Who is Eratika Lycepiquer?

You see Eratika Lycepiquer the Human Bardess.
She appears to be in her 40's, has unkempt, long sandy blond hair, grey eyes, and tanned skin.
She is in good shape.
She is holding a rusty broadsword in her right hand.
She is wearing a rusty earring, a scrawny rat amulet, an unraveling plaid wool scarf, a Moonstone Abbey pin, a dirty black steel medallion, a silver triple-moon armband, a silver-set fly in amber pendant, a scratched bracelet, a ragged pink bandana, a filthy-white casting vest, a brown moleskin pouch, a rumpled violet belt, some mud-caked leathers covered with hastily-sewn slashes and a decorative pattern of veniom-studs from which some were forcibly removed, a sloppy orange sash, a slovenly cerulean-hued skirt, a malodorous forest green cloak, a mildewy fetid rat fur backpack trimmed with stained ocher embroidery and clasped with a cracked star diopside, a corroded anklet and a pair of grimy sandals.

Eratika grins at you and curtsies with a dramatic flourish. Some small white . . . somethings(!) fall from her hair to the ground and scurry rapidly across the floor.  An odd-looking spider hungrily chases after them.

She casually glances at the bugs as they scurry out of sight.  'I'm glad ye stopped by, my friend,'  Eratika says, winking at you.  'I so enjoy meeting others, be they sylvan, dwarven, elven, halfling or giant.  And fellow humans are always welcome, of course.'  

Eratika laughs at her own joke, which no one else seems to find funny.

After Eratika's laughter dies down, she leans a bit towards you and shows you a filthy-white casting vest, which she is wearing. You see the vest is trimmed with tattered lace butterflies. The worn, torn spidersilk cloth has so many rips and tears that it appears to only be held together by the filth and grime it has accumulated over the years. You notice it also seems to be missing several of the pearl butterfly-shaped buttons running down the front of the vest.  Inside, you see a dead bug, a dried black and green caterpillar, a large dead fly and a slimy pale grub.  You watch her lean back with a satisfied smile.  'I love that vest,' she says.  'It's a family heirloom.'

Eratika then peers at you curiously.  'What's that, ye say?  Ye want to hear my life story?  Hmmmm.'

Lost in thought, she bends down and scratches her leg, which is covered with coarse sandy blond hair. You hear 'sss' 'sss' 'sss' as Eratika's dirty fingernails rake over her leg hairs.

After some more hemming and hawing,
Eratika begins to tell the story of her Early Years . . .

This song, "Linelle," is mysterious in origin.
No one seems to know anything about it,
other than that it sounds medieval.  No matter:  I like it!