[quote]Happy St Patrick's Day, gents, and may the road rise to meet you.[/quote] In a small, well kept pub in Off-topic's main recreational district a small gathering of revelers, adventurers, and music lovers sat huddled together around a small platform. On this platform a bard stood, leaning against a wood post. They held a mandolin in their hands, and were tuning it in small amounts. The scop's floppy hat covered their face until they finished their tuning. They then look up slowly with a broad smile on their fair face. The crowd can now easily see the bard's features. He is an high elf of the moon, and like the golden flecks in his iris adventure flashed in his green eyes. His hair was of a silvery hue and hung long out under his . The elf took a moment to look out over his crowd, curiously assessing each member with a keen eye. As he does so, one particularly inpatient man called out "Go on, play yer lute already!" The elf nodded happily and reached down to play, but stopped. Something about that sentence was wrong. "Lute? Lute? I beg your pardon, good sir, but this, this is a mandolin! A wondrous and be---" Everyone in the crowd stared at him with glazed eyes, obviously not wishing for a lecture on the difference between a lute and...whatever it was he said he was using. "Ahem, what I [i]meant[/i] to say, is here is a classic among humans, it's a traditiona ---" "Git on wi' it!" Interjected another patron. "Right! Bonny Portmore! That's, uh, that's its name." The elf spoke quickly to get the name in, then launched into the act. His voice carried easily through the room, transporting the listeners to the Emerald Isle where the tune and song came from. The bard began the tune quietly and let it gain momentum before he began to sing thus: "O bonny Portmore, you shine where you stand And the more I think on you the more I think long If I had you now as I had once before All the lords in Old England would not purchase Portmore. O bonny Portmore, I am sorry to see Such a woeful destruction of your ornament tree For it stood on your shore for many's the long day Till the long boats from Antrim came to float it away. All the birds in the forest they bitterly weep Saying, "Where shall we shelter or where shall we sleep?" For the Oak and the Ash, they are all cutten down And the walls of bonny Portmore are all down to the ground. " He finished the song with a strum of his hand and looked out over the crowd. More blank faces. Some of the patrons, hopefully you, O reader mine, were entertained, but the more gruff element in the room seemed ill content. "Give us something baudy! Give us a copypasta! Give us something illegal and culturally subversive!" " I, uh, hm. I can't say I rightly know what that means... " Then the drunk and riled barmen started to surround the hapless bard, all shouting for some alternate song or another. The bard stood wide eyed and utterly perplexed as he stood in the middle. He then made a mistake that could have cost him much, but he panicked and tried to shove past the men to escape. In their inflamed stupors they took this as aggression and immediately began to set upon him with their fists. The men began to reach for wine bottles and brooms as well for their beating All the while the bard cried out from the pile of drunkards. "Help! Help! I'm being oppressed!" *Begin Roleplay.*