If you're one to travel the roads, you may have heard of me. You may have heard my Names in the stories. The songs. You may have heard them in the past, when they were screamed, cheered, and cried. Perhaps you've even seen me in the road, speaking to a bird of blue light, or in a city street, performing small acts for coin and repute. Or perhaps you may know me as the Skystrider, who walked with the wind. Or the Voiceless, a man of song without speech. You may know me as the Tutor, who taught the Lion of Summer how to fight, or the Traveler, who has walked all the roads of the earth. I am all of these things.

And people have branded me a myth.

But people don't understand what a myth is. They haven't heard the songs lost to our tongues, nor have they seen the things I have seen. They haven't gone to the places I've gone.

I have traveled the plains, the seas, and the clouds. I have spoken languages unspoken; tongues lost to time. I have sung to the earth, held the moon in my arms, and walked the roads that brave men hesitate to even mention. I have outwitted Demons. I have danced with the Fae. My songs have been heard by lords of wind and ash, and my steps have echoed in the bellies of gargantuan beasts the likes of which you have never seen.

These are what real myths are. And me?

I'm no legend.

I'm just the bard stupid enough to poke the real ones with a stick.