1. A Tavern, A Lute, and a Challenge
It started, as many problems do, with music in a tavern.
The tavern in question was The Drunken Quill, a creaky three-story inn nestled in the center of the neutral bard haven known as Chorushold — a city so obsessed with songs that even the wanted posters came with catchy jingles.
Vampher was only there for tea and pie.
But fate, as always, had other plans.
"You there!" shouted a peacock-caped bard with a voice like powdered thunder. "That brooding aura. That flawless skin. You must be challenged."
Vampher blinked. "I just want lemon pie."
The bard ignored him and tossed a flaming feather into the air.
"I am Lyrryn of the Ten Strings, undefeated bard of the nine provinces! And you, sir, have the soul of a verse unchained! I challenge thee to a DUEL OF SONG."
The crowd roared.
Dee and Hiro, seated near the bar, immediately ordered drinks.
"This," Dee grinned, "is going to be glorious."
2. The Bard Duel Begins
Two chairs. Two enchanted instruments. One unwritten stage.
Lyrryn raised a jeweled lute that shimmered with stormlight.
Vampher took the beaten-up lyre someone handed him by accident. He held it like a cat being shown a bathtub.
"Any rules?" he asked.
"Yes," Lyrryn intoned. "You must play until either:
Your soul explodes from the pressure of performance,
You are out-cheered by the crowd,
Or you reach The Verse Supreme — the mythical pinnacle of bardic perfection."
"Oh," Vampher said. "Neat."
Then he strummed a single, lazy chord.
3. The Problem With Immortals
Here's the thing about living for centuries: eventually, you get very bored.
And when you're bored, you try things. Random things. Like learning every instrument ever made by mortals, dragons, and the sentient frogs of Echo Swamp.
Vampher hadn't just learned music. He became music.
He played.
And the room went still.
The first note summoned a light breeze. The second painted fireflies in the air.
Then came the harmony — a blend of every love ever sung, every tragedy ever mourned, every hopeful drunken chant whispered to the stars.
Children stopped crying. Beer mugs refilled on their own. A nearby door grew legs and politely walked out.
Lyrryn collapsed mid-note, weeping and applauding.
"It's… it's the Verse Supreme. He found it!"
A bard fainted into his own lute.
Another began composing poetry with her feet.
Dee leaned over to Hiro. "He's doing it again."
"What, accidentally reshaping culture?"
"Yep."
4. And Then the Deification Began
By dawn, Chorushold had renamed three streets to:
Vampher's Voice
The Brooding Ballad
Alley of the Unforgettable Chorus
By lunch, bards were offering him tribute in the form of rare instruments, scented scarves, and someone's soul.
By dinner, traveling minstrels had already carried the tale of Vampher the Bardslayer to the far north, where it was hastily carved into a glacier.
Three days later, a kingdom in the east passed a law requiring all music teachers to wear capes "in the style of the Divine Crooner."
And somewhere, far far away, a newborn cried its first note in perfect harmony.
5. The Aftermath
As the three of them trudged along a forest path, Dee flipped through a rolled-up bardic newsletter.
"Apparently they've canonized you as the Eighth Muse now."
"That sounds exhausting," Vampher muttered.
"It gets better," Hiro added. "The capital now worships you as 'The Eternal Chorus.' One bard claims she summoned a storm using your rhythm."
"I sneezed once and it echoed."
"Exactly," Dee said. "You're the god of rhythm now."
Vampher groaned into his cloak. "I just wanted pie."
"And now you're the divine patron of melody and misunderstood eye contact."
They walked in silence a while longer.
Then:
"…What if," Hiro said cautiously, "we don't stop for pie next time?"