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"Eternal rest ... a gift from God ... and the light shines forever?" ... or something like that. My skill with languages is a bit lacking, I confess. I'm better with my tongue than with tongues.

*He grins and passes her a sandwich, glancing about. Ah, there's ... centauri-girl, whatever her name was, in the distance (thankfully wearing a shirt this time), and a few moogles flitting about nearby.* Okay, here's one ... now, I warn you, this is my version of his tune, and I won't sing it, but ...

*We can't fault 'Bait for lying; he doesn't sing. Well, not entirely, but his voice definitely shifts to a much lower register.*

Mother, mother forest,
I have heard you call,
And wanted to walk among your pathways
Since I was three feet tall.
You've seen it all; you've seen it all.

You've watched the men who roam you
Switch from stone to steel,
And in your belly you hold the treasures
Few could ever feel --
Most of it real, most of it real.

Yes, I am a swordsman
One hundred years too late.
Hoofbeats don't thunder, there's nothing to plunder;
I'm an over-forty victim of fate,
Arriving too late; arriving too late.

*Finally, mercifully, he stops and picks a sandwich for himself.* It goes on like that for several stanzas, but I think you get the general idea.

*He gives a self-mocking laugh.* No, nobody has ever asked me to sing more than once. Usually, people ask me not to sing.

*He takes another bite, gathering his thoughts.* I've been ... many things. Knight, bartender, bodyguard, soldier, teacher, explorer, folklorist, amateur sage, "professional adventurer" ... always paladin, of course, but also always looking for some new form of service -- or at least something to keep a roof o'er my head.

And you ... a singer, you say, and I've no doubt what your bloodline gives you some little edge in capturing an audience's attentions, hm? How came you to our host's attentions?

*Dragonbait tilts his head, finishing the sandwich before continuing.* Eh, they're all more or less the same, actually. Each had good points, each had bad. There's none I'd have given up for any other ... well, there was one I left for another, but that was more a matter of "time to move on". Like yourself, I've had to move around.

Bah. The only difference between a bard and a folklorist is that one can sing, and the other can write prose. They're both gatherers of tales, usually from far-flung lands; both of them are dependent upon repeating their tales in a way that will capture the audience's attention; both have a tendency to see connections others don't.

*He chuckles and reaches for the lemonade.* Besides, really, folklorist and "amateur sage" were more interests that happened to make a gold piece or two, than actual occupations. Much like singing for you, I'd imagine. But, as you also know, interests are usually more compelling than occupations -- witness the fact that I'm clearly not here as a bodyguard ... though it wouldn't surprise me too much if I ended up back in that position 'ere long.

Ah, thank you. *He refills his glass, then moves to refill Niana's.* You say that based on never having seen me fight. I managed to keep people alive ... but usually by grabbing and yanking when they wanted to do something I considered stupid. Bad idea when the person I'm trying to guard is a mage. Things weren't too different when I was Queen's Knight, but ... well, that didn't work out either.

*'Bait's darkening expression manages to make clear that questions along those lines will be quite unwelcome.* And folklorists can hear a story, and say, "wait, this sounds just like what we heard about Darius last year ... okay, different dragon, but same story, same way of tricking the dragon". Make sense? They find the fiction behind the story. Witness this place, the Spelljammer. Now, it seems to be connected to legends of what my people called the Dutchman. There's a dozen legends about how it came to pass ... but there's only one reality. I'm here to find out what it is, and how the stories came to be -- which is what got you so enthusiastic earlier, knowing that there's a rather interesting future ahead of us, yes? How's the sandwich?

*Unfortunately, 'Bait cannot do Niana the honor of looking impressed with her logic. First of all, he expects demons to be intelligent. Second, there's flaws in her logic -- but he's not fool enough to point them out.* Ah, but you've just proven that you're capable of thinking -- although not of judging picnics. If this is your best, you've not had many.

*Overhead -- though not too far overhead, due to their altitude -- a cloud moves across the sun. Across the "field", a pair of moogles point and giggle, just before being swatted by a centaur's tail. And here beneath the trees, 'Bait wonders if he's really being particularly intelligent himself, actually enjoying the company of a demoness who sets off so many alarms in his mind. Granted, she acts too young and chipper for his tastes, but ... he mentally smacks himself.*

OOC: gonk Writer's block!

OOC: Um ... actually, that would be kind of amusing.

BIC: So, tell me something, miss perky demoness ... how did these people find out?

*He twists slightly, pinning her in place with his gaze.* You can pass for human. You can act human. You're not stupid ... so how did these people find out? How did they decide you were to be cast out, if you can look just like them? The only part of you that speaks of being inhuman is your eye color and your unusual strength. Now, we know how I managed to spot you ... how did they?

OOC: Sick how? I mean, come on ... don't tell me you wouldn't giggle a bit at the thought of a demon in tears. Ooh, gotta check Krakow ...

BIC: "Unless" ... ? Never mind, never mind; 'tis none of my business.

*'Bait shrugs.* So, you never learned much about moving on before you're spotted. Five years, at the most, before you move on -- and that's assuming you live a quiet life without a lot of visitors. If you seek trouble -- or, more likely, trouble seeks you -- then closer to two years ... but if you live in a big city, you can stretch that out quite a bit. The more people you have around you, the less likely any one of them is to notice you -- paradoxical, but true. Don't tell anyone of your difference unless you have reason to believe they won't betray you -- and even then, expect the betrayal regardless. I can't fault you for using your abilities in defense, of course; these things happen ... and why am I telling all of this to someone who's supposed to be a racial enemy?

*He breaks of his gaze and looks skyward, clearly asking for help.* Am I losing my tiny mind?