Charles
"Tell us the one about the bear, Kiro!"
*The slurred jubilance in the voice of one patron could be heard clear, even despite the evening din. He sat at one of the many booths in the far side of the tavern, the lanterns lit dimly at the behest of whoever had been mentioned. This 'Kiro' leant against the wall in the booth, surrounded by a half-dozen patrons listening in - all drunken sellswords, spare one young woman sat directly beside them, entirely sober yet enraptured all the same.

'The Undying': A name coined by a travelling minstrel who, upon meeting Taito, had found inspiration in her contemporary and ancient stories. Today, she did nothing new; regaling whoever would listen with her tales after a long day of mercenary work, katana resting upon her thigh as she maintained it carefully. Her figure had not changed in all her years: Lithe, yet muscular, her strong frame reclined lazily; having removed her tatami maille and strewn it across the table - revealing her pale complexion. Her expression matched her posture, wearing a bored yet peaceful smile. For a moment, it faded as her eyes flared a brilliant crimson, like beryls as they pierced into one of the mercenaries, who physically shrunk away despite dwarfing her physically.*

"It's Taito, you dunce! **"Thou hasth feculence for a mind..."**
*Slipping into traditional Runran in her anger, biting her lip as she caught herself, returning back to her recline as she humoured the young man. Slowly recalling the beats of this story, her eyes wandered across the rest of the tavern, noticing a peculiar pair entering - firstly for being the only piggybacking patrons in tonight, secondly for the noticeable ire the rest of the room seemed to have for them existing.*
"Hm... Weird kids, maybe..."
Bernard
*Woof. Tough crowd, although these types judging one of her kind was nothing overly new to her. She wasn't exactly someone who fit into a square hole even before the bite. A Northerner artificer was weird enough, and adding the blood curse to that cocktail of prejudice only made things worse.*

*Slipping off of her companion, dropping to the floor and patting him on the back, Morgan looked for any kind of seat in the room, ultimately being forced to sit near the other cursed individual in the room. Not that she minded, she was near someone like her.*

*Someone like her. A vampire. Moxie never thought that would be anything that could cross her mind.*

"Hiiii! Sorry about sitting here, but the place is *Packed...*"

*The features causing her to be looked at probably made themselves obvious by now.*
Charles
*Those who surrounded Taito turned idly to examine Morgan, most eyes widening and quickly flicking their eyes between her and the samurai, almost certain of the resemblance. The young woman let out a hushed gasp, covering her mouth as she tugged at Taito's sleeve - who was already watching the young lady. 

Okamimi...? No, Kitsune, the ears were different. It was clear what everyone was ogling her for, even without the flash of her decidedly needle-esque canines. The samurai grinned, baring her own fangs a moment: silver lines across them from self-applied fillings with spare iron, obtained during her many temperings of her katana. Again her eyes glittered red, welcoming Morgan with a gentle Northern contralto.*

"Not a problem, missy. Place is always packed, a' this time o' night. These idiots are in 'ere every night, though!"
*She jeered, jabbing the nearest idiot and cackling heartily, the rest of them jeering back and laughing along. The young lady joined in with a quiet giggle, offering a question to Morgan while they revelled.*
"Who might you be, madam? Everyone had their eyes on you, it seemed..."
Bernard
"Uhhh... It's Morgan, but most people call me Moxie. Heh. Umm... I used to be some guy called Kohm Fidres' apprentice runist here, and an artificer in training, but umm... Stuff happened."

*Stuff happened, alright. Morgan tapped the table uncomfortably, recalling the ritual. Still a burning memory...*

"Yeah, enough about me, who're you?"

*A strong ~~Ukrainian~~ foreign tang made her voice sharp and immediately recognisable. Adopted via her father's accent, her voice didn't even fit Mentia, her home country, let alone Salvania. A lack of getting on with many folks at home didn't help.*

*Morgan was still visibly a little uncomfortable with the crowd. Once upon a time she'd gush over any dumb idea in her head, but now it seemed like drawing stupid attention. She mostly kept the rambling to her golem buddy, who was still towering her and keeping a protective hand over her shoulder.*