Once upon a time I sang with the birds. I was the most musical namegiver in the lands. I stood before kings and was praised. I was the magnificent Aob, the troubadour. But that was what was and it is not any more.
Now I travel with a tired adventuring party that has a turnover greater than that of a mining camp. I am miserable and I don't want to travel with them further, but I feel a duty to do so. Each morning I tend my wounds and trudge on, awaiting my death, many times wishing for it ...
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Those are the last words from Aob before she was killed by a party member. May Aob rest in peace now.
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