Eternity.

Detection did not worry Ergot, as it seemed that his minds of reason and insanity merged to protect himself. He wanted to be careful, but he feared no mortal man. No one wanted to hunt a bard. Even if they did, a death would be that of powerful, pride soaked lament that any man would be proud of. Neutrality was a gift, an honest gift. Past the cultured harvests into the very outskirts of town, looking and mapping out where he was, what he saw. Carefully Ergot kept his head down, not to avoid eyes but to avoid staring. It had been long, too long, since he went into town, looking for a bar or a family to entertain. The new rushes of fear and the desire for approval, to take in everything that was mankind and other kinds' pinnacle of grouping had to be the most enticing to Ergot.

When he found the perfect tavern, with the perfect edge, he didn't know what to do. The vibes and the aura that emanated was that of danger and the known fears, of shortcomings and his lust to be wanted and craved by fans and drunkards, regardless of race or sex. he couldn't turn away. He didn't even want to try. The coursing over, the rush of memories and familiarity pulled him roughly, and he walked towards it with purpose, not letting go of his enamor.

Upon entering the place, his arena, Ergot immediately, quickly, decidedly went for a corner. A small stool was near it, and he sat, eyes closed, breathing in the scent of barley and heavy liquor, smoke, and his own apprehension. He felt uplifted by the familiar surroundings. Hundreds of these he had gone to. Hundreds, thousands of people would forever remember him and his ghastly contortions. Ergot was, for the first time since the ball, somewhere where he felt he belonged. No bodies, no blood, no fear in dank woods that stole remnants of his soul. He studied the rest of the place, noting tables where he could jump up and steal the attention of countless men and women, sliding his graceful feet across the swept boards that were underneath. He could do this.

Ergot settled back, hunching over the stool, calmly popping his thumb in and out steadily, to a beat. His lute was cast aside on the floor, not even needing tuning or practice. He had the plans of a dire assassin, the killer of hearts and minds.

And when he saw her talking, working as a bar hand, he nearly fell out of the stool he had moments before sat upon as though it were a throne and he was a king. Ergot felt a swelling of his heart. He was not alone, and she was the beauty of a living legend.