The Weeping bard

In the last few days, a strange figure becomes the talk of the town in the relatively peaceful city of Myth Drannor.

A funnily dressed elven bard wanders around the town, playing melancholic tunes that make people stop and listen. They are always soft, melodic and heart-touching. Under different circumstances, a talented elven bard would most likely be a welcome sight - but some more observant residents and visitors of Myth Drannor begin to notice that the melancholic songs are starting to cause a dip in the morale not only among the citizens, but also among the Akh'Velahr.

One of these days, after having noticed the dip of moods among fellow comrades; My'manir; Nilaa of the Akh'Velahr walks up to the bard in question and attempts to establish conversation with him.
"Pardon me Tel'Quessir, may I borrow some of your time?" The towering elven female asked, her brown hair covering half her face as usually as she cast her gold eye upon the elven fellow, the flowing dark blue cloak with the symbol of House Miritar visible around her shoulders; she was clearly in official duty.

The bard plays a heart-breaking chord or two, before looking up at her. His eyes are filled with tears - the bard indeed looks miserable.

"You can have it all..." - the bard weeps.
"My life has no meaning. Every breath I take is just a waste of precious air..."

The bard dramatically touches his forehead with the back of his head and closes his eyes for a second.

"Do what you will to me! I have already lost the will to live!"

He hits the strings of the lute a few more times, to add to the over-the-top drama and then lets out a really subtle - howl like sigh.

Spoiler:

The woman's teeth grit slightly as the bard strings, clearly feeling the weight of whatever magic came with his melody and voice, albeit she attempts to keep her cool. "Tell me of what weighs in your mind and soul cousin, it might help if you speak of it"

The bard sighs deeply, looking up at her.
"I don't wish to burden you with my sorrow..."

The man exhales and gazes into the distance. Even though it might look like the end the conversation, without waiting for any reaction from her side, the bard starts talking again.

"I was struck by the arrow of love. Right into the heart. From that day on, it bleeds. I bleed. For I can never hope to win her heart. I am a failure! A fraud! I am no minstrel! I am but a jester with a lute!"

For a moment, it looks like the man fainted - but it was probably only a strange attempt to add drama to his story.

"Nothing can help me. Nothing aside from the sweet release of death..."

"Why is it you cannot be with your love and win her heart?" The elven female asks, keeping a stoic gaze although she shows some degree of sympathy and empathy as well, considering he is a fellow elven kin.

As the morale dips and the eager recruits in the Akh'Velahr seems less ready to train and proceed with their duties, Nadin ask the officers in charge if there is a know reason for such.

Nadin would have no trouble finding out that the source of the dip in morale is caused by the sad melodies of a very specific bard. Even though when it comes to it - no one really knows his name.

***

The elven bard once again gazes into the distance and almost whispers - as if ashamed for the words:

"I am not worthy of her love! I can not entwine words, I can only make childish rhymes. I am not worthy..."

The bard then plays a soft tune and mutters:

"Hear oh hear my fabled tale,
bitter and cold as a wintery gale.
Hear oh hear how I must woe,
I myself my greatest foe..."

The bard stops playing and just shakes head - disappointed in himself.

"Childish blabber of a simpleton! I am not even worthy of being in her presence! I should just end my life. At least I could not ridicule myself any longer..."

Spoiler:

"I am offering help here, but if you want to look better and stand a chance at all for  her, first off, stop acting so pitiful, you are actually disturbing the people with your songs, if you haven't realized it" The woman's tone grows slightly intimidating as her one visible golden eye narrows on the Elf; she is clearly trying to have him heed her advice rather than outright scaring him away.

The bard looks somewhat confused as she states that - and he looks around.

"So... You're telling me that I became a burden for those around me?"

The bard once again weeps for a brief period.

"Not only am I a failure, now I am also a burden!"

After a brief period of pityful sobing, the bard once again looks up the the elven woman.

"I understand... Do what must be done. I accept my fate. But I beg you, if I am to be beheaded, just make it quick! End it all..."

The bard is quite obviously overdramatizing everything - and in some strange way, he is enjoying the attention. Watching how he reacts makes her think that he might actually be looking for help - however awkwardly he is going at it...

"Alright, your fate is to tell me exactly what's the story, and why you are so convinced you can't win over your love" She decides to try and play along the drama in order to find out more about what's the problem.

After walking around town for a while, asking around, Nadin would find the mysterious bard in the company of an elven woman - My'manir; Nilaa of the Akh'Velahr.

***

Just as Nadin approaches them, the bard starts telling his story to her.

"When I first met her... I was smitten. No. Wait. I was... I don't even know if there is a word for the feeling. I doubt anyone ever felt this way, so no one was forced to invent one.

Maybe the gods have a word for the feeling, but I know none that even comes close. She is my "ael-tae". But as I said, that is a severe understatement.
She is a being of pure perfection. Nymphs pale in comparison... A thousand sunsets and a million falling stars would not even begin to compare..."

The bard takes a deep breath, drifting into a daydream for a brief moment.

"I knew she must be mine. Mine alone. But... I am a bard. My weapon of choice - when it comes to love, is... poetry.

