Editing Hunters: C2

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==Backstory/Bio==
 
==Backstory/Bio==
βˆ’
Wender should have been a woodworker, apprenticing with his older brother under his father in the modestly prosperous town of Raului Mare. A natural musician, he would tap would to hear its voice, to decide whether it was sound or what it was best suited for, and he built a sort of marimba out of the choicest bits of scrap wood, which he would play after the shop closed. But their reputation for fine work and sharp chisels spread far beyond the earthworks defending the town, and so it was that one day an old minstrel darkened their door, asking them how quickly they could fix a cobza, a lute-like instrument, with a broken brace. He was dressed in finery the likes of which the boy had never seen, but dirty and patched and frayed. He spoke with the booming, resonant voice of a master performer, but here he was, in a town fifty leagues from any suitable theater.  
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Wender should have been a woodworker, apprenticing with his older brother under his father in the modestly prosperous town of Raului Mare. A natural musician, he would tap would to hear its voice, to decide whether it was sound or what it was best suited for, and he built a sort of marimba out of the choicest bits of scrap wood, which he would play after the shop closed. But their reputation for fine work and sharp chisels spread far beyond the earthworks defending the town, and so it was that one day an old minstrel darkened their door, asking them how quickly they could fix a lute with a broken brace. He was dressed in finery the likes of which the boy had never seen, but dirty and patched and frayed. He spoke with the booming, resonant voice of a master performer, but here he was, in a town fifty leagues from any suitable theater.  
  
 
The lute was masterwork, made of the finest wood and lovingly bound and inlaid. It was also quite old, and sure enough, the brace right under the bridge was cracked. The old bard had at least loosened the strings enough that the thin top piece wasn't trying to be a structural element. It would be a very delicate job, his father said, but they'd do it. The old man thanked them, introduced himself with a courtly bow as Dimiti, and left.
 
The lute was masterwork, made of the finest wood and lovingly bound and inlaid. It was also quite old, and sure enough, the brace right under the bridge was cracked. The old bard had at least loosened the strings enough that the thin top piece wasn't trying to be a structural element. It would be a very delicate job, his father said, but they'd do it. The old man thanked them, introduced himself with a courtly bow as Dimiti, and left.
  
βˆ’
The next day, the delicate operation of prying the top piece off without destroying the binding was mostly complete when there was a hubbub outside. Dimiti was being hauled off by... royal guards? They gawked from the doorway, and the old man saw them. "Keep it!" he shouted at the boy, and then as if that was the only reason he struggled, he bowed his head and let himself be shoved into a nearby prison wagon. It was the last the boy saw of him. But he and his father repaired and reassembled the cobza, slowly, painstakingly, and then... it was his. This instrument that was worth many times more than everything else the family owned. Wender spent the rest of the day figuring it out. Not knowing how a cobza is formally tuned, he invented his own tuning. But there was something about the cobza. It was almost as if it didn't want him to remain where he was. Like it whispered to him of distant lands, strange sights, beautiful women. One morning, he put on his sturdiest clothes, packed as little as he could, and set out, with nothing but his feet to guide him.
+
The next day, the delicate operation of prying the top piece off without destroying the binding was mostly complete when there was a hubbub outside. Dimiti was being hauled off by... royal guards? They gawked from the doorway, and the old man saw them. "Keep it!" he shouted at the boy, and then as if that was the only reason he struggled, he bowed his head and let himself be shoved into a nearby prison wagon. It was the last the boy saw of him. But he and his father repaired and reassembled the lute, slowly, painstakingly, and then... it was his. This instrument that was worth many times more than everything else the family owned. Wender spent the rest of the day figuring it out. Not knowing how a lute is formally tuned, he invented his own tuning. But there was something about the lute. It was almost as if it didn't want him to remain where he was. Like it whispered to him of distant lands, strange sights, beautiful women. One morning, he put on his sturdiest clothes, packed as little as he could, and set out, with nothing but his feet to guide him.
  
 
[[Hunter's_Guild:_Fall_of_the_Feywild|< < < Back to Main Page]]
 
[[Hunter's_Guild:_Fall_of_the_Feywild|< < < Back to Main Page]]

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