept it secured to his persons at all times. Taking both of his gloved hands, he gently slapped both of his cheeks. There was no point dwelling on the topic. That brief moment of connection between performer and spectator always came to an end when the song did; it had always been this way. How he wished he could keep the link together, if only for a few moments more. Bucking up with shoulders squared, Tristan decided he had earned a decent meal for his mornings work.

Tristan walked down the street to the local cafe strip, staring at the selection of cakes, pastries and other delicacies on display. His mind wandered at the mere thought of such a wide selection. Yet before he could settle on whether to eat crepes or croque madame, the shrill sound of a woman's scream causes his heart to race. Turning around to the damsel, Tristan spied a most peculiar sight; a talking mouse. The creature, having clearly unnerved the poor ladies, sat about the table demanding an offering of cheese. In the confusion, a couple at a table adjacent to Tristan did not notice him break off a piece of Jarlsberg from their sampling platter. Approaching the mouse, Tristan waved to the frightened ladies with a warm smile.

"[color=lemonchiffon]Fear not, my lady! The rat is a symbol of good fortune in some cultures. Take this pleasant surprise to be an omen of good tidings![/color]" Tristan beamed, offering a curt nod to the ladies who stared at him with questioning glares. Holding out his enclosed hand to the rat, Tristan slowly opened it to reveal the pilfered cheese.
"[color=lemonchiffon]Oh merciful rat God, please accept my most humblest of offerings![/color]" Tristan, never one to pass up theatrics, played along with the wizards gambit in good sport. Any mage worth their salt could tell that this creature was no malicious rodent deity, but a mage possessing some kind of transformation magic; and a rather jolly one at that. Based on that fact alone, Tristan was eager to entertain this high spirited stranger.