Succubus trobairitz

Among the many legends whispered across the empire, few are as enigmatic as the wandering trobairitz—a free-spirited bard whose songs weave the fates of adventurers into ballads of heroism or infamy. She roams the land without ties or masters, composing tales of those who rise to glory or descend into madness. Most travelers dismiss her as folklore, a phantom of the road, for only a handful have claimed to see her. Even fewer have spoken with her.

She is often found perched atop the highest branch of an ancient tree near the crossroads outside the capital, her voice carrying on the wind like a forgotten melody. There, she recites poetry or sings of those who have made their mark on the world—whether through noble deeds or acts of sheer cruelty. Some say she is a wandering spirit, forever watching, forever judging. Others insist she is a demoness, her beauty otherworldly, her voice enchanting enough to still the hearts of even the bravest warriors. The only constant in these tales is the small dragon hatchling nestled in her lap, slumbering as if oblivious to the passage of time.

Players will sometimes find themselves the subject of her ballads. After they do something noteworthy—whether it’s an act of bravery or cruelty—she might show up and sing a song or recite a poem about them. If the players are doing good in the world, the trobairitz will sing praises of them, painting them as heroic figures. But if they’ve caused chaos or destruction? Her song will turn dark, telling stories about ruthless, bloodthirsty adventurers who are wrecking havoc across the realm.

At first, players may try to talk to her, but she’s quick to vanish into thin air, leaving only a lingering echo of her song. Those who ask the forest’s residents about her will hear that she’s been around for so long that even the oldest beings in the woods call her “elder.” The more the players learn about her, the more she’ll open up, though she remains as elusive as ever. If a player tries to charm her, she’ll laugh, saying it’s too early for that kind of thing—and then put them to sleep, often lightening their purse in the process.