Venger leaned back in his throne more comfortably, an expression that could nearly be considered a smile still formed on his lips. He had wondered at first how the Storyteller's troupe of mere females would be able to amuse him. But she had lived up to her reputation and so far, had delivered.He had been almost surprised at the Storyteller's audacity to tell him a tale of Darkhaven. He had wondered if she dared mock him or dared to dangle hope, of all things, before him in the form of the Golden Grimoire. Undecided, her tale had won his grudging approval. It had proved intriguing and was not at all sappy like he had expected.
The Poet's verse had been most compelling. Though it seemed to speak of yet another tragic romance. It triggered something deep within, making him almost uncomfortable. It reminded him of how he used to view his magic and the price paid...
Shaking his head, Venger shoved aside such thoughts and instead, lingered on the filksongs. They were most amusing and he had hoped that the Bard would go on to sing one about that infernal old man. The rat bastard.
When the filksongs were finished, Venger steepled his fingers before him as his arms rested comfortably against the sides of the throne. He watched as the Storyteller came forward to introduce the next performance.
Wondering what could be next, his eyes flicked to the Magician. But as she continued to stand to the side, he figured she was their protection while on the road. He made a derisive sound at the thought of such a bodyguard, but the laugh got caught in his throat as the Storyteller spoke.
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