Rictor/Ari | Theatre District | 11:00am
“It depends on the bard, I daresay,” Ari replied. “We are not quite so… structured. But my mentor was a well-known tyrant. Even conductors feared him, which, let me tell you, is not a frequent occurrence in our world. I think I would rather face down a Malboro than some of the conductors I have known.” She grinned. “Surprised? We work hard, too, in our own unique way.” She’d even done some small share of sparring – in alleys, with a dagger, sometimes two – though that was best left out of the conversation altogether.
“I would imagine, though, that any bard who is meant to be battle ready had best be experienced outside the practice room. Most battles do not lend themselves to good acoustics and planned programs.” He’d seen her out in the field with the zombies, after all, though they had not fought side by side for long. “I am not just an opera singer.” Even if Master Pavarolli hadn’t made certain of it, Ancelot Alaire certainly would have.
“I’ve met your sister,” she said, thinking back to the benefit gala and trying not to wince. What a disaster that night had been! “The dancer, that is.” She had asked about stage fright too, Ari recalled. Perhaps she might benefit from some busking herself, but from what little Aspel had mentioned to her, she did not think Cassul ladies danced on street corners. “I suppose in the Bards’ Guild, there is no one ‘correct’ training regimen. We manage, even so.”