"He goes around, spreading laughter and good times for everyone, and he's loose with his coins... some take advantage of this, ye see lad, and they pretend to be his friends, but he doesn't seem to care one bit."
"Where does he come from? he's actin' like he's known everyone fer years!"
"That, lad, no one truly knows, but it's said he's been roamin' Avistan left an' right, down an' up fer as long as people remember... judgin' from his looks, I don't think he's been doin' this fer more than a decade methinks. People he's been helping gettin' back on their feet don't seem to care where he's from, anyhow. But he's got the look of a Taldan. Me guess, if I had to pick, is that his young beginnings where anywhere in Taldor, Andoran or Cheliax, maybe somewhere rural, and born as a commoner..."
"He's pretty funny da... some of his jokes I've never heard of... some don't seem to work... it's like they were first written in another language..."
"Well, keep that to yerself lad... don't be caught sayin' that to his face. Some of the old geezers around here have seen him mad once,
and they say that he can take down a man a few pegs from far away with this whip of his. He took on three flayleaf dealers by himself on the north edge of Cassomir last fall, and those that managed to close in on him discovered he's not bad with that rapier of his either. Some think these two weapons were glowin' with some strange magicks after the fight started... better you accept any ale he buys fer ye, and smile at any joke he says... that wee courtesy is small price to pay if ye ask yer old da."
"Ok da, fair enough. Oh, and why do they call him the Son of Cay.."
"Quiet boy! don't ask, just don't ask. Not me business, and ye don't want to make it yers unless you're lookin' fer trouble! Now drink that free ale he just bought for all of us..."