The Stranger currently approaching said house has seen a little bit of everything. This isn't his first remote village, and it's further still from his first markedly unusual house in such a place. No, he's been around long enough to see a little bit of it all, every color one could imagine...though the colors of magic are unusual, a bright spot in the dark.

So far, he likes this village. It's friendly, to be sure, but more than that, people are chatty once they deem you a friend, or someone in need of help and pity. He had heard all about the family in the big house, yes. Magical powers. Interesting. Cute, even.

He is a grimy, scrawny thing, the satchel on his back worn and patched and worn again. Dark curls tumble messily into his face, framing bright gray-blue eyes set in a pale but handsome face. As he walks, one hand plays with the string of drilled coins around his neck, jangling them about with long-nailed, dirt-caked fingers. The clinking is incessant, steady, ringing around him in a chaotic little beat.

It's true, he does want to explore it more closely - but he can't very well go in uninvited.

So instead he sits on the ground not far from the front door, letting his satchel clatter from his shoulders and into the dirt. He pulls from it a pan flute, winding long legs beneath him as he settles to play.

The melody is haunting, alluring.

He wonders who it will snare first.