Welcome to my Website! Check out Neocities!
"You know, I really am quite selfish," the bard laughed. "For I think not of myself when I imagine my flight from this place. I think of others. The ones I leave behind. I think of how they'll grieve. What they'll say. I hope they would cry for me," The bard left his seat upon the wall. A sack of coin clattered as his feet hit the stone road, like a thousand bells chiming in the winter. "But to hope for others to cry, 'tis truly a wicked wish indeed," The bard never left that town. He continued to weave tales of pure imagination for anyone who would hear them. There was no one who didn't know his name.