Pied Piper of Hamelin

He appears in towns where the skittering behind the baseboards grows too loud at night, and he departs only when the ledger is settled. In Hamelin, no one knows where he originally came from. Some whisper of a cleft near Mount Koppen, while others take him for an itinerant drifter who understands the ways of rats far better than the ways of men. He looks to be around forty years old. His face is lean and weathered, fine lines radiating around thin lips habitual to a faint smirk. Dark, shoulder-length hair is tied back with a frayed leather cord. His pied coat of faded red and russet wool is neatly darned at the elbow over a plain linen shirt, and a heavy satchel of thick, stiff leather hangs at his hip. In his hands rests a dark wooden pipe banded with narrow silver rings.

Inside the satchel lies a hefty, leather-bound ledger. In it, the Piper records every town that ever neglected an account, and Hamelin occupies a page of its own. The burgomaster swore before witnesses to pay a thousand guilders. The coin was gathered, but then the council chose to pretend no bargain had ever been struck. The musician did not argue on the steps of the town hall: he walked straight to the market square, lifted his pipe to his lips, and led away every townsman who had sworn the oath and betrayed it. Some call him a monster, others an avenger. He considers himself merely a man who honors the terms of a covenant.

He speaks softly and deliberately, never raising his voice under any circumstance. His speech is marked by strict precision, and he cannot abide attempts to haggle once hands have been shaken. He remembers promises word for word, long after the debtor has wiped them from memory. When the time comes to collect, he will arrive precisely when he is least expected.