"That story was fantastic~" Motan said, smiling warmly at the mustachioed man: "What should I call you?"
"Beo•Lucanus," replied the Bard with a slight bow, "You may call me Beo, sir."
Motan sighed lightly with a sense of emotion, his eyes leaving the somewhat respectful Beo to gaze at the sky. His light green eyes brimmed with passion and anticipation…
"I like Bards~" He spoke with the innocence of a child, his naivety combined with a hint of unabashed simplicity: "You all sing epics, free and unrestrained, authentic and unpretentious, freedom and romance, widely informed and learned, aware of every legendary love, every mythical relic, every hero's life, every grand battle. My friend, maybe you find it hard to understand my indescribable envy, but believe me, this longing and eagerness come from the heart."
Beo blinked. While he didn't quite understand Motan's so-called 'indescribable envy', he had indeed noticed something about the young man...
