Glancing across to the bar that Sylvaine had gravitated towards, Cillian frowned slightly when he saw that she had apparently struck up a conversation with the dishevelled dwarf, rather than with the inn-keep. The dwarf certainly didn't look to be in a sharing mood, and although Cillian couldn't make out their conversation, he doubted they were discussing the acquirement of any food and drink. Or at least not for Cillian. Thankfully a lifetime of wandering, travelling wherever his feet took him, had left Cillian as a man with plenty of patience, and despite the pangs from his stomach, and the dryness of his mouth, the man from the Caelic Isles was always grateful for a moment of peace, and as he leant back in his chair, stretching out his tired legs, Cillian closed his eyes for a moment, and simply listened. 

	It had been his mother's first story that had lit the fire within Cillian, but it had not been until he had first heard her sing that the flame had been whipped into an inferno. To hear the magic of her words, to feel the power of the legends in her voice, it had bewitched Cillian. He had spent untold hours sharing the stories he had learnt with anyone who was willing to listen, and as he had grown older, he had lent his own voice to the windswept hall of his village. Ever since that first song, Cillian had grown to appreciate the sounds of life, and as he leant back in his chair, the air around him was alive with noise, and it was like music to him. The murmur of a dozen voices filled the tavern, weaving together to form a wall of noise, each voice merging into the next, but there was more beyond that. The sound of boots on floorboards gave an uneasy beat to the symphony, and if Cillian concentrated, he could hear horseshoes on cobbles from the streets that ran past the tavern. Running beneath it all, like the silver thread along the hem of the chaotic tapestry, Cillian could still hear the roar of the river Heathric. The noise was at the heart of the city, just as the river itself was, and to Cillian, it was like the blood-flow of some mighty beast. In an instant, one noise cut through it all, and brought Cillian crashing back to reality, the tether frantically tugging for his full attention. 

	The distinctive sound of a coin purse landing on a table, and being slid across it, was a sound that was all too familiar to Cillian, and as it cut through the hubbub of the tavern, the wandering bard was careful to keep his eyes closed, straining for the source of the sound. It didn't take him long to realise that it had come from the direction of the unusual trio that had had noticed when he had first entered. It seemed as if he would have to wait for something to eat, but his hunger was all but forgotten as he strained to overhear the conversation of the Skayeleigh warrior-woman, the Elven maiden and the Gnome gentleman. At worst, it would serve as a welcome distraction, and perhaps even make for an interesting tale. 

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Attempt to overhear the conversation (Perception) = [url=https://www.roleplayerguild.com/rolls/20580]1[/url] + 1 = 2
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