He's seen the name on the programme, just moments before, of course. And he'd made a point to broach the possibility with Buchvold, months ago, when they were planning his re-entry into the circles of the FoS: few could pose a greater potential face-to-face threat to the bard's imposture than another bard, so being caught unawares was not a risk they could afford. Neither, alas, is this the first time Crow has been confronted with living proof that music's blessings and beauty aren't barred to the comprehension or talent of the corrupted.Nathan of the FoS wrote:"Ibelis natha Quiret, your servant," he says .... With a self-deprecating gesture he continues, "I meet so few of the brotherhood at these functions--I mean, of course, the bardic brotherhood--that I thought I might venture to impose my acquaintance."
(Still, buried deep within the VRS spy's subconscious, another name has been added to a list: a list, whose closest counterpart in Van Richten's mind might have compiled such shameful titles as "Shauten" or "Bollenbach". There are many kinds of loyalty in the world -- to kin, to cause, to Art's benevolent glory -- and just as many kinds of treachery.
(The bard's conscious self wholly shuts it out: he is working.)
Whatever his moral merits or lack of same, the slight feyblood's accomplishments are easily as lauded in bardic circles as they are within the Fraternity, and quite likely more so. The spy hadn't needed the Borcan's coaching, to recognize this name. Smiling at first hesitantly, then very brightly indeed, 'Brother Crow' widens his eyes and stands up straighter; by appearances, he's suddenly as alert -- and impressed -- as he's been since his arrival.
"My word, Songmaster Quiret!," he all but burbles, addressing the man as befits his professorial title at the Art Colegiu. "Heavens, but this is an honor, sir, not an imposition: an honor and a privilege, to meet you at last!" The black-curled bard extends his hand, perhaps a trifle diffidently, then shakes the half-elf's enthusiastically when the gesture is accepted.
Crow gushes on, like a raw apprentice overcome with hero-worship.
"An honor, yes ... and an Honored Brother, no less, by this programme's reckoning! Goodness, I have been out of touch, to have missed such a milestone for such 'fringe dilettantes' as we: whenever did that happen? Congratulations, even belated ones, are surely in order!" He laces his remarks with admiration, and his snide quotation of 'fringe dilettantes' -- a direct citation from one of Van Rijn's more-noteworthy FoS articles, which he and Buchvold had compiled during their mutual prep-work -- with sarcastic scorn.
"Mind you, when I saw your name among the panelists, I'd hoped to finally get the chance to introdu-- oh bother, I haven't done that yet, now have I? A right idiot at times, I am.
"Crow, Songmaster. The name is Crow."
[OOC: Like virtually every word the bard has said today, nothing in these statements -- despite his personal contempt for evil bards -- is actually a lie. ]