The Blind Storyteller's page

The Storyteller "looks" at Linzi with a quizzical expression.
"You could "sense" that? Interesting."

He begins to run his hands through the pile, murmuring to himself. He quickly sorts out the coins and tokens.
"These, I can get you to collectors that will pay well for these. They are somewhat rare. The coins are from the ancient Cyclops empire, the leafy tokens are Dryad tokens, these here are old Taldan warrior dog tags."

He then sorts out four items; a broken arrow, a crumpled paladin's helm, a broken crossbow, and an empty dueling sword sheath.
"Ah, the belongings of brave heroes, who performed their feats before you. I sense that you would be particularly interested in their story. There is an item missing, I am sure you will not find the time searching for it to be wasted. With the last item I will be able to reveal their story."

He then finds what appear to be shards of a broken necklace. He gently touches them, sorting through the pile until he has collected five pieces.
These scorched pieces of metal are pieces of a curious artifact known as the Necklace of Double Crosses. Inside it I sense a story of many deeds, not heroic, but low and maleficient. If you find all seven pieces, I can restore the artifact and recount its inglorious history."

The Storyteller smiles at Ammiri's commmmennt and nods to Pyros's interjection.
"I think you misunderstand. I do not write anything."
He gestures to his eyes.
"Nor do I tell stories in a strictly oral traditional sense. I read objects and see their past so that I can tell the stories of their owners."

The old man turns towards Amiri.
"I offer not simple campfire tales, but long lost legends of import. There accuracy is paramount."

The man's voice rustles like autumn leaves.
"I am a collector, not a trader. If I share a story with you, you gain the power to pass it further, changing or embellishing it, whether willingly or not. Can I be certain you will keep it in its purity?"
He ponders silently for a moment.
"No, I don't think so, at least not yet."

"These legends are the most precious valuables of this world, the last remnants of ancient tribes. The are beacons illuminating the way to the past, allowing us to meet lost generations. I cannot let their light fade. The path to the past must not be lost."

The old man thinks for a moment, and then continues.
"I can offer you a deal though, Your Grace, and you also, little one. If on your journies, you fins old relics and such, bring them to me and I can see if my eyes can discern their past. If so, I will gladly share their story with you. And if you find all the pieces of any ancient artifacts, I can recall my old smithing skills to unite them and restore their power."

The Storyteller encounter is not just limited to Pyros and Linzi, anyone else that wishes to be at the ontroduction of the Storyteller can chime in whenever they wish.

"I am an Elf, from Kyonin. My name... is not important. People just call me the Storyteller. I collect unkown legends of anciemt times,"
He smiles, though it does not seem to be directed at anyone.
"Long ago I was a smith in Kyonin. The fire of the forge burned out my eyes, but I am grateful for it. If I could see, I would yet forge armor for Iadara's guards. Instead I have stepped on the path of an adventurer and gatherer of ancient legends."

The old man ponders silently for a moment.
"Many people are long dead, their homes crumbled to dust and their bodied to ash. Only legends can tell us of their triumphs and defeats, their joys and fears. I would be so interested to hear the stories they tell about us after our demise..."

"I have always been drawn to the Stolen Lands where so many expeditions and arimes, and even kingdoms have met their untimely ends. When I heard of a new barony being founded in the heart of these lands, I knew I wanted to be part of its story. So I journeyed here."

The old man smiles at Linzi's reaction.
"It's not hard top recognize the tread of a ruler. No one here steps as confidently as his Grace does."

The man standing before you seems to be an Elf, but a very old one. His face is wrinkled and his beard is snowy white (both things you've never seen in an Elf. He is also obviously blind. The old man stares past you with unseeing eyes. He appears to be lost in deep thought. He quietly hums a soft melody, swaying slightly to the rhythm. He shudder slightly and stops humming
"Ah, who is there? Oh, it's you, your Grace."