This was the first quest Briar had received indirectly - that is to say, this was more akin to an invitation than something he had picked up from the board or word of mouth. He had fairly established something of a small, local contact system with Hargeon that allowed him a steady stream of odd jobs - making friends from your clients had that effect - but his work in Marigold had been limited to the occasional theatrical performance. That was exciting in its own way, but different. A break from the norm, and even with his limited amount of fame, he was notably less known in Marigold than Hargeon proper.

This is the surprise that came with his letter of request. Lord Syllas had requested a bulk of mages to come and perform for his grand banquet - Briar was just another of many, truly, in a wide-spread net, but this still felt ... special. Important, as a step. A marker for his efforts thus far. He blushed as he held the embroidered invitation closer, pulling it up to his lips to stifle the bashful smile behind it. Well, of course he couldn't say no. It was an event worth dropping his coming days to practice for. A performance, was it? He supposed there was something enticing about seeing a mage's magic for the first time, especially the more unique branches. ... Uwehh, did he really qualify?

It was no use thinking about that! By golly, Bri, this is your first outreached job as a mage of Blue Pegasus! It's going to be grand, isn't it? What matters from here is only ... doing your best.

His skittish nerves would guide his feet to the hall of lord Syllas, and that selfsame energy would have him quivering in place at the guard outpost he and the rest of the performers had to wait near -- at least until they were called to the event. He didn't mill about or chat much with the others. The stone in his throat was too tight to do more than reverberate with every beat of his heart.

And then it was his call to action. A gulp, resounding, and a little skip the moment his name was called - a hop, more like, as he shuddered and clenched his old oak staff closer to his chest. His knuckles were white as they clung around it, digging trembling fingers into gnarled wood.

He did his duty, nonetheless. Every action was an opportunity to prove himself. What mattered what came after, if he could say he was proud of even trying? A leap of faith wasn't only a jump. It could be the decision to remain at the cliff even when the bottom scared you.

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He was a natural in his element after the spotlight lit him in the middle of the grand foyer. All eyes weren't even on him - he was an attraction, like a musician, and the pleasant sounds that came from the crowd were as much an entertainment as his tricks or a song. He made roses bloom over the heart of each young lady in attendance around him, humming in a turn with his staff outstretched, and dispersed them into phantasmal petals to melt away into the next on each rotation. He called for his poppy, lifting his staff high and clicking the floor to launch that few feet off the ground -- but instead of falling, the roots at his footwear clung to the edge of his staff, twisting midair to ride it back down onto the tile below and nudge it back standing with the heel of his foot.

His final display was a shower of dew from his beloved lilies, using his previous trick with his roses in a grander display of a garden du valley that would sprout and sprinkle one flower after another until he had conjured a small, localized rainstorm, dry to the touch when the droplets dissipated upon impact with any natural form. He sang a soft tune - so as not to strain his voice to a crack - and did his little steps in the middle of the shower, his arms burning and lips parted in steady gasps when the flush finally caught up to him.

This earned him all applause, praise, and passing interest, and he knew his role well: he took his bow, a smile unburdened on his face, and a flourish of his arm announced his departure.

It was standard, really. The guard handed him his payment with a gruff tenor and a raised eyebrow - but he praised him, just as well. It was standard. This was the process for every mage tonight, and he was unlikely to have his name remembered from the procession. Yeah, it was standard.

But to Briar, this was another special evening.

"Thank you," he told the guard, but it rose with his heart up his chest for the lord Syllas, his guests, and ... Briar himself. "Thank you."

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