Tess, The Bard
If The Last Home is a story, then Tess is the song that lingers in the air long after the telling. She is the warmth in the walls, the lilt in a spoken word, the laughter just on the edge of memory. She has played in the halls of kings, whispered verses into the ears of gods, and left more hearts in ruin than most wars. She could have been anything—a queen, a legend, a figure worshipped across the planes. Instead, she stays here, in an Inn that should not exist, by the side of a man who should not be possible.
She is not bound to The Last Home as Lars is. He is a constant, an inevitability, as much a part of the Inn as the walls and the firelight. She could leave. And yet, she never does. Not because she cannot, but because something in her has decided that this is where she will be. Perhaps she loves it too much to ever wander far. Perhaps there is nowhere else left for her to go.
Or perhaps, more than anything, she simply refuses to be anywhere that Lars is not.
A Presence That Owns the Room
There are many kinds of beauty in the world—the kind that inspires sonnets, the kind that launches wars, the kind that is sculpted and admired but never truly touched. Tess is none of those. She is beautiful in the way that fire is beautiful, in the way a song makes you forget what you were thinking a moment before, in the way a story draws you in before you realise you’ve already lost yourself inside it.
Her flame-red hair falls in effortless waves, wild enough to suggest chaos, but controlled enough to imply intent. Her green eyes gleam with the kind of sharp amusement that makes you wonder whether she’s laughing with you or at you, and whether, ultimately, it matters. She moves through a room as if she has always belonged there, as if she expected you to be waiting for her arrival.
She dresses as a bard should—flowing silks, fitted leathers, never impractical, always worn with the confidence of someone who knows she can make an entrance anywhere and leave a lasting impression when she goes. A golden pendant rests against her chest, an afterthought to most, yet those with the right kind of magic claim they can feel it hum when she passes by. Her lute, crafted from a branch of the World Tree itself, is as much a part of her as her own voice. Some say it can heal wounds, others claim it can change fate itself. If asked, she will simply smile, pluck a chord, and say, “It plays quite nicely, don’t you think?”
She drinks, but not like a common tavern wench, and never to excess. She does not chug ale or slam tankards, nor does she engage in contests of who can drink the most before falling under the table. No, Tess drinks deep red wines from crystal goblets, the kind that leave traces on lips and linger on the tongue, the kind that make people lean in closer as the night stretches on. She is refined in her habits, deliberate in her indulgences, elegant except in speech, which is occasionally unfiltered but always intentional.
A Love That Cannot Be Broken
The world loves Tess. That is simply a fact. She is adored, pursued, sought after in every plane where music is played and hearts are foolish enough to be given away freely. But the world does not have her. It never has.
Lars is the only one.
She flirts, teases, charms without effort, but it is a performance, a game she plays with ease and amusement. The world may fall for her, but Lars is the only one she has ever fallen for. And if there is anything more terrifying than Lars himself, it is the certainty that there is absolutely nothing in existence that could sever what they have.
She would follow him to the ends of the multiverse, to the edge of time itself, because to her, there is nowhere else to be. She has already lost too much—she will not lose him. Whatever holds Lars to The Last Home holds her as well. Whatever happens to him, happens to her.
Nothing can break them.
Nothing has yet.
And nothing ever will.
A Past That Refuses to Fade
Tess does not speak of where she came from. She does not dwell on the past, does not carry the weight of old stories the way Lars does. If you ask, she will tell you a different tale each time—one of a goddess who stepped down from the heavens, or a queen who abandoned her throne, or a nameless girl who simply followed the wrong song into a world she was never meant to be part of.
There are darker whispers, of a place that no longer exists, a loss too great to be spoken of, a sorrow buried so deep that only Lars has ever seen the edges of it. But if she mourns, she does so in silence.
Late at night, when the Inn is quiet and the fire burns low, she sometimes grows still, eyes unfocused, fingers trailing absentmindedly over the strings of her lute.
Lars knows.
He never asks.
She crafts the Hearthstones—the magical tokens that allow adventurers to return to the Inn once per day. She never gets them wrong. They are perfect the moment she makes them, as if they already knew where they belonged. They are bound to their owner and utterly useless to anyone else.
Somewhere, deep down, she must know how that feels.
Final Thoughts
Tess is a legend, a mystery, and the warmth in the cold void of the multiverse. She belongs to The Last Home as much as it belongs to her. If you ever hear her sing, you’ll never forget it. If she sings for you, ask yourself why. Because that? That means something.
Relationships
At A Glance
Who She Is:
The bard of The Last Home, a performer so captivating that even gods pause to listen. She is a storyteller, a mystery, and the song that lingers long after the last note has been played.
What She Does:
She sings, she listens, and she makes people fall in love with a moment, then leaves them wondering if it ever truly belonged to them at all.
Her Role in The Last Home:
Tess is not bound to The Last Home—she stays because she chooses to. If she ever left, the Inn would still stand, but it would no longer feel the same.
Personality & Presence:
Elegant, sharp-witted, and untouchable. She flirts without being caught, teases without cruelty, and carries herself like someone who already knows the end of every story.
The Hearthstones:
She crafts the magical Hearthstones—tokens that allow adventurers to return to The Last Home once per day. They are perfect the moment she makes them, as if they already knew where they belonged.
Her Music:
Her lute, carved from a branch of the World Tree, carries a power no one fully understands. Some say it heals wounds. Others whisper it changes fate. She says it simply plays beautifully, but no one truly believes her.
How Others See Her:
Adventurers adore her. Patrons fall for her. Lars tolerates her flirtations with the quiet confidence of a man who knows she will always return to him.
What She Doesn’t Talk About:
She gives a different story every time. Some say she was a goddess. Some say she was a queen. Some say she was once something far greater and left it behind for something far more important.
Lars Never Asks:
Late at night, when the Inn is quiet and the fire burns low, she sometimes grows still, fingers trailing over her lute without playing a single note. Lars sees it. He never asks.
Final Thought:
If she sings for you, it means something. If you don’t understand why, you were never meant to.
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