Gariland stands there, more than a bit chilled.  Aside the boots on his feet, he has only a cloak which he presently has wrapped around himself in some toga-like fashion.<br/><br/>"I'll tell you, sir, it has been an unfortunate series of events which has led me to be forced to present myself to you in such an unstately manner.  You see, I am Gariland, a bard of some renown, surely you have heard of some of my epic stories?  But no matter, for even the fame of such a culturally rich and valuable profession such as I might have in good graces held in high esteem did not protect me from the vagaries of an unkind whim.  For evem as I came to offer my latest telling of the classic 'One and One Thousand Koans of Delight, Merriment, and General Betterment', an epic if ever there was one to be told, to the Duke for the very festival for which he now prepares, I was set upon by the most scurrilous bandits who, without any single mote of respect or decency, proclaimed my epics to be but droll and witless rambling even as they robbed me down to the bare skin!  I have only my boots and my cloak - which is to say my mark of trade in the aforementioned culturally rich and valuable profession - and the stories that grace my vaunted memory to my name."