An ornately crafted lute from Isend, a gift from the queen there who pitied lonely me. A ring from someone I cannot name.
Why do I not cut my hair? Ask her that. She begged me not to, and I have not cut it since. It flows (elegantly if I do say so myself) in golden streams over my shoulders. Some say I speak resignedly, I say I do not speak at all: rather I think aloud. My attire is comfortable. Why dress up for others’ sake when you could be at ease with yourself?
My story is a long and convoluted one: my journeys have taken me over all of the known world, and beyond. Why do I travel? Suffice it be known that I once lost a gem to a hideous disease, and I know I shall never find her again. I must fill my life with something, or I shall become restless.
A bard I am, though I have a modest smattering of other skills, picked up along the way: Tengrian martial art, proficiency in seven major world languages (and numerous minor ones), Ulisk water-origami, to name but a few. I could never get my head around reading, nor magic. I’m a Jack of Most Trades, I suppose.
Alexir the Melancholic
A melancholy bard, with good reason.