Wandersong Bard Novels & Stories

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.”

“You were always both. Now you get to choose which one.” The keeper chose mending. And for the first time in a century, her scars didn’t ache. --- #### **Part 2: Day 18 Brings a Traveling Bard Who Wants to Write a Song About “The Wolves Who Chose Mornings”** Day 18, Hour 20. The yard went quiet for a different reason. Not ice. Music. A woman with a lute and road-dust on her boots stood at the gate. No weapon. Just stories.

"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.

I hold the mead horn in one hand and slip my other palm into his large grasp, intertwining my small fingers with his thick claws while the crowd is looking at the meat pits. "Hey, little sister, the battle song your throat howled with Jordan Reed at the sky fires was beautiful!" a burly warrior barks, stepping onto the stones. "Give our ears another howl tonight!" The surrounding wolves start banging their horns together, demanding a performance. But... my wolf is a tracker, not a songstress. With so many master singers sitting by the fire, I do not want to embarrass the Vale name. "My throat just cleared itself for fun," I tell them, stepping back.

The place sparkled as different lamps hung around and beamed from different angles, the place was so bright that one would have doubted if one was told it was night. The walls were painted gold beautifying the place more, The musicians were the ones performing as we walked in, they played mind-blowing songs as Alpha Lykos danced with them. Mason and I walked over to the other Alphas to join them. They were all seated around a table with their wines served in front of them all, they laughed heartily making merry. "You're here son," Alpha Grim said when Hayden took a seat beside him. "Yes," Mason answered. I stood behind him watching everyone around in search of Hayden, I saw the other wolves