*The crowd is chattering as the musicians - a group of archers on the strings (what with their skill with the bow), a group of fighters on percussion (because hitting things with other things is their schtick), a group of Toranites on brass (because they can occasionally be blowhards.. *innocently*), and a group of druids on woodwinds (because.. well.. wood. And wind, for that matter) - take their seats. A wizard wearing black robes made from malar hide, complete with the panther's slender tail, and a white tunic comes out with a slender wand in hand. Resplendant in his tux with tails, he taps the podium, and begins to play. The bardic vocalists begin to sing..*
When you wander across continents,
To fetch apples for a pie;
No self-preservation sense,
Just respawning if you die;
With your armour dinged with many dents,
And a twinkle in your eye;
And you then recall just why, my gents, ("And ladies!" interposes one halfling bardess.. the crowd laughs.)
You first gave Layo a try!
Whether tanning hides,
Or slaying orcs,
Or finding old
Rusty pitchforks,
Or reinventing
Gnomish sporks,
Or whatever else you do...
As you gather treasure,
Gems and gold,
Or face those villains,
Brave and bold,
Or defeating some
Slime, ooze, or mold,
We put forward this as true...
That's Layonara! Layonara! Layonara!
Through and through!
*A bow. Thundrous applause. Enterprising food crafters sell slices of apple pie to the crowd, and are mobbed with a veritable swarm of halflings. Much like pirrahna can skeletonize a cow in under a minute, the pie seems to vanish all but instantaneously, leaving the vendors bewhildered, and the poorer for the loss of pie. Alas. Now they have to walk halfway across the world if they want to make another...*
