My PC, Dox, is a rather young folk, who spent most of his life with his mother, and here's the story so far:
The turning point came on a golden afternoon when Lariel, with a weary smile but a gaze still fierce, placed her most precious lute into her son’s hands. She explained that a bard does not live for themselves, but to be a mirror to the world, and that seeing him wither away by her bedside was a pain greater than the illness itself. "My legs can no longer walk the paths, Dox, and my voice has become a whisper," she told him gently, "but you are my most beautiful song. Go, live stories worth telling, and then come back. Sit at the foot of my bed and fill this room with the ballads of your deeds. Only then will I truly be healed."
With a heart torn between the melancholy of goodbye and the thrill of the unknown, Dox finally crossed the threshold of his home, carrying only his instrument and the promise made to his mother. The carefree character that defines him today has become both his armor and his gift: every laugh, every bold chord played in a crowded tavern, is a tribute to the joy Lariel taught him. Dox does not travel for gold or fame, but to "collect" wonders to bring back home, transforming every encounter with a monster or every gallant meeting into a verse destined to make the eyes of his first, great mentor shine once more.
The Passing of the Lyre
Dox grew up amidst the scent of resin of the Mytharan Woods and the crystalline sound of the lyre played by his mother, Lariel, an elven bard whose voice was said to be able to calm the forest winds. For years, Dox was her shadow, learning not just chords and scales, but the art of reading the souls of those who listen. However, the melody broke when a rare pulmonary disease, the "Silver Mist," stole Lariel’s breath for singing and her strength for traveling. Despite his exuberant nature, Dox withdrew into a shell of caregiving, refusing any engagement outside their home for fear that, upon his return, the silence in the house might have become final.
The turning point came on a golden afternoon when Lariel, with a weary smile but a gaze still fierce, placed her most precious lute into her son’s hands. She explained that a bard does not live for themselves, but to be a mirror to the world, and that seeing him wither away by her bedside was a pain greater than the illness itself. "My legs can no longer walk the paths, Dox, and my voice has become a whisper," she told him gently, "but you are my most beautiful song. Go, live stories worth telling, and then come back. Sit at the foot of my bed and fill this room with the ballads of your deeds. Only then will I truly be healed."
With a heart torn between the melancholy of goodbye and the thrill of the unknown, Dox finally crossed the threshold of his home, carrying only his instrument and the promise made to his mother. The carefree character that defines him today has become both his armor and his gift: every laugh, every bold chord played in a crowded tavern, is a tribute to the joy Lariel taught him. Dox does not travel for gold or fame, but to "collect" wonders to bring back home, transforming every encounter with a monster or every gallant meeting into a verse destined to make the eyes of his first, great mentor shine once more.