It had been a long, arduous couple of week for<a class="link link--external" data-proxy-href="/proxy.php?link=https%3A%2F%2Fservimg.com%2Fview%2F19531931%2F28&amp;hash=5631357fbae4b0f0deb331036d55746e" href="https://servimg.com/view/19531931/28" rel="nofollow ugc noopener" target="_blank">Donovan</a>as he traveled down from the north seeking... what? He could not rightly say when he had come upon this quaint little crossroads tavern. He had a need for something more then all he'd ever known burning in his chest and it was this desire for something less ephemeral, this hunger for fulfilment that kept his feet moving. But his travels as of late had been less then fortuitous. That blasted oath he swore to himself never to accept coin for his service as an entertainer had come back to bite him on the ass more times then he cared to count. And while it did keep him from ever growing complacent at some tavern and stagnating like he did so many years ago it often left him broke and hungry when there wasn't a treasure map to follow or a dungeon to plunder.<br/><br/>Luckily he found it easy enough to broker with tavern owners for a night in a warm bed and a nice hot meal in exchange for keeping the patrons entertained and if Donovan knew nothing else he knew how to entertain. His dexterous hands made the strings of his lute sing such sweet melodies and with a touch of magic laced into the words of his song he was able to inspire all those things he had read so much about in poems but never truly experienced himself in everyone within earshot. Mirth, revelry and at times even a pinch of hope. The joy of the patrons before him as they danced was a reminder of what he was truly looking for. One day he would find a song to lift his spirit as his songs lifted the spirits of the people he played for. On that day maybe he would dance along side them for once. For now though, he was content to watch, to play for them and find joy vicariously through theirs. While it was not the food his soul truly hungered for, it did keep him from starving.<br/><br/>Though even as he drank in the mirth of his audience Donovan was never one to stick to a one track mind. He sang and he played and basked in the warmth and the revelry but his eyes were cold and meticulous. They punctured the bodies of the people all around to peer through them. Inquisitive, intrusive, questing for truth in their body language and their volume and measure of speech. Empathy was not just a tool for a charismatic and charming bard to use in wooing others. It was a tool for survival and even weapon. The skin people wore was almost always a lie and often a toxic one at that. But by learning to read passed the bullshit Donovan had learned the ugly truth so many bards loved to include in their tragic epics: that a pretty face often hid a monster. But that was only half of the truth, even ugly faces often had something to hide.<br/><br/>The first people the bard's inquisitive gaze fell upon were the folk sitting around the fire whispering to one another. Though they tried to remain unassuming and unobtrusive, perhaps were even successful to a point, to Donovan they stuck out like a sore thumb. They may as well have hung a sign over their little meeting spot declaring 'nothing to see here. Please move along.' For how well they hid the fact that they were up to something. But did he even care what that was? Unless it proved to involve him he decided he did not. Then he set eyes on the woman warming herself by the hearth. At first he thought nothing of her. But then she removed her cowl and upon sitting at the bar removed her cloak entirely to flaunt her lovely body for all to see he took notice indeed.<br/><br/>Donovan almost chuckled with how obvious she was. He didn't imagine someone would put the men whispering secrets, likely deadly ones at that by the fire to shame with how obvious they were. But there she was, the deadly rose with poison thorns cliche that so often served as a foil to the two dimensional heros of many a pulp serial brought to life. The way she moved, the way she was dressed, the tone of her voice and the gleam in her eye all spoke of a serpent in womans form. He would have to be careful about that one for his own sake. Women of any kind and especially women like that were trouble and he couldn't afford any trouble right now. Trouble was costly and he was down to his last few coppers.<br/><br/>Finally he set his eyes on the table of gamblers, specifically the cheater making jokes. At least, Donovan guessed he was a cheater, and a skilled one at that. While he couldn't know for sure, couldn't see Diego palming cards from where he was Donovan still knew the play he was using well. It was one he often implemented himself. Make your target laugh and they won't easily notice what your up to for the next few seconds if your slick about it, textbook misdirection. What else could he be using that particular bit of subterfuge for at a card table other then discreetly pulling an ace out of his hole unnoticed. The bard quickly grew to like this man from afar. A fellow practitioner of the fine art of manipulation indeed and such breath of fresh air after the sight of so many easily made charlatans who were so very terrable at blending in and hiding their hands. While most people were snakes wearing human faces so few of them seemed to be able to hide it very well.