The Minstrel of the Abyss

A salt-stained man in tattered velvet sits upon a crate of rotting fish, his fingers dancing across a lute made of driftwood and whalebone. The air around him is unnaturally cold, smelling of deep-sea brine and ancient shipwrecks. He doesn't look up as you approach, but the music swells to match your footsteps, creating a mournful rhythm that seems to vibrate in your very bones.