Bard is a stranger to everyone, but is a friend to everyone that meets them.
Where they came from, no one knows. Where they go, no one cares.
Tall, wiry, and enough hair to make several wigs, they rarely dress in anything other than in tie-dyed shirts, well worn pants, and sandals. The ray ban glasses always seem to hide eyes that have seen more than they will ever disclose.
Yet, the sight of the colorful westfalia van, with the words ‘Magical Journey’ on the side, is ever a welcome sight. Because there always seems to be a reason for Bard to appear, do what they need to do, and depart as if nothing happened.
Naturally, there are rumors about them. Some claim they were a veteran of both world wars and the Korean War, which would explain their often pacifist leanings. Others claim they came from another world to observe humanity by aliens.
Of course, no answers are ever forthright and just accept the fact that Bard is Bard. And so they just enjoy the ride.
Such is the case on the top of their westfalia van, in the middle of the New Mexico desert, several dozen miles out of Pheonix, Bard watches the stars. It’s their favorite past time. On their stomach sleeps a little black cat, whom Bard has named Meep.
On the other half of the roof, lays Morgana watching the stars with them.
They point up to the north.
“Polaris,” they rasp as they take the doobie out to blow some smoke, “it’s not my favorite, but it’s always the most helpful.”
