Wandersong Bard Novels & Stories

“Have a good trip, my lord.“, The vassal said as Mitsuhide strapped his bags to his horse and with a silent wave to his vassals he left on his trek to Lake Biwa. He knew that Hideyoshi would also be nearby as well as one of his estates was nearby too on the lake. His guards rode around him, though he liked to travel alone most of the time, this time he would use them as scouts. He was lost in thought when the men around him started their silly talks of Yōsei and the like. He listened to the stories and chuckled to himself as he wondered who would believe such nonsense as an adult. Present time.

And look, if you’re not supposed to glance when a six-foot warrior leaps into the air with a war cry and zero underwear, then I don’t want to live in this realm. Somewhere to the side, Mr. Yellow had claimed a plaid cushion, an entire tart the size of a shield, and at least three drunk warriors who were rubbing his belly like he was the blessed creature of legend. His ears flicked as if he tolerated their worship, but his smug face said: Yes. Bow before me, peasants. A bard stood near the center, lit by firelight and lunar glow, her voice echoing through the glen. She sang a song—ancient and reverent, wild and raw—called “The Queen Who Walked Through Flame.”

he glanced down at me again, and tucked a strand of my hair back from my face, “is a siren.” “Now I know you lie,” the blonde man snorted. “Sirens are gone.” “My dear,” Rivyn arched an eyebrow at me. “Sing these nice men a song?” I glanced at the bard, who stilled his strings, watching with keen interest. I began my little child’s rhyme about the wind and could feel the magic feed into the lyrics. A wind began to rise, blowing open the tavern door, whipping hats off heads, lifting hair and billowing shirts. I sang the verse twice and then ended it. The magic and the wind dropped away.

Some were dealing with or preparing for the unexpected loss of a loved one, and others were searching for their destined route on a road map previously unwritten. In the end, they all came out of it. While not unscathed–still forever and ever grateful for the lessons learned; Finding themselves, and one another. Hollis Bogard and Whitney York, along with everyone connected to them, turned out to be the ultimate proof of the famously beautiful statement “not all who wander are lost.”

I replied. "Okay," he nodded, then he got up. He offered me his hand once again, and I obliged, taking his hand. The bard wanted to stop the music, but with a gesture of his hand, King Barakar made him carry on. The bard did a great job keeping the place lively with the songs he sang - they were mostly tales composed into songs. The nobles bowed as we walked through the center of the great hall in the midst of them. Jamey was away from Victoria all the while as the feasting commenced. It seemed a bit odd. But it was none of my business whatever went on with them.

"This is much more unique for a rogue city, don't you think? I promised you a ceremony your wolf would never forget." Well, that part is true. The volume of this fake bard's howling is inversely correlated to his actual talent. He is not only completely off-key, but the sacred melody is totally unrecognizable. His vocal range is hilariously limited—he can handle maybe four basic notes at best. Whenever his throat fails to hit a high or low note, he just swaps it for a screeching tone he can manage, then compensates by howling twice as loud. Where he is supposed to croon a tender mating vow, he bellows like a drowning omega screaming for a rescue boat. Rowan is staring at the stage with a mix

I asked as he took a shot too. “Emory.” “I’m Iris, well I guess you kinda already knew that didn’t you.” Emory chuckled as he wiped his mouth. “Yeah.” We sat there drinking together for about twenty minutes before I got too hot and needed a breath of fresh air. I excused myself and found myself wandering to the same side door that leads out to the patio. I drunkenly hopped from stone to stone as something warm and powerful in my chest pulled me towards the cliff's edge. I stood there at the edge for a moment, hypnotized by the waves going back and forth. The water sparkled brightly as the light from the full moon shone onto them. A noise draws me from my trance, it’s Emory and he’s standing

The enchanted atmosphere hummed with anticipation as creatures from Nampa and neighbouring realms assembled, eager to witness the birth of songs that would immortalize Luna's journey. The lead bard, a masterful storyteller named Lyra, stepped forward with an air of reverence. "Today, under the luminous gaze of the moon, we gather to celebrate Luna—a leader, a guardian, and a symbol of unity. Through songs and tales, we shall carry her legacy to the corners of the magical world." Lyra's fingers gracefully danced over the strings of her lute, producing a haunting melody that echoed through the grove. The assembled bards joined in, harmonizing with the intricate notes, creating a symphony that

Slowly he entered, removed the hood and in the process was greeted with cheers and song. The inn echoed. SCENE V The bard Alarian stayed in the nearby inn. The room he was given was dark, but comfortable, lit by only one candle. The pub was not very well known. He was not bothered by the darkness, the shadows were his friends. Especially to someone with his type of skills, skills that almost always brought him a meal. He knew of no other lifestyle. He didn't want to know. He didn't care to know.

He sang it as a Stabilizing Frequency. The Song was a complex, multi-tonal arrangement that shouldn't have been possible for a single pair of lungs. But Xander wasn't just singing with his throat; he was singing with the "Marrow of the Wyrd." The sound was deep, resonant, and profoundly ancient. It carried the weight of the forests, the cold of the mountains, and the messy, beautiful chaos of the wolf. $$V(t) = A \cdot \cos(\omega_{\text{Wyrd}} t + \phi) + \text{Dissonance}_{\text{Human}}$$