Prologue: Troubles at Red Larch.

Breezy is slightly off put by the woman's question. No one ever asked about him. How should he answer? Just the truth? Tell a tale to make him seem more interesting? His mind began to swim as the multitude of possibilities came flooding through, and he put a hand on the bar to steady himself.

"Ssssssing? No. In Sssssskyhome I played this." he said, reaching into his satchel to pull out a silvery flute. It was of exquisite craftsmanship, with intricate filigree work all along its length. His eyes lit up at its sight, the memories of the times he had played the flute for friends and strangers alike it brought with it.

Shaking his head as if to throw off a silly daydream, he said curtly "I do not play thissss anymore. Musssssic no longer holds the same joy." Turning, he leaves the Swinging Sword and looks for the stables. There he will inquire about a couple of buckets of water that he might use to douse himself.

Noting his fellow gnomish traveler in the bar as well, he acknowledges her with a tilt of his head as he passes.

Before things escalate any further, Midnight stands up on a chair, raises her hand and says as loud and adorably as she can, "It was me! Sorry! It was me! I did it. I made the mustache. It was an accident. I sneezed... It happens sometimes. I'm a klutz and can't control my magic. I hope you can understand. I didn't mean anything by it, promise."

"Thank you." Breezy tells the stable hand. Taking the first, he moves off to a safe distance and holds the container high before flipping it over himself. Running his hands through his hair and over his arms, he washes the dusty road from his body. Cupping his hands, he takes a bit into his mouth, swishes it around and spits it out. Then, following the first bucket, he dumps the second over himself as well. Brushing himself down by hand, he walks over to the man and his horse.

"Might I ussssse your brusssssssh a moment?"

If offered, he will take the brush and begin trying to make his tornado-spun hair into something more presentable before handing it back to the man.

"Do you missss it?" he asks, gesturing to the man's eye. "Every day, even in my ssssleep, I misssssss something mossst presciousss. Sssssome day I sssshall find.... it" he says, pausing at the to choose his word very carefully.

"No. No advice. Jussssssst wondering if you missss it. I, too, am making of thisssss what I can."

Pausing, as if being struck my inspiration (meta game pun intended ;)) Breezy looks at the stable hand. "I am Bresssnaphaaaaael. Do you have work? I need to get metal for my return home." as he speaks, Breezy pulls his coin pouch out and shakes it in front the man's face.

Yohna chuckles slightly at the explanation of his circumstances, but nods in agreement with the end of his sentence. Her expression shifts to one of intent though, as she listens to him point her in the direction of the constable.

"I see. Well, sometimes it pays to be superstitious - Leaves you the one laughing when the weird and wonderful does happen. Thank you for the pointer, Master Imdarr. I may return later for worship, but if there is aid I can offer, I'd see to offering it first. Good day to for now, friend."

With another curt bow, Yohna turns to leave, but stops just as she reaches the door. "Ah yes, one more thing, before I forget - Any good places to wash up around here? The trail has not been kind."

Satisfied with the answer, she gives one more nod of thanks and departs. As she walks through the street, however she feels awash with a new wave of energy and inspiration... Inspiration that gave her a bad feeling about the pub many of her companions had gone to. She can't tell why, but she has a feeling something bad is about to happen. She checks the sky to gauge the time, then sighs and enters the establishment.

As she enters the bar, she visibly reels from the smell. Her father had had a soft spot for these less savory types of place, a fondness Yohna had never quite understood. Lo and behold, however - It seemed a confrontation was brewing, one involving her compatriots. Yohna sighs, reserving herself to the fact that she was probably too late to stop this one, and stays only to make sure no one gets too terribly injured.

As the bullies' insults and threats wash over her, Falka's grin only grows like a crack splitting the earth. When finally she thinks they're finished, she leans in close. Her jaw sits like a blade at the man's throat. She breathes one ale-filled breath into his face, then chuckles, "I'm no lady, and I wouldn't mind breaking something of yours—" With that, she claps her hands over the man's ears, seizes his face and catapults her head into his like a rock.

Keavan moves to comfort Midnight.

"It's alright, no one is hurt, it's only a moustache."

He holds her hands in his and locks eyes with her, and with a little wink says.

"You didn't set fire to his hair, or melt his eyeballs, it's ok, no harm done."

He turns to the bully with a pointed look.

"No harm done, right?"