Cillian's chest was still heaving as he caught his breath, but he couldn't stop the smile from spreading across his face. He could feel the eyes of the room upon him, and he felt almost overwhelmingly alive. He was in his element, a player on a stage, the ever-present flame whipped into an inferno. His intended audience seemed a little stunned by his performance at first, until the elf spoke, her voice seeming to finally break the spell that had descended over the tavern. He listened to the two talk for a moment, relieved to hear that his hunch wasn't entirely unfounded, before his eyes were drawn to the outstretched hand of the elf maiden. His brief visit to the city of Greybridge had already proven to be an expensive one, but the bard was no stranger to the concept of money greasing the wheels of information. Perhaps her knowledge was indeed scant, perhaps she was even lying to him, attempting to swindle a newcomer to the city, but something in her eyes spoke to Cillian. 

	The two of them shared a trade, even if they practised their craft in different ways. It was information that Cillian wove into his tales, stitched into his songs, and he saw a glimpse of a kindred spirit in the elf. Cillian could tell grand legends of lands that he had never set foot in, recount the myths of people long dead, if this 'Saskia' traded in information, then it was not only her own experiences that she could share with Cillian, it was the experiences of every other soul that has pressed a coin into her outstretched palm. With practiced ease, Cillian reached into his coin purse, and pulled free a silver Lordling. He toyed with it in his hand for a moment, letting it run between his fingers, before taking another step closer to the unusual pair and dropping it into the outstretched hand of the elf. 

	[b]"I hope that this will serve to sharpen your mind, friend. I look forward to hearing your tale."[/b]