A good bard makes himself easy to find. Nothing surprising there. Can't do business if no one can find you. Sell yourself on your name, your reputation, repeat performances. Get the audience to come to you and taverns will seek you out. A good meal becomes easy to get. And the ladies... need to start over then. Good bard makes himself easy to find except for in the early morning. Darting from a home before the husband arrives. Leaving the maiden with nothing but a memory and a mystery. Avoiding unwanted repeat performances.
By lunchtime, it's easier to find them. The heat of the moment's passed. Less chance of getting stabbed or slapped. Town's busier and blending in's nice and easy. Not a normal day today, though. Weird things lately.
"D-E-S..." Detective Constable Kurt Lentham started, forcing himself out of his lethargic musing. A moment later he stopped, twitching his lips slightly at the shapely barmaid, watching carefully as she filled up his prized flask. "Can't spell, can you?" The ragged, faded uniform fit his body loosely but fit his character perfectly. This was a side-trip, of course, the third this morning. Flask kept ending up empty. Necessity ruled. Still, he was getting closer and closer. If he was actually trying, he likely would have found the bard by now.
A number of Constables had been sent out to gather the partygoers, to get concrete information, to bring them back to the haughty Judicial Investigator Burnie and answer questions. Particular priority had been given to the ball's orchestrator, the bard, Descant, which is why three Detective Constables, those pillars of the law enforcement community with the ever so rare ability to read and write had been sent to bring him along. And maybe, just maybe, by the time he hit his fourth or fifth refill of that flask, Lentham might actually find him.