Bryan
I will just throw something in here real quick before bed and if this is not the right place, we can move it
Kenneth
His father had sent him into the world telling him that his goal was to find artistic inspiration. Akadius took that to heart, or rather to stomach, as he found himself artistically inspired to drink a mug of ale — or two, or three, maybe more, who's counting? 

He was at a local inn in the city of Aismir, idly scribbling in a journal splayed upon the table he occupied. To be honest, he couldn't really draw anything coherent while tipsy, but he still gave himself an 'A+' for effort. The scratching of his quill on paper was drowned out by the clanking of mugs, the wheels of wagons rolling by outside, and the humming chatter that was a comfortable constant in these sorts of places.

Akadius sat alone, visibly bored, and feeling a little reckless. It's the sort of reckless that had him thinking dangerously invincible thoughts. He perked up in his seat, emboldened as his inner monologue said,

*Sure, I'm just passing through, but where would this city be without my coins propping up the local tourism economy? If anything, they should be paying me for bringing culture and gold to them!*

Or, something like that... The hazy thoughts drifted out as quickly as they came, and he sank back into his chair. Visibly bored, and a little reckless.
Charles
"Mm, yes yes... If that doesn't work then I could always just use it to charm myself..."
The elf lay upon a rooftop, smoke drifting lazily upwards and a scratching sound pervading the good folks ears below as keladan was scribbling in a notebook. The day was settling, and the moon would soon creep across the sky. Her kiss revealing vast darkness and stars previously hidden by the light. 
"I'll be needing a-hm, but if i could requisition a dwarf..." He scowled and put the book away.
 His mood had been sullied earlier by a man. Yes, a human man in the market square. All he'd done was ask if the lad wanted his raggedy crusted old foot wraps of boots made new again. Looking back that may have not been the proper choice of words, either way the man had no right to yell such obscenities and vulgar curses at Keladan over his torn and weathered boots. It was possible they were already enchanted- Anyhow the beasts barking maw had flung droplets of saliva onto him, the horror had still not subsided and although he had charmed himself clean through and through the elf still did not feel right.
 What he needed was a good steaming bath, and he knew how to whip up a quick bubble spell as well that would make the experience rather luxurious. He pushed himself to his feet, and nimbly hopped to a balcony and then street below where he approached doors with a faint glow of light leaking out under and the buzz of many conversations that fill a room.
 It was a drastic change from the quiet street outside. The room bustled in a comfortable welcoming way and beyond the din of voices he heard an instrument playing a lilting melancholy tune he didn't recognise.
 Keladan made for the bar to find a host of some sort so he could get his room and a hot bath prepared. A meal as well if affordable.
Kenneth
Akadius' rambling inner monologue was interrupted as a new patron entered the bar. 'New patron' was just a polite way to say 'potential customer he could maybe strongarm into letting him scribble on the skin?'. 

He had propositioned almost everyone else in the inn, receiving a range of responses from "I want a moon on my ankle!" To "Fuck off, I just wanna drink,". It was the most difficult part of the process, Akadius thought. When you own a shop, people come to you ready for ink, but a street merchant had to regularly swallow the taste of rejection. Akadius would be hard-pressed to admit it was good for building his character.

Akadius hurriedly packed up his journal, almost tipping over his ink bottle in the process. He took a final swig from the mug and threw a couple coins on the table for a tip, before making his way to the bar.

He shook his head walking between the tables, trying to clear it as he decided upon a game plan. Looking at the elf, Akadius' eyes immediately caught on the long, meticulous braid that trailed down his back. Next was the way the elf held himself — his posture betrayed a quiet confidence that Akadius normally associated with people who definitely had a card or two up their sleeves, or at least an interesting tale to tell. Akadius sighed to himself — he might have a hard time selling tattoos to someone so prim and well-mannered, so he'd really need to build rapport.

"Hey there, hello," Akadius propped an elbow up on the bar next to the elf, "My name is Akadius, could I buy you a drink for an ounce of your time? Won't take long, I promise,"
Charles
Keladan was tapping a foot along to the rhythm of the quaint tune as a pale blue man spoke to him. He turned his head, and took in the striking presence and bright colors of the curious fellow. Not your run of the mill Aisimirian, that was to be sure.
"It seems the stars have brought to me a chance encounter,"
 He beckoned to the stool beside him in the crowded area. And requested a glass of Jasinthé, a wine brewed of hyacinth petals. He grinned as he noted the tips of a few of the man's fingers were spattered with fresh ink. Funny to think that he himself had just been writing up until moments ago.
"I can't tell if you're of the fae or not when I look at you lad, if you are a lad.. A spirit perhaps?" 
He turned to move his long legs and knees out of the way for him and perused the crowd looking to find the musician and what sort of device they played. He would be in here awhile as there were no reasonable dishes within the place other than the pies that unfortunately just had been set to bake, and looking at the ever busying state of the place. His wash would be delayed as well... Good to have interesting company to keep, and conversation. Keladan was fond of interesting characters. He loved those that seemed to stand out, those that could have been witnessed in theatrical elven dramas upon the stage. He had been meeting more and more of those types of people and learned the world was full to the brim with them in recent memory. As he had set out from many years of the comfort of Elvish lands to seek his fortune.
Kenneth
Akadius perched himself atop the stool next to the elf, pushing his robes out of the way and arranging them to his comfort. He paid the barkeep for both of their drinks and only purchased a water for himself — he decided it was time to hydrate a little. 

But before he could lift the cup to his lips, he was caught off guard by the question. A spirit? His brows knit in confusion. Did he look like a spirit, or did spirits look like him? Were spirits copying his style? *Without even crediting him?*

"I haven't met any spirits to know if I count as one," He laughed, "But I'm as flesh and blood as they come. I'll prove it,"

Akadius held out his hand to shake the elf's.
Charles
Kel chuckled and shook the man's hand, before sipping from his sweet wine. 
"Mostly a joke, mostly a joke." He mentioned. Still he could not find where the music in the inn was coming from. Maybe it was a magical sort, who knows.
"I say it because your robes looked abut like ghostly visage tendrils at first glance."
His hopes perked up as he saw a platter with steam rising from it being toted out of the back kitchens. Alas it wasn't his berry pie to somewhat of his displeasure. 
"Anyhow if you're not spirit then what are you? I've never chanced upon your like before... You seem to be not of man, beast or fae.."
Kenneth
"Ah..." He titled his head back, trying to think of an easy way to say it.

"I am half man, and half something a little more *Devilish*," He gave a cheeky grin — Akadius found himself to be incredibly amusing. "Hell, I look like this because my ancestors were freaks in the sheets"

He shrugged as he took a sip of water. It was cool and clean and tasted of minerals, as he thought water should.

"But the scribbles on me — I wasn't born with those. I did them myself, and I do them for others, too."

He pushed up the sleeves of his robes to reveal the tattoos crawling up his forearms. In some places they looked amateur — childish, even; wobbly suns or off-kilter birds or daggers where the lines aren't quite right. But in other places, the art seemed to leap from the skin — dancing deer and frothing waves and budding roses. His skin told the story of progress, of countless hours practicing on himself.