The high elf glanced around the sparsely decorated Inn room located in the Willow Wood and shrugged. It wasn’t home, but then again these days what was. She’d unpacked her few possessions which consisted mostly of her instruments, and settled in for the night. A wandering minstrel traveling across Norrath, she wasn’t about to complain, she’d seen worse.

Faralithe (or just Lithe, to those who knew her well) had a purpose which was (to her at least) very apparent. It was her job to record and sing about the tales of great and mighty people – but not only them. Her job was also to bring awareness to the smaller communities, about the great deeds their own people had done. She tried to make them uplifting, but also tell about the rich history people had. Especially since much of her own was lost to her. Which was fine, she preferred it that way, having no ties to anything at all.

Over the years she’d discovered that people liked nothing more then to hear the sound of their own voices. This was a simple fact, neither good nor bad, just something she’d observed. She made sure through her travels to take no sides, which allowed her access to establishments that may other wise slam their doors in her face. She knew as a high elf she should feel something for Tunare, but she didn’t. How could she with the upbringing she’d had. It wasn’t that she didn’t believe in the Gods and Goddesses who’d returned to Norrath, no, she knew they were there. But she treated them all with a sort of vague indifference. The matters of the gods did not concern the mortals who walked below.

About her own life she’d kept quiet. Not letting anyone in. It wasn’t as though she’d lead a horrible one, nor was it particularly interesting though she thought when compared to those she sang about who had done so many amazing things. Wandering around Castleview Hamlet she learned a little of the Koada’Dal, scribbling down notes where she could. Barely learning anything about her own people before now was due to nothing more then forgetfulness, she’d always wanted to, but just couldn’t seem to find the time. That was the one thing life was short on, time.

She gathered her lute and headed out the door, wondering where the people of Qeynos gathered to collect and share their stories. She knew in Freeport people frequented the Bloodhaze Inn, but it would be some time before she could come up with a disguise to get into there after the last fiasco involving an over zealous gnome and his rotting thrall side kick. She glanced around the wooden doors that lead to Qeynos Harbor, searching for scraps of parchment that people may have stuck there indicating their events. Nothing. Curious.

Faralithe would just have to wait for another time. She wasn’t the most patient of people, but she’d learn.