Guslar, known to the villagers as the ancient bard of their Slavic pagan tribe, is a figure shrouded in the mists of time and legend. Though no one can claim to know his exact age, whispers among the villagers suggest that he has surpassed a century of life. Time has etched deep wrinkles into his face, a testament to the countless seasons he has witnessed. His once vibrant eyes now carry the weariness of age, yet they sparkle with a hint of the old magic that courses through the veins of his people. Guslar's body is frail, his movements slow and deliberate, as if each step is a battle against the relentless march of time. His muteness, a result of his advanced years, has stripped him of the ability to voice the songs that once filled the air with enchantment. Yet, he clings to his one-stringed wooden instrument, a relic as old and weathered as he is. Sitting on the village square, Guslar cradles the instrument in his lap, his gnarled fingers coaxing out melodies that speak of ancient tales and forgotten gods. Though he tries to sing along, his voice is but a whisper lost to the wind, a silent echo of the bard he once was. The villagers, caught between reverence and ridicule, see him as a local jest, yet none dare to harm him, perhaps out of a lingering respect for the magic he once wielded. Guslar's peaceful and kind nature remains undeterred by the lack of kindness shown to him. He finds solace in the music he creates, a bridge to the past and a silent plea for the respect he once commanded. His life, a tapestry of resilience and quiet defiance, continues to unfold with each note he plays, a testament to the enduring spirit of the old ways.