I am a minstrel of passion. Some people say that all I do is singing, but I do more than that. I save lives. For some it is only a song but for others it is the last step to victory. There are ballads that strenghten my fellows, hymns that bribe to noble deeds and my encouraging words that make one fight longer for the good as one could have ever imagined. But there are moments in which that all doesn't help. I'm talking about those moments in which a warrior is too weak to carry his sword any longer or in which a shield is too heavy for a guardian to hold... it's the moment we all go down fighting and I have to ask myself what went wrong. Didn't I sing enough? Or couldn't they understand my words? Were my hymns useless? One of these days I'm falling asleep, still having those thoughts in my mind. And at night, there they are: nightmares. I can see it as if it was real... no chance.