Post by Wixspartan on Jul 23, 2022 14:04:38 GMT
The human figure walks into the tavern, heavy adventuring cloak unable to conceal the long double headed polearm strapped to their back and the hand axes at their side. Sitting down at the bar they give a short nod to the bartender and a moment later a full mug of slightly stagnant ale is slid across towards the unknown figure. Several minutes pass before the figure pipes up in a strangely distant but calm voice.
"How much could a man expect to make entertaining in a place like this? Surely it would bring patrons in, or at least keep the patrons already here buying drinks?"
"Wassat? Hentertain, you a musician or summit?"
"Dancer, although I can play the pipes as well."
"Dancer? Lad you look like a proper merc you do. But ah well says I, never 'ave I turned down someone offerin' to distract my patronage from the taste of their ales..."
"So how much?"
"Nah lad, no pay. But room and board for as long and you're hentertainin' the customers. 'Ow's that sound ey?"
The figure grins and throws their cloak over the back of the chair. Their hair is long but neatly tied back in a ponytail and their blank grey eyes stare out of an unsettlingly calm face. Slowly the figure steps up onto one of the tables, clearing aside plates and cups to ready their performance and take a deep bow.
"Fine folk, is there any among you that can keep a rhythm? A simple beat will do."
In the back of the room a table of sailors begin to clang their tankards in almost synchronicity. It will do.
"Thank you, now, I am Voss Nilvarson, dancer of the blade, but for tonight I am simply your entertainment, I hope you will enjoy."
Voss begins his dance, slowly at first, the movement of his sheathed glaive slow and almost hypnotic as it glides in arcs around the table. His movements pick up speed, a flurry of movement and grace. His form is not thin, but the wiry muscles do little to provide bulk. Slowly the dance begins repeating, the patterns becoming familiar, trance-like. Hours pass, the patrons of the tavern losing track of time as the figure spins and spins and spins, never stopping, never faltering in the simple dance. For the trance is never-ending, the dance will always continue..
"How much could a man expect to make entertaining in a place like this? Surely it would bring patrons in, or at least keep the patrons already here buying drinks?"
"Wassat? Hentertain, you a musician or summit?"
"Dancer, although I can play the pipes as well."
"Dancer? Lad you look like a proper merc you do. But ah well says I, never 'ave I turned down someone offerin' to distract my patronage from the taste of their ales..."
"So how much?"
"Nah lad, no pay. But room and board for as long and you're hentertainin' the customers. 'Ow's that sound ey?"
The figure grins and throws their cloak over the back of the chair. Their hair is long but neatly tied back in a ponytail and their blank grey eyes stare out of an unsettlingly calm face. Slowly the figure steps up onto one of the tables, clearing aside plates and cups to ready their performance and take a deep bow.
"Fine folk, is there any among you that can keep a rhythm? A simple beat will do."
In the back of the room a table of sailors begin to clang their tankards in almost synchronicity. It will do.
"Thank you, now, I am Voss Nilvarson, dancer of the blade, but for tonight I am simply your entertainment, I hope you will enjoy."
Voss begins his dance, slowly at first, the movement of his sheathed glaive slow and almost hypnotic as it glides in arcs around the table. His movements pick up speed, a flurry of movement and grace. His form is not thin, but the wiry muscles do little to provide bulk. Slowly the dance begins repeating, the patterns becoming familiar, trance-like. Hours pass, the patrons of the tavern losing track of time as the figure spins and spins and spins, never stopping, never faltering in the simple dance. For the trance is never-ending, the dance will always continue..