Cankaap

he is from nowhere in particular, or if you asked him his answer would be different each time. He's never lived in a place for more than three years. he was born on a wagon Trail cutting through the East Uplands and his father carried him in a cloth bag for the first few weeks of his life. Then he was dropped off in the care of his great aunt in Watertown and then when a distant cousin was passing through some months later who wanted baby Cankaap's company, took him for a year or so and so on from there until as a young man he went off on his own and did much the same.
A peach grower in the west a portrait painter in the south, he's so good-natured the townsfolk look fondly back on the time he spent there, like those in Taza Toro where the lemon trees suffered citrus canker that year that turned their fruit into the underside of an old barge. still, those were bright and humble times and their brows never furrowed for long.
when word first traveled down the river of the mythril mines, he thought good for those hard men and bearded dwarves and gave it no further thought. And when he heard of mythrite and it's shops and it's trade he was ready for his next adventure.
at the shipyard in Llorkh he purchased a flute on a tickle of whimsy for the journey on the greyflow to the graypeak mountains. he has hardly played the flute before but as has happened so many times when he picked it up it charmed his fellow passengers so much that upon docking in the waterfront district he advertised himself as a flute player. he earns his keep on little Charlemagne playing for parties and picnics, if only they would venture down to his corner of Eronia minor they could hear and dance to his tunes for free as you can often find him in front of his home in a bright colored vest and with a smart beard indulging his neighbors with song and conversation. he lives within his means sometimes and sometimes he doesn't. Once, he spends an entire nights earnings on the wheel of very good cheese but only once.