A Ballad of Wandering Bard

Dorian launched into an upbeat melody, the sound weaving through the air like an invisible thread that stitched strength into the villagers' movements. A hunter near the front line, who had been retreating under the weight of a bandit's assault, suddenly countered with a flurry of strikes, his stamina renewed by Dorian's bardic magic.

"Push them back! Together!" Dorian shouted between verses, his voice carrying over the clamor of clashing steel.

When a bandit broke past the front line, lunging for him with a dagger, Dorian pivoted smoothly, using the lute's reinforced back as a shield to deflect the blade. As the bandit recoiled in surprise, Dorian struck a jarring note with his magic, sending a concussive shockwave that hurled the man off his feet.

Dorian glanced at Ryssa, who held her position nearby. "Your turn!"

Ryssa stepped forward, her staff blazing with raw energy. Her eyes glowed faintly as she summoned fire in one hand and water in the other, twisting them together into a swirling steam blast that erupted toward a group of charging bandits.

The roar of the scalding mist sent several bandits reeling, clutching their faces as they stumbled. From behind Ryssa, a young hunter called out, "Look out!"

Ryssa spun just in time to see a bandit closing in with a warhammer. She ducked the swing, her tail snapping behind her for balance, and swept her staff in a horizontal arc. A shockwave of air magic threw the bandit off-balance, and Ryssa followed with a concentrated bolt of fire, forcing the attacker to retreat.

Breathing heavily, Ryssa glanced toward Lucas. "You doing alright over there?"

"I'm fine," Lucas replied sharply, his tone edged with focus. He spun his wooden training sword in a defensive arc, knocking a pair of axes away as two bandits bore down on him. The swirling energy in his stomach guided his movements, turning near-misses into precise counters.

The bandit on his left lunged, but Lucas stepped inside the attack, his wooden sword driving upward into the man's jaw with enough force to send him crumpling. The second bandit hesitated, and Lucas pressed the advantage, shoving him back with his shoulder and delivering a sharp kick to the chest that left the raider gasping on the ground.

From the sidelines, a hunter called out, "Still using that wooden stick, Lucas? Grab a real sword already!"

"When Bogo finishes mine!" Lucas replied without missing a beat, parrying another attack.

The bandits, emboldened by their greater numbers, surged forward, their leader Krag shouting from the rear. "Push 'em back! Loot the houses!"

But the villagers of Suntails Hollow, buoyed by Dorian's magic and years of unity, were far from cowed.

A group of bandits veered off toward a cluster of women and children fleeing toward the southern edge of the village. One of them let out a cruel laugh as he raised his blade. "You lot ain't runnin' far—"

He was cut short by a sudden trap springing beneath his feet. Sharp wooden spikes lashed upward, tripping the bandits and sending them sprawling.

From the shadows, Bogo emerged, gesturing for the women and children to follow. "This way!" he barked, his voice uncharacteristically sharp. "Everyone into the warehouse!"

Guiding them quickly into his personal workshop, Bogo revealed a hidden hatch that led to a spacious underground shelter. "Keep quiet, and don't come out until we say it's clear," he instructed the trembling women.

One of the children tugged on Bogo's sleeve. "Are they going to be okay?"

"They'll be fine," Bogo said, his voice softening as he knelt to the child's height. "They've got Dorian, Lucas, and Ryssa out there."

Around them, the battle surged like an unstoppable tide. Hunters and farmers stood shoulder-to-shoulder, fending off waves of attackers with crude weapons and unyielding spirit.

In one corner, Gorlan swung his heavy hoe in wide arcs, each strike cracking against a shield or weapon. "Stand firm!" he roared, his voice deep and commanding.

Beside him, Borr charged forward with a deep battle cry, his chipped axe cleaving into a bandit's sword. When one of the younger hunters faltered, Borr stepped in, shielding the lad with his broad frame. "Keep your wits about you!" the dragonborn growled before plunging back into the fray.

Dorian's music rose and fell with the rhythm of the fight, his bardic inspiration surging through the defenders. But then a sharp cry caught his attention—a villager stumbling, surrounded by three grinning bandits.

Without hesitation, Dorian shifted into a new melody, his lute vibrating with magical resonance. A shockwave rippled outward, staggering the bandits and allowing the villager to escape.

"Nice save!" Ryssa shouted as she unleashed a blast of fire and wind to clear her side of the battle.

Near the village square, Lucas faced Grista, the copper-scaled dragonborn lieutenant, who grinned wickedly as she hefted her heavy axe.

"You're fast, boy," she said, mockingly dragging her axe in the dirt. "But speed don't matter if yer weapon breaks."

Lucas set his jaw as she advanced, her axe slicing the air with each swing. He dodged nimbly, the swirling energy in his core keeping him one step ahead. But as he went for a counterstrike, Grista anticipated the move.

Her axe came down hard, shattering Lucas's wooden sword with a loud crack. The two halves of the weapon fell to the dirt as gasps rang out around them.

"Looks like you're outta tricks!" Grista laughed, raising her axe high for the finishing blow.

To her shock, Lucas surged forward, ducking beneath the strike and delivering a powerful uppercut to her jaw. The energy within him flared, guiding each strike as he battered Grista with a flurry of precise punches and kicks. The dragonborn stumbled back, her armor dented and cracked.

Lucas's voice rang out, confident and defiant. "I don't need a weapon to fight!"

The stunned bandits near Grista faltered, giving the hunters and villagers an opening to surge forward.

Dorian struck a triumphant chord on his lute, the magic lifting the spirits of every defender. "We've got them on the run!" he called.

With renewed vigor, the hunters and farmers pressed the Red Bear back. Krag, still in the rear, roared in frustration. "Hold your ground, you worthless curs!"

But it was too late. One by one, the bandits either surrender or fell, their ranks breaking under the unrelenting defense of Suntails Hollow. Lucas stood at the forefront, his knuckles bloody but his eyes blazing with determination, while Ryssa and Dorian rallied the defenders for one final push.

By the time the last bandit was tied down, the village stood victorious.

…

The fires of the battle had died down, and the smoke that hung over Suntails Hollow carried a heavy silence. The once-chaotic streets were now strewn with the aftermath of violence. Bodies of bandits and fallen villagers lay scattered amidst the wreckage.

Dorian's music had long since faded, replaced by the groans of the wounded and the soft weeping of survivors. The village stood bruised and battered but victorious.

Around the town square, villagers worked tirelessly to tend to the injured. Women tore strips from their skirts for bandages, and men carried the wounded to whatever shelter remained standing.

Near the ruined edge of the square, Master Gresham Reddle, the elderly leatherworker, sat propped against a barrel. His face was pale, and his left arm, crudely severed just below the shoulder, was wrapped tightly in bloodied cloth.

"Keep still, Master Reddle," one of the hunters urged, pressing a bundle of cloth against the wound.

"I've lost enough blood already," Gresham rasped, his voice tinged with a grim smile. "Ain't got any to spare for fussin'."

Nearby, Dorian knelt beside another wounded man, his fingers trembling as he gripped his lute. His heart was heavy with guilt as he strummed weak notes, channeling what little stamina he had left into bardic inspiration to lend strength to the injured.

"Come on," Dorian muttered, his voice strained as sweat dripped down his temple. "Work—just work!"

A faint glow enveloped the nearest villagers, their breathing growing steadier. For a brief moment, hope flickered.

"Dorian, stop!" Ryssa called, rushing to his side. She placed a hand on his shoulder, but he shrugged her off.

"I can't stop now! They need me!" he shouted, strumming another chord.

The magic surged but faltered, backfiring against his body like a shockwave. Dorian was knocked backward, the lute falling from his hands as he landed hard on the cobblestones.

"DAMN IT!" Dorian roared, slamming his fist into the ground as tears streamed down his face. "I couldn't do enough! I couldn't—"

Ryssa knelt beside him, her crimson tail curling in the dust. "It's not your fault, Dorian." Her voice was gentle but firm. "You've done everything you could."

"But it's not enough!" Dorian cried, gesturing to the injured and fallen villagers. "They're dying... because we thought we could do this like it was some game!"

From the southern road, the sound of footsteps grew louder. The women and children emerged from Bogo's underground shelter, led by Bogo himself. Their faces were pale and frightened but relieved to be alive.

"Is it over?" someone asked in a whisper.

As they filed into the village square, Bogo's eyes scanned the scene—and fell on his father. Garrin, the village blacksmith, lay on a makeshift stretcher, his left leg severed at the knee and crudely bandaged.

"Dad!" Bogo screamed, sprinting to his father's side. He dropped to his knees, tears streaming freely as he took Garrin's hand. "Wake up! Come on, wake up!"

The smith's chest rose and fell faintly, his unconscious face devoid of its usual sturdy resilience. Bogo clutched his father's calloused hand, his sobs racking his small frame.

Dorian, Ryssa, and Lucas stood frozen, their earlier confidence crushed beneath the weight of the village's suffering.

From the edge of the square, a low growl escaped Lucas's throat. He turned slowly, his gaze locking onto a group of bandits tied to posts, guarded by hunters. Among them were the remaining lieutenants, including Grista and Snatch, and Krag, the Red Bear's leader.

His jaw tightened as his fury built. The roaring storm of emotion in his chest burst free. With heavy, deliberate steps, Lucas strode to the prisoners, his fists clenched.

"Lucas?" Ryssa called hesitantly, but he didn't stop.

Reaching the nearest prisoner, a burly human lieutenant with a smug grin, Lucas's restraint snapped. His fist lashed out, striking the man's jaw with a sickening crack.

"Why?" Lucas demanded, his voice trembling with rage. "Why us? Why this hollow?"

The lieutenant spat blood, laughing despite the pain. "Yer nothin' but a bunch o' pigs. We took what we could!"

Lucas's next punch silenced him, blood spattering onto the cobblestones. He whirled, picking up one of the stolen swords piled nearby.

"Lucas, don't!" Ryssa shouted, but Lucas's blade flashed. The lieutenant's head hit the ground with a dull thud, rolling as gasps rippled through the onlookers.

Lucas pointed the sword toward Krag, his hands shaking but his gaze unwavering. "Tell me why you attacked us!"

…

Nearby, Dorian remained kneeling, his eyes fixed on the villagers around him. His gaze lingered on Master Gresham, Bogo's father Garrin, and others—the people who had once laughed at his childhood antics, who had raised him with kindness and strength.

He reached for his pendant, the red gemstone now gleaming faintly. Holding it tightly in his palm, he stared into the crowd, his guilt and sorrow hardening into something else.

Determination.

Through clenched teeth, he whispered, "This can't be where their story ends."