Nessa stood with the crowd, waiting. She’d never seen a bar fight before, let alone an organized one, so it would be fun. It’s not like anyone would be hurt, not really. There had to be clerics around, too.

Seriously, why would they want anyone to die doing this? It’d make it impossible to get anyone to sign up.

The sound of a mandolin drifted on the light breeze, followed by a deep baritone voice singing:

 

“You have never heard a drinking song,

Until you heard a drinking song.

A drinking song to all your friends

Until they get their fill.

 

“A good ale to start the tale

With a little hint of mystery

Three cups in, will guarantee a sale

Right into her heart of plenty

 

“You have never heard a drinking song,

Until you heard a drinking song.

A drinking song to all your friends

Until they get their fill.

 

“A nice fine wine, to spend your time

With curves tan and bronze

To take the bottle is not a crime

Provided it’s older than twelve

 

“You have never heard a drinking song,

Until you heard a drinking song.

A drinking song to all your friends

Until they get their fill.

 

“A glorious mead is always in need

Of your hands all over it

Just be careful not to bleed

When her husband comes back for it.

 

“You have never heard a drinking song,

Until you heard a drinking song.

A drinking song to all your friends

Until they get their fill.”

 

The bard, a youthful human with sun-bleached hair and brown eyes, smiled broadly at her as he finished playing. He bowed with a flourish, “Christos, my lady. May a poor man ask for a name that would do such beauty justice?”

Clapping her hands excitedly, she giggled. “I’m Nessandra. Though I let my friends call me Nessa.”

He stepped closer. “And how does one go about becoming your friend, Nessandra?”

Before she could answer, the first pair of fighters were called forward. She caught sight of Varas, and went to the rail, eager to watch how he did.