[ Gildor smiles faintly under the veil, appreciating the walk-around. He holds onto her hand and allows himself to be guided, giving his other senses a small break. ]

(Some could be called tricks, but no. If you'll allow me to wax poetic for a moment- )

[ He clears his throat, spreads his arms wide with Misato's hand still in his, and recites in his best imitation of an old cleric's voice- ]

We (bards) believe that the universe was spoken into existence by the Divine Creator (or creators - my world has several). Those primordial words of creation still resound throughout the cosmos, and we attempt to harness those echoes in the form of music.

[ A small practice for what could be a sermon. Bellamy has been reading some of the Carbauchian holy texts to him. If he could just put his own lore aside, he might be ready for pose for the real thing in front of a gathering of Rabadoceans. ]

(That's the long of it, anyway. The short of it is, I can mend clothes and heal broken bones and manipulate emotions with music. That and a lot more.)