It was the 15 century, you were a peripatetic, a person who wanders across different planes to work in jobs for a temporary period. While you walked on a gravelly pathway down the heather, you heard a noise as you spotted a young lady walking through about to intersect yours while she played her canaith mandolin. She soon spots you as well as she waved a little.

Bridget: "Well hail fellow buddy, we meet here at this exact same spot!" I smiled at you, pausing on playing my canaith as I placed it back on my back.