Role

Chapter 11

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Whildur has been enveloped by the winds of change, tossed about and
left standing nearly alone in an Inn often empty of fellow Heralds.

His normal cheerful demeanor and outlook on life is like a weathered
stone now instead of a bright new coin, worn down first by the loss of
Renize, and then Daphedee to old age. He manages to largely keep himself
up by remembering that life is a game, and the best way to play is by
loving life and adventure, whether you're winning or the losing day.

But even a sturdy well-weathered stone has cracks, and Whildur's mind
might be suffering from a hair-line fracture brought on by deeply buried
grief...A minor thing, and probably no cause for alarm. Would anyone
even notice if Whildur went slightly mad, anyhow? He would certainly
never be described as normal

Lately, he's been filling the lonely moments, when they pop up, by
re-creating conversations he's had with old friends--Gaspare, Renize,
Daphedee, mimicking their voices with an eerie perfection that only a
master lyricist and student of pitch and tone could manage.

He is, in a way, bringing ghosts alive.

For a moment...in the room around him, or as far as his voice carries.

The last time he talked to ghost Renize, she suggested a tea-party,
and Whildur thinks it is a very good idea. He just hopes that Gaspare
and Daphedee will be free at the same time to come join them!

The Inn has been busy with patrons, which is keeping him distracted
in a good way, and despite a run-in with Tiiga (Tiiga's fist ran into
Whildur's face) he has been very blessed and happy with life, and what
it brings. Despite trying fiercely to woo any young adventurer who might
be interested in the arts to join the Heralds, he's so far been unable
to drum up any new blood which is a bit discouraging.