Strelein smiled as he looked fondly at his own instrument. He stroked the neck of his lute, reminiscing over how it had helped him vent emotion. The lute played with anger is a mighty force to be reckoned with. It was like the violin of the guitar world; it was higher pitched. Strel would've tried to get his hands on a guitar, but it was hard. Besides, his lute usually suited him just fine. He'd kept it since he first discovered sheet music. The moment it left him was the day his hands stopped moving permanently.
"Oh you've hurt my feelings," pouted the redhead, then laughing slightly. He stuck out a hand for a handshake. "Name's Strel. Strelein. Von Rosnete. Strelein von Rosnete," he introduced himself, trying to sound smooth and suave. He had no reason to list his full name in such a manner, but to him it seemed to give a different impression about him. Truth be told, he wasn't cut out to be the smooth talker. "This here is my lute. Had her since I was just a yearling. Which wasn't that long ago..." Strel stuck out his tongue at his own youthfulness. Well better to be young than to be old and degenerating.