Niamh, the traveling minstrel, sang raucously for the patrons of the tavern in which she was currently performing. While a small flute and fiddle leaned on the wall behind her, she preferred to play a lute to the quick and lively beat of the current song.
She entertained the clientele with a classic drinking game song, in which two burly, red-faced men were competing at a low table. As she finished the one and only verse (at the end of which both men were supposed to drink) for the seemingly hundredth time, each man took another gulp of their drinks. The people sang, clapped, and pounded their hands on their tables to the beat of the song as the men became more and more drunk. As more time went on, she played faster and faster.
She was halfway through the verse again when one of the men swayed to one side. The audience held their breath.
Eyes snapping open, he righted himself-
-then promptly fell backwards off his stool.
Amidst the cheering and groaning of the men who had bet on the match, Niamh grinned and finished the verse with a flourish. The people clapped as she took a bow and began exchanging money between themselves. A few small coins were dropped into a tin by her feet with a clink, and she thanked her tippers.
As the crowd dispersed, she sat back on a tall stool and played a calm, ambient melody with soft lyrics. As she played, she thought about her life. Sure, things could be better, but she loved what she did. It was rough being a traveling minstrel, but she was doing what she loved, and for the moment she was satisfied with her life.
Niamh sighed and closed her eyes while she played.
Suddenly, a man in a dark cloak walked into the tavern and sat at the bar. He was barefoot, and his feet and ankles were covered in mud. Niamh almost felt like she recognized him.
He didn't seem to want trouble, however, so she ignored him and kept playing the lute.
He certainly wasn't the oddest person she had ever seen.