Within the sunlight city was a moment in which the air was so still it could be confused as a resin cast. The sun itself nowhere to be found, his contemplative sister instead casting a coquettish light just bright enough to keep the open streets from being drenched in black. Lantern posts stand watch to keep the corners and alleys from surprising anyone who'd still wander this not-so-sweet night. Soon a coalescence of bitterness will steal this sliver of time, hocking its dissatisfaction onto anyone and everyone instead.

    Baird blinks his burning eyes, fighting against his diurnal habits. There's a job to do. Somewhere along this road he was walking was a supposed phantom seeking an opera. He may not have the means to defeat something that has no fear of his mountainous corpus, he does have the means to perhaps impress with just that. Often times his first visit to any town becomes a bit of gossip just from the features of his haphazard natural appearance. We'll see if this apparition can be so easily swayed.

    Just as the man-boar was about to round the same street corner for the third time, a sound started to catch his ear. Tap-tap-tap, then a pause, tap-tap-tap. The culprit was quickly seen at the second story of one of the homes. A figment of undeath floating outside the window, pensively prodding a digit onto the glass.

    It then spoke in a voice like a fading memory of honey, "Oh a muse, a muse to sate me! Someone please rescue me from the mundane!"

    Baird processed the sight, but hadn't the time to act before another figure approached. He turned to meet the eyes of the other who patrolled this night.

---

Dead Bards Society

Rhys pulled at the edges of his cloak to shield himself from the night's chill. It was quite peaceful to walk around the streets at night without the usual buzz and crowds. The distant murmurs from indoors were the only sign of life he could hear.

A shadow flickered in his periphery. Slowing to a stop, Rhys knelt down and pretend to fix his boot laces as he tried to listen for where the shadow was heading without moving his head. He stood and discretely changed directions to followed it. It must be the prey he was looking for tonight.

With a quick glimpse, the shadow looked humanoid and worryingly see-through. "And somehow, also solid?", Rhys wondered as the figure stopped on a roof and started tapping their foot. Tap-tap-tap.

Rhys also stopped and hid in an alley far enough to stay unnoticed by the figure on the roof.

Breathing in air that a ghost did not need, they started speaking. "Oh a muse, a muse to sate me! Someone please rescue me from the mundane!"

Looking down from the roof, Rhys saw that someone else have witnessed the scene from the other side of the street. His eyes widened in awe as he looked up and up and somehow still up and how is that ever fair at all at their face. "They looked like a Grem? Or maybe of mixed blood?", Rhys thought as he took in the fur and the scales.

Rhys then realized that the both of them might be on the same job and that it would probably be easier if they teamed up. Nodding to himself, Rhys took a deep breath and slowly approached the other person.

The other person turned down to meet Rhys' eyes.

"G-Greetings, sir", Rhys stammered, "I a-am Rhystharyn S-Starbloom", he introduced himself with a quick bow.

"M-May I join y-you on this h-hunt? The prey is in s-sight and the e-end would be quicker if we joined hands", Rhys stated as calmly as he could. His slightly flapping twitching ears were the only obvious sign of his nerves.

    While pondering how to resolve such a fantastic sight, Baird felt the presence of another moving toward him. For a moment he was on edge. The supernatural situation on this stark night gave him a dull dread. Turning to meet the eyes of a stranger sent a wave of chill down the boar's hide. The moonlit gleam of his silver hair framing Keeping his face still, Baird looked down and heard an introduction. Instant relief! Even moreso when it seemed Rhystharyn was either too polite or too focused on his nerves to notice Baird's own fright.

    Baird lowered down into a kneel, leveling his eyes with the elf's. With a flick of his hand onto Rhys' chest, Baird speaks in his deep rasp, "Baird Sickleclaw. I'm no danger to you, if you don't count the assault on your eyes. Let's get the job done." As he reciprocates the greeting, he pulls out a small dish from his side. Lifting the lid with a satisfying clink revealed a pod of roasted seeds from what would seem like a gourd. Baird holds the small bowl towards Rhys, plucking a few out for himself and licking them into his maw. Seeing another fight against their shell seems to stir Baird from his.

    As the moment hangs in the air, Baird looks back toward the phantom. It no longer hung above, but rather was down on the street beside the two hunters. Mere feet away. "A touching scene. The nascent story yet untold!" It's silent approach sent waves of terror through Baird, who froze on the spot. "But.. far, far away from a tale to move my vacant heart." The purgatory-bound soul wistfully floated backwards, just about to fade through the walls of a home. Likely they'd haunt and terrify the residents in search of a worthy epic. Such as the reports go. Baird was still unable to get a grip to stop it.

Rhys felt relief after Baird introduced himself and he mentally gave himself a pat on the back on successfully approaching Baird. "Baird has pretty eyes", Rhys thought as he helped himself on some of the offered roasted seeds in the small dish.

Before he could give thanks for the roasted seeds, the phantom moved from the roof to the street beside them. The phantom tilted its head at them and said, "A touching scene. The nascent story yet untold!" The phantom continued, "But.. far, far away from a tale to move my vacant heart."

Rhys furrowed his brows in confusion at the phantom. He turned to Baird with the intent to ask what he thought of the phantom's words but he saw that Baird was wide-eyed and frozen in place staring at the phantom.

"Is he scared?", Rhys wondered and decided to do something about it. Turning around to fully face the phantom, he directly stepped in front of Baird.

"H-Hey! Please w-wait!", Rhys called out to the slowly retreating figure. It stopped moving. "What kind of tale are you looking for? H-How can your heart be moved?", Rhys tried to stall it from leaving and bothering other citizens.

The phantom was silent for a few moments as it pondered how to phrase the tale they seek.

    "A song, a battle, the painted picture!" the ghost's sonorous voice cried, like sounds heard from beyond a glass pane, "The story, the heat, a candlelight of life fluttering across the wick! The duet against the danse macabre!" Their gesticulations accented by bouts of floatation to and fro. This one truly has a flair for the melodramatic, "I ask the people of this city and they produce only droll speeches of long ago war or trite offerings that might impress children. Tell me, show me anything of your reality that could spurn this dissatisfaction within me!" Their eyes welled with hunger like a desperate animal, clung to the moon elf below. However lacking in specifics, it does seem that a lot might fit the bill, if it can only meet the demanding threshold of excitement.

    Baird's brow creased as the cold sweat stuck his pale auburn fur. He looked to see Rhys pushing through his nerves, reassuring the beast's own. He puts the bowl away back into a pouch, then quickly ruminates on a plan. It is then that a late-night drunk shakily rounded a corner. With Baird's eyes dilated in the dark^[1], he knew the man was oblivious to what is going on. With a glance at Rhys' scimitar, it all became clear. The boar's voice was low and focused so only the elf could hear, "They want a show. Take me down and don't hold back. May as well have fun!"

    Much louder, the bellowing voice between a man and a feral pig burst forth, "You call me a pig? We're all animals, and I'll show you one!" Baird grabbed a thick branch from one of the trees, tearing it out with a brutish tug. It took a moment for the drunk to catch on to the threat, but his eyes quickly turned into saucers. Baird walked slow and clapped the club against his open palm as he picked up into a brusque stomp. This might not be the kindest way to go about this, but what mattered was visceral verisimilitude, in his mind. Baird's anger was fake, but the fearsome aura terrifying the passerby certainly wasn't, and the need for a hero instantly pervaded the air.


^[1] Night Vision