Lindil Aderthion
Lindil Aderthion (a.k.a. Fàilligeadh)
Even humanity possesses enough sense to realize singing was a gift upon the masses. It is the balm to the endless suffering of their stocky, short and smelly lives. A skilled voice buoyed them away to lands unseen. The singer whispers to their hurts and soothe them. Their voice whispers of their pain, glorified their sacrifices and cheers their triumphs. A truly skilled singer could bring tears to the most callous of souls or enflame the angered passions of their peons. This singer, sang none of those things.
This singers elegant voice waxes lyrical upon bawdy Dwarvish exploits. This singer sings of Giant's brothels and Humanity's slums. Upon the beer-stained and crudely wrought wood of the haphazard stage, sits an elf. An elf who sings in every language but his own.
The air weighs upon the regulars. Stale scents of spilt beer and piss challenge the nose. The Rusty Nail oozes out from its ill-fit doorway into the darkened street, tempting to those with the right mix of desperation and want of cheap beer. Tonight, the Nail is packed with a mix of regulars, the right sort of sweat-sodden working folk, and infrequent and possibly lost guests. The latter are clearly identified by the nervous stares directed towards the rowdy regulars who are entirely too happy to offer awkward drunken-arm hugs and malodorous laughs directly into one's face. Drab home-spun clothing, mixed in patchwork and stains covers most. This is home for the hardiest of the hardy, and tonight, they sample an elf's largesse. The mass of mixed Peoples crowd the tavern to overfilling. Only the torch-lit stage is uncrowded, for upon there, a rare entertainment comes.
A simple wooden bow is propped beside the svelte figure seated on a simple wooden stool. Long legs crossed, the lithe form is wrapped tightly in vivid purple and lavenders. The complex patterns and revealing tightness of the rare fabric hint to its Elvish make. Though the singer's performance now breaches the second hour of a wide breadth of sultry song, few would place bets if the singer is male or female. A tight fabric choker wraps the singer's neck set with a single sparkling jewel. The lambent gem sparkles the same silver as the Elf's bright eyes. Twin silver earrings dangle on short chains from the splayed pointed-ears, veiled by dazzling white hair. Hours earlier, the singer was introduced as Fàilligeadh to the jeers of the crowd, but with each ribald tune, Fàilligeadh drew the patrons together.
Upon finishing the latest song, a final human ballad of the glory of wine-soaked brothels, the elf flourish a seated bow and dainty slips to their feet. No penny-catch or busker's hat rests upon the stage. Even so, stray coins find their way to the stage and the elf deftly catches them. Ever the performer, the Dwarvish-named elf rolls two coins across knuckles and with a flick of fingers causes them to vanish from the air. Hefting the unremarkable bow and small lute, the lithe elf steps through a crowd grown quiet and distant. The audience is not weary, but some trick of nature opens a pathway. Only the Innkeep catches a flicker of moment in the eyes, a weary sadness that disappears into a similar, but false smile. For Fàilligeadh is once more, cast different due to his nature. Alone, he saunters from the tavern and into the moon-lit night.
He sings in every language but his own. The youthful elf is driven by wanderlust and holds nothing dear and no one close.
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Age
125
Children
Gender
Male
Eyes
Silver
Hair
Silver
Height
5'4"
Weight
120
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