<div class="floatleft">(https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/564x/50/d7/1a/50d71a11f48e22255fd9d592f763aa35.jpg)<br/><div align="center"><strong>Niamh Deasún</strong></div></div>It was not the nicest of taverns she had been in, but then there was not much to expect from a village unimaginatively named Shepherd's Glen. After all not all villages could boast the amenities and culture of her home of Halaway in the far eastern province where her mother still ran the academy her parents had founded before she was born. Niamh had seen worse as well in her travels, and a tavern of any sort still meant she could play her lute and sing, thus earn some coin for her next part of wandering the wide world in pursuit of something she herself couldn't even rightly name. At nearing twenty summers, when most lasses were wed, she was far more in love with the notion of discovering ruins and long forgotten secrets than finding some blacksmiths son to settle down with. Which was just as well considering any young man she spent a length of time with tended to become a touch unnerved by her unusual personality.<br/><br/>She had sung all the night before and a good part of the morning, earning her keep as it were, and now it was evening with a fresh gathering of folk appearing and so she sat, perched upon a bar stool with long legs kicking back and forth to express pent up energy as she watched her audience to be. While she possessed not a lick of the magic that had made her father so famous, she still had an almost unnatural knack of telling the mood of people. That skill she put down to being a bard, well that and reading the mood of mages, scholars and any manner of oddities that had come through her parent's training.<br/><br/>Long raven black hair spilled over one shoulder and framed a delicately made face with large blue grey eyes set beneath dark brows and kissed by a scattering of freckles. Her nose was slim and elegant, and lips almost a touch too full though her chin was strong and hinted at her stubborn personality near as much as the set of her shoulders. For simple entertaining she was dressed still in her traveling gear, a carefully fitted flowing tunic of a stormy gray linen that served almost as a dress, covering any parts that might be considered questionable, yet with a pair of dark trousers emerging from beneath it and vanishing into knee high leather boots scuffed from her wandering. Across her back lay the lute she had spent the better part of last winter crafting, gleaming wood and delicate inlay work showing the dedication to her profession. Niamh Deasún knew she was pretty, if not in the blond haired fragile way of a princess, but still pretty enough to make most do a second look; she used it like she used her lute, to weave her stories, earn her money and avoid trouble.<br/><br/>Most of the time, sometimes being pretty caused it's own fuss.<br/><br/>For once in the past two days she had spent in Shepherd's Glen she was not the most eyed thin in the main tap room, that particular reward going to the two who sat over in one corner. Both male, one of them with rich auburn hair and a look of concentration she figured was much the same as her own when she was studying, and the other with what she believed to be horns and a hint of something more to his eyes. Signaling the barkeep for her normal wine she listened to the low murmurs of the room with half an ear, an habit that had started when she was a child listening to her mother's lectures and become more of a skill over her life. What she heard did not sit well with her.<br/><br/>"Look at them, sitting as bold as they please in our tavern...."<br/><br/>"...filthy mages..."<br/><br/>"...should run them out of town right quick, nothing but trouble."<br/><br/>"I'll show them to fear what's proper in this world."<br/><br/>The last one had the bard grimacing before she set down her wine and stood, clearing her throat and using her knowledge of projection to make sure it garnered the attention of the whole room. She gave a dazzling smile then, a half bow to those watching her. "Gents, ladies, it's my pleasure to bring a tale to you from far away. One where all is not what it seems on the surface, for you should never judge a book by it's cover. After all people can surprise you, and sometimes those who seem righteous are rather misguided."<br/><br/>As she took in a breath to start the story one of the larger men in the room stood up, likely the blacksmith or tanner of the little settlement. "We don't need no loose woman preaching to us about what to think about those that don't belong around decent people."<br/><br/>The insult to her virtue was hardly the first one she had faced since leaving home so she disregarded it, arching a brow at the man's statement even as she swept one arm out wide to entreat the others. "Gentle town folk, surely you are more open minded then that. How then do you decide who is deserving, no, it is best to welcome all with open arms and compassion."<br/><br/>Abruptly there was a jerk in her hair, sending her arching backward to smack the back of her skull against the counter with a yelp of pain. It was the barkeep looming above her then, glaring down at her like she was a dung beetle. "I allowed you to here with the understanding you wouldn't cause a ruckus."<br/><br/>Scent gave warning the other man was close, definitely a tanner by the way her nose burned just inhaling. "I saw we teach this 'bard' a lesson in how a proper woman minds her place." While Niamh had a slow burning temper, she did have one, and that threat as well as the completely moronic thought behind it summoned response in way of her leg kicking out and up, connecting firmly with the tanner's groin even as her hands rose and she used the barkeepers weight against him to send him flying over her and into the tanner. Handy little trick that, it had gotten her out of several issues in the past. Of course, prior issues hadn't resulted in a whole room of furious men getting to their feet and circling her.<br/><br/>Another smile touched her lips, though this one was far less confident as she held her hands up in a peace keeping motion, "Just a misunderstanding, clearly. I should be....."<br/><br/>There was no warning before arms wrapped around her midsection and hauled her off her feet, throwing her over some meaty shoulder and rendering her near helpless. "Witchcraft that was, throwing a grown man!" Her heart sank in her stomach because when men like this mentioned witchcraft it was rather swiftly followed by a burn her at the stake or toss her in a pond to drown sort of thing. Granted she could swim, that would would only damn her further in their eyes no doubt. Niamh squirmed, kicking and pushing, trying to get free as she realized that perhaps this time she had gotten in over her head.