Frederic “Muttonchops” Fiddlepipes

Miles "Muttonchops" Fiddlepipes woke, beaten and bloodied, but thankfully breathing. Everything ached. He was somewhere dark, and it stank of rubbish. He was bleeding from a number of cuts and scrapes, and his head was pounding.   Miles tried to remember how he got there, and quickly realized there was nothing. That was the point where he found a void where his memory should have been. He had no name, no memories, nothing. Couldn't remember a damned thing! Groaning, he sat up, rubbing his temples. His fingertips came away sticky with blood. Must've hit his head. Hopefully, his memory would come back with time. Glancing around, it appeared that he was in an alley, but things were quiet. It must be late. A glint caught his eye. It was a small golden lock, attached to a surprisingly gaudy book. Golden filigree lined the edges of this small green book. It looked familiar, but he was unsure why. He gathered himself up, snatched up the book, and limped out of the stinking alley he'd been unceremoniously dumped into. Miles’ limbs felt leaden. Muscle memory was already kicking in, and he caught himself whistling a song quietly to himself. To his surprise, his clothing began to shed off the grime, the smell immediately improving (Prestidigitation). This improved his mood greatly, and he switched to a song that was starting to catch in the back of his mind. Relief spilled over him like cool water (Cure Wounds). Things were already looking up! Miles lived on the street briefly. Some things came back to him, bits here and there. Small spells that he was able to use to steal what he needed (mage hand, charm person, etc.), and eventually, he began to feel more halfling than not. His name never came back to him, though. A few days later, a few extra coins in his pocket, he trundled into a café, seeking a hot cup of something uplifting. Something to take the edge off of what was turning into a chilly autumn day. In the corner, an older bard was working on something that immediately caught his ear. It sounded lovely, and just clicked. He sat nearby, listening to the tune being plucked on an incredible looking lute. The strings appeared to be ethereal, and the performers fingers danced easily atop the strings. It looked like they weren't even touching. Before he realized it, he was humming along to the tune as if it were his own. This caught the old bard’s ear. This halfling was practically predicting the tune before it was even plucked. The bard stopped suddenly, but Miles was caught up enough that he was continuing the song, unassisted. The old bard cleared his throat loudly. This stopped Miles in his tracks, who turned, grinning from ear to ear. The bard beckoned him over, and introductions began. "Name's Sasha. You've likely heard of me, at least by my full name. <Insert Sasha's obnoxiously long name here>." Sasha had an unfamiliar accent, and seemed full of himself, but in a way that old musicians tend to be. "Nope. Never. Been at it long? This raised Sasha's hackles, but he knew when he was being baited. "Yeah, a minute. You?" "Nope. Funny story about that." Miles began chatting with Sasha, filling him in on his extraordinary story. Sasha stopped him when the book came up. "You haven't opened it? Are you worried it's cursed or something?" "No. It just feels special to me, and unfortunately, I haven't the picks to pop the lock. I don't want to destroy it." Sasha pulled a set of thieves tools out, offering them to Miles. "Give it a shot. Who knows." Miles picked the lock easily. It was like a reflex at this point, finding what skills came easily, and what didn't. A thick enveloped immediately tumbled out, papers spilling forth. Miles gathered them up quickly, looking through them. Immediately, a name popped out. Miles. Miles Fiddlepipes. The name seemed familiar, but something about it felt more mask than identity. He kept that to himself. Skimming over them, Miles discovered he'd apparently been a seller of fine, high end instruments. Various documents talking of silver trumpets, and old violins. A flute that had been found in elven ruins to the west. A few blank documents were also among them, already signed by names he didn't recognize, next to a signature bearing his own. Miles only shared what seemed useful, but easily fell into character before he even knew it. Sasha handed over his lute. "Perhaps you play as well." And he sure as hell did. Miles began playing, first continuing the song Sasha had started, and then moving into a handful of tunes that had been nagging at the back of his mind. The two spent the rest of the afternoon and evening playing, exchanging ideas, and managed to gather a decent audience out of it. Coin came quickly, and it was the best Miles had felt since this all began. Sasha and Miles began an easy friendship, trading songs and ideas. While some things came naturally, others didn't. Sasha managed to help retrain Miles over time, though. After a couple weeks, Miles had an idea bubbling up in the back of his mind. He needed more coin. He needed a place to do his work. Taking some coin he had saved, he scrounged up a beaten old violin from a shop in town and set to work, restoring it to the best of his ability. Crushing walnut and working it into the beaten, scratched wood. Replacing the strings. Cleaning the bridge and pegs. Next, the documents. Sasha was able to help with this, providing a forgery kit. Miles easily built a story and history up, signing a name to it from an unknown noble to the far east. It looked great.   One afternoon, a few days later, he visited a merchant of finer instruments. Bringing his violin in, he begged the merchant to trade it for a sad looking pan flute, suggesting he was better with the flute than the violin, but "if you could just hold my fiddle for just a few days, I'll come back and pay you for both, happily." The merchant was willing, feeling sorry for the plucky, friendly bard. The next morning, Sasha visited in a cleverly crafted disguise, pretending to be a buyer of the highest end instruments, seeking only the most valuable and exotic. Sasha, upon spying the shoddy fiddle casually set aside, pretended to be taken aback by it He began excitedly telling the merchant he's got papers for it, as he's been hunting for this particular fiddle for years, and would happily pay thousands of gold for the incredible find. He would return with the money, he SWEARS. The merchants eyes GLEAMED. He was hooked.   That afternoon, Miles showed again. He approached, saying he'd like to trade back for his fiddle, it being a family heirloom. The merchant made an offer. He 'felt bad' for the young bard, and wanted to help. He said he'd trade the fiddle for a couple hundred gold. "Just want to help you on your way, my good man!" Miles demured, saying he would need an instrument to make a living, and that the fiddle had been in the family for a while. The merchant, acting benevolent, was willing to part with one of his nicer mandolins, as well as the gold, and just as a bonus, keep the pan flute as well! Miles was eager to accept. This felt good. Naturally, Sasha never showed again.   A few days later, a small group of thugs cornered Miles, yelling about the mandolin he'd gotten his hands on. The merchant had clearly sent them. Again, instinct kicked in, and he dispatched them without much effort. Knives danced as easily on his fingertips as any string, with accuracy to match. Another clue to his particular puzzle! The merchant never sent another after him, likely fearing the same retribution. Still, Miles knew he needed to scale it back or he'd never be able to stay long in Ewhas. There are only so many merchants. Instead, he simplified his plan, playing questionably restored instruments beautifully, acting as though the music was the instrument itself. He was pulling a much safer scam here. Things seemed to be going well for him. He still didn't know who he really was, but it barely concerned him. "Miles" was doing well, and his old life was nothing more than a set of skills at this point. A couple more weeks of this, Miles had found himself a small apartment. Eventually, Sasha came to him, offering to introduce him to a noble. A rare chance to ingratiate himself to a much wealthier crowd! Upon arrival, Sasha was ushered off to another room, speaking privately with the noble, Viscountess Ling. Sasha left in a hurry, leaving Miles behind. A servant appeared, offering Miles a room to stay in, suggesting Sasha may be out for a while. Miles took the offer, seeing an opportunity to talk more with the Viscountess. Perhaps put himself in her good graces, perhaps finding some easy, expensive work. Word came the next morning. Sasha would be returning. Miles hadn’t had long, but had managed to befriend Ling well enough for now. He took his mandolin, and sat himself down in the waiting room. Waiting.