About

I am Torin Loombridge when the leagues need a bard. Same mid-forties Concord human as Torin Vale — lean, brown hair at the jaw, short beard — but the wardrobe shifts: cream shirt, embroidered vest, travel cloak, lute or fiddle depending on the lay. Warm tenor. Clear diction. Storytelling first. The style does not change. The world dressing does. Inns. Roads. Dragons who want soup. Mayors who tax rain. Mag-boots under the table skirt.

This is the money face. Booked living-history nights on Khesret's Tavern Level. KTVN one-oh-one point three — Corridor Bardic. Shade keeps the booth. Forty-nine masters on the dial in the inn book — comedies preferred, tender lays allowed. Vale stays underground soft rock: street drop-ins and berth kettles, no formal concerts under that name. Same hands. Different posters. Said out loud.

Copper Penn still wins arguments. Fill It Again, Mara still fills the mug. The Boy Who Cried Dragon still gets the room. I do not cross-credit a mug song under Vale or a jump-fee ballad under Loombridge. The catalogs stay honest even when the persona credit does not hide.

If your costume is serious and your manners are period, the house is open. Foam steel. Fake torch LEDs. Real sweat. The hull still hums. That is the joke and the point.

Find the music on Corridor Radio — KTVN 101.3. Between sets, notes land on the House Notes. Squawk: @torin_loombridge.