The Isle

Foulques nodded. "Duskwights are often regarded as untrustworthy at best, likely to be criminal at worst," he said. "Which of course is somewhat of a self-fulfilling notion; when potential employers refuse to hire Duskwights for honest work, many are forced to become bandits or sell-swords merely to survive."

"My parents were nothing of the sort though. My mother was an amateur botanist, though only amateur because the guildmaster at the time refused to admit her, though I understand the woman who currently holds that position is much more openminded; she made teas and herbal remedies to sell. And my father was a bard; not one of any wide renown, but exceptionally gifted. None who heard him play or weave a tale could fail to be moved."

A small smile, tinged with sadness, but genuinely fond. "I spent many a peaceful evening as a child, sitting by the fire and listening to him play. I do not have nearly his skill, but as this place has seen fit to give me the impossible gift of his cherished lute, just as it gave you your blanket, I shall have to learn. It would be a poor way to honor his memory to leave his lute silent."