The Song of Discord is anathema in melody—crafted to tear at thoughts, fracture unity, and unravel minds. These bards are agents of psychic collapse, turning sound into splintered confusion and pain. They perform not for joy or beauty, but for weaponized disruption.
Bards of Discord wear frayed layers stitched with noise-absorbing threads and sigils designed to distort resonance. Their instruments are jagged or warped—strings tuned beyond harmonic range, flutes with extra holes, drums wrapped in skin that hums with tension. Their voices carry tones that don’t belong, frequencies that crawl beneath perception and claw at the mind.
Deep beneath the shattered amphitheaters of Nirae’s old capital, Discordants gather. There, they study cursed scales, rehearse chords that shatter stone, and drink in the echoes of madness that still haunt the ruin. They learn to break focus with a hum, to stir panic with a single note, and to control battlefields without touching blade or spell.
The Discordant sees cohesion as a weakness. Enemies can’t strategize when their thoughts blur. Champions fall when fear crawls behind their eyes. These bards layer confusion, sow fear, and paralyze action with intangible force. Their song doesn’t entertain—it disrupts, isolates, and destroys. Harmony is a lie. Dissonance is the weapon.