[color=gray][indent][right][h1][color=39b54a]Tarot[/color][/h1][/right][/indent][right][sub][color=39b54a]Mentions:[/color] Sen Rak [color=39b54a]Location:[/color]Solyanik - Allyanik[/sub][/right][hr]
[indent] The moon was gently setting behind the imposing mountains to the West when Tarot left the inn. It wasn't an unusual habit, when his squad was resting within relatively safe territory, that they would awake to find him and his gear missing. The sheets of whatever dusty cot the bard rested in were neatly folded. Without the need to carefully keep watch for the latter half of the night when resting in an inn, Tarot opted to slip out of their accommodations and wander about the dark town. He was known enough by the guards, either by his own reputation or the reputation of the Red Wraiths as a whole, that he was hardly ever bothered on his nightly strolls. He was glad tonight was no exception.

Tarot made his way to a more secluded part of the city, in the western-most part of Solyanik. He dipped into an alleyway that showed marks of significant damage. He traced the claw marks etched into the alley's stone walls. The Shadar Kai bard lowered a knee and slipped a candle from a holster on his belt, standing it on the ground in front of him. He closed his eyes, and spoke softly in the language of Devils. [Color=39b54a]"(Infernal) Gracious spirits, I call to you. Tell me your story.*"[/color]

This next instant was always the unsettling part. The candle wobbled slightly, before a faint green flame engulfed the wick on its own. Discordant whispers in a number of languages, a few notably in more common tongues the bard was unfamiliar with, filled the air around him like falling sand. The temperature dropped a few degrees, making the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. But soon, a single voice emerged. A harsh voice, weathered with time and age. The words almost sounded like they were being swallowed, though Tarot had been doing this long enough to recognize the voice of a man choking on his own blood. It was very common among those who met violent ends, and Red Wraiths weren't known for living long and peaceful lives. Of course, this isn't what Tarot dwelled on. He was far more interested in the ghostly tale.

[color=00aeef]"I was a guard, born on a farm near Barras Bay. Came to the city to become a butcher. This was my shop, and my home. My boy took over when he came of age, and I took up a sword when things got more dangerous. Was busy doing my duty, didn't realize one of those beasts had gotten past us. They took my world from me... so I cut until I could cut no more."[/color]

Tarot nodded, staring into the flickering light of the candle. It wasn't a particularly new story. He had heard tales like these before, but he wasn't here to judge which stories should be shared. Tarot was merely there to preserve what memories and echoes he could. Besides... the alliteration of butcher and Barras Bay was too pleasing to pass up. [color=39b54a]"(Infernal) I will remember your story, spirit. You are welcome to join me a while."[/color]

The candle's pale, heatless flame dissipated as a cold breeze seemed to seep into the seams of Tarot's armor. His chest felt heavy, and saliva burned with the metallic taste of iron. He was right: the poor butcher had choked on his own blood. Nonetheless, Tarot holstered the candle once again and wandered the streets back in the direction of the inn. He could have sworn he caught a glimpse of a red scarf as the morning rays of dawn basked the city in a golden glow. Sen Rak was almost certainly appraising the city's defenses. So, Tarot slipped back into the Toremont Inn. He took a seat in the corner of the lobby bar, taking off his coat to reveal the blood red vest underneath. He unhooked the lute from its shoulder strap, and rested it in his lap as he faintly plucked a few strings to accompany his soft murmurs. [color=39b54a]"[i]He cut through all in his way, the Butcher of Barras Bay...[/i][sup] That works. Let's see, then next I could do something like...[/sup][i] On those cracked streets did lay, the family of the Butcher...[/i][sup]No, no, breaks the rhythm. Let's try...[/sup][i]Right there his family lay, the Butcher of Barras Bay...[/i]"[/color]

For some time, Tarot tweaked his song in the corner. It wasn't particularly great work, but it passed the time. He kept his eyes tracing over the lobby, waiting to see any of his squad. When Sen finally entered, Tarot finished strumming his melody as he watched the shifter take their place at the bar. The elf swung the lute over his shoulder as he sauntered over to the bar, taking a seat next to the ranger. He made eye contact with the barkeep, tapping the bar once with a finger and nodding to one of the barrels of mead resting on the back counter. It was a silent, but simple order. As the barkeep was pouring the drink, Tarot looked to his squadmate with a smile. As per usual, Tarot spoke quickly and almost to the air around him rather than to Sen. [color=39b54a]"Seems like I wasn't the only one to take a morning stroll through the city. But I think you have the right idea, Sen. Best to leave this other group waiting a bit, and go for the more... dramatic entrance. Besides, we've still got to wait for the blonde tyrant and our handsome mage."[/color] The barkeep set down a full mug of mead, and Tarot picked it up swiftly. He gave the barkeep a nod, and savored his drink as the two waited.
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[hider=Features Used]
*Tales from Beyond - Bonus Action, One use of Bardic Inspiration expended.
Gained "Tale of the Avenger" on a [url=https://www.roleplayerguild.com/rolls/24110]roll of 5[/url] until Tarot's next rest.
[/hider]