The bard decidedly did not look back when he disappeared into the crowd. As he continued to walk through the somewhat busy traffic, he found himself thinking about the scene he'd witnessed earlier. The face of a butcher, the woman, George knew that face from somewhere earlier in the day, but he couldn't fully recall it. After stuffing the entire layout of the city inside of his head, some of the memories from the morning were buried under the myriad of mental maps and possible escape routes. George brushed it off. He'd remember later. Anyways, it was much more important for him to create a story than try to remember a single face of a criminal. In addition, He'd never found it savory to rat out those involved in the creation of a great story.
His stomach growled.
"About time to get some lunch, but a snack on the way couldn't hurt," George thought to himself. After reaching back into the pack tied to his back, he procured a small, half-bitten dried root and chomped a small piece of it. Unlike most of the other roots, this one was rather ordinary. It is rather tasty, however, and is good substitute for meat in a stew. George wormed his hand back into the bundle to place the root back and continued to walk while loudly munching on the root.
in his recollection, George heard a particularly popular tavern in this area renown for their exotic meats. After walking in that general direction, George finally found the tavern and opened the door. An awash of aromatic, meady, savory smells spilled out of the gates. No wonder why this place is so popular amongst the townsfolk. Just by smelling the meat George could ascertain the quality and value of the meats. He walked into the amber glowed room which housed a couple dozen tables and chairs that were packed with travelers. Notable was the bar, the array of smaller kegs and the door frame next to it, and the stage set prominently at the end of the somewhat short tavern. George sat down by the onto a round seat and looked at the bar tender, smiling.
"What fine meats do you carry? George asked in his usual aloof manner.
"Cow, mutton, pig, raccoon and venison. The common meats are 3 silver each. The raccoon is 4 silver. The venison 6." The bartender replied. George nodded. Then with a dramatic gesture, he pretentiously positioned himself to make a request
"If you may listen, can I interest you in a bargain for the raccoon?" The bartender gave George a dead-pan look. He was listening.
"I am a bard, and as you can see, one who is not afraid to play the fool. For a night's pantomime, I would request to barter for a venison, some coin, and a majority of the proceeds from the performances." The bartender looked at George plainly.
"Even split of the proceeds," the bartender pushed.
"Seven eighths"
"Three fifths."
"Four fifths"
"Five eigths," George pretended to have a moment of thinking and began slightly nodding. In the bartender's eyes, he could see a spark of joy in the bar tender's eyes.
Nonchalantly, George calmly said, "Seven tenths."
"Two thirds." George held out his hand and grinned widely.
"Deal." The two shook on it. Afterward, the bartender pointed towards stage. George nodded, stood up, and placed himself onto the stage. Nobody paid attention to him. After unwinding the tightly bound pack and the attached lute on the floor, he took out a decently sized pipe and a bard's hat. From the ground, George stood up and faced the preoccupied audience. With a deep breath, George began softly on his pipe, but gradually, he was louder and louder. Although not perfect, the sweet music of his pipe whistled throughout the entire tavern and created a cheerier haze within the room. Soon, after through a few traditional tunes and some of his own compositions, it would be the lute and stories that would be next.
