The ring and hum of the thundering applause brings smiles to this face of mine. Where I go, the audience follows, my journeys of years taking place in moments in market squares across the lands.
Should I detail the loves and trials of maidens and manfolk? Should I sing of the terrors of Ethersol? Or perhaps retell the sadness and glory of the Serén in the days of the God War?
It matters not of course, if I strum my lute or play my lute, or recite a sublime rhyme. What matters of course is the love I receive when my performs completes to the crashing of coin flung from every which way to clapping which leaves the hands raw!
At least, so would it be were I not as I am, for life is much sadder out of dreams. Maybe one day I will receive such things, but for now I remain a baker’s son.
A prompt response.