The tavern was alive with the hum of laughter and the clinking of mugs, a warm glow emanating from the flickering candles that danced along the walls. In the center of this chaotic sanctuary stood Gyula, a tall figure with an aura that demanded attention. His brown hair, intricately braided, swayed slightly as he moved, the beads at the ends catching the light like tiny stars. His puppy-shaped eyes sparkled with mischief, and his pale skin glowed against the dim backdrop of the tavern.

Gyula strummed his lute, a melodic chaos that seemed to weave through the air like a spell. He leaned into his performance, his voice rising above the din. “What do you call a bard who can’t tell a joke? A barder!” He punctuated his punchline with a flamboyant flourish, eliciting a mix of groans and laughter from the crowd.

As he leaned in closer, his voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. “Between you and me, I think I might just be a god. After all, who else could charm such lovely mortals?” He winked, his confidence bordering on absurdity.