any hint of home, fiyero is always delighted by. he spent so many years travelling the sword coast, going from town to town. as difficult as it was to survive by himself, it was also rather vindicating. being stuck in one place for a hundred years was suffocating at best, and his newfound freedom was something he took full advantage of. it didn't feel right, to try and settle down, even if he had the means to. how could he choose a single city? waterdeep came closest, out of every place he ever visited, but that was in parts due to his infatuation with the zhentarim leader he found there.
not his brightest moment, truly.
all this to say, fiyero stops in his tracks when he thinks he spots what looks like a dragonborn, seemingly aimlessly wandering through the streets of archimedes. his curiosity is piqued even more at the sight of a lyre at their side. scratch is with him, joined him on his walk for groceries, which brings an oddly domestic sense to it in the first place. to be able to simply walk into a shop and buy ingredients for cooking? to have a kitchen? it's all too easy to get used to it all.
bounding towards the dragonborn, fiyero calls out and gives a small wave as he approaches, scratch barking once at his side. ' hey there! you're from faerûn, aren't you? ' he certainly hoped so. it'd be a tad disappointing for anything else to be the case. tail drawing curls around his own legs in tempered excitement, fiyero lowers his head in a small bow. ' and a bard, too, by the looks of it. that makes the two of us! i was starting to get a little bored without any competition. '
not entirely true, but also not a lie. fiyero has a tendency to try and kick other bards when they're down, some amount of pride and arrogance in the mix. as much fun as it is, to see other people participating in his craft, sharing more of that joy, so to speak ... well, he's also quite certain of his own skills, and how they surpass most others. glancing back up at the dragonborn, he hesitates for the smallest moment.
they have ... looks like a glass eye. in fact, it looks a little too similar to the eye that volo tried stuffing into fiyero's face, something he'd vehemently rejected once he saw the size of the needle that the mage pulled out of his pocket. as desperate as he was to get rid of the tadpole in his brain, his body is quite sacred to him. and volo, bless his heart, didn't seem to have nearly enough experience for fiyero to let him anywhere near him with that thing.
could just be a coincidence, though. he waves his hand at scratch and the dog sits down, though the dog's gaze clearly sticks to the dragonborn in front of them, attentive. ' my name is fiyero, friend. what's yours? where do you hail from? '
