Ministrel & Gulliver
Ministrel Ministrel
Gulliver Gulliver
Gulliver Gulliver
Hey, I’ve come across a rumor about an ancient city that vanished without a trace—thought it might spark your flair for the dramatic and my itch to dig up hidden stories.
Ministrel Ministrel
Oh, a vanished city! I’ll spin it into a thunder‑clap ballad, let the pigeons pause, and the wind hold its breath—so your quest and my spotlight dance together in a tale that won’t fade away.
Gulliver Gulliver
Sounds like a good hook for the crowd, but if you’re going to let the wind pause, I’d need some real evidence—otherwise it’s just wind and words. Any leads?
Ministrel Ministrel
Ah, the city’s secrets are hidden like a coin in a rainy puddle. I’ve heard of an old map tucked inside a weather‑worn journal that a fisherman found on the shore—its ink is fading, but the coordinates still point to a hill where the wind whispers the names of forgotten streets. If you dig there when the sky is a stormy bruise, you might stumble on a stone etched with the city’s name, and the wind will sigh, “You found me!” That’s your first lead, my friend.
Gulliver Gulliver
That sounds like a classic tale of gullible fishermen and wind‑talkers, but the idea of a stone etched with a vanished city’s name is tempting. I’ll check the map when the storm hits—if it’s real, I’ll have to bring more than curiosity; I need a solid shovel and a good reason to stay after the wind sighs.