I knew I had to weave a song that would captivate her heart - just as her beauty captivated mine. And as it goes for minstrels, the more something strikes you, the more effort you put into the music and the verses. You want to make sure that the melody you bring into existence from sheer nothingness does justice to the feelings you have inside you."

The bard sighs and looks even more depressed than before - if that is even possible.

"I tried for hours. Then days. Then months... Pyesigen passed twice already and I have nothing that I would dare play for her..."

The bard looks at his lute and picks a few strings.

"The music... The music might not be a complete and utter failure. But the verses... By the gods - it's as if I had a spell cast on me that clouds my mind. I can't come up with anything. Everything I write is childish, simple and pathetic. Not worthy of her... Not worthy of anyone!"

The bard tinkers with the lute a bit more, strumming a melancholic tune.

"I am at the end of my wits. There is nothing I can do and I don't even dare to stand in her gaze... That's why I left. I wander around the lands ever since..."

The bard then looks up to her, with puppy like eyes and sighs.

"I understand if you want me to leave. You would not be the first... And deffinitely not the last."

"So inspiration is the issue?" She tilts her head. "Have you tried visiting the temple of the Seldarine here? The Clergy of Hanali Celanil could give you some guidance. You could also visit the Meadow, or the different parks around Dlabraddath; a lot of couples visit those places; no doubt you will find inspiration there." She takes a deep breath.

"I walked all the way from Silverymoon. I looked everywhere I could... But all the verses have already been used! Whenever I found something that I was beginning to like - and I entwined it with music, I learned that is was used in a poem somewhere, by some babbling fool. And I can not desecrate the purity of the piece by using rhymes some smelly dwarf is shouting into an ale keg in a drunken fit of rage! I need brand new, untainted rhymes and verses! Only those have a chance of winning her heart... But those... I am not sure if there is a place where I could find such rhymes."

Spoiler:

A tall male elf clad in shimmering mithral plate wanders the Western market streets, trailed by his sky blue cloak bearing the crescent moon of Corellon. What is typically a proud gait becomes somewhat lethargic, and his usual welcoming smile is replaced by a somber flatness of his lips.

Having caught wind of the rumors buzzing around about the bard, the elf approaches an Akh'Velahr with a few questions.

"Protector's blessings upon you, cousin. I am Illyndor of house Nethredhil, champion of our great creator. I was wondering if you could spare a moment to discuss the arrival of a particular bard?"

Illyndor would have no trouble finding a member of the Akh'Velahr willing to talk on the subject.

"You probably mean the weeping bard, right?"

***

After a brief moment of silence, the bard would look up at My'manir and his eyes light up a tiny bit - as if he realized something just now.

"Maybe there is a way of finding such rhymes... Maybe in the Almanach."

The bard then exhales - once again depressed.

"But it's been lost for centuries..."

"The Almanach? Can you elaborate?" The tall elven warrioress asks as she patiently waits.

"It's probably nothing... A fairytale I overheard at an Inn on my way here. It was about a book that contains all the unused verses and rhymes that exist."

The bard sighs, picking a few strings on his lute.

"I never heard about it after that. So I believe it was just something one of the local patrons came up with in a drunken stupor. I don't believe it actually exist. But if it did, it would probably be my only chance..."

"Where did you hear about it, here in Dlabraddath?" The elven female becomes inquisitive.

"No. Not here. I was... Probably somewhere between Baldur's Gate and Nashkel..."

The bard almost looks ashamed.

"I must admit I drowned my sorrow at the time. A bad habit I am trying to avoid these days. But still - hence my memory is clouded. But I am sure it was just stories and tales. They claimed it was an artifact created by Olidamara herself. Who would believe such nonsense?"

"If it is in Baldur's Gate, why is it you are here, sharing your lamentations through songs that are actually disrupting the peace of Myth Drannor? Not that I do not wish to help you kinsman, but the magic that comes with your songs is actually giving a negative effect to the citizens of this fair city. Surely that is not your intention, yes?" The female soldier rests her hands upon her plated hips as she casts her visible gold eye on the male.

"It needs to cease, at the very least, the magic in your songs. As for your broken love, have you actually tried to man up and go to her and just ask her out? Sometimes, females enjoy a direct approach rather than receiving flattery through intermediates, and if you ask me? I think if she is as beautiful as you describe, she receives songs in her name on a regular basis; you need to stand out from the usual bunch."

Nadin stood there listening the conversation since he arrived and decides to add something

- I would listen to the words of a kin like her cousin, there is much wisdow in officer My'manir words. Or at least direct this lot of energy in something productive, instead of make your life and the others around you more miserable... if this almanach exhist we could try to discover some mention of it, as a suggestion to start... but if you insist in play this mass depressive melody I doubt any librarian will ever have the spirit to search even a recipe for a wheat cake.

"Keeper" The woman salutes Nadin and steps back, growing silent as she observes the two, she figured a fellow weave user would be far more helpful in the matter.

The bard stares at the Keeper for a while, blinking a few times.

"Wait... You're saying you would help me?